On growing up . . .

The last time we went to visit Katie in her apartment just off campus, we beat her there by a few minutes. When she walked in the door, Frank asked, "Did you get hurt" . . . Katie, being used to her father, glared at him. Even I knew what was coming. He finished his sentence . . ." when the bomb went off?" Yep, that pretty much covered the disaster of her poor apartment . . . the one we helped her move into . . . that cute little haven . . . all decorated and oh so cute. Where had it gone . . . under the piles of rubble, the mountains of dirty, no clean . . . no dirty . . . laundry. The empty pizza boxes, soda bottles here and there, stacks of books and paperwork, sink piled high with dishes bearing remnants of assorted leftovers . . . we were lucky to find Moak in all the mess. Ewwwww.

Two months ago, I got a plaintive midnight call. There was a spider in her bedroom. Katie's view of spiders is dim to say the least. She is beyond phobic when it comes to those little creatures. They abjectly terrify her. She inherited this quality from me so I totally understand. Totally. So Katie did what any rational person with a phobia would do. She vacated her bedroom in favor of the futon in the living room and called for reinforcements . . . Mom, can you come help me clean and get rid of the spider. But of course. However, life got in the way for the 9TS and I until yesterday morning. While she was at work, we arrived with a camel load of cleaning products, garbage bags, a back hoe, and my ever trusty Dyson. Not that her vintage 1950's Electrolux doesn't work, but nothing, I repeat NOTHING, works like my Animal.

I unlocked her door expecting a visage of destruction. Surprisingly, it was not bad. Gone were the dirty dishes, the fast food bags etal. Really all we found was some typical college clutter and a mountain of laundry. It took me a couple of hours to empty her closet, clean and vacuum and reorganize her clothes as they came, load by load, out of the dryer. Her stripped bed was made with fresh linens and my trusty Dyson vomited a mere three canisters of dust and cat fur. By the time she arrived home, all that was left were a few more loads of laundry and a pile for the dumpster. Tonight, she could once again sleep in her own bed.

For dinner, she found us this really delightful Italian restaurant. Family run. Delicious. As we parted ways, she whispered in my ear . . . mom, don't tell anyone, but I think I'm really starting to like to clean. Hallelujah! I am so proud of this kid. She is growing up. She is learning to fly. And, she is doing one heck of a good job. Have I mentioned how much I love this kid . . . spider phobias and all? I do, I really, really do.