be it ever so humble

If I were to click my heels like Dorothy and repeat "there's no place like home" I'm not sure if I would end up where I live now, or where I go to visit my family. There's no place like either of those places, and I don't really feel like I belong in one more than the other. I had a good trip to Boston in June and I'm about to go again because I really miss being there, but it's also kind of relaxing to be in my own space, with Alex, far away from everyone.

Last time I went to Boston I only had six days to reacquaint myself with the people (and places) who had a hand in molding me into this adult I'm supposed to be. In those six days I had the chance to see my old digs, hang with my family and spend some quality time with my bestest friend.

My Mom's house was the first stop, I did a lot of visiting with aunts, uncles, cousins and I even got a little face time with the grand matriarch, Nana. But the best visits included those with my sister and nephew. Oh, how I miss them.


Look at that face! How can I live across the country from that guy?

The time with Mom, however, proved to be a little more stressful than I had imagined. It's not that she intentionally says or does things to rub me the wrong way, but she's my Mom. And you know how moms can be. The most exasperating part was getting from point A to point B. My Mom didn't learn how to drive until she was in her mid fifties and she is a bit of a nervous driver. (Now here's the part where you picture a 4'10" woman with BluBlockers in a very large Grand Marquis.) Her driving is a little on the slow side for my taste, but I give her some credit, because when you're nervous it's probably best to take your time. Although I do think that coming to a complete stop before turning may be a little excessive. She did take a particularly quick corner one day, but she gave me plenty of warning by informing me that we were about to "book it", so I was good and ready when we hit that speedy 7 miles an hour.

Mom is too nervous to risk leaving the surface streets though, which leaves the highway driving up to me... and Mom with the fake brake on the passenger's side. It takes a little getting used to a Grand Marquis, so I admit I wasn't the smoothest driver when it came to the stop signs and traffic lights, but cut me some slack, that's a lot of car to stop! Mom eventually eased up on the fake brake, but every turn or lane change I took was accompanied by a deep breath being gasped in through clenched teeth as if I was jabbing her with a burning hot poker. These wincing inhales were paired up with a firm grasp on the "oh shit" handle over the window of the passenger's side. Sometimes I was lucky enough to only get the door handle grab, a little more subtle. One time I actually got a double handle grab, that's the left hand reaching over to the door handle and the right hand reaching up to handle over the window. *please note: this type of grab should only be attempted by a professional pessimist* Often when switching lanes I was told that I was "a gutsy little devil" and asked if I was "aware of the merge." But there was one shining moment when she did compliment both me and my sister on our driving (while I was not driving). I know I shouldn't take the whole thing too personally, but I don't remember her freaking out in the car with my Dad. Is it me? Is it?

I'm going back to Boston at the end of next week to help Lisa out with some more wedding stuff, but I don't think I'll have time to see Mom again. Maybe I'll practice a little bit of the slow driving while I'm out there so I'll be ready for my trip in October... when I get to drive Mom to New Hampshire. A whole hour of fake brake, I can't wait. There's no place like home, there's no place like home.