the eye of the storm (m)

Sam is home from college.  He came home Sunday evening, heralding his arrival down our long driveway with a  "beep....beepbeep....beeeeeeep" of the horn of his car.  I was on my cell phone with my usual Sunday night phone call to Veronica.  "Gotta go.  Sam's home," I said. 

We embraced each other and he said, "Whoa...I can actually get my arms all the way around you.  You got skinny." Now, we know I am not even halfway to skinny but I was grateful for the compliment.

I looked into the car and saw a mountain of stuff.  My stress level started to go up, but I just turned and walked into the house.  We'll deal with that tomorrow, I thought.

Monday comes and I have meetings to go to.  Sam picks up my mother to come over and help with the laundry.  The car is full to the brim.  Where are you going to put your grandmother in the car?  "Nana can ride shotgun," he says.  The image of her riding alongside him in the front seat of the Yukon was amusing.

Five hours later, I arrive home.  Big trouble.  The dryer is leaking gas ....again.  I have to go to the laundromat and dry 6 batches of clothes.  Ever carry garbage bags full of wet clothes?  Heavy beyond belief.

I get home and there is a house full of Sam's friends.  They are big, hungry and noisy.  My cabinets are emptying out.  I'm starting to feel out of control in my own house.  This makes me want to eat. 

What makes you eat?  For me, it's a feeling of loss of control.  I guess it stems from when I was a kid and there was disruption in my household.  I won't get into that here, but eating was my coping mechanism.  I felt the familiar urges and tried to stop them.

Tuesday.  More kids over.  They are good kids and I love them.  Mostly, they stay in the room above the garage which has a large screen tv and lots of sofas.  You can't even hear them when they are there.  When feeding time comes, they storm the kitchen, foraging for food.  Their size 14 shoes (one is 6'6" and 325 pounds; another is 6' 6" and thin) litter my back hall.  They order pizzas.  I go to my room and do my physical therapy and pretend it's not in the house.  I know I can rely on there being no leftovers.  I just have to wait it out.

The laundry is piling up.  Because Sam mixed clean clothes with dirty clothes, we decide to wash everything.   I think it was while I was sitting in Bubbles Laundromat in Waltham with the immigrants that I had a moment of introspection.  If I can just keep myself calm I will resist the urge to eat.

I arrive home with clean, folded laundry.  There are dishes in the sink and shoes everywhere.  I walk past the mess and go to my room and draw a bath.