Traveling light

I started this post on Saturday afternoon, but my weekend was full, and I’m just now (Monday morning) getting around to finishing it.

On Saturday, Andrew and I went to Springfield to pick up Josiah, who is home for spring break.  Yes, he’s home!  Yes, he has a beard.  Yes, I’m very glad to see him.

Josiah tends to travel light, so he arrived – fully clothed and wearing a jacket, mind you – with a carry-on bag and his backpack.  The backpack contained his laptop, laptop charger, mouse, ping pong paddle, purple headphones, an external hard drive, “The New Deal” and Dante’s “Inferno” (two books he needs for papers he’ll be writing), and a belt, which he would normally have been wearing, but chose to pack, so as to simplify things at airport security.  The carry-on bag contained a small desktop computer, a five-subject notebook with all his notes for all his classes, his Bible, and his cell phone charger.

No clothes.  No toiletries.  I told you he travels light.  He said he knew he could just wear the clothes he had at home, so there was no need to bring any with him.  Now, I have learned that arguing with the men in my life is always a losing proposition, so although I would have brought at least minimal clothes and toiletries, I said nothing.  Aren’t you proud of me?!?

The next day would be Sunday, so I asked him Saturday night if he needed me to iron anything for him to wear to church.  Rejoice with me in this AWESOME response from my nineteen year-old son:  “No, I don’t need anything ironed, but if I did, I would iron it myself.  I’ve gotten quite good at ironing.”  That really made me do my Cheshire cat imitation.

I told Jo that the last train to church would be leaving at 10:00 AM.  (Andrew was already at church, Scott and I needed to be there at two different times, and with us just having the two cars right now, we couldn’t leave one here for Josiah to use.)  He said he was going to set his alarm for 9:00 AM, and all was well.

In what I have come to believe is typical PHC student fashion, at 9:50 AM there had been no signs of life from the Llama’s stall.  I needed to leave at 10:00, and Scott was eating breakfast, so I asked him what he thought I should do.  Scott said, “Go pull the covers off him and see what happens.”  Sounded awfully risky to me, but I did open his door and peek in.  The Llama had been in slumbering repose, but sat straight up when I opened the door.  “Oh my gosh, I don’t know why I’m so tired,” he stated, and I resisted the temptation to say that it might have something to do with the fact that he’s only been sleeping three or four hours a night for the past week or two.  I told him I’d be leaving at 10:00, and I went to get dressed.

While I was pulling on my dress pants, there came a knock (would that be a kuh-nock?) at our bedroom door.  “Mom, I seem to have made a mistake.  I thought I had a pair of jeans here, but I can’t find them anywhere.  Could I wear a pair of Dad’s or something?”  Half-dressed, I pawed through the appropriate drawer of Scott’s, but the only denim things I saw in there were shorts.  I called through the door for Josiah to please talk to Dad about borrowing Dad’s jeans.  Which he did, and a very few minutes later, Josiah appeared in the upstairs hall in jeans, an untucked dress shirt, and tennis shoes.  Couldn’t tell if he had socks on or not, but no matter.  (Note that a shower was deemed unnecessary, as he had showered at length the previous afternoon.)

Then I asked him the killer question:  Did you put on deodorant?  He looked at me with that quizzical, analytical gaze that we all know so well, raised one Eugene-esque finger, said nothing, and walked toward the bathroom.  And here I made my one mistake.  I called after him, “If you don’t have any deodorant, maybe you could use Dad’s.  It’s on the shelf in our bathroom.  And please brush your teeth!”

Now, I’m pretty sure that a guy who travels with no socks, no underwear, no clothes, and no toiletries probably didn’t have a toothbrush or toothpaste either, but I could be wrong.  There’s no telling what supplies could be lurking in the boys’ bathroom.  I trotted downstairs and briefly related to Scott my interaction with Josiah.  He said, “What right did you have to suggest that he use MY deodorant?  You should have offered to let him use YOURS!”  I told Scott that I figured it wouldn’t be good for Josiah to smell like sweet peas and violets. . . and off I went to church.

Scott and Josiah showed up a few minutes later, and there were no offensive odors emanating from either of them.

I have made myself a mental note to make sure that Jo doesn’t wear Scott’s jeans back to PHC.


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