Come Ride the Little Train That is Rolling Down the Tracks…

Come ride the little train that is rolling down the tracks to the junction. Forget about your cares, it is time to relax at the junction. Lotsa curves, you bet. Even more when you get To the junction – Petticoat Junction! ((whooo whooo!)) ~From the old tv series about a woman and her beautiful daughters.

It was 3:30am on a crisp December morning.  The train should have been pulling into the station, but of course it was late.  Thankfully only by 30 minutes. This was the first time ever in my 46 years that I met someone at the train depot.  It was a bit exciting.  Shane and I walked across and over the tracks until we reached the parked train.  We began looking eagerly around for the girl in the bright red coat.  He looked one way, I looked the other.  The cool air was filled by misty clouds of our warm breath.  The conductor extended his arm to help passengers disembark onto the little step stool below.  With a smile they thanked him as they stepped away from the warmth of the train into the cool dark night.  The only light was from the station lamps high above, spotlighting the area ever so slightly.  And then we heard a familiar voice piercing the silence of the night air…

“Uh? Guys?  Could use a little help here!!!” as she struggled with her over sized bag.

Yep.  One’s home from college for winter break.  The other one drove home for break but not before a phone call home to say her car was not starting.  All in all it worked out and everyone was home for the next month.  All under one small roof again.  I knew I had roughly 72 hours until the bickering would commence… so I soaked in the stories and laughter… and their sweet smiling faces basked in the glow of lights from the Christmas tree.  When that hammer comes down, I will need to recall the positive — those initial hours.

Well, as it turns out, I only had 23.  Hours that is.  Now that the girls are away at school they have developed potty amnesia and have clearly forgotten what it’s like to share a bathroom with one toilet and one mirror.  The clash of the little titans.  One gets mad because she’s doing her hair and the other one has to pee.  Of course we all know bathrooms are for doing one more so than the other… but that is lost on young girls who have tasted independence.  So the air that was – just 23 hours ago – filled with laughter and reminiscing is now clouded with snappy remarks and piercing glances.  Eyes are rolling all over the place — down the hallway, across the kitchen floor, over the river and through the woods.  The very room that had become my sanctuary is now the bane of my existence.  The tension can be cut with a knife.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over these last 21 years is that no one will get a long all the time.  And you know what?  That’s okay.  Sure… I will get frustrated and ask them if it’s too much to ask for them to grow up and get along, and then not long afterward they will be laughing and playing a game as if nothing happened, or telling stories of college life that are not meant for mom’s ears.   It’s a scenario that will repeat itself 3,757 times in the next 30 days.  And then just when I am somewhere between almost adjusted and at the point of gouging my eyes out with a fork… we will kiss them goodbye as they head back to their dorms until summertime… each of them once again leaving an empty seat at the dinner table.

Although I do catch a glimpse of it now and then… eventually, they will come back to us having learned how much they really mean to each other.  Eventually.  The way I figure it is… it’s taken me over 40 years to not sweat the small stuff… so at their age… that’s a heck of a lot of train rides and broken down vehicles.