Being A Woman

Having been sick these past three days I fell behind in preparations for this weekend. Perhaps it was by staying up late last night that I brought on my regression even though I had followed my doctor's orders, i.e. M.'s recommendations, and swallowed the medicine he brought the other night.

Anyway, it was dark out, the breakfast bread was baking in the oven, the bacon was cooling, non-perishable food, clothes, and weather protection were tightly packed in my car, and I was cleaning my rifles. If you could have seen me--I was thinking of you--you would have laughed at your Caiti being in her element: cooking for her man and cleaning her guns. I was completely satisfied with my contributions to the trip, feeling very feminine of all things, even though I knew there was plenty I haven't thought of. As our trip reveals my thoughtlessness, I know he will still appreciate me, and we will laugh.

It reminded me of my mom. I used to think she did so much that was unnecessary for our road trips. Surely she could have made things simpler and enjoyed an hour or two more of sleep before we left at the crack of dawn. At times, my dad would voice my own concerns at her investment into our trips, but she was wiser and determined. We always ate well, saved a few dollars, and at least forty minutes when we dove into her sandwhiches and devoured our apples in the cab of the truck. We didn't always thank her for it, and must have made her feel bad when we said she didn't have to, but she knew she had taken the best possible care of us.

I could not always distinguish her motivations from responses to my dad's overpowering will, so I had graduated from college by the time I understood this insistence of hers to stay up late and get up early the day we would depart on a trip was purely her idea. This was part of her being a woman, a wife, and a mother. I get that now.