I watched two movies yesterday. The first was in the morning, at home, on my DVD player, with my husband, while the kids played in another room. I hadn’t seen Apocalypto in the theater, but Chris had and he really wanted me to see it. I know why now. It was amazing. I know that Mel Gibson has gotten a lot of criticism for making such incredibly violent movies, and believe me, this was definitely the most violence I’ve ever seen in a movie, but I still think it will go on my mental list of favorite movies ever. Besides, graphic violence is an easily solved problem for me: I just close my eyes. It’s instinctive. I can’t help it. I don’t think I could even will myself to watch if I tried. Something awful starts to happen and my eyes just automatically close without my brain even telling them to. And the couple times that I accidentally watched something terrible that I didn’t want to see, I would yell at Chris and he would apologize, as though it was his fault. He’s a good man. And it was a really good movie. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard at the ending of a movie. I was sobbing-crying. That’s how I know it was a good movie. It will stick with me.
Then last night, we got to go out on a date. Just Chris and me, while my parents watched the kids. We had dinner at a nice restaurant, outside on the patio, in a swanky part of town, and then went to a completely sold-out showing of Ocean’s Thirteen. It was enjoyable – I giggled the whole way through it. But the conversations going on all around us as we walked out of the theater were really amazing to me: “That was better than the second, but not as good as the first…” “Nothing could ever be as good as that first one…” “Well, at least it was better than the second…”
What I really want to know is do people REALLY remember the first and second Ocean’s movies? I saw them all too. I liked them all. Giggling equals like to me and I remember giggling through Ocean’s Eleven, Twelve, AND Thirteen. I couldn’t tell you a thing about the plot or what made any one better than any other though. Even the one I just saw last night. Basically some really likeable (and good-looking) crooks pulled off another deal thingy. Is my memory really that much worse than everybody else’s? Maybe it is. If so, maybe it’s a blessing. It helps me never to compare. I just am where I am, trying to enjoy whatever I’m doing, for whatever it’s worth. Sometimes I don’t succeed but mostly I do, I think.
I like that I can go out on a date with this guy that I love and still think. Neither of us are really big talkers. Yesterday, I just needed some time to process. Sometimes it’s hard to process in a crowded, swanky place. My senses go on overload and my mental gears can’t keep up. I notice the people and the way they dress and I hear all their conversations and I see little tiny girls who can’t be any older than my Callie and they’re dressed better than me, carrying purses better than mine, with their little skinny legs and twelve-year-old actions making it all seem a little freaky. And I feel scared for my kids. And we sit at a table where we hear every word of the five forty-something women next to us, with their perfect hair and perfect bodies, while they talk about diets and exercise and aging parents and teenage kids… and it gets really hard for me to tune it all out. And I feel scared for my future. But somewhere in there, we got our own conversation in about things that were making us sad and what we thought of life as we know it and where we hope to end up one day and a miracle happened when the processing turned to talking: the world around us faded away. It was nice.
And as we left the mall, walking into the crowded parking lot, with the lights and the noise and the valet parkers running everywhere and horns honking and the teenagers drawing attention to themselves, my husband took my hand and we made our way to our car. I was so grateful for that hand. I felt like I was holding on to that hand for dear life. And as I was lost in my thoughts about the day, the thought occurred to me that Chris was probably lost in thoughts of his own. And I wondered what they were. But I didn’t ask. I know he’ll tell me when they’re ready to be spoken out loud.
And when we got to my mom and dad’s to pick up the girls, I looked through the window by the front door and saw Callie and Sadie playing a game of Monopoly and Grace, making some Father’s Day cards. Regular kids in regular clothes, doing regular kid things at the home of their grandparents, who love them. And I wasn’t scared anymore. I was home.
It was a good day.