I might be moving.
I'm not ashamed to admit I cried real tears over the phone. I told her I wouldn't allow it. I told her she would be dead to me. I told her husband was on my shit list.
Then, it turned into a definite thing. Vitamin P got a job in Milwaukee, two hours away, and despite my many pleas, J-Dub insisted that she needed to be with him. But, she assured me, it would take time to sell the house and to find a new one, and it wouldn't be until the end of the school year at least.
We (J-Dub, Crunchy Granola, and I) went to Puerto Vallarta in January. While we were there, her house went on the market. A week later, it sold. I got another text message. It said:
Sooo signed a purchase agreement and close on our house March 14.
And suddenly, the end of the school year became March 21, the day after my birthday.
Ever since I knew she was moving, I have given her a lot of grief about it. I've told her she was abandoning me. I have said it was nice knowing her. I have said we were holding auditions for New J-Dub for when she left. All of this, of course, is a defense mechanism. Oh, it's totally how I feel, don't get me wrong, but also, I'm going to miss the crap out of her.
It's hard to make friends as an adult. You don't have classes together; there are no after-school activities to bond over, and unless you are frequenting the local bar scene (which, as a mom, gets a little sketchy and questionable), you just don't know who is fun enough to include in your life. J-Dub and I met the way Lucy and Ethel met, when she backed her car into mine in a church parking lot. Hoover was 2, Mini-Me was 7 months old. It was at a MOPS playgroup, and it was the only one either of us ever attended.
Fate, folks, in the form of questionable parking jobs and sub-par mirror-checking.
That was over 6 years ago. We discovered we had a lot in common, such as the ages of our children, and our awful, horrible senses of humor. We discovered we had a lot more uncommon between us, like our culinary aptitude and desire to shuttle kids to activities. She introduced me to Crunchy Granola, who is somehow the middle child peacemaker between the three of us, and now J-Dub is dropping the mike and leaving us forever.
|On vacation, after zip-lining through the Mexican jungle.|
I shared all of this with Jen Lancaster (yes, that Jen Lancaster, when we chatted her ear off in the Admiral's Club before our Mexican adventure), and she said, "Come on, it's only 2 hours. So you meet in the middle and go shopping."
She's right, to a point. I realize I'm being a tad dramatic about this, but also, I'm never shopping with J-Dub again for as long as I live. It's also a sentiment shared by her daughter OJ. (OJ and I have an unspoken agreement that when it comes time for her to get married, we're sending J-Dub out for a beer and I will take OJ wedding dress shopping.)
I hear they're new house is awesome and wonderful and grand, and there's even a Mean Jessica room for when I visit. There also happens to be FIVE ovens in the home because it was once owned by a family with a chain of bakeries. In their current house (the one they are leaving in mere hours), the oven still has the plastic wrap on the window and user manuals inside. What she will do with five ovens not to use, I just don't know. Though I have a theory some will be used to house out-of-season fleece.
Crunchy Granola and I are hosting her going away party tonight, and I was in charge of the treats. One phone call to Jamie (former guest blogger and one of my favorite fellow English majors) and the best idea ever for a J-Dub themed party was on it's way to me. They arrived yesterday.
|Email me if you'd like contact information for Jamie. She rocks!|
This afternoon, I bought two blank Wally World cakes and put my heartfelt sentiments into icing.
I stopped by J-Dub's empty house today, and this is all that's left:
|That's coffee, X-rated alcohol, and generic 5-hour energy|
It just explains so much.
Love you, J-Dub.
For more J-Dub related posts, go here and here and here and here.