Read My Nest Isn't Empty, It Just Has More Closet Space: The Amazing Adventures of an Ordinary Woman for Free Online Page B

once, but I thought it was a dress.
    “With the pants? It’s way too long.”
    “But I have to cover my butt!” According to my mother, a burka would be flattering as long as it was black.
    And then, I don’t know why I said it, because it’s creepy and dorky at the same time, but I said, “Mom, you have to show the wares!”
    I actually said wares. I know, it was weird.
    A few days later, she called me again. “Wanna hear something funny?” She went on to tell me about how her date selected a restaurant that just so happens to be where her ex-husband (not my dad) proposed to her. We laughed at the irony.
    “But you didn’t mention that to him, right?”
    Silence.
    “You did ?”
    “It’s a funny story!”
    I bet he thought it was a laugh riot.
    Soon, a neutral location was agreed upon, wardrobe decisions were finalized, and the big day was upon us. Well, upon her.

    One supportive daughter.
    But I was nervous for her! All day, I worried—what if she resorts to the bathrobe sweater at the last minute? What if she gets something in her teeth and doesn’t notice? What if this guy doesn’t see how totally adorable she is? What if he hurts her feelings?
    Saturday night, I went to a movie with a friend, but the whole night I was checking my phone to see if my mother had called or texted. When she finally called at midnight, I picked up the phone on the first ring.
    “How was it?”
    “Aw, it didn’t go so well.”
    My heart sank. I was already hatching revenge plots against the cad when she continued, “He was nice, but I’m not sure I’m interested.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. Not everyone is lucky enough to hang out with my fashionable, smooth, totally cool mom.
    Just me.

Prince Charles
    I’ve decided that refrigerator doors are bulletin boards for moms.
    Not like the bulletin boards you remember from school, covered with construction paper cut-outs of hearts on Valentine’s Day. Or the bulletin boards at the supermarket, showing phone numbers for hungry painters. I’m talking about that bulletin board you had in middle school. The one that hung in your bedroom. The one that conveyed no information, but was all about things that mattered to you.
    Your very identity, under thumbtacks.
    I had one, as you can tell.
    I still remember it, and it had school photos of my friends, with identical smiles and fake-sky backgrounds. It had my choir pin and a felt letter from the JV tennis team. It had, embarrassingly, a picture of Prince Charles from the cover of Time magazine. I always thought he’d make a good husband.
    He could have been Thing Three.
    Or King Thing Three.
    Well, the other day, I went to the refrigerator to get some milk, and something fell off the door. I bent over and picked it up, which was when I realized that it was Daughter Francesca’s report card.
    From seventh grade.
    As you may recall, she’s 24 years old.
    It made me take a look at my refrigerator door, and I’m betting it’s not all that different from yours. Its double doors are completely covered by layers of stuff, with the oldest on the bottom, like the sentimental strata of the earth.
    The top layer is all of Francesca’s report cards, and they date from middle school to her college graduation. I can’t explain why I posted her report cards on the refrigerator when she no longer lived here, but I was so proud of her, even in absentia. Another clue is provided by the other stuff in the top layer, namely, a photo of a mother polar bear and her cub, a photo of a mother horse and her colt, and a photo of a mother elephant and her—
    You know where this is going.
    The only other stuff in the top layer is birth announcements with baby pictures and Christmas cards with baby pictures. Half of these kids are driving now, but I can’t bring myself to take down their pictures.
    How can you throw a baby in the trash?
    I found most of the top layer in magazines and newspapers, and when I see something dorky but adorable, I clip