Spent so much time on this one thing, and felt so proud of it. Smiled every time I looked at it knowing she'd like it so much. Continually touching up little things, then wrapped it so carefully in Trader Joe's brown paper. Packed clothes around it in my suitcase.
Puked on the plane. Got to see my mom and my bestie from HS. Took her shopping for her wedding night. Whispered and laughed like women with secrets.
We had a nice time at the wedding. Stayed in my parent's hotel, enjoyed breakfast with them. Then, road trip together across the state. Then together with 8 little blondies, some with brown eyes, some with blue and some with hazel. Ate pizza, played games, wrapped up everybody's gifts, and then...it wasn't there. Panic. Look everywhere, even the hopeless places. Finally hunch defeated. A phone call. No paintings at the hotel. Felt four years old and someone just popped my balloon. Felt like my ice cream just fell off the cone. Felt like someone just ate my new chapstick.
Prayed, "God, you know where my painting is. Will you please let my mom get it?"
Made another phone call, really more of a pathetic plea through tear hiccups. Transferred out of pity to the head housekeeper. Trader Joe's wrapping crinkling in the background. "Is it a painting of two little kids on the beach?"
Are you kidding me? No, actually, there was another painting wrapped in a Trader Joe's paper bag from room 320.
Breath of relief and thank you, and "What's your mom's address?" And blowing my nose. And only in Dakota.