Not Nineteen Anymore

What started out as a casual trip to Chicago to retrieve Tony turned into another Restaino road trip nightmare. Why in the world do we always run in to traffic jams and road construction? What would have taken eleven hours to arrive in Chicago turned into fourteen hours. What should have been eleven hours back turned into fifteen hours. We drove all day and through the night arrived home at 6 am, caught a few hours of sleep and then went on to the task of altering Tony and David's suits for a wedding. Then as I picked up my dress from the tailor the car died. So now I am finding a way home for my boys who have been up for at least two days, searching for a tow truck all the while trying to keep calm with the whirlwind of my sister being here. Stress was defined in my face, my shoulders were pointing to the sky and, yes, I experienced the enviable bloating of my stomach. No, I am not nineteen anymore, I am fifty-six and I don't recover from the road trips as easily or the stress of surprises of a car that dies. But with all of that I will never give up the chance to listen to my boys chatter on about their lives as they were trapped in car for fourteen hours. Fiftysix will be just that, but nineteen will always be the future.