A Little PTSD

First off, sleeping outside is the best. But Dan pulled the blankets in this morning 

and put the couch back together.

I think he was worried I might want to sleep outside forever.

For Labor Day, we took Kershaw on a walk at Tanner dog park and then picked up 

Nick and went to lunch/brunch at Blue Plate Diner. 

Which wasn't as good as I remembered. Maybe you have to order pancakes.

Still it was fun to go do something all together. 

(And by all together I mean just the three of us because that's all we have together anymore!)

Nick hung out with friends the rest of the day and Dan and I went to Provo to buy groceries for Marty, see his apartment, and also load up on apartment goods at Bed, Bath and Beyond.

In between, Dan and I went to dinner at CPK while Marty had his League match.

And this is where my emotions began to run high.

Perhaps it was the emotion of sending another kid off. 

Perhaps it was the walk down memory lane from driving around Provo.

But I mostly attribute it to PTSD.

Our waitress was a young college student (we assumed).

She was friendly but a little forgetful. I heard her forget a thing or two from the table next to us. 

And she kept forgetting to fill Dan's water after he asked.

I started reminiscing on my time as a waitress at JB's.

Whirlwind nights managing five or six tables at a time, forgetting items, carrying the large tray of meals and never daring to hold it above my shoulder, the fear of dropping something. 

Getting home at 1:30 a.m. But up early the next morning for classes and afternoons working at the Bookstore candy counter. Then back to night shifts at JB's.

These were not happy times.

I remember once during Education Week (lines out the door of people waiting to buy fudge)

I waited on a couple who looked at me strangely and asked, 

"You look really familiar. Do we know you?" 

"I was your waitress last night at JB's."

So at CPK, our kind, yet increasingly frazzled waitress, was reminding me of those dark times. Dan and I looked around at all her tables and realized her night was probably going to be horrible. 

As Dan filled out the check, I said, "Give her a big tip. Like, really big."

"How much? $20?"

"More."

"$30?"

"Give her $100. I'm serious. I've totally got PTSD and I think I'm about to cry."

"I'll give her $50." 

Then we walked out and I held Dan's hand, glad those days were far, far behind me 

and also relieved to have him by my side no matter what. 

Raintree has since received a facelift, but this was my apartment the summer I met Dan.

 Also, Marty and a few friends went boating with Morgan and a few friends.

Cousins playing together! Dream come true!

Roomies on the boat -- Marty and Aldo (this is not Morgan).