it's like a stamp of aproval

Rage, bless her heart, has a broken door.  It won't latch shut, so I tie it shut with a surf-strap or a scarf.

My resident car-guy is missing so yesterday I went up to The Point to have Spencer help me fix it.  Why?  Because a few weeks ago, he offered.  That and it's just going to be fun.
We took apart the door.  It took like 3 hours.  I got there around mid-afternoon and I didn't expect it to take that long.  ha. Well.  I was wrong.

I have tools, Spencer has tools, we called my dad and slowly took the thing apart.  Here is the thing:  everything is connected to the door latch.  It makes sense, but there are just so many connections.  Spencer's hands are bigger than mine and the space is small.  My hands are smaller but I'm not quite as strong.  Still, it was fun.  Spencer's dad came home and he helped us look at it to get the latch out.  Eventually we did.  I'm proud to say that it was my right hand that undid the last connection.  Hehehe.

BUT- before we were able to get it out, there were a few people who came up to the house for choir practice.  Spencer's mom is ward choir director.  So at one point, Mom calls out the door telling Spencer to come inside and sing, and that I was invited as well.   I walk into the front room.
Shall we go around the room a little bit?  9 people.
Spencer.
Spencer's little brother.
A younger lady who shared her music with me.
A Hawaiian Auntie.
Spencer's sister.
The pianist, a fun older lady
Spencer's mom.
And then 2 of my professors:  Spencer's dad, and the Salsa band director.

And we sang.  I sang alto because the altos weren't there.  I was sight-reading and it was fun.  I joked with Dr D about sight-reading in Spanish.
We ran through it twice and then adjourned.  It was raining pellmell so Auntie, young woman, Spencer and I waited under the carport for it to let up a bit.
Laie is a small town.  And that's fine, really.  It was just one of those moments.  Well, the whole Laie # Ward will know.  And then Dr D left. Oh, and if the entire music department didn't already know, they will now. And you know what, I don't think I have a problem with that.  

We got the part out and took it inside, because of the rain, so that we could dismantle it and potentially repair it.  This is something I really like doing.  Spencer and his dad also really like doing this.  And it was a little bit like home doing this on the kitchen counter (after we'd covered it with magazines).  And the resident men are much better at taking things apart than I am, but I follow the conversation really well.
Our tools had gotten wet.  We'd gotten them inside and were in the process of drying them all off so that they wouldn't rust.  It's Hawaii: things rust.  I'm using a rag to dry tools in the home kitchen of the man I'm dating.  I'm just there.  His siblings playing on the computer or the game console, his parents bustling around.  Aware that I was in the kitchen, almost with an air of well, that's where she is supposed to be.
But it's also the home kitchen of my professor.  I hope you caught that.  This is my professor, not even a professor that I know really well.  I'm not even facebook friends with this one like I am with my music professors.  He is a Psych professor, and I'm not a psych major.  It's my minor.   I'm in car-grime, in my professor's house, as he is getting ready-ish to leave with his wife.

Standing. Grime.  Kitchen.  Talking with little brother about smashing the part after we get a working one because it's somewhat beyond repair.

And I get the question: what are you doing tonight?   Not from Spencer.  From his dad.  And then an invitation "You guys can stay here.  That would be nice. <nodding> You can make cookies."  

And I'm standing there.  Grime.  Slightly wet from the rain.  Dirt on my nose.  My tools and his on the table.  My hands busy.  I should probably go study for your mid-term.  Stubborn guck under my fingernails.  A wave of thought drowning me just a little bit.  The invitation, the idea, and the demeanor.

I'm comfortable with you

 being in my house, 

with my son, 

around my children,

while I am gone.  

And you're welcome to make cookies because your cookies are delicious.

There is a lot of weight in that.  Coming from a man whose education and practice makes him seem closer to omniscient than anyone I know, the father of an incredibly perceptive man, whose family means the world to him.  I don't know what I did.  I was there and it was like he expected me to be.  I wasn't looking to be invited into the home, quite frankly I was going to keep a distance from it for a little bit because I've been dating the son for, oh, maybe 3 weeks. 

And they leave.  And I do the dishes, because that's what I do when I don't really know what else to do with myself.  Mom and Dad came back and dropped off pizza to feed the family with, but once that was cooked we left.  I think it would have been fine if we'd stayed, but it was good to go.

If it was my family, my house, my court...I've never brought anyone home.  I've never had anyone TO bring home, even so.  I will bring someone home if I'm keeping them around for a looooong time.   Why?  Because my family would most likely make a huge fuss. <think about it, you know I'm right>

Spencer has been home for a month.  And here I am.  Around.  And for the most part, everyone that matters is okay with this.  It sort of fun reveling in that because it is nothing like I expected.  I'll stay a while.