Hello, I know you are just sitting around reading a classic, while homemade deliciousness rises in the oven, getting a pedicure from an 8 year old, and hand stitching a doily for each daughter and future daughter in law and granddaughter, while soft strains of Mozart travel through the room...but, could you please update your blog. I need a distraction from Stats. ♥ Mollie
This is what my sister just posted on my Facebook wall. Let me reassure you of reality.
Sunday night at 6 PM, I piled my five children and our dog in the car and took off to take Isaac back to his ballet teachers. We had a brief sleep (only 4 hours for me--yes, I suppose that diesel truck needed to warm up outside my window for 30 minutes) at a cheap Priceline'd hotel and got back on the road so we could make an appointment. We stopped at a rest stop to get everyone dressed and I discovered that I had packed the 3 year old's jeans for the 6 year old child. Luckily, their waist is the same size so I rolled the jeans up a notch and the "capri's" looked like they were supposed to be that way.
We dropped off the boy, got some greasy $1 burgers, visited a bit and were back on the road for our return trip. My youngest unbuckled her seat belt about fifty-two times. Each time I had to pull off the freeway and
slice off one of her fingers with a rusty knife re-buckle her. At a park, this same child decided not to tell me she needed to use the bathroom, she just peeled off her pants and went in the grass--hind quarters facing the busy street behind her. Once I saw the infraction, I ran to stop her. When I reached her, it was made known to me that she didn't just go "number 1." Yes. In the grass, next to a busy street. Good thing I had those plastic bags to clean up after my DOG.
About 300 miles from home, I became aware of the fact that I had I had been poisoned. (Being poisoned is much more romantic than contracting the flu.) I began shaking from chills, my entire body was aching and I suddenly needed a rest stop. I think I used every rest stop for the rest of our drive. I would have tried for another crappy hotel room, but in one of those rest stops, the weather station was warning of a bad snow storm threatening the mountain pass. I decided to just make it over the pass and then I could die on the side of the road. The pass was iffy, but I made it over fine (unlike the row of slipping and sliding 18 wheeler's).
On the other side of the pass, the roads dried up and I knew I only had a little over an hour to get home. The chant of The Little Engine that Could began coursing through my mind--and it continued until I pulled into my driveway.
I did only what had to be done last night--get the kids and the dog out of the car--then curled into the fetal position in my bed.
Three seed catalogs came in the mail while I was gone. Two of them were repeats, but I've been in bed all morning staring at the pictures anyway. Nothing is in the oven, but one daughter is eating baby corn out of the can. The girls are entertaining themselves. I don't know what they are playing, but I just heard one of them say, "It's my turn to get smashed!" My dog is chewing on--and singing to--his squeaky toy.
If one only had energy to do one thing in a day, it ought to be to obey her sister, right? So now that's done. I think I'll open a can of baby corn and go crawl back in my bed with old magazines. Maybe it isn't the perfect moment outlined by my sister, but, still, perfect.