You should know that chaperoning kindergarten children on a field trip to Seattle is actually not that big of deal when you are only responsible for your own six-year old and two other six-year olds. Especially if you can play with your iPhone the whole bumpy bus ride there. The play was so cute–I got in trouble for taking a photograph of the set which looked exactly like the book Good-night, Moon
I was told to delete it from my iPhone and I considered only pretending to delete it but then the Rule Follower in me obeyed.
But by Friday night, my head felt full of cast iron. I thought perhaps I would finally succumb to the Swine Flu, but no, it was not meant to be. I am still alive and kicking.
My husband’s forty-eighth birthday is tomorrow. I can’t speak for him, but I’m feeling older and older by the second. Tonight we were at a Community Group meeting and nearly everyone was young enough to be my child. (If I hadn’t been infertile and become a mother at such advanced maternal age, that is.) That’s just weird. Almost as weird as the time my dentist in Michigan mentioned “Oh, you’re one day older than me,” which made me wonder what in the world I’d been doing with my life while this man had been making something of himself. (Answer: Nothing much, unless you count thousands of meals and loads of laundry “something.”)
What I could use right now is a chiropractor. My neck is killing me. (I don’t have a chiropractor.)
This is the last week of school, a fact that makes me either want to celebrate or cry. But mostly cry. Not that I don’t want to spend twenty-four hours a day with my kids for 10 straight weeks . . . but I don’t want to spend twenty-four hours a day with my kids while they bicker for the next 10 weeks. And they will bicker. It’s apparently a rule.