(I was just trying to watch a little television before going to sleep.)
On Saturday, I’m flying on a jet plane to Washington State with my daughter and her friend. We’re staying with friends in two different towns, determined to vacation our hearts out. My daughter in particular loves Bellingham and Lake Whatcom, so we’ll be hanging out at the lake a lot. When we aren’t doing that, we’ll be doing the tourist thing in Seattle and shopping at Value Village as much as possible. (That thrift store does not exist in our area and I miss it so much, as silly as that sounds.)
I’m working on getting all the laundry done and noting on a list things I need to buy before I go so the household continues to run without my daily attention. So far, I have written down dog food and laundry detergent. I’ve already cleaned out the fridge and tidied up my desk.
Of course, the most important thing is that I get out my Christmas cards before July ends. Wish me Christmas luck and send an elf to help.
School starts up again in about three weeks and my youngest child will be starting high school. You know that feeling when you’re in a roller-coaster and it’s clicking ever so slowly to the peak and you can feel the grinding of the wheels and you wonder if maybe it’ll roll backwards but then you crest the top before you speed down and scream?
I’m at the clicking slowly part of mothering another high school kid. I know that in a second we’ll be flying down the other side, whirling and screeching and getting our necks yanked sideways and maybe bumping our heads but then it will be over and we’ll breathe and maybe want to do it again.
But I am really getting too old to ride the roller coasters more than once. You may or may not relate.
Let’s just say that having a baby at age 38 is a lot more fun than having a 14-year old at age 52. Ha.