Moving

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Spring Break 2026

I went to pick my daughter up from school on Friday. (Let me just tell you, she is an angel at school and for sitters. The minute I walk-in the door, she proceeds to have a newkyoulahr meltdown. Her teachers all look at me like Oh, dear and I feel like a complete heel. Of course, I would rather have her on her very best behavior at school and save the Linda Blair antics for the home. Right? I mean, that is better, yes?) When I came around the corner, Mr. Daniel came over to me with a look of absolute astonishment on his face:

Um...we had to put her down for her nap a half-hour early. She um...didn't eat her lunch. She was...um...crying...a lot. She...was a mess. I've...never seen her like this. It was...bad.

I could tell he got a taste of Hellcat (as I lovingly refer to her). And he was beside himself. Poor guy. (I feel sooooo sorry for him. *insert eye roll*)

She seemed fine until 8.30 p.m. when she developed a fever. Of course, then there was a party because she got to take "the purple medicine" which she asks for even when she feels fine, because it "tastes good." Fever showed up again on Saturday around 2.30 p.m. Felt fine until Sunday at 4.15 p.m. when she quit eating her chips and salsa (she MUST be sick) because she couldn't swallow. Great.

I called The Little Clinic at the Kroger which is about 15 minutes away. They would stop taking patients at 4.30 p.m. or 4.45 p.m. I haul ass to get there and arrive at 4.52 p.m. They still took her, thank goodness. She had an ear infection and maybe strep throat, but the ten days of amoxicillin would knock them both out. The Kroger pharmacy was closed, so he had to call her prescription in to Walgreen's which closed at 6 p.m. Driving way too fast, but still just over the speed limit, I made it to the drive-thru just in the nick of time, dear sweet child sleeping the whole way.

She is on the mend. And since we are on the subject of medicine and the taste of it, ALL medicines should taste like amoxicillin. It was white this time, instead of the pink we're used to getting. Daughter claims it tastes like vanilla, but that could be because of the color. Either way, it has taught me one thing: she will be able to bong a beer on the beach in college faster than any frat boy from here to Albuquerque.

Within an Inch of My Life

Last week, I forgot to roll up the back window on my Jeep. My daughter was sleeping and I got her out of her car seat and carried her in the house. (She never stays asleep. She immediately wakes up and I immediately cry.) Of course, it ended up storming all night long. The next morning I found the seat next to my daughter's car seat soaking wet. My car already has some weird leaky water issues. I was just imagining the huge mold rave that was raging all day and night in my car.

Today, my daughter and I ran into Target near her school for approximately 15 minutes. By the time we came outside, it was lightly raining but picking up speed. Well, that must have been the second go of it. This time, both of my front windows were down. My driver's seat was drenched. I tossed my daughter into the car in the back seat and ran around to the trunk to look for a towel or something. It was locked. As rain was pouring down my back and soaking my dress, I jumped in the back just as my sweet child said, "We are having a bad day, [are] we?"

Today was the one time I was grateful that my trunk area is full of all kinds of ridiculous crap. I reached over and grabbed a blanket that I use on picnics. The blanket is waterproof on one side and plaid something (Wool? Human hair?) on the other side. I jumped back out of the car just in time for what felt like bucket of water to overturn on my head. I covered my seat with the blanket, jumped in, messed up said blanket reaching over to roll-up the passenger window, situated blanket, sat back down and wanted to take a nap. Let me just tell you how absofreakinglutely hot I was. I think I heard someone say it was 105 (with the heat index) degrees today. And when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I nearly jumped. I looked like I'd been beaten by wet sponges. But did that stop me from going to the grocery? No. Did I run into mass people I know? Certainly. Did my daughter say, "Mom. You need a shower"? You betcha. This is how I know I'm a grown-up. I just don't. care. any. more.

Go the F**k to Sleep

I have a dear friend who is expecting her first child. For some reason, beyond my conscious decision-making abilities, I find it completely necessary to scare the ever-loving shit out of her when it comes to all things "baby." I find myself unable to spare her horror stories about things she won't even have to worry about for the next four years, when that little girl-to-be is walking and talking and bitching up a storm. Tonight, I informed her that her dear daughter will one day be sick, and even though your heart is breaking for her that little girl will get on your last damned nerve. It is one of the conundrums of motherhood. You so desperately want to do everything in your power to make them better, and you want it to happen immediately. "Yes, dear. I am very sorry you're sick. What can mommy do to make it better so she can get some freaking sleep? I mean, so you can get some good sleep? That's what I said. Yes, it is. No, you don't need more water. You just went to the bathroom. I know your ear hurts, that's why you should close your eyes and go nigh-nigh time. No. A Peppermint Pattie will not help your ear feel better. No, you can't sleep with mommy. Because you're miserable to sleep with. Yes, you are. Yes. Yes. You are. Yes, you are. I know that hurts your feelings. It hurts mommy's feelings when you karate chop her neck with your leg in the middle of the night. I know it was an askident. It's okay. I mean, it's okay that it's an accident. Go to sleep. Yes. Now. I mean it. Fine. But I'd better hear pee coming out."

The Times, They Are A-Changing.

Three years ago, I was about to start classes to obtain my second bachelor's degree. My daughter was about to become a one-year-old. I was planning her birthday gathering (please, no gifts...though no one EVER listens). I was perfecting my flourless chocolate cake recipe. I had purchased some lovely school supplies (Ooh. Bouquets of sharpened pencils....) and backpack (though I would later trade it in for a backpack on wheels, on which my dear daughter would ride to and from our car to her preschool because I couldn't carry her, my backpack, my purse, her sleeping bag, and her lunch no matter how hard I tried).

It's all over. I graduated. My daughter is about to be a four-year-old (HOW does that HAPPEN?). I began and ended a 2+ year relationship. My heart is broken into a thousand pieces and I cannot talk about it without crying. I spent the spring semester subbing in elementary schools. I haven't even gotten an interview, let alone a job. I graduated with a 3.624 GPA, made the Dean's List and the Scholar's List, racked up a load of student loans (which I didn't have the first time around, and if I had actually put some thought into it...I probably would've reconsidered going back to school). All of that for nothing. Wrote an 82-page paper for nothing. Began having panic attacks (which went away after graduation, though was replaced by a four month eye twitch that recently went on hiatus thankfully). And alienated my friends, boyfriend, and child on more than one occasion.

I am sure if I had a job, I would be writing a completely different kind of post. The pain of not having a job outweighs the joy of graduating. The love I have for my ex outweighs the silly arguments we had over things we should have just accepted about each other.

If I could do things differently, I would. But then, I wouldn't be me...would I?

I Would Never Want To Be A Member Of A Club That Would Have Me As A Member

I am getting so tired of having to have a shopper's card at every darn store. At the same time, I do appreciate the discounts at the grocery store, but the membership is free. What is the point of just signing up for a plastic card so you'll receive major discounts at no cost to you? How does this work out?

I have long shopped at Meijer, but Bigg's started a gas program with the Sunoco station and I have always felt Sunoco gas lasts longest in my car. Of course, they discontinued their partnership with Sunoco. Now, I can only get gas at Speedway or SuperAmerica. I can't remember the last time I ever saw a SuperAmerica.

Well, Bigg's also partnered with a local family-owned grocer in town and now you can use your shopper card at both places. I once got over fifty cents off per gallon with all my grocery points. I was flabbergasted. And I don't get to use that word often enough.

I went to get gas the other day at Speedway and swiped my Bigg's card. Please see cashier. I went inside and was told I had to sign-up for a Speedway card. I just thought it was something simple, they way Kroger does it with their partnership with Shell. Wait a minute.... That's not simple either! You can't even get gas at Shell without swiping the damned Kroger card. I once pulled up and swiped my credit card only to have it ask me for my Kroger card. Back in the car, grab Kroger card, swipe. Please swipe credit card. I JUST DID THAT!  Swipe card again afraid I'd be paying twice. Long process...You are not eligible for a discount. Oh, for the LOVE!

 So I went ahead and signed-up at the kiosk for a Speedway card even though I was in a real rush to pick my daughter up from school. I asked how I got my discount with my grocery card and the boy said, "Oh, it takes 24 hours for it to activate." ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS? I just wanted gas!

The guy told me I could go online and activate the card and add my shopper points. I did that today, but it didn't seem accurate. I called the grocery and she said there is yet ANOTHER card I need to sign-up for to use at both places.

I am trying to figure out how I can grow all my own food and use the leftovers to fuel my car.

Nap? Cuh. Rap.

In the hour and a half it took me to get my 3.5-year-old daughter down for a nap, I went from Mommie Dearest to Kathy Bates in Waterboy. My darling daughter went from Rosemary's baby to Sleeping Beauty. In other news, I'm having a really good hair day.

I'm still here...

but in 17 days I'll be OUTTA THERE! Again.

Summer (or Some 'Er Better Than Others)

I was enjoying a cup of coffee when I came across an article in the local newspaper about the number of children on the west coast who have died of hyperthermia after being left or trapped in boiling hot cars. Three things: 1) I was immediately reminded why I abhor reading the newspaper, 2) I am a bad journalist for that, and 3) I have discovered my local paper doesn't really seem to have any local news in it.

Clearly, this upset me. I cannot even imagine how awful it would be discover such a scene in your car. I do not judge anyone. You hear of those stories where parents forget their kids are in the car and horrid things happen. I will admit I can see how someone could do that. I have been driving down the highway only to look in the rear view mirror and nearly faint to discover the little one's car seat is empty. Forget the fact that just minutes before I'd dropped her off at gramma's for the day. That split second of "Oh my GOD! I left her in the grocery cart!" zaps through your brain. The only thing that snaps you out of it is Huey Lewis serenading you on the oldies station. The very same oldies station that you would beg your parents to turn off in the car because is was making you car sick. It is, in fact, the one station that your very own daughter loves. Each time Boston or the Moody Blues comes on your daughter yells, "This is my favorite!" as if she knows you just need a little reminder that she's still there. It helps.

Well, my friend and I decided to take our children to the drive-in on Saturday night. It was so retro. It was so exciting. It was so blazing hot. It was nothing short of the worst idea we've ever had. We were told to park in the 7th row or back. I drove down row no. 9 and decided there was no freaking way we were going to park near "those people." Again I don't judge, but seriously.

I parked in the 6th row, I guess, without realizing it. My friend went off to the concession stand since we were informed in about twelve different ways that it is how the drive-in makes its money. I was asked very nicely to move back a row and to tie the hatch of my Jeep down so it is even with the roof. I did it~by myself! It took a couple tries, but let me tell you, there is nothing like the admiration of a couple of toddlers to make you feel like you could...well...tie anything down in an emergency.

Needless to say, at this point, I was sweating like a maniac. My friend returned and had for a split second thought we'd abandoned her. (That would have sucked, no? But I think it would make for a great movie. Take someone to a drive-in and leave her stranded? I'm sure it's been done. Then again, if the movie was anything like real-life, she would be begging to be separated from the rest of the party.) Friend's son and my daughter proceeded to eat popcorn. I think it was my daughter's first foray into such loveliness. They shared marshmallows I had packed and my friend and I shared a Mt. Dew Big Gulp. It was heaven. It was just what I'd imagined. I felt like a little kid again. It was...blazing hot and I was sweating in places I didn't know sweat glands bothered to be.

It was so nice being out in the middle of nowhere. Not a star in the sky. Just the space station! How cool is that? Was I really having anxiety that people are actually living on that thing in space? I had a terrifying nightmare once about winning a contest where I got to fly into space. It was awful. Not even for Bruce Willis would I leave the planet (and we all know how that movie ended).

I was enjoying the movie way more than the kids were. It was actually stressing me out a little. Eventually everyone needed potty breaks and I was glad for the break. I made my way to the concession stand where the bathrooms were. If it was 94 degrees outside, it was 194 degrees inside those disgusting bathrooms. Dear God, people. Learn. To. Flush. Everyone was dripping with sweat and there was no way not to accidentally touch someone. It was horrible.

I found my way back to our spot only to find my daughter post-sobbing, my friend was putting her son's shoes on and they all looked like they'd been beaten with wet hot noodles. So we all trudged our way back to the bathrooms. My daughter refused to use the potty even though it was her idea and she was already sitting on it. Friend's son wouldn't stand to potty and demanded to sit. We're screaming DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING and it was then that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Holy crap. I thought we were the normal ones at the drive-in. I looked at my friend who was dripping sweat from head to toe, and our disgusting children, and ran out into the darkness as quickly as possible.

When I returned to the car I found friend's son laying on the sleeping bag wrapped in my sarong. Of course, my daughter had to get under it as well. My friend and I just stared at our children as they fought to wrap themselves together under a blanket. Hello! It is 4000 degrees out here! I turned to my friend and said, "We could seriously be arrested for child endangerment right now." Then I looked around. Couldn't everyone at the drive-in be arrested for some form of child abuse? I couldn't even count the number of families packed into hot cars watching Toy Story 3. My crappy car couldn't pick-up the radio signal and we were mooching off all their radios, so I was sadistically thrilled for their stupidity. Our kids eventually gave up, got too tired and buried our sleeping bag in rocks.

We packed up our kids, much to the thrill of our neighbors, and left before the inevitable traffic jam. We didn't get home until almost midnight. We just stared at each other like What the hell were we thinking? Friend and I decided we will go to the theater to see the movie. In the air conditioning. By ourselves. We'll take wine.

Oh, what. ever.

I went to Gap tonight to spend the rest of my Christmas gift card. If you ever need a gift idea for me, a gift card is where it's at. I don't care where you get it, or what store I have to spend it in; it could be the cheese store at the kiosk next to the fountain in the mall (which would not suck, by the way) and I'd redeem that thing before my birthday without a doubt.

So, I went in for a bra. I need one. I need eleven. I grabbed ten to try on before I saw the sales clerk and asked her if she'd mind measuring me. She told me she would need to grab her measuring tape. She came back and examined it and stated that she doesn't "normally work in this department." I said, "Oh my God. Are you traumatized?" She said she wasn't and that it was completely fine that she was feeling me up in the middle of the store for all to see.

She wrapped the measuring tape around me and asked, "What size do you normally wear?" I said, "Well, the bra I have on is a 36 B, but I think it's too big." She marked the tape and stared at it. She flipped it over and looked very confused. She said, "Let's try this again. I have it as tight as it will go." She undid the tape again and said, "This says here to measure and then add five. You couldn't possibly wear a 40." Oh my God. I have on a 36 and this chick tells me I'm a 40. I am in birthday hell.

My birthday is tomorrow. Could it be more clear? I am going to be 37, but I might as well be turning 40. I hates bras and birthdays. No gifts needed this year. Thanks. And no bras. Never trying on another bra ever. again.

I went into the dressing room and tried on the first bra. I think maybe it is just Gap bras. They suck. The sales girl came back and asked me if I needed anything. I said, "You can come in." I am pretty sure she quit after I left. Poor thing.

Happy New Year

I cannot believe it. It just keeps happening.

Please, slow down.

Bright Lights. Big Fit.

My child threw the most giant fit in Target last night. She refused to put her coat and hat on. I have to say I was surprised by her outburst. Only ten minutes earlier she had been so enthralled with the strategically placed toddler level Turbo Tax software. "Oh, mama. Look at dis." Yes, sweetheart. That is lovely. *flip*flip*flip* "Look at dis one, mama. So pretty."

Mornings

My daughter is not a morning person. I have described her many times as a feral cat. She's a Leo. And she's 2 years old. Someone hold me.

But today she woke up. Sweet. Somewhat happy. After snuggling for a bit she slid herself over the side of my bed and said, "C'mon, Mommmmm." I laughed. "C'monnn. C'monnnn, Mmmmom. Come on, mom!"

How does this happen? Who is this little person? Every time I hold her I picture her when she's 16 and that I won't be able to walk from room to room of the house carrying her, nor will I be able to carry her, my purse, wheel my (yes, I had to resort to such humiliation much to the delight of my back) book bag, her lunch, and her bag of blankets and pillow for daycare across campus. I won't be able to hike with her strapped to my body in an Ultimate Baby Wrap. I won't hold her like a tiny baby and tell her everything she's going to do the next day before I lay her down in her crib for nigh-night time. She won't ask for a paci. I'll be able to understand every word she says, though I may not comprehend teenage talk. Will she grow out of her "curtsy" phase and willingly wear pants and tee shirts ever again? How much will she remember of these days?

At least I'll be out of school by then (God willing) and when she wants me to leave her alone she won't say, "Go 'puter, mommy." And when she wants me to stay home she won't say, "No. Stay here and do homework."

Avoidance

Christmas is soon approaching, as is finals week. I have been MIA this whole semester. I have wasted what little free time I've had on Facebook. I am currently sitting in Starbucks at school staring at the computer screen and people-watching. I just compiled thirty-three pages of notes for a Powerpoint I have to present in my integrated science class on Wednesday. It's concerning hand-washing vs. hand sanitizers. Riveting, I know. You'll be even more upset you won't be there too witness it when I give you this juicy detail: it has to be ten minutes long. Jaysus. I haven't spent ten straight minutes doing anything in nearly five months.

Nothing Gets Past Her

The baby had her first bank sucker today. They have always asked me if she could have a "you know" and I've always said no. Today, the woman didn't even ask me. Baby girl was crying her little eyes out and had been for about twenty minutes. It doesn't help that the bank is behind Gramma's house, so she knew we were close and yet...so far away.

So, I opened the container and inside was a little sucker. So I gave it to her. She looked at it...put it in her mouth...and said, "Mmmm." It was lovely. And she ate it like she'd had a million suckers.

Went out with Gramma to the mall. I never go to the mall, but I had a coupon for JCPenney and thought I could use it. And to think...I used to browse Barney's. Anyhoo...when we were walking out of the store she was overstimulated by all the lights and signs in the inner-area of the mall. She immediately caught site of the fountain. "Mama! Splash splash!"

Baby fell asleep whilst perusing the President flashcards on my iTouch. She was woken by a woman who was pointing her out to her own baby girl. The first thing she said upon waking was "Go see splash splash."

An hour or so later, we stopped by Target. In the aisle where Post-its and tape are found, baby kept saying something like "sies kid...sies kid." Gramma said, "I don't know what she is saying." She took baby closer to the shelf and she pointed to a magnifying glass. I said, "Oh my gosh. Sid the Science Kid." This kid doesn't miss a beat.

Two Years

It's hard to believe, but two years ago today I held you in my arms for the first time. I never knew I could love someone so much. You were such a beautiful baby. Perfect. As you grew, I couldn't take you anywhere. Strangers were always coming up to me to comment on your flawless skin or your gorgeous eyes or your exquisite mouth. And people are still saying those things about you. Only, now...you're not in a carrier strapped to my body. You're begging to walk and "do it" by yourself through the store aisles or down the street. You're growing up so fast.

I had pictured you running through Central Park and wrecking the MOMA, but you seem to be enjoying walking Gramma's dog and running in the small front yard outside our door. I love that you love being outside. You get that from your grandmother, I like to think. Lately, you've developed a distaste for bugs. Not quite sure how that happened, but it's my goal to make you love them. And as my gift to you, I will try my hardest to learn to like birds as much as you like rocks and Sweet Gum fruits.

You've developed a love of Sesame Street, cell phones, string cheese, books, babies and dolls and plums. You also have some sort of innate ability to take to any musical instrument that is put in front of you. You got a harmonica for your birthday and somehow you knew how to play it without my having to show you. You have a little piano at Gramma's house that you love to play, moving one finger at a time. You know all the words to "Do-Re-Mi" and you know where "birdies go nigh-nigh" and how to put on lotion and that some things can be "frustrating." You love bacon and coloring. You love sockit-sips (chocolate chips), sippy sips (sippy cup) and chippy chips (white corn tortilla chips). You love to drink all of my jo-jo (orange juice) and eat all of my salmon.

You like to close the door and play 'knock knock' and you even know to walk into the room and say, "Nice to see you" as you shake my hand. You say, "Bless you, mama" when I sneeze and give the best Huddy hugs. You always tell me you love me, and it is music to my ears.

You have the most vivid imagination. And the greatest sense of humor. You don't put your fingers in your mouth immediately whenever you're having your picture taken. You, instead, say "Cheeseburger" and make the clicking of the camera noise with your tongue afterward. Adorable.

You have developed an intense love for musicals. For quite some time you were hooked on The Sound of Music. Then it was Mary Poppins. Then Annie. Then Enchanted. And now it's a toss up between Follow That Bird and Singin' in the Rain. I am very proud of that last one, as your dear old mother had a serious crush on Gene Kelly in her younger years.

Everyday I spend with you is another day when I learn something new about myself. I am learning more about how to let go and let you discover the world as you teach me what it means to be your mom.

I am so proud of you. And I am so grateful everyday that you are healthy and happy and strong. I am so looking forward to your next milestones in the coming year. It saddens me to think that one day soon you may not want to snuggle with me for as long as I want you to, and one day you might even be embarrassed to be seen with me. At least I know that all of these days and these past two years, I have been your biggest cheerleader and your number one fan.

You are my hero you brave, brilliant, generous soul. Happy Birthday!

Another Reason to Move Back

Vacation was pure delight. Got to spend the night in Chicago. We took the train in from Michigan. It was quite nice. I miss taking the train everywhere. I cannot stand having to have a car. Cannot. Stand. Seventy-two dollars a month for an unlimited pass is still way better than gas, insurance, car payment (not that I have one) and maintenance. And speeding tickets. Boo. Yes, I passed a cop who pretty much set-me-up. He was driving slowly in the right lane. So I got over. He got over quickly into the passing lane and then swerved back over into the right lane. I passed him because I didn't know what he was doing. Unmarked Mustang. I got over in front of him and he got me. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. Except dream my life away that I live in a city with a subway system that can take me anywhere I want to go within minutes and leave the entrapment to someone else.

From See to Shining C

So, I got a C in my math class. Ugh. I except it. I am thrilled I don't have to retake the class. I wish I could have gotten an A. I know that people shared notes from previous semesters, and some students had graphing calculators (duh!), and I did catch the girl next to me cheating off my final. She saw my answer for a question about a shape that has five rotations. She looked at my paper, turned straight to that page and erased everything she had written and copied my answer. I'm sure it wasn't verbatim what I had written, but I was pissed. I worked my ass off in that class. I deserved every point I could get on my own and she took some of those points away from me. Whatever.

I also haven't had a panic attack since the day of my math final. Go figure.

I'm off for a week's vacation with the two loves of my life: my brilliant child and my wonderful boyfriend, both of whom have had to put up with my being a total psychopath off-and-on these past seven months. I'm so grateful. (I hope he knows that.)

I can see graduation even though it is illuminating next December. I'm looking forward to the adventure that follows and the rest of my life.

I am the luckiest girl in the world. I hope my daughter is proud of her mother.

To Do

• Plan meals.
• Utilize all of my lovely cookbooks.
• Learn to make five soups without having to consult a recipe.
  
• Start walking.
• Purge.
• Get organized.
• Go on a trip.
• Start writing again.
• Watch old movies.
  
• Stay organized.
  
• Perfect the soft-boiled egg.
  
• Learn some good jokes.
• Read. Read. Read.
• Remember my pre-motherhood sense of style.
  

Mosquitoes fear me.

Today was the last day of my last summer class. No daily obligations for another month. I am thrilled. I am also exhausted and honestly...a bit disappointed. I don't think I did very well in my math class. Math has always been hard for me. My mother even enrolled me in Sylvan Learning Center when I was in high school, which I believe ended up being a huge waste of money for her. I am fine when I have time to concentrate and don't have the urgency of a test in front of me and a clock ticking away the seconds. I was in geometry, trigonometry and pre-calculus in high school...um...19 years ago. I did well in math on my ACT...um...20 years ago. I got a B in Statistics two semesters ago, yet I got five As, a B, and a C in math last semester. I just don't understand why I get so freaked out when it comes to numbers. I won't even show you my check book. I didn't even learn how to count back change until I was in college. Nope...not kidding. I can cook and tell you how much I owe on an item that is $26.99 and 33% off, but don't ask me to remember formulas or what they're for or how to use them. Math to me is like being told something in Spanish and having to answer back in French whilst writing in Gaelic.

I know one shouldn't shoot for a C, but I am praying. What saddens me is that my professor is so fun and terrific and if I weren't in her class I think she would be a great friend. I know my friends would love her. Too bad it would be too awkward to invite her to things, especially since she would know what a dolt I am when it comes to numbers. I can't even give good directions.

I did miss three classes this summer. I went out-of-town for the Fourth of July (which is when I discovered that the body which once was a feast for mosquitoes now repels them with fervor), and I had a panic attack on the way to school one day. It was horrible. I thought for sure I was dying and that I would die on the side of the highway and little Huddy would be stuck in the back of the car in the emergency lane until someone thought fit to pull over to inspect my car. So I can't even blame my confusion in class on laziness or slacking-off. I would just freak myself out so much over the tests that I couldn't concentrate on the material.

She was so sick on our vacation. Something told me over and over again not to go on the trip, but I didn't want to miss it. Now, she's been going to bed at 10 p.m. or later and still getting up at 6.45 a.m. I am exhausted. I could really use a vacation, but I can't imagine leaving her. The conundrum of motherhood. No one needs a vacation more, yet we can't stand to be away from them for a day.

Sometimes, I still wonder what the hell I was thinking going back to school. Poor baby has had such a crazy little life being rushed here and there so I can make it to class or my practicum or a study group. I just don't want to have to take the class over again. It would put me back a whole semester. I just don't have it in me. I'm already feeling too old to start over again. My teacher is my age (I thought for sure I was older than her) and already has her Ph.D. I look at her and think...Huh. So I could have done that already? Good to know.

I just wish the tests came as easily to me as writing a paper. Or massage therapy. Or figuring out how many outfits I can make out of eight shirts, four pairs of pants, and two skirts.