|Time to party like it's 1999.|
Sunday, July 30, 2017:
Took the three darling cherubs up to a sleep-away camp in Pennsylvania.
WE. ARE. FREE.
Hubs and I can do anything we want anytime we want for the next five days. Let the wild & irresponsible week of kid-free debauchery begin.
Ate ice cream, watched a documentary, and went to bed at 9:00pm.
Monday, July 31, 2017:
|"When... I catch him... I'm going... to kill him."|
After this many years of marriage I should know that when Hubs says, "This bike trail is flatter, but slightly longer," slightly longer really means helluva-fifteen-miles-longer-and-you'll-want-to-strangle-me-with-your-bike-chain-by-the-end-of-it.
How are we still married?
My husband has a freakin’ saint for a wife.
Oh, my quads.
Tuesday, August 1, 2017:
|I want to stand at the end of the conveyer|
belt with my mouth open,
but they won't let me in there.
Drove 8.4 miles one way to eat Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast.
Snort. One needs no ‘Because…’ clause here, my friend.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017:
|Dolphins are my people.|
Took a day trip to Cape May, New Jersey, for whale- and dolphin-watching. Perched on the bow of the boat like Rose aboard the Titanic, I relished the long-missed spray of the salty ocean’s roiling foam.
I am Moana.
Thursday, August 3, 2017:
Passed one of the Terrible Metro Cylon Buses today and narrowly avoided a PTSD-induced traffic fatality. Am I the only one psychologically scarred by Battlestar Galactica’s monster robot hoard? Why would WMATA build these beasts of terror???
#cruelolderbrotherwhoforce-fedSciFitoasmallchild (I’m looking at you, Mike.)
Friday, August 4, 2017:
|"Thank you, ma'am. May I have another?"|
Refilled the cat’s Prozac scrip. I asked the pharmacists how many of her pills equal one human pill. They asked me why I wanted to know. I said, “No reason.” They stared at me. I bolted.
Stupid cat gets all the good stuff.
Saturday, August 5, 2017:
|These are not our children. But aren't they sweet?|
And clean? And look how they love each other.
These are not our children.
Today the kids come home from camp.
They and everything they took with them will be dirty, wet, and funkified.
Exhausted, sleep-deprived, and carb-saturated, they will hate each other, and life, and us. The minivan will be far too small to accommodate their spreading angst, odor, and bodies. 4-5 days will be required for the progeny units to recover some amount of civility and to regain their former, not-infanticide-inducing dispositions.
51 weeks till summer camp.
My soul weeps.