Sunday: I spent six hours sitting on either a plane that wasn’t flying or in an airport while my children were far away from me at home.

Monday: I spent more time sitting in an airport due to my son’s cancelled flight.

Tuesday: I discovered I had been walking around on a broken foot for a week and would be in a cast for at least the next three weeks.

This morning: I ran out of gas on the way to work–mere minutes from my office. Due to the bum foot, I had to wait for an hour and a half for AAA.

This afternoon: I read a post by WhyMommy and her justified anger.

I am grateful for the time I had to read my book on Sunday.

I am grateful for the extra time I got to spend with my son on Monday.

I am grateful that it’s only a broken bone.

I am grateful for the helpful man who brought me fuel and didn’t chastise me for running out.

***************
Cross-posted at Gratuitous Gratitude

Details soon–as soon as I can process it all.

Being home is wonderful! Nothing compares to the giant hugs and kisses.

While I’m thinking about what to say about BlogHer, please visit WhyMommy.

WhyMommy was going to join us this weekend, but due to Inflammatory Breast Cancer had to cancel her trip. I can tell you that she was missed. Having roomed with her best friend, I can promise you that she was missed terribly.

Her physical absence did not prevent her from generating conversations in Chicago though. The message is getting out. WhyMommy is using her experience with this most aggressive form of breast cancer to make more people aware of it. And for that, I bow to her.

And it’s all in caps because it’s too freaking exciting!!!!

I’m in my first session and I’m loving this.

I’m missing a number of you who I would link to right now, but I just have a few minutes.

This is the coolest!!

I first noticed his presence as I felt him on my back. He was big and gave off air of danger. I couldn’t help but look. My eyes were drawn to him.

So I did it.

I looked in my rearview mirror to see the asshole riding my bumper at 75 mph (not that I speed). In his giant white landscaping truck, he stuck to me like glue in an apparent effort to get me to move.

Now it’s not like I’m above developing an attitude similar to a twenty-two year old with a little liquid kevlar in his system when faced with pond scum such as this. There have definitely been a few incidents in my past where I escaped with my teeth and still haven’t learned. It’s not a trait of which I’m proud.

But we’re talking DC traffic. At rush hour!

Where the hell was I supposed to go? The cars were lined up in front of me six deep. This guy wasn’t getting anywhere by getting me out of the way. So, I just hung in there and turned up the radio.

He finally found some room to his right and went barreling off down the center lane–swerving I noticed as he rode up on some other poor soul’s butt. And this is where I got mad.

It’s one thing to piss me off, but don’t go assuming you’re more important than everyone else on the road.

Who the hell does this guy think he is?! I got a pretty good look at him, as he was practically in my backseat, and I’m fairly certain I didn’t miss any blood spraying from his eyes, nor did I see plumes of smoke billowing from his head. I mean what fuck made him think his plans were any more pressing than ours?!

I was all fired up? I’m trying to get all sorts of work finished before I leave on vacation. It was 8:15 p.m. and I was just on my way home from the office. I had a client trash something I had just given to them (and thought was crossed off my list) and I WAS NOT IN THE MOOD.

I wanted to tell you about how I chased after him, cornered him at the next exit and got out of my car at the red light. I wish I could tell you that walked right up to his driver’s door, opened it and pulled him out by the nose hair and then proceeded to lecture him about proper etiquette while operating a vehicle.

But I didn’t.

I bitched at him from the safe confines of my car, shook my head and decided he had probably spent too much time at happy hour and hoped he didn’t hurt anyone else while he was on the road.

I think I’m maturing.

Shit.

Hey there!

I’ve missed you. How are you?

I know I haven’t been in touch in a while. I don’t really have an excuse. I mean there were fireworks and a BBQ, a few entertaining books, the pool, baseball, family and work, but other than that…nothing really.

I could add more, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my period, how I stubbed my pinkie toe and lost most the nail or the fabulous brochures I’m writing to try and pry innocent Americans from their hard-earned money.

So what’s up with you? Any good gossip?

I love juicy gossip. Mostly because I like to say, “No she di’nt!” and “Get OUT!”

So spill it. Tell all. Take a load off. Leave it here. You should see my house. I won’t notice.

Love,
Mamma

The team was down 6-2. They had just come out of the bottom of the last inning holding the opposing team to no runs, and you could finally feel some energy building in the dugout.

The first three batters got on base and stayed on base. In other words, the bases were loaded.

And then my ten year-old son came up to bat.

And there was a pitch.

And there was a swing.

And the ball hit the bat perfectly.

The ball–that beautiful ball–soared over the infielders’ heads, over the outfielder’s head and straight out over the center field fence!

His first home run. A GRAND SLAM!

And I was cheering. And I was yelling. And I was trying to capture it on video. And I was jumping up and down.

And to go along with the theme of this season…

I peed.

Just a little.

When you’re really angry at yourself, how do you work it out?

When you are the only one that you can lash out against what do you do?

How do you get it out of your system?

I can appear completely fine on the outside, but on the inside? Oh you should see the swirling.

I’m looking for some positive solutions here interwebs.

But completely inappropriate ones will be appreciated too.

We are getting the sense that Mr. 3 feels better sleeping if he’s well-protected.

Last night:

Shakey [to Mr. 3]: Tell mommy what you’re wearing.

Mr. 3: I have a diaper, a pull-up, underwear and my foot jamas on.

So it’s that or he thought we’d be playing strip poker later.

Unexpectedly attacked last week by the sneaky burp, Mr. 5 was not going to be surprised again.

This morning.

Mr. 5: I’m going to fart in a few seconds.

My earlier post today was not complete. There were additional moments of brilliance I didn’t share with you my sad saps who have nothing better to do than read my inane spewingfine readers.

If this conversation was thought A, allow me to continue with…

wait… wait…

are you ready for it?

Thought B!

We in the parent blogging world allude to sex from time to time on our blogs (some begging for it more than others). And while we all must have done the waterbed waltz at one time or another to become parent bloggers, I don’t read many posts that touch on the topic in a serious way. Sure there’s Lotta who’s always got our back thinking about ways to improve things, but I’m always amazed that something that so many people do (or want to do) is still so taboo. Anyway, my great thought–which doesn’t seem so great anymore–was that we should start a blog called, “Yeah, Your Parents ARE Having Sex” to discuss such matters. And we’ll all make sure not to tell our co-workers, neighbors or parents about it.

Are you still with me?

Okay, so for Thought C–and I swear my shower wasn’t that long.

I really hope that if Shakey decides to have an affair he never brings the other woman to our house. I’d be so embarrassed by the state of my house.

Yes, as I was rinsing off, I looked around my shower, and–now I KNOW this will come as a major shock to my mother–I noticed that it along with the rest of my house bathroom needed to be cleaned ASAP.

I got to stop worrying about what other people think.