Seven Days

One week from now, at about this time, I will be going to bed. I will need to go to bed, because one week from tomorrow I will be at the airport, at quarter 'til daybreak, to see the tornadoes off.

This weekend has been a circus of birthday parties and guest tornadoes and very little opportunity to complete a thought, because someone needed something or injured somebody or just plain wanted me in the room while they watched Camp Rock for the four hundredth time. You know, the usual. It was tempting to complain. Especially about Camp Rock.

But I didn't. Okay, I did a little. There's only so much flipping around a mother can stand to watch - especially when Flipper (aka Second Grader - who will have to be Flipper now, since Second Grader will no longer apply) has begged this mother to watch the Jonas Brothers with her over and over again but has forbidden her from commenting that Joe's a real looker, and now can't even admire Joe in silence because Flipper is flipping in front of the screen. That had to be addressed. Otherwise, I am trying to be appreciative of their attention.

That's not to say that I haven't started compiling a list of things I can do while they're gone. I can:

- Go for my run outside instead of in the basement
- Go to a movie not Imagineered By Disney
- Eat crackers and cheese for dinner. Actually, I do that anyway.

It's a wild and crazy list so far, I know. As I mentioned, hard to complete a thought around here today. Here's what I won't have to do:

- Get kicked in the stomach in the middle of the night
- Protect my face from flying feet during the day
- Drive anyone anywhere
- Cook anything out of a blue and yellow box

I am now being summoned to Pleeeaase Come Play Guitar Hero With Us, so I will have to stop there for now. Rock On.