You would think I was sending these girls to live on the International Space Station the way I carry on, wouldn't you?
Well deal with it, people. Three weeks is a long freaking time. And if you think I'm exaggerating, let's see you last twenty-four hours with them and then multiply that by 21. Yeah, I thought not.
So. Two polka-dotted suitcases (plus coordinating backpack carry-ons) await the morning departure. The alarm is set for 4 a.m. Yes, we are going to bed soon, Tylenol PM willing (me, obviously. They get whiskey straight up.) ((Just kidding.))
In an effort to make the day not entirely about my own anxiety, I mentioned to the girls that today would have been my father's 60th birthday and perhaps we could pay a visit to the cemetery. Second Grader one-upped me. She suggested we bring balloons and send them up to Grandpa while we're there. Damn kid and her sweetness. So we bought three helium-filled balloons, took them to Dad's marker, and let them go.
Almost a touching moment. Except Second Grader knows only one way to act in the out-of-doors, which is like a hyperactive puppy.
So that's it, I'm out of ways to prepare for this. I must go disconnect them from their intravenous Disney Channel drips now and force them to go to bed.
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2 comments:
Relax, try some whiskey for yourself, and you just play the disney station non-stop for the next three weeks, but not in the room you are in. Try to do something and have every alarm clock go off at random times.
Then, after three weeks, the two-some will be a god's send. until 10 minutes have passed.
Good Luck, my "angels" are asleep and using their "inside-their-head" voices for a change. Until tomorrow.
Aw, I've been thinking about you. Want to give you a call but I don't know when the official send-off is, so I think I"ll wait a little bit longer.
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