Saturday Night Life
Apparently, due to my week of sole-focus on putting out the new ticket tracking system at work, my personal life for the week bunched up and jumped on me today. Satan’s birthday went a little something like this: out the door to early to watch the kids while parent prepared, “Oh, yeah, she had a miscarriage at six months. I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know what I do if I lost my daughter like that,” Spider-man EVERYWHERE, cute, cute, cute, oh so cute, smoosh the LuLu who looks at me like I’m crazy, hide the Easter eggs while kids have cake, die laughing watching the kids find eggs, more food, clean up, PRESENTS, he didn’t get enough Spider-man (not sarcasm), ride home.
On top of that, a ghost took flesh to haunt me in the form of a form friend from college coming by to visit. Abby and I were tight during the later part of my college career; a theater major like me. She’s roughly my height, blond locked and blue eyed, but she possesses the most unique, high-pitched voice. Some would say cursed, but she uses it to her advantage in the same way Gilda Radnar used her cute to make the funny. Smartly, cleverly and deftly, she tells the best stories in humorous tones.
She’s a mother now with two girls. She looked no different, sounded no different, felt no different. Her youngest is a carbon copy of her - delightful to see. The mother’s curse works…
As I sit here across the couch from my pantless hubby, hoping the headache medicine kicks in soon (yes, two girls a bit much for me. My mental muscles for dealing with such personal drama have atrophied), I wonder who else can come back to new life from my past. I tend to leave things there in the sand of time, buried for posterity, I’m sure. Are there some treasures there waiting to be found?
Have I been doing it all wrong?
On top of that, a ghost took flesh to haunt me in the form of a form friend from college coming by to visit. Abby and I were tight during the later part of my college career; a theater major like me. She’s roughly my height, blond locked and blue eyed, but she possesses the most unique, high-pitched voice. Some would say cursed, but she uses it to her advantage in the same way Gilda Radnar used her cute to make the funny. Smartly, cleverly and deftly, she tells the best stories in humorous tones.
She’s a mother now with two girls. She looked no different, sounded no different, felt no different. Her youngest is a carbon copy of her - delightful to see. The mother’s curse works…
As I sit here across the couch from my pantless hubby, hoping the headache medicine kicks in soon (yes, two girls a bit much for me. My mental muscles for dealing with such personal drama have atrophied), I wonder who else can come back to new life from my past. I tend to leave things there in the sand of time, buried for posterity, I’m sure. Are there some treasures there waiting to be found?
Have I been doing it all wrong?