Thirteen days out and already I am shopping for tranquilizer darts for the trip down to Florida. (for me, not the kids.)
A simple 3 mile trip home from Orange Leaf tonight had me running to my newly acquired bottle of bourbon in order to erase the memory as fast as possible (It’s medicinal–I have a bad cold) and fantasizing that I was riding on the back of a motorcycle.
Cate forgot to throw away her yogurt container and there is chocolate dripping on Henry’s arm. This causes Henry to scream as if he’s been scalded. A nano-second later he is cheerily asking us for the one millionth time if we can determine exactly what time we will stop to buy gas and pee on our trip to Florida, 2 weeks from now. He’s probably looking to make a flow chart of some sort, and his data must be accurate.
And of course, Thomas is ticking away, making some noise that is a cross between throat clearing and a smoke alarm chirp all at once, every few seconds. In between tics, he insinuates that I am having a psychotic break and demands to know why I like “Peeta” more than “Katniss.” (Um, because I AM Katniss. Duh.)
Kidding! Of course I know I am Christina, mother of three, 38- years old. I’m only a little confused because when I went to buy that bottle of bourbon today, at 1:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday, the guy behind the counter, who could not have been a day over 30, CARDED ME. And then when I didn’t have my id, he made me stand there and practically beg for the bourbon, while I pointed out my wrinkles, gave my birthdate, and showed him photos of my child who will be 11 in 3 weeks.
To him I say, “If I could be 20 years old again, I’d be doing something much cooler than buying bourbon in the middle of the day in this suburban liquor store.” As John would say, I’d be riding on the back of a motorcycle. Which is basically John’s metaphor for “having a psychotic break.”
Wait, I’m seeing a pattern here….