It's almost nine o'clock and I'm sitting at my parent's table in my pajamas while my kids watch PBS, dreading the chore of packing up all my stuff that is scattered throughout the house by now, not to mention the cleaning I have to do before I leave so that when my parents return home from Florida, they won't be greeted by a total mess. In our short time here this week, my girls and I have managed to break a precious piece of pottery my dad made and which is my mom's favorite, and the kitchen disposal. I'm working on that last one right now. I'm hoping my Grandpa Marquiss might be able to fix it for me, I mean, for my parents so I don't have to tell them about the destruction I've wreaked while staying unsupervised at their house. And then I have the four-hour drive home to look forward to, by MYSELF (minus the three kiddos) because Mac is in Arkansas. Did I mention that I am now 30?
It's my birthday, and I'll cry if I want to.
I'm throwing myself a party - a PITY party!