Thursday, September 5, 2013
Air Traffic Control
I'm not going to write a whole post about what it's like having three children in three different schools, one child being completely dependent whose bus must be met every single day the moment it arrives despite that child being eighteen years old. That would be a boring post. I also won't kvetch and complain about how busy I am, when I'm perfectly aware that the reason I'm so busy, so tied down with minutia and craziness is because of choices, choices that I am very fortunate to have. That would be boring as well. I'm also not going to write a whole post about waking up this morning with the blues and then reading an article about rural poverty, about working people who qualify for food stamps and are barely scraping by yet will have their food stamps cut or taken away completely because of greedy bastards in Congress (yes, I'll call the Republicans who wish to cut food stamps greedy bastards) and feeling completely, utterly fortunate and not a tiny bit abashed that I should groan and moan about my life. That would be a political post, and I don't feel like it. What I will include here, though, is a screen shot of an email that I received from a friend after that friend (Dorie) and another friend (Heidi) and I had exchanged about three million texts trying to figure out the carpool situation for tomorrow, Friday, when our freshman need to not only go to school and then come home, but go back to school for a dance and then come home. Dorie, Heidi and I have three children each, so nine between us and if you turn up your nose at the breeding we've done, well, read no further. We are kick-ass, a well-oiled middle-aged female machine:
Reader, are you a breeder and if so, how well do you work as an air traffic controller?