Well, here I am again at Brazos House in Rainbow, TX. Hallelujah!
This week is The Co-Defendants’ Spring Break. Most parents (at least the ones my kids claim are the parental units of their school chums), take their curtain climbers on awesome ski or beach trips. For the record, I’m firmly convinced most of these folks exist only in my kids’ dreams. Anyway…
Smart parents (like quilting mothers), throw some dinners in the freezer, bribe the darlings with some bucks for books (my kids are geeks like that…two thumbs up!) and give a saucy sayanora as they burn rubber peeling out of the driveway. Yes, that’s me, pumping my fist in the universal sign of ‘Hell, yes!’ Shield your eyes while I do my happy dance. I got no rhythm.
Do I feel guilty for abandoning Himself to the occasional grunts that pass for communication from the sixteen year old or the mood swings of the tween girl? Considering he didn’t suffer through hemorrhoids the size of Jupiter, bladder control that left the building with the first kid and stretch marks that could qualify as superhighways, I’d say he’s getting off pretty easy.
Before I left, His Awesomeness declared the worst part of retreat was me coming home. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Man, this chick must really suck as a parent. What he meant was I always come home with more than I departed with. Well, duh, I have to hit the quilt shops, don’t I? Or it may just mean I suck as a parent. Take your pick.
The Diva carried on like I was headed for a leper colony. You’d think I was never coming home.
At this point, I’m pooped and figure it’s a pretty smart move for me to head on to bed. Tomorrow is another day. Night all.