I like to make soup. I am a little nuts.
Washing the day (a hellava day at that) away with a pint (or three) … CHECK!
Awesome room above the pub … CHECK!
Getting a tap on the shoulder and a friendly goodbye from a local … CHECK!
Talked up by a drunken Irishman … CHECK!
Nearly creaming a sheep while driving on a road, as Ed said, as narrow as a bike path … CHECK!
Standing in the wind staring at an amazing green mountain that plummets into an emerald ocean … CHECK!
Loving Ireland … CHECK!
Well, it’s Friday of the shortest (and longest) week I can remember. I’ve been busy tying up lots of loose ends and haven’t really gotten around to packing.
We leave Sunday. For Ireland. The kids are coming. That’s a lot of packing.
I’ve been so preoccupied this week that I’ve:
However, it was all for a good reason. I’m proud to be a part of launching this Web site, which is actually functioning now. (Its official kick-off date is Sunday, Mother’s Day.)
If you click on the link to the Daily Juggle, you’ll find me and 13 other moms blogging about the craziness that is parenting. My screen name is 3isthenew2. There are lots of great writers participating, and I’m really proud to be a part of it.
I’ll be blogging there from Ireland. I am not sure if I’ll get around to updating this site while I’m gone. If not, I’ll be back after Memorial Day.
(While I’m on a roll …) You befriended me after one short phone conversation, taking me under your wing and showing me your hometown — pubs, parks, diners and clubs. You’re incredibly open, friendly and funny, and I wish we lived closer.
(Yet another redhead) Creative little fireball. I hope you still take pictures of your kids every day and that you find a way to make a living off of your amazing art and crafts. I really miss working with you.
(I’m thinking about redheads today.) You were tall, skinny, freckled and had the cutest blue eyes. I was always hopeful that you’d break away from the redneck jock crowd, but in the end, they and their Steve-Miller cranking, Busch beer-drinking ways won.
Sensitive, fiery-haired product of what I assume were hippie parents (you were named after the Beatles song). We had many deep chats over steaming mugs of coffee in Jen’s sunny kitchen.
So last week, while I was ending my short tour as a single parent, I got food poisoning.
Yeah, yeah, it was no fun and I was tired after being in the bathroom all night. My nanny came anyway so I could get some sleep after I was done regurgitating my favorite D’Amico and Sons salad (hard-boiled egg, bacon, olives, stinky cheese). In the end, it didn’t turn out so badly. At least I got to put the kids to bed for an extra night.
It turned out fine, except for this teeny, tiny little bit.
I blew my nose today, and it felt a little weird. So I opened the tissue and had a look (oh, don’t tell me you never do that).
Guess what I found?
For the past almost six days, the geek has been yukking it up with museum people in Denver.
He returns tonight.
While it’s been sort of nice, as an experience with a definite end point, to be the sole caregiver, the only lap, the lone tickler, I’m exhausted.
During the second shift of baths last night, I was covered in bubbles, still recovering from the previous night’s bout of food poisioning when it occurred to me: I couldn’t do this on my own. Not forever.
So today, I tip my hat to the millions of moms who do it every day, by themselves, with no partner to relieve them. You are my heroes.
Fits over shoes: 3
Tantrums involving coats: 2
Ear-piercing screeches responding to God-knows what: 12
Rampages ending with vomit on the carpet (Of course on the carpet! No one can ever puke on the hardwood.): 1
Moms ready for a drink: 1
Sweetest of all my friends’ moms. I would show up early to sit at your kitchen table and talk about ghosts, spirituality and all kinds of things that were not discussed at my house.
