Has it been a week since I last posted? Wow. Time flies when you’re freaking out.

Let’s review the last seven days, shall we?

* It was really, really hot. Like, go out and water the flowers at 7:30am and come back in looking like you ran through the sprinkler, but it’s-really-just-sweat-hot. I killed four plants last week. Two of mine and two of my neighbor’s. My daughter and I were even tag-teaming the neighbor’s flowers and we still killed them. Call us to watch your house!

* I drank a lot of STRAW-BER-ITAS. Have you had one? Full disclosure: They are a BlogHer ’13 sponsor, but that’s not why I’m telling you how good they are. They’re just really good. So, I drank a lot of them. The end.

yo’. I’ll see you again soon.

* I can’t remember the last time I did the dishes. It’s good to have a 14 year old.

* I went to the doctor for my numb hand and got, what I thought was a steroid shot, but it was in fact Ketamine (an anesthetic). I slept pretty well that night. NOW, I’m on steroids. And, my hand is still numb and I’m kind of raging, but my cheeks are rosy!

* Out of desperation for happy conference feet, I bought a pair of Birkenstocks from Zappos. I’m happy they have free returns.

* My in-laws visited. I love them. A friend of mine lost both of her in-laws in a car accident last week. I can’t imagine the depth of that loss.

* I normally drink apple cider vinegar every day, but lately I’ve just been eating sea-salt and vinegar potato chips instead. To recap, the diet is STRAW-BER-ITAS, potato chips, and steroids.

* My daughter is so competitive that in order to break a record on one of the rides at the church festival (in which you ride in a cage and build momentum to flip over the top) she came home on Friday with the biggest blisters I’ve ever seen. About 17 of them. On Saturday, I did what any good mom would do and taped up her hands ala Rocky so she could take another shot.

* I leave for Chicago in two days and I have roughly 8,000 tasks to complete. If you don’t see me for another week, you’ll know why. Don’t blame Bud Light. It’s only half their fault.

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It has come to the time of year when it’s not abnormal for me to work 17 hour days; forcing my children to occasionally heat up my coffee, rub my neck as I sit at my desk to keep me awake, then walk on my back when I eventually collapse to the floor. Right now my meals mostly consist of licorice and Oreos and I’ve been wearing the same pants for three days. Enough said.

This is my busy season which means my husband and my mom take over childcare, the dog doesn’t get petted, and when my 14 year old daughter is asked…GASP…to do chores.

Of course, she doesn’t want to do chores, she wants to text, read, go to the pool, go to the movies, have sleepovers, go for bike rides, and sleep in.

And, I let her.

Why? Because this is likely the last summer she’ll have, for the rest of her life, without a job. She still earns money from babysitting and pays her own way on all of the above mentioned excursions, so she’s not getting a completely free ride. Occasionally she does the dishes and cleans the bathrooms, though the cleaning of the toilet by a 14 year old isn’t done nearly as well as it is by a 42 year old. There is an “ew” factor she can’t seem to overcome.

Even though I threatened her with laundry-folding, dinner-cooking, and endless vacuuming during my conference season, I’m really a total sucker for letting a kid be a kid. What do you think? Am I letting her off too easy while the mess piles up around us?

I can’t help but think the clock will soon strike midnight…and I want her to have just one last dance.

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My 11 year old son has always been difficult to control. He is impulsive, obsessive, and basically I’m FREAKING out about his teen years, because when someone offers this kid a cigarette, he’s going to say yes without thinking and then he’ll end up a chain smoker. Mark my words.

Though I never saw the movie, my husband tells me that our boy reminds him of the young character in the movie, Taking Lives. Not in the way that the character pushes people in front of oncoming cars (you know…we hope), but that he is unpredictable and reckless. My son doesn’t always think before he speaks or acts. Like, pretty much, ever.

Last night I was working in bed when my son came in every few minutes for definitions of words in the book he was reading. One time he came up next to me then asked, “Mom, what’s a scythe?”

Not wanting to go into details of the Grim Reaper, I kept it simple and replied, “It’s kind of like a giant knife on the end of a stick.”

He thought for a moment then walked out to the hall. After a few seconds he popped his head back into the door and said, “Ta-Ta! I’ll see you in the next world.”

At which point I thought it was possible that my little 50 lb. child already knew what the Grim Reaper was and maybe my husband knew more about this, “Taking Lives” reference than I did. I double-checked, “What did you just say?”

And, I’m happy to say he innocently replied, “I said, ta-ta! I’ll see you on the next word.”

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“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”
– Albert Camus

Right now, we’re playing a giant game of pin the tail on the donkey, what with the being blindfolded, sent spinning, then pushed off into the unknown. If we could just get that tail on the donkey’s butt, everything would be fine! You thought you were playing a child’s party game, but it’s really a metaphor for my life.

These games used to be fun and exciting, but now they’re exhausting. I just did the egg-toss and have raw yolk all over me. I HAVE A BELLY FULL OF PUNCH AND CAKE. STOP SPINNING ME. TAKE THIS BLINDFOLD OFF. I want to see where I’m going and I want to stick this pin squarely where it belongs, then wash the egg off my shirt. I want normal!

But, see? There’s no such thing.

At least, not for us. Maybe for you and your family, but not mine. YOU try to get the tail on the donkey and I will, instead, focus on making sure that my kin don’t spin themselves into traffic, or pin themselves in the face, or fall off that cliff over there. You try to win the candy prize and I’ll try to keep my family from being admitted to the hospital. Deal?

And, sometimes I think it’s not fair; watching everyone scramble for bubble gum while I sit there, rubbing my face where I got whacked with the pinata stick. But, other times I sneak into my kids’ rooms at night and see them sleeping soundly, each holding a piece of rainbow-colored, papier mache. I hope they know that, although mom didn’t get the prize, she took a hard hit to the cheek in order to get us close to it.

Hopefully I will teach them that at the end of the day, life isn’t about the party favors, it’s about the clean-up and knowing that despite the mess, you will do it again. That sometimes you will have hopes of fun and normalcy that turn to shambles, but you pick up the trash and move on.

Please excuse me while I get my broom.

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