I am not an addict

Not to be negative, but... I hate the first day of school! I always cry, but I have to hide it and be all happy so the kids don't hate school. I took pictures of the little girls and we all put on our best face for the occasion. Ibby has not been wanting to go to school at all. My other kids were all ready and excited to start kindergarten so this has been a new experience for me. She knows there are other options out there so whenever anyone has asked her if she is excited to start school, she keeps saying, "I haven't decided if I am going yet." So I have really had to talk it up (whilst biting the proverbial fingernails -- 'Should I be pushing her away when she seems to need me more than ever? Will it really be what she needs to get away from the house, make new friends, learn new things?') and shush Charles who is over in the corner muttering things like, "If you do that at school, they'll put you in detention." Thank you, oh, so helpful! But she went this morning with me and we checked out her room, locker, desk, etc. She was totally fine while we were there, but then has been making wishy washy remarks since our return. It was hard for me with the other kids as well. Ella started High School, crazy! Charles was thrown back to the wolves, but fortunately there are always a lot of police officers on hand -- so reassuring for when one is hit over the head with a food tray. Lulu is in 3rd grade which seems like the beginning of not being little. It is all so terrifically sad!!!

Yesterday I was stressed out. It all started with a dead mouse greeting me at the bottom of my stairs. Thank you so very much, Mittens. I screamed so loudly, but when I asked Matthew later if he had heard me, he said he thought I was just yelling at the kids again. Gotta live up to my reputation. Charles was so incredibly sweet and took the dead animal outside without anyone asking. I was trying to get the house clean because I started a new Bradley series last night and I also was worried because I was starting my new job as a bus. I didn't campaign for this position, but my neighbor asked me if I could pick her son up from preschool and take him to daycare. Sure, as a favor (according to working moms, why not? I am just sitting at home doing nothing after all) I would do it for her. Well, three other moms have the same problem and suddenly I am a bus. They wanted me to do it every day, but I just couldn't commit so I am doing it twice a week and charging more than I probably should. I have to get a baby in and out of a carseat several times! Okay, so I was worried about those things and then I also have the 6,000 orders hanging over my head. So, all afternoon as I yawned and worried I told myself that I could get a Dr. Pepper before my class. It would perk me up, I had a headache (pulling out the medicinal excuse), and I thought it would make me feel better. I wish I didn't like soda, but I do. I keep it to a minimum -- I am not addicted -- but I really, really wanted one yesterday. Not everyone has Dr. Pepper so I had to go to a special place. There was an accident on the way and I got stuck in traffic, then there was nowhere to park. Finally, I got inside and filled up my cup. As I was making my way to the counter, I turned too quickly and gored my cup with a shelf. The whole thing burst and flooded everywhere! I was soaking wet and very embarrassed, but the lady who worked there was very nice and started to clean it up. I went back to get another cup. I put in the ice, filled it up just so, got a lid, put in the straw, stood in line, paid the money, got back in my car, took one sip, and then a block down the road, my straw poked a hole in the bottom of the cup and it started spewing all over me, all over the car, I was screaming, people were staring. I just drove home, grumpy and dejected, no caffeine for me. Was it a sign?

We are getting new gutters on our house today so the background of my day is bad music on a subpar radio, men yelling at one another, and the aroma of cigarettes wafting in through the windows. Heaven.