The ramblings that appear when I'm driven to write what's in my head, rather than what's in someone else's.
The Least ‘Un graduated kindergarten today. No cap and gown. The processional was “Let Them Be Little” by Lonestar, which was written for the sole purpose of making mothers bawl. It was successful.
The mayor asked each kid a question. The ones he asked about heroes mostly replied, “My mom,” except the kid who said, “Batman,” and my kid, who said, “I don’t know.” I’m going to tell myself that he’s just evaluating all the options before he arrives at a conclusion. Publicly stating who your hero is should be treated with an appropriate amount of gravity. Knowing the Least ‘Un, he didn’t want to say one person for fear of hurting someone else’s feelings. Or he panicked. The mayor suggested he just say, “The Mayor of Our Town.” At that, the Least ‘Un gave him an “are you crazy” look and refused to say anymore.
So the kids are off to Yellowstone with their dad and grandparents for a week. I won’t see them for a week and a half. From where I’m standing that looks an awful lot like eternity. I can hear the battery-operated clock tick. I wish I hadn’t unfriended two-thirds of my Facebook friends, so at least I’d have something new in my newsfeed. I have big plans for my “alone time,” but I fear I’m going to end up curled in a fetal position on the kid’s bed, clutching a stuffed puppy and crying.
Nah, I’ll be okay. Just need to focus. As long as I don’t listen to Lonestar…