OCD.
I have this eccentric habit of counting... as I may have mentioned before, seven times. Ceiling tiles in a waiting room. Floor tiles in an examination room. Stairs. Who needs a pedometer? Days. Hours. Countdowns. Trees. Flowers. Stepping Stones.
We have had fun days. We have had lazy days. Family days. Zoo days. Aquarium days. Museum days. Lunch days. Picnic days. Swimming days. Playdate days. Birthday party days. Drive-in nights.
We have NOT had a "real" vacation ... by "real" I mean like leave the city, metroplex, state, region, country kind of vacation.
My children are beginning to panic awaiting the first day of school in which they are required to write about their summer vacation using adjectives and other colorful descriptions. They are aware of the stiff vacation competition. The show-offs. The bullies. The wannabe's. The imposters. The pretenders. The Vlasic Pickle children.
I feel for them.
"My Summer Recap as told by V"
"Being pregnant and adding a baby to the house does not make for a fun summer vacation. Vomiting, bed rest, bodily changes that nobody discusses, baby crying, smelly diapers, no sleep, foggy brains, forgetful moments, grumpy people, and other things that I cannot talk about in public.
But my family is planning on a trip to Ravenna, Italy in May, so I will be absent. And I don't really care about the attendance. Besides, maybe we'll travel south to Rome and I'll be excused, pardoned, and forgiven by the Pope."
PS I hope the principal doesn't call me on this "yarn".
PPS Perhaps V's Summer Vacation will be used in a Birth Control Pamphlet.
PPPS Planned Parenthood is on the phone now... gotta go!
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