Big City Girl

Tomorrow I'm leaving early in the morning, without my kids.


Yes, that's right.

No kids.




Do you know what that means?

That means I get to dress pretty, wear make-up, have nice hair and I only have to worry about me.



What a luxury.


I'll repeat it.

Only worry about me.
Rolls off the tongue fabulously.



I do miss dressing nice daily.

Wearing cashmere while avoiding noses and cleaning bums doesn't seem practical. Ever play dodge the runny nose game with a child? I seem to lose a lot.

Or tweed. Tweed doesn't allow for stretching to catch a child vaulting himself off the furniture.

Nor high heels.

They give no support while washing the laundry, the dishes, or chasing the children.


And so, my excitement in wearing heels TWICE this year should be contagious. Watch out other stay at homers, or spouses of such. There may be a revolt of glamour withdrawl.

"BRING OUT THE SILK! AND NO ONE DIES!"



The reason for going to the big T.O. is not pleasant.

I'm keeping my wonderful mother company with my mad chatty skills to keep her mind off the poking and prodding that will inevitably be done to her for the only reason that she may be withholding information about things that had happened to her in which I can in no way elaborate on.

In short, it's going to suck.


However, I'm trying to remain positive.

Because,

a day away from the kids,

is a very special treat.


I get to feel like a woman, a human being.

And I'll be walking tall and proud in support of and next to the one that I'm sure I've caused sleepless nights for, and made feel less than human herself.