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crop circles, cleveland and kidneys

crop circles, cleveland and kidneys

The kids are leaving tomorrow morning to vacation in Cleveland with their father. Yes, Cleveland. Not exactly a popular summer retreat destination.

They will go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and to see the Yankees play the Indians - and that is the basis of all their trips, to see the Yankees in away games.

They will be gone until Sunday night. That's six days. Part of me is thinking bliss! No one to take care of in the morning except me. I can actually get to work on time. No one calling me every five minutes. No running back and forth to baseball practice and friends' houses and the mall and the movie theater. Peace. Quiet.

So then why do I have a knot in my stomach? Why do I feel like crying? I'll tell you why: Because my over active imagination and my obession with worrying about things I can't control have taken over.

The what-if monsters came out last night. It all started off as normal parenting worry and then slowly went downhill from there.

What if he doesn't buckle them up in the car?
What if he forgets to give Natalie her ear drops?
What if there is a terrorist attack while they're gone?
What if he loses one of the kids at the Yankee game?

I stuff their pockets with pieces of paper that have a zillion phone numbers for emergency use.

It's not that I don't trust their father, I do. Completely. It's just my nature to think up the worst scenarios possible.

What if they get lost on the way their and end up in a field of whatever it is they grow in Ohio and the children of the corn or wheat or barely kidnap them and use them as a sacrifice?

What if they get lost on their way and end up in a crop circle and they are never heard from again?

What if someone sneaks into the hotel room at night to steal their kidneys?

What if they go insane after their father drags them through the Bruce Springsteen exhibition at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the 53rd time?

What if they come home looking like Drew Carey and singing Cleveland Rocks?

And what if their father goes completely nuts from being in a car eight straight hours with a pre-teen girls suffering from terminal pms? Better him than me, I say.

Oh. Hey. Six days with the PS2 to myself. Six days with no phone calls from giggling, screeching girls. Six days without hockey pucks being slammed against the side of the house. Six days without the constant soundtrack of "I'm bored!" and "It's too hot!" being played on an endless loop.

Is it Tuesday morning yet?


hey you..
don't worry.

big big big big hugs!!

I'll come over and slam some hockey pucks against the side of the house to keep you company.

I'd settle for a beer and some SpongeBob viewing.

You slam a puck, I slam your head.