So, it's been an interesting week. First there was The Health Scare, about which I have blogged here. (It took about 18 years off of my life all together. Sheesh.)
Then there was the My Husband Is In China And I can't Reach Him Half The Time And Did I Mention I'm Having a Health Scare–snafu.
On top of which there've been several little freaky lunar-tides-inspired, east-wind-motivated moments that I won't go into right now.
And finally there was the old, Mom Is Irrational After This WhackedOut Week She's Been Having So Let's Make It Even Better–incident, involving my oldest kid:
Let me just say that when mom is going through all of this stuff and generally doing okay unless something happens which tips her over the edge into spazz-momness—which almost never happens except when it does—it is not a good idea to drive away in the dead of night during a whackadoo wind and rain storm, telling her not to worry because you'll be fine and just to make sure you'll call her in twenty minutes to let her know you've arrived safely at your apartment, and then walk into said apartment to see a movie playing and completely forget about calling your neurotic stressed-out mom, and on top of it not answer your phone, until it is more than two and a half hours later and she now has the Resident Manager of your apartment prowling the parking lot looking for your truck.
That would be a bad idea.
Because now not only are you obligated to make muffins for the Resident Manager (because I SAID SO), but you are on mom's You Owe Me a GINORMOUS Chocolate Cake, Plus Several Cleaned Bathrooms Whenever I Ask For Them–list.
I am telling you. I thought that once I got a bit older life would chill out. The kids would be less of a worry than when they were helpless guileless little beings playing around at my ankles. I would be wiser and fearless. The world would make more sense. And generally speaking I would be a vast island of calm in a turbulent sea. Turns out I'm the freaking turbulent sea.
I think it's time for another trip. It's been a year since Ireland, after all. I'll bet Scotland would chill me right out. I could use me some bagpipes and heather and lochs and haggis. Maybe not so much the haggis. In any case, I'll let you know how it all goes down. If nothing else I'll at least go chill in front of a few episodes of Monarch of the Glen and get a happy little Scots-fix that way.
Wotcher, dudes.
If you can’t get to Scotland, then Monarch will do quite nicely. Sometimes when I’m whacked out I close my eyes and remember their loch. And the gorgeous astilbe garden they had outside the dining room windows.
You’re going to have to explain to me what an astilbe is. Can you eat it?
Also, I think you should come out here and watch MotG with me, so we can remember the loch together.