In 7 days, 8 hours and 16 minutes, the kids return to school. But who's counting?
(Me. I have a countdown timer on my computer to mark this momentous occasion.)
And I will go to yoga. No really, I swear I will. I haven't been since I called that not pregnant lady pregnant, but I'm ready now.
I will go to the beach alone and I will bring one chair and a book and it will be glorious.
I will read books without being interrupted to hear about video games or sharks.
I will swim in the pool without wearing another human being as a necklace.
I will not wonder if I should buy a striped shirt and a whistle since I will no longer be a full time referee.
I will not hear open-mouthed chewing at lunch time.
I will have a semi-normal life with a schedule--a schedule that never involves bowling.
I will never complain about packing a lunch again. Until at least November.
When that morning bell rings, I am pretty sure fat little trumpet-toting, diaper-wearing cherubs will descend from the heavens to serenade me, and Jesus Christ himself will probably slide down a rainbow to shake my hand and say, "Good job, Ashley. I don't know how you managed, I would've smacked someone."
I'll be okay if that last part doesn't happen, but really, I won't be surprised if it does.
I have survived a true test of the soul and I didn't even smack anyone.
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