I'm teaching the kids how to use Uber. It's the only way to survive.

So, I remember when my kids were babies and I thought that as soon as they could wipe their own rears I would be set. But the thing with kids is their is always, always a catch. 

They can now wipe themselves (although with Bode, at times, it's questionable) but with that wonderful ability came things like hobbies and passions, and because I'm a sucker I've indulged their desires to be involved in....wait for it....activities. 

As a result of these activities, I will not be available for coffee, dinner, a simple chat on the phone, bunco, meal prep parties, botox and wine get togethers (I've heard this is an actual thing and I love it), showers (the baby, wedding, and cleaning of the body kind), mani/pedis, proofing my texts before I send them, continuing ed, hair appointments, any kind of preventative care doctors appointments, yoga, spin class, a leisurely walk, grocery shopping, a deep conversation, naps, spring cleaning, or girls road trips until August of 2025. 

So please don't give up on me. I'll be back in no time at all.

Until then it's theater and sports. And I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty fun. A different, exhausting, living-in-the-car-eating-food-from-drive-thrus kind of fun, but fun nonetheless. 

Because I'm not organized enough right now to make informed and timely decisions, Mia accidentally got cast in two shows at once. It's insane. Music Man and Aladdin all mixed together in a sea of scripts, rehearsals, and loud shower singing.  Her life is bizarre. 

Two of these theater girls are 18 years old, and Mia, an innocent 11-year-old, looks just like them. I blame chicken for this. I've seen the documentaries. I'm no fool.

And this is the year we transition to kid-pitch baseball. For a mother of a catcher, this is terrifying. For a baby-boy catcher this is the most thrilling experience of his life. Only because he is now wearing a "cup." I'll tell you what's not a thrilling experience: Asking your kid, for the hundredth time, to quit punching himself in the cr0tch, and for the love of your future grandchildren, to quit letting his friends do it too.

I know this will come as a shock, but my life is not glamorous. 

School started and stuff.

School started with minimum fanfare. It's like the kids are finally resigned to their fate.

Bode has a new (to Oakdale) teacher for third grade this year. She was naive enough to let Bode and three of his bffs sit together. After six days her positive resolve faded into the sunset and she rearranged the seating chart.  

 Mia started 6th grade. And just as I predicted, she's come home every day with homework and an attitude. 

This is the first year Bode has been old enough to kind of get into the Olympics. This was his official Olympic watching outfit. Our family had our own Olympic sport of seeing how much ice cream we could shove into our mouths during the timed events. Bode won. 

 And it turns out the Olympics makes us all painfully aware of how much talent we don't have. In order to cope, we watched YouTube videos of Olympic divers belly flopping, and then laughed hysterically at their failures.  We are amazing parents.

 And while we are on the subject of amazing parenting, every time Bode sees a giant hole in the ground, he assumes it is there specifically for him to pee in. I don't even care anymore. 

And, without further ado, I present to you my daughter, AKA woman-child, AKA woman. She is officially wearing my clothes and my shoes and here is the real kicker: She looks better in them than I do. 

Dear God, get me (and her) through this season relatively unscathed. That's all I ask.