I did not die or fall off where the sidewalk ends. I did have an excess of busy and tired, and I went on vacation and then I returned to busyness, though less.
Mottern One held down the fort, Central Command.
I’m happy to tell you that I wasn’t near as sick on this trip as I usta be. My anxiety and my vertigo did not win. I was a little wobbly when we stopped one time, but I was generally okay. I drove through traffics, alongside semis and barrels and barriers and I was okay. Not once did I have to pray for solace or remind myself to breathe. Not once did I consider squinting my eyes shut and driving off a mountainside to make it stop.
I don’t hate the drive like The Mister does. He hates it. He is destination oriented and I am journey oriented. On my own, road trips with my kids were adventures, and took twice as long, but were more fun, cause stop and smell the kudzu or whatever.
Sergeant Mottern makes travel serious and shit. I am happy to say, he showed great restraint on this trip.
Vacation was HOT. It just be’d hot all the time. Just hot. People ask, “How was vacation?”
Moo never complained of hot, and Sassy even commented one morning it was chilly outside (71F/21C). The Mister handles it better than I do physiologically, but he hates the hot, too. Hot. All the time, hot.
The best spot in my mother’s house is the standing-room-only one over the air vent.
Yes, Vent. Do it to me. Mmm.
My parents have this sorta oasis of shade. They live out there like the zerds. It’s a screen-y, blind-y, artsy, porch-type thing, with beautiful landscaping. Papa had me sittin in his spot there, where the fan blew on me constantly, but I still dripped with sweat all the whole time I was outdoors.
SO my mother made me margaritas.
My mommy loves me. And that’s why I went to south Florida on vacation.