Notes to self.

Well, I feel like a heel.  Officially.

My baby sister has done a wonderful thing.  She has gotten her master’s degree in education while teaching full time, raising my three year old nephew, running a household and driving to a town 30 miles away for class. 

Oh, and she graduated with a 4.0

She is proud of herself.  I am proud of her.  I don’t know how she did it.  She is throwing herself a party.  Today.  A big party with relatives and friends coming from all over.  When asked what she wanted for a graduation gift she answered, “Just be there.”

I had a plan that involved leaving the littles here and hitting town by myself.  That way, I could drink and cavort to my hearts content and not have to be anyone’s mother.  I would not have to concern myself with naps, snacks or bedtimes.  I would not have to referee the 4 foot and under set. 

Well, it fell through in a grand way.  I would have to take both littles (and the dog because I was just lazy enough not to call the kennel until it was too late).  And it is surface of the sun hot out added with jungle like humdity.  Ask me what I don’t want to do.  Go ahead.

So I’m not going to do it.  Make the 5 hour drive.  Drink beer in the heat.  Chase cranky, mosquito bitten children.  Boob sweat.   Not to mention the numbers of people who I don’t know who may or may not know me.  But they all know *about* me.  Nice.

And all she wanted was for me to be there.  And I couldn’t even manage to do it.

Thusly, I feel like a heel.  A cracked heel.  On an unpedicured foot with unpolished toenails.

I hate this.