My original plan was to try the new smoothie recipe for breakfast yesterday morning, but then I remembered that it was Wednesday morning which meant it was one of my running days. That’s right. I said running days.

As part of my commitment to a healthier, sweatier me in 2011, I started the Couch to 5K training program last week. I’d been contemplating it for several weeks because I knew I needed to come up with a workout alternative to the 30 Day Shred since I was on the verge of unplugging the DVR and throwing it through the T.V. screen if I had to listen to Jillian taunt me one more time about the fact I’ll never have abs that look like green sports bra girl.

And, secretly, there’s always been a part of me that would like to be a runner. The only thing that’s held me back all these years is the whole part that involves the running, but I’ve always been a huge fan of the clothing and accessories and the way legitimate runners say cool things like, “I ran a nine minute mile in my last 10K” or “I’m thinking about doing the half next year”. Because clearly they don’t even need to specify they mean a half marathon. It’s implied by the Nike sensor on their running shoes and the JUST DO IT emblazoned across their t-shirt.

So when I began to hear people talk about the Couch to 5K program, I was intrigued. Mainly because I have the couch part DOWN FLAT. I looked it up on the internet and decided it sounded within the realm of my possibilities. The only concern I had was how I was going to be able to run, possibly throw up from the exercise and keep track of my one minute of running alternated with the two minutes of walking for thirty minutes. It seemed like I might need some special kind of Ironman watch and timers and this is why I’ve never been a runner. Besides all the running.

Then I realized there certainly had to be a Couch to 5K app on my phone and so I searched for it and THERE IT WAS because Steve Jobs will not rest until every aspect of our life is controlled and managed by Apple. All I have to do is make myself put on my running shoes and it does all the work for me. Except the actual running. But there is a nice lady who lives inside my phone that says, “It’s time to run now!” and “It’s time to walk now!” and “You’re halfway done!” When it’s all over she congratulates me and it means the world to me to have her support.

Of course you and I both know that I’m going to hate her by next week and will become the crazy lady running down the road, trying not to throw up while yelling, “QUIT TELLING ME WHAT TO DO! YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!” into my phone.

If you’re wondering what any of this has to do with a tofu smoothie, you’re not alone.

I can’t eat anything before I run in the morning because THE HEAT, MY WORD THE HEAT so I decided I’d wait until I got home and cooled down to make the smoothie. Then I remembered that I was meeting my friend, Jennifer, at Starbucks, and I needed to shower and get dressed instead of experimenting with tofu. I also needed to figure out a way to get my face to quit glowing bright red. I don’t know why it turns so red, but I look like an angry cartoon character for at least an hour after I run.

Anyway, after Starbucks I ran in Hobby Lobby because I need some kind of fall centerpiece for my dining room table (I didn’t find anything. I don’t know what I’m looking for.) and then I went to Target for reasons I can’t recall but it ended with me buying a pair of camo leggings and a great long-sleeve t-shirt that I might be able to wear if it ever drops below 104 degrees.

(I’m sorry for all the pointless details. I could go on and on with the pointless details of my day. In fact, I just did. I stopped for gas. And thought about getting my car washed. And ran the dishwasher twice because the soap didn’t come out of the the dispenser the first time. It’s all fascinating.)

When I got back to the house around lunchtime, I decided that nothing would be better than a smoothie with tofu in it for lunch. So I began to dump all the ingredients into the blender. Then I opened up the tofu, didn’t realize it was packed in water, and made a huge mess all over the countertops and the floor. And then I thought about how that kind of thing never happens with bacon or pretzel M&Ms.

But I decided to forgive the tofu and made my smoothie. It was delicious. I’ll be making another one tomorrow. And the next day.

And maybe the day after that.

In fact, given my propensity for sucking all the life and joy out of a food by eating it until I can’t stand to even think about it, I’ll probably make one daily for the next three months. And then the smoothie will be dead to me.

In case you’d like to try one for yourself, you can find the recipe right here.

Well, clearly I need to take a tip from Paul Harvey and tell y’all the rest of the story from yesterday’s post about Lee.

We invited her to our wedding but she was in very poor health and told me she just wasn’t going to be able to make it. Right after we got married, P’s mom moved into my old apartment at Village Oaks because she had recently sold P’s childhood home and hadn’t found a new house yet. She’d been living with P in our townhome in the days leading up to the wedding and so we just switched places. Little did she know she’d be living in Village Oaks for the next year.

She also didn’t know that a new neighbor had moved in below me who liked to have very loud fights with his girlfriend, which led to my mother-in-law having to resist the daily temptation to catch this young girl in the courtyard, shake her by the shoulders and say, “MOVE ON, SISTER. HE’S BAD NEWS.”

Anyway, Lee adopted my mother-in-law as her new best friend and they talked daily until Lee’s health became too bad for her to live alone and she moved out of town to be closer to her daughter and ultimately passed away.

And that’s the rest of the story.

With a few more details than you probably really care about thrown in for no extra charge.

In other news, look what I bought at the store yesterday.

It’s like I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror.

What happened to that sweet girl who craved nothing more than Fritos and bean dip not even two weeks ago?

I’ll tell you what happened. She realized she is a mere eleven months away from her 40th birthday and maybe it’s time to think about health and fitness.

At least for the next few weeks.

Apparently you can put tofu in a smoothie and it tastes good and adds in protein to get you through the day. I’ll let you know tomorrow if any of that is actually true.

I have fifty dollars that says it’s not going to be as tasty as bacon and eggs with a side of blueberry pancakes.

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Post 4 for the Kellogg’s $100 gift card giveaway is posted over on my giveaway page. Click on over for the chance to win $100.

Back when P and I were dating, I lived in a delightful little apartment complex for the bargain price of $395 a month all bills paid. I was essentially paying a dollar per square foot. It was a tiny apartment, but for a single girl, barely living above the poverty line, it was a little piece of heaven. I could set the thermostat to sixty-five degrees and leave it there all day. I wrapped myself in a down comforter all year long, drank hot chocolate, and pretended it was winter while I watched with the rest of the world to see if Ross and Rachel were ever going to get together.

I quickly noticed within a few days of moving into my little apartment that I was the only resident under the age of eighty-two. I’d inadvertently stumbled onto some sort of semi-assisted living arrangement reminiscent of Melrose Place for the elderly. All the apartments were situated around a common courtyard area with a pool and a landlord constantly tending to the plants while wearing a surgical mask and toting around her oxygen tank. From time to time she’d pull the mask away from her face long enough to take a hit of her cigarette or yell at one of the residents for parking their Cadillac too close to her hedge of red-tip photinias.

Needless to say, I stood out in this land of Geritol and they were fascinated with me. There were nights I would go out and arrive home long after the ungodly hour of 10:30. P would walk me to my door, past all the clotheslines hung with large girdles, and we would see thirty-two sets of mini-blinds throughout the courtyard pop open as they watched the only entertainment they considered better than Walker, Texas Ranger.

Lee Vernon was the neighbor I knew the best. Mainly because I had to walk past her apartment every time I went to my car and she spent most the day sitting in a lawn chair right outside the door with her oxygen tank and her Chihuahua named Penny. Within two days of my move into the complex, she knew everything about me, and, most importantly, everything about P. I suspect she had some sort of CIA connections based on the amount of information she was able to gather about us in such a short amount of time.

I soon learned she was the eyes and ears of Village Oaks. She knew everything about everyone and would tell you whether you wanted to know or not. It became part of my after work ritual to stop by Lee’s apartment and catch up on the latest gossip, which usually included juicy information about whose Social Security check had yet to arrive in the mail or who the Bradford widow was trying to seduce. I determined the main reason she always sat outside in her lawn chair was to ensure she didn’t miss anything. It was reminiscent of how the paparazzi camps out whenever there’s a chance they might spot Britney walking barefoot out of a 7-11, except she was waiting to see if Dorothy Wilson and Evelyn Moore were going to get into a fight over imminent clothesline domain.

Lee was the first person to find out P and I were engaged. He proposed to me in my apartment and as we left for dinner we shared the news. By the time we returned, everyone in the complex knew about our newly engaged status and celebrated by staying up late to watch Murder She Wrote while intermittently peeking through their mini-blinds to see how late he’d stay at my apartment.

Since my parents lived out of town, I arranged for all our wedding gifts to be delivered to my apartment because I wanted to see if I could make five hundred square feet seem even more claustrophobic by packing the place with silver gift-wrapped boxes filled with breakable items. Every day I would return home to a porch full of boxes and I’d carry them into my apartment while being careful not to trip over the punch bowl set with matching cups that I was using as a door stop. (Incidentally, that was the last time it was used for anything.)

Lee appointed herself as watchdog of all my delivered gifts. She had a clear view of my second floor apartment from her lawn chair and kept lookout all day to make sure that one of her fellow senior residents didn’t try to make off with a shiny, new toaster oven because everyone knows that those octogenarians love nothing more than some toast.

One day I had to work late and then met some friends for dinner so I didn’t get home until after midnight. When I walked up the steps to my apartment, I was relieved to see I didn’t have any packages to be hauled in. I fell into bed and slept until the shrill sound of the phone ringing woke me up at 6:00 a.m.

Reaching past the boxes of new towels, I grabbed the phone and sleepily said, “Hello?” The raspy voice on the other end said, “Honey, it’s Lee. I got worried when you weren’t home at your usual time last night so I picked up all the packages that got delivered yesterday and brought them down to my place. You know these people around here won’t hesitate to steal something.” Yes, I have no doubt I was living in an apartment complex that merely served as a front for an elderly crime ring specializing in pawning stolen wedding gifts to pay for their denture cream and support hose habit.

Lee continued, “Honey, you can come down here and get these gifts whenever you want. I’ll be here all day.” I had no reason to doubt the validity of her statement so I rolled back over and went to sleep. When I finally woke up around 10:00 a.m., I threw on some clothes and went to retrieve the gifts. I walked down the stairs marveling that she even managed to make it up to my apartment, collect gifts and get them back to her place all while toting her oxygen tank. It made me shudder to think about what a precarious journey it must have been. Lee was stationed outside her front door, but stood up when she saw me coming and led me inside to get the packages. There were about three or four things sitting in her living room. As I picked them up to carry them upstairs, she told me I’d need to come back down because there was one more in her refrigerator.

Her refrigerator? Did someone send me a ham? Did P register for a selection of Hickory Farms smoked meats when I wasn’t looking? I walked back down to her place and she brought the box out of the refrigerator. Sure enough, it was a big cardboard box with the words “Refrigerate Immediately” stamped all over it. I couldn’t imagine what was in there.

I thanked Lee for taking care of my gifts and then ran upstairs with the package because the curiosity was killing me. Normally, I waited until P and I were together to open a present (at least that’s what I told him, but in my defense he really didn’t show the enthusiasm I was looking for whenever we received another crystal vase or a set of steak knives) but I couldn’t wait to see what this was, not to mention there was no way the whole box would fit inside my refrigerator.

As I delicately ripped open the box, I continued to speculate about what might be inside. Maybe some bacon? Imported caviar? The first installment in a membership to a cheese of the month club? (Please God let it be a membership to a cheese of the month club) I pulled out the tissue paper to reveal a perfectly refrigerated wooden salad bowl with matching tongs.

Apparently someone had packed and mailed their gift using whatever box they had on hand. Lee ensured that our new wooden bowl remained perfectly chilled all night long.

Bless her heart.

I’d finally found someone as enthusiastic about our wedding gifts as I was and vowed that, when the time came for P and me to pour the first drinks from our new crystal decanter, we would make a special toast to Lee. Unfortunately, we didn’t receive a crystal decanter, so the only toast we ended up making was the kind we could make in our shiny, new toaster oven.

Which really worked out because I believe that bread covered in butter and grape jelly is actually more festive than whiskey anyway.

I always say that the posts I write on Sunday nights are the hardest ones to write. Of course now I’m wondering what I mean when I say I always say that because no one really asks me that question since, odds are good, nobody really cares. So I guess it’s just something I tell myself. And P has to listen to it because he has the misfortune of sitting next to me on the couch while I lament about my inability to come up with anything interesting to say. He usually says something helpful like, “When has that ever stopped you?”.

He’s hilarious.

So I went to Virginia this weekend. Originally I thought I’d never been to Virginia before, but then I remembered that I took a class trip to Washington D.C. when I was in eighth grade and we went to Arlington National Cemetery. I also think we may have visited Mount Vernon, although I’m not totally sure since my motivation to go on the trip leaned more towards the social benefits, as opposed to any type of yearning for historic knowledge. However, I do have vivid memories of seeing Fonzie’s leather jacket and Archie Bunker’s chair in the Smithsonian, so it’s not like I didn’t have any grasp of important moments in U.S. history.

Anyway, I left on Friday morning and arrived in Richmond about 3:00, headed to the coliseum, passed out approximately 15,043 copies of Homelife magazine at the LifeWay booth, wished I’d worn my hair back in a ponytail because I was so hot, listened to Beth teach an amazing lesson from John 1, went back to the Marriott, realized I’d forgotten my sound machine, panicked, remembered I had a white noise app on my phone, tried unsuccessfully to sleep for the next six hours, got out of bed, went back to the coliseum, drove my rental car back to the airport, ate a terrible cheeseburger, bought the new InStyle magazine, and got on the hottest plane I’ve ever been on to fly back to San Antonio.

It was a lot of stuff to cram into an twenty-four hour time period and I was exhausted.

P and Caroline picked me up from the airport. They’d spent the day at the ranch and were full of stories involving blood and gore and snakes. We stopped at California Pizza Kitchen to pick up dinner (I’m not sure why you need to know this. We ordered the Sicilian! And the Pepperoni Mushroom!) and as soon as we got home I rolled my suitcase into our bathroom to unpack and change clothes because I suffer from some sort of sickness that compels me to unpack my suitcase the minute I walk through the door. But when I walked in my closet, this is what I saw. Actually, I didn’t see it as much as I just stepped on it because I wasn’t paying attention.

In case you can’t tell, that’s a huge snakeskin.

Clearly my family wants me dead.

To say that I screamed and began to hyperventilate and had a complete out of body experience seems like a bit of an understatement. I ran back into the kitchen in time to see my sweet, precious baby girl doubled over and laughing hysterically. It was all her idea. Honestly, I don’t know that I ever seen her more proud of herself.

Which is great.

Except for the fact that I may have to burn down my closet.

So I had these grand ambitions to cover at least five of the trends for fall today. But then I remembered that I have to leave my house at 7:00 a.m. and I might want to pack a suitcase some time between now and then. It doesn’t help that it’s also just been one of those days.

However, I managed to muster the strength to talk about three of the fall trends. I’ll also tell you that Gulley and I went shopping yesterday and both agreed that we felt like we were looking into our closets circa 1991. We even saw a sales girl wearing a lace dress with a denim vest over it. I owned that outfit once upon a time.

I don’t tell you that with pride.

1. Boots

If you’re only going to buy one new thing this fall, I’m going to suggest that it be a pair of boots. And, let me tell you, there are boots galore to choose from.

There are over-the-knee boots

And lace-up boots

And more lace-up boots

There is the lace-up bootie that makes me feel a little nostalgic for those Esprit boots I used to wear during my junior year of high school with the built-in wool sock things sticking out of the top.

There is ankle bootie. They frighten me a little because I’m not sure what to do with them.

(When I just proofread this I realized I should have written, “there is the ankle bootie”. But it made me laugh that I wrote there is ankle bootie, so I’m leaving it. Watch out for ankle bootie. You don’t want ankle bootie.)

(I’m sorry. I’m very tired and a little punchy.)

And there are boots with spats. I’m a little obsessed with these.

Lastly, there are riding boots. I am such a fan of the riding boot. It’s a classic that will withstand the test of time and fashion whims.

2. Lace

Gulley and I were in Nordstrom yesterday and I saw a lace bodysuit. It was very similar to this Back to Lace-ics Onesie except it had long sleeves. I pointed it out to Gulley and laughed and said, “Remember when you used to have one almost exactly like that in college?”

And she replied, “That wasn’t mine. It was yours.”

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Anyway, as it turns out I should have saved it. I could sell it on ebay or something for tens of dollars because the lace is everywhere right now.

Dahlia tunic

Discovered lace dress

Lace is for Lovers top

My only advice is to remind you that nothing feels worse than cheap lace against your skin. Except for maybe freshly shaved legs at the beach. Or alcohol on a paper cut. Or biting into a water chestnut.

3. Military Influences

The military jackets are everywhere. There are dressy ones and utility ones. They even have them in camo.

Rag & Bone Cotton Safari jacket

Maybe I’ve been married to P for too long, but I actually really like that jacket. Of course I could probably find the same one for $30 at Cabelas. Along with a cheaper version of these Prada camo riding boots. Too bad they don’t have the leather snake detail like P’s.

But if the thought of camo frightens you, there are other ways to incorporate this trend into your wardrobe.

Sanctuary Military jacket

skinny cargo pants (I haven’t actually tried these. I’m not sure why any woman over the age of six would want to add bulk to her legs with pockets and have them taper to a skinny little point at the bottom. It seems like it might make your legs look like they defy the laws of physics. And taste.)

We the Free Majorette jacket

Do you see how I got too tired to actually upload pictures here at the end? I totally would except I really don’t want to right now. I have to go to bed.

And catch a flight.

And try to forget that I was the proud owner of a lace bodysuit.

Y’all have a great Friday.

I feel like this week has been a big blur of school and alarm clocks and packing lunches and heating up Eggo waffles. It’s hard to get back in a routine and I am just a little bit exhausted. So I’m going to share a few quick things and call it a day. Or a blog post. Or whatever.

1. I came home yesterday afternoon to discover that P had finished the bag of pretzel M&M’s. I went through the seven stages of grief and ultimately decided it was probably for the best. He can afford to eat an entire bag of M&M’s in one sitting because he can drop fifteen pounds in a week if he just mentions he might eat some baked fish for dinner.

It’s not fair.

2. I mentioned this on Twitter yesterday because I couldn’t contain my excitement. Gulley and I ran in Gap just to check things out and they had their yoga pants on sale for $9.99. I would have bought a pair for every day of the week but they only had one pair left in my size.

It’s not fair.

3. I’ve recently become addicted to Angry Bird on my iPhone. I’d played it a few times before but became frustrated when I got to level 10 and couldn’t get past it. But while we were at the beach, W told me that you can tap on the screen and the little gray birds turn into three separate birds. I’m not sure why I didn’t know that. Needless to say, that piece of information has revolutionized my Angry Bird abilities. However, I’m currently stuck on a new level and all the screen-tapping in the world doesn’t seem to be helping.

It’s not fair.

4. I’m leaving on Friday morning for Richmond, VA for a Living Proof Live Event with Beth Moore. I just realized that sentence makes it sound like I’m leaving for Virginia with Beth Moore. We’re not actually flying there together or anything. I’ll just hear her speak once I get there. Anyway, I’m excited about it.

And the forecast shows that the high temps will only be in the low 80′s on Saturday. I’m planning to pack a sweater to ward off the chill. How come they get that kind of weather and it’s still 100 degrees here?

It’s not fair.

Although the cold front that blew violently into town on Tuesday afternoon dropped the temps from 106 to the high 90′s. I never knew 97 degrees could feel so refreshing.

5. Caroline has decided she’d like me to curl her hair every morning. I’m thrilled by her new hair aspirations and I don’t mind curling it, except for the fact that she never stops moving the entire time. It’s like trying to curl the hair of a Persian cat on amphetamines. And it doesn’t help that I’m still a little groggy at 7:15 a.m.

The good news is it appears her hair can hold a curl all day long in spite of the massive humidity.

I’d like to say it’s not fair, but, honestly, I’m thrilled for her hair success. Even if she won’t really appreciate it for many years to come.

I’ll be back tomorrow and there’s a 64% chance I’m going to take the plunge and discuss fall trends.

I can sum up my day in two words:

Pretzel M&M’s.

Sophie mentioned them a few days ago and I’d just seen them that morning at Office Max. They seemed to be the culmination of every PMS dream I’ve ever had and I finally bought a bag at HEB. I never knew heaven had a taste.

The unfortunate thing is that I’ve spent most of the summer vowing my workout and eating healthy regimen would begin again as soon as school started. So I’m going to have to eat the pretzel M&M’s in moderation.

Right.

It reminds me of a story my family used to tell about my oldest cousin. When she was a little girl and got in trouble for doing something wrong she immediately began to wail, “But just yesterday I gave my heart to Jesus.”

That’s kind of how I feel about the pretzel M&M’s. Just yesterday I gave my heart to pursuing some physical fitness goals.

It’s going to take some willpower.

Mainly because we spent most of last week at the beach. The beach experience isn’t complete for me unless it includes Fritos and bean dip. And apparently a variety pack of Corn Nuts. I didn’t even realize that was an odd thing to haul down to the beach until my friend E looked in the pantry and asked, “Who in your family can’t live without Corn Nuts for four days?”

That would be me. Not on normal days, just beach days.

That makes it better.

Anyway, early in the summer, our friends W and E invited us to come stay at the beach house they’d rented for a week. They also invited our friends Cat and Dave and we were all excited to get to spend a few days together with our kids.

So last Thursday we loaded up P’s truck, along with the Polaris and everything else we own, and headed to Port Aransas for a long weekend. I’m not kidding when I say we looked like the Clampetts, but not as refined.

When I went to HEB on Wednesday to buy groceries for the trip, my cart was so full that the bag boy asked if I had a lot of kids. Yes. Yes I do. Kids who eat a lot of Corn Nuts. The back seat of the truck was piled so high with groceries that every time P made a right turn I was concerned Caroline might get knocked out by a rogue can of bean dip.

As soon as we got down there, we hit the beach. And look! We upgraded our accommodations this year!

Granted, it still looked a little like a refugee camp, but it was an improvement over last year’s tarp held up with rusted rebar. What I really wish I could show you is the moment the brown canopy caught a big gust of wind and began flying down the beach. We watched with a mix of horror and wonder, yet no one thought to grab their camera.

The fun thing about the trip, other than the canopy flying with reckless abandon down the beach, was that we’ve known W and Dave since they were fifteen years old and began attending a weekly Bible study that P led after he came back to San Antonio from College Station. And we’ve known Cat since she was about ten. We first met E six years ago when she visited the ranch with some friends who thought she might be a good match for W. Is any of this making sense?

The bottom line is that we’ve watched them all grow up, become real people, fall in love, get married and have babies. And now we’re just all friends that take vacations together.

And watch our kids dig big holes in the sand.

So that they can make a baby pool for one of the littlest ones.

Shortly after, they crashed her pool party and she decided to make a getaway.

To go in search of bigger and better things.

There were water fights.

And trucks.

And running down the beach.

And much borrowing of Caroline’s fancy goggles to make a fashion statement.

The majority of the time I looked up from my lounge chair and magazine, I saw Caroline attached like a little sea monkey to her daddy.

The fish we caught weren’t quite as impressive as the sharks we caught last year.

And by we, I mean P. I don’t really believe in putting bait on a hook and heading out to become part of the oceanic food chain.

It was the perfect way to end the summer. Friends, laughter, sun, Fritos, bean dip, Corn Nuts, sun and seaweed.

And jumping because we were just so happy to be there.

(This is how I’ll always remember Caroline at age 7. All arms and legs. All energy. All the time.)

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There is a new Kellogg’s post up on my giveaway page. Click over there to leave a comment for a chance to win $100 gift card.

Well the first thing I need to tell you is that I found my power cord after an exhaustive search. And it wasn’t in the trash which I’m going to claim as a victory. Instead, it was safely tucked away in an outside pocket of my suitcase. A pocket I didn’t even know existed except for apparently I did because I decided it was a good place to put my power cord when we left for the beach last Thursday. Honestly, I don’t even know why I checked my suitcase one last time, but I think it was related to the sheer agony I felt every time I thought about doling out $80 for something I already owned.

But, now! Just think of all the cute stuff I can buy with the $80 I saved by finding my power cord in my suitcase. It’s like I just found free money.

(I’m not sure why my version of economics frustrates P so much. Clearly, it’s very sound and logical)

In other news, Caroline had her first day of school yesterday and it turns out she was totally ready for second grade.

And it turns out that I wasn’t.

I truly thought I was ready. We got home from the beach on Sunday afternoon, packed and labeled all the school supplies we bought a month ago, and discussed what she wanted in her lunch the next day. We’d even gone through her closet trying to find an appropriate first day of school outfit that we both deemed acceptable. The whole wardrobe issue was filled with drama and tension and “WHY DON’T I HAVE MORE CLOTHES WITH SEQUINS?!”, but we ultimately reached a compromise. However, in the end, I should have just dressed her in sackcloth and ashes to match her pathetic mama who spent the rest of the day after drop-off in a state of mourning and wailing and hand-wringing.

P woke us up about 6:45 and I staggered into the kitchen to fry an egg and heat up a frozen waffle. Caroline ran in her room to get dressed and brush her teeth, then came back out holding her hairbrush and asked if I’d curl her hair with a curling iron. So I meticulously curled her hair only to have her decide it was too poufy and request that I pull it back in a ponytail even though P tried to convince her that the humidity would cause it to fall after about two minutes outside. (How much do I love P and his ability to be in touch with the issues that face women?)

By the time I finally got her dressed and ready, I had approximately twenty-eight seconds to pull my hair back and throw on the first thing I found. We walked to her new classroom, met her teacher, kissed Caroline goodbye and headed back home. As soon as we walked in the back door, P took one look at me and said, “You’ll feel better after a good cry”. And then I just fell apart like a big old sentimental sap that I would have totally made fun of less than ten years ago because PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, NANCY. IT’S SECOND GRADE, NOT VIETNAM.

I’m not sure why second grade hit me so hard. I have theories that involve things like getting a teacher that we don’t really know anything about, only knowing one other child in the class, and the way Caroline seemed so apprehensive when she kissed P and me goodbye, but I think the ultimate cause may be more related to the perfect storm of getting home from a fabulous trip to the beach, my ever present hormonal fluctuations, and OH MY WORD MY BABY IS A SECOND GRADER AND I’M NOT SURE HOW THIS HAPPENED AND I AM GOING TO NEED TIME TO STOP IT.

Because when I picked her up yesterday afternoon, she could not have been happier. She hugged her old friend and a new friend goodbye and strolled to the car while announcing it had been a great day. Although she did tell me that during reading time she traded books with one of the other kids in the class because the teacher didn’t say they couldn’t trade books. But then her teacher said they couldn’t trade books with each other and Caroline told me, “I wanted to tell her, ‘Then you should have told us that in the first place, GIRL’.” Which probably would have been an opportune time to explain why you shouldn’t refer to your teacher as “GIRL”, but I didn’t want to kill her first day of school buzz.

And so it begins. Tomorrow I’ll drop her off again and we’ll wash, rinse and repeat for the next I-don’t-really-want-to-think-about-how-many days.

Here’s hoping I can get through the rest of them without crying every five minutes.

I’m going to have to make this brief. Not because I don’t have much to say. On the contrary, I have volumes and volumes of things I’d love to share.

But the short version is that we’ve spent the last four days at the beach and got home yesterday afternoon and I have misplaced the power cord for my computer. It’s tragic really.

The worst part is I can’t guarantee that I didn’t accidentally throw it away in the midst of my pre-vacation cleaning frenzy. In fact, P believes there is a better than 82% chance of that scenario.

I brought my laptop to the beach, but never ended up actually using it because they didn’t have wireless access at the beach house and I couldn’t bring myself to plug into the router like some sort of twentieth century savage. So I can’t even remember if I had my power cord there or not.

And then I let Caroline watch Barbie: The Princess and The Pauper on the computer on the way home and, thus, I have about three seconds of power left.

IT’S ALL BARBIE’S FAULT.

So after I do the whole first day of school drop off thing, I’m headed to the Apple store to buy a new power cord to replace the one I may or may not have thrown in the trash.

And I’m trying not to think of all the other things I could spend that money on.

Like perhaps some herbal supplements that help with memory loss.

Well, if you count today then we officially have two days of summer left at our house. And then we have the weekend. And then we have the first day of second grade.

On the one hand, I’m going to miss sleeping in until 9:30 a.m. and watching a little Phineas and Ferb to start the day.

But, on the other hand, I’m kind of ready to be back in some sort of routine.

I know.

It’s like I’ve gone crazy from the heat.

Anyway, I want to soak up the next few days. I want to sleep late. I want to go to the pool and wonder how the snack bar manages to run out of bread. I want to hug my girl several million times before I send her off to the dog eat dog world of second grade.

So I’m taking the next few days off.

Although, technically, that means I shouldn’t have posted anything today. But then five people and my dad might have been worried that something was wrong and emailed me to see why I didn’t post something.

And that’s why I just wrote this overly long explanation.

Just try to remember that my OCD is part of my charm.

I’ll see you on Monday.