Race to the bottom

I began this post on June 17 (or thereabouts) and never returned to finish it. I guess I’ll take a deep breath and make an attempt at completion:

 

So I’ve sworn I wouldn’t use this blog as a venue for personal rants but….well, a mere six postings in I find I am going to have to break my oath.

Whilst reading an article at some uber-parenting website I spied a link to a blog entry that sounded intriguing, so naturally I clicked on it. The writer, a mom of twins, was bemoaning the loss of a highly competent and most beloved nanny. Now mind you, the nanny didn’t die or anything. She was just moving on to another family in a different part of the country. This put the writer in the unbearable position of having to shop around for a new nanny. Almost immediately, that old, unpleasant, and all too familiar pang began creeping over me. It was the feeling I’ve had so many countless times in the past ten years, and this is it: If this woman’s life is so placid and uneventful that (insert problem du jour) is the cause of her lying awake at night, then I envy her with all my heart.

Just in the past twenty-four hours, here is what’s transpired in my little hamlet: Daughter #1 (aged 21) and Daughter #2 (aged 18) make last-minute arrangements to fly home early from their Myrtle Beach vacation because the friends’ car they had all ridden down in was showing signs of impending mechanical failure and they didn’t want to chance trying to make it home in it. (It’s around a twelve-hour drive.) Daughter #2 could afford to pay for her own ticket, but Daughter #1 could not, which meant that her mother (that would be me) had to cough up the funds. They arrived home safely but when Daughter #1 went to retrieve her own car, she found it would not start. Handy knowledgeable car repair buddy cannot find the problem, so car must be towed to local (reputable but expensive) garage.

Meanwhile, Daughter #2 arrives home with two duffel bags full of soaking wet and rapidly mildewing clothes. Turns out that she and her recently excommunicated boyfriend, who also happened to be in Myrtle Beach with his friends, had had some sort of spat over goodness knows what, the culmination of which was his hurling her bags off the hotel’s fifth floor balcony into the swimming pool below. I have plans to visit my dad this morning (it’s Father’s Day) but I have to postpone the visit until later today because Darling Daughter has to go to work and if her stinky, steaming clothes sit for one minute longer they are going to start sprouting penicillin.

 

Aaaargh!!! The Boxer and the little Beast are trying to tunnel their way through the screen door. To be continued….

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