Unlike some people I typically enjoy Monday mornings. I just bid adieu to the weekend and ease my way back into the weekday routine.
But today I'm a little out of sorts.
Actually, I am pouting like a two year old.
There. I admitted it.
But somehow that doesn't make me feel any better.
But somehow that doesn't make me feel any better.
You see, yesterday afternoon we took my baby girl and dropped her off at camp.
And that tearful dude definitely represents me, not Perri. If anything she would have been just fine if her dad and I had simply slowed the vehicle, shoved her and her suitcase out the door and then fled the scene.Yeah, she's at that age.
I will survive the four days she'll be gone. We get to pick her up on Thursday afternoon and I'm sure that when we arrive at the campgrounds I won't be allowed to show her any sign of recognition, let alone give her an oh how I've missed you! hug.
But that's okay. It's only a 10 minute drive home (yeah, she's THAT close) and then I'll get my hug.
But that's okay. It's only a 10 minute drive home (yeah, she's THAT close) and then I'll get my hug.
Or I just won't tell her where I hid her laptop.
Hey, a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do. ;)
