I hate it when I'm rattled.
My brain has been shaken, not stirred, and all goodly thoughts have fallen out my ears, leaving me humming little dittys like 'Shoo Fly', meaningfully.
I long for a calm inside myself; the ability to let things slide, and to remain steady as kids - mine, the neighbors', random kids at the park - scream and race and hassle and beg and whine and run.
Perhaps it would be better if I didn't join them in the shenanigans and played the adult, the parent, the reasonable one.
So I packed up the kids, plus one, and we went to the park for a impromptu 5th grade party - because 4 days of celebrating at school wasn't enough - and I spread out my cheerful polka dotted blanket and read.
I read while Zack whined about being left out.
I read while Lexi rolled her eyes at me, the only parent that showed up for this supposedly supervised shindig. (I knew there was something fishy about this plan.)
I read while the ice cream truck sent children into convulsions.
I read, and I nodded and I kept my voice clear and low and detached.
I soaked up the sun, and laid my weary head down on a picnic table. The hours passed.
We packed up the car and I breathed a sigh of relief: Goodbye to the school year, and welcome waffles for dinner because it is hard to be crabby when eating gooey syrup and fluff.