Blast Off

So, I'm going to Houston on Thursday, New York on Saturday, An Undisclosed Foreign Location* with my family from Sunday to Thursday, and then to New Orleans on Friday.

Consequently, my desk is covered with lists. Lists of things to do, buy, pack, remember, write and delegate, in an ink scrawl that barely makes sense to me, but is nonetheless INK: indelible, decisive, committed.

Respect the list, people.

Only, people don't, and today's list was completely subverted by them. Including my own child, who developed a rash that the school nurse thought could be infantigo. I thought maybe he's just busted out with false eyespots, like certain caterpillars, and neither of us should be taken in by them so quickly, but she insisted a doctor look at it. And the bank, who needed a few more hours alone with my money before I could have my turn with it. And the pediatric clinic nurse, who rescheduled my son's appointment, telling me, "Trust me, you do not want to bring your child in here today. You'll leave with something much worse.**"

I came this close to getting Very Crabby. Then I realized that these are all pretty delightful problems, compared to others we've had. Okay, the infatigo is not so very delightful. But it, and everything else, could suck much worse.

---

*I'll tell you this: it's cold and french. And I'll be blogging about it all next week. Les bons temps, they will roulez. Perhaps literally, down a steep mountainside. Stay tuned.

**Jennifer points out that we would do well to apply this warning to big box stores. Smart lady, and not one to be taken in by fake eyespots.