As we were ready to walk out the door this morning, I was informed by my oldest “There’s a two hour delay.” Shoot.  I have so much to do and really wanted my kids gone (confession).  So I started laundry, wrote client notes, followed up on emails, while fixing the tie of my 6’2” basketball boy who has to dress up for school on game days.  You’d think I had a toddler again getting this giant dressed in something other than basketball shorts and tourney t-shirts.  Three hours later, I am still sitting in the whatever I slept in and have to remind myself “I must shower” because I have to teach local history to 3rd graders in one hour and counting.

I would rather not shower.  I hate to shower.  (Confession).  Why don’t they make Dryell bags for women?  Just zip it up, roll around a little, and “poof” we are clean!

It’s been a whirwind week, like usual, of class all day and then counseling all day, then schoolwork all day, then whatever else is left.

But for now, I get to play dress up in colonial clothes and play with third graders, then home to feed those goats.

Confession – I really do prefer the long skirts and vests of the 1700’s.  They hide your butt, thighs, and just about everything else. None of this skinny jean stuff.

Another confession:  Got pulled over Wed. night in front of my own house at midnight.  I had been at school the whole day, two hours on the road, and had avoided about 3 deer.  I was in a “hurry” to get home (confession).  The officer felt sorry for me.  He took one MPH off my time on the official ticket.  Saved me $2.00.

I guess I need to learn to cry rather than be honest when being pulled over.  “Are you aware you were speeding?”  Yes.   “I have been up since 5:00 a.m. and have been in Warsaw all day, have avoided three deer and a snowstorm.  I’m tired and want to get home.”

I could see my bedroom window from the car, along with the policeman’s lights in the review mirror.

I wonder if colonial women got pulled over in front of their houses.  Bet not.

But, then, I am also probably the only one in our county ever pulled over while driving a pony cart.  But that’s another confession..

Right I am now 50 minutes away from being Betsy or Martha.  My Dryell bag is waiting.

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