Yeah, yeah, I know.  I haven’t posted anything lately.  In case you missed my post about The Unitard, I had a show last weekend.  Which involves lots of extra rehearsals where you stand around for hours in costumes, under toasty bright lights, alternating between trying to get warm, then dancing, then getting cold again, and repeat.  As an aging dancer, it’s brutal on the body.  And I’m not used to spending that much time away from home, which has check marks in both the Pros and Cons columns.  The show itself went really well, although the audience was less than plentiful.  I can’t blame them, I wouldn’t have traveled out in the snow on a weekend night to see dance either if I wasn’t getting paid for it.  But I felt pretty good about my performance, anyway.  Sunday was spent in Recovery Mode, resting a body that felt like it had been run over by a stampede and eating everything in sight.  I’m only now feeling like I’ve re-entered my life’s atmosphere and it’s, what, Wednesday?  Yikes.

And if last week wasn’t enough, I have tomorrow to look forward to.  Jury Duty.  That’s right.  Eight hours serving my civic duty.  I’m totally dreading it.  It’s not just the worry of serving on a jury and all the strain that puts on my role as Mother should I get selected and have to scramble for childcare, or even the hours of trying to kill time before the end of the day.  It’s the stress of getting out the door at an ungodly hour in the morning with two kids.  By myself.  I basically have to leave at 7:15am.  AM!!  That’s 15 minutes before Miss P usually wakes up for the day.  Both kids have to be dropped off at before-care and sit there for hours before school starts, then stay much longer in the afternoon.  The guilt that coincides with that is overwhelming.  It’s just one day though, right?  9-10 hours of daycare never killed anyone, right?  RIGHT?  Reassure me, please!

On a slightly different note, I may have also landed a job!  I can’t really talk about it yet, but it’s part-time and I’d work from home a few hours a day.  It might mean getting up at the crack of dawn, and figuring out how to work around getting some one down for a nap poses its challenges.  And I might not even get it.  But I’m hopeful about the possibility of using my brain in non-parent mode, and bringing in a scant amount of bacon.  It might just make the cost of therapy easier to swallow…