Shake the Glitter Off Your Clothes Now

I feel like I entered a contest in which the mom with the most miles on her mini-van wins. And as I'm dropping kids off at one place then back tracking to pick kids up at another so that I can turn right back around, without taking a breath, to be late to let them out at their next activity and collect the ones (I've lost track of exactly which ones) previously dropped off, I hear a voice in my head singing, That's what you get for waking up in Vegas.

I don't know what Vegas has to do with any of this, except that perhaps I rolled the dice in my early twenties and this is how they came up in my forties. On the bright side, odds are I'm going to win the miles on the mini-van contest. Problem is, the jackpot isn't quite what I expected when I rolled the dice all those years ago: bald tires and an empty gas tank and kids in the backseat singing, Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes, now, at eardrum damaging volume.

Ah, so, things didn't turn out the way I pictured them, all cakes and ale, when I first gambled on the family track. Such is life. And I'd roll the dice the same way again, if I had the chance.