Gotta lotta nerve, right, asking for donations then disappearing.  Well, my time is simply not my own and common sense says I should put more time into finding a 'real' job than trusting that I'll raise enough to self-publish my dreamed of book. But with the kids finally back in school (cue the Hallejuah chorus), regular blogging can resume.

Where did I go?  First, the kids and I went to North Carolina and DC, trying to work my connections to find a job and seeing friends I've had to neglect for so long, many of the same friends who've been keeping me afloat all this time.  Let's see, what else? Filling out so many on-line applications (take it from me: there's aren't any other kind nowadays) even my laptop rolls it's eyes in exasperation at my Quixotian foolishness. I've also spent time working on the book I plan to self-publish, while desperately trying to survive yet another summer sans either employment or child care. I'd walk through fire for my kids, but if I'd had to spent another day, another hour, chained to them 24/7 either they'd be orphans or I'd be in jail.  God help me, the TV broke ten days from freedom, the heat wave landed, and asked Skippy if she was a gun owner.  

School began on August 6, a date I'd thought so early when we arrived in Atlanta in late May (they'd have been in school til July 4th back in Albany), I fumed about it to any and all. With two weeks left to go, though, my heart skipped a grim beat as I marked off the days til those schoolhouse doors aimed their doorknobs at their little heinies. Next year, when I'm employed and can afford travel and/or a summer program for them, no doubt I'll be, again, bitching about how early school starts.  Til then, though, I'm grooving on my precious six hours without "Mommy! He hit me!" "No, I didn't!  SHE hit ME! MOOOOOM!"  Hypocrisy doesn't even make the long list of things I worry about.

With them safely someone else' s problem for the day, a swarm of dazed moms and I stood, happily aimless, outside the school, unsure of what to do with our six hours of freedom. Then one mom summed it up perfectly:  "I feel like Mary Tyler Moore. Somebody give me a hat to throw!"

Yea, verily.