Here’s my manicure. I love it so much I took a picture so it’d last longer. This is usually the longest my nails will get. They won’t last long. Eventually a corner will break off or the side will start splitting. And I don’t know about you, but for me, when one goes, they all gotta go.

I normally don’t get manicures, even though I love ‘em. When I do it’s only once or twice a year. This one came about while I was flying home from my nephew’s wedding. I was supposed to fly out at 7:00 am, then get home at 6:00 to have an anniversary dinner with my Hubby.

Due to the weather, I ended up flying out at 1:00 with two layovers. So there I am in Detroit, of all places, with a couple hours to burn, nothing to do, and some cash burning a hole in my pocket. By the time I had gotten to Detroit I was EXHAUSTED.

I’m walking around and I see an ExpresSpa, you know, one of those quickie massage, pedicure, manicure places in airports. You can also buy a head statue of Buddha while you’re there if you’d like. Hey, you never know when you might wanna take him home… I walked up to look at their “pampering menu”. I decided right then and there that I needed some pampering. I mean, who doesn’t?? right??

I look at the time and figure a manicure would only take about 30 minutes or so. Yes! I still had over an hour to kill. So I’m invited into the store, the guy “takes my order” of a manicure. He takes my bags for me, and I sit down in the back massaging chair. A lady with a permanent smile rolls a cart over with rows and rows of polish. She continued to smile as she said “it’s color time!”. Too many choices, so little time. I’m not used to have color on my fingernails so I went with the french manicure, oui, oui.

Then a man named Vo came over to do my manicure for me. It was awesome. My favorite part is always the hand massage. I wanted to tell him I’d give him 10 minutes to stop that, but he had to do it the express-quickie-speedy way. I’m thinking “I should do this more often…”.

Vo sprayed that quick-dry stuff on my nails but I waited about 10 minutes after that to make sure they were dry. As I went to get my suitcase, my thumb nail accidentally scrapped on the handle. Aaarrgh!! I had to ask Vo to fix it real quick. Thankfully he was really cool about it. He should’ve been after the tip I left him.

I got my fix, paid, and was on my way. As I was walking to my gate, I double checked the monitors to make sure I didn’t have a gate change. Flight 5963 NOW BOARDING!! What?? I still had 45 minutes left! And I was 2 terminals away! Ugh. So there I am pulling my bag on wheels with a ginormous shoulder bag balanced on top with one hand (my-newly-fixed- thumb-nail hand). On my other shoulder was my purse. My elbow was holding it in place, and in my hand of course, was my iPhone. I’m running like OJ Simpson in his pre-criminal days down the hallway, dodging the head-in-the-clouds people that were going for a Sunday stroll, and others dragging their bags as far behind them as possible. I was going through my own sort of terminal rage. It reminded me of 5:00 traffic in Houston. Then as I was going down an escalator, I had my hand on the rail with my thumb hanging down and all of a sudden my thumb hits something. DING! Same nail. Aaarrgh! At the end of the escalator my wheelie-bag falls over, but I happen to catch my ginormous bag. Another ding. SAME NAIL. I’m still in terminal rage mode, walking as fast as I can through the terminal. I finally, FINALLY, get to my gate. I walk right up in line to board. I’m not able to gate check my wheelie-bag so that means I’ll have to lift my bag in the overhead compartment with my semi-dry nails. Ugh.

What was I thinking??!?

I finally made it home around 11:00, but minus my anniversary dinner. But it was worth it. Hubby picked me up and then I walked in the door to two dozen white and yellow roses. Happy 8^th Anniversary, Honey!

My oldest son just started his freshman year of college. MY son is in college?? My. SON. is. in. COLLEGE, YALL. With every momentous occasion, I feel older and older, but college? It just doesn’t sound right. I remember thinking when I was younger that people in their 40’s were old. Now I’m in my 40’s…. just not right.

A few nights ago, Hubby and I were having a business dinner with a sales rep and his wife (they paid by the way, since he’s hoping to get Hubby’s business). When she asked if we had children, I said I had two boys.

What a coincidence! She had two boys too!! Yea! Ages 3 and 5 MONTHS. Yea again! Butterflies and glittery pixies were flying everywhere! Wait, maybe that was the beer… whatever.

Then she asked me “how old are YOUR boys??” When I said 18 and 13 years, she paused and I instantly saw her internal calculator going beserk-o. Numbers were popping out of her eyeballs, flying out of her ears, and running out of her nose. I think I even saw one spinning out of her mouth. So, rather than let her think I was FOURTEEN when I got pregnant, I dished about my age. Hubby said “oh, you pulled out the age card, huh?”

Um, yeah. I did. She forced my hand.

She replied very kindly (or was it her chardonnay talking?) and said that I didn’t look old enough to have a son in college. What a really kick-ass (or wine-y) thing for her to say! Either way it was really cool. Even so, I felt old just sitting next to her. So experienced. Then she asked me for my best boy-raising advice. HA!! Me?? (who does she think I am, The Nanny?)

So my neurotic brain started scrambling for an answer…. what would my best advice be? Oh my gosh, I had to think quick! I mean, what advice do you give to someone when the mothering job you did ended with your kids wanting to go live with their dad, and that you only had hands-on parenting for half of their childhood? I didn’t feel like the mother to have been asked such a thing, considering this college age son of my mine WON’T EVEN TALK TO ME, and the younger one is so busy with sports and his friends that we don’t even have much time to hang out on the phone. Once another mother knows your freakin’ drama, how can you expect her to take your advice seriously? I mean, seriously?!!? Especially when you feel your advice sucks. As in goat testicles. She just had nooooo idea what was going on in my life, and of course, I wasn’t about to explain ALL THAT.

Thank God, the guys started laughing and interrupted our conversation, never to be talked about again. Whew! Saved again… See, I told you my hubby was my Knight In Shining Armor!! (He didn’t even know he saved me at the time. That’s just how awesome his knightly skills really are.)

Being a mother is the best and worst job EVER. Right now it’s in one of the ‘WORST’ stages. So yes, some days I feel old, beat down, ready for the glue factory. You know, like those smelly, fly infested carnival ponies that you can ride around on for a couple or three circles.

(By the way, I generally have really good, even great days. Most of the credit goes to my Hubby. Love you honey!)

Since I’m more experienced, I know that sweet, cute, dimply, fresh-out-of-the-bath smelling babies turn into mean, hormone-raging, selfish, smelly teenagers. (If God had given us teenagers first, I don’t think any of us would have more than one.)

So I guess my advice would be to love your children unconditionally-you’ll need it for whatever’s around the corner!

Just curious, what’s YOUR best motherly advice?

I’m only half way through this book and already I’ve had whacked out pregnancy dreams…. oh wait, ALL my dreams are whacky. I’ll share that another time…

The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards

This stunning novel begins on a winter night in 1964, when a blizzard forces Dr. David Henry to deliver his own twins. His son, born first, is perfectly healthy, but the doctor immediately recognizes that his daughter has Down syndrome. For motives he tells himself are good, he makes a split-second decision that will haunt all their lives forever. He asks his nurse, Caroline, to take the baby away to an institution. Instead, she disappears into another city to raise the child as her own. Compulsively readable and deeply moving, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter is a brilliantly crafted story of parallel lives, familial secrets, and the redemptive power of love.

Click here for an excerpt.