This weekend I’m going to do something I’ve never done before.
Ride a unicycle? Parkour? Base jump?
Don’t be silly, I’d never be able to ride a unicycle (but here’s a fun fact: Husband used to ride one when he was a boy. Take a moment to enjoy that).
While I will be doing something new that will risk life and limb and that totally terrifies me (more on that later), what I’m talking about is the fact that for the first time ever I’m going to miss one of my girls’ opening nights. And it’s not just any old opening night. It’s Thing 1’s last high school show and the first one where she’s had a lead. It’s killing me. We’re down to seven weeks of the high school experience left and I’m hating having to miss one second of it. Sure, I’ll catch two shows next week, but you don’t get opening night more than once.
It’s a conflicting situation with too many feels for sure, because what is keeping me away is something I’ve also never done before and is something I’m excited about.
I’m going on my very first legit business trip where I will be flying away from my family — all alone — for three whole nights; where I will meet with many other writer friends and learn about important writing things from well known authors and other celebrities of the writing world at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. (I know. I grew up so quickly, didn’t I?)
Too bad it’s in Ohio.
(Kidding, Ohio people…I’m kidding. But NYC would have been kind of cool, too.)
As a child who borrowed all her mama’s Erma Bombeck books and loved every page of her hilarious musings on motherhood (Erma was truly the original mama blogger) I’m thrilled and excited at the thought of attending a conference that is inspired by her brilliance.
Except for one tiny fact.
To get there I have to ride in a toy plane.
Have I mentioned that I’m not a fan — at all — of flying, even on regular, big people planes? Oh, that’s right, I have.
I’m like 98% certain that above photo is life-sized.
Pretty sure I’ll need a refill of Xanax by the time I return (and that whoever is sitting next to me will need one, too).
Let’s just hope I dose correctly. There’s a real possibility of this happening —
I’ve decided to just pretend it’s a private jet. My private jet. Or better yet, Clooney’s private jet that is whisking me away to his villa on Lake Como — Husband approved!
For those of you who might suggest I drink while hurtling through the air in Stuart Little’s plane, believe me, I would if I could. But in a cruel twist of fate, drinking at 30,000 feet gives me a migraine, especially at 11 a.m.
(Might be totally worth it. I’ll pack the Imitrex).
In all honesty, Polly Pocket’s plane is all I’m anxious about. After I make it there — fingers crossed — I’m really looking forward to meeting and mingling with many of my internet friends, fellow co-authors and writers I admire; to listen to the keynote speakers (Phil Donohue! Who knew he was still alive?!?) and to learn how I can take over the world with my (newly acquired) dazzling wordsmithery, obviously. (Making up my own words is probably on the list of ‘don’ts’.)
There might be some nights at the bar. But I’m sure at a conference full of hundreds of women who have escaped all familial responsibilities for several days, things will stay pretty tame.
On second thought, it could get ugly.
(Note to self: bring camera.)
And as for Thing 1’s opening night?
I’ll be sending her all sorts of good karma and trying my best to ignore the fact that I’m missing one of her last high school milestones.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
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