Futures—Anita's and my own.

It is going to be a long day. My sister Anita is graduating high school today. She is going to Boston University. Go Red Sox!!! There will be no dinner to cook, so I will be slightly ungrounded. Understandably. Graduation starts at 4pm. On a Friday? So, people have to take off work, if they work. Or people just have to be annoyed, if they do what I do.

Dave is leaving work early and will drop me off at the football field, then taking the kids to the park. We both decided this was the best strategy. Juggling small kids in football bleachers is about as relaxing as having your toenails pulled out. You can't see anything or hear anything except the high-pitched whine of your children which is only slightly louder than the frustrated sigh of audience around you. Who are wondering what they did to deserve this small corner of hell. When all they really want is to see a hat thrown in the air and maybe a streaker.

The last time we took Gabriel to a graduation, my sister Evelyn's. I nearly had a nervous breakdown. It was captured on film (lucky me). And if you watch it with my father, he lovingly narrates the entire unfortunate event with numbers increasing on a continuum of my diminishing sanity. You know, "Here she is at 1. Things are going well, she is smiling. You won't see that again." Ha ha ha.

I was also pregnant at the time, so it is not really fair to hold me entirely accountable for my actions. You have to sympathize with a pregnant lady and their inability to cope. Look at poor Brittany Spears, she is on a slippery slope and sadly, the only solution is birth. Plus, we had to wake up at about 6am to get a seat which is frankly uncivilized on a Saturday.

Well, you have all been to the bloody events. You know what it's like. No place for children or those expecting more. Dave and I both agree that we should avoid a repeat performance at whatever cost.

There is a party afterwards at my parents house. They are a big part of the reason we are here. Not for the documentary-style narration of my questionable mothering, but for the help in keeping my breakdowns to a bare minimum.

Gabriel has started the day with a Naked Orange Juice (a toast to wearing nothing under your robes!) and request to play cars. Phoebe is throwing her Cheerios, eating her blueberries and seems to be starting to truly talk. I am drinking Peets with cream and sugar. A promising start to what will inevitably be a long day.

I remain optimistic.