That Good Old River in Egypt

A friend asked me tonight if I'm in denial about my son turning two in a matter of weeks.

I have no idea what she's talking about.

My son is NOT two. He is ONE. Oh...En....Eee... ONE. "My one-year old Jackson", I say so often to anyone who asks. "My two-year old Jackson"? That just sounds goofy. I just won't think about it, how about that? Fine, suits me.

And while we're talking about things not happening, CERTAINLY my four-year old is NOT starting preschool in the fall. I think not. I know of no such thing. She has plainly stated she would like to stay home with Mommy "fir-EVER" and that is peachy-keen-jellybean by me. Leave her, with OTHER people, and go someplace else, without her? Sure, right. Whatever you say. Think I'll ignore that, too*.

Baby boys turning two and and big girls going to school. Nonsense. Sounds about as realistic as my fine young self having turned 35 earlier this year. Crazy talk.

What?


...

*I will ignore it at least until the director of Preschool Prospect #3 emails me back tomorrow with info. Then I guess I'll have to get out of the river, dry off, and decide where to send my oldest child to begin her education. Sigh. For now, though, the denial thing is working for me.