Vince Wants To Know Where I’ve Been

To be honest life has been fucking insane sine the week before I left for The Second City. I had my nieces and nephew visiting for a few days and everything was go, go, go. We visited family and friends. We played and swam and farted around a lot. I also gave a computer lesson to my niece, which I’ll blog about soon.

I dropped the three extra kids off at a family member’s house and ditched my old man with our kids to spend a week at The Second City to take a writing class. I stayed at my mother’s house to make the four-hour commute a two hour commute.

At Mom’s, like always, everything was crazy, or maybe it was just Mom who was crazy. I had four huge freelance assignments all of my deadlines fell in that week. The same week I had homework every night.

Mom was a good sport about sharing her computer. I could tell I was seriously invading her time but she was a trooper. Of course she talked my ears off the whole time I tried to get my work and homework done. And I may have told her she was worse than my children. But I can’t remember. To make it up to me, she brought me a fresh cup of coffee every time my cup got low.

Every morning when I dragged ass off of her couch, she had a cup waiting for me. And she folded the blankets and put away all of my sleeping mess. I love being spoiled. It’s my favorite thing.

“How much work did you get done last night sweetheart?”

“I finished my homework and I submitted a two page assignment. I have another four page assignment due tomorrow that I didn’t get to at all.”

“You’re never going to finish in time.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think I will make deadline, just to prove you wrong.”

“Well, that isn’t what I meant. I mean, it didn’t come out the way I meant it. It’s just that the long ride, and then all the homework. And you know I try to be really quiet when I get up so I don’t wake you.”

“It’s okay. I need to be up as early as possible if I am going to get everything done.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

She also decided my clothes weren’t good enough. She said, “You aren’t wearing that, are you?” every single day. Then she would go shuffling around in her closets to find “something that won’t make you look like a slug.” Or maybe she said slob or bum. Anyhow, she insisted on redressing me. There isn’t a greater love than that of an overbearing mom.

More about where I’ve been coming soon to a blog near you.