CTS

Some people live by GPS. They couldn't find their way around a dark bedroom without their Garmin and a power cord. To them, Mapsco is an ancient art only practiced by those of us who remember all the lyrics to Madonna's first album.

Some people live by their Blackberry. If they accidentally dropped it, cracking the glass screen, they'd tear their hair out and be put in a funny farm.

Me, on the other hand, I live by CTS. Mine is conveniently, discreetly even, contained in a plastic, mint green housing that was less than $10.

Lately, if I am outside the reach of my little verde beauty, I find myself going a little bonkers. Because, in case of an emergency, I am likely to forget my CTS number. The "Countdown To School" number, that is.

You see, it is my beacon. A lighthouse, if you will, of when I will be able to return to my "normal" self. That is, a horribly desperate, time-indulgent, "When is MY break from this Motherhood stuff?" kind of person.

Some of you, who are bidding your first child adieu this fall, are reading this thinking "I'm going to unfriend her on Facebook. Clearly she has lost her mind. I'm having so much fun sleeping in late, making macaroni frames, and eating lunches at the McDonald's playground. If she is going to have a nervous breakdown, I don't want to witness that."

Some of you who, like me, have multiple kids who have entered school in year's past, feel just as I do: there's a whole lot of summer between spring and fall. And there isn't enough macaroni to bridge the gap.

CTS is like a persistent rash. You always know it is there, but there are times you just can't resist scratching the living hell out of it.

For example, today, when we had to drive 45 minutes in the Prius, mushed together in our crankiness and desire for the A/C to find its way to the backseat*.

Heat, to the under ten set, is positively wicked. They hate it, complain about it, and complain some more.

Then, they get a kind of pissy that is generally reserved for animals backed into a corner by a stiff, dusty broom. And the teeth and the attitude show themselves.

Then, hands start to find their way outside the confines of the seat in which they've been placed, into the zone of other people. And those other people? They are now Africa-hot, cranky plus space-violated. And, they begin to scream. A type of scream that pierces ears and shatters glass.

More than once, on our journey to Hades today, I had to announce**, "Boys. Your mouths are in time-out." OR "If I pull this car over you are getting a bare bottom spanking." OR "Put your hands in your lap and shut your mouth. Don't talk or move until I tell you to."

And, on the way back to Dallas? I actually DID pull the car over. The pleading and "NO!" began the minute the car starting slowly down and yanking to the shoulder, over the bumps designed to wake overtired/drunk people and keep them from killing themselves**.

I yelled at the top of my lungs***. I explained, in no uncertain terms, that the whining, touching, and negativism**** were going to stop or someone was going to get it*****.

At some point, in between the yelling and figuring out when I could safely pull back into traffic without being pummeled by cars going 75mph, I realized my CTS wasn't in the car. I accidentally left it at home.

You know the painting "The Scream", the one with the alien looking creature doing an impression of Macaulay Culkin from Home Alone? I was doing a REALLY FINE impression of that dude. "What was I thinking? I have no idea how many days before school starts. It could be MONTHS for all I know."

It was a moment where I understood why people keep their Prozac handy. It was an emergency.

Upon arriving home, I found, kissed, and opened****** my lovely calendar to "July 2010". And proceeded to do the following calculation:

"Nine days in July plus 22 days in August equals 31 days, excluding this very day."

And a peace descended.

I knew I could do ANYTHING for 30 days.

And, if I had any doubts, I knew, two feet away was the pantry, which had an unopened bag of chocolate chips waiting for me to assault.

The world became my oyster again.

But, stay tuned. With a scant 30 days to go, there is still plenty of time for a nervous breakdown to occur.



*Note to the good people of Toyota, Inc: A/C that begins blowing ice cold air before we EXIT the car would be nice. Thank you.

**Good barriers might be a better idea. Don't we really WANT the drunks OFF the road anyway??

***It wasn't pretty and I think I busted a vein in the middle of my forehead doing it. But, hey! The next 29 miles were positively blissful!

****There is an absolutely delicious irony in yelling at your kids about being negative.

*****I had no earthly clue was the IT was, but I knew IT was coming if they didn't stop.

******In that exact order.