You know how most people get that fight or flight response when they’re worked up and anxious about some big life event?
My body’s reaction: fight or… flush. I have so much adrenaline coursing through my veins and the unfortunate side effect is that I have to go to the bathroom and/or throw up. It’s lovely.
And probably that’s TMI, but it will also explain my radio silence for the rest of the week because gradmageddon is upon us. Graduation. For eighth grade, this go round. (For those keeping track, we had high school last year and will again next year, too. Yikes.)
Middle school may not sound like it’s that big of a deal, but oh, it is. The tradition at this school — and it is k-8 with the vast majority of them being together that whole time — is a seriously swanky affair. Nicer than my wedding. Maybe even nicer than Harry and Meghan’s.
It makes for lovely memories for the kids, but what a headache for the parents who put it together. It doesn’t just take just a village, but an entire country to pull this off.
Maybe I will be able to talk or write about it someday — but only after some intensive one-on-one with my therapist, Charles Shaw*.
*Ha! He’s not really my therapist. I actually prefer the therapeutic combo of Prosecco and her assistant, Orange Juice.