As I mentioned in the previous post (I'll wait while you catch up), we just got back from vacation last night. Neither one of us even thought of the fact that this was the first Sunday in April, which, coincidentally, was when the time would normally change. Can you see where this is going?

My alarm is set for 4:30 am, and yes, you may give me sympathy. As such, the alarm went off this morning, and even though I made good use of the snooze alarm, I was still whacked. I couldn't really figure out why as I had gotten to bed at a decent hour and slept like the dead. That was evidenced by the fact that I had absolutely no feeling in my right arm, and for a moment, I was worried that perhaps I had contracted some deadly disease which rendered my arm useless. That was quickly dispelled by the incessant stabbing of needles in my fingers.

I did my normal morning routine, and then, after dressing, got my lunch out of the refrigerator, and all of my "gear" together, consisting of my badge, cell phone, purse and some homemade Cowboy Cookies that I wanted to give to my girlfriend at work (we made those at Grammy and Papa's and the recipe makes 5 dozen so let's just say that Mom sent some home with me, and most likely will have enough to last her and Dad about 6 months).

Oh dear, where was I?

I happened to glance at the clock on the oven and it stated that it was 4:30am. I rubbed my eyes, and then looked at the clock on the microwave and it registered the same time. By this point, I was somewhat confused, as I was pretty groggy, and I checked the time on my cell phone. You guessed it. 4:30 am. It seems that our wonder-clocks "reset" themselves for the original time change. At this point, my memory becomes vague. I do know that I didn't break any china but I did say a word that I can not post, because my mom reads this blog, and she's been known to carry a bar of soap in her back pocket for just this very thing. My husband did tell me he heard it, but thought it was part of a dream. At least now I know why I feel like a Moose sat on my head. I guess I should be thankful it didn't have gas.

As I muddled my way through hundreds of email, and catching up on everything that happened while I was gone, I received an email from my mom letting me know that my dad was back in the hospital again. There is a very large part of me that is worried that our week long visit was just too much for him, which caused the problems that he is now going through. A tiny voice in my head tells me that it's not true, but the daughter in me harbors the guilt that, if I let it, is strong enough to bring me to my knees. I am cognizant enough to realize that Dad slept alot, even through the normal noise that children make, but my heart breaks when I think that perhaps he pushed himself to sit up longer, or eat dinner with us, when perhaps he should have been resting. It is so very hard to watch a parent suffer, and know that there is nothing that you can do to help. It is so very hard to balance my home life, and my work life, and know exactly what I should be doing. I thank the man above, every day, for giving me a husband, who, without batting an eye, says to me "get thee rump in the car and be where you are needed, I will take care of things here." I struggle with the responsibilities of work, and the fact that I was on vacation the previous week. I cringe at the thought of missing my daughter's concert which she has been working so hard for. It's difficult to climb out from under the umbrella of responsibility, and I rest easier knowing my older brother and his wife will be there in a few days to watch over everything, and help out. But it's not the same thing. But sometimes, I have to let go and let others step in, and realize that if it gets too much, and the worry becomes overwhelming, I can just hop in my car and be there in a matter of a few hours. To look, see, touch and feel.

I guess I should be thankful, in light of what has gone on today, that I have the girls to keep me occupied. For whatever reasons, known only to them, they have decided that they want me to make their lunches for school now. I've been lucky so far, in that they have wanted to buy them at school. I really can't complain. Both of them like the whole "Lunchable" idea, but I shudder at the thought (though I do by them for special treats) at the nutritional value (people, have you even looked at the sodium content?). That being said, I make my own, which gives me complete control over what goes in their mouths. For example, tomorrows "menu" includes ham, crackers, low fat cheddar cheese (which really isn't necessary but they like it better than the "real" kind), chips, a bag of grapes, sliced apples and whole strawberries, a fruit cup, complete with the "red" grapefruit, a bottle of Crystal Light, and some homemade cookies. If you can't tell, the girls L.O.V.E. them some fruit. On a side note, I can't keep yogurt in the house either.

Alarm clocks, parent's illness, children's guilt, having to make lunch...it's all part of life. And as Erma Bombeck once said, "Life is always greener over the septic tank."