Queen of Denial

Last night on the phone my friend asked, “So, how are you doing with the whole school starting and Drew beginning Jr. High thing?”  I responded maturely by essentially jamming my fingers in my ears and yelling, “LA LA LA!”  For now, and for the next 3 weeks until my glorious summer comes to a bitter halt, denial is my friend.  Hey, it worked for OJ.

The unfortunate part where denial goes in the crapper is when you’re sitting in the DMV and they call off your daughter’s name to get her picture taken for her permit.  I was like, “What?  I thought this was the line for Panda Express.  My bad.”  I should have remembered that Panda Express doesn’t require a copy of your birth certificate.  A few minutes later I got confused again when a dude on his cell phone started cussing as if representing both sides of an argument between two Jersey Shore cast members.  I couldn’t decide if I was being Punk’d or had been transported into an episode of “COPS”, but the guy was seriously out of control.  Cory told him to watch his language or take his call outside and that’s when everyone else began protesting and he was quickly kicked out.  Welcome to the DMV!  “Samantha?” the lady behind the desk called out.  It was finally her turn to pose in front of the blue tarp – she proceeded to snap the cutest picture to ever grace a government issued ID and we handed her the keys to drive home.  That’s when Denial got up out of its chair and said, “It’s been nice knowing you” and I gripped the armrests for the next 7 miles. 

Denial betrayed me once again earlier this morning.  I had just come home from taking Samantha to cross country practice and I peeked in to check on Drew, still asleep.  As I poked my head around the corner and surveyed the scene, I had to blink a few extra times to focus.  The boy in this bed wasn’t mine – his legs nearly extended to the footboard, his torso curved around the middle, and with an arm dangling over the side and his head propped in blissful rest, this boy’s body filled up that entire space.  He couldn’t possibly be mine.

My boy is growing.

My girl is driving. 

My head is spinning.

Three weeks left.