She's at camp. She's at camp, she's at camp, she's at camp.
Rob thinks I'm mean when I wipe my brow with relief that she's gone for a week, but HE DOESN'T KNOW. He is not the one who has to go ten rounds with her about putting her dish in the dishwasher, or about turning off the TV, or not being so snotty. He's not the one who gets texted at 11 p.m. with messages that she can't sleep and is afraid of something she saw on Parks and Recreation. He doesn't get yelled at, and defied at every turn, and she never rolls her eyes at him. And do you know why? Because he is Daddy Good Times! He gets home, and they high five 16 times and hug and do puzzles and make fun of mom. They both apparently believe that I should have infinite patience and be calm and kind 24/7. HAVE THEY MET ME??
I miss her a little. She is kinda cool. I'm mostly thinking about which activities she is doing right now, and hoping she made some friends in her cabin, and I'm checking the whether in those mountains every hour. I tried to find some small things to send in a care package, but could only find large plastic crap, and the camp doesn't allow food to be sent. If I could send a batch of cookies up there, I would. I just sent her a card. See? I have a little bit of a heart.
Leila's fish is swimming around in his bowl next to me. I moved him out of her room so I don't forget to feed him and end up killing him while she's gone. He really darts around in there. Where is he trying to go? Even if he successfully got out, and were able to breathe air, he would just get eaten by a crow or run over by a car. Doesn't he know he is safer in his bowl? He looks like he's trying to tell my something with his little fish mouth: HELP ME! YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM!
Ok, that's it for today. Adios.