Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.

When you are driving with three teenagers (with no relation) and your mother, what do you talk about? I found myself in this position today, listening to mixed cds of new and old music. There is little more sobering than hearing a recycled song from twenty years ago (which was really done forty years ago). I find that if I am ever brilliant or cool, those moments come in short bursts. Flashes of fabulous light. But can you be cool and with your mom at the same time?

Mom has gotten better about not dragging out the cute, but embarrassing stories of my childhood (yes, I used to beg for extra credit, mostly because I am a big nerd but also because they were usually the more creative projects and, yes, I often didn't know about an upcoming family trip until the day before and, yes, I did try to take my dress off during my aunt's wedding but it was hot and I was three). Still, what to say?

So I oscillated between speaking teen and speaking mom. And now I'm tired.

Today's title is not a song, as per usual. It is rather my mantra for the next two weeks. I'm so stressed out and crappy that I can't keep a thought for more than thirty seconds and would really just like to hide until October. Someone buy me a stiff drink....