Enslaved By Boy Scouts

It's Mulch Delivery Day.  I was forced to get up at 6 AM, which is almost physically painful for me, because it is still dark at that hour.  Lest you look down on me for my weakness, please consider that I spent 18 years or so being woken up every single night by one child or another, often more than once, while still rising out of bed bright-eyed and optimistic by 7,  at the latest.

In other words, I am DONE.

You've got mulch!

So, Mulch Day.  We were up and out by 7, setting up the food tent, feeding breakfast to some very cold Scouts, generally getting things organized.  Then I sped off to yoga, where I hurried up and relaxed for an hour and a half, before picking up my 2 neglected girls at home so we could head off to help at Mulch again, where Larry (the Mulch Czar, remember?) assigned me to play traffic cop.

My job involved preventing people from parking in the parking lot we had rented, no small feat considering there was a huge Tae Kwon Do exhibition going on at the high school and approximately gazillion games and scrimmages taking place on the playing fields. I spent a lot of time explaining to distraught parents that their precious soccer players would be just fine if they dropped them off at this end of the parking lot and allowed them to walk ALL THE WAY across the tarmac to reach their teammates.

I was relieved of my duties because I was starting to get sarcastic.  Who knew?

So I brought the girls home to play for a couple of hours, but we are due back down there soon to take our shift handing out grilled cheese sandwiches and replenishing granola bars and grapes at the snack station.  What can I say? It's a glamorous life, this existence of mine. And tomorrow, I might just get to sleep in until 7.

What more could a middle-aged gal with sleep-deprivation PTSD ever want?