So this really nice thing happened yesterday.
An unexpected box from Amy’s Gourmet Apples arrived on the front porch.
Since I’m paranoid, I opened it outside, where the neighbors could hear when the package bomb exploded. Or they could see if I started writhing and screaming from some kind of small-scale chemical warfare. Because we all know mysterious boxes are bound to have anthrax and nerve gas.
But here I am, typing, 24 hours after opening the box and devouring the caramel, nut, chocolate, and pretzel apples inside.
My brother-in-law and sister-in-law sent the package because I had such a rough week with the gremlins.
It came the day after I had finished the last chocolate bar my friend Sara had dropped off as a show of hope and solidarity, that somehow, somewhere, it may just be possible to raise thoughtful, independent, non-whiny children.
The verdict is still out, but I have to say that this sugar-induced coma has made me a better parent for the moment.
So, THANK YOU. And thanks to everyone who reaches out to a parent on the brink of an eminent meltdown. It is very appreciated.