Friday when I was leaving work I was ready to go home and make spaghetti. It was just a night for a big pot of spaghetti. We were going to eat and relax, finally. It was a cool and dreary day that ended a chaotic work week.

I picked up Charlotte from school and we went to Target so she could pick out a birthday present for her friend. I got some hamburger for the sauce. We had noodles at home. Charlotte picked out a Disney Cars book that spouted off sayings of the characters. We loaded up our bags and headed home, hungry for spaghetti. I didn’t let her take the cellophane off of her friend’s book so she just pushed the buttons.

I was listening to her activate the voices of Owen Wilson and Larry The Cable Guy over and over when we got near the local high school. There was a huge line of traffic in the other lane waiting to get to the high school football game. I thought, “Ugh! Remind me not to drive this way on Friday nights.”

When people say it happens fast, that’s an understatement. All I saw was a dark-colored sedan pull out from a side street when they got a break in the traffic. A black bullet of glass and metal that somehow, didn’t hit us. I dodged the bullet by swerving into the grass  on the right hand side of the road. The car ran parallel beside me for a second or two, just long enough to see that he forced me into the side of a fence. My side mirror and fender helped rip the rails of the fence off its posts. It was the side of the car where my sweet baby was reading her book about cars a lot nicer than this one.

He didn’t stop. He saw what he did and drove away. He gunned it after I dodged his first bullet. He left me eight months pregnant on the side of the road with my toddler and broken car. Class act.

I pulled the car to a stop, turned on the hazards and turned to check on her. I said, “Are you okay?” She nodded, looking confused. I asked again, “Are you okay?” My brave girl didn’t cry. She nodded and said, “Yes Mama.”  I told her to keep looking at her book and locked the doors.

I called 911 while walking around my Jeep. A nice eyewitness came running across the street. 911 routed me to State Highway Patrol because for some reason they couldn’t decide whether I was in the city or the county even though I was a block from the city’s largest high school. I told her no one was hurt and I didn’t need an ambulance. I called Greyson. The representative from the homeowners association stopped to survey his fence and give me his information.

The part that pissed me off the most is that it took almost 1/2 an hour for either SHP or the police to get there. Greyson had to call 911 twice more after he pulled up. He and I talked and unwrapped the cellophane on the book. We didn’t think Harrison or Beth Anne would care at that point if the book was slightly used. She was being so good. When Greyson was on the phone with the operator he asked me for her, “Do you need an ambulance?” I said,”Well, if that’s what it takes to get someone out here!” Just then both SHP and the police pulled up only to have a ridiculous conversation as to whom would take over my case. Seriously. I just asked for one of them to please take care of it. It was light when it happened and it was dark by the time law enforcement got to me. Enough said.

I’m blessed enough to work with awesome people, one who lives nearby. I heard my name being yelled across the street and Michelle ran towards me. She grabbed me and hugged me while explained all that happened.

The trooper told me about how he had seen someone run off the road, into a fence, and the fence had impaled them. I thanked him for the reminder that neither me, nor my child was impaled. He then told me it that without a license plate number that it was unlikely that anything would happen to this guy. I started to wonder if the cop would have been as honest. Geez, dude.

After filing the report, Greyson and I collected the remains of my fender and mirror. We held each other on the side of the road for just a second, the hazard lights illuminated his face a moment at a time.  I was so glad he was there. I told him I loved him.

The Jeep was drivable so we took our tired and hungry tot home. She still hadn’t made a peep. She was wonderful and brave. I was so proud. I made spaghetti. There was no way in hell I wasn’t going to eat some damn spaghetti. As I wiped sauce off her face I prayed, thanking God it wasn’t blood. Morbid, I know. I don’t care. It was the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten.

From the profound to the ridiculous, here is a list of worries that have crossed my mind in the last week:

• That I will not be ready for maternity leave in time to get everything done that I need to do at work or home.
• That I will be more than ready for maternity leave and have time to kill.
• That someone will mistakenly think that Sen. Lindsey Graham is from North Carolina and not South Carolina. I prefer we keep that crazy beneath us where it belongs.

• That someone will say that I am somehow swollen in any way at all. I did not swell with my first pregnancy. I don’t plan on swelling this time. I pity the person who says that I look the least bit swollen. I will lose it. 
• That someone will now open fire in a Starbucks, specifically my Starbucks, simply to prove a point. Come on, Mr. Schultz, we could get shot in any public place. Why highlight one of your fine stores?

Courtesy: Caracas Chronicles

• That when I get into Starbucks, they will be out of Pumpkin Spice Lattes.
• That my kid has a cavity.
• That I will have a moment of pregnancy brain like I did last time. You may recall this $600 mistake.
• That I might get hemorrhoids.
• That this baby will resent me because I didn’t spend $250 to get 3D ultrasound pictures of him/her like I did their sister.
• That I might hear “Blurred Lines” on the radio again any time, ever. Remember earlier in the summer when that was “my jam?” Shoot me.  (But, not at Starbucks, please.)

In case the 10 million Pinteresty pictures in your Facebook feed of adorable children holding little signs announcing their newest grade hasn’t tipped you off, it’s Back-To-School week!

Yesterday Beth Anne posted wrote a post for Babble that got me thinking. She posted it to her Facebook, resulting in a string of mommy-blogger opinions going back and forth on the hot back-to-school topic of kindergarten redshirting. Dun! Dun! DUUUUN!

If you don’t know, kindergarten redshirting is basically holding your kid back from starting kindergarten so they are older in their class, particularly if they are spring/summer babies that would be young in their class. In my experience it seems parents of boys are likely to do this because sometimes little guys take longer to mature, but I have heard of parents holding back their girls too. I have no problem with kindergarten redshirting if your kid is developmentally or academically behind. I also admire parents who make the difficult decision to have their child repeat a grade if they need to. There’s no shame in that, you have to do what is best for your child.

FYI, I’m an August baby. I was the youngest in my class and hated it. I whined about being the last to get my drivers’ license. My parents told me I was ready for kindergarten and I was going. I did pretty well academically. They also reminded me that many of my friends had their licenses already and could give me a ride. They had no pity for my complaining.

What I think is incredibly stupid is holding back your child for aesthetic or athletic reasons. Meaning, you want your kid to be bigger than the other kids or be better in sports. I’ll admit, I am raising a girl and was raised in a family with girls. Those things were NOT particularly valued in my home during my upbringing. Being the biggest, strongest or most athletic is not at all important to me. So, you understand why I feel holding a child back for those reasons is silly.

However, I have a confession that I fear makes me no better than a vain, redshirting parent.

I am very blessed to be a fertile, regular ovulator. I know, not everyone has that luxury. I feel guilty even saying that as I have many friends who have struggled with infertility. I was lucky enough to time my conception and pregnancy to make sure my babies would be born in the fall or winter so I wouldn’t have to worry about the kindergarten cutoff. I’ll admit, if I had not concieved in time to have my baby between October and February, I would have stopped trying for a number of months, and started again when the time was right. 

I really wanted to have my baby in the fall/winter so I didn’t have to make any difficult kindergarten decisions. The state of North Carolina made my decision for me. The cut-off date here is August 31. Boom. She’s born in November, she won’t be the absolute oldest, but older. She’ll have plenty of Pre-K under her belt and ready to go at 5 1/2 for kindergarten.

So there you go. Apparently conception redshirting is a thing too. Now I can’t scoff at your son, who’s a head taller and a year older than the rest of the team.

This morning Greyson was quizzing Charlotte on her Sesame Street stuffed animals.  He would ask, “Which Sesame Street friend is orange?” She would reply, “Ernie!”  He would ask, “Who has a beak?” “Who lives in a trashcan?” and so on.

He asked “Who has a friend named Blogg?” For the uninformed, Abby Cadabby has a segment called Abby’s Flying Fairy School with a character named Blogg.

Charlotte said, “Mama! Mama has a friend named blog!” We stared at her in amazement. Somehow my 2 1/2 year-old is aware of my little online diary of our lives.

Sadly, it has been neglected in recent weeks and I’ve been posting less. This is mostly because I’ve just been insanely busy working. When I’m not working I’m enjoying myself  and not writing as much. Granted, my Twitter  and Instagram are extensions of this space and always hopping! You can find me there or on my Facebook page. I promise to be a better friend to my friend blog. We’ll be in touch soon! Promise.

Image from muppet.wikia.com and copyright of Sesame Workshop. (Blogg is the purple guy in the center.)

So apparently I’ve been living under a rock while I’ve been rockin’ out. All summer I’ve been turning up Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” and dancing in the car. It’s a similar scene to this spring when Justin Timberlake’s “Suit and Tie” came out and people stared at me at stoplights. I have no shame.

So, I’ve been singing “I know you want it…hey, hey, hey!” It’s catchy. It’s fun. Plus, we’re all sick of that Macklemore song. I turn up “Blurred Lines” and holler back to the car seat, “Listen, sweetie! It’s that song!” My toddler happily bobs her head to the tune.

Then I read all this whining, “That song is about rape! It discriminates against women! It promotes sexual violence! Wah! Blah..blah..blah”

Huh!?  Can’t we just have a fun summer anthem to rock out to?! Is that too much to ask?! Remember “Call Me Maybe” last year? Remember?!  I know it’s not innocent enough for the US Olympic Swim Team to make a cute viral video of, but let us have a catchy song without controversy. It’s the summer, let’s keep it light. That’s why I’m in denial that Robin Thicke might be a perv.