I think you have a fantastic life. In fact, I’m tempted to kidnap you, undergo extensive plastic surgery, leave you in charge of the kids, steal your identity, and take it over for you.

You know, just to rescue you from your untenable circumstances. For YOU. Not for myself...

(Eek. That sounds creepier than intended. Have no fear; single motherhood has left me far too tired and poor to actually carry out my dastardly plans.)

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

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