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Hand Over the Purell

I am not a germaphobe. I have a whole list of other neuroses (read our archives if you don’t believe me), but germaphobic-ness is not among them. I typically ascribe to the “that which does not kill you” philosophy about germs.

However.

My kids have a way of finding the absolute grossest item in a ten-mile radius, and touching, licking, or generally wallowing in it. And it is about enough to send me over the edge.

We went out of town this past weekend, and I don’t know if it was just that I was a hormonal mess or that things seem grosser away from home, but seriously my kids were killing me with all the nasty things they were doing. First of all, we ate in a lot of restaurants, obviously, and even on a good day, restaurant high chairs make me cringe. So I felt like Sammy was a giant germ cesspool from that alone. (Yes, I have a Floppy Seat and yes, I was diligent about it when Kate was little, but alas it remains in a closet somewhere with the rest of the we’re-awesome-first-time-parents paraphernalia.) When we got to our hotel room, I just had to pop a Xanax and come to terms with the fact that I could not prevent him from crawling on the floor for our entire four-day stay.

And Kate. That girl has always been a magnet for disgusting. She spent the weekend laying down on the bench seat at Burger King and not just holding but lovingly stroking the handrails at Busch Stadium.

Seriously, the day she decides that touching the toilet seat is not absolutely crucial to the getting-off-the-potty process will be one of the proudest days of my life.

At one point I turned to Andy and said “I don’t know how real germaphobes ever leave the house, because I am about to have an anxiety attack.”

But I’m not a germaphobe. For real. You believe me, right?

Damn. Add that one to the list too.

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Well, this is it.

It’s just after midnight, and the very last day of my twenties has officially begun. I am really feeling pretty good about the whole birthday thing, but it is kind of strange to think about the end of an era. I’ve been thinking tonight about all the things that have happened since my 20th birthday. Since then, I…

… got engaged.

… graduated from college.

… got married.

… watched the towers fall.

… got a job.

… bought a house.

… readafewhundredbooks.

… traveled to San Diego and Denver, New York City and Cooperstown, Orlando and Houston, Cedar Rapids and St. Louis, Nashville and Louisville, Cleveland and Indianapolis.

… got another job.

… had a baby.

… made, kept and lost really good friends.

… listened to some really good music.

… bought another house.

… rediscovered the joy of trick-or-treating.

… started a blog.

… wrestled a snake.

… had another baby.

… discovered Facebook. Then Twitter.

… started graduate school.

… witnessed history.

… went to Disney World. Four times.

… sacrificed my dignity in the name of a good blog post.

… went to baseball games and zoos and museums and parks.

… woke up each morning.

… and kissed my babies goodnight.

All and all, it was a pretty good decade.

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And Now it’s the Last Day of Preschool.

On September 4, 2007, I wrote this extremely neurotic post detailing the events of that morning – Kate’s first day of preschool.

We were both nervous about taking this new step.

And here we are, not quite two years later, and it’s her last day of preschool. Ever.

She’s happy and excited for today’s end-of-the-year picnic (which my sister has graciously agreed to attend while I am working), and she’s anxious to move on to the next thing, to be done with “baby school,” and to start kindergarten.

I would have thought I’d be wistful and sad about today, and I suppose I’ve had my moments, but really I am just so proud of this girl, and so grateful to see her grow and learn and mature and become even more amazing than she already is.

Watch out, world. Here she comes.

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