I never thought I would miss Happy Hour the most - not Happy Hour as in cheap drinks, though that is good. But I've never been a late night girl. I like going out in the afternoon and especially between 4 and 7. My best chats with AH and planning and dreaming was in the local pub, off work, sharing a pint and just talking. After a long, technologically snarled week, I was able to sneak out of work early and pick up my kid and meet her Dad on an outside patio and had just ordered a Rogue IPA when she completely melted down. Completely. She doesn't like sitting at all. Also, for some reason, she loves my cell phone beyond all belief despite the fact that I hate it. She holds it up to her head and says "Allo?" very charmingly but it still irritates me, her obsession with this stupid phone and the way she SHRIEKS when I take it away. And she just lost it in front of all these people who STARED at us as if we were the most terrible people in the world, our shrieking kid holding a cell phone as I looked wistfully at my untouched beer. And home again, home as usual. So I cried in the car, just these angry tears, about how much life has changed and how often it is so much better but then often it is so much harder. Like Mothers Day last week, stripping her down in a parking lot and cleaning vomit out of her car seat. And how much I would kill for one carefree Happy Hour - not the kind where a babysitter is at home, counting the minutes - but a few carefree hours. There is never a break, never. Which is mostly okay, but I thought it might be useful to tell the truth too. That it is hard sometimes and for the silliest reasons, the things you didn't expect to miss.

Not quite as hard as editing movies - holy jesus, there is no editing in editing these days, just continuous continual downloading and uploading and format issues and converting. I spent 7 hours editing a two minute piece today. And it's STILL crappy. We are also working on a movie for AH's Grandma's 90th birthday and we're at the point in the project where I have finally yelled "It's your Grandma! You do it!" To which he calmly replied, "I knew you were going to say that and I'm glad we've got it out of the way" Man, I hate always being the small one. I blame this laptop rebuild that was forced upon me - you never know how many plug-ins and passwords you lack until it is time to rebuild your computer, I assure you.

In other news, I've started calling the Carolina Hurricanes "My Canes" because it doesn't get much better than hunching around your internet streaming radio and hearing your team win in overtime of the Seventh game. Hockey lives in North Carolina, which is about 100 bajillion times more exciting than college basketball.