Aaaah, Labour Day

Love the oxymoronic idea that there's no work to be done on "Labour" Day. What do I care. I get to sleep in. I am mourning the last long weekend of the summer, though.

Which brings us to the kids starting school tomorrow. That's always chaos. Just trying to get everyone back in sync with a schedule they left behind 3 months ago is quite the challenge. They're so young they barely remember even ever going to school in the first place. New teachers, speaking french again... tomorrow at about 3pm should be nuts.

Oh, and I'd like to wish Scott a happy anniversary. Today is the 18th anniversary of our first kiss. Or so we told the kids. And it is, technically. But it's more truthfully the 18th anniversary of the day we first met at Barrymore's, got hammered together and ummmm... had a sleepover. I'll never forget my first thought as I woke up the next morning in a strange apartment, in a strange bed with a strange snoring man beside me: "I remember he's White but pleasebegoodlookingpleasebegoodlookingpleasebegoodlookingpleasebegoodlooking." So you see the problem of complete disclosure to our children. But I do like to remember this day because without it there would be no other anniversaries, no kid birthdays, no other life-as-a-couple events at all. So as sordid as this very first anniversary is, it laid (excuse the pun) the groundwork for every other important event in our lives together.

And there you have it. My essay on what Labour Day means to me.

kxx