The Matron Winds Down. Uh, Gears Up? Falls to Pieces?

This week has offered the Matron plenty of diverse experiences.

Tuesday, she spent the entire morning at Woodwinds Hospital--and loved every minute! Indeed, she purposely booked three necessary appointments--chiropractor (these blog posts cost her!) annual mammogram, and first-ever bone density test--back-to-back so she could wallow in Woodwind luxury.

Indeed, when the day was done and time came for the Matron to leave her overstuffed leather armchair, set aside her tea tree oil aroma-therapeutic complimentary napkin, and close the Sunday New York Times as she passed the man playing the grand piano in the lobby with forty foot ceilings -- when that moment came and the Matron had to return to real life, she felt genuine sadness.

This is what she wrote on her 'make a comment' card:

"I loved every minute of my day at Woodwinds! From the piano to the perfumes, the bookstore, the coffeeshop, the essential oils in the bathrooms and lush gardens, I felt more like I was at a spa than a hospital."

Given the economy, the Matron understands that Tuesday morning might be the most pampering she gets.

Except for the part when her baby boobies were reduced to the width of paper. The Matron made a joke about her tiny (nearly non-existent) endowment and then said to the technician: "Well, I suppose you see breasts this tiny all the time!"

Technician: "Well, we do some men, too."

Oh, now the Matron is totally reassured.

The week held two baseball games, if the T-ball tangle-jump-pile-run can be called anything as structured as a 'game.' The last day of school! REM for Stryker last night! He came home fully lit, wowed and ready to sign on as Groupie.

Barack Obama! Less than a mile away! Change we can believe in!

Stage Mother emerged briefly midweek when Scarlett was offered a role in a small art film. Well, the lead role. Oh - and Scarlett was actually inspiration for the movie itself as the director/writer is familiar with the daughter's work. Who knew Scarlett could seep under somebody's else skin? The Matron thought she was special that way.

Filming in July! Too early for details and names. Artists are cautious that way.

The Matron survived last night's sleepover even though -- because many many small children (other people's children!) were in her care - - she was unable to prop herself up by the wine glass in order to get through serious weather.

Mother Nature? You missed. The tree that fell fifty feet away from the Matron and onto a car? The tree and car belonged to somebody else.

So yes, after a long complex week, the Matron woke up this morning and considered the expanse of her day only to remember, to fully realize that --

Tomorrow she is throwing a high school graduation party with 100 invited guests -- for someone else's child! She totally forgot or didn't fully realize that, say shopping, work and money was now required!!

She rather frantically shopped and cleaned and prepped today (the friend is a single mother with cancer) and took her children and some friends to Kung Fu Panda.

Now, the Matron is sure that Kung Fu Panda is a high-end artistic event. But she cannot watch one more animated children's movie again. Not ever. For the rest of her life. She hesitates over the title. Kung Fu Tofu, now Kung Fu Pando? You can just sorta toss "Kung Fu" in front of any old thing.

So she organized the young people in the darkness and took her laptop to the hallway where she checked email, cleaned up electronically and went over to the dark side. You see the Matron and her husband are joining other greedy soulless fools in an effort to rent their houses during the Republican National Convention. The Matron wrote her ad (traitor, hissed the voices).

And then tonight, as she contemplated feeding 100 people tomorrow and cleaning all those bathrooms in advance, she did what any sane woman would do.

She threw a bunch of asparagus, mushrooms and onions in the broiler and called her neighbors (a family she adores) and said: "Come right on over!"

The Matron takes a break! With wine. . . .