Consoling my lonely

I understand about priorities: My children have more shoes, clothes and stuff than I do.

I understand about responsibilities: Everyone in this house gets more sleep than I do.

I understand about sacrifice: My gas guzzlin’ Jeep drinks better than I do these days.

Do I sound like a whining martyr? Well, good.

Priorities, responsiblities and sacrifice aside, there are some things I really hate to live without: good food, good wine and good music. Until recently, if a band I liked was making a tour stop in the D, I was all about getting tickets. I’d do what was necessary to make it happen.

The last time these guys were in town, I had second row. That’s close enough to feel the sweat dripping from Jack White’s brow.

Perhaps since I had the good fortune of being up-close for the first round, this time I’m not curled in the fetal position under my bed, rocking and moaning in despair that not only am I not going to be second row this time, I’m not going at all.

There’s no simple explanation for the why I’m not going. I’d offer some lame excuses, such as “scheduling conflicts” or “other things going on that have taken all my time and money and cannot be blown off.” But I won’t tell you what they are because then I’d be labeled worst mother ever.

Let’s just say it’s hard being a grown up sometimes, having to give up what you love so that those you love can have something special. Sometimes I feel so immature.

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