Spring Break is Next Week.

That bears repeating:  SPRING BREAK IS NEXT WEEK!!!  WOOOO!!!

What am I doing for Spring Break?  Well, I took the week off work because I didn't have anywhere for the kids to go.  So I'll be home with them.

And my beloved March Madness.

Just me and my darling March Madness, curled up on the couch for hours at a time starting Tuesday night.  I plan to eat, drink and sleep basketball.  And then rub some basketball into my skin for good measure every night before I sleep some more basketball.  And then I will probably snort/smoke and/or mainline some basketball.

Don't let Capital One fool you.  This is actually the mooost wonderful tiiiiiiime of the yeeeeeear.  I like Bowl Season a lot, but really, it doesn't hold a candle to something like 127 solid hours of college basketball.  If my arm was stuck in a boulder, I would not cut it off no matter how much it hurt, as long as I could watch basketball.

I once managed to get pregnant at exactly the right time to ensure that my maternity leave coincided with the Tournament.  That was my second child.  It wasn't on purpose, but it was so incredibly fortuitous that I like to pretend that it was completely deliberate.  Despite the fact that M2 had terrible reflux, I remember that maternity leave with a slightly orangey glow of love and adoration and blurry, romantic edges, as though I had been hit in the face with a basketball of happiness.  Metaphorically, I was.  I didn't even mind the sleep deprivation, because that meant more time for basketball.  If I remember correctly (and I do), I spent a week solid in my recliner, holding either a sleeping baby or a nursing baby and watching basketball.  I'm pretty sure I forgot that I actually had another child.  Maybe Mike took care of her.  Whatever happened to her, she's fine now, so I guess whatever neglect occurred, it wasn't life-threatening.  I may have taught her to cook her own food or something.  She was two.  It was about time.

Probably, I will still post next week.  Maybe during commercial breaks.  The posts might just be one line.  I expect at least one will say something like:  "Can't talk.  Basketball."  Because in the immortal words of Cheech and Chong:  "Basketball Jones.  I gotta Basketball Jones.  I got a Basketball Jones, oh baby, oooo."