Have ever seen footage of someone finishing a really, really tough marathon? Not the experienced people who come in all happy and shit like running 26 miles is not TOTALLY FUCKING CRAZY, no, not those people. The people who finish farther back?

How about the ones who crawl across the finish line only to collapse once they get there?

Yes? No?

Look, doesn’t matter, just picture that in your head.

Now, picture me in the Baltimore’s airport last week, running to the gate (LATE, OF COURSE) trying to get my kids on a plane to Raleigh to see their dad. As we get to the gate the woman says, “We almost gave away your seats.” And that was funny, because she said almost like she didn’t believe I would turn into the Incredible Hulk if my kids hadn’t gotten on that plane. See the humor? I did.

The plane pulled away from the gate and I felt like that marathon runner.

I had survived. Survived it all; Cheyenne turning 13, avoiding ‘The Talk’ with my son (hey, I did Cheyenne’s, his dad got to handle that one) the school year, appointments, more appointments, early morning “I need this for school” runs, clothes, illness, OMG! MOM MAKE HIM STOP LOOKING AT ME!! fights between those two.

Everything. I survived. I want a damn medal.

Cheyenne called last night saying she was ready to come back home.

I just started laughing hysterically.