It never fails. When I talk with Halley by phone, I always end up in stitches.
We each play a part in what eventually ends up being a snot out the nose fiesta, even if fiesta probably isn't the right word. Now in this space, I don't hesitate to give Halley a hard time and she doesn't hesitate to give me lip back, but when we catch up and talk turkey, we're two slap happy freak moms on the phone.
Usually I'm driving, or she's driving, and it's dangerous. Especially when we're talking about kids and school and how THEY DON'T HAVE SCHOOL ANYMORE what with all the holidays, and while we get extra Bible-Belt and Hurricane holidays here in landlocked Atlanta, Halley gets the Jewish Holidays, and we both get "inservice" and "teacher workdays," approximately every two to three days. And every public school parent in America understands the threat of Conference Week.
Conference week resulted in Jenna being off half-days all last week, unless you take into account the fact that they're not half days at all; they're "drop your kid off, take a shower, and see them in 23 minutes" days.
Then I'm all: Halley, I remember actually GOING to school; do you remember that? And she's all--TELL me about it! And I'm all Halley remember summer school? AS IF!
So she tells me they still have summer school up there, but you really have to work to get in--and I mean fail everything including classes you didn't even take; and I tell her hey, down here they don't have summer school--public schools are locked up like Fort Knox all summer for you to lust after as you tote your kids to friends, relatives, camps, because goodness knows at least in Suburban Atlanta there's no one home to make for real neighborhoods anymore because everyone's working 17 days a week.
Then I had to hang up because a business call came in, and I had to take it, and after all I was on the way from therapy where I'm busily working on other people's personality disorders, mine being well in-hand by now.
The moral of the story: Don't Suitt and drive.