I am not sure...

if I should be laughing or crying, or doing some sort of Jiggy-dance to the Gods That Find Things Currently in Lostralia. I have been looking for my daughter's birth ceritificate. The one I paid for a few weeks ago when I drove over 30 miles to the town where she was born to wait in line for a piece of paper. Oh. Yeah. I used the incredibly old bathroom there, too, all stone and wood and with a huge sink with big metal faucets and a key to get in that was the size of, say,Montana, on a chain with a paddle attaced. You, know, so you don't STEAL it??? Duh.

So...I had this certificate in hand a few days ago. I saw it. Envelope, handwriting and all. It. Was. There. I. Swear. And now my teenager is off to her first cheerleading practice ( I so, so, so don't see this) and she neeeeeeds that piece of paper, damn-it. And I have looked behind the microwave, in all my accoridon files that hold Really Important Stuff, In my Brain Bucket (actually a cleaning supply tote thing with a handle in which I put my wallet, keys, celly and other goodies, to carry back and forth to the car. No. I. Do. Not. Use. A. Purse. Shut up.

I have looked behind the pencil drawer, justincaseitkindaslippedbackthere. I have looked in notebooks and piles of art supplies.

I just know it is hiding somewhere, laughing at me "hee hee hee" while I go sweaty-crazy looking, searching, like a "good" parent for something that is Just. Beyond. My. Reach.