Chill

I am definitely a detail oriented person. A product of my upbringing in the northeast. If you ask me for directions, I'll tell you how many lights you'll go through and my best estimate of the miles, how much time it should take and if you'll need to take any infamous Jersey jug-handles. If you want a recipe, you'll know exactly how I made it, even if I don't know the exact measurements, I'll tell how many "shakes" it takes. Maybe I'm too detailed, maybe you don't need to know the gobs of information that I want to share (hence, my New Year's resolution, talk less), but I'm sorry, I think it's better than "take this road a spell and it's on the left, you can't miss it." If I invite you to an event, you'll know the time and you'll get a detailed map, cell phone numbers and most likely other useless information that you don't want, but at least it's not, "show up at 6:30, in another state, it's a spell down the road from the Best Western. Your daughter can stay on campus with a student and we'll see you in the morning." With who, what time in the morning, who will see me in the morning??? I want details. And I want them now. Okay, so I took a deep breath and looked at my daughter who was like, "Chill, Mom." So, I'm chilling. . .(so, how long am I supposed to chill???). . .