Today, because I was Perfectly Fine, I ventured back to work.
By 2:30 p.m. I was semi-collapsed in a heap and shovelling myself out the door.
I have a desk job.
Somehow or another, I'm thinking this may take a little longer than I thought.
Fortunately, there's only one more full day of work this week before the picnic on Thursday, then Friday is the work holiday. I should have plenty of time to get back to normal and with any luck it will happen in no time.
Until then, if you need me? I'll just be sitting here under this rock, enjoying the day.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
I'm Sprung!
Her Majesty the Lung Doctress came in around 11 a.m. and graciously allowed me to vacate the joint, with a promise to avoid all outdoor activities until things are back to normal.
That would include the 4th of July celebration at my SIL's on...well...the 4th. But hey, anything for the team. Especially if the team includes the parts that allow me to actually breathe.
In the meantime, I have become a steroid bank. When people see me coming they think I should be tied down with ropes since I resemble one of those lovely balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. However, once they hear the thunder of my thighs, all thoughts of the lightness of being float away on the humid and hot summer breeze.
And with that we'll end the Agony of the Asthma saga and go on to bigger and better things.
Like the venti iced mocha I got after I was sprung...now THAT'S something to write about.
That would include the 4th of July celebration at my SIL's on...well...the 4th. But hey, anything for the team. Especially if the team includes the parts that allow me to actually breathe.
In the meantime, I have become a steroid bank. When people see me coming they think I should be tied down with ropes since I resemble one of those lovely balloons in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. However, once they hear the thunder of my thighs, all thoughts of the lightness of being float away on the humid and hot summer breeze.
And with that we'll end the Agony of the Asthma saga and go on to bigger and better things.
Like the venti iced mocha I got after I was sprung...now THAT'S something to write about.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Extended Stay Is More Than Just A Hotel Chain
After a small episode of coughing and breathing frenzy yesterday, Her Highness the Most High Lung Doctress has decided to keep me incarcerated for yet another day.
My joy knows no bounds.
Meds have been kept pretty much the same, but now I'm walking the halls. Since the Taj Mahal is a small hospital, a trip from here to the cafeteria and back only takes a few minutes. I lapped the hall once, went to the gift shop, and if I get ambitious later on I'll do it all again in one fell swoop.
Because I am nothing if not a daring sort.
The Girl was kind enough to bring me coffee today, along with an orange scone. She also got a couple of scones for herself, seeing as she does love an orange scone...or two. Thankfully she's got the metabolism to handle them. Not so, I. She is now watching television and trying to nap on the couch in my room as I type.
I hear from her that the humidity may have broken outside, which could mean I'll actually be able to venture forth one day into the actual out of doors and still breathe. Which would be helpful.
And so the boredom sets in. Same old same old from Hospital Central.
But rest assured if anything happens you'll be at least the fourth or fifth to know.
My joy knows no bounds.
Meds have been kept pretty much the same, but now I'm walking the halls. Since the Taj Mahal is a small hospital, a trip from here to the cafeteria and back only takes a few minutes. I lapped the hall once, went to the gift shop, and if I get ambitious later on I'll do it all again in one fell swoop.
Because I am nothing if not a daring sort.
The Girl was kind enough to bring me coffee today, along with an orange scone. She also got a couple of scones for herself, seeing as she does love an orange scone...or two. Thankfully she's got the metabolism to handle them. Not so, I. She is now watching television and trying to nap on the couch in my room as I type.
I hear from her that the humidity may have broken outside, which could mean I'll actually be able to venture forth one day into the actual out of doors and still breathe. Which would be helpful.
And so the boredom sets in. Same old same old from Hospital Central.
But rest assured if anything happens you'll be at least the fourth or fifth to know.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
If Nothing Else, It's Quiet
One thing about being in the Taj Majal of the hospital scene...it is quite peaceful.
That is, when they aren't taking vitals, poking you with needles, making you breathe vile concoctions and chanting incantations over you on regularly scheduled intervals. Of course, the regularly scheduled intervals are known only to THEM, so it's always somewhat of a coin toss as to whether the peace and quiet will endure for long.
Take now, for instance. Now is restful. Now is joy. Now all is in harmony with the universe. I'm fed, bathed, medicated, treated, had linens changed, spoken with friends and family, been stuck with needles again, and I'm ready for a nap.
However, the Forces That Be have other plans. Since breakfast was at 7:30 this morning and it is now nearing noon, I'm betting the lunch tray will be appearing at any time. On the docket for today's exquisite repast is fried chicken and mashed potatoes. If I were a betting woman (see: betting, above) I would also bet the "mashed" is spelled "i-n-s-t-a-n-t" and that whatever vegetable comes with it will be suitable for the toothless.
But hey, I don't have to cook!
Breakfast was HUGE. I did not eat all of it. Oatmeal, a cinnamon roll, a slice of bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice, milk andbilgewater coffee. It was actually good. Hubster, dear sweet wonderful man that he is, brought me an iced coffee (not sweetened, cream only) from McDonald's. There is a Starbucks just across the street from the hospital, but they are much more expensive. I've been adding ice to it all day. It was quite the topic of conversation as I Skyped with dear Linds this morning. "HOLD THAT UP IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA!!!" Oh, what fun we have.
Speaking of Skype, now that I've found it I have ordered Cutie's dad to install a webcam. If they are going to insist upon being three hours away, the least he can do is let me talk to my family face to face upon occasion.
Of course, being as stubborn as I am he will likely ignore the order because orders annoy him and I will have to ask him NICELY. I hate when that happens. But I love him, so I will acquiesce.
And with that, I smell lunch coming down the hall. I'm sure there will be more exciting news later for me to impart.
Try not to sit on the edge of your seat. I hear it causes butt warts.
That is, when they aren't taking vitals, poking you with needles, making you breathe vile concoctions and chanting incantations over you on regularly scheduled intervals. Of course, the regularly scheduled intervals are known only to THEM, so it's always somewhat of a coin toss as to whether the peace and quiet will endure for long.
Take now, for instance. Now is restful. Now is joy. Now all is in harmony with the universe. I'm fed, bathed, medicated, treated, had linens changed, spoken with friends and family, been stuck with needles again, and I'm ready for a nap.
However, the Forces That Be have other plans. Since breakfast was at 7:30 this morning and it is now nearing noon, I'm betting the lunch tray will be appearing at any time. On the docket for today's exquisite repast is fried chicken and mashed potatoes. If I were a betting woman (see: betting, above) I would also bet the "mashed" is spelled "i-n-s-t-a-n-t" and that whatever vegetable comes with it will be suitable for the toothless.
But hey, I don't have to cook!
Breakfast was HUGE. I did not eat all of it. Oatmeal, a cinnamon roll, a slice of bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice, milk and
Speaking of Skype, now that I've found it I have ordered Cutie's dad to install a webcam. If they are going to insist upon being three hours away, the least he can do is let me talk to my family face to face upon occasion.
Of course, being as stubborn as I am he will likely ignore the order because orders annoy him and I will have to ask him NICELY. I hate when that happens. But I love him, so I will acquiesce.
And with that, I smell lunch coming down the hall. I'm sure there will be more exciting news later for me to impart.
Try not to sit on the edge of your seat. I hear it causes butt warts.
Friday, June 26, 2009
New And Improved! Now With Less Anger!
I may have overreacted just a tad before.
Which is somewhat akin to saying the Titanic was a boat that took on a little water.
Ahem.
I have now been fed, medicated, and had my hand patted. Hubster has even been here for a visit and brought me M&Ms. There is no more soothing edible object on this earth than an M&M, and a handful just multiplies the blessing.
You may quote me on that.
Two breathing treatments so far with another scheduled for midnight. One dose of steroids, which have to be administered via IV, only I don't have to be hooked up to a bag of solution all the time - I just get the steroid shot through the IV every six hours.
Which makes peeing so very much easier without dragging around all that equipment, since I'm also drinking a gallon of water every time I turn around.
You're welcome.
It is now almost 9 p.m. and thanks to the wonderful WIFI in the hospital and my most bestest friend in the whole wide world, Clarabelle, I have spoken via SKYPE to Linds in England and watched Brideshead Revisited on Netflix. I'm sure there will be more movies to be watched as we go into the wee hours of the morning, but if I get bored there's a big screen television here in my room. I would take a picture, but I left the camera at home. It's about the only thing I did leave at home.
Linds made me pick up Clarabelle and turn her around so she could see the room. That Linds, she thinks of everything.
So, I think I'm up for a prowl. Hubster brought the robe I forgot, so I do believe I will hie me down the hall for a little look-see. No telling what I may come up with for a later post...
Which is somewhat akin to saying the Titanic was a boat that took on a little water.
Ahem.
I have now been fed, medicated, and had my hand patted. Hubster has even been here for a visit and brought me M&Ms. There is no more soothing edible object on this earth than an M&M, and a handful just multiplies the blessing.
You may quote me on that.
Two breathing treatments so far with another scheduled for midnight. One dose of steroids, which have to be administered via IV, only I don't have to be hooked up to a bag of solution all the time - I just get the steroid shot through the IV every six hours.
Which makes peeing so very much easier without dragging around all that equipment, since I'm also drinking a gallon of water every time I turn around.
You're welcome.
It is now almost 9 p.m. and thanks to the wonderful WIFI in the hospital and my most bestest friend in the whole wide world, Clarabelle, I have spoken via SKYPE to Linds in England and watched Brideshead Revisited on Netflix. I'm sure there will be more movies to be watched as we go into the wee hours of the morning, but if I get bored there's a big screen television here in my room. I would take a picture, but I left the camera at home. It's about the only thing I did leave at home.
Linds made me pick up Clarabelle and turn her around so she could see the room. That Linds, she thinks of everything.
So, I think I'm up for a prowl. Hubster brought the robe I forgot, so I do believe I will hie me down the hall for a little look-see. No telling what I may come up with for a later post...
I'm Hungry and I'm Cranky and I Want to GO HOME
This has not been fun so far.
Not that being admitted to the hospital ever is, but you'd think there would be SOME joy in Mudville. Not so here. Nor has there been any treatment as of yet.
I checked in around 12:30 p.m. Since then I've had a chest x-ray, blood work, NO LUNCH, three sticks to get an IV started since I apparently am veinless, and an arterial blood gas. And as much fun as the three sticks to get the IV started were, they paled in comparison to the blood gas.
All to heck and gone.
The charge nurse was trying to take my history while the lab tech was getting started, and another nurse was trying to start an IV in the other arm. Both of them left the room when he announced what he was going to do.
That was my first clue of the thrills to come.
The second was when he told me to take a "really deep breath" - this to someone who's being treated for asthma - and then proceeded to stick a needle in my wrist that I felt all the way up to my right eyeball. And if that wasn't bad enough, he couldn't quite get where he needed to be, so he had to jiggle it around.
I now know why they put the absorbent pad on my bed.
After Son of Hitler got done he said, "Boy, you really made me WORK for that one!" And after he picked himself up from the heap he landed in on the floor, he promised to leave me alone for a while.
A long while.
It is now almost 4 p.m. I have not yet had lunch. None has been offered, so I ate one of the oranges I brought from home to keep from attacking one of the nurses in the hall and holding him or her hostage until I was fed. No one has started any IV solutions, done any breathing treatments, or even acknowledged my existence in the past two hours.
I could have done THIS at home, and for much less money. But I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun with needles.
The next plan of action is to go prowl the halls in my backless gown in search of sustenance. If you hear screaming in the distance you'll know from whence it came.
Film at 11.
Not that being admitted to the hospital ever is, but you'd think there would be SOME joy in Mudville. Not so here. Nor has there been any treatment as of yet.
I checked in around 12:30 p.m. Since then I've had a chest x-ray, blood work, NO LUNCH, three sticks to get an IV started since I apparently am veinless, and an arterial blood gas. And as much fun as the three sticks to get the IV started were, they paled in comparison to the blood gas.
All to heck and gone.
The charge nurse was trying to take my history while the lab tech was getting started, and another nurse was trying to start an IV in the other arm. Both of them left the room when he announced what he was going to do.
That was my first clue of the thrills to come.
The second was when he told me to take a "really deep breath" - this to someone who's being treated for asthma - and then proceeded to stick a needle in my wrist that I felt all the way up to my right eyeball. And if that wasn't bad enough, he couldn't quite get where he needed to be, so he had to jiggle it around.
I now know why they put the absorbent pad on my bed.
After Son of Hitler got done he said, "Boy, you really made me WORK for that one!" And after he picked himself up from the heap he landed in on the floor, he promised to leave me alone for a while.
A long while.
It is now almost 4 p.m. I have not yet had lunch. None has been offered, so I ate one of the oranges I brought from home to keep from attacking one of the nurses in the hall and holding him or her hostage until I was fed. No one has started any IV solutions, done any breathing treatments, or even acknowledged my existence in the past two hours.
I could have done THIS at home, and for much less money. But I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun with needles.
The next plan of action is to go prowl the halls in my backless gown in search of sustenance. If you hear screaming in the distance you'll know from whence it came.
Film at 11.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
We Now Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Whine To Bring You Some Completely Mundane News
I've always wanted to do something important with my life.
I know, being a wife and raising kids and doing good through my job and church and blah-be-de-blah blah blah are important. Very important. So are a lot of other things.
But I want to DO something. CREATE something. And it would help if I could actually finish whatever it is if I ever begin it.
When I was a wee thing, as if there ever was such a time, one of my elderly aunt-type relatives taught me the basics of crocheting. I chained and chained and chained my little heart out. And it was then I decided I was going to make a rug for my room.
I went to the local TG&Y store, a dime store which has long since gone out of business, and bought a skein of lovely, totally unsuitable yarn to go with my tiny, totally unsuitable crochet hook.
And so I began.
I remember Mom saying she was proud of me because I was learning to purchase Useful Things with my money instead of just candy. And that made me even more determined. This was going to be a rug fit for the Taj Mahal...the White House...the National Cathedral. I would become a world reknown rug maker. People would hang my rugs on the walls of art museums. I would become rich and famous for the intricate design and detail of my craftsmanship. Kings, queens, and movie stars would purchase my creations for thousands and thousands of dollars. These rugs would have no equal!
If only I could just finish the first one.
Truth be told, that first little rug ended up being little more than the size of a drink coaster. I lost interest after that. After all, there was no more encouragement, no one was banging on my door wanting to buy it, and it was obviously an amateur work.
That's the way I feel about much of what I do. Whether it's decorating the living room, planning a party, choosing what to eat for dinner or what to wear to a wedding, I am woefully inadequate. I have no sense of style, no voice of my own when it comes to writing, no true talent to captivate or create or make decisions in my own life.
So how the heck can I possibly do all of that for someone else?
All this to say Hubster is encouraging me to write. So I have been. And it gets just about as far as a blog page and then dries up and blows away. So I keep on beginning, never finishing. And I can't tell you how frustrating that is. There has to be some way to tie in and fill out and tell the story of people without pulling their teeth to do it.
Because then, you know, it would be as painful for them as it was for me. And it might make a pretty freaky reading book. Or article. Or story. Or piece of wastepaper.
And that's the dilemna for this evening. Any ideas would be appreciated.
Secondly, it seems I will be checking in to the Hospital California (you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave...) sister of the Hotel California of Eagles fame - sometime tomorrow morning. I'm surrendering quietly - no need for the National Guard to hunt me down. I've had it with this stuff. If getting rid of it means checking in for a couple of days, I'll check in.
At least I'll have time to write mundane garbage and never finish it. Hmmm...that would be a change.
And this hospital has WIFI to go along with the prednisone IVs.
Clarabelle and I will survive.
I know, being a wife and raising kids and doing good through my job and church and blah-be-de-blah blah blah are important. Very important. So are a lot of other things.
But I want to DO something. CREATE something. And it would help if I could actually finish whatever it is if I ever begin it.
When I was a wee thing, as if there ever was such a time, one of my elderly aunt-type relatives taught me the basics of crocheting. I chained and chained and chained my little heart out. And it was then I decided I was going to make a rug for my room.
I went to the local TG&Y store, a dime store which has long since gone out of business, and bought a skein of lovely, totally unsuitable yarn to go with my tiny, totally unsuitable crochet hook.
And so I began.
I remember Mom saying she was proud of me because I was learning to purchase Useful Things with my money instead of just candy. And that made me even more determined. This was going to be a rug fit for the Taj Mahal...the White House...the National Cathedral. I would become a world reknown rug maker. People would hang my rugs on the walls of art museums. I would become rich and famous for the intricate design and detail of my craftsmanship. Kings, queens, and movie stars would purchase my creations for thousands and thousands of dollars. These rugs would have no equal!
If only I could just finish the first one.
Truth be told, that first little rug ended up being little more than the size of a drink coaster. I lost interest after that. After all, there was no more encouragement, no one was banging on my door wanting to buy it, and it was obviously an amateur work.
That's the way I feel about much of what I do. Whether it's decorating the living room, planning a party, choosing what to eat for dinner or what to wear to a wedding, I am woefully inadequate. I have no sense of style, no voice of my own when it comes to writing, no true talent to captivate or create or make decisions in my own life.
So how the heck can I possibly do all of that for someone else?
All this to say Hubster is encouraging me to write. So I have been. And it gets just about as far as a blog page and then dries up and blows away. So I keep on beginning, never finishing. And I can't tell you how frustrating that is. There has to be some way to tie in and fill out and tell the story of people without pulling their teeth to do it.
Because then, you know, it would be as painful for them as it was for me. And it might make a pretty freaky reading book. Or article. Or story. Or piece of wastepaper.
And that's the dilemna for this evening. Any ideas would be appreciated.
Secondly, it seems I will be checking in to the Hospital California (you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave...) sister of the Hotel California of Eagles fame - sometime tomorrow morning. I'm surrendering quietly - no need for the National Guard to hunt me down. I've had it with this stuff. If getting rid of it means checking in for a couple of days, I'll check in.
At least I'll have time to write mundane garbage and never finish it. Hmmm...that would be a change.
And this hospital has WIFI to go along with the prednisone IVs.
Clarabelle and I will survive.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Back On The Steroids, Back On The Steroids, Back On The Steroids Again
Or some more. Whatever the case may be.
The weather in these parts is conducive to drowning in some species. It seems I am one.
Due to the above, and due to the fact of the air conditioning going out at work today...
I'll let that one sink in a bit before I go on.
THE AIR CONDITIONING WENT OUT AT WORK TODAY. In 99 degree heat and 50% humidity, with a meeting of the Advisory Board on the top floor.
Oh, it was pleasant.
Anyway, due to that, and due to the wonderful ozone alert we've been under, and due to the moon being in whatever phase it is, and due to the fact that I haven't been drinking enough water, and due to the fact that I am retaining water like...like....a water retainer, I found myself in the unenviable position of being unable to breathe at the office today. This after a full breathing treatment cocktail of albuterol and atrovent with a coffee chaser.
So I called my MOST wonderful Lung Doctress, and casually mentioned my lack of oxygenation. She suggested the ER again. I politely declined, being as I knew the cost of such a visit, and countered with a visit to her. She saw my visit to her and raised it by telling me I had to be there in 30 minutes. I called and told her I'd be there in 20.
And I won. But we weren't through playing yet.
When I arrived and she got a look at the state of the lung-ature, she gave me two choices. 1) haul my quite substantial butt into the hospital next door for a couple of days or b) get a massive shot of steroidal substances and start over on the steroid pill course I was taking in order to try to get a handle on things. Of course, if b) didn't work by Friday, she reserved the right to call out the National Guard to hunt me down like the unbreathing dog I would be and force me into 1) the hospital next door.
I chose what was behind door B.
Dear Mandi, the Nurse With The Needle, came in and buried it in my behind and I took my leave. It remains to be seen what will happen over the next couple of days.
But I now have a note that says,
"Dear Boss:
This Momma Don't Do Hot. No AC, No Workie.
Love,
Lung Doctress"
I'm NEVER changing doctors.
The weather in these parts is conducive to drowning in some species. It seems I am one.
Due to the above, and due to the fact of the air conditioning going out at work today...
I'll let that one sink in a bit before I go on.
THE AIR CONDITIONING WENT OUT AT WORK TODAY. In 99 degree heat and 50% humidity, with a meeting of the Advisory Board on the top floor.
Oh, it was pleasant.
Anyway, due to that, and due to the wonderful ozone alert we've been under, and due to the moon being in whatever phase it is, and due to the fact that I haven't been drinking enough water, and due to the fact that I am retaining water like...like....a water retainer, I found myself in the unenviable position of being unable to breathe at the office today. This after a full breathing treatment cocktail of albuterol and atrovent with a coffee chaser.
So I called my MOST wonderful Lung Doctress, and casually mentioned my lack of oxygenation. She suggested the ER again. I politely declined, being as I knew the cost of such a visit, and countered with a visit to her. She saw my visit to her and raised it by telling me I had to be there in 30 minutes. I called and told her I'd be there in 20.
And I won. But we weren't through playing yet.
When I arrived and she got a look at the state of the lung-ature, she gave me two choices. 1) haul my quite substantial butt into the hospital next door for a couple of days or b) get a massive shot of steroidal substances and start over on the steroid pill course I was taking in order to try to get a handle on things. Of course, if b) didn't work by Friday, she reserved the right to call out the National Guard to hunt me down like the unbreathing dog I would be and force me into 1) the hospital next door.
I chose what was behind door B.
Dear Mandi, the Nurse With The Needle, came in and buried it in my behind and I took my leave. It remains to be seen what will happen over the next couple of days.
But I now have a note that says,
"Dear Boss:
This Momma Don't Do Hot. No AC, No Workie.
Love,
Lung Doctress"
I'm NEVER changing doctors.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Boiling In Air
Current conditions as of 2:54 pm CDT
Fair
Feels Like: 108°
Barometer: 29.87 in and falling
Humidity: 42%
Visibility: 10 mi
Dewpoint: 71°
Wind: S 3 mph
Sunrise: 5:53 am
Sunset: 8:48 pm
Current Temperature: 98°
High: 96° Low: 78°
We are not amused.
And it's only supposed to get worse, or at best, stay the same tomorrow and throughout the rest of the week.
My poor tomatoes are going to be choked out by weeds before very long, proving Hubster right in his lifelong assumption that I can grow NOTHING edible. This will not happen, even if I have to weed the beds in the dark of the moon with the sprinkler running and me stark staring naked in the process.
Oh please, God. Not that. Humanity is not ready for that.
Fair
Feels Like: 108°
Barometer: 29.87 in and falling
Humidity: 42%
Visibility: 10 mi
Dewpoint: 71°
Wind: S 3 mph
Sunrise: 5:53 am
Sunset: 8:48 pm
Current Temperature: 98°
High: 96° Low: 78°
We are not amused.
And it's only supposed to get worse, or at best, stay the same tomorrow and throughout the rest of the week.
My poor tomatoes are going to be choked out by weeds before very long, proving Hubster right in his lifelong assumption that I can grow NOTHING edible. This will not happen, even if I have to weed the beds in the dark of the moon with the sprinkler running and me stark staring naked in the process.
Oh please, God. Not that. Humanity is not ready for that.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sleeping the Sleep of Endless Sleeps
It would seem as though they slipped me a mickey of some sort last night.
I remember being perfectly coherent driving home, then staying up until around 2 a.m. because of the jitters that the albuterol cause. I went to bed and to sleep just fine and woke up in plenty of time for work.
But it was Zombie Me who went.
I could barely keep my eyes open all day long. Dunno if it was the steroids, the breathing treatments, the antibiotics, or...hmmmm....could it have been the Atavan??? In any case, I got home from work today and fell into a stupor. Hubster made me go upstairs to bed for a "nap," one that lasted almost five hours. So here I am again, still not out of the stupor, but awake enough to pretend.
It's supposed to be ninety-nine degrees tomorrow. Ninety-nine I-don't-even-want-to-leave-the-house-even-in-the-morning degrees. It has gone beyond sweat. It has gone beyond heat exhaustion. It is global warming at its finest.
I'm thinking of installing a couch in my office. I already have a closet for clothing, and the bathroom is just down the hall. Of course, I'd have to get up a lot earlier to get ready for work, but the commute would be a breeze. There's a kitchen downstairs in the break room, along with a washer/dryer combination for tablecloths and kitchen towels that I could borrow if need be. There are vending machines for snacks. At night, all I'd have to do is lock myself up in my little office and snooze away, heedless of the shootings and robberies and murders and fires and drug dealers outside. I'd be safe and cool in my own little cocoon. The kids and Hubster could even come and visit every now and then.
Imagine the work I could get done. Imagine the peace and quiet. Imagine not having to deal with the heat or the commute or the humidity.
It's a thought.
In the meantime, I think I'll just head upstairs again and dream some more as I sleep some more.
Because the bed, she is calling my name yet again.
I remember being perfectly coherent driving home, then staying up until around 2 a.m. because of the jitters that the albuterol cause. I went to bed and to sleep just fine and woke up in plenty of time for work.
But it was Zombie Me who went.
I could barely keep my eyes open all day long. Dunno if it was the steroids, the breathing treatments, the antibiotics, or...hmmmm....could it have been the Atavan??? In any case, I got home from work today and fell into a stupor. Hubster made me go upstairs to bed for a "nap," one that lasted almost five hours. So here I am again, still not out of the stupor, but awake enough to pretend.
It's supposed to be ninety-nine degrees tomorrow. Ninety-nine I-don't-even-want-to-leave-the-house-even-in-the-morning degrees. It has gone beyond sweat. It has gone beyond heat exhaustion. It is global warming at its finest.
I'm thinking of installing a couch in my office. I already have a closet for clothing, and the bathroom is just down the hall. Of course, I'd have to get up a lot earlier to get ready for work, but the commute would be a breeze. There's a kitchen downstairs in the break room, along with a washer/dryer combination for tablecloths and kitchen towels that I could borrow if need be. There are vending machines for snacks. At night, all I'd have to do is lock myself up in my little office and snooze away, heedless of the shootings and robberies and murders and fires and drug dealers outside. I'd be safe and cool in my own little cocoon. The kids and Hubster could even come and visit every now and then.
Imagine the work I could get done. Imagine the peace and quiet. Imagine not having to deal with the heat or the commute or the humidity.
It's a thought.
In the meantime, I think I'll just head upstairs again and dream some more as I sleep some more.
Because the bed, she is calling my name yet again.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Never Underestimate The Ability To Breathe
Fathers' Day was today, and we celebrated in rare style.
The Dad in the family slept in two hours later than normal, then had bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for dinner tonight. He received a new patio swing as a gift, and I'll be posting the reason why later.
That's something that will take a whole blog all by itself.
Tonight the kids and Dad went to meet the older in-town kids at the local mecca of miniature golf per the request of His Highness for the Day, Hubster. They played 18 holes, then went next door and rode go-carts. A fun time was had by all, especially Hubster. He is in his element when he is around family.
The one damper to the evening is that I couldn't be there. Seems as though my presence was required at the local ER.
Remember when I told y'all the asthma was back in force and it had opened a can of whoop-my-hiney this week? It done whooped it GOOD.
By today I was enlisting the use of the nebulizer for back-to-back treatments. I'd already used the inhaler, called the Doc for steroids and taken them, and still couldn't catch a deep breath without coughing my head off. When I called Doc the second time AFTER everything else had been tried and had a chance to work for a couple of hours or more and failed, she sent me to the VooDoo Witch Doctors at the local ER.
By that time everyone else had already left for the other goings-on, so I had to drive myself. It really was quite comical in a way.
PANTPANTPANTPANTCOUGHCOUGHCOUGHPANTPANTPANTCOUGHCOUGH all the way there. Park, climb the steps, walk across the drive, get dizzy, stop, go, enter the doors, go up to the desk, say "I (pantpantpant) am (pantpantpant) having (coughcoughcough) a little (pantpantpant) trouble (HACKcoughcough) breathing."
The girl behind the desk looked quite alarmed, then called back to have someone help me immediately before I fell over. Because they don't take much to people falling over in the ER, or so it seems. They got me back into a room in record time.
And then I sat. And panted. And coughed. And developed a killer migraine to add to the wonderful ambiance of the evening.
An hour and a half after I was first admitted, a doctor stopped by to see me for five minutes. I told him what was going on. He ordered a breathing treatment with not only the albuterol I'd already used, but a wonderful drug called Atrovent. He even threw in some Lidocaine for good measure. And after it finally got there and I had the treatment I was breathing much better.
He also gave me a couple of LorTabs and an Atavan for the migraine. While it didn't completely take the pain away, it did take the edge off enough to where I wasn't screaming "THE LIGHT!!! TURN OFF THE LIGHT!!! AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!"
It was a win-win situation for all of us.
Except for Hubster. He ended up having to be dropped off at the hospital by The Girl so he could drive me home. Apparently these yayhoos in the medical field think I'm some kind of lightweight and can't hold my LorTabs and Atavan, so they made me have a designated driver when I went home.
Spoil sports.
A mere five hours later, the diagnosis? Bronchitis with a severe case of crazy. I just need to take the meds like I'm supposed to and stop playing with the little green creatures that inhabit my thoughts.
In other words, they want me to conform.
They really do know how to take the fun out of an evening, don't they?
The Dad in the family slept in two hours later than normal, then had bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches for dinner tonight. He received a new patio swing as a gift, and I'll be posting the reason why later.
That's something that will take a whole blog all by itself.
Tonight the kids and Dad went to meet the older in-town kids at the local mecca of miniature golf per the request of His Highness for the Day, Hubster. They played 18 holes, then went next door and rode go-carts. A fun time was had by all, especially Hubster. He is in his element when he is around family.
The one damper to the evening is that I couldn't be there. Seems as though my presence was required at the local ER.
Remember when I told y'all the asthma was back in force and it had opened a can of whoop-my-hiney this week? It done whooped it GOOD.
By today I was enlisting the use of the nebulizer for back-to-back treatments. I'd already used the inhaler, called the Doc for steroids and taken them, and still couldn't catch a deep breath without coughing my head off. When I called Doc the second time AFTER everything else had been tried and had a chance to work for a couple of hours or more and failed, she sent me to the VooDoo Witch Doctors at the local ER.
By that time everyone else had already left for the other goings-on, so I had to drive myself. It really was quite comical in a way.
PANTPANTPANTPANTCOUGHCOUGHCOUGHPANTPANTPANTCOUGHCOUGH all the way there. Park, climb the steps, walk across the drive, get dizzy, stop, go, enter the doors, go up to the desk, say "I (pantpantpant) am (pantpantpant) having (coughcoughcough) a little (pantpantpant) trouble (HACKcoughcough) breathing."
The girl behind the desk looked quite alarmed, then called back to have someone help me immediately before I fell over. Because they don't take much to people falling over in the ER, or so it seems. They got me back into a room in record time.
And then I sat. And panted. And coughed. And developed a killer migraine to add to the wonderful ambiance of the evening.
An hour and a half after I was first admitted, a doctor stopped by to see me for five minutes. I told him what was going on. He ordered a breathing treatment with not only the albuterol I'd already used, but a wonderful drug called Atrovent. He even threw in some Lidocaine for good measure. And after it finally got there and I had the treatment I was breathing much better.
He also gave me a couple of LorTabs and an Atavan for the migraine. While it didn't completely take the pain away, it did take the edge off enough to where I wasn't screaming "THE LIGHT!!! TURN OFF THE LIGHT!!! AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!"
It was a win-win situation for all of us.
Except for Hubster. He ended up having to be dropped off at the hospital by The Girl so he could drive me home. Apparently these yayhoos in the medical field think I'm some kind of lightweight and can't hold my LorTabs and Atavan, so they made me have a designated driver when I went home.
Spoil sports.
A mere five hours later, the diagnosis? Bronchitis with a severe case of crazy. I just need to take the meds like I'm supposed to and stop playing with the little green creatures that inhabit my thoughts.
In other words, they want me to conform.
They really do know how to take the fun out of an evening, don't they?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Hair Today, Gone Today
It's been in the upper 80's and 90's here for a week or so. When it hasn't been that warm outside, and even when it has, you have to swim through the air due to the excessive humidity.
In short, it's been our own little piece of what it feels like to be boiled alive.
The asthma, God bless the horse it rode in on, has decided to kick up again. Never mind the shots I get every other week of the miracle drug that usually keeps me on track. This weather is playing hardball. It's kickin' my butt and takin' my name.
Along with the excessive heat came this obsession with my hair.
Now y'all know I NEVER obsess about my hair. It's always just the right style, just the right length, the bangs are always just so, and I never have a problem with my Most Excellent Hairdresser about how to cut it.
BWWWWWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
So when I went in last week and told her I wanted something different than the style I'd had for the last six months, she varied the style somewhat by doing a razor cut and making it a little shorter than usual. Of course, being as I'm blind as the proverbial bat without my glasses, and she had it dried before I put them on, I really didn't get a chance to OK it before it was all said and done. I just thought I'd go home, take a shower, wash it, style it MY way and see how it fell out.
Silly me.
I did all of the above, but somehow or another it just wouldn't lay right for me. It stuck out on the upper right side of my head but lay flat, RIGHT UP NEXT TO MY EARS on the lower sides. I couldn't stick the ear flaps behind my ears because they were too short. When I let them fall the way they wanted to I looked like I had donned a winter hat of some sort. I just didn't like it, not one little bit.
But I tried.
I tried to like it for one solid week. I tried valiantly to like it. I washed and moussed and blew the hair dry, and still it looked Awful with a capital A.
You know how I can tell when it's really bad? When I go to work and NOT ONE PERSON says "Hey, I really like your hair...did you get it cut?" even though I've had the same style for months.
It was really bad this time. Crows would not even nest in the mop that was my hair.
So as I was travelling around today I got the brilliant idea of calling my Most Excellent Hairdresser to see if she was in, and offered her cash money to change the "do" yet again. She got me in right away. Seems someone that had an appointment had the audacity to have a baby and did not call to cancel.
The nerve.
She took a look at me and agreed this was not the most flattering style ever perpetrated by her hand, and re-cut it for free. Only now, since there wasn't that much hair there and since my ears were suffering from claustrophobia in a big way, I have opted for a much shorter hairstyle. One that is much easier to care for, and one that I really like.
Unfortunately, Hubster is not so fond of it.
"Why'd you get your hair cut like a BOY?" was the first thing he asked when he saw me. "I certainly don't care for THAT."
Always the soul of tact, that man.
However, he'll get used to it, as he has every hairstyle that's come down the pike these past nineteen plus years.
He's just jealous that I have more hair than he does.
In short, it's been our own little piece of what it feels like to be boiled alive.
The asthma, God bless the horse it rode in on, has decided to kick up again. Never mind the shots I get every other week of the miracle drug that usually keeps me on track. This weather is playing hardball. It's kickin' my butt and takin' my name.
Along with the excessive heat came this obsession with my hair.
Now y'all know I NEVER obsess about my hair. It's always just the right style, just the right length, the bangs are always just so, and I never have a problem with my Most Excellent Hairdresser about how to cut it.
BWWWWWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
So when I went in last week and told her I wanted something different than the style I'd had for the last six months, she varied the style somewhat by doing a razor cut and making it a little shorter than usual. Of course, being as I'm blind as the proverbial bat without my glasses, and she had it dried before I put them on, I really didn't get a chance to OK it before it was all said and done. I just thought I'd go home, take a shower, wash it, style it MY way and see how it fell out.
Silly me.
I did all of the above, but somehow or another it just wouldn't lay right for me. It stuck out on the upper right side of my head but lay flat, RIGHT UP NEXT TO MY EARS on the lower sides. I couldn't stick the ear flaps behind my ears because they were too short. When I let them fall the way they wanted to I looked like I had donned a winter hat of some sort. I just didn't like it, not one little bit.
But I tried.
I tried to like it for one solid week. I tried valiantly to like it. I washed and moussed and blew the hair dry, and still it looked Awful with a capital A.
You know how I can tell when it's really bad? When I go to work and NOT ONE PERSON says "Hey, I really like your hair...did you get it cut?" even though I've had the same style for months.
It was really bad this time. Crows would not even nest in the mop that was my hair.
So as I was travelling around today I got the brilliant idea of calling my Most Excellent Hairdresser to see if she was in, and offered her cash money to change the "do" yet again. She got me in right away. Seems someone that had an appointment had the audacity to have a baby and did not call to cancel.
The nerve.
She took a look at me and agreed this was not the most flattering style ever perpetrated by her hand, and re-cut it for free. Only now, since there wasn't that much hair there and since my ears were suffering from claustrophobia in a big way, I have opted for a much shorter hairstyle. One that is much easier to care for, and one that I really like.
Unfortunately, Hubster is not so fond of it.
"Why'd you get your hair cut like a BOY?" was the first thing he asked when he saw me. "I certainly don't care for THAT."
Always the soul of tact, that man.
However, he'll get used to it, as he has every hairstyle that's come down the pike these past nineteen plus years.
He's just jealous that I have more hair than he does.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Please Allow Me To Introduce You To My Lunch
Chopped Cobb? Meet the Interpeeps. Interpeeps? Meet Chopped Cobb.
For those of you who are avocado weenies, please note there is no avocado in this salad. All it contains is egg, bacon, lettuce, chicken, tomato, and Gorgonzola cheese tossed in an herbed vinaigrette dressing.
And Interpeeps? It is the epitome of good eatin'. They even give you a hunk of bread to go with it. Although the hunk of bread is harder than a rock, if you peel off the outside crust the inside is palatable.
Now granted, I could make this at home for about $3.00 or less and have enough to feed the masses. I'd even let the dog have a few pieces of chicken. But there's something so decadent about relaxing in this place, munching down on wonderful salad, succulent chicken, drinking iced tea out of a reusable cup, listening to classical music and quiet conversation, and gnawing the hard crust of your whole-grain bread, that makes it so much more fun.
And LOOK! There are cute dishes, too! Dishes that I don't have to wash!
So since today was payday, I decided to splurge. And the Panera, it did not disappoint me.
It did such a wonderful job that I bought an orange scone in addition to my salad.
Oh hush. It's for later. Maybe even breakfast.
And if you believe that one, I've got this nice reusable cup I'd like to sell you...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Here, Let Me Just Pull Some Bills Off Of The Money Tree For You
We have always known we would never be able to afford to put the kids through school. It was a given. Neither of us make enough money at our piddly little jobs for that.
Cutie's dad was able to get into school on 100% scholarships the first time. We were indeed blessed. He was, and is, smarter than a whip. Eldest Son and Eldest Daughter were able to get grants to get them through.
But now we're coming down the home stretch.
The Girl went shopping for colleges yesterday and today. There are only three colleges in the state that have her major. One is here in town and accepts 90 students a year. One is in the middle of the state and only accepts 28 students per year. It's a satellite program of the one in town. Both are state universities. Then there's the one all the way across the state that's a private school.
Today I decided to check out the cost of said Palaces of Higher Learning. And yes, I do mean PALACES. Because it is evident that only someone of royal blood would be able to afford to attend these institutions without giving up their firstborn and slaughtering a newborn goat under a full moon whilst chanting "U-M-K-C" over and over and over again.
And even that might not work.
Because, dear Interpeeps, here is the yearly cost of attending this fine establishment....
$35,000
In American dollars. That includes room and board, books, tuition, fees, incidentals, immunizations, transportation, etc.
It should include a solid-gold Cadillac, in my humble opinion.
In addition, this program The Girl wants to join lasts not the mundane four years, but SIX years. So by the end of this little escapade, she'll be a little over $200,000 in the hole. IF fees don't go up.
Now granted, if she lives at home for the next six years (God help us all...), she could save about $8,000 a year off of that cost.
Gee, then she'd only be $160,000 in the red. Of course, I'd be in the looney bin by then, but hey...
And that's if she goes to school here in town. If she chooses the private school across the state, it runs $24,000 for tuition alone.
To top things off, The Boy will graduate two years after his sister. And Hubster is thinking about retiring. Which means I'll be working until I'm 82 unless we can get some substantial grants, scholarships and loans for these spawnlings of ours.
Anyone got a spare money tree I could harvest for a season? Maybe a bush?
Oh well, it was worth a try.
Cutie's dad was able to get into school on 100% scholarships the first time. We were indeed blessed. He was, and is, smarter than a whip. Eldest Son and Eldest Daughter were able to get grants to get them through.
But now we're coming down the home stretch.
The Girl went shopping for colleges yesterday and today. There are only three colleges in the state that have her major. One is here in town and accepts 90 students a year. One is in the middle of the state and only accepts 28 students per year. It's a satellite program of the one in town. Both are state universities. Then there's the one all the way across the state that's a private school.
Today I decided to check out the cost of said Palaces of Higher Learning. And yes, I do mean PALACES. Because it is evident that only someone of royal blood would be able to afford to attend these institutions without giving up their firstborn and slaughtering a newborn goat under a full moon whilst chanting "U-M-K-C" over and over and over again.
And even that might not work.
Because, dear Interpeeps, here is the yearly cost of attending this fine establishment....
$35,000
In American dollars. That includes room and board, books, tuition, fees, incidentals, immunizations, transportation, etc.
It should include a solid-gold Cadillac, in my humble opinion.
In addition, this program The Girl wants to join lasts not the mundane four years, but SIX years. So by the end of this little escapade, she'll be a little over $200,000 in the hole. IF fees don't go up.
Now granted, if she lives at home for the next six years (God help us all...), she could save about $8,000 a year off of that cost.
Gee, then she'd only be $160,000 in the red. Of course, I'd be in the looney bin by then, but hey...
And that's if she goes to school here in town. If she chooses the private school across the state, it runs $24,000 for tuition alone.
To top things off, The Boy will graduate two years after his sister. And Hubster is thinking about retiring. Which means I'll be working until I'm 82 unless we can get some substantial grants, scholarships and loans for these spawnlings of ours.
Anyone got a spare money tree I could harvest for a season? Maybe a bush?
Oh well, it was worth a try.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
When I Get To Heaven I Want A Maid For My Mansion
There are only so many things a person can do in a day.
There's the obligatory sleeping and eating and doing the bathroom thing. There's driving to work, talking on the phone, spending time with the family, writing the blog, reading the other blogs, paying the bills, going to the bank, the grocery store, the Wal-marts, and the drugstore. There's mowing the yard, tending to the tomato plants, washing the car, playing board games with the kids, babysitting grandkids, fixing dinner, and listening to teenagers complain.
And that's not even the half of it.
There are so many other things that have to be done on a regular basis during a single week that it makes my head spin. I can't seem to get my mind wrapped around it all, so I tend to take care of it in my own special way.
I ignore it.
If I don't want to deal with it, it isn't there. Simple and easy, eh?
This technique works really well with housework. Take the office, for instance. The office has been a literal disaster area since March, when we decided to remodel the living room. Whenever I brought anything home from Mom's it went straight into the office. There are boxes and bags and papers and books and who knows WHAT else in there.
Frankly, I'm almost afraid to set foot in the place.
Most days I look at it and think, "Gee, I wish someone would clean that up." Or better yet, I think, "I need to get on that really soon." And then ignore-itis sets in and I forget all about it for another night.
See how easy it is?
I am the type of person that HATES to be told what to do. I despise it with every fiber of my being. I really don't like it very much, either.
There is a laundry basket full of clean clothes that's been sitting in my bedroom now for lo! I have no idea how long. Hubster brought it up from the laundry room and told me I had to put it away because he had no idea where the stuff went. See previous paragraph.
Now, while he didn't mean it that way, my eyes have looked at that basket with contempt for lo! I have no idea how long now. Yet another case of ignore-itis. And let's face it, we all know about the problems I have with laundry anyway.
So the goal for this weekend is to clean the office and put away the basket of laundry.
Oh, and meet Sis over at Mom's to clean on Saturday morning, then buy a present for Hubster for Father's Day and a nice card and have all the kids over for dinner and homemade ice cream before we go miniature golfing on Sunday evening.
Shucks. Looks like I may have to overlook part of it, huh?
But I had you going for just a second, didn't I?
There's the obligatory sleeping and eating and doing the bathroom thing. There's driving to work, talking on the phone, spending time with the family, writing the blog, reading the other blogs, paying the bills, going to the bank, the grocery store, the Wal-marts, and the drugstore. There's mowing the yard, tending to the tomato plants, washing the car, playing board games with the kids, babysitting grandkids, fixing dinner, and listening to teenagers complain.
And that's not even the half of it.
There are so many other things that have to be done on a regular basis during a single week that it makes my head spin. I can't seem to get my mind wrapped around it all, so I tend to take care of it in my own special way.
I ignore it.
If I don't want to deal with it, it isn't there. Simple and easy, eh?
This technique works really well with housework. Take the office, for instance. The office has been a literal disaster area since March, when we decided to remodel the living room. Whenever I brought anything home from Mom's it went straight into the office. There are boxes and bags and papers and books and who knows WHAT else in there.
Frankly, I'm almost afraid to set foot in the place.
Most days I look at it and think, "Gee, I wish someone would clean that up." Or better yet, I think, "I need to get on that really soon." And then ignore-itis sets in and I forget all about it for another night.
See how easy it is?
I am the type of person that HATES to be told what to do. I despise it with every fiber of my being. I really don't like it very much, either.
There is a laundry basket full of clean clothes that's been sitting in my bedroom now for lo! I have no idea how long. Hubster brought it up from the laundry room and told me I had to put it away because he had no idea where the stuff went. See previous paragraph.
Now, while he didn't mean it that way, my eyes have looked at that basket with contempt for lo! I have no idea how long now. Yet another case of ignore-itis. And let's face it, we all know about the problems I have with laundry anyway.
So the goal for this weekend is to clean the office and put away the basket of laundry.
Oh, and meet Sis over at Mom's to clean on Saturday morning, then buy a present for Hubster for Father's Day and a nice card and have all the kids over for dinner and homemade ice cream before we go miniature golfing on Sunday evening.
Shucks. Looks like I may have to overlook part of it, huh?
But I had you going for just a second, didn't I?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Because I'm Genetically Predispositioned to Crazy
Have I told you lately that I adore having a laptop?
Last night I had to finish up a job I was doing for an west coast company. It involved going to a local movie theater to check on some things for them, then reporting back via the Interweb. Because I had time to kill before I had to be there, I decided to stop at the Panera just down the street to finish off some paperwork before I got to the theater.
In case you don't know, Panera = FREE WIFI = Eat there OFTEN.
Plus, they have a killer chopped Cobb salad that is to die for.
(The last sentence may have been a bit heavy on death and dying in comparison to the goodness of food. In fact, it may even have been a bit redundant. Because, you know, the KILLER salad made me DIE to eat it.)
(I don't have enough brain cells or desire to take that any further. Discuss it amongst yourselves. Essays are due tomorrow.)
At any rate, I purchased my huge iced tea (instead of my chopped Cobb salad, being as I was all broke and everything until payday), sat down next to another geek with another laptop and computed happily away for about an hour.
It was sad.
Then cometh the dawn of today.
I believe in recycling things, especially huge plastic cups with lids that say "Panera" and lemon slices. I fill the cups up with ice and water and use them the rest of the day. And the next day. Today was no different.
Except today I brought Clarabelle to work with me. And she needed to be walked. Or aired. Or used. Whatever. So we took a field trip to the Panera that is close to work.
Because I think I've mentioned it? Panera = FREE WIFI.
I parked just outside my friendly Panera with my salad from Wendy's (because the chopped Cobb salad? Although to die for, it is Expensive.) and my Panera cup of iced water and played on the Interweb as I ate my lunch in my car.
Oh hush.
It was perfectly respectable.
I had my Panera cup with me at all times should I be questioned. I didn't bring contraband salad into Panera. So what if people stared at me while I was eating in the car? I just smiled and waved my Panera cup at them, then computed on.
I honestly believe I was actually helping the universe out in some small way by recycling my cup in the way I did. It's All About Being Green with me, you know.
Never mind that I had a plastic plate of salad and a plastic fork and plastic salad dressing, almond and rice noodle containers to dispose of, nor that I ran the air conditioner the whole time I was parked.
Gimme a break. It was HOT. And I don't think I need to repeat that MOMMA DON'T DO HOT.
Don't worry. You can't catch crazy from a blog.
It's in the genes.
Last night I had to finish up a job I was doing for an west coast company. It involved going to a local movie theater to check on some things for them, then reporting back via the Interweb. Because I had time to kill before I had to be there, I decided to stop at the Panera just down the street to finish off some paperwork before I got to the theater.
In case you don't know, Panera = FREE WIFI = Eat there OFTEN.
Plus, they have a killer chopped Cobb salad that is to die for.
(The last sentence may have been a bit heavy on death and dying in comparison to the goodness of food. In fact, it may even have been a bit redundant. Because, you know, the KILLER salad made me DIE to eat it.)
(I don't have enough brain cells or desire to take that any further. Discuss it amongst yourselves. Essays are due tomorrow.)
At any rate, I purchased my huge iced tea (instead of my chopped Cobb salad, being as I was all broke and everything until payday), sat down next to another geek with another laptop and computed happily away for about an hour.
It was sad.
Then cometh the dawn of today.
I believe in recycling things, especially huge plastic cups with lids that say "Panera" and lemon slices. I fill the cups up with ice and water and use them the rest of the day. And the next day. Today was no different.
Except today I brought Clarabelle to work with me. And she needed to be walked. Or aired. Or used. Whatever. So we took a field trip to the Panera that is close to work.
Because I think I've mentioned it? Panera = FREE WIFI.
I parked just outside my friendly Panera with my salad from Wendy's (because the chopped Cobb salad? Although to die for, it is Expensive.) and my Panera cup of iced water and played on the Interweb as I ate my lunch in my car.
Oh hush.
It was perfectly respectable.
I had my Panera cup with me at all times should I be questioned. I didn't bring contraband salad into Panera. So what if people stared at me while I was eating in the car? I just smiled and waved my Panera cup at them, then computed on.
I honestly believe I was actually helping the universe out in some small way by recycling my cup in the way I did. It's All About Being Green with me, you know.
Never mind that I had a plastic plate of salad and a plastic fork and plastic salad dressing, almond and rice noodle containers to dispose of, nor that I ran the air conditioner the whole time I was parked.
Gimme a break. It was HOT. And I don't think I need to repeat that MOMMA DON'T DO HOT.
Don't worry. You can't catch crazy from a blog.
It's in the genes.
Monday, June 15, 2009
The sale is over.
All of the furniture is gone, thank goodness. About 50% of the books found homes. Much of the linens and glassware and kitchen stuff left. Almost everything in the basement is gone.
We have about 25% of the stuff left that we had before the sale started. And I am glad it's over. I almost don't care if the people who ran the sale robbed us blind or not, just so long as we don't have to deal with it anymore.
People will still be coming to pick up things this week, and we'll be packing up the leftovers. Sis was over there with a friend of hers this morning doing just that while I went to work.
Sometimes it is good to have to work. :)
There was a funny thing I noticed when I went over there last night to see how things went. With all the "things" gone, with all the furniture gone, with all the touches that made it "Mom's" gone, it's just a house.
It's no longer the place where Sis and I placed our footprints when the concrete for the porch was poured. It isn't where we dug the basement out from under the house in the middle of the Spring rains. It isn't where I learned to skip, or cook, or where thousands of dishes were dried at the sink. It isn't the place where we celebrated so many Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, brought our dates in to meet our parents, brought our children in to be babysat.
It isn't any of those things, or any more.
It's just a house.
Because the heart of that house, the one that made it a home for all those years, the one whose love held it all together, is no longer there. Her things are gone. She's moved on.
But the HOME lives on, and it's because of her.
I'm sitting here looking at a photo of Mom and me, taken on her very favorite holiday of the year, Christmas. I can see every inch of the home she made for all of us, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchild, as though I was there right now. I remember all the happy times we had in that house, as well as the not-so-happy times. I remember our life being there. From board games to peeled apples to watching the first man land on the moon, through marriages, babies and grandchildren, she was the center of our family.
She cared enough to make sure the HOME was in our hearts, along with our great love for her.
And there it will remain.
All of the furniture is gone, thank goodness. About 50% of the books found homes. Much of the linens and glassware and kitchen stuff left. Almost everything in the basement is gone.
We have about 25% of the stuff left that we had before the sale started. And I am glad it's over. I almost don't care if the people who ran the sale robbed us blind or not, just so long as we don't have to deal with it anymore.
People will still be coming to pick up things this week, and we'll be packing up the leftovers. Sis was over there with a friend of hers this morning doing just that while I went to work.
Sometimes it is good to have to work. :)
There was a funny thing I noticed when I went over there last night to see how things went. With all the "things" gone, with all the furniture gone, with all the touches that made it "Mom's" gone, it's just a house.
It's no longer the place where Sis and I placed our footprints when the concrete for the porch was poured. It isn't where we dug the basement out from under the house in the middle of the Spring rains. It isn't where I learned to skip, or cook, or where thousands of dishes were dried at the sink. It isn't the place where we celebrated so many Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, brought our dates in to meet our parents, brought our children in to be babysat.
It isn't any of those things, or any more.
It's just a house.
Because the heart of that house, the one that made it a home for all those years, the one whose love held it all together, is no longer there. Her things are gone. She's moved on.
But the HOME lives on, and it's because of her.
I'm sitting here looking at a photo of Mom and me, taken on her very favorite holiday of the year, Christmas. I can see every inch of the home she made for all of us, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchild, as though I was there right now. I remember all the happy times we had in that house, as well as the not-so-happy times. I remember our life being there. From board games to peeled apples to watching the first man land on the moon, through marriages, babies and grandchildren, she was the center of our family.
She cared enough to make sure the HOME was in our hearts, along with our great love for her.
And there it will remain.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Sabbath Snooze or Two
Sabbath is a wonderful thing.
Orthodox Jews have the right idea. From sundown Friday until sundown Saturday no work is done. No cooking, no cleaning, no nothing. I think they may take it to the extreme, as almost all religions do one thing or another, but in general they're on the right path. We all need a day a week to regenerate. To rest. To recharge our batteries and regain perspective for the week to come.
And then there are those of us who abuse even the extreme.
For instance, me. For instance, today.
Last night I stayed up Very Late Indeed. I finally hauled my quite substantial behind into bed around 2 a.m. This morning I woke up around 11 a.m. I accomplished the sum total of taking a shower and getting dressed for the entire day before going back to bed with a migraine at 4:30 p.m. Due to said migraine, I took a couple of Vicodin. After a couple of hours, when said Vicodin had done absolutely nothing to help with the migraine, I took more.
And I slept until 10 p.m.
It is now 1 a.m and the migraine's tentacles are reaching back out over the right side of my head and through my right eyeball. Since the best way to avoid it is to sleep, my Sabbath is lasting a little longer than most. Since the Vicodin supply is dwindling, I think I may switch to the Acme Ball Peen Hammer I keep under my side of the bed for just this type of circumstance. It's cheap and not habit-forming.
Try not to wake me as you leave the blog, k?
Orthodox Jews have the right idea. From sundown Friday until sundown Saturday no work is done. No cooking, no cleaning, no nothing. I think they may take it to the extreme, as almost all religions do one thing or another, but in general they're on the right path. We all need a day a week to regenerate. To rest. To recharge our batteries and regain perspective for the week to come.
And then there are those of us who abuse even the extreme.
For instance, me. For instance, today.
Last night I stayed up Very Late Indeed. I finally hauled my quite substantial behind into bed around 2 a.m. This morning I woke up around 11 a.m. I accomplished the sum total of taking a shower and getting dressed for the entire day before going back to bed with a migraine at 4:30 p.m. Due to said migraine, I took a couple of Vicodin. After a couple of hours, when said Vicodin had done absolutely nothing to help with the migraine, I took more.
And I slept until 10 p.m.
It is now 1 a.m and the migraine's tentacles are reaching back out over the right side of my head and through my right eyeball. Since the best way to avoid it is to sleep, my Sabbath is lasting a little longer than most. Since the Vicodin supply is dwindling, I think I may switch to the Acme Ball Peen Hammer I keep under my side of the bed for just this type of circumstance. It's cheap and not habit-forming.
Try not to wake me as you leave the blog, k?
Saturday, June 13, 2009
And the Sale Goes On
Thursday, before the sale started at Mom's on Friday, I got the urge to actually go over there and see what the estate sale people had done to organize the chaos we'd left them. It scared me, truth be told, because....I have no idea why. Maybe because it would be like saying goodbye to her all over again. Maybe because it was so final, as if her death wasn't final enough. It just did. All I knew was that as much as I loathed it, I had to face it.
And so I did.
What I found was an estate sale. It wasn't necessarily MOM'S estate sale, just a sale of stuff. And that was, in and of itself, a comfort to me.
The people had arranged items so that everything showed up, but it all looked "homey" somehow. It wasn't just junk on tables. It showed a lived-in home. Not necessarily Mom's home, mind you, but a home nevertheless. There was too much junk in there I recognized as coming from our homes to make it all Mom's home. Every room was packed from floor to ceiling with stuff. Tables and tables of stuff. Furniture and linens and whatnots and kitchen items and junk, junk, junk. And all of this after we carted home everything imaginable that we wanted.
The sale began yesterday. It continues today and will end with a half-price day tomorrow. Whatever is left will either be donated to The Salvation Army or a garage sale at Sis' church the next weekend.
We plan to meet there next Saturday at 10 a.m. for coffee and blueberry muffins. We may meet there every Saturday until the house is sold. Until that time I plan to use it as a getaway where I can write on the odd days. Of course, there will need to be some staging done for the potential buyers. We aren't letting completely go just yet. Heck, our coffee cups are still in the closet. If that isn't proof of ownership, nothing is.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of the emergency call Mom made to us, telling us she couldn't breathe. I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights, thinking about it. That was the night we lost the "real" Mom, but there are several anniversaries yet to come and work through. Her birthday in July. Every month on the 29th. Thanksgiving, and another Christmas that isn't Christmas without her.
It gets easier, yes. But there are also times when the grief is overwhelming. God and I are in a healing process right now, with me questioning and Him waiting. I'm sure one of us will come around eventually, but for now, one of us is tired of being hurt and needs to heal and One of us is waiting for that to happen. Strike that - BOTH of us are waiting for that to happen.
But life goes on.
And so I did.
What I found was an estate sale. It wasn't necessarily MOM'S estate sale, just a sale of stuff. And that was, in and of itself, a comfort to me.
The people had arranged items so that everything showed up, but it all looked "homey" somehow. It wasn't just junk on tables. It showed a lived-in home. Not necessarily Mom's home, mind you, but a home nevertheless. There was too much junk in there I recognized as coming from our homes to make it all Mom's home. Every room was packed from floor to ceiling with stuff. Tables and tables of stuff. Furniture and linens and whatnots and kitchen items and junk, junk, junk. And all of this after we carted home everything imaginable that we wanted.
The sale began yesterday. It continues today and will end with a half-price day tomorrow. Whatever is left will either be donated to The Salvation Army or a garage sale at Sis' church the next weekend.
We plan to meet there next Saturday at 10 a.m. for coffee and blueberry muffins. We may meet there every Saturday until the house is sold. Until that time I plan to use it as a getaway where I can write on the odd days. Of course, there will need to be some staging done for the potential buyers. We aren't letting completely go just yet. Heck, our coffee cups are still in the closet. If that isn't proof of ownership, nothing is.
Yesterday was the first anniversary of the emergency call Mom made to us, telling us she couldn't breathe. I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights, thinking about it. That was the night we lost the "real" Mom, but there are several anniversaries yet to come and work through. Her birthday in July. Every month on the 29th. Thanksgiving, and another Christmas that isn't Christmas without her.
It gets easier, yes. But there are also times when the grief is overwhelming. God and I are in a healing process right now, with me questioning and Him waiting. I'm sure one of us will come around eventually, but for now, one of us is tired of being hurt and needs to heal and One of us is waiting for that to happen. Strike that - BOTH of us are waiting for that to happen.
But life goes on.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
'Cause You Gotta Have Friends
I know who you are.
You lurk, supposedly unseen. You come in the early morning hours, noontime, afternoon, and in the dark of the night. Your internet servers are located in Muskegon, Vicksburg, Blue Springs, Charleston, Greenwood, Bloomington, Fort Collins, Charlotte, Powder Springs, Huntingdon, Northamptonshire, Denver, Calgary, Trenton, Italy, Atlanta, Birmingham, Columbia, Taiwan, Gatineau, Jacksonville, Sellersville, Honolulu, East Saint Louis, Brighton, Fresno, Japan, Kansas City and other many and varied points.
You are single. You are married. You are divorced. You are widowed. You have dogs. You have cats. You have no pets. You have children. You want children. You can't abide children. You can take or leave children. Children weren't in God's plan for you. You have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You are young, middle-aged and not so young. You are mostly women with a smattering of brave men. You are writers, photographers, homemakers, office workers, managers, child care providers, teachers, pastors, and those from many other walks of life. You are white, black, green, brown, purple, yellow, pink, blue, red - but you are all golden.
You live in the city, suburbia, on farms, in the mountains, in apartments, houses, condos, mansions, cracker boxes, and trailers. You love fiercely, even though you may be too shy to say so. You have a wonderful sense of humor, a compassionate heart, and obvious good taste in blogs. You would comment more, but you don't want me to think you're (a) fawning (b) stupid (c) commenting just to see your comment in print. Or (d) you're just a wee bit like I am and don't comment nearly enough.
(NOTE: I don't care. Comment anyway!!!)
Come to think of it, you're darn good lookin', too. Have you lost weight?
And all of you, each and every one of you, have read this blog in the past two weeks.
Bless your little pointed heads. Bless 'em all to heck and gone.
If I had you here right now I'd give you a big 'ol hug and kiss on the cheek. As I don't, you are allowed to stay up an extra ten minutes tonight. Or go to bed an extra ten minutes early, whichever you prefer. Heck, go ahead and take a NAP if you want!
And tell everyone the crazy broad who lives here said you could.
You lurk, supposedly unseen. You come in the early morning hours, noontime, afternoon, and in the dark of the night. Your internet servers are located in Muskegon, Vicksburg, Blue Springs, Charleston, Greenwood, Bloomington, Fort Collins, Charlotte, Powder Springs, Huntingdon, Northamptonshire, Denver, Calgary, Trenton, Italy, Atlanta, Birmingham, Columbia, Taiwan, Gatineau, Jacksonville, Sellersville, Honolulu, East Saint Louis, Brighton, Fresno, Japan, Kansas City and other many and varied points.
You are single. You are married. You are divorced. You are widowed. You have dogs. You have cats. You have no pets. You have children. You want children. You can't abide children. You can take or leave children. Children weren't in God's plan for you. You have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You are young, middle-aged and not so young. You are mostly women with a smattering of brave men. You are writers, photographers, homemakers, office workers, managers, child care providers, teachers, pastors, and those from many other walks of life. You are white, black, green, brown, purple, yellow, pink, blue, red - but you are all golden.
You live in the city, suburbia, on farms, in the mountains, in apartments, houses, condos, mansions, cracker boxes, and trailers. You love fiercely, even though you may be too shy to say so. You have a wonderful sense of humor, a compassionate heart, and obvious good taste in blogs. You would comment more, but you don't want me to think you're (a) fawning (b) stupid (c) commenting just to see your comment in print. Or (d) you're just a wee bit like I am and don't comment nearly enough.
(NOTE: I don't care. Comment anyway!!!)
Come to think of it, you're darn good lookin', too. Have you lost weight?
And all of you, each and every one of you, have read this blog in the past two weeks.
Bless your little pointed heads. Bless 'em all to heck and gone.
If I had you here right now I'd give you a big 'ol hug and kiss on the cheek. As I don't, you are allowed to stay up an extra ten minutes tonight. Or go to bed an extra ten minutes early, whichever you prefer. Heck, go ahead and take a NAP if you want!
And tell everyone the crazy broad who lives here said you could.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
In Which I Prove The Economy Is In The Toilet Without Really Trying
I don't talk a whole lot about work here. One reason is because it isn't a fiscally sound thing for me to do, given that the blogosphere is WIDE OPEN to the ENTIRE WORLD.
It's fine if I praise, laud and honor the place that provides food, clothing, and a place to live for my family, but if I have a bad day and want to spew forth venom just to get things off my quite ample chest I could find myself in the same situation many people are nowadays.
And that would be unemployed.
Ain't gonna happen.
However, from time to time there are interesting tidbits I like to share. One of these is happening as we speak.
I had a part-time person decide to leave for greener fields at the first of the month. I need to fill the position, so I asked the HR Department to post the job for me. Usually they will use a local not-for-profit job finder website and the company electronic bulletin board. This time, however, they tried something new.
They posted it on Career Builder.
And may I just say this about that?
AAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!
Within two hours after the posting went up I had 22 applicants for the job. That number was increased by 50 this morning, and no matter how hard I worked to go through resumes and knock it back down all throughout the day, there were still 45 left for me to go through when I left work this evening. They multiplied like rabbits. Or guppies.
It was like playing Tetris all day long. I'd get rid of ten resumes, and an L-shaped one would come through and gum up the works because they were applying for a full-time job instead of a part-time job.
Hint #1 to job seekers: Nothing ticks off a future employer more than wasting their time. If you want a full-time job, apply for full-time jobs ONLY. Especially if the potential employer is trying to wade through 3,432 applications and her head is about to explode all over your resume anyway.
Hint #2 to job seekers: Do NOT apply more than one time for a job, especially if you aren't qualified in the first place. Yes, times are tough. But even tough times don't make you able to snarfle widgets if all your education and experience is in health care. Even part-time. Especially if you're looking for a full-time job. See Hint #1.
Hint #3 to job seekers: Be original in your approach and don't kiss hiney. The cover letters I've seen the past couple of days are so obviously sucking up and using such "High English" that it's obvious they were taken from a book or web site containing examples of the same. For goodness sakes, USE YOUR BRAIN. Come up with something original! Use a little humor! Don't "brown nose" your way through it, just state facts.
Hint #4 to job seekers: Two words. SPELL CHECK. I can't tell you how many misspelled words there were in almost every other resume. Being as that's a pet peeve of mine, they stuck out like a sore thumb.
Tomorrow is my last day of work for the week. I'm cutting off applications on Friday because I don't want the email servers to overload and I don't want to be going through these things until this time next year. Wish me luck as I wade through the deep.
I only hope I don't go under.
Update: As of 8:30 a.m. 6/11/09 the count was back up to 65. I cut off applications immediately thereafter.
Glug...glug...glug......
It's fine if I praise, laud and honor the place that provides food, clothing, and a place to live for my family, but if I have a bad day and want to spew forth venom just to get things off my quite ample chest I could find myself in the same situation many people are nowadays.
And that would be unemployed.
Ain't gonna happen.
However, from time to time there are interesting tidbits I like to share. One of these is happening as we speak.
I had a part-time person decide to leave for greener fields at the first of the month. I need to fill the position, so I asked the HR Department to post the job for me. Usually they will use a local not-for-profit job finder website and the company electronic bulletin board. This time, however, they tried something new.
They posted it on Career Builder.
And may I just say this about that?
AAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!
Within two hours after the posting went up I had 22 applicants for the job. That number was increased by 50 this morning, and no matter how hard I worked to go through resumes and knock it back down all throughout the day, there were still 45 left for me to go through when I left work this evening. They multiplied like rabbits. Or guppies.
It was like playing Tetris all day long. I'd get rid of ten resumes, and an L-shaped one would come through and gum up the works because they were applying for a full-time job instead of a part-time job.
Hint #1 to job seekers: Nothing ticks off a future employer more than wasting their time. If you want a full-time job, apply for full-time jobs ONLY. Especially if the potential employer is trying to wade through 3,432 applications and her head is about to explode all over your resume anyway.
Hint #2 to job seekers: Do NOT apply more than one time for a job, especially if you aren't qualified in the first place. Yes, times are tough. But even tough times don't make you able to snarfle widgets if all your education and experience is in health care. Even part-time. Especially if you're looking for a full-time job. See Hint #1.
Hint #3 to job seekers: Be original in your approach and don't kiss hiney. The cover letters I've seen the past couple of days are so obviously sucking up and using such "High English" that it's obvious they were taken from a book or web site containing examples of the same. For goodness sakes, USE YOUR BRAIN. Come up with something original! Use a little humor! Don't "brown nose" your way through it, just state facts.
Hint #4 to job seekers: Two words. SPELL CHECK. I can't tell you how many misspelled words there were in almost every other resume. Being as that's a pet peeve of mine, they stuck out like a sore thumb.
Tomorrow is my last day of work for the week. I'm cutting off applications on Friday because I don't want the email servers to overload and I don't want to be going through these things until this time next year. Wish me luck as I wade through the deep.
I only hope I don't go under.
Update: As of 8:30 a.m. 6/11/09 the count was back up to 65. I cut off applications immediately thereafter.
Glug...glug...glug......
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
And The Rain Came Tumbling Down
The estate sale company has been busy at Mom's, organizing, pricing, throwing out stuff that will never sell and should not be donated.
Sis refuses to set foot inside the house. She hates them with every fiber of her being, along what they're doing. No matter how nice they are, no matter what good they're doing, she hates them. She wants them OUT of Mom's house. She can't stand the fact that strangers will be coming to pick over the things that are left like vultures. She despises every foot that will bring every body into our private world and desecrate Mom's house.
And honestly? I thought it wasn't bothering me. I thought I was handling it really well. That is, until Hubster and The Boy went over there to mow the yard late last week. That's when they encountered the estate sale people hard at work, organizing away. They'd taken all the doors off of the kitchen cabinets in order to better display what was for sale. Tables were set up all over and covered with whatever they could find in the house to sell.
And it was then I knew Sis was right.
We know this is probably the hardest part of the letting go. We realize it has to be done.
We just don't have to like it very much.
We know things will be very different when we next see the house, but neither of us can bear to see it now. The sale begins this Friday. I've taken the day off, because not only is it the first day of the sale, but it is the one-year anniversary of the day we lost the "real" Mom. Funny how that worked out, huh?
No, it isn't.
I have more things to put in the sale, but I'll load them into the vehicle Hubster and The Boy take over there to mow the lawn this week. They are doing a much better job of dealing with things than either Sis is or I am.
In other news, we have torrential rain coming down. I plan to backstroke home. Thank goodness I parked next to the door.
Sis refuses to set foot inside the house. She hates them with every fiber of her being, along what they're doing. No matter how nice they are, no matter what good they're doing, she hates them. She wants them OUT of Mom's house. She can't stand the fact that strangers will be coming to pick over the things that are left like vultures. She despises every foot that will bring every body into our private world and desecrate Mom's house.
And honestly? I thought it wasn't bothering me. I thought I was handling it really well. That is, until Hubster and The Boy went over there to mow the yard late last week. That's when they encountered the estate sale people hard at work, organizing away. They'd taken all the doors off of the kitchen cabinets in order to better display what was for sale. Tables were set up all over and covered with whatever they could find in the house to sell.
And it was then I knew Sis was right.
We know this is probably the hardest part of the letting go. We realize it has to be done.
We just don't have to like it very much.
We know things will be very different when we next see the house, but neither of us can bear to see it now. The sale begins this Friday. I've taken the day off, because not only is it the first day of the sale, but it is the one-year anniversary of the day we lost the "real" Mom. Funny how that worked out, huh?
No, it isn't.
I have more things to put in the sale, but I'll load them into the vehicle Hubster and The Boy take over there to mow the lawn this week. They are doing a much better job of dealing with things than either Sis is or I am.
In other news, we have torrential rain coming down. I plan to backstroke home. Thank goodness I parked next to the door.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Recovery May Be Slow
I'm definitely not as young as I used to be. This whole "mini-vacation" thing has just about worn me out.
You know how it is when you're glad to get away because you're GETTING AWAY and you don't have to do the regular things you always have to do every single day of your mundane little life but instead you get to go and do and be EXCITING and have FUN! FUN! FUN!???
And then, after about two days of it all, the children you love more than life become not just the beings born of your loins with whom you want to spend every waking moment, but something else entirely. Before your very eyes they morph into aliens from the planet Annoi-u, whose sole purpose on earth is to make sure your vacation is fraught with complaining about being bored, how little sleep they got, how hungry they are or are not, whether or not the sun was out at the pool, whether the other child is too hungry/tired/bored to go to the pool/exercise room/bed or to watch television, all the while clinging to you like glue.
It's enough to drive a reasonably sane woman up a very, very tall tree. Or home again, tout de suite. Can you even fathom what it did to me?
It got ugly. Uglier than your cousin Sam's stepsister's mother's hairy wart that resides on her backside. REALLY ugly.
Imagine it. Being chained at the ankle to two other people for four days straight, no breaks. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, all awake time, all asleep time, all but bathroom time.
It is truly amazing we survived. Even more astounding is the fact that we survived and no teenagers were harmed in the production of the weekend.
And best of all? We're home. Back to the mundane, lovable routine, although $300.00 poorer for the part that failed in the car. That's price enough to pay to sleep in my own bed, in my own room, with my own private bathroom. A place where I can be alone, but close enough to love on my family.
The next trip will most likely be taken as a solo venture. I am a loner by nature. The writing I had hoped to accomplish this weekend went by the wayside. It will have to be accomplished in stolen minutes throughout the week. But minutes add up, and hours follow.
Slow and steady, recovery's coming.
You know how it is when you're glad to get away because you're GETTING AWAY and you don't have to do the regular things you always have to do every single day of your mundane little life but instead you get to go and do and be EXCITING and have FUN! FUN! FUN!???
And then, after about two days of it all, the children you love more than life become not just the beings born of your loins with whom you want to spend every waking moment, but something else entirely. Before your very eyes they morph into aliens from the planet Annoi-u, whose sole purpose on earth is to make sure your vacation is fraught with complaining about being bored, how little sleep they got, how hungry they are or are not, whether or not the sun was out at the pool, whether the other child is too hungry/tired/bored to go to the pool/exercise room/bed or to watch television, all the while clinging to you like glue.
It's enough to drive a reasonably sane woman up a very, very tall tree. Or home again, tout de suite. Can you even fathom what it did to me?
It got ugly. Uglier than your cousin Sam's stepsister's mother's hairy wart that resides on her backside. REALLY ugly.
Imagine it. Being chained at the ankle to two other people for four days straight, no breaks. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, all awake time, all asleep time, all but bathroom time.
It is truly amazing we survived. Even more astounding is the fact that we survived and no teenagers were harmed in the production of the weekend.
And best of all? We're home. Back to the mundane, lovable routine, although $300.00 poorer for the part that failed in the car. That's price enough to pay to sleep in my own bed, in my own room, with my own private bathroom. A place where I can be alone, but close enough to love on my family.
The next trip will most likely be taken as a solo venture. I am a loner by nature. The writing I had hoped to accomplish this weekend went by the wayside. It will have to be accomplished in stolen minutes throughout the week. But minutes add up, and hours follow.
Slow and steady, recovery's coming.
Normal Sanity Regained, Although That's A Relative Term for Me
We are home.
Normal routines are back in place, barring the fact that the car is in the shop. The Girl suggested I ride the bus today rather than drive her car to work.
"Why, what a wonderful idea!" I said.
And then she was soundly vetoed.
Back to yesterday...
As we all know, Momma Don't Do Hot. And it was HOT yesterday.
After we left the hotel we headed out to eat lunch, then went shopping. The Boy scored shorts and shirts, but I drew the line at an $80 pair of Nike Shox. Yes, I know they're usually a lot more than that. Yes, I realize that even on clearance online they're more than that. And I'll probably go back at the end of the summer and buy them. It's just that I have a VERY hard time buying shoes that cost that much for a kid when my own shoes cost less than $20.
Because I amcheap thrifty.
And while we were shopping, one of us had to stay in the car the entire time, because if we unhooked the battery cable and left the car unlocked so we could get back into it, that meant all of our worldly possessions were also left up for grabs. Anyone could just open the door, pop the trunk and make off with our soggy swimming suits, our sub-par clothing, our used toiletries, or worst of all, CLARABELLE. And since I had no desire to be both hot and drag Clarabelle all over creation with me, I instead gave the debit card to The Girl or left her in the car while I went with The Boy in search of Perfect Khakis.
He was worse than I am at shopping. The kid not only does not know what size he wears, but is unaware of what a price tag is or how to use one. The term "on sale" escapes him completely. "Buy One, Get One Free" is a slang term used by gangs in the 'hood and he will have no part of it.
We almost came to blows more than once, this manchild and I.
Finally we were tired out. The score was KIDS = 324, MOM = ZERO. I got not one outfit the entire trip. The only thing I wanted was a pair of sandals. That's all, just one pair of sandals that I could wear to work. But all the time away was spent shopping at Rue 21, American Eagle, Nike, Belk, and other stores. I was out. of. luck.
We headed back home, arriving around 9 p.m. After winding down a bit I headed straight for bed and slept the best sleep I've ever slept in my entire life.
It's good to be home where the normal crazies are.
There's no place like home.
Normal routines are back in place, barring the fact that the car is in the shop. The Girl suggested I ride the bus today rather than drive her car to work.
"Why, what a wonderful idea!" I said.
And then she was soundly vetoed.
Back to yesterday...
As we all know, Momma Don't Do Hot. And it was HOT yesterday.
After we left the hotel we headed out to eat lunch, then went shopping. The Boy scored shorts and shirts, but I drew the line at an $80 pair of Nike Shox. Yes, I know they're usually a lot more than that. Yes, I realize that even on clearance online they're more than that. And I'll probably go back at the end of the summer and buy them. It's just that I have a VERY hard time buying shoes that cost that much for a kid when my own shoes cost less than $20.
Because I am
And while we were shopping, one of us had to stay in the car the entire time, because if we unhooked the battery cable and left the car unlocked so we could get back into it, that meant all of our worldly possessions were also left up for grabs. Anyone could just open the door, pop the trunk and make off with our soggy swimming suits, our sub-par clothing, our used toiletries, or worst of all, CLARABELLE. And since I had no desire to be both hot and drag Clarabelle all over creation with me, I instead gave the debit card to The Girl or left her in the car while I went with The Boy in search of Perfect Khakis.
He was worse than I am at shopping. The kid not only does not know what size he wears, but is unaware of what a price tag is or how to use one. The term "on sale" escapes him completely. "Buy One, Get One Free" is a slang term used by gangs in the 'hood and he will have no part of it.
We almost came to blows more than once, this manchild and I.
Finally we were tired out. The score was KIDS = 324, MOM = ZERO. I got not one outfit the entire trip. The only thing I wanted was a pair of sandals. That's all, just one pair of sandals that I could wear to work. But all the time away was spent shopping at Rue 21, American Eagle, Nike, Belk, and other stores. I was out. of. luck.
We headed back home, arriving around 9 p.m. After winding down a bit I headed straight for bed and slept the best sleep I've ever slept in my entire life.
It's good to be home where the normal crazies are.
There's no place like home.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
A Quick Note Before Leaving
As this will be the last internet connection I have for some time, and as they are kicking us out of the room only 30 minutes later than checkout time (the NERVE!) I will have to update the Interpeep World after we return home.
I'm sure it will prove to be an exhausting day. More shopping, more snoring escapades last night, more everything to come at a later date.
That is if I can ever blast The Boy out of the bathroom...
Sigh.
I'm sure it will prove to be an exhausting day. More shopping, more snoring escapades last night, more everything to come at a later date.
That is if I can ever blast The Boy out of the bathroom...
Sigh.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
And Now, For A Bit Of Sanity
The kids have gone to the pool. I told them if they didn't I would become even more of a raving lunatic than usual and I would gobble like a turkey instead of speaking English for the remainder of the day.
They knew better than to test me. It's been quite a day.
Last night after the wedding we got back into the car only to find that the fan to the air conditioner had been running the entire time we were in the church. The car was turned off, the keys were in my purse, and yet the fan was running.
Thankfully, the car did start and we made it back to the hotel just fine. I called Hubster, who suggested we disconnect the positive cable on the battery to make sure it didn't run down due to the fan running all night. We went to Wal-Mart, bought some pliers, and came back to the hotel. I put the hood up and The Girl used her cell phone as a very poor flashlight to guide the way for me to loosen up the nut that held the cable.
But it would not budge.
I said things and used muscles my momma didn't even know I knew about to get that thing loose. Finally I decided to try to derail the stupid thing by disconnecting a fuse. No such luck. Then two Good Samaritans came along and even they couldn't help, although they did manage to lose a fuse for me.
We all gave up, I locked the car and we went to bed.
Please note: I said "locked the car" just now. That plays an integral part in the next chapter.
Fast forward to this morning.
The kids were still in bed when I got up. I brewed the complimentary cup of coffee provided by the hotel and ate the OH! SO NUTRITIOUS! little chocolate donuts we brought with us for breakfast. Then I went downstairs to see what could be done in the light of day about the car.
I knew I was in deep, dark water when I pressed the little doohickey to unlock the door and nothing happened.
"Well," says I. "I shall just unlock the car door with my handy-dandy KEY instead!"
Because there is more than one way to skin a cat and I am a cham-peen cat skinner.
Only the key, it would not unlock the door of my car. Because my key? It is the VALET KEY. It was clear this cat would keep its skin for the time being.
Honestly, it would be so funny if I was READING this instead of LIVING this. Really.
So being the industrious type, I called Hubster again. And there must have been a ton of blame in my tone, because I really didn't say it. I did not say it. HE DID.
"I know. If I was there I'd know what to do and how to do it and you wish I'd come along."
After nineteen years of marriage, that man can literally read. my. mind. It's uncanny. And he read it through all the tears and the expletives and everything. Imagine that.
From there I went to the front desk of the hotel. They called out a locksmith, who just happened to be able to jumpstart the car and replace the lost fuse and show me how to disconnect the cable and reconnect it again, all for the low, low price of $45. He was a gem. He also told me I need to replace my battery as soon as I get home because it's leaking and the alternator is doing all the work.
The joys, they are endless.
So the kids and I are trading off time going shopping, eating at different restaurants, and staying here resting and swimming. Whenever we go out we look a little trashy. We have to park, get out of the car, raise the hood, disconnect the battery cable, go do whatever it is we're going to do, raise the hood again, connect the battery cable and drive off.
Maybe we should charge admission.
Tonight is our last night here. Tomorrow a few sights, then we're headed home, God willin' and the battery don't die.
And life goes on....
They knew better than to test me. It's been quite a day.
Last night after the wedding we got back into the car only to find that the fan to the air conditioner had been running the entire time we were in the church. The car was turned off, the keys were in my purse, and yet the fan was running.
Thankfully, the car did start and we made it back to the hotel just fine. I called Hubster, who suggested we disconnect the positive cable on the battery to make sure it didn't run down due to the fan running all night. We went to Wal-Mart, bought some pliers, and came back to the hotel. I put the hood up and The Girl used her cell phone as a very poor flashlight to guide the way for me to loosen up the nut that held the cable.
But it would not budge.
I said things and used muscles my momma didn't even know I knew about to get that thing loose. Finally I decided to try to derail the stupid thing by disconnecting a fuse. No such luck. Then two Good Samaritans came along and even they couldn't help, although they did manage to lose a fuse for me.
We all gave up, I locked the car and we went to bed.
Please note: I said "locked the car" just now. That plays an integral part in the next chapter.
Fast forward to this morning.
The kids were still in bed when I got up. I brewed the complimentary cup of coffee provided by the hotel and ate the OH! SO NUTRITIOUS! little chocolate donuts we brought with us for breakfast. Then I went downstairs to see what could be done in the light of day about the car.
I knew I was in deep, dark water when I pressed the little doohickey to unlock the door and nothing happened.
"Well," says I. "I shall just unlock the car door with my handy-dandy KEY instead!"
Because there is more than one way to skin a cat and I am a cham-peen cat skinner.
Only the key, it would not unlock the door of my car. Because my key? It is the VALET KEY. It was clear this cat would keep its skin for the time being.
Honestly, it would be so funny if I was READING this instead of LIVING this. Really.
So being the industrious type, I called Hubster again. And there must have been a ton of blame in my tone, because I really didn't say it. I did not say it. HE DID.
"I know. If I was there I'd know what to do and how to do it and you wish I'd come along."
After nineteen years of marriage, that man can literally read. my. mind. It's uncanny. And he read it through all the tears and the expletives and everything. Imagine that.
From there I went to the front desk of the hotel. They called out a locksmith, who just happened to be able to jumpstart the car and replace the lost fuse and show me how to disconnect the cable and reconnect it again, all for the low, low price of $45. He was a gem. He also told me I need to replace my battery as soon as I get home because it's leaking and the alternator is doing all the work.
The joys, they are endless.
So the kids and I are trading off time going shopping, eating at different restaurants, and staying here resting and swimming. Whenever we go out we look a little trashy. We have to park, get out of the car, raise the hood, disconnect the battery cable, go do whatever it is we're going to do, raise the hood again, connect the battery cable and drive off.
Maybe we should charge admission.
Tonight is our last night here. Tomorrow a few sights, then we're headed home, God willin' and the battery don't die.
And life goes on....
Friday, June 05, 2009
The Best Laid Plans of Moms and Men
Here we are, in "beautiful" Branson.
We arrived around 9:30 p.m. last night, a full two hours after I expected to be here. You see, it's a four-hour drive from my house on a good day, so I had actually packed the night before hoping to get an early start from work. Hubster was to use the electric cattle prod we keep for instances such as these to get the kids packed and ready on time to meet me at the office by 3:30 p.m., thus saving us an hour of driving time.
Oh hush. It isn't really ELECTRIC. Just battery-powered.
But then....
The kids slept later than their usual noon. Laundry had to be done and one certain female child who shall remain nameless hogged the washer and dryer so the male child couldn't do laundry. And then there was the obligatory shower which must be taken by both while gazing at bellybuttons to solve the problems of world peace and hunger while the world's supply of hot water becomes less and less because of All The Gazing And Solving And Laundry. And all accompanying primping, drying, shaving, etc. thereafter had to be accomplished before any thought could be given to actually GETTING DRESSED AND OUT OF THE HOUSE.
It is a 30-minute drive from my house to work. They were supposed to be there at 3:30so we could beat traffic going out of town. They arrived at 4:45. By the time we left it was after 5.
Smack-dab in the middle of rush hour.
In the rush-hourist part of the city.
I think I need say no more about that little escapade.
Nevertheless the first part of this little trip went well. We arrived at our hotel and got unpacked around 10 p.m. There are Sleep Number beds in this hotel and the kids had a blast playing with them trying to find "their own personal sleep number." Two of us went to sleep immediately, but I was awakened around 1 a.m. by the third, who insisted upon watching television while the rest of us tried to sleep. Unfortunately, I'd left the cattle prod at home. After threatening to bodily throw him out into the hall, he got the idea and shut the stupid thing off.
The next thing I knew I was being pelted with pillows. Seems my delicate snoring was a bit much for the other two in my party and it woke THEM up. A couple of times. I offered to get another room for tonight, but they said they'd tough it out for one more night and see how it went.
Oh, and I told them I'd drug them with sleeping pills so it wouldn't matter. :)
They refused.
Today we did some frantic shopping, went to see Mom at the cemetery and placed new flowers on her grave, had dinner, and made our way to the wedding.
But a funny thing happened on the way.
And I'll elaborate on that tomorrow.
We arrived around 9:30 p.m. last night, a full two hours after I expected to be here. You see, it's a four-hour drive from my house on a good day, so I had actually packed the night before hoping to get an early start from work. Hubster was to use the electric cattle prod we keep for instances such as these to get the kids packed and ready on time to meet me at the office by 3:30 p.m., thus saving us an hour of driving time.
Oh hush. It isn't really ELECTRIC. Just battery-powered.
But then....
The kids slept later than their usual noon. Laundry had to be done and one certain female child who shall remain nameless hogged the washer and dryer so the male child couldn't do laundry. And then there was the obligatory shower which must be taken by both while gazing at bellybuttons to solve the problems of world peace and hunger while the world's supply of hot water becomes less and less because of All The Gazing And Solving And Laundry. And all accompanying primping, drying, shaving, etc. thereafter had to be accomplished before any thought could be given to actually GETTING DRESSED AND OUT OF THE HOUSE.
It is a 30-minute drive from my house to work. They were supposed to be there at 3:30so we could beat traffic going out of town. They arrived at 4:45. By the time we left it was after 5.
Smack-dab in the middle of rush hour.
In the rush-hourist part of the city.
I think I need say no more about that little escapade.
Nevertheless the first part of this little trip went well. We arrived at our hotel and got unpacked around 10 p.m. There are Sleep Number beds in this hotel and the kids had a blast playing with them trying to find "their own personal sleep number." Two of us went to sleep immediately, but I was awakened around 1 a.m. by the third, who insisted upon watching television while the rest of us tried to sleep. Unfortunately, I'd left the cattle prod at home. After threatening to bodily throw him out into the hall, he got the idea and shut the stupid thing off.
The next thing I knew I was being pelted with pillows. Seems my delicate snoring was a bit much for the other two in my party and it woke THEM up. A couple of times. I offered to get another room for tonight, but they said they'd tough it out for one more night and see how it went.
Oh, and I told them I'd drug them with sleeping pills so it wouldn't matter. :)
They refused.
Today we did some frantic shopping, went to see Mom at the cemetery and placed new flowers on her grave, had dinner, and made our way to the wedding.
But a funny thing happened on the way.
And I'll elaborate on that tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Felled Like the Mighty Oak
Ugh.
I am incapacitated at the moment. Actually I have been incapacitated for the better part of the past two days. No, not mentally. That's a given, silly Interpeeps. This time it's the physical kind.
For the past few days the ragweed? It has not been my friend. So much so that I have become a veritable snot factory. It's a valuable commodity in some cultures. Not this one, of course, but some. If need be, I could produce enough for a small country with supply left over for the Cayman Islands and the Bahamas.
But if I was there, there would be no ragweed.
Sigh.
Due to the overproduction of mucus substances, I have been both blowing my nose and suffering from post-nasal drip to beat the band. And as it tends to do, the post-nasal drip turned into an ear infection and glands under my jaws that swelled to the size of walnuts. Then there came the alternate chills and bursts of fevered hot spells, coupled with a general feeling of roasted dog poop on a stick with a sprinkle of candied mouse droppings.
Yum.
This morning I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't even call in. Hubster had to do it for me. Later on I called Lady Lung Doctor and got her to prescribe some antibiotics so I could start taking them early since I knew I had to see her today anyway. She agreed, God bless her little pointed head, and she concurred with my diagnosis this afternoon.
I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the blog.
Then again, a doctor who treats herself has a fool for a patient - or so I've heard.
At any rate, I feel better tonight. This is a good thing, because the kids and I are leaving tomorrow after work to go to my cousin's wedding. We'll be travelling to the big city of Branson, MO to spend the night, then on to Arkansas for the wedding the next evening. After the wedding we'll head back to Branson to shop in the outlet malls the next day and spend another couple of nights relaxing before we head home. Although really? If I had my choice of places to stay to "relax," a tourist trap like Branson would be among the last on the list. (see here)
But if I was sick and we couldn't go the kids would have my head on a platter.
So tomorrow we're off. But fear not, Interpeeps. This time I can stay in touch! I'm taking Clarabelle with me, and will hopefully get in a bit of writing time.
We shall see.
I am incapacitated at the moment. Actually I have been incapacitated for the better part of the past two days. No, not mentally. That's a given, silly Interpeeps. This time it's the physical kind.
For the past few days the ragweed? It has not been my friend. So much so that I have become a veritable snot factory. It's a valuable commodity in some cultures. Not this one, of course, but some. If need be, I could produce enough for a small country with supply left over for the Cayman Islands and the Bahamas.
But if I was there, there would be no ragweed.
Sigh.
Due to the overproduction of mucus substances, I have been both blowing my nose and suffering from post-nasal drip to beat the band. And as it tends to do, the post-nasal drip turned into an ear infection and glands under my jaws that swelled to the size of walnuts. Then there came the alternate chills and bursts of fevered hot spells, coupled with a general feeling of roasted dog poop on a stick with a sprinkle of candied mouse droppings.
Yum.
This morning I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't even call in. Hubster had to do it for me. Later on I called Lady Lung Doctor and got her to prescribe some antibiotics so I could start taking them early since I knew I had to see her today anyway. She agreed, God bless her little pointed head, and she concurred with my diagnosis this afternoon.
I'm not a doctor, but I play one on the blog.
Then again, a doctor who treats herself has a fool for a patient - or so I've heard.
At any rate, I feel better tonight. This is a good thing, because the kids and I are leaving tomorrow after work to go to my cousin's wedding. We'll be travelling to the big city of Branson, MO to spend the night, then on to Arkansas for the wedding the next evening. After the wedding we'll head back to Branson to shop in the outlet malls the next day and spend another couple of nights relaxing before we head home. Although really? If I had my choice of places to stay to "relax," a tourist trap like Branson would be among the last on the list. (see here)
But if I was sick and we couldn't go the kids would have my head on a platter.
So tomorrow we're off. But fear not, Interpeeps. This time I can stay in touch! I'm taking Clarabelle with me, and will hopefully get in a bit of writing time.
We shall see.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Happy Anniversary to We, and Please Pardon Me While I Murder The Girlfriend's Mother
Yes, it's true.
Nineteen years of wedded bliss to Hubster. I can't believe he put up with me this long!
We intend to celebrate heartily tonight with a dinner out. He wants McDonald's, but I'm hoping for Burger King. We lead such wild and exciting lives nowadays, you know. Who knows? I may actually get him to eat a burger WITH ONION as an experiment in the unfathomable reaches of unknown culinary delights!
In other news, we almost had to call the police last night to tear me off of the vehicle of The Girlfriend's mother as I was beating it with a sledgehammer.
Maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but it was in MY mind.
The Boyfriend and The Girlfriend were over and we'd rented Slumdog Millionaire to watch. I got home after the movie started since I had to find a bag for Clarabelle. Because, after all, we're going on a trip and she needs a bag to travel in, right? (nodding)
I thought so.
Hubster went to bed shortly after I got home. I stayed up and watched the movie, which ended around 11 p.m. Turning to The Girlfriend, I asked if she needed a ride home. She replied that her mother was coming soon to pick her up so it was all "cool" and I didn't need to worry.
So I waited.
At 11:30 p.m. I asked her what time she thought her mom might be there. She replied that there was a Wal-Mart trip involved and the momster had already been there "forever," so it shouldn't be much longer.
So I waited.
At midnight I called The Boy into the room and asked him to confirm that indeed, her mother WAS planning on picking her up sometime during the night and had not left her on our doorstep for us to raise as our own from now on. Because at the age of fifteen one is a little old to be called a foundling. He confirmed it yet again.
So I waited.
At 12:30 a.m. I had just about had enough of this noise. I went in to the office where they were playing on the computer. I explained to her that while I was happy to have her here, it was a weeknight and I needed to put the house to bed because I had to get up and go to work the next day. Did her mom have a cell phone? No, but she was going over to a friend's house after the Wal-Mart trip, and mayhap The Girlfriend could catch her there.
Ya THINK???
Eventually she did reach her mother at the friend's house. Mother said she'd be at our house in 15-20 minutes.
So I waited.
At 1:05 a.m. a car pulled into my driveway and HONKED.
(I blazed out the front door, sledgehammer and machine gun in hand, ripped her out of the car, threw her on the ground, stood on her chest and demanded an explanation for her actions. With every word she spoke I slammed the car with the sledgehammer, breaking out the glass and pelting bullets into the metal with hot blasts from the machine gun. She crawled to her knees, clutching the hem of my nightgown, begging my forgiveness for being so mean and thoughtless. She vowed never to take advantage of anyone in this way again. I spat on the ground, picked up my sledgehammer, shouldered the machine gun, and turned my back on her as I stomped back into my house and sent the deadbolt home.)
Oh, and The Girlfriend left. Then The Boy and I had a quite a little talk.
And I steamed until 2 a.m., at which time I fell into a fitful sleep and dreamt of Son flying a pedal-powered helicopter with me as the passenger to the airport so that we could catch a flight to Hawaii since I was going on his honeymoon with him, his wife of ten years, and Cutie.
After the burger tonight I'm going home and taking a nap. And I intend for it to last all night long.
Happy Anniversary, Hubster! I love you!
Nineteen years of wedded bliss to Hubster. I can't believe he put up with me this long!
We intend to celebrate heartily tonight with a dinner out. He wants McDonald's, but I'm hoping for Burger King. We lead such wild and exciting lives nowadays, you know. Who knows? I may actually get him to eat a burger WITH ONION as an experiment in the unfathomable reaches of unknown culinary delights!
In other news, we almost had to call the police last night to tear me off of the vehicle of The Girlfriend's mother as I was beating it with a sledgehammer.
Maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but it was in MY mind.
The Boyfriend and The Girlfriend were over and we'd rented Slumdog Millionaire to watch. I got home after the movie started since I had to find a bag for Clarabelle. Because, after all, we're going on a trip and she needs a bag to travel in, right? (nodding)
I thought so.
Hubster went to bed shortly after I got home. I stayed up and watched the movie, which ended around 11 p.m. Turning to The Girlfriend, I asked if she needed a ride home. She replied that her mother was coming soon to pick her up so it was all "cool" and I didn't need to worry.
So I waited.
At 11:30 p.m. I asked her what time she thought her mom might be there. She replied that there was a Wal-Mart trip involved and the momster had already been there "forever," so it shouldn't be much longer.
So I waited.
At midnight I called The Boy into the room and asked him to confirm that indeed, her mother WAS planning on picking her up sometime during the night and had not left her on our doorstep for us to raise as our own from now on. Because at the age of fifteen one is a little old to be called a foundling. He confirmed it yet again.
So I waited.
At 12:30 a.m. I had just about had enough of this noise. I went in to the office where they were playing on the computer. I explained to her that while I was happy to have her here, it was a weeknight and I needed to put the house to bed because I had to get up and go to work the next day. Did her mom have a cell phone? No, but she was going over to a friend's house after the Wal-Mart trip, and mayhap The Girlfriend could catch her there.
Ya THINK???
Eventually she did reach her mother at the friend's house. Mother said she'd be at our house in 15-20 minutes.
So I waited.
At 1:05 a.m. a car pulled into my driveway and HONKED.
(I blazed out the front door, sledgehammer and machine gun in hand, ripped her out of the car, threw her on the ground, stood on her chest and demanded an explanation for her actions. With every word she spoke I slammed the car with the sledgehammer, breaking out the glass and pelting bullets into the metal with hot blasts from the machine gun. She crawled to her knees, clutching the hem of my nightgown, begging my forgiveness for being so mean and thoughtless. She vowed never to take advantage of anyone in this way again. I spat on the ground, picked up my sledgehammer, shouldered the machine gun, and turned my back on her as I stomped back into my house and sent the deadbolt home.)
Oh, and The Girlfriend left. Then The Boy and I had a quite a little talk.
And I steamed until 2 a.m., at which time I fell into a fitful sleep and dreamt of Son flying a pedal-powered helicopter with me as the passenger to the airport so that we could catch a flight to Hawaii since I was going on his honeymoon with him, his wife of ten years, and Cutie.
After the burger tonight I'm going home and taking a nap. And I intend for it to last all night long.
Happy Anniversary, Hubster! I love you!
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