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 |  Crazy things my kids, husband and pets do, workplace nonsense and exhusband skewering |
| Events from the everyday life of a working mother of three, business analyst at a major company who tries to exist in a world of corporate bureaucracy, and prevent her children from turning out like her pathologically lazy and underemployed ex-husband. Enter at your own risk. |
| My husband is my best friend. I know that sound sickeningly sweet, but it's true. Now that I got that out of the way, I can rant on him for a minute. Yesterday sucked so bad that I didn't think to ask him the results from the MRI he had on his knee. He'd told me he would get the results on Monday. So this morning I asked what did they find on the MRI. He says "I told you I was going to the doctor on Monday," meaning "I went to the doctor, and you didn't even bother to ask me all day what happened." I took that to mean 'You didn't even care enough about me to ask if I was going to have surgery again.' I just LOST IT!!! I spent all evening dealing with my juvenile delinquent daughter who was suspended for fighting, and lecturing her for lying, and helping my boys with their homework, and obsessing over the fact that my stupid tire was almost flat that I forgot to ask my fourth child about his stupid knee he managed to tear up again because he can't do anything in moderation and had been running fifteen miles a week at the age of forty-eight. So I forgot to ask him. I am such a bad wife, I'm a cold, uncaring, selfish bitch, and ** gasp ** forgot to ask him about his knee. Well pardon F'ing ME! First of all, I had some waist deep crap to deal with yesterday. and second, if you have something to tell me, just f'ing say it. Don't pout because I don't ask you. This is the man who can't find his keys because he puts them down in a different place everytime he comes in the house. This is the man who forgot where he put his coat, and couldn't find it for four days, and finally found where he'd left it outside the house on a bush when he was working in the yard. This is the man who forgot to put air in my f'ing tire yesterday! And I'm shamed and made to feel like a bad wife because I forgot about his knee! Oh please punish me! Put me in time out! Confine me to my room! Don't allow me the privilege of doing laundry! I deserve to be punished! So, there you have it. My first rant on G. He deserves it. |
| I really should have just stayed in bed. The day started off wrong and went from bad to worse. I'll summarize. 1. Got up at 6:30, and Molly was still asleep. Her bus comes at 6:48, down the street. She attempted to convince me another bus came at 7, down by the neighborhood pool, but I wasn't sure she wasn't just pulling that out of her butt, so I made her get ready in 15 minutes, amidst bitching, griping, and major league whining. 2. While opening the door and literally pushing her out, the dog ran out and went right through the electronic dog fence and ran down the street, following Molly to the bus stop. I chased him down the street and he kept running from me. Finally I said "%$#& it" and started walking home, and he decided to follow me back. Obviously the juice on the fence is not turned up high enough. 3. Got in the car this morning and the crappy 'run-flat' tire was running almost flat. The Check Tire Pressure light was on, and it was very low, but not quite flat. G had left for work without checking the tire pressure, and I had to drive to Nashville today, a forty-five minute drive on a low tire. We've had a problem with this tire for weeks now, but G just forgot to check it, so I had to drive slower than usual and worry the whole drive in. 4. Checked my WDC emails and had received a review on an entry for a contest which promised a 'meaningful' review on all stories submitted, and the 'review' basically just said 'didn't like your ending' and 'don't use capitalization of words for emphasis.' Sheesh! Thanks for nothing! I thought one of the first rules of reviewing was 'tell what you like AND what needs work,' not just 'here's what I don't like.' I stewed over it, and replied that I'd received more meaningful reviews from newbies, then she fired back that I shouldn't send peevish and rude comments to reviewers! I didn't think I was rude or peevish. I just expected a moderator to make the time to provide a meaningful review when that's what they promise. I guess what bothered me was that the story she reviewed has already been published in a short story collection, and received an Editor's Choice award. So I guess it can't be that bad. 5. Got home this evening and Molly greeted me at the door with a form for me to sign because she's suspended from school. She's in 'in-school suspension' for fighting at the school dance last Friday night. She could actually have been sent to an 'alternative learning center' for fighting, but her teacher said he didn't think it warranted that action. Molly's version of the story was that her 'friend' Kelsey was at the dance, and another friend, Anna, told her that Kelsey was saying things about Molly, then Anna would go tell Kelsey what Molly said, then come back and tell Molly what Kelsey said, so Molly was mad at Kelsey so when Kelsey crowded Molly while they were all trying to squeeze together for a group picture, Molly elbowed Kelsey, and Kelsey smacked her, then Molly smacked her back, and they got into trouble and the assistant principal called them out and talked to them. That was Molly's sanitized version of the story. And she and Kelsey are both mad at Anna now because they say she was making all the stuff up. But Molly and Kelsey are both suspended, which makes me think there is much more to this than I'm being told. Which makes me believe that Molly is lying, which to me is much worse than a girly smack fight. I took her phone away, grounded her from computer for the rest of the year, and made her listen to a lecture from me in which I told her how disappointed and heartbroken I am with her behavior, and how it's so easy to start with small lies, and as you get away with the small ones it's easier to tell a bigger one, and the easier it gets the more you tell, until you can't even remember what you said, and it becomes a full-time job just trying to keep it all straight. And the people you need the most can't trust you or believe a word you say. And how everyone at school will remember how she got suspended for fighting instead of how funny or sweet or smart or cute she is, and how they'll assume she's just as psycho as psycho Kelsey if she keeps hanging around her. Anyway, that's been my day. I'd like a do-over. A mulligan. But I'll wake up tomorrow and it won't have been just a bad dream. Molly will serve her in-school sentence and Laddie may run out the door but if he get's too far, he'll get a 'shocking' surprise. The tire will be low again, but G will air it up before he goes to work. As for reviews, who knows? Maybe a newbie will give me some meaningful feedback. |
| What's gone wrong with this world when a 19 year old child kills eight people he's never met then blows his own brains out? How can one person filled with hate and despair and demons and sickness ruin so many lives? I know that I make mistakes with my kids every day, but how bad would I have to screw up that they would ever be that sick and twisted and filled with venom and rage to explode like a dirty bomb that poisons the lives of countless families by taking those they love in such a calculated, attention seeking gesture of pure selfish hate. And for all of us parents whose children practically live at the mall, how can we even let them out of the house without worrying that some psycho is going to take their lives, while ending ours too? I'm not a gun control freak, but I don't want my kids to have guns or to want to have guns. I don't want them around anyone who has guns. I don't want them to know anything about guns. And I certainly don't want to live anywhere where I have to worry about people with guns or that I need a gun to protect my family. We will do without things to ensure we can afford to live where those are things I don't need to worry about. But this kid had a gun and showed it off. And no one did anything. Haven't we learned anything? A kid with no future and no hope + gun = tragedy. The world is a very scary place, and things don't always make sense. But what I know is that what I love - my family, my friends - can be taken away from me in a split second. I could be taken from them and never have a chance to say goodbye. So we better try our best every day to make it good, give our best to those we love and for what we value because we may not get another chance. A sick puke can step right between us and our dreams and - BANG - it's all over. They don't always wear black trenchcoats. |
| over Algebra! Molly was on a real tear tonight, bitching and moaning over her Algebra homework, and begging me to let her go down to the Intro to Algebra class next semester because her Honors Algebra class is too hard, and she's not good at math, and she shouldn't have to take something this hard, and she's never going to use it because she's going to be a ROCK STAR when she grows up. And I just don't understand, and I'm not being fair by not letting her get out of it. I've heard this all before, but she was more vocal about it tonight because she didn't get anything about the homework assignment she was trying to do when I got home tonight. I gave her my standard answer- suck it up. Well, I said it a bit more 'mommishly.' But my meaning was clear - we don't just quit something because it's hard. I offered to help her understand the problems, but when I took the first look at the assignment, I got that 'oh sh*t' feeling because it was sooooo far over my head, it might as well have been quantum physics. Being the search-engine savvy person I am, I Googled the equation, and found several different sources of help. An hour or so later, she was well on the way to getting it finished, and maybe understanding it. Hooray for the internet. But I felt humbled. She's right - this sh*t IS hard. She's only in seventh grade. I didn't take Algebra until ninth grade, and never took an Honors class in my life. But the reason she's in this class is because her standardized test scores indicate she has the aptitude for it. Her grade for the first nine weeks was a high B. So there's no reason to suspect she can't handle the work. And I can't allow her to think that when something's difficult she can just 'not worry her pretty little head about it.' Her dream to be a ROCK STAR is a function of being twelve years old and enamored with the music and dubious fashion choices of flash-in-the-pan bands that no one will remember in ten years. Responsibility is forever. She needs to be aware that life is full of hard work, sacrifice, and more hard work. And that all that hard work will pay off in a good job, adequate resources, which allow leisure time activities and cool stuff. And providing for a family and feeling good about how you spend your time every day. Today is not a rant about her dad, the infamous ex, but I know he would let her get out of this class, if it were up to him. Thankfully, it's not. I promised her that I would drop anything I'm doing, including writing, reading, reviewing, laundry, whatever, to help her if she wasn't understanding something. She didn't need to feel like she was doomed if it wasn't making sense. We would figure it out together. I 'pinky swore,' which in my experience, serves to seal the deal. I'm very proud of her for her brains, but it takes brains and work ethic to be successful. I want to be proud of her more for her effort and committment than for the brains God gave her. Brains don't have anything to do with character. |
| Should say, just finished READING a great book. Walking in Circles Before Lying Down, by Merrill Markoe. Very interesting premise - woman approaching mid-thirties, two failed marriages, dysfunctional family upbringing, finds love in a rescued dog, but after her latest love interest dumps her, she starts hearing her dog talk to her. I know, I know, it sounds wacky, but the dialogue between the woman and her dog is absolutely magic in its sincerity. Insightful, in that the dog explains why dogs do some of the things they do, like eat garbage, turn around several times before lying down. She learns from the dog how to respect her instincts. I really enjoyed this book and couldn't put it down. It was one of those books that, when you start reaching the end you actually slow down reading because you don't want it to end. If you love dogs, or just pets for that matter, you know how the unconditional love of an animal can help heal so many wounds from family, circumstances, misfortunes of birth. And that we can learn so much from their acceptance and joy in simple pleasures. I would highly recommend this book. It's like a warm spot by the fire on a cold winter night. |
| I don't do this often. I prefer to be upbeat, and focus on all the things that are good and right and pleasant. Not today. I'll keep it short, since it's all bad. 1) Our 2006 Honda Odyssey van has run-flat tires. That translates to 'piece of shit' tires which don't even last 30,000 miles. One has a slow leak, and to replace the one tire is about $300. Is that pure bullshit, or what? This is not a 7 series BMW, it's a freakin minivan. The 'beauty' of the tires is that if they go flat you can still drive them until they can be replaced. You're not stuck on the side of the road waiting for help. Screw that! I have a cell phone, and roadside assistance. The last set of tires I bought were Michelin steel belted radials, and got 60,000 miles on them. I hate crap like this. We did not have the option to not take these tires when we bought the van. There's a class action lawsuit going on right now because these tires are so lousy, and you can't fix them when they get a nail in them, you just have to replace them. Gggggrrrrrrr! So guess what we're getting for Christmas? Tires! 2) The house we just bought in April and spent two months getting ready to move into has a water problem in the crawlspace which is causing a damp and musty odor in our bedroom and bathroom. We had no idea this would happen because when we bought the house we were in a drought, and the crawlspace was bone dry. But now the drought is over, the rain is collecting under the house and pooling and causing mold to grow. Estimates to fix this problem range from $5,000 to $10,000. That should take care of Christmas for years to come. 3) Got home from work tonight at around 6:45 and none of my three beautiful children had finished their homework. Molly had been reading a book all afternoon since she got home from school, and only started homework when I asked her if it was finished. She finally finished it at around 10:00. Sean said he had a headache and couldn't do his homework in after school care. But he still didn't start it until I asked if his homework was finished. Ryan forgot to bring home two assignments, and didn't realize it until I asked if his homework was finished. Of course I yelled. I practically growled. I reminded each of them that their only responsibility right now is school - to do their best on schoolwork and homework. 4) My brother called me tonight as I was trying to finish up at work so I could get home and deal with my kids. He never calls me to see how I am; only to tell me what he's been up to. I swear I could have laid the phone down, gone to the bathroom and come back and he'd have still been talking and never noticed I wasn't there. He never once asked how the kids were or how G was, or how I was, what we'd been doing. And I didn't have to ask what he'd been up to because he proceded to fill me in, in minute detail about his hilarious antics, and his youngest boy's accomplishments. I felt like I'd been held hostage for forty-five minutes. I got off the phone, resentful and pissed off. I don't ever tell him anything that's going on with us because he would revel in any problems we're having, or discount any accomplishments or activities we are involved in. He's my brother and I love him, but he has a toxic affect on me, leaving me with a tired and sick feeling after dealing with him for any period of time. I know that sounds horrible, and I wish it weren't so, but there's a lot of history there. That's why we stay to ourselves for holidays. Well, I guess that's enough bitching for one day. Glad I got that out of my system. I hope tomorrow doesn't add a number 5 to the list... |
| I LOVE Scrabble, or at least I did, until tonight. G and I used to play all the time, and hadn't played for a while because we've been so busy. We decided to play tonight while the kids were watching a movie upstairs. 'Carrie,' the Steven King movie was what they chose. I remember that movie well. It was the first scary movie I saw at the theatre when I was a teeenager, and it scared the crap out of me. The tone was set when I drew my tiles from the bag for the first game. Absolutely nothing with a point value greater than one. And no E's. This bad luck continued for the entire game, and G was victorious, beating me by thirty something points. That's happened before, but we were up for another game, and I would have a chance to prevail. But again, a crappy hand. In contrast, G was on fire! He got the Z, a Q, J, K, W, and took advantage of the triple word spots, and plugged his big value tiles in the triple letter spots, while I got U's and I's, and most every other tile with a point value of one, again! He smoked me again, and by this time I was sullen and moody, and not much fun to play with. We had to play a third game, and I had to win. But again, he killed me. I am not used to losing at Scrabble. Especially not three games in a row. And I didn't just lose, I was anhiliated. I lost by seventy something points. I have to admit I did not lose gracefully. I was a sore loser. I'm ashamed that I let my bad luck get to me. It's just a game, right? But I need to redeem myself. Next weekend, kitchen table, grudge match. |
| The pumpkin pie is almost gone, and there's not much more of the pecan pie. I think my son Sean would have been happy if I'd made nothing but mashed potatoes and gravy, and pumpkin pie. With whipped cream. Ryan loves pecan pie, and said it was the best he'd ever had. He's only ten, but I know that he's had his grandmother's pie, so I'll take that as high praise. It's funny what we each think of when we think of Thanksgiving. I remember every year going to my grandmother's (Mudder) house, with all my aunts and uncles and cousins, and my Mudder would cook everything, in her tiny kitchen, with one oven. I was the first grandchild, and not normal, to everyone else's estimation, because I didn't like cornbread stuffing, turnip greens, potato salad, or deviled eggs. So with all the craziness surrounding cooking for thirty people, my Mudder made chicken and dumplings for me. And I know it was a lot of trouble, because I've made it from her recipe. When I think about all she did in that kitchen, with very little counter space, a stove top with four eyes, and a single oven, and a single sink (not divided like everyone has today,) I feel ashamed of myself for ever complaining about not enough room, not enough counter space, oven too small (I have a double oven.) And Mudder didn't have a microwave until I was in high school, and only used it for heating a cup of water for tea. On holidays like Thanksgiving I miss her most, and feel the pain of her loss in my heart. I think back on all she meant to me, and all I learned from her, and wish so much she were here to see my children, and share them with me. I can't begin to relate how important she was in raising me up to be strong and confident and determined; all the things she was. But more than anything, she taught me to be generous, and even selfless at times, though I haven't come close to her in that regard. She gave her best and her all for her family, and never asked for anything in return. So as I sit here wiping the tears from my eyes, while everyone in my house is still sleeping, I know she would be happy with how I turned out, with how my family's faring these days. And I know she's with our Lord, and for that I'm thankful. |
| Molly is performing in a show at her school this weekend. The group has practiced for months to prepare for the performance, which consists of song and dance numbers from the 60's, 70's and 80's. As luck would have it, I've been around through all three of those decades, and can still remember the 80's very well. I had to provide costumes for all three era's, and had some serious flashbacks while choosing something for the 80's. The fashions for that decade was atrocious. Shoulder pads, big long tops with skinny leggings, leg warmers, very high waisted pleated pants, and permed and teased hair, with headbands and big bows. Many of you will remember the movies 'Footloose' and 'Flashdance', and my favorite movie 'When Harry Met Sally,' where Meg Ryan wore a business suit with shoulder pads and a blouse with a bow tie. Her hair was curly and pouffed. Not a good look, even for Meg, who was always cute as a button. The ShowStoppers troupe had their dressed rehearsal tonight. Just seeing Molly in her long hot pink top, cinched at the waist, over skinny gray leggings with black legwarmers, hair in a side ponytail with shimmery pale pink lip gloss brought back memories of that long gone era, both good and bad. I was in college when the 80's began, struggling each semester to keep up my grades and still work enough to make money to pay for the next semester. Always just one bad break from having to drop out, and always just barely making it. Eating ramen noodles, canned soup and macaroni and cheese. Jimmy Carter was president, for only a little while and then Reagan. I didn't care much about politics then. It didn't seem as important as the daily battle to write theme papers and study for tests. I remember wearing this HORRIBLE red dress with a round white collar and a skinny belt around the waist. And a navy and white striped bow that tied at the neck. I hope no pictures of this getup ever surface. Looking back on it now, I realize that I never took any time to enjoy the process, or to really think about my goals for life. I chose a course, stuck with it, making steady progress, but never thinking about what it all meant. In 1982 I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English. But what next? What was I supposed to do with that ornate piece of paper that I couldn't even afford to have framed? I'm so much older and wiser now, and hope I wouldn't make the same mistake. But maybe I am still focusing too much on the pieces and not enough on the whole. Maybe I worry too much about the day to day, not enough about the big picture. Before I know it, we'll be looking back on the 00's and talking about the horrible fashion choices, how we thought it was so cool to wear our shirt tails hanging out of our sweaters, the stringy straight hair we tortured with irons into submission and !YIKES! those pointy toed high heeled boots!! Time sure flies when you're a slave to fashion. Preparing Molly's costume, and reminiscing on that long ago era made me think a bit more about the fast forward nature of time, and life, reminding me that it isn't always good to skip over the commercials. Maybe I should try to slow down and enjoy the day to day, instead of letting the rapid fire progression of one task to the next and then the next carry me away like rain down the storm drain. At least I've learned my lesson about fashion. I will not wear leggings. Been there, done that. |
| Oh, my! Criticism stings. I pour my heart and soul into a story, instilling the wee bit of wit I'm capable of, and sprinkle a pinch of romance on top, then post it for honest reviews. Well, I got what I asked for, but certainly not what I expected. I've never received a bad review. A couple of weird ones, and many 'nice story' comments with nothing specific mentioned. But this time, the rating was low...a 3! I know, I know, 3 is average. But that's akin to a C in school, and I never got C's. I got A's, with an occasional B. I must admit I was shocked. I was hurt. And I was angry. But when I got over the hurt feelings, I looked back at the story, and it was lame. It was sloppy, with glaring problems I should have noticed and fixed. It just didn't have anything about it to grab the reader or keep their attention. The end, instead of leaving the reader with a warm feeling just left them hanging. The reviewer did me an enormous favor, without the bribe of gift points for reviewing. She took who knows how much time out of her day to really critique my story, not only offering criticism but suggestions and very gentle admonitions. And she was not one of my 'buddies,' and had no expectation of anything in return. I took most of her suggestions, and the story is much better. I still don't know that it's good, but it doesn't suck. Check it out, and you be the judge.
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| I haven't been blogging so much lately, maybe because I'm busy, maybe because I'm lazy, or maybe just because my life has been a bit routine lately and there hasn't been much to say. No domestic crises, no controversies at work, and ex-husband psychosis is fairly stable. Maybe I'm in a rut. But I have been writing. I've written some short stories I'm pretty proud of, and am editing them over and over again, trying to get them just right. My mind has been very active, even though I seem to be tired all the time. I wonder some times what I would do if I didn't work. I used to think I'd be horribly bored, that I'd clean the house with manic energy, aggravate the stew out of my children by inserting myself in every minor detail of their lives, and wear G out with questions about his day. But now I think I would write all day, vomiting out all my pent up ideas on countless word docs, and neglect my domestic and familial duties. Get so engrossed in a new chapter of another book I would forget to pick the boys up from school, still serve frozen pizza, never put away clean laundry, and still wait until there is nothing to eat in the house to shop for food. Maybe my life needs the discipline of work with a boss and deadlines. I'm organized at work because I have to be. I'm organized at home because the responsibilities of work leave just a certain amount of time to complete necessary tasks at home. If given the complete responsibility of managing my time, I think I would screw it up completely. But if my book were ever published and I had the luxury of that extra money and the attention of a publisher, I guess I'd say goodbye to the daily grind. I think I could handle it... |
| Long gone are the days of fairy princesses, pirates, Pooh, and Power Rangers. My kids have all graduated to the spooky phase in Halloween attire. Sean, one of my ten year old twins, is an undead newsboy. What that means is that he's wearing a costume inspired by the movie 'Newsies' which is about the street newspaper boys of the depression. And that we will smear all sorts of gruesome makeup and fake blood on his face to make him look zombie-ish. Scary! Ryan, the other twin, is the Grim Reaper's cousin. He's wearing a black hooded cloak, and will have black and gray makup, with very dark circles under his eyes to make him look skeleton-ish. Cousin of the Grim Reaper because I bought him a plastic sickle instead of a scythe, because I was afraid of the damage he could wreak with the long handle of a scythe. So he insists he could not be the ACTUAL Grim Reaper, and will have to be just a cousin instead. Spooky! My oldest, Molly, is wearing a gothic-inspired rock star costume. To complete this look, she is wearing a black, mesh tutu, pink leggings with black skulls, a black top, black choker, black nailpolish, much too much makeup, and PINK hair. I admit to being a party to this nonsense. We are mixing pink food coloring with water in a spray bottle, and spraying her hair. Tried it already Saturday, and it works like a charm. This costume is perhaps the scariest of all because it is much too authentic, and it's much to close in real life to what the child would wear every day if I let her. Horrifying! This is our first Halloween in our new neighborhood, and it will be interesting to compare the volume of trick-or-treaters here compared to the old neighborhood. This neighborhood is bigger and flatter, so I'm predicting a record turnout. We buried our light-up dead guy in the yard tonight - a head, two hands and two feet - which, when lit, is really pretty creepy/funny. The voice activated rattling bones mobile is hanging on the front porch, and the glowing white skull is sitting in the front window. I think we're ready. Oh, what was that noise????? |
| Molly got up this morning, took her temperature - 98.1!!! She jumped around, excited that she could go back to school tomorrow. I went to work feeling relieved that she seemed to be getting better. Called her at noon to check, and her temp was back up to 103.3. Told her to take two advil and go back to bed. One of my boys, Ryan, is an orthodontic nightmare. His teeth are coming in all over his mouth. One tooth on the bottom has come in completely behind the baby tooth, and was never going to push the baby tooth out, so he had to go to the dentist to have it pulled today. According to the dentist, once the tooth is out, the permanent tooth will have a chance to move forward and MAYBE not be so terribly out of alignment with the other tooth. I'm not holding much hope for that. He was very scared because he knew he would have to get a shot. That's all he's talked about for the last week. So today was the big day, and he was asking a thousand questions about what it feels like, how bad does it hurt, can you feel the needle, etc. But when the time came, he was fine. A brave trooper, not a whimper. He's convinced the tooth fairy is going to shell out some big bucks for this one. So when I got home, Molly was listening to music on the computer, and looked much more like herself. No headache, and only 99.1 degree temp. We go about our daily lives, not expressing gratitude that bad things aren't happening because we're pissed that good things aren't happening, when in fact good things are happening every day because our kids aren't sick and we have them near us. Tonight I'm grateful because she asked for chicken nuggets, and she yelled at her brothers. |
| Molly was still running a 102 degree temp this morning when I reluctantly went to work. When I called her around 11AM, she had been sleeping. She said her head hurt very badly. I asked her to take her temp but she couldn't find the thermometer, so I told her to take an ibuprophen, drink some water and go back to bed. Even though everthing I'd read said as long as I could get her temp down that she should be okay, I just couldn't concentrate for worrying about her. So at 2PM I came home and took her to a walk in clinic. They swabbed her nose for a flu test which came back negative. Even though her chest sounded clear, they did a chest x-ray, and she has PNEUMONIA! I'd been assuming the flu and waiting it out, when she has something that needs antibiotics. They gave her a shot of antibiotic to get her started on the mend, and she'll start taking it orally tomorrow. I'm relieved to know what it is, but feeling guilty as Hell for waiting so long to take her to the doctor. If I'd taken her yesterday she'd be a day closer to being well. |
| Every other Monday night for the last few months I have had to work. I intend to leave work early those days, come home, cook a good meal for the fam, and spend some quality time before I have to go back to work at 7:30 and work for about three hours. But I never leave work very early and usually get home in time to throw dinner together, yell at the kids to finish their homework, leave instructions for bedtime, and blow out of the house just in time to slide into the parking lot at 7:35. Yesterday I picked up the boys from after-school care, got home at 6PM, not 4PM as I had planned, and couldn't find Molly. The house was dark, TV and computer were off. I was starting to panic. I called her cell phone thinking she rode home from school with a friend, and was ready to rip her a new one for not calling me. She answered her phone and I said, "Where are you?" She croaked, "In my bed." I went in her room to find it completely dark and Molly in bed with the covers over her head. I touched her face and she was very warm. Temp 102.2 F. Headache and stomach ache. Most likely the flu, so not much I could do but give her ibuprofen. And I had to go back to work. Most of the conversions we do on Mondays go smoothly, but there's always something a little bit screwed up. Last night there was a little bit that was a LOT screwed up. One facility was unable to take payments because some computer geek did not do his job, and then wouldn't answer his page. So instead of 3 hours we were there 4 hours. I finally got home a little before midnight and checked on Molly - temp now 100.0 F, but still very tired, so I gave her another ibuprofen, and made her drink a cup of water. She looked so pitiful. When your baby is twelve going on twenty, seems so grown up and doesn't need you for anything, it's even more difficult to see them sick and helpless. Her eyes were red, cheeks flushed, and I could see she was just miserable. When I got home tonight she was still sleeping. Temp 104.4F! Jeez, she felt like she was on fire. Gave her another ibuprofen and made her drink water, then looked up fever on the internet, our new doctor, and read that if a fever, even a high one, can be managed with aceteminophen or ibuprofen, then she should be fine. Sure enough, after 20 minutes her fever was down and she wanted something to eat. She's not out of the woods yet. After she took a shower and watched TV with us for a while, she went back to bed and crashed. So I'll be checking her every couple of hours tonight, just in case. She needs me for so little these days... |
| I mentioned my first husband in my last entry and, believe me, I could blog on him at great length. But probably the best story revolves around his obsession with his hair. I met him when I was seventeen, the day after high school graduation. Other kids were going on their graduation trips to Ft. Lauderdale, Panama City or Daytona, but I was on my way for a week at Muscular Dystrophy camp, as a counselor for kids with MD. A friend of mine had talked me into this, and it was a week away from my mother, and the closest thing to a vacation I would see, so I signed up. The first day of camp was just for the counselors. We were assigned bunks in a dorm and got to meet the other counselors and were assigned a camper. One counselor per camper because most were in wheel chairs and needed constant care. There were a few good looking guys, a few jocks, and several geeks, but all volunteering a week of their summer. Remember that game on Sesame Street - 'One of these things is not like the others'? Well one of the guys was definitely different. Short, muscular, tanned skin, curly, bushy jet black hair, mustache, dark, dark freckles, and almond shaped eyes. Never heard him speak. Not once during the whole week. I was very intrigued by him and found excuses to sit closer to him just to see if I could learn something about him. No one else knew anything about him. He was an enigma. Camp ended and we all went on our way. Then we were all asked to come to Nashville for the Muscular Dystrophy Labor Day telethon fundraiser. Some of you may remember when that was a big deal, and there was nothing else on TV. I showed up with my friend to work one of the booths, and there he was at the booth. We were stuck together for most of the day and I started subtly gathering information. Junior at University of Tennessee studing psychology. Wanted to go to law school. Had only volunteered for camp because he thought it would look good on law school applications. Father was Greek and career Army, mother Japanese - now the strange combination of physical traits made sense. Anyway, I guess the rest is history. We started dating, and seven years later we got married. I had finished college, he had finished law school and joined the army, and by that time his hair had started to thin. Much more noticable when it had to be kept short. I won't go into all his personality and self esteem issues, but suffice it to say the loss of his hair was enough to make him even more unpleasant, more jealous and more controlling. The fourteen years I spent with him were mostly bad, but if you know anything about girls with weak fathers and domineering, cold mothers, you know that we take the crap because we don't think we deserve any better. And we truly do think that if someone wants us we may not get a better offer. So I took the bullying, the accusations, the grilling, the controlling for much too long. But I finally got enough. Anyway, back to the hair. After I left him, he decided to get a hair transplant. We were together fourteen years and never took a vacation. Never bought new furniture. I never had a professional haircut or a manicure. But he paid God-knows-how-much for a hair transplant. He said they had to first do a scalp reduction where they cut a circle from the top of his head where the greatest amount of hair was missing. Then they stitched it up. I had a picture of this in my mind - where they stitched it up at the top it looked like a belly-button. Just a mental image - not sure what it looked like, but wouldn't that also scooch your ears up an inch or two, sort of like a doberman pinscher? He called me the night after the surgery that day and had the nerve to ask me if I would drive over and get his prescription for pain medicine filled. I asked him why he just didn't go get it filled. He said the prescription form had the name of the hair clinic on it, and he didn't want anyone at the pharmacy to know he'd had a 'hair procedure.' I told him to bite on a wash cloth if it hurt too much. |
| I could use a little levity tonight. Work has been very stressful lately. Too much of everything, and none of it good. Dee, one of my favorite Blogville friends, suggested I post a list of eight unexpected things about me. A lot of that going around today - several were 'tagged.' I thought that would be a great way to blow off steam and lighten my mood. So here goes... 1. I cleaned hotel rooms to save money for college. THAT was an interesting job. Saw my first naked man in that job. Knocked on the door of his room, and said very loudly, 'Housekeeping!' No answer, I called again, no answer so I used my passkey and just as I started opening the door, I saw him on the inside, naked as a jaybird. And of course my eyes settled immediately on 'Willie and the twins!' Scarred for life. 2. We moved eleven times in my twelve years of school. Often my brother and I changed schools in the middle of a year, and had to make new friends after all the 'cliques' had been established. Looking back, I almost wonder if my parents were running from something. If we left owing back rent or an outstanding warrant. We weren't poor, but there were several times I'd come home from school and our power had been turned off. They just didn't pay the bill. Probably why I'm so obsessive about stability for my kids. 3. I taught Freshmen Composition at a local university for what seemed like years but was actually only two semesters. I was only twenty-three years old. Very eye-opening experience. That was 1983, and even that long ago, the public schools were failing miserably to prepare kids for college. Many of my students had never written a book report in twelve years of public education. Also many had never held a job or been held accountable for their actions. One student skipped class so much she failed my class, and her mother called me and screamed at me. Great job, mom. 4. I've actually been married three times. First one was a control-freak with no self esteem, who bullied me and made me feel worthless. I stayed with him for fourteen years, seven before we married. I hate to think what would have happened if we'd stayed married. He announced he did not want children, and I couldn't imagine living my entire life without them, so we divorced. He told me no one else would ever want me. Jeez, guess he was wrong! 5. I was in a newspaper ad for a hair salon once. My dad was the art director for an advertising agency, and the hair salon was their client. So I got a free hair cut for the ad, and $50 for letting them take my picture with a good looking guy for a back to school ad. 6. I didn't have my first dental exam until I was fourteen years old, and I paid for it myself with babysitting money. Had two cavities - duh - and had to have fillings. My parents both had dentures before they were forty, and obviously didn't care about dental hygiene. My brother needed braces very badly, and my uncle ended up paying for them because my parents claimed they couldn't afford it. They could afford everything else... 7. I am a soft hearted sap. I cry at TV commercials. Anything with dogs, or cats, or babies, or husbands giving their wives anniversary diamonds or little kids with their grandparents, or children making breakfast for Mother's Day - anything like that will reduce me to tears. I don't have an issue with sentimentality, and think that whatever pulls at our hearts and reminds us we have them should be applauded. We are not robots. 8. I love to sing. I sing in the car all by myself, loudly and, for the most part, on key. I sing the ridiculous songs my kids like, vapid top twenty crap, I sing the oldies from the seventies - my era, and I sing hymns I learned in church ages ago and the more contemporary songs I guess they call 'praise and worship' music. I just love to sing, and wish I had a better, stronger voice. When I was a kid, I would sing to the radio and imagine I was a famous singer and that was me on the radio. Not an usual fantasy, I'm sure, and a popular one still. So now you know my secrets - I'm a vagabond, thrice married, former teacher, former maid, frustrated singer and model with a big heart and an unfortunate dental history. A very complex individual. |
| Since the unfortunate incident with my pinky finger, I am forced to find another means of exercise besides tennis - no grip strength in my right hand yet. Another couple of weeks should do it - I'm working on clasping and unclasping my hand and stretching the tendons and muscles and, though still sore, I'm making progress. So G and I decided to go on a bike ride yesterday. We couldn't have custom ordered better weather. Seventy degrees and the most incredibly blue sky I've ever seen, and I'm not old but if I were milk, I would need to be consumed in the next couple of days. We bought these bikes last year and have barely ridden them. Too hot, too cold, then G blew out his knee and had his ACL replaced and was out of commission, then I started seriously writing again, then we moved and had months of pre-move and post-move crap to do. Anyway, blah blah blah, excuse, excuse, and we just didn't ride the damn bikes. But yesterday was wonderful, and we will be riding again today. Our neighborhood is very 'activity-friendly' with paved walking/biking paths that wind around the outskirts, and are extremely well maintained. So that's what our home-owners association fees are going for! We had never used the paths before, but will be taking advantage of them frequently now. Where we live could be described as Suburban Utopia. If you close your eyes and think of every suburban stereotype you've stored in your head from movies and books, you'll see our neighborhood. Stay at home mommies galore, pushing double strollers with ergonomic handles, wearing the most trendy exercise apparel with matching ball caps and their glistening ponytails pulled through the back, with their four children in attendance for the morning walk. An infant and toddler in the double stroller, one child on a bike with training wheels and the oldest, maybe seven years old, riding ahead. Husbands playing golf with their buddies after traveling for business all week away from their families. Domestic bliss, right? The myth that is being perpetrated by the advocates for staying home with your kids is just that - a myth. Many of these moms are so scared shitless that their business man husband is going to kick them to the curb and they would only get a couple of years of alimony then have to get a job, that they will take all manner of shit just to protect their position. They go to the gym to stay firm and toned, they work on their abs to get rid of the baby fat, and make sure they wear the trendy clothes and trendy hair so they can compete with all the fashionable women their husband works with every day who CAN carry on a conversation about something other than orthodontists and spin class. And they push out another kid every couple of years so they have a built in excuse to not go to work when yet another kid has to start kindergarten. I see this every day. These women live on my street, and their kids are brats. Obviously Mommy staying home is not making better kids. And Daddy traveling all week and playing golf all weekend is not providing that stable family unit. Oh my, how did I get off on that tangent. Well the title of my blog IS Rants, Observations and Embarrassing Events. And I haven't gone off on a rant in quite some time. If anyone reading this entry is offended or ticked off, leave me a comment. The Mommy Wars are real. There is a deep chasm that separates the stay at homes from the working moms. I know they don't appreciate my experience any more than I appreciate theirs. But it looks like another spectacular day. See you on the trails! |
| I am NOT the life of the party. Nor am I the happy-go-lucky Chatty Cathy, always with a funny story or a good joke. And I can never remember people's names. I guess I'm an introvert, and introverts are usually considered strange, or backward, or awkward, or stuck up by extroverts, who drive introverts crazy by talking constantly and always having to be surrounded by other people. Thank God I married another introvert. G and I are often in the same room for hours and never say a word to each other. It's a peaceful quiet, and a relief from the forced conversation at work, in which I respond periodically with a "Yeah, I know," or an "Um," or "Yep, you're right." I'm just the 'straight man', filling in the parts for the other guy, helping him get his hysterically funny story out. "And then what happened?" I ask, so that he can finally get to the point we've all been waiting for. And most of the time I'm left thinking, "What was the point of this story?" My children, on the other hand, are all extroverts, especially Molly. They simply MUST talk. And all at the same time. When I get home from work after being surrounded by talky talky extroverts all day, as soon as I open the door to my humble abode, I'm swarmed by my three crazed progeny, all attempting to tell me about the incredibly important events of their day. And I LOVE it! It's amazing how differently you look at a situation when you really care about someone. I want to hear everything they say, and I'm grateful that they want to tell me. A day will come when I have to drag details of their lives from them, so I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts. I've often wished I was an extrovert. The life of the party. Able to carry on a conversation with anyone. Captivate the crowd with my wit and charm. But to quote Popeye, " I am what I am." I must be content to be the good listener. And listening is almost a lost art. Most people are so busy talking, and thinking about what they're going to say next, they never hear a word that's said. And that's a shame. Every once in a while, if you listen carefully, this tiny, quiet, introverted voice will say something HUGE! Don't miss it! |
| This is how truly sick in the head I am... I'm supposed to take the whole day off work today. I made an appointment several days ago at a local spa for a pedicure and a facial, using the gift certificate my WONDERFUL step-daughter, LeeAnn gave me for my birthday. So I go for my appointment this morning, fully intending to spend the entire day in ME mode. I thoroughly enjoy the pedicure. Very luxurious, and looks very nice. The facial is incredible. It's the first one I've ever had in my life, and worth every penny. My skin looks and feels ten years younger. And I'm so relaxed afterwards - almost like having a massage. I leave the spa at almost noon, and go home still fairly relaxed but with a slightly uneasy feel, like a nagging worried feeling. So after getting home, having some lunch, and putting my makeup back on, I decide to check voicemail at work. That was a bad move. Several voicemails regarding our largest go-live yet of the new system next Monday night, as well as messages regarding a posting problem from a couple of weeks ago still not 100% corrected. So much for a day off. I drove into work, just intending to address a couple of critical issues, and ended up staying the rest of the day. Do you know people like me who cannot relax, can't let go, or leave something even for one day? What causes this kind of mentality? I have my suspicions that it stems from childhood, from messing up one time, and the parental response was significant enough to leave a lasting impression. Or maybe it's in the DNA, our wiring, that determines how we handle responsibility, and how we respond to authority, how we respond to even perceived criticism or disappointment. I wish I knew how to change. I'm sure my life would be more enjoyable, more PEACEFUL, if I didn't allow these responsibilities to control me. If I could loosen up and take a more relaxed attitide about things. I can't even allow typos in this blog which, because of the cast on my right hand, are inevitable and certainly forgivable under the circumstances. I keep scanning for mistakes then fixing them, which interrupts my train of thought.... what was I going to say? Oh, yeah, well anyway, I'm grateful the people who love me can overlook this idiosyncracy. At least I'm not a compulsive hand washer or stove checker... |
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The kicker is they have seen my pic on my blog...but I have no idea how they look. 
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