Paper Napkin

I'd like to autoclave our house.

I promised I wouldn't Twitter about my sickness any more, so I guess you'll be the lucky recipients. We are all sick. Aaron has a cough that will not go away, and now he says his stomach feels funky. Emily and Will have a headache and a sore throat. I have no voice and cannot. stop. coughing. Haley is by far the sickest, throwing up, with a fever and sore throat. She threw up a couple of times, but I think it's because her tonsils are so huge they're making her feel like she has to purge them. You're welcome.

On the upside, all the children were well on Halloween, and lo, much sugarfied loot was procured. Come Wednesday if we all don't feel better, to the doctor we will go.

So the doctor says, "You have a steering wheel in your pants."

Well, not only does my mailman hate me, but my immune system isn't too fond of me either, apparently. First I had a cold. A bulldozer of a cold, and I was very snotty and sneezy and sleepy, and a few other dwarves. That went on for a while, and then this week? On Sunday, to be specific, I thought I was coming down with the flu, but then I realized I was due for my (nearly) annual larynx infection.

Ever since Emily was born, lo ten years ago, around November, I get a larynx infection. I get chills and a fever, my ears and throat hurt, and I go to the doctor. I'm one of those silly people who doesn't go to the doctor unless they're dying. I do not enjoy waiting in a waiting room, followed by waiting in an exam room, followed by trying to answer the question "What's wrong with you?" Wrong? What makes you think there's anything wrong? Isn't that sort of a personal question? Maybe there's something wrong with you, did you ever stop to ponder that, oh medical deity? Maybe I'm JUST FINE.

Anyway, the first couple of times I got this infection, let's call it Larry, the first couple of times Larry came to visit, I would go to the doctor, pull out my violin, and tell them my sob story, about how Larry wasn't treatin' me right, and they would say, "Oh, you probably have strep." They'd give me a quick strep test, which would come back negative, and tell me that they had just stuck a very sore part of my body with a cotton-covered stick for nothing, because these tests aren't very reliable, so we're going to poke you and make you gag one more time! and send it to the lab. In the mean time, here, have some antibiotics (have you heard about these things? Little capsules of fairy dust, I tell you!), and we'll call you tomorrow with your strep results.

Upon ingesting the antibiotics, I would immediately begin to feel better, and then the doctor would call the next day, just as I was putting the pill to my lips, and say "Stop! You do not have strep! Step away from the pill! You don't understand the peril you are thrusting upon humankind by taking antibiotics when you don't need them! Resistant strain! Blah blah blah! Nuclear winter, blah blah, only cockroaches will survive!" And I'm all OK already, simmer down there, doc. And I'd stop taking the magical pills of wonder, and once again fall gravely ill.

I would then decide I needed to go to an ENT (ear, nose, and throat doctor, and why did I use the initials if I was just going to spell it for you? Like don't you hate it when Rachel Ray says EVOO, and then tells you it stands for extra virgin olive oil? What's the point of saying EVOO if you're just going to use all those other words anyway? But I digress.) So I would go to an ENT, and he'd say, "You have a raging larynx infection, have you been screaming at your children more than usual?" And I'd say, "No 'bout the same as always." And he'd tell me he was tempted to hospitalize me, and I'd say, I don't need no stinking hospital, just give me the drugs, and he'd say, okay, under these conditions will I let you go home, blah blah. And then he's give me a prescription for (drum roll please!) ANTIBIOTICS!

That's a very long route to go, to get something farmers regularly feed their cows.

But after the second year, I caught on, and realized that Larry might decide to vacation in my throat every year. Thankfully he didn't do this every year, but many years he decided that my throat was the Fiji, the Club Med, the San Cabo for bacteria. Oh sure you have your riffraff-- those white blood cells trying to break up the party, but the sun, the surf, the Mai Ties can't be beat.

Fast forward to Monday. (Sweet baby corn this post is long. You see what happens when I just let my brain run its mouth? Are you still with me? We're in the home stretch.) We just moved here this summer, so I have no GP or ENT or WXYZ, so I pick a GP out of the phone book, who is right down the street, and I tell her I think I have a larynx infection, we go through the whole rigamarole, only she doesn't even bother retesting my rapid strep results, she just says I have a virus, thankyouverymuchthat'llbe$25pleasepayonyourwayout.

And I decide, screw it, I'm not going to hunt down an ENT in my condition (which I probably should've seen in the first place, but I foolishly believed that a GP would, you know, listen to me). So I decide to take some antibiotics my doctor prescribed for me a few months ago, which I really didn't need, and didn't take, and I started taking them, and now I've upgraded from rilly sick, to well enough to moan and whine about being sick, so I feel much better, the end!

And those of you who would like to scold me for bucking the system and using previously prescribed drugs on an undiagnosed condition, please leave me your contact info, Larry would like to send you a complimentary fruit basket.

A heartbreaking death of staggering genius

I'm so sad. Why did you do it, David?

The last two minutes of  an interview on Charlie Rose in 1997:

ROSE: Yeah. Do you see yourself chasing a brass ring now?

DFW: I -- this is what's very interesting is I -- there's part of me that wants to get attention and respect. It doesn't really make very much difference to me because I learned in my 20s that it just doesn't change anything and that whatever you get paid attention for is never the stuff that you think is important about yourself anyway. So a lot of my problem right now is I don't really have a brass ring and I'm kind of open to suggestions about what -- what one chases that -- there are real abstract ideas about, you know, what art can be and the redemptive quality of art and, you know, kindness to animals and, you know, all the cliches that we can invoke.

But it's -- I -- the people who most interest me now are the people -- are people who are older and who have sort of been through a mid-life crisis. They tend to get weird because the normal incentives for getting out of bed don't tend to apply anymore. I have not found any satisfactory new ones, but I'm also not getting ready to, you know, jump off a building or anything.

ROSE: Well, that's good news. [full transcript]

Things I have not done:

• taken my medicine
• used my light box
• drunk any passionflower tea
• exercised
• posted on my blog (embarrassing feat, or otherwise)

Oh well, if I didn't make grand plans with the best of intentions, and then proceed to fall flat on my face, or fizzle out like a wet sparkler, I'd hardly be me, now would I? Tomorrow is another day.

Nothing has been happening. Well, we've been wrangling with Aaron's various job offers, and counter offers, and counter counter offers. And none of these jobs are in the state of Ohio. But nothing other than that.

Oh wait, yes, having my face biopsied for cancer-- it's really no big deal though, so don't worry, just what happens when you live in the desert for 30 years. My dermatologist has the BEST skin-- like cake frosting, I was tempted to lick him, but I didn't want to start out on the wrong foot.

Okay then... see you around.

A mama's gotta do what mama's gotta do.

If there's anything sadder than putting my kids in school, it's pulling them out again.

Yesterday I posted on Work It, Mom! the conundrum I'm in, because Will hates school. (I link the post only because it's relevant, and not because I want you to read my blog over there. I mean, you're welcome to read my blog over there, but I hate promoting myself. However, I will promote Work It, Mom!, because it's a really useful, fun site, and there are a lot of other blogs, articles, and forums that you'll find helpful if you're a working mom, so by all means, check it out, and you can read my blog too, but only if you really, really want to, no pressure!)

Anyway. Will is having difficulty making the transition from full-time free time to full-time school. And rightly so, it's a big change. The last few mornings have resulted in drama of Hollywood proportions, and it's BREAKING MY HEART, PEOPLE. This morning he said, between sobs. "I don't want to spend time with all those other people, I only want to spend time with you!" Why don't you just stab me in the heart with a fork, kid. The other claim he's making is that his teacher is SO MEAN. Yeah, about as mean as Bambi, dipped in Elmo batter, and deep fried in Cinderella.

But, I didn't want him to feel like I was dismissing him, so I said, "Son, I know your teacher is not mean. I know you want to say she's mean, and that's okay, because that's another way of saying you don't like school, and I totally get that you don't like school, and you need to tell me that in a bunch of different ways. I just want you to know that if a grown-up or a kid IS ever mean to you, I will listen to you, and help you." I didn't know if he'd comprehend what I was saying, but then he said, "Okay, she's not really mean, but when I tell you she's mean, you have to believe me, because that's how I feel." Fair enough, son.

I know he will get used to school, and I know he needs to go to school. But! He doesn't need to go to school full-time every day. I enrolled him full-time because I wanted my days free to work on my business, and have some me time.

When I assess the situation in light of what's best for Will, it's probably more like 3 half days a week, not 5 full days. Public-school Kindergarten is half-day, so it's not like he needs to get used to being in school all day. Mainly what he needs from preschool is learning school etiquette, and some social interaction with his peers. I can teach him the academic stuff at home. If he attends Tues. through Thurs. mornings, I can schedule my cold/conference calls during that time. Though it's not ideal, I can do most business related stuff interspersed with mommy stuff, if I have those few hours set aside for phone calls, and other stuff I need to do sans kids. If I find I really need more time, I can always look into hiring a sitter for a few hours a week.

It's weird, because as much as I hated to see my kids go off to school, part of me sure was licking my chops about all that free time. Sigh.

Welcome to my pity party, have a balloon.

I'm coming through the grief of not having my kids with me at home. But the school schedule? KILLING me.

Morning: make lunches, make breakfast, make sure everyone looks presentable, pack papers, lunches, water bottles, walk to bus stop.

Afternoon: unpack backpacks, deal with flurry of papers, kids change clothes, make them snack, do homework, or if there's no homework practice math with Emily, reading and writing with Haley, supervise kids' chores, make dinner, eat dinner, clean up dinner, do dishes, get kids in jammies, brush teeth, layout clothes, read story, give vitamins, meds, & water, tuck in, collapse. God help me if it's bath night, which now is only every 3rd day, because I don't want to deal with it.

And why did I bother to list all that crap? It's not like I deserve a medal for doing what every mother with school-aged kids glides through without a hitch. I listed it because it feels like a lot to me, which in turn makes me feel lame, because I know to most people it's no big deal. I'm sure it'd be easier if Aaron didn't have ADD, but he does, so there's no point in going there. Anyway, I'm sure I'll adjust. Soon, it'll be second nature. Right? Right?!

Okay, 6:00, time to make the donuts.

Not complaining about what I'd LIKE to complain about

Will has been home from school yesterday and today. Sunday he came down with a cold, by Sunday night it was accompanied by asthma, so yesterday I kept him home. This morning I was going to send him on his merry way, but at the last minute he had diarrhea, and I didn't have the heart to make his teacher deal with other bouts that may occur today.

Will has also decided he doesn't like school. His teacher is mean, the principal is mean, all the kids are mean, he doesn't like the lunches, blah, blah, blah. But by the time he had spent the long boring day with me, school didn't seem quite so horrible this morning. He definitely needs to go to school, but if he hasn't adjusted by the end of September, I'll cut back to 3 or 4 days. It's really hard to send your kid to school when they don't want to go, and you don't want them to go.

I'm sitting here, debating whether or not to write a few lines about what I'm dying to complain about. I guess I'll be mature, and pass. I'll just say that sometimes being a grown-up sucks. Instead I'll direct you to this scarily accurate quiz I found over at Cursing Mama. Take it, and tell me what color brain you have and if the quiz pegged you, as well as it pegged me.

Your Brain is Green

Of all the brain types, yours has the most balance. You are able to see all sides to most problems and are a good problem solver. You need time to work out your thoughts, but you don't get stuck in bad thinking patterns. You tend to spend a lot of time thinking about the future, philosophy, and relationships (both personal and intellectual).

What Color Is Your Brain?

Weepapalooza, Day 3

I woke up sad this morning. That is NOT good. Waking up sad means I'm transitioning from being sad to being depressed, and I'm here to tell you I CANNOT let that happen. Sadness is fine, I mean, I'd prefer happy, but sadness means I'm processing things, working through them, and bits of humor and joy can poke through. There's some life in sadness, it's manageable, the end is in sight, and I'll be there shortly. Depression? Is not like that. And I'm not going to describe what it IS like, because I can't write the description without going there, and I'm NOT going there. (Liz, I'll take that smack now.)

Look, self, you're doing the best you can. You put your kids back in school, and that's hardly the end of the world. You LOVE school, both as a teacher and as a student, remember? Having your own desk, and school supplies, writing on the board, going to the library, seeing your friends everyday, and your kids apparently love it too. They have nice teachers, they're going to get a good education. The tipping point of depression is the mental anguish that comes with wondering if you did the right thing, but there's just no knowing, because you took this path. You can't know about the path you didn't take. You make the best decision with the information available, that's all you can do. I know you miss them, but you'll adjust. Look on the bright side, you have all those hours of uninterrupted time that you've coveted, enjoy them, put them to good use.

Okay, sometimes these little pep-talks work. We'll see. The good news is there's a heat wave here, so today and tomorrow the schools are dismissing at noon. The humidity here is about 8000%, and I've never been so thankful for such a ridiculous heat index. Thank you God for global warming, because it means spending fewer hours away from my kids. Over the weekend cooler weather can arrive, and I'll try to get a grip come Monday.

If you're lucky, I'll talk about something else soon.

Yesterday the girls had a very good day. When I tucked Emily in, she said she couldn't wait to go back to school today. 97% of me was happy and relieved. The other 3% felt as if it had a swift stab to the solar plexus. This morning and yesterday Will hopped around like a cricket in a can, and couldn't wait to get to school. No tears, from him at all. I on the other hand, alternated between crying, and cleaning to distract myself from crying. I just couldn't focus on work, and luckily I don't have any looming deadlines at the moment. I do feel the tiniest bit better today, but geez, this is a rough patch. I have to go to the dentist to get my crown today, and I may try to treat myself a little. Buy myself some socks, or something, because I know how to par-tay.

Bus just left. They're gone. Ouch, that smarts.

There, there, shut up now.

Dear Kelly Clarkson,

Please get out of my head. Not that you don't have a lovely voice, but I've had very little sleep in the past few days, and your tale of woe is starting to break down my reserves.

I'm sorry that your last relationship so adversely effected you, and your ability to function as a proper pedestrian. I know it must really be difficult for you not to be able to cross the street, even inside the crosswalk, on a residential street, when the flashing WALK sign is saying "it's okay Kelly, I won't steer you wrong." And if your ball rolls into the street, I know-- pfft-- forget it, you're out of luck. Maybe you could date a nice crossing guard, next time.

I'm sure that if I were a teenager, I'd sit there, in the dark, staring out the window, singing along, with my iPod on repeat. I would soak up the melodrama like a sponge. But Kelly, I'm 40; I don't have time for that crap. Maybe your mom could set you up with that nice dental school student, or you could join a convent, or just have a frontal lobotomy. Just please. stop. singing at me.

Writing now, because later I'll be asleep.

School starts next Tuesday. Say it with me: next Tuesday. If you didn't hear the thunderous organ music, well then, you don't live in my head, get with it. Merge with me. No, on second though don't. I don't think I have room for you up here.

I haven't been sleeping well the past few days. I'm stressed about money, about my freelance gigs, but mostly I'm stressed about the kids' school. I'll spare you the litany. Oh, also, I'm taking 2 classes this semester so that I can get my design skills up to speed, and that's on my mind as well. I think it'll be fun, it's just something else to adjust to, you know? Just one. more. thing. Oh, and in the Spring, apparently when I was drunk, I bought tickets to LA to see Aaron's family, THE THIRD WEEK OF SCHOOL. Nice scheduling there, Ms. Non-refundable Ticket Buyer. And of course, the kids haven't been to Disneyland yet, so sure why not, pile it on, let's see what I'm really made of. (Uh, any tips to save money, time, sanity at Disneyland are appreciated. I have been researching for a while.)

I'm trying to just make a simple list each day, that will get me where I need to go. I'm just taking steps, looking at my feet, instead of up at the foreboding distance. I've decided to ride my bike everyday for 3 weeks. I like to ride my bike, it's the only exercise I really do like, and I need to start getting prepped for SAD. I've got my light box, not eating junk to speak of, etc. Definitely need to add more veggies and water, always with the veggies, oi.

Focus, focus, baby steps, breathe.

This is a special time in a girl's-- aw, shaddup.

Emily has a charming friend, B., who informed my nine-year-old daughter that she needs to start shaving and wearing a bra. B. does gymnastics, competitively about 16 hours a week, (though I know her parent's don't push her, she's just hard wired type A), and she's around older girls a lot, which I'm sure how conversations about budding womanhood came about. A conversation which iiiirritated me.

First of all, I think if you've got fine hair, there's really no reason to shave in the first place. I wish someone had told me that once I started shaving, my leg hair would turn from feathery down to burly bristle. Second, to my way of thinking, if you have no boobs, and no sign of boobage on the horizon, you really don't need a bra. Third, stop prodding my little girl to grow up faster than her mind and body dictates. Grrr, said the mama bear.

The other day I was at Barnes and Noble, looking for a good kid book about bodies. Whyyyy, you ask, was I doing this? Because B. told Emily that her whopping fifty-pound body was fat. (B's body, not Emily's body, but since Emily is hardly a wiry gymnast, what conclusion could she come to?) Yes, I'm sure working out 4 hours at a time really packs on the pounds. Ouch, that was uncalled for, wasn't it? Me thinks I need to work up a little empathy for this kid. Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, Barnes and Noble. Anyway, I had this book recommended to me, and it was okay, I guess. Although there was a "you're never fully dressed without a smile" vibe in it, which iiiirritated me.

Ugh.

Maybe I'm just irritable. Maybe I need to broach this topic when I'm not so crabby.

Must be PMS.

Yesterday evening was rough.

The pain in my tooth (geez shut up about the tooth already) was bad, so I called my endodontist, who of course was not there, did not have an answering service, and whose number is unlisted. I considered going to the emergency room, but I'm too cheap. If my kids were in pain, sure, I'd be in the car in 3 seconds flat, but me? Mmm, thanks I'll keep my hundred bucks.

Then I decided I'd call my dentist, and maybe he'd prescribe something for me. (Sorry to disturb you. GIVE ME NARCOTICS.) He said he would call something in for me. I gave him the number of my pharmacy. In a minute he called back, saying the pharmacy was closed. So I gave him the number for another pharmacy. Also closed. Lather, rinse, repeat 4 more times. Of course! It's 7:30! No one needs drugs at night on a Sunday (silly me)! Sometimes I hate living in the middle of nowhere. I thanked him, apologized again, and told him I'd just suck it up 'til tomorrow.

When I get through hunting for medical care, I look around, and can't find Will. I send the girls to the neighbors' houses, while I call other neighbors. No Will. I start to freak out, which I guess freaked Aaron out because I'm usually Calmy McZen, so he starts yelling at me about how I'm overreacting, and need to calm down. And I'm all, calm down? Excuse me, I CAN'T FIND MY SON. YOU CALM DOWN. Whaddaya know, our raised voices rouse Will, who's been napping in the grass. (Bonus, now my adrenaline is surging, and my tooth doesn't hurt at all!) I smother Will with hugs, and tell him to please FIND A BED if he's sleepy. I have a few more choice words with Aaron, and mentally calculate how many years until I can file for divorce w/o a guilty conscience (16). Then Tooth and I go to bed.

This morning I called the endodontist who told me that they use clove oil in the sealant, and it sometimes aggravates the nerves. (Aggravated? My nerves are livid, lady.)  She called in a prescription. This medication has the most complicated directions ever. After deciphering them, I feel certain I could assemble a nuclear reactor with less hubbub. Take 2 tablets before breakfast, 1 after lunch, 1 after dinner, and 2 before bed, unless the moon is full, or it's the first Tuesday in March, or your left nostril is twitching. Then take all 6 at once. It also tastes like milkweed root-- very bitter-- even though it only touches my tongue for a second.

Not that I'm complaining, I'm elated to have something that will help (I only hope it works). I'm also really glad yesterday is over.

There's a coup d'etat in my mouth.

This is not what I signed up for when I went to have a root canal. Really, I thought it wouldn't be bad, because I consulted Dr. Google, who told me it's no worse than having a cavity filled. Dr. Google lies. The pain is chronic and acute. My tooth is no longer willing to sit quietly, grinding food morning, noon, and night. It's no longer satisfied just to lie there, being brushed twice a day, letting the warmth of coffee or the chill of diet soda wash over it. I think my tooth wants to be an independent entity. I'm hoping to appease it by referring to it as such. Tooth and I are going for a bike ride. Tooth and I are going to take a bath. Tooth would like the poached salmon, and I'll have the Caesar salad.

I'm calling the endodontist tomorrow, but assuming this pain is not going to subside anytime soon, I think Tooth needs a name. Leave your suggestions in the comments, I'll forward the emails to Tooth.

Next time instead of a root canal, I'm getting a gold grill.

Fast facts for Friday, because my tooth is a hurtin' and I need to go veg out in front of the television. Tonight I've taken 4 Advil, 1 Aleve, and 2 Tylenol, and still the throbbing, oi. Aaron had a craving for popcicles and is on his way to the store. I told him to get me some OJ, which I will mix with some Bombay Sapphire upon his arrival home. Hey, did I tell you I can't drink beer or wine anymore? They make me sick. I drank half a glass of wine the other day, and woke up the following morning with a hangover. Dude, that's just wrong. I didn't even catch a buzz. Doesn't matter though, I hardly drink anyway, but I do plan to obliterate this pain in my tooth one way or the other. Failing that, I will have Aaron slam my hand in the door, to take my mind off of my mouth.

Enough kvetching. About that anyway. Next on the kvetching roster: school starting. I received the invitation for the ice cream social that takes place the day before school starts. I've said it before, indulge me while I repeat myself. I DON'T WANT TO SEND MY KIDS TO SCHOOL. It's not just that I want them home, because I'll feel out of the loop in regard to what they do all day (because I do not have chatty children who recount every moment of their day), but also because I don't know how to befriend other parents, or how to connect with the principal and teachers. I feel overwhelmed by all the fake community building, fund raising, and other extraneous crap.

Maybe I'll rap about it. Gangsta that I am. In certain circles I'm known as Supa Stank Couch Cushion Robba. Yo, yo check it.

Alienation, word of my generation,
dropping the kids off in my yoga pants,
trying to catch a glance
of what's goin' on in the halls
behind the walls.
Tryin' to be pals
with the mamas and the pops,
but my words they all drop
scatter over the floor
I make a break for the door.
Like Cinderella runnin' from her fella,
turnin' to a pumpkin
coz I'm just a bumpkin,
I ain't go no couth
I can't speak my truth.
No fairy godmother
to turn me into something other.

Hee, I crack myself up. And now the silliness has dispelled my dread (begone, before somebody drops a house on you), and I will have a screwdriver and watch Tony Soprano kill people and cheat on his wife. Word.

Crying over spilled milk

I am absolutely irate. I ordered a set of dishes from eBay. Nice dishes, made in the 40s, not antique, but unique. They arrived wrapped in newspaper, in a flimsy box, almost every one broken. (Insert slew of swearing  here.) If you're going to bother to pack them up, why not pack them up right? You don't pack 50 dishes in one box, for starters. And would it have killed you to spring for some bubble wrap?!?! (A flock of punctuation at the end of my sentence? You know I'm pissed.) GRRRRR. I ordered a set because I wanted A SET, not 3 cups, 2 plates, and a serving bowl. May as well trash the whole thing than add a few more pieces to the hodgepodge sitting in my cupboards. I sent an email saying I was about to give negative feedback, unless something was done to rectify the situation, read: refund. I'm sure that's not gonna happen. Really, it's probably upsetting me more than it should, but it's just money down the drain, and if I'm going to waste my money, you all know I much prefer to spend it on crack. There goes my next fix.

Jots and Tittles

Is there a patron saint of javascript? Because I need one.

I have been trying to figure out how to automatically rotate the links in the "mystery blog of the week" button, and maybe make it "mystery blog when you refresh the page," or something. There are a million scripts for rotating images, and rotating links, and rotating images and links, but none for changing the links for a single image. So I've been trying to write my own script, and use bits of others, which I'm sure would be very simple if I had any idea WHAT I WAS DOING. As it is, I've been pouring over lines of hieroglyphics til my eyes bleed.

And then, then! I posted on this javascript forum, asking for help (which was helpful, and I think I've almost got it figured out, but you know, one misplaced apostrophe and I'm dead, so don't hold your breath). And this one guy comments that it's an unusual request, because the link will be obscured by the image. So I respond that I want the link to be obscured because it's a "mystery link." And he says, "I suspected something around that level of peurility [sic]. In practice there's no such thing, because the 'mystery' is easily solved by reading the status bar."

Well no duh, dipwad. I'm just trying to do something a little different from the 80 million blogrolls everywhere. Puerile is short sheeting the bed or putting plastic wrap on the toilet seat; I hardly think I fall into that category. </feigned indignation>

It's muggy here, because of the rain we've been having. It's only, like, 75° in the house, but it feels like 85°. The air conditioner is supposed to kick on at 77ish (it's one of the old, dial kind, not digital) and I can't bring myself to turn it on. Maybe I should shave my head. That should cool me off a few degrees.

This morning I figured out there are 41 days left until school starts. 41 days is all I have left with my babies. I'm sad all over again about not homeschooling next year. I don't want to send my babies away to school (and no, I don't care how saccharine that sounds). 41 days left, and there's so much left undone! We still need to create a tree-frog ecosystem in the back yard, learn how to spin flax, study about classical Greece (afterward we'll make a model Parthenon out of sugar wafers), discuss the finer points of Kant. I joke about wanting to parent like June Cleaver, but she's far too banal. I'd like to be some great renaissance-naturalist-thinker mom.

We'd arise at 6:00 for our morning bath in a nearby icy stream, followed by a vigorous 3 mile hike, where we'd identify various species of flora and fauna. Back to the house for my famous tofu and wheat germ pancakes (which the children down with impeccable table manners and cheery dispositions). Then a day full of reading, and inventing, and creating, and studying. Lunch at noon, and high tea at 5:00 sharp.

You think I'm joking? Not joking (except for the icy stream). You see what I'm up against here? MY BRAIN WANTS US TO BE MARY POPPINS! Why not pop into a chalk picture or two while we're at it. And I'm not. Not Mary Poppins. I don't own button up shoes, or a black felt hat with a ridiculous flower poking out the top. Haven't traveled by flying parasol in, oh, at least 6 months.

Dear Brain,

I'm an okay mom. I let my children entertain themselves a lot; they like it, they're friends. They get along; try to see the value in that. Give me some credit for my crackerjack skills in teaching problem solving and communication. Stop with the guilt already. I do not leave them to fend for themselves in Dickensian squalor. We play board games, or a game of catch in the yard. We read, talk, do chores, go swimming, etc. They're involved in one organized sport at a time, and one church activity. I can't handle more hubbub than that. Occasionally we go to museums, the zoo, the farmers' market. Sometimes they run out of clean underwear, and I leave the dinner dishes in the sink for two days. And there could be a million days between now and school, and it wouldn't look much different than that. GET OVER IT.

Your loving earth suit,

Sheryl

Sheesh, where did all that come from? I started out to tell you something completely different. I have no idea what. (Thinking while the Jeopardy theme runs through my head) Mmm nothing's coming to mind. Oh yeah, I was going to show you the cool Zen sand garden I made. Oh well, next time. And also, this video of a hippo and dog (Pat and Stanley, if you know who they are) singing YMCA.

I'll nod my head, but I promise not to make eye contact.

It's a visual treat to see me arrive at the local swimming pool. First of all, I don't like the sun in my eyes, so I wear big-ass sunglasses, and a wide brimmed straw hat. If you're Grace Kelly, you can add a neckerchief, look gorgeous, and execute your double-agent spy mission, climbing all over Mt. Rushmore with Cary Grant without so much as smearing your lipstick. If you're me? Not so much.

Also, I let my children spray me with suncreen last time, so now I'm sunburned. In order to protect my crispy bits I'm wearing a blue striped sports bra under my swim suit. And the piece de resistance to this lovely ensemble are my purple fuzzy flip-flops which are actually slippers, but really comfy. All I need is a stripe of zinc oxide across my nose, and curlers in my hair. If you see me today at the pool, and you want to say hi, but you don't want to acknowledge that you know me,  just stand next to me and whisper " The winds are calm in the channel, and the boat will sail at midnight."

PS When I got to the pool? I realized I had a veritable forest of hair on my legs. Me so pretty.

That settles it. I'm canceling tomorrow's bungee jumping lesson.

The week has continued in the same vein, most notably illustrated tonight when I came home from work. The house was smoky, the microwave was black, and melted, and whatever had been in it was ash. Earlier this evening Aaron had set the micro for 30 minutes instead of 3, and then gone outside to play with the kids. It's only by the hand of God our house didn't burn to the ground. Thank God I recently purchased a fire extinguisher.

I really, really need it to be Friday. Or possibly July 9th.

Is it Friday yet?

Hi, I'm not having a good week, so I'll make this short. Bethsheba, you were selected in the drawing for the hostess gift, so email me your address, and I'll send it out to you.

Also, here are a couple of banners I've done. They're $15 (because they're pre-made, they're cheaper than custom banners), if you need a banner email me.

Yeah, so, I'm having a crappy week, and it's only Tuesday. I would make a funny story out of it, but I don't have the energy. So here are the bare bones. Yesterday I took the kids to swimming lessons. We live in the sticks, and have to drive to another nearby town to swim, and between here and there is the middle of nowhere. Which is where I got a flat. When I tried to change my tire, I discovered (by standing on the lug wrench and using my entire body for leverage) that the nuts were rusted to the bolts, and the tire was rusted to the wheel. So I had it towed, and went ahead and had them put new tires on, because I'd been meaning to do it for a while. Only I hadn't really budgeted for an extra $500 this month, and overdrew my checking account. Then today at work a very personable young con-man scammed me out of $250 of the store's money. I wasn't in trouble, as I had manager approval, but I just felt jilted. Something else very sad has happened which SUCKS but I can't talk about. So anyway, I'm fine, just row, row, rowing my boat, but not in the mood to chat via the old blog. See you on the flip side.

Dear Customer,

Please do not come into the store two minutes before we close and buy 44 craft kits. Remember: when you procrastinate, you take us all down with you.

Rancorously Yours,
Sheryl

Common Cold

I have a monster cold, and haven't been able to breathe through my nose for a few days now. My nasal passages are so swollen, I can neither sniff nor blow, so I go about my day with bits of tissue stuck up my nose. Me so pretty. Aaron has the same cold so we are two overweight, middle-aged people wandering the house with Kleenex stuffed up our nose. We're like a living, breathing Calvin Klein ad.

Maybe Aaron and I could do a commercial for Kleenex. A crowded office: above the noise of clacking keyboards, ringing phones, and office chatter, two great simultaneous achoos are heard. The sneezers look up, their red watery eyes meet across the room, as they both reach for their boxes of Kleenex.  Later that same day a bouquet of roses made entirely of Kleenex and pipe cleaners are delivered to the female sneezer. Because nothing says, "be mine" like the common cold.

Sleeping is a real pain in the derrière too. I can't lie down for fear of drowning, so I watch tv in the recliner until I fall asleep. I really miss my bed. Plus I wake up in the morning feeling like someone has been playing Whack-a-mole with my head.

I have no idea what my point was except to...complain, I guess. Anyway, I'm looking forward to not breathing like the Elephant Man soon.

The Staff of...Something

I got up early this morning to go to the grocery store. Lately the grocery store drives me crazy. It's like attending a political convention. Nothing is what it seems, and it's damn hard to get a straight answer. The "dark brown sugar" is just light brown sugar with caramel coloring added. Now that trans fat is taboo, the most ridiculous things are declared trans fat-free: ketchup, orange juice, soy flour. Hello? Doesn't there have to be fat in something in the first place to be declared trans fat-free? Apparently not. I'm waiting for a trans fat-free label to show up on my shampoo.

Bread is the worst. An entire isle of bread, all trying to convince you it's whole wheat, while still tasting like white. Which, ew. Of course there's the Wonder Bread campaign to give you the goodness of whole grain, without actually being whole grain. Today I saw another brand's loaf of "100% Whole White Wheat Bread." It almost tricked me, but when I checked the ingredients, no whole wheat flour at all. Come on, just say what you are. I'd like to see some bread that says, "This loaf contains mostly fillers, preservatives, and high fructose corn syrup. We may or may not have waved some wheat kernels over it before we stuck it in the oven." 

But, come to think of it, I understand this mentality of wanting to fit in, and be all loaves to all people. Something happened at work the other day, and I was stunned at something I said.

We were all getting ready to clock out, gathering all our stuff in the breakroom. I picked up my book, purse, and diet coke.
"Water For Elephants. I've heard that's a good book. It's in high demand at the library; you were lucky to be able to check it out," a co-worker commented.
"Yeah, " I said. "The only way I could get it was to check it out as an express book for 7 days."
"You only have 7 days to read that whole book?" Another co-worker asked.
"Yeah, but it's not that long, and that's about my going rate-- a book a week."
"Wow, you smart people put me to shame, " she said.
"I'm not smart," I blurted. "I just like books."

Step right up ladies, and gentleman! See world's only human chameleon! Watch her morph before your very eyes. Now, I'm no genius, but I'm no dummy either. Never have I claimed to be dumb. But Heaven forbid anyone should feel uncomfortable in my presence, let alone be put to shame! No, it's not what you think! I just look at the pictures, really! I never meant to hurt anyone, I JUST WANTED TO REEEEAD! From now on I'll huddle in the corner of the breakroom, head bent low, arms hiding my book. I'll flinch when a co-worker walks in on me. "Pot! I'm smoking pot! This is my brain! On drugs!"

Sheesh, Sheryl. Get a grip. Next I'll be claiming I'm not white. "My grandfather was full-blooded Cherokee, I swear!" So yes, white bread, I understand where you're coming from, but let's make a pact. I won't claim to be a thin, communist, bungee-jumper, if you won't claim you're made from freshly sprouted, organically grown grains. Deal?

Stick a fork in me.

Today has not been a stellar day. This afternoon Emily had to take her 3rd grade diagnostic tests for science and writing, which means I got to corral Haley and Will for 2 hours in a hotel lobby, and they tell you not to leave in case your kid finishes early. Woot! Then we rushed to gymnastics where I hung around for another two hours, while all 3 kids had their classes.

Afterward Will positively flipped out, so I told him, as he screamed all the way home, that it was evident he was very tired and when we got home he was going to bed. At one point he screamed so loud,  during the brief silence that followed, the girls and I burst out laughing. It was just so incongruous, such an intense burst of rage coming from such a little body. He DID NOT APPRECIATE our laughter, AT ALL. He's been angry a lot lately, and although Aaron and I had a pow-wow and have been working on it, it's just exhausting. It's like he's 2 all over again.

All I wanted to do tonight was nothing. Just read, or watch a TV show, and chill, but my neighbors asked me to watch their kids for an hour, so I said I would. I fed the kids, but I don't want to make dinner for Aaron. Maybe he'll have a psychic vision of take-out on the way home.

Estómago gripe! It's fun to say in Spanish.

We've all had the stomach flu this week. Aaron had it the worst, and thankfully the kids' bouts were very mild. Mine wasn't too terrible, except for me poisoning the air with a stench so foul that Aaron had to sleep on the couch. It was like I had some kind of evil super power-- Diarrhea Woman and her Power of Putrid! (Now I'm giggling because diarrhea is one of the words I can never, ever spell, and in fact butcher it so badly that spell check says, "Lady, we don't know what that is, but we know it ain't a word." My choices to replace: diphtheria, harridan, remarriage, Obadiah. Then spell check had a shot of tequila and called it a day.)

Anyway, I was never so thankful to have indoor plumbing, because I can tell you if I lived in an earlier time where people threw the contents of their chamber pots in the streets, I would've been burned at the stake.  Sorry, TMI, I know.

Let's talk of something more pleasant, like my sweet, sweet bathtub, Bertha. I love you Bertha! You who cradled me in warmth half the night, two nights in a row. And now that I think of it, my pillow top mattress was pretty sweet to me too.

So about this whole blog thing. Am I just dying by inches, or awaiting a revival? I can't decide.  I this is my 588th post, so if I'm still in limbo a dozen posts from now, I'll probably just put this horse out of her misery.

If you need me I'll be on the couch, drinking Fresca, and possibly making clay beads with my kids, but not doing laundry, no, definitely not. What are you doing today, this last day before the work week begins again?

Send long underwear.

It's -5 here. See the little dash in front of that number? I like to think of it as a horizontal icicle ready to brain me the minute I walk out the door. I'm freezing my ass off.

I was going to call Monday to see if flu shots are available.

Crap quiche. I just got home from work. I have to work tomorrow and Sunday, and I can feel I'm getting sick. That vaguely aching, pins-and-needles feeling is settling over me. I have swabbed my nose with Zicam, taken Vitamin C, Zinc, and B complex. I'm going to drink a big glass of water, and get in bed.

I'm not getting sick, I'm not getting sick, I'm not getting sick!

I Have Hit The Wall

Seriously y'all. I don't think I can do today. I got an email reminder last night that we're supposed to go to a school picnic today. And I promised to take the kids swimming. And I have to work tonight. I probably could have done any two of those things, but my mental state is... delicate, and I don't know how I'm going to do all three of those things. I told my kids that I don't have much patience today, and I'm really tired, and could they please help me out by not making any huge messes, and getting their swim stuff together. They responded helpfully by arguing over flip flops, and goggles, and then whining about why it's taking so long, and when are we going to leave, until I thought my ears would pop right off my head. Then they made a "surprise party" and invited every stuffed animal they own to the gala event. Then I realized I need to pack lunches, and that nearly sent me over the edge. So far, I have not lost my cool. I have spoken in a pleasant and even tone, but it's only 9:30. How long do you think I can keep that up?

Lesson for the day: People suck.

I discovered this morning some scumbag in Nigeria took a large cash advance on my credit card.

Mad, Bad, Sad

I am a seething mass of anger. I hate being angry. Well, I don't mind if I have a good reason, but in my opinion, there just aren't that many good reasons to be angry, unless it has to do with the oppression of the powerless, or someone taking your parking spot. Bastards. Maybe that's why I haven't been posting lately (you're still talking about not posting? shut UP already, about the not posting) I'm too pissed to post, which is not unlike being too pooped to pop. Things I'm hopping mad about include:

1. I'm hopping mad.
2. my children losing the USB cord I just ordered, and the kitchen timer, and my keys because they do not understand the concept of not playing with stuff that's not a toy. Grrrrrrrrrr.
3. my dog jumping on the kitchen chair and eating the lunch leftovers. Well, at least she has the courtesy to wait until we're through with the meal.
4. my husband who asked disdainfully "Did you put ketchup on my burger?" And then when I said yes asked "Why?" Gosh, darling I'm a tad colorblind, and I guess I mistook the red ketchup for the green ARSENIC PASTE I meant to put on your hamburger. I'll try not to make that mistake again.
5. Sugar. I ate two bowls of peanut butter Mini Swirlz for breakfast, which is probably why I'm feeling so murderous for no good reason.
6. The fact that I ate a cereal that spells swirls with a Z, and whose slogan is "It's like flavor to the 10th power, without the math!" I'll give you flavor to the tenth power. Bastards.
7. I'm fat. See #5
8. The stupid satellite receiver keeps overheating, and I have to reset the thing all the time, and it takes me about 20 minutes to get the TV to work. What am I? A Pilgrim? What's next? Starting fire by rubbing sticks together?
9. That my children are bickering like the endangered Bickering Hyena. And I can't send them to school in two weeks. Actually that one makes me feel like crying.
10. That I'm treating my kids like crap today. That one makes me feel like crying too.

Maybe I need to go have a good cry.

Bad. Bad. Haircut.

It looks like a cat hacked up a furball on my head. 

And? I tipped her.

Because my belief in tipping for service is stronger than my belief in stabbing people with scissors.

I'm going to lunch now.

I haven't eaten a thing all day. I got up at 1:30 this morning to spend two fruitless hours trying to write a piffly java script. Then I threw in the towel, and scraped some XHTML which will do basically the same thing. I have a headache starting at my eyebrow and curving around my head to my neck like one of those children's "follow the path" puzzles. Dude, I have got to learn to prioritize:

1. sleep
2. food
3. mind numbing code
4. Advil

ETA: It's 2:00 in the morning. Again. What can I say, I'm a slow learner.

I have 20 minutes before I have to leave for my interview at Michaels. The wardrobe of an at-home mom really doesn't lend itself to grown-up pursuits like getting a job. I have no blouses without stains on them. The one with the subtlest stain is a short-sleeved sweater. Didi I mention it's hot? So I'm going to a job interview in a short-sleeved sweater, which has a small stain. I'm sure they'll want to hire me on the spot.

Of Cabbages and Kings

You know, a lot of being a mom is just being there. It's watching Calliou (whose parents parent so much better than I do) with Will, making sure Emily wears her helmet when she skates, and seeing to it Haley gets all the shampoo out of her hair.

No PetSafe Deluxe Remote Trainer Dog Collar for you !

Am I the only one out there who feels betrayed by eBay vultures who swoop in when there's only 32 seconds left in an auction, and out bid you? It's like getting ready to pull into a parking space, and some goon in a banana-yellow IROC zooms in from the opposite way, and zips in before you. Then you get that pathetic email 2 minutes later "eBay item not won." Yeah, rub it in, why don't you.

Note To Self

On mornings when your feeling particularly panicky and paranoid, it's best not to peruse the front page as your waiting in line at Starbucks.

Yick, I already can't stand this post

Yesterday I went over to my neighbor's house. Holy cow, it was immaculate. I've been over there before, and every time I think, "Holy cow, this place is immaculate." I really need to ask her for neat lessons. So in a fit of insecurity I ran home and joined flylady. I'd perused her site from time to time, but hadn't joined. Good grief, I didn't realize I was joining a cult! 67 emails a day about making your bed and cleaning your sink, and putting your shoes on?!

Stop The Insanity

I don't ask for much. Even though we may give India nuclear carte blanche, I'm keeping mum. When we almost handed our port security over to Dubai, I didn't bother my busy congressperson. I didn't complain when we decided to invade Iraq for no good reason. But even I have my limits. That's why this time, I HAD to speak out.

Dear Fox-WXYZ Staff, Several times over the past couple of weeks I've tuned in to watch King Of The Hill at 5:30, following The Simpsons (two great tastes that taste great together), only to be confronted with how to lose 5 lbs in an hour, or why I should brush pulverized minerals on my face. Why would you preempt the paragon of cartoons for an infomercial? Have I done something to offend you? Okay, I admit I've never watched 24 and I haven't been that into this season's American Idol, but I faithfully watch House, and Bones. The only other show I watch is CSI, which means that 83% of my TV time is spent watching FOX. Doesn't consumer loyalty mean anything to you? Throw me a bone. Sincerely Missing Hank, Sheryl Last Name

A girl can only take so much, you know?

I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

I just called my "insurance." It turns out they will pay for me to see a pychologist 20 times per calendar year. Dude, that's not even twice a month. Either those Hum@n@ higher ups are all A-smile-is-a-light-in-the-window-of-your-face chirpy imbeciles or they're in serious denial.

WELCOME TO MY BRAIN

My mind is watercolor paper, thoughts bleed together like paint. I say "put the dog in her hand" instead of crate, "fasten your seat tell" instead of belt. I make 5 or 6 daily errors like this. I think I'll go to a certain store, mentally charting a route to get there, only to remember that it's in the last state we lived in, or the state before that. Vague apprehension circles above me like a buzzard  looking for carrion, and I often feel as if I'm one or two missteps from a very bad decision-- like spending the mortgage money on lotto tickets. (I've never bought a lotto ticket, since I think it's legalized racketeering, as I say, it's vague, what the misjudgment would be, but it seems plausible.) I look up words in the dictionary, even if I know their meaning, just to be sure. I'm bone-achingly tired. The other day I found my keys the freezer. Time seems to stop and start without warning. I'll look at the clock, and two hours have passed during what I'm sure was a ten minute span. My startle response is through the roof. The other night at dinner a dented two liter bottle of diet Dr. Pepper cracked back into place, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I go to another part of the house, and can't remember why I'm there. Half my synapses have set up toll turnstiles, and my nerve impulses aren't carrying correct change. I'm out of it.

P.S. 5 minutes after I hit publish on this entry,  I turned on the TV to watch King of The Hill, and instead they were showing an infomercial for Sheer Cover. Simultaneously I heard a breaking glass in the kitchen, which turned out to be Haley dropping 2 quarts of purple grape juice on the kitchen floor. The universe is harshing my mellow. Well, time to mop the floor (with my tears-- just kidding).

Fasten Your Seatbelts, It's Going To Be A Bumpy Day

• days I've forgotten to take my depression meds - 5

• Valentine candies I've eaten today - 40ish

• hours until I can knit up the raveled sleeve of care, and sleep - 13

• times I've wondered why I won't take care of myself - 8,465

• people who suffer when I play fast and loose with my mental health - 5

• games of Pyramid Solitare I've played instead of tending to my needs, and the needs of my family - 50ish

• loads of guilt I'm carrying - 250

• odds of pulling my crap together today, because I'm sick of being miserable - 1 in 2

• minutes until I get off my duff, and try to pull my crap together (starting with going into the kitchen and taking my meds) - .5

HOW TO PISS ME OFF

After I've spent all day making your favorite meal of pot roast (which I don't even like), roasted new potatoes, carrots, and homemade bread, say "I'd rather order a pizza." Garage, table for one?

Whiny McGriperson

The good news is that this strain of flu is very short lived, only lasting about a day, and each kid got it on successive days so I only had to take care of one puking child at a time. Also Aaron and I haven't caught it, yay! The bad news is my caretaking skills are at their raggedy-frayed end. I started to tear up when Haley came padding down the hall at 6:30 this morning, the rythmic whsh whsh whsh of her Pull-Up-encased bootie struck dread into my heart, because I just cannot meet the needs of ONE MORE PERSON. I haven't left my house since...Tuesday, I think, so I am absolutely stir-freakin-crazy. It snowed, which is nice, but also adds to my sense of isloation. Gah. Sorry for the whinefest. Hopefully I'll get out of here today for a little while.

Send Gatorade

Haley and Emily have the stomach flu. Haley's puke-o-rama started this morning. Poor thing hasn't even been able to keep water down, although I successfully gave her 2 teaspoons of gatorade about an hour ago, so maybe I can start hydrating her little by little. Emily came home from school, and was fine, but about 5:00 she tossed her cookies. Literally-- red sugar cookies from her after school snack. I'm buying stock in Spot Shot. Aaron and I looked at each other during the scrubbing and wondered aloud how long we have before Operation Vomit begins for the parents. Looks like I'll have to wait until after I'm sick to go to the doctor for my ears. Maybe I won't get it. I've been washing my hands more than lady Macbeth, so I could get lucky. I am thankful that for the most part my kids can make it to the toilet, or hit the bucket. Hey, I gotta count my blessings where I can.

Take My Cough, Please

At first this felt like a typical cold, and then it morphed into a fluish chills/fever/achy thing, and now? I don't know what it is. A cold with super-human snot? I wake in the mornings with my eyes glued shut, feel my way to the bathroom, where I pry the the crust off with a putty knife and a bottle of Goo-Gone. Then I blow my nose for 20 minutes trying to evict the most viscous snot from the premises. When that fails, I gingerly wedge the vacuum cleaner hose up each nostril in turn, set the vacuum dial to SUCK PAINT OFF WALLS, and let that baby fly. I think I might be able to patent the stuff as an alternative to rubber cement.

Harry Potter And The Pitiable Postponement

View here. Choose fastest speed. (Run time, 2 minutes.)

Morning Vent-i, Steaming Hot

Oh my stars, I am so frustrated with Haley I could spit nails. This weekend she managed to crack the windshield on the van, break the garage door by hanging on it as it was going up, lose 5 phonics books which I told her not to touch, move the fish to his new home, the toilet bowl, and do 5,000 various other  things she knows she's not supposed to do. She was very busy.

Haley is my Mini-me. I know how she thinks. She doesn't care about material objects; they hold very little meaning for her. It's not that she tries to treat things badly, she's just missing the gene, or the personality trait, or whatever it is that makes her conscientious. She's not even aware of it. I used to wonder why my sister got so upset when I would borrow her LPs (yes, LPs, I'm that old), or how she even knew I had borrowed them. Well, she knew because I scratched them, and put them in the wrong dust jackets. I used to genuinely wonder how my sister never broke stuff, how she kept her toys in such perfect condition, while my toys rarely lasted through Christmas day. I'm still very hard on things.

This freewheeling approach to life does have a positive aspect. Haley will  be extremely low maintenance, she'll be very agreeable when friends are trying to decide whether to order Indian or Chinese food.  She'll never be a worrier, not much will ruffle her feathers. Even now she rides the school bus. At that age Emily wouldn't have set foot on that big scary yellow monster where she could get off at the wrong stop. I remember one time when I was 5, I got lost in Goldwaters (yes, Goldwaters, I'm that old). I approached a sales clerk and said, "I can't find my mama." The sales clerk said, "Oh, you're lost! I'll help you." To which I replied, "I'm not lost, I'm right here, I just can't find my mama." Meanwhile my mother was frantically searching three floors, while I was having a coke in the employee lounge.

I was thinking about what my parents could have done to help me be more painstaking. What would have motivated me, or opened my eyes a bit? And the conclusion I came to is, nothing. I don't think anything could have altered that part of me, because it's part of me. Even very severe punishment wouldn't have altered the pococurante outlook that seems to be apart of my (our) elemental make-up.

So how did I handle this weekend's misadventures? What could I do? I assigned the pro-forma consequences, lectured about not doing things which she knows she's not supposed to do (while she heard "Wah wah wawa wah wa wa!") and tried to be thankful she won't ever have a bleeding ulcer (unless she gets a kid just like her).

Daily Dose Of Neurosis

This morning I had to go to court to represent a child placed into temporary custody of the county, due to the mom having unstable housing, no job, and leaving her child to be cared for by people who run a meth lab out of their house. Good times.

Afterward I had some child-free time, so I went to the local party store (Party Barn, Party City, Party Kibbutz, whatever) to fill out a job application. I think the time has come, poppets, for Sheryl to become gainfully employed. A) we need the money and B) I need to get out of the damn house once in a while, preferably before Haley's comet makes another pass by earth.

I had a lot of anxiety around filling out that ap. I have been at home for 8 years now, and I felt really out of place listing my job experience from a lifetime ago. I think they should have transitional programs for mothers trying to re-enter the work force, like they do for soldiers experiencing combat stress.

"If you feel acute anxiety over your lack of ability to direct customers to the SpongeBob SquarePants plates, or you're having nightmares about being late for work because your toddler threw his spaghetti at you just as you were leaving, don't suffer in silence. Call 1-800-555-FAIL. "

It's not that I'm worried I can't do the job, since I think the most challenging task will be filling balloons with helium. The real problem is how I think they (in this case the manager, but otherwise They-- the clandestine operatives whose mission is to convince me I'd be acceptable, if I were someone else.) will perceive me. And of course I have no confidence people will see anything but a fat, at-home mom, spending her evenings stocking isle 9 with My Little Pony piñatas, while her college degree slowly yellows and disintegrates. Gosh, I'm a ray of sunshine today, aren't I?

So I need to ease up on others, and myself. And also I need to think about what kind of work I really want, not just what I think I might be able to get. In the meantime, I'll try this out, and see how it goes. I think working in a party store could be fun. It will be easy, so I won't have to tax my mommy brain, and a nice change of pace, assuming I don't have to break up any arguments among co-workers about whose turn it is to ask the Magic 8 Ball a question.