Why the am I Getting a Call From a Liquor Store at 10 AM?

So today, I am figuring bills, and just like every late-November/ December, there never seems to be enough money. The car needs new tires. My last car, a little compact, took about $300 to do this. My car now? Well, the cheapest estimate is $775. And then there is Christmas presents. Evan wants an iPod Touch, and music seems to soothe him, and he really uses the El-Cheapo mp3 player he has now, so he shall get what he wants. And he needs a new bike. And scooter. And anything else I can give him to get him active. In other words, we are long-removed from the days where several $20-toys satisfied him. And John broke the artificial tree the last year that we put one up–years ago. I know, I know. I’m a horrible mom. But those are expensive, and I really wanted to put one up this year…..

I was just about to have a mini Andi meltdown when the phone rang this morning. John had left to fill a prescription. And it was the landline, which never rings anymore. “Deters Liquors” said the caller ID. W….T….F?????? It was 10 AM.

And I answer. It’s John. My eyes immediately diverted to the desk, where his cell was wedged in between the modem, printer, and laptop. And then my next reaction: HE HAS ZACH WITH HIM! AT A FUCKING LIQUOR STORE! Parenting at its best, right there. And then my next thought, “This has got to be bad.” We don’t drink. Not wine, not beer. Once every few years, I will have a Grey Goose and tonic on New Years’ when I am not working. Every. Few. Years. Why is my husband at a liquor store that isn’t even on the way to the pharmacy, with my toddler in tow?

“Ummmm, Andrea?”

“WHAT THE….”

” I’m gonna be a little longer. I got held up.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘held up’? You have Zach with you. At a liquor store, Dude.”

“Well……I-know-you-hate-when-I-play-the-lottery-and-say-it’s-a-total-waste, but…….”

“BUT WHAT?!?!”

“I bought a $3 ticket and…….I kinda won. Well, no, I did win. A thousand dollars. I’m waiting for them to cash it now, but she had to call her manager to get into the safe to get it.”

I couldn’t really be mad anymore, could I? Though I was still pondering the liquor store. And having visions of my husband having a secret problem that I didn’t know about. Hittin’ the bottle in the wee hours while I’m at work or something. But I should’ve known that that was never John’s style. He had a little incident while drunk in his Marine Corps days that turned him off a long time ago. That and cheating are the two things I never have to worry about with John.

It turned out the story was really innocent. He had stopped to get gas and bought the ticket at a gas station. The place was packed, with really skeevy-looking people. And while John isn’t afraid of anyone, he had enough sense to know that he did not want to get mugged with Zachy in his arms. He had the $1K, plus a substantial sum of my pay on his person, which equated to a pretty healthy sum. He was being protective. And smart. And he went to the liquor store that I used to stop at on the way anywhere to get a Diet Coke. They knew us there, because we would stop because they were never crowded. And he knew this. And so he drove a little out of the way to cash the ticket in where there weren’t skeevy eyes watching him fold the wad of bills into his wallet. I find it all incredibly cute, actually.

So the moral of the story is that we had $997 more than we had when he went to the pharmacy. I felt like I had to do something with the money, so we took a trunk-full of diapers to a local charity for single parents who said they were in desperate need of size 3 diapers. You know—Karma and all. And I replaced the Christmas tree. And paid some bills, all with free money.

If I were a religious person, I would’ve said someone was looking out for me.

If It Weren’t For Nuns, My Child Would Starve

IF YOU CAN’T TOLERATE THE F-BOMB, JUST FUCKING MOVE ALONG ON THIS ONE.

As if we didn’t have enough drama in this house…

It doesn’t matter what I do. I send Evan in with lunch money to be put on his account. Or I can pack his lunch. Whatever. We still get cafeteria bills. In general, it costs about $100 per month to feed Evan school lunches. Remember when we were kids and it took like 75 cents per day? And an extra quarter got you an extra helping on pizza day? Those days are gone. They went bye-bye along with the little rubber squeezy change holders that held your lunch money daily. Now my kid has a name badge thay he swipes like a debit card, and we have to add money to it.

Sometimes, in the craziness that is my household, I forget. And sometimes I don’t. Regardless, we get the bill.

Two days ago, we got hate mail from the cafeteria lady. Evan has a bill. Again. And it needs to be paid. So I went to get money out and discovered that instead of deducting my normal monthly car insurance premium, Geico took enough to cover the entire policy. Oops. When I renewed, I forget to opt for the monthly payments. My fault. But oh, shit, we have no money! So I tried to call the cafeteria lady and got no answer. Since I had no cash, and Evan has to have lunch, I sent him in with enough to cover one day’s worth. There! Evan gets lunch until my payroll hit this morning.

Yesterday, when Evan returned from school, he had more hatemail. Another copy of his bill, and in black marker and block letters at the bottom, the cafeteria lady basically stated that I am the scumofthefuckingearth and sending Evan in with enough to cover one lunch was NOT ACCEPTABLE–her emphasis, not mine–and that we owed a bill. Again, we tried to call and got no answer.

This morning, I sent Evan to school as normal. I told him to let them know that we would go to an ATM and bring money in for his cafeteria bill and to tell whoever this information. John overslept and didn’t have time to stop at an ATM on the way, so he would have to bring the money back to the school. So what happened?

My kid calls me, crying, from the office. “Mommy, they said you have to bring me a sandwich or s-s-s-s-something for lunch, that I cannot go h-h-h-h-hungry. I told them what you told me to tell them, but they still made me call you!”

To which my response was to make Evan put an adult on the damned phone. Basically, the nun that answered told me that they are concerned for Evan, that he has to eat and how did I plan on feeding him. Blah blah blah. How their only concern was Evan.

Are you serious? MY  only concern is Evan. I will ensure that he eats. We are bringing in money, for God’s sake. We are not trying to starve our kid. His bill is thirteen fucking dollars and we are acting like it is a federal crisis and poor Evan is going to go hungry and never eat again. And for the record, I would have packed Evan a lunch today and just sent the money in with Evan tomorrow, but I was out of fucking bread for a God-forsaken PB&J and Evan refused an Uncrustable in place of his fucking PB&J-with-the-fucking-crusts-cut-off. So ta-daaaaa. You have to wait for me to get one of us to an ATM. And while we on the topic of my failure to feed my kid, John would have had time to stop at an ATM before school had Evan not nibbled on his breakfast, insisting on eating one fucking Cheerio at a time, citing that too big a bite is a fucking choking hazard. What 10-year-old speaks of choking hazards, anyway? Mine, that’s who!

Maybe I should just revert to my passive aggressive bitchiness and really prove my point. I wonder if that five-star place around the corner caters school lunches!?!? Better yet, how would the nuns react to the waiter showing up with a silver platter and tucking the linen napkin neatly onto Evan’s lap for him?

What’s the Deal with the Kindle, Already?

*Sigh* I don’t own a Kindle.

I have wanted a Kindle for as long as they have been out. Since their shiny newness was cutting-edge technocrap. I have blogged before that, damnit, I was going to buy myself a Kindle.

I still haven’t bought a damned Kindle. Even though their prices continue to drop and you can now get a decent one, a highly purposeful one, for like somewhere less than $100.

What is my problem? I have no problem thunking down money for a oy for one of the boys. For a meal out. For nice perfume or gym shoes for work. Why don’t I have a Kindle?

And now, after some heavy self-psychologizing, I know.

I’m old. That’s my theory. I am old and set in my ways. I resist technology. Exhibit A? The length of time it took me to buy a cell phone. But when I did, I bought an Android smartphone and now I would rather cut off my arm than live without it, and want an even better, more advanced smartphone that can do even more. Exhibit B? The fact that my courses this session didn’t come with books, but E-Books! Which I’m fairly certain are less books and more data files, no less. I just about had a meltdown. I was seriously pissed, and promptly wasted trees and killed the environment by printing out all of the chapters listed in the syllabi, spent the time with the 3-hole punch and arranging the chapters into binders. Essentially, I made my own damned books and didn’t look back.

Here’s the thing: (And you will probably attempt to have me committed after reading this) I love books. Books. I love the glossy cover and crisp pages of a new book. I love spending time pouring over shelves at a massive bookstore trying to find the next great read by that new auhor who may even become my favorite. I love that little sound the spine of a new book makes when you really get into the pages for the first time. (Though, just a bit of Bitchypants trivia for you, my biggest pet peeve is a broken spine on a book. They just never look the same on the shelf again.) I love the smell of new books.

Yeah, yeah, the Kindle is handy and I still want one. I realize I could potentially carry my entire library in my purse if I just bought the damned thing. But has anyone ever truly been out in public and thought to themselves, “Self, I really wish you had your entirefuckinglibrary in your purse right now because this line at the bank is horrifically long and you could spend this time reading your entirefuckinglibrary?” I doubt this has ever happened. To anyone.I am perfectly content with one book in my bag. If things get really crazy, I may even have a couple of books in my backpack.

I’ll buy the Kindle eventually because I know it will travel well and I am the girl who always has a book of some kind on her person. But now I know why I have resisted for so long: I am a closeted book purist.

From a Different Place

Something funny happened over the past 24 hours. It started from the dark place of yesterday’s post. That was prompted by my discovery that I had miscalculated my pay for this payday. So this morning, I went to the bank. I was worried about an education loan that reaches maturity in 2 weeks and has a balloon payment due. And I was talking to the manager.

“I’m just tired,” I said. “I’m tired of working this hard and making the money I do, and having nothing to show for it at the end of the day.”

And he did something I didn’t expect. He pivoted his computer screen around so I could see it from my side of his desk.

“Not for nothing, Andrea. This check right here? Well, it was written to a school. A certain elementary school. And the memo says ‘tuition-Evan’.”

“And this right here? It tells me that you have a very late-model car that is over halfway paid off. And this line? That line shows me that your husband has a motorcycle-a toy- worth more than that late model car. And here is your personal loan. And the beauty of it all is in these columns right here,” he said as he pointed to 2 columns of zeros. One being days past due, and one being balance owed today. Zeros all the way down the screen. My bills are paid. Not completely paid off, but paid.

And this morning, as I was trying to figure how to squeeze bill payments out of a smaller than expected paycheck, I began to look into stuff. Turns out it is November, the next to last month in the year. And I have accrued a bunch of vacation time that has to be used by December 31st. No vacays for me, but I can cash it out and have it added to my next payceck. Plus, according to the bank manager, I am allowed to skip one month of each loan. In all of the years I have been doing business with this bank, I never knew this. It’s a sort of freebie thing they do. So no more car or motorcycle payments for November, which frees up about $700. And last night, I got called into work. You know what I make in one overtime shift? About $580. In one fucking day of work. So just like that, with a little mental power, I came up with an extra $2700 for this month’s budget. Just like that.

The bank manager is so right.

I have no reason to bitch. Tonight, we went to the grocery store. I was able to buy an entire case of diapers for Zach. Not generic ones, but Pampers Cruisers, which are the most expensive diapers I have found. (Those are the only ones that don’t break him out.) There are parents all over this country who can’t buy enough diapers for the day, let alone for the month. We bought food. Granted I was a little more frugal–I bought the veggies that were on sale instead of just grabbing what I always buy. We bought the cereal we like, but instead of the snacky cereal we usually buy for Zach, we bought the gigantic bag that is cheaper. I bought the pasta sauce that was on sale and store-brand coffee creamer. But I left with a cart full of food and was able to fill the fridge and freezer with food while only going one dollar over my budget. And tonight, we are going to eat dinner on a table that is only a couple months old. In a house that is warm and has electricity. While dinner is cooking, I am blogging this on a month-old laptop with my highspeed internet access. My beautiful, healthy ten-year old, who was never even supposed to make it into this world, is sitting on a newer sofa watching our digital cable on a tv that may not be the latest technology, but is more than adequate. My husband is laying on the living room floor completing a homework assignment for the math class that I paid for. And when he gets stumped on a problem, I am able to help him. After dinner, when the beautiful, healthy toddler , who also shouldn’t have made it into this world, gets his bath and dressed in pajamas, he will give me the big Zachy smile and sloppy baby goodnight kiss before he is tucked into bed. And then I can complete the homework for the businesses classes I paid for and are going to be my ticket to a better tomorrow. And then I will study with a 5-inch thick book that says “GMAT” on the cover, which will be my ticket to an even better better tomorrow. And tomorrow morning, I will walk to the park with my beautiful baby and we will spend my day off laughing and giggling while Daddy and Bubby are both at school.

The moral of the story? I don’t have a damned thing to bitch about. I have everything to be grateful for tonight. That’s what this month is supposed to be, right? To pause and give thanks?

No, I don’t have a huge balance in the bank account. But it’s in the black for right now. And I have this life that is so…full. And I did it. I did it all.

I’m not wealthy. But I sure am rich as hell.

(Thanks to Mary for the inspiration. Something about her words today just drove home what I have been thinking all day.)

 

Fall is in the Air

This? This is my absolute favorite season by far. Spring brings allergies, winter brings icy roads, and summer brings oppressive heat that makes me feel as if my fat cells are melting. But fall? Is there anything bad about fall? The perfect temperature for my favorite attire: a good ol’ hoodie and jeans. Leaves crunching underfoot. The smell of firewood burning from a neighboring chimney. College football rivalries and perfect cool nights for a good cup of coffee. Halloween and the fun of picking out costumes for the kiddos. You can walk around the block without dripping with sweat. I. Love. Fall.

Today, John is in class and Evan is at school. Since I am feeling a little bit better, Zach and I headed outside for some fresh air. It would seem Zachy loves fall as much as I do. He had a ball exploring and I giggled as I watched all of his cuteness toddling around, amazed at things we all take for granted: a bright orange leaf that had fluttered to the ground, the crisp green of shrubs, the chirping of nearby birds. Of course it only took about 45 minutes before he discovered that the sidewalk seemed to go on forever and he could run, run, run! And then he discovered the street, so after about 15 gazillion times of stopping him from running out in front of a moving vehicle, Mommy was worn out and we ended our excursion.

But not before I got some cute photos.

PS: I totally did not realize that I dressed him like the Lennox Air Conditioning man until I viewed these photos!

Happy Fall, Everyone!

Hard Evidence That I Suck at Life Right Now

I’m sick. Not deathly ill, but just a little under the weather. And what comes with feeling a little under the weather? I have absolutely no desire to do anything.

My house is a mess. Not just any mess, mind you. No, it’s a mess. I’m choosing to call it crackhouse-chic. As in nothing is where it should be. I am sitting at my desk right now, and I am appalled at the clutter. A dirty coffee mug, abandoned and empty and left there most likely at 3AM when I was awake in the wee hours trying to get a paper submitted by a deadline. An empty OJ bottle from when I grabbed some juice from the cafeteria on the way out of work on what was my fourth night in a row at that hell hole. Camera, cell, and mp3 player, all with their affiliated charges and USB cables, in a jumble of wires. My purse, unzipped and laying on its side, with contents strewn out across the space. I think this is the remnant of the search for my sunglasses for our walk yesterday. And there are about three empty inhalers.

Empty inhalers from where I have been wheezing like a freak for the past few days, to the point that coworkers would tell me, “Andrea, take your inhaler.” Because they could hear my dysfunctional lungs. It has yet to be seen if this is due to the fact that I have allergies like a mofo, I have been coming down with something, or a few days ago, I was taking puffs off of an inhaler that apparently was involved in a freak body-spray-leakage and thus drenched in the stuff. Nothing like Victoria’s Secret’s Strawberries and Champagne fumes all up in your lungs. Anyhow, I think it was the second one, that I’m coming down with something, simply because yesterday, the other stuff started: runny nose, cough, achiness.

But my dysfunction isn’t limited to the desk. Let’s discuss the kitchen table. Diaper bag. A stack of board games that have been uprooted from their home when Zach started really  walking, and we realized he could reach them, complete with their choking-hazard little pieces. As in, “What’s that in Zachy’s lung? Oh, it’s a family member from the Game of Life–not sure if it’s mommy or daddy because the pink or blue doesn’t show up on an x-ray and he’s gonna need a bronchoscopy to get it dislodged from his bronchiole so we can know…” But I digress. What else? Text books. Mine. From where Ev spilled juice the other day and John made a mad dash to save the (quite literally) thousands of dollars’ worth of what is essentially paper and cardboard and ink. There’s also a bottle of shampoo that never found its way to the bathroom when groceries were put away…two weeks ago. A bottle of multi-purpose cleaner…ditto.  The list goes on and on.

I’ve fallen behind on my blog, as well as reading others’.

Evan starts school in 2 weeks. T-W-O. I have not bought him a single school supply. He needs all new uniforms this year, from short sleeve to long sleeve, shorts to pants. Hell, he even needs new gym clothes. That one is all the school’s fault: we wore whatever for gym class when I was a kid. Evan has to have navy sweats and plain white t-shirts. And he needs new shoes….Gah.

The day before Ev starts school, John does as well. He can get his own damned books. He’s a big boy.

I am finishing up my e-commerce class. Next up is corporate finance and  operations management, Don’t be jealous. Actually, I have the overwhelming feeling that those two are going to suck when put together in the same 5 weeks. I have this week and next to not have to worry about it, so screw it. And I must admit that I have coasted by on my e-commerce. But I also have a perfect score right now with only 2 assignments left to submit. Oh wait, I lied. I missed 5 points on last paper because I forgot to close the parentheses on one of my citations. So I may only get a fucking 99.9%. Pffft.

I have a mandatory meeeting coming up as well. For the NICU. I’m on the list to go there. As a result, I have to go and spend some time at Cincinnati Children’s RCNIC (Regional Center for Neonatal Intensive Care). Sweet baby Jesus, help me. Because I can keep my shit together when it counts. But then, once it is all over, the baby is saved, and it is time to move on, I think of mine. I picture Zach and Evan and what could have been with either one of them, and I break down. Well, there, that is all I’m going to see for 8 hours a day until my rotation is over. These are the gods of the neonatal world. Other specialty children’s hospitals send them the shit they can’t handle. Actually, they’re ranked number 3 in the nation. 3. Out of God-knows-how-many. This will be so exciting, yet so emotionally and mentally stressful. I can wait on that, too.

I have to come up with 36 continuing education credits in order to renew my creds with the National Board for Respiratory Care. Yeah. I actually don’t have to have that finished, but I need to ensure that all of my credits count before the deadline, so I have time to replace the ones that do not count. Either that, or I can sit for my credentialing exams all over again. No, thank you.

So the bottom line is that I have a lot of crap to do, and no gumption to do any of it. Yes, I suck at life right now.

Five Things…

That I want to do this summer…..Read at least 25 books. I used to read about 5 books a week. And then I had kids. And got a career. And decided I needed more education. We’ll see how this goes.This. This shit right here. John and I bought the P90X crap. And the equipment. And I really want to start it up and even if I don’t finish it in time for summer’s end, I at least want to get a good start and make it a part of our routine.I want a friggin’ Kindle, already. The damned things are now less than $200 with  all of the extras. I have no excuse anymore that can keep me from breaking down and treating myself. I fuckin’ deserve it, damnit.And last, but most definitely not the least: I want to get my ass back in the water. Even if I have gained 50 lbs in the past year. Even if my ‘fly now rivals a drowning fish in ridculousness. Even if I can’t hang for more than a 50 at a time. I just want back in. For the stress relief, the solitude. Just for me. Because nothing relieves stress like crisp, cool, chlorinated water at about 6AM on a summer day. It has this cathartic value of being able to just wash it all away. And let’s face it: Mama needs this.And wine. I am a wine ‘tard. And I really, really want to change that. As a matter of fact, I think I will kick off my list with this one. On my first day off of work. Yeah, that’s it. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

I’ll keep you posted. Unless I’m drunk. Or I drowned in the pool. Or had a massive myocardial infarction induced by Tony Horton and his damned killer exercises.

Until then…

Peace out, Homies.

>My World Right Now

>I’m just busy. Busy Busy Busy. Again. Still. Always.
So here are some bullet points for you. A brief synopsis of my life, and this style seems appropriate right now, considering how I am spending most of my time.

• Work fricken sucks. For some reason it has gotten busy, and I’m not sure what is going on because it isn’t flu season. No new obscure respiratory epidemic has surfaced. People are just…sick. And I make a living taking care of them, and so I am busy.
• School fricken sucks. This program I am in is accelerated, so the classes are only five weeks long. The last session I took was one class, and it was still busy because it was so condensed. This time I am in 2 classes: Legal/ Ethical Environment of Business, and Management Accounting. And if one was busy, two is insanity. I have 3 2,000-word papers due for each class this coming week. That’s 12K words, y’all. With 60 hours of work. And 2 kids. I want to take up drinking. But if I do that, there is no way I will comprehend the hundreds of pages of reading they have given me to do. The mind-numbing reading.
• I got an A in my marketing class. Let me rephrase that: I rocked that shit out.
• Jesus didn’t show up on a cloud or with a clap of thunder and take anybody away. I never thought he was going to and realized that Camping douchebag was a nutcase, but the agnostic/ borderline-atheist in me was secretly thinking, on a very small scale, that it would suck if I was wrong.
• I paid off the last of my pregnancy bills this past week. Zach has been paid for. It only took a year of crazy work schedules and living as if we were below poverty guidelines. Now I can try to regenerate my savings and since I know I am not going to med school anymore, we can work on buying a house after I have a little bit of cushion. Or maybe I should wait until the MBA is done. Hell, who knows?
• Evan is having some major psychological problems. I can only hope it is not what I think it is. I can say that I have been doing some research and when I read this one article, my heart sank because it was like I was reading about him.
• John enrolled in classes. Just a little vocational program for HVAC, but their median starting salary is comparable to my starting base salarywas as an RT when I first graduated. It would be nice to have the extra. I would say that I would slack off at work, but that isn’t true. The extra would just facilitate us reaching our goals a little quicker. (See above.)

I think that’s all. Sorry. I need to spend time writing academic papers now. And ptting my brain to sleep with Business Law. Peace out, homies.

>Reunited

>

“Reunited and it feeeeeels so goooooood……” Ummmm, not really. Yesterday, dear bloggy friends, I reunited with an old friend. It wasn’t my recess buddy in grade school or my BFF from high school. It wasn’t my college confidante or one of my sorority sisters (yeah, I was one of those). It was….dun, dun, dunh….The Mart Kart.

Yeah, I know. These things are great, making it possible for the infirm and extremely elderly and handi-capable all to go buy important things like food. And medicine. And their Depends. Well, they’re great and wonderful and convenient…until you have to be the one on it.

Let’s start with how I became an expert driver of the Mart Kart (yes, that really is the brand name of the cart Wally World uses. (Thanks to Evan, whose young and agile brain is able to store vast amounts of such useless info.) I became an expert while preggers, when I was on either bedrest or modified bedrest, and John would shout out, “Honey, I’m going to the store!” And I would yell, “Oh hells no, I’m COMIN’!” And most times I would just waddle to the car and ride along for some scenery, windows down for some fresh air and sunshine. And sometimes, depending what was needed, I would actually go in. But aside from my team of doctors’ orders, I was physically incapable of walking through any store, especially the huge box stores like Wally World, Target, BRU. He would drop me off in front before parking the car, and I would be moving so slow that people passing me on all sides would literally create a breeze effect. Because I had been in bed for months and also because as soon as I tried to stand upright, the contractions would pull my belly so tight that it automatically had me walking stooped over. I would hunch and hobble and waddle my way to the electric scooters and hop on. I had so many misadventures on those damned things and became an expert.

Target’s sucked. They had the big bumper thing on the bottom to keep you from getting too close to anything in the store. But this bumper thing is what caused me to crash into everything. It is what put the feat of God in the people working the electronics and how I got the best service as they brought different cameras to me so I could look and decide on one. There was no way they were going to let me get that close to a glass case. This was, of course, the same day I took out an entire rack of newborn clothing, and I am not even going there. Click the link if you want to read about Mach 5 embarrassment like no other. It was also the week before Zach’s birth.

And then there was the time I thought for sure that I had been busted by the very one from my practice who finally told me, “No more, Andrea. You are to be on bedrest until you deliver. You’re done.” (I later ‘fessed up and discovered that while he didn’t see me that day, that according to him, he has busted many a bedrester that way.)

Or the day someone accused me of being on one out of laziness. Yep, I hate the things.

So here’s what went down: I woke up just a couple of hours after falling asleep on Wednesday morning with my left foot filled with this intense ache in very localized places, yet still radiating up my leg, if that makes any sense at all. I honestly thought it was the weather because it was sunny and 70 here one day and literally 34 degrees and cloudy the very next day. And trying to storm on top of that. I have a bit of arthritis in that leg after having ACL surgery in 2003, so I thought maybe it was the beginning of that type of pain. I took some ibuprofen and went back to sleep. It got worse, but I went to work that evening as planned. Within 2 hours of starting work, I had no idea how I was going to make it through the full 12 hours. It was that bad. I did make it until all of my patients had been seen, though, and I handed off my pager to one of the other therapists. I had to make J0hn come and get me, and went home to ice and elevate my foot. Which helped. Until I tried to stand on it again. I ended up in the ER, getting it x-rayed. I felt silly and stupid and was seriously worried that they would think I was drug-seeking because there is nothing visibly wrong with my foot. Nada. Except I have the ugliest feet. Bunions, ingrown toenails, calluses. Because what I do for a living doesn’t go hand-in-hand with sandal season. But I got people who knew me. And I turned down the pain shot I was offered and requested an anti-inflammatory injection instead. And they said it is bad tendonitis, that they could see hazy areas of inflammation on the x-ray, and that I may have some underlying stress fractures as well, but I won’t know that until it fails to get better. But I am on crutches now. And spent last night drugged up enough that I slept through the entire season finale of Jersey Shore….Erm, I mean another show–a more high-brow show that isn’t so embarrassing. Sucky sucky sucky. Because I apparently work too much. (In fact, it was Wednesday and I had already worked 48 hours this week….They may have been on to something!)

And so I am grounded for a couple of days. But Zach needed diapers because I never did manage to make the switch to cloth. And he needed formula. (Completely random tidbit and silver lining in all of this? That last night, I bought either the last or second-to-last bit of infant formula I have to buy for Zach! That crap is so expensive! And I have yet to decide if I am going to use the toddler formulas they make now.) And the fridge was bare here. And so I had to use the damned scooter. Again. And John laughed at me through the entire store, though Zach watched me from his perch in the cart and seemed to be fascinated that Mommy was motorized.

Such is life.

>Bathtub as a Think Tank

>Okay so I decided, in the middle of the night, to take a hot bath. I lit scented candles and took my book in there. I got a hot cup of coffee. And I soaked. The last time I did this, I was doing so in an attempt to get raging contractions under control, and did so with heart palpitations from Brethine and a near-coma from pain meds. It’s been too long. Honestly, what provoked me tonight was Boobs from Hell, but I talked about that in my previous post. I actually managed to lay on my belly in the tub and read while my hair soaked in conditioner and my boobs actually felt pain-free from the warm water. Ahhhhh.
And then I started thinking.
I hate when I do that.
I thought about how my hair is about 5 or 6 inches from being down to my waist and I really think it is time for the Mommy Cut. If you don’t have kids or this is your first one, not all moms do this, but I will go out on a limb to say that most women who have babies end up cutting their hair off at some point in that baby’s first year. It could be hormones. It could be provoked from a lifestyle change. It could even simply be to keep small fists from grabbing hold and yanking. But I call it the Mommy Cut. I think I need to do it. My hair is always in a bun anyway. But to do so would mean I have to find the time, and it seems the only time I have is in the middle of the night. If there were a salon open at that hour, I don’t think I would trust them. Seriously.

I thought about how the book I was reading could possibly have been lowering my IQ as I read. Okay, I mean no offense by this. But. On my monthly trip to Half-Price Books (love the place and leave there each and every month with a stack of books to read for about $20 to $30) I decided that I was going to tackle the Sookie Stackhouse series from Charlaine Harris. I know plenty of people who read her and actually were fiending for the latest book when it was released. There had to be some merit to that and so I bit (haha, no pun intended). And they are very entertaining and distract me, which is sometimes what I want in a book. And sometimes not. Sometimes I want what I am reading to provoke thought or teach me something, whether about myself or some topic of which I had no prior knowledge. This book was not one of those. But it was entertaining enough for me to continue with the series.

Then I thought of the grammatical errors I found in the book and was peeved. Seriously, where was the editor???? I don’t have perfect grammar, and I even intentionally use incorrect grammar on this blog (Helloooooo, incomplete sentences!), but I am not editing a bestseller to be mass-produced! C’mon, now.

I thought that I should send a card to my doctor who was involved in the code the other night at work. I heard that the woman’s death hit him very hard. I credit him (and the rest of the practice) with Zach’s presence here, and maybe it will make him feel a bit better to have that reminder of the good work he does. But I know I probably won’t do it.

And I kind of felt guilty. Guilty for soaking in a tub? I guess with me working so many hours, I feel like I should spend my off time doing something more productive for the family. I don’t know what. Organize Zach’s Onesies and baby socks? Sanitize all of Evan’s toys while he sleeps? To just soak in a baked-goods-scented bathroom while reading my mindless entertainment just seemed too self-indulgent, which made me think how we mothers are a self-denying bunch at times. I know women who have felt guilty over allowing their brastfed baby to have an extra bottle so they could get a mere 15 minutes of sleep. Who fret over sending their children to daycare so they can have some sort of life for themselves. Who worry that they may not have given their children the best start because they had to have an epidural during delivery for medical reasons. I am not above this, as I have been feeling down on myself for the number of hours I work. I do so, of course, for the financial well-being of my family. I know I am doing a good job, as evidenced by the fact that Evan is getting everything he wants for Christmas. By the fact that Zach, who doesn’t even come close to walking, has a shelf full of designer shoes. That John didn’t get a tie or watch for Christmas, his birthday, or our anniversary, but rather a $18K motorcycle.

And with that thought, the guilt I felt for the soak in a tub in the middle of the night and for the hours I work just ran down the drain with the bath water.