Bow down before me and worship at my feet. I finally fixed a problem that's been plaguing me for 2 days.
"How on earth" you ask, "how on earth did you manage to take that awful little man's code and make it work?"
I rewrote it all.
Oh, I kept what was good about it. There were a couple of very useful variables hidden in that strange and awful stuff. The Queen was awesome. She let me write all over her white board and agreed with everything I said. Then, I went to get a haircut and wrote everything while I was waiting for the stylist. On a piece of scrap paper from my purse. With Bug's Winnie-the-Pooh pen from Disney World. (Being a mom can be so fun sometimes. The fact that a Winnie-the-Pooh pen can rewrite Mickey Mouse code is just tickles.)
So, zip! Back to work. Bam! Write the code. Click. Test it. Oops! Oh, is that all? Bam! Fix the code. Click. Test it. POW! It works and I'm home by 8, where the Eeyore cup is sitting, empy, in the kitchen sink.
Yep. This morining I said "Would you please take that coffee cup in the bathroom down to the kitchen." I said it in a very sweet, gosh-I-love-you-honey kind of voice. I got a blank stare for an answer.
So, I'm a wifely genius too. I actually asked for what I wanted and he did it. This is a strange new phenomenon, I'll test it further and let you know how it goes.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Home, Sweet Disaster Area
There's a mostly-full coffee mug in the upstairs bathroom. At first glance, one would assume it mine. It is, after all, the Eeyore mug that Bear gave me for my birthday last year.
Alas, no. Husband left it there this morning after he came in (while I was showering) for a good-bye kiss, a quick ogle and a last sip of coffee before he headed downstairs (where the kitchen is) and off to work (leaving the bathroom door wide open so the draft could pounce in to tackle the luscious steam heat that I had managed to capture).
At this point, it's slightly more than 14 hours old. I'm giving 10 to 1 odds that it'll still be there when we get back from Holiday World on Wednesday.
Husband and I have been working a lot. Mostly opposite hours. He's off on Monday and some arbitrary other day of the week. I'm off on weekends. The heathens are in daycare on Monday and all the other arbitrary work days of the week. They're off on weekends.
I'm a mostly-single mom (according to me, I certainly am not intending to put myself in the single mom's place, they're goddesses). I do all of the shopping (with heathens in tow), cooking, cleaning, laundering, auto-maintaining (on my car), library-running, movie-returning (without the benefit of movie-watching), dry-cleaning-drop-offing, grounding, yelling, no-saying and anti-depressant taking. Plus, I work a 40-50 hour week. And, I have to stay on top of the whole birth control thing just to keep the heathens from becoming any more plural.
In addition to all of the othering-ing I've been doing for the past week, I've also been sick-kid-coddling (surprise! it's not even a holiday) and sick-me-coddling. The living room is a pit, the kitchen is actually clean except for the dishwasher that simply needs to be unloaded and the laundry is done (as much as laundry can really be "done").
So, I'm leaving the cup.
I am smart enough and experienced enough to realize that The Grand Experiment never works. All of the "sigh"'s, and "Honey, that cup is nasty"'s and "Would you take that cup to the kitchen before it takes over the fucking bathroom?"'s in the world aren't going to make a dent in good ole Husband's "Oh, did I leave that cup there?" mentality. He was done with it, therefore it ceased to exist. All it's really going to do is piss me off.
The heathens might notice it though. I'm sure they'll say something. Probably to me, sure, but maybe to him after I repeat "Your daddy left it there." about 65,000,000 times.
Doomed to failure, I take a stand. I'm not sure if that makes me brave or stupid. It does make me feel a little superior. And hopeful. That may just be the anti-depressants talking though.
Alas, no. Husband left it there this morning after he came in (while I was showering) for a good-bye kiss, a quick ogle and a last sip of coffee before he headed downstairs (where the kitchen is) and off to work (leaving the bathroom door wide open so the draft could pounce in to tackle the luscious steam heat that I had managed to capture).
At this point, it's slightly more than 14 hours old. I'm giving 10 to 1 odds that it'll still be there when we get back from Holiday World on Wednesday.
Husband and I have been working a lot. Mostly opposite hours. He's off on Monday and some arbitrary other day of the week. I'm off on weekends. The heathens are in daycare on Monday and all the other arbitrary work days of the week. They're off on weekends.
I'm a mostly-single mom (according to me, I certainly am not intending to put myself in the single mom's place, they're goddesses). I do all of the shopping (with heathens in tow), cooking, cleaning, laundering, auto-maintaining (on my car), library-running, movie-returning (without the benefit of movie-watching), dry-cleaning-drop-offing, grounding, yelling, no-saying and anti-depressant taking. Plus, I work a 40-50 hour week. And, I have to stay on top of the whole birth control thing just to keep the heathens from becoming any more plural.
In addition to all of the othering-ing I've been doing for the past week, I've also been sick-kid-coddling (surprise! it's not even a holiday) and sick-me-coddling. The living room is a pit, the kitchen is actually clean except for the dishwasher that simply needs to be unloaded and the laundry is done (as much as laundry can really be "done").
So, I'm leaving the cup.
I am smart enough and experienced enough to realize that The Grand Experiment never works. All of the "sigh"'s, and "Honey, that cup is nasty"'s and "Would you take that cup to the kitchen before it takes over the fucking bathroom?"'s in the world aren't going to make a dent in good ole Husband's "Oh, did I leave that cup there?" mentality. He was done with it, therefore it ceased to exist. All it's really going to do is piss me off.
The heathens might notice it though. I'm sure they'll say something. Probably to me, sure, but maybe to him after I repeat "Your daddy left it there." about 65,000,000 times.
Doomed to failure, I take a stand. I'm not sure if that makes me brave or stupid. It does make me feel a little superior. And hopeful. That may just be the anti-depressants talking though.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Hooray for Dads!
I have the best dad in the world. Really.
This is the man who has always, from the time I can remember, shown me love, respect and affection. I never felt like just a little kid with him; I was special. He's special too.
Dad may not realize it, but he is the bar I try to reach in my own parenthood. It's not a bar-on-a-pedestal bar. It's a real-life attainable bar. I'm not there yet, but my role model is still around (thank the heavens, the stars and your favorite diety).
Husband is a good dad too. I got lucky with my dad, I chose well with the heathens'.
For all dads everywhere: Happy Father's Day. For my dad and my girlys' dad: I love you.
This is the man who has always, from the time I can remember, shown me love, respect and affection. I never felt like just a little kid with him; I was special. He's special too.
Dad may not realize it, but he is the bar I try to reach in my own parenthood. It's not a bar-on-a-pedestal bar. It's a real-life attainable bar. I'm not there yet, but my role model is still around (thank the heavens, the stars and your favorite diety).
Husband is a good dad too. I got lucky with my dad, I chose well with the heathens'.
For all dads everywhere: Happy Father's Day. For my dad and my girlys' dad: I love you.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Inanities
This afternoon at work, I was treated to a treatise on the evils of carbs when I offered some leftover spaghetti to our COO. For heaven's sake, I was just being nice. A simple "No, thank you." would have sufficed.
A few hours later, I was on the phone with a young woman who's last name is Cartier. "Famous name." I quipped.
Dummy. Like she's never heard that before.
So what is it about people that we feel it necessary to point out the obvious or get on our soapboxes in the name of ordinary conversation? Why do we have to say anything at all?
Someone asks me for a light and chummily insists "Us outlaws have to stick together."
I'm an outlaw? I paid a shitload of taxes for this pack of cigarettes.
A non-smoker sees me smoking and cheerily insists "That stuff will give you cancer."
Gee, do you think that's what the Surgeon General meant in that warning on the box?
When the heathens were babies I actually had a lady confide that she'd been through fertility treatments 5 times and was never "lucky" enough to have twins. Do I really care if a total stranger conceived via test tube?
Golly I only got to have sex.
I'm guilty too. I see a co-worker in a sweater and ask if she's cold. My cube mate curls into herself and squiches her eyes and I ask if she's got a headache. Someone sneezes; I offer a home remedy for the common cold.
Why? I'm tired of it. I realize that, in this day and age, truly original thought is a myth. Still, do we have to suffer inanity of "stranger speak" just because the speaker and the listener are both human?
I am trying to redeem myself. Just last week, in a parking lot somewhere east of Kansas City, I was standing by my running car which contained my fighting children and smoking a cigarette. An inane (and well-meaning, I'm sure) stranger chidingly insisted "Did you know that's bad for you?"
My reply: Did you know that nicotine withdrawal increases irritability and aggression?
It's a shame he had pressing business inside, I would have loved to debate the point with him.
A few hours later, I was on the phone with a young woman who's last name is Cartier. "Famous name." I quipped.
Dummy. Like she's never heard that before.
So what is it about people that we feel it necessary to point out the obvious or get on our soapboxes in the name of ordinary conversation? Why do we have to say anything at all?
Someone asks me for a light and chummily insists "Us outlaws have to stick together."
I'm an outlaw? I paid a shitload of taxes for this pack of cigarettes.
A non-smoker sees me smoking and cheerily insists "That stuff will give you cancer."
Gee, do you think that's what the Surgeon General meant in that warning on the box?
When the heathens were babies I actually had a lady confide that she'd been through fertility treatments 5 times and was never "lucky" enough to have twins. Do I really care if a total stranger conceived via test tube?
Golly I only got to have sex.
I'm guilty too. I see a co-worker in a sweater and ask if she's cold. My cube mate curls into herself and squiches her eyes and I ask if she's got a headache. Someone sneezes; I offer a home remedy for the common cold.
Why? I'm tired of it. I realize that, in this day and age, truly original thought is a myth. Still, do we have to suffer inanity of "stranger speak" just because the speaker and the listener are both human?
I am trying to redeem myself. Just last week, in a parking lot somewhere east of Kansas City, I was standing by my running car which contained my fighting children and smoking a cigarette. An inane (and well-meaning, I'm sure) stranger chidingly insisted "Did you know that's bad for you?"
My reply: Did you know that nicotine withdrawal increases irritability and aggression?
It's a shame he had pressing business inside, I would have loved to debate the point with him.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Mini-vacation
The heathens and I are in the thriving metropolis of Manhattan, KS. It's actually a very lovely town. Home to the K State Wildcats. They also have a very cool "insect zoo." They call themselves the "Little Apple" and are proud of it. Very nice people too.
So, how did this transpire? My sister. She lives in Colorado. We live in Missouri. Kansas is in between. (Really, check a map sometime. That flat, treeless space dotted with cows between Kansas City, MO and Denver, CO is mostly Kansas.) Since the heathens and I didn't have time to drive to Colorado for a week this year and she didn't have time to drive to us for a week this year, we settled on 48 hours (minus drive time) in the middle.
The girlys have thoroughly enjoyed the hotel pool. (And the bugs, Bug was WAY into the bugs.) Sister and I have thoroughly enjoyed the time to talk face-to-face.
She's trying to teach me to have emotions (or at least admit to them), I'm trying to teach her to suppress (rather than analyze) hers. It's a lose-lose situation but we're close. We are amazingly alike, except for that one small matter. And the fact that she's 6 feet tall. But we can't all be tall, can we?
So, how did this transpire? My sister. She lives in Colorado. We live in Missouri. Kansas is in between. (Really, check a map sometime. That flat, treeless space dotted with cows between Kansas City, MO and Denver, CO is mostly Kansas.) Since the heathens and I didn't have time to drive to Colorado for a week this year and she didn't have time to drive to us for a week this year, we settled on 48 hours (minus drive time) in the middle.
The girlys have thoroughly enjoyed the hotel pool. (And the bugs, Bug was WAY into the bugs.) Sister and I have thoroughly enjoyed the time to talk face-to-face.
She's trying to teach me to have emotions (or at least admit to them), I'm trying to teach her to suppress (rather than analyze) hers. It's a lose-lose situation but we're close. We are amazingly alike, except for that one small matter. And the fact that she's 6 feet tall. But we can't all be tall, can we?
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Mothers-in-law (sigh)
To catch you up:
December (sometime before Christmas): Mother-in-law comes to visit, all sweetness and smiles, with candy for the heathens. Husband and I had had a discussion beforehand.
"School," I said "is the heathens' job. They can't skip school just because Nana is visiting. I don't care if she wants to take them and pick them up. They can miss day care, big deal. But, I want them to go to school."
"You're right" said my Darling Husband. "You're such a great mom."(no, he didn't say that, but he should have.)
So, it's 9 o'clock on a school night and snowing and we schlep our tired butts to the airport, with out out-past-bedtime kids, to pick up Nana.
Right off the bat - "No, you don't have to go to school. You can stay with me!"
Me: Uh. No. They're going to school.
Her: It's only 3 hours!
Husband: Yeah, it's only 3 hours!
And all in front of my darling, impressionable, over-tired children. Shit.
Ask anyone I work with, at that moment in time Husband became "Mamma's Boy." Only 3 hours my left tit. It's school.
So, by Saturday that weekend I had moved past grunts into the monosyllable range and Mamma's Boy and I went to dinner. He says "I know you're mad."
DUH! Yes I'm mad.
We talked it out. He agreed that I'm right and school is their job and Nana can't expect them to skip school just because she can't (won't) visit during the off-season. And, yes, he loves me and would rather be married to me than her. Good boy. He's husband again.
April: Nana strikes again. "Please honey, Granny (Nana's mom) isn't going to be around forever. This might be the last time the girls ever see her. Please? Mom will drive over Thursday to pick them up from school. They'll only miss one day." *sigh* OK. If she's willing to drive two hours, ok, fine. But, it's only for Granny. And it's not happening again.
By 11am Thursday, Husband is going to get off work at 7 and drive our children 50 miles because Nana can't possibly make it to our house in time for school to be out. Can I pick them up from daycare? Damn. I was going to work late with no guilt because Nana was picking them up. Yes, I'll do it.
At 3:50 my phone rings. It's the school. Our lovely children swore up and down (even though there was no parental notification to back it up) that they were being picked up at school. The school didn't have the get on the day care van. The school kept them. Where is the parent who is picking them up? Damn.
Mamma's boy gets the kids and takes them to day care. I leave work (an hour and a half early) and pick them up from day care, because I know that they are disappointed and I want to soothe their little fledgling psyches. (Ha! Tough nuts, both of them.)
At 7:30, Mamma's boy calls. He's stuck in a seminar with a sales rep. Nana's ready to meet him, can I please, please, please take them? Fuck.
I gave a single inch. She took 100 miles and 2 hours (yes, two hours - fucking construction) of my life. Not to mention the 3 hours of work that I had to make up because I got to work late thinking I wouldn't see my kids again until Sunday then left early because the bitch contrived to leave my darlings abandoned at school.
Two fucking hours! Do you know what she said to me? Are you ready?
"You look tired."
Thank whichever god(s) that I don't own a gun. I was completely matri-in-law-icidal. While I was sitting in construction traffic on the way home, I informed Mamma's boy that I was finished. Done. Over it. Never again. Our children will be allowed to miss school for her again when we attend her funeral.
Memorial Day Weekend - Yes, she came in last weekend. Purposely flew in at 10 on Friday morning. She was completely pissed at Husband because he a) wouldn't let our girlys skip their last Friday at school. And b) listened to me and wouldn't even take them to the airport to pick her up (because I pointed out that it would be pulling teeth to get them to go to school if he did).
Here's our conversation Friday evening:
Nana: If you have something to do, go do it.
Me: I don't have anything to do, I've made all of my plans for Saturday, when you have the girls. (She got a hotel room for two nights and took them away, it was nice.)
Nana: Well, are there any fairs or festivals going on this weekend?
Me: There's the Rib America festival, but I don't think they'd really get into that.
Nana: Where is it?
Me: Downtown. (wrinkles her nose)
Me: (looking online) Oh, there's a Renaissance Festival.
Nana: Where is that?
Me: It's just down the road. I can give you directions.
Nana: Do they have rides?
Yeah. Sure they do. They have paddle boat rides in the moat. There's the Catapult and the Iron Maiden, but those are really for thrill-seekers. Maybe you and the girls can play Rack. And, there's a really cool ride called "Draw and Quarter"
Sigh.
December (sometime before Christmas): Mother-in-law comes to visit, all sweetness and smiles, with candy for the heathens. Husband and I had had a discussion beforehand.
"School," I said "is the heathens' job. They can't skip school just because Nana is visiting. I don't care if she wants to take them and pick them up. They can miss day care, big deal. But, I want them to go to school."
"You're right" said my Darling Husband. "You're such a great mom."(no, he didn't say that, but he should have.)
So, it's 9 o'clock on a school night and snowing and we schlep our tired butts to the airport, with out out-past-bedtime kids, to pick up Nana.
Right off the bat - "No, you don't have to go to school. You can stay with me!"
Me: Uh. No. They're going to school.
Her: It's only 3 hours!
Husband: Yeah, it's only 3 hours!
And all in front of my darling, impressionable, over-tired children. Shit.
Ask anyone I work with, at that moment in time Husband became "Mamma's Boy." Only 3 hours my left tit. It's school.
So, by Saturday that weekend I had moved past grunts into the monosyllable range and Mamma's Boy and I went to dinner. He says "I know you're mad."
DUH! Yes I'm mad.
We talked it out. He agreed that I'm right and school is their job and Nana can't expect them to skip school just because she can't (won't) visit during the off-season. And, yes, he loves me and would rather be married to me than her. Good boy. He's husband again.
April: Nana strikes again. "Please honey, Granny (Nana's mom) isn't going to be around forever. This might be the last time the girls ever see her. Please? Mom will drive over Thursday to pick them up from school. They'll only miss one day." *sigh* OK. If she's willing to drive two hours, ok, fine. But, it's only for Granny. And it's not happening again.
By 11am Thursday, Husband is going to get off work at 7 and drive our children 50 miles because Nana can't possibly make it to our house in time for school to be out. Can I pick them up from daycare? Damn. I was going to work late with no guilt because Nana was picking them up. Yes, I'll do it.
At 3:50 my phone rings. It's the school. Our lovely children swore up and down (even though there was no parental notification to back it up) that they were being picked up at school. The school didn't have the get on the day care van. The school kept them. Where is the parent who is picking them up? Damn.
Mamma's boy gets the kids and takes them to day care. I leave work (an hour and a half early) and pick them up from day care, because I know that they are disappointed and I want to soothe their little fledgling psyches. (Ha! Tough nuts, both of them.)
At 7:30, Mamma's boy calls. He's stuck in a seminar with a sales rep. Nana's ready to meet him, can I please, please, please take them? Fuck.
I gave a single inch. She took 100 miles and 2 hours (yes, two hours - fucking construction) of my life. Not to mention the 3 hours of work that I had to make up because I got to work late thinking I wouldn't see my kids again until Sunday then left early because the bitch contrived to leave my darlings abandoned at school.
Two fucking hours! Do you know what she said to me? Are you ready?
"You look tired."
Thank whichever god(s) that I don't own a gun. I was completely matri-in-law-icidal. While I was sitting in construction traffic on the way home, I informed Mamma's boy that I was finished. Done. Over it. Never again. Our children will be allowed to miss school for her again when we attend her funeral.
Memorial Day Weekend - Yes, she came in last weekend. Purposely flew in at 10 on Friday morning. She was completely pissed at Husband because he a) wouldn't let our girlys skip their last Friday at school. And b) listened to me and wouldn't even take them to the airport to pick her up (because I pointed out that it would be pulling teeth to get them to go to school if he did).
Here's our conversation Friday evening:
Nana: If you have something to do, go do it.
Me: I don't have anything to do, I've made all of my plans for Saturday, when you have the girls. (She got a hotel room for two nights and took them away, it was nice.)
Nana: Well, are there any fairs or festivals going on this weekend?
Me: There's the Rib America festival, but I don't think they'd really get into that.
Nana: Where is it?
Me: Downtown. (wrinkles her nose)
Me: (looking online) Oh, there's a Renaissance Festival.
Nana: Where is that?
Me: It's just down the road. I can give you directions.
Nana: Do they have rides?
Yeah. Sure they do. They have paddle boat rides in the moat. There's the Catapult and the Iron Maiden, but those are really for thrill-seekers. Maybe you and the girls can play Rack. And, there's a really cool ride called "Draw and Quarter"
Sigh.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
To censor or not to censor.
Husband asked tonight if he could read my blog. "Of course, but you have to promise not to get mad." Why would he get mad? Well, there's this.
Yeah, I was cranky the other day. Big deal. But really, do I need him getting mad about something that I wrote on the spur of the moment that most likely kept him from getting hit with the skillet he gave me for Christmas?
Men are funny. Extremely lovable and vexing, but funny.
I got yelled at this morning for starting to dig my own car out of the snow. Sorry, you were indisposed and I needed to leave for work.
I got flowers this afternoon. Really pretty flowers. Not even roses (which he knows make me sad). Non-Valentine-ish, really colorful tulips.
I got stainless steel measuring cups and spoons tonight (for my birthday, which is tomorrow - he can't keep a gift until the day; he's always giving it up early). I love them honey. They're heavy and shiny and chained together so I'll always know where all of them are.
He's a good man. Silly and vexing, but good. I'm a lucky woman.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Yeah, I was cranky the other day. Big deal. But really, do I need him getting mad about something that I wrote on the spur of the moment that most likely kept him from getting hit with the skillet he gave me for Christmas?
Men are funny. Extremely lovable and vexing, but funny.
I got yelled at this morning for starting to dig my own car out of the snow. Sorry, you were indisposed and I needed to leave for work.
I got flowers this afternoon. Really pretty flowers. Not even roses (which he knows make me sad). Non-Valentine-ish, really colorful tulips.
I got stainless steel measuring cups and spoons tonight (for my birthday, which is tomorrow - he can't keep a gift until the day; he's always giving it up early). I love them honey. They're heavy and shiny and chained together so I'll always know where all of them are.
He's a good man. Silly and vexing, but good. I'm a lucky woman.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Pros and Cons of Working at Home on a Very Blustery Day
Pros
- Husband is home and corralling the heathens - one of whom is feeling better but lolling about on the couch.
- I can work and do laundry. This will help greatly when it's time to pack the heathens up for the weekend.
- My desk phone can ring all it wants. I won't answer it.
- My boss isn't here.
- The weather is bad enough that I can say "No." and mean it when The Well One wants to go to McDonald's for lunch.
- I didn't have to fight weather-addled drivers just to get some work done.
Cons
- My monitor on the laptop doesn't have high enough resolution to be able to effectively QA my own work.
- The Queen had to email me a font I needed, twice. (Long live The Queen.)
- I miss my friends.
- I had to do a conference call while locked in my bedroom this morning.
- My stupid wireless connection keeps dropping.
- My work computer isn't set up for VPN.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Ironically, I'm reading The Plague
Bear now has whatever the hell it was that Bug had last Monday. The biggest deal? She pretended to be sick last Tuesday. When the day care called today, we told them to tell her to go play. We didn't believe she was sick until the school nurse called and said she'd thrown up.
Naturally, she has to be symptom-free for 24 hours. She can't go back to school tomorrow even if she's perfectly fine. Bastards. This means that I can't go back to work tomorrow even if she's perfectly fine.
Husband claims he's sick too. Whatever. It's not enough that I do the laundry, shopping, cook the meals, make sure they do their homework, work 40+ hours a week, pay the bills and clean the bathrooms. Now, I have to be perfectly functional while he stresses out about the sick fucking kids.
I want to go away. Just a weekend. Somewhere clean and quiet with no cell phone reception. I'll take 6 books and my pajamas. That's it. Maybe I'll take my iPod. Maybe.
All in all, it's been a pretty shitty past week. Wait. Don't tell me. Wednesday is Valentine's Day. It's a holiday (ear infection).
Naturally, she has to be symptom-free for 24 hours. She can't go back to school tomorrow even if she's perfectly fine. Bastards. This means that I can't go back to work tomorrow even if she's perfectly fine.
Husband claims he's sick too. Whatever. It's not enough that I do the laundry, shopping, cook the meals, make sure they do their homework, work 40+ hours a week, pay the bills and clean the bathrooms. Now, I have to be perfectly functional while he stresses out about the sick fucking kids.
I want to go away. Just a weekend. Somewhere clean and quiet with no cell phone reception. I'll take 6 books and my pajamas. That's it. Maybe I'll take my iPod. Maybe.
All in all, it's been a pretty shitty past week. Wait. Don't tell me. Wednesday is Valentine's Day. It's a holiday (ear infection).
Friday, February 9, 2007
Six year olds have a penchant for the understatement.
We went out to dinner and shopping tonight after work/school. Wow. Family dinner (ear infection).We had them try on a couple of dresses at Old Navy.
In the dressing room, Bear pulled Bug in front of the mirror, giggled in her Bear way and said "We look like twins!"
Uhm. Duh.
In the dressing room, Bear pulled Bug in front of the mirror, giggled in her Bear way and said "We look like twins!"
Uhm. Duh.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Blog, take me away
It's Wednesday. Oh Holy Night, is it ever Wednesday.
Of two children, only one has been in school every day this week. And it isn't even the same one. Bug started puking about 5 Monday morning, she stayed home from school and threw up until about 1pm, then spent the rest of the day lying on the couch in a dehydrated way, staring at the TV.
Bear, jealous of her sister, pretended to be sick yesterday. She wasn't. So, instead of staying at day care and going to school like a normal, healthy child, she was forced to sit on the couch and watch TV all day (by her father, I went to work - I miss work...). She didn't go to sleep last night until after 11.
Bug woke me up about 4:30 this morning, crying that her stomach hurt and that she was going to throw up. She went back to sleep clutching a sippy cup of water and a plastic ServNSaver Rubbermaid "bucket" around 5:30. At 6:30 she comes wailing into the bathroom, interrupting my shower with "Daddy won't help me!" Daddy offered her a cracker because, well, she's barely eaten in two days.
Husband took them both to day care this morning. I escaped to work only to remark to my boss, "I expect a call from school/daycare at some point." I was worried about strep. Seems it's going around. (When isn't it?)
But, my kids don't get strep. They get ear infections. They get ear infections like dogs get fleas. Step outside? Ear infection. Take a bath? Ear infection. It's a holiday/birthday/vacation? Ear infection. You say it's Black History Month? Holy cow, ear infection.
For Bug, this is her third ear infection since Thanksgiving. She hasn't even lost one of the tubes she got last January yet. It's still there. Currently, it's leaking pus. The other ear would, but that tube fell out 4 months after it was put in. (Hooray! A growth spurt! ear infection.)
At some point, kids grow out of this, right? When? Just tell me when. If I could know that in six months, I'll never have to deal with another ear infection again, I would be fine. Yes, sir, just slim freakin' shady fine.
Of course, it's been Bear who's complained (intermittently) about her ear hurting since Sunday. She's fine though, just jealous of her sister.
And people think it's funny to ask "Do they get sick at the same time." My general answer is "No. But they tend to get sick in the same week." The main reaction to that is a blank look.
Duh, people, come on. They share everything. Everything. They shared a placenta. They shared a crib. They share a bedroom and a closet and toys and games and clothes and parents and, yes, even viruses. Everything. Why is it so difficult to believe that when one is sick on Monday, we expect (and try to plan for) the other to get sick on Thursday? That's the way it works.
So here I sit, work laptop filled with work to do, escaping into the Blog. I'd rather be in the office. It's quieter there and more amusing too. Maybe I'll get to go in tomorrow...
Of two children, only one has been in school every day this week. And it isn't even the same one. Bug started puking about 5 Monday morning, she stayed home from school and threw up until about 1pm, then spent the rest of the day lying on the couch in a dehydrated way, staring at the TV.
Bear, jealous of her sister, pretended to be sick yesterday. She wasn't. So, instead of staying at day care and going to school like a normal, healthy child, she was forced to sit on the couch and watch TV all day (by her father, I went to work - I miss work...). She didn't go to sleep last night until after 11.
Bug woke me up about 4:30 this morning, crying that her stomach hurt and that she was going to throw up. She went back to sleep clutching a sippy cup of water and a plastic ServNSaver Rubbermaid "bucket" around 5:30. At 6:30 she comes wailing into the bathroom, interrupting my shower with "Daddy won't help me!" Daddy offered her a cracker because, well, she's barely eaten in two days.
Husband took them both to day care this morning. I escaped to work only to remark to my boss, "I expect a call from school/daycare at some point." I was worried about strep. Seems it's going around. (When isn't it?)
But, my kids don't get strep. They get ear infections. They get ear infections like dogs get fleas. Step outside? Ear infection. Take a bath? Ear infection. It's a holiday/birthday/vacation? Ear infection. You say it's Black History Month? Holy cow, ear infection.
For Bug, this is her third ear infection since Thanksgiving. She hasn't even lost one of the tubes she got last January yet. It's still there. Currently, it's leaking pus. The other ear would, but that tube fell out 4 months after it was put in. (Hooray! A growth spurt! ear infection.)
At some point, kids grow out of this, right? When? Just tell me when. If I could know that in six months, I'll never have to deal with another ear infection again, I would be fine. Yes, sir, just slim freakin' shady fine.
Of course, it's been Bear who's complained (intermittently) about her ear hurting since Sunday. She's fine though, just jealous of her sister.
And people think it's funny to ask "Do they get sick at the same time." My general answer is "No. But they tend to get sick in the same week." The main reaction to that is a blank look.
Duh, people, come on. They share everything. Everything. They shared a placenta. They shared a crib. They share a bedroom and a closet and toys and games and clothes and parents and, yes, even viruses. Everything. Why is it so difficult to believe that when one is sick on Monday, we expect (and try to plan for) the other to get sick on Thursday? That's the way it works.
So here I sit, work laptop filled with work to do, escaping into the Blog. I'd rather be in the office. It's quieter there and more amusing too. Maybe I'll get to go in tomorrow...
Sunday, February 4, 2007
The Antimicrobial Properties of the Paper Towel
Has anyone looked into this? It has to be amazing. 450 telephone nurses couldn't be wrong. Or could they?
First of all, these women are the most disgusting bathroom users on the planet. They rarely flush, they pee all over the seat, the counter tops are generally covered with water. They talk on the freaking phone in the stalls, for Christ's sake. Who calls their insurance agent while they're taking a whizz? I certainly don't.
They do the normal "I'm afraid of the Bad Germies" door thing with the paper towel. Too bad they can't actually get the paper towel into the trash can when they're done. Too bad, too, that they can't pick up after themselves after they throw their paper towels on the floor.
So. Paper towels have an amazing capacity to keep Bad Germies off your hands when you open the bathroom door from the inside (supposedly, we've all washed our hands, right? Those are some strong Bad Germies.) The also have an amazing capacity to keep Bad Germies off your hands while turning off the faucet after you've washed your hands. (Remember! The last time you touched the faucet, your hands were still dirty.)
The other day, I saw one of these women bring her McDonald's sack into the bathroom (even I draw the line there and I touch the door handle with my bare skin!). She pulls 4 or 5 of these wondrous little paper towels from the holder, slaps them down on the counter top (ew!) and sets her lunch bag on it.
Tada! McDonald's lunch, free from the Bad Germies! And now, she doesn't even have to carry the Bad Germies back to her desk with her! She can leave them in the bathroom where they belong!
Amazing.
I'd like to make a call, right now. Anyone who has the time, energy and training to study the Bad Germie repelling powers of the average public bathroom paper towel, please do some research on this. I'd love to post it on the bathroom mirror and see the reaction.
First of all, these women are the most disgusting bathroom users on the planet. They rarely flush, they pee all over the seat, the counter tops are generally covered with water. They talk on the freaking phone in the stalls, for Christ's sake. Who calls their insurance agent while they're taking a whizz? I certainly don't.
They do the normal "I'm afraid of the Bad Germies" door thing with the paper towel. Too bad they can't actually get the paper towel into the trash can when they're done. Too bad, too, that they can't pick up after themselves after they throw their paper towels on the floor.
So. Paper towels have an amazing capacity to keep Bad Germies off your hands when you open the bathroom door from the inside (supposedly, we've all washed our hands, right? Those are some strong Bad Germies.) The also have an amazing capacity to keep Bad Germies off your hands while turning off the faucet after you've washed your hands. (Remember! The last time you touched the faucet, your hands were still dirty.)
The other day, I saw one of these women bring her McDonald's sack into the bathroom (even I draw the line there and I touch the door handle with my bare skin!). She pulls 4 or 5 of these wondrous little paper towels from the holder, slaps them down on the counter top (ew!) and sets her lunch bag on it.
Tada! McDonald's lunch, free from the Bad Germies! And now, she doesn't even have to carry the Bad Germies back to her desk with her! She can leave them in the bathroom where they belong!
Amazing.
I'd like to make a call, right now. Anyone who has the time, energy and training to study the Bad Germie repelling powers of the average public bathroom paper towel, please do some research on this. I'd love to post it on the bathroom mirror and see the reaction.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Starting...
So, what am I doing starting a blog? I dunno. Thought it might be fun. Thought someone might find the stream-of-consciousness rantings of a working mom of twins interesting. Thought maybe I could purge my stress in a regular round of rants like I purged my womb six years ago in the delivery room. Thought I'd at least see what all the fuss was about.
Yeah, twins. Yeah, identical. Surprisingly, both girls. Yes, I can tell them apart. No, I don't get them mixed up if given more than a millisecond to think about it. No, I did not have fertility treatments, I'm just lucky. (Admit it, you were thinking it even if you wouldn't have the audacity to ask a total stranger that question.)
They're six now. Just celebrated their birthday. Well, still celebrating actually. Last Sunday we took the to get Heelys, every grade schoolers dream tennis shoe. Monday, nothing. Tuesday, dinner with their former babysitter J and her family and mail from Memaw and Pepaw (Husband's dad and step-mom). Wednesday, shopping bonanza at Walmart with a gift card left over from a Christmas return and dinner, just the three of us. Thursday brought two packages from Nana (Husband's mom) filled with lots of lip gloss, more pencils (they have about 6000), necklaces and $10 each. Friday was a dinner and a movie out with Husband (while I had a few post-stressful week drinks with my supervisor.).
Tomorrow is The Great Sleepover of 2007. The guest list is a repeat of last year, two girls from their daycare class. Christ almighty, this birthday isn't going to stop. Oh, and my dad is planning to come over Sunday, weather permitting.
Yeah, twins. Yeah, identical. Surprisingly, both girls. Yes, I can tell them apart. No, I don't get them mixed up if given more than a millisecond to think about it. No, I did not have fertility treatments, I'm just lucky. (Admit it, you were thinking it even if you wouldn't have the audacity to ask a total stranger that question.)
They're six now. Just celebrated their birthday. Well, still celebrating actually. Last Sunday we took the to get Heelys, every grade schoolers dream tennis shoe. Monday, nothing. Tuesday, dinner with their former babysitter J and her family and mail from Memaw and Pepaw (Husband's dad and step-mom). Wednesday, shopping bonanza at Walmart with a gift card left over from a Christmas return and dinner, just the three of us. Thursday brought two packages from Nana (Husband's mom) filled with lots of lip gloss, more pencils (they have about 6000), necklaces and $10 each. Friday was a dinner and a movie out with Husband (while I had a few post-stressful week drinks with my supervisor.).
Tomorrow is The Great Sleepover of 2007. The guest list is a repeat of last year, two girls from their daycare class. Christ almighty, this birthday isn't going to stop. Oh, and my dad is planning to come over Sunday, weather permitting.
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