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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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).