Thursday, February 25, 2010

Brain Shrinkage

I've been wanting to post a new post for 2 days. And I had some great ideas about what I could write about, and then I forgot. This morning, I was absolutely resolved to write something, and then I started thinking about lunch. This is a recurring theme in my life lately.

There is an article that was published in the Chicago Tribune on 2/9/97 (holy crap...13 years ago!). It first appeared in our office about 3 years ago. That was when the first of us twoppers got pregnant. She proudly displayed it in her cubicle as a disclaimer for anyone who asked her for help. We've since passed it around for the subsequent several births, this is the second time I'm getting it. It says "Women who complain that they lose their minds during pregnancy may be suffering from brain shrinkage and may not regain their full mental powers until six months after giving birth."

And boy oh boy...I need to just stamp this on my forehead and really just stop trying. For example... Every day, I walk down the stairs at my house, multiple times, and pass by a very large potted plant that sits next to the front door. And every time I pass it, I look at the poor thing, notice how it needs to be watered, and that I need to pick up the dead leaves that have fallen. And by the time I take 20 more steps into my kitchen, I have forgotten all about it.

This morning, I had two sets of keys in my hand, one for my car, and the other for our office. I looked down, and realized that only my car keys were in my hand, and immediately began lamenting to everyone in the elevator about how I lost my key and it was probably in the snow in the parking lot and so basically it was gone forever. Everyone laughed and told me "Good luck getting a new one" since our office manager DOES NOT appreciate when you lose your key. I was more upset about the pewter Golden Retriever key chain that came from a store in the mall which is now closed. After I got to my cube and was taking off my coat, I decided to check the pockets. And there it was, right next to my sunglasses. Apparently, I had the foresight to drop the key in my pocket so I wouldn't lose it!

I have actually walked from our master bedroom to the office in our house, which again, is about 20 steps, and completely forgot why I made the trip. And then I'll sit down at the computer and get on facebook, and log off, and then go back to the bedroom and remember why I went to the office in the first place! Usually, the second time around, I can make it there for the right reasons. Unless I get sidetracked by a potty break.

Don't even get me started on letting the dog out. He is boundary trained, which basically means that he doesn't leave our yard. (He especially doesn't go into our neighbor's yard, because they have two little ankle-biters who terrorize him and chase him. He has actually slid to a stop before when I let him out and he hears them bark. It's like he is saying, "Please mom, don't make me go out there...the bully's are out!") The problem with just letting him out is that I forget that he is out there. And sometimes I'll be all snuggled up in bed, watching the Olympics, and Workaholic is in the shower for an hour and a half, and it isn't until the shower turns off that I hear the faint scratching on the back door. He won't bark, even though he knows if he does that he comes in immediately, he just scratches. And scratches. And scratches. And then I have to get out of bed, put on my slippers, go down the hall, down the stairs, across the living room to the back door without losing my way. Lucky for me, he keeps scratching so I don't forget him.

I know it is just going to get worse too. And the more kids you have, the more you lose your mind, because that is the only way to deal with the insanity of newborns to teenagers. Oh well brain, it was nice knowing ya.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

A Little Knowledge Goes a Long Way

I received this in an e-mail from a woman who spends every waking moment trying to save dogs' lives. She is a Transport Coordinator for several rescues across the layman's terms, she begs people on a weekly basis, every week, to help get dogs in need from one part of the country to the other. Sometimes the trip is from Kentucky to Chicago, most times it is much, much further. This article was posted on craigslist, even if you don't have a dog/cat, and never intend on getting one, please speak up if you hear a friend or co-worker or random person at the mall saying that they are going to dump their pet at the shelter. Or encourage people to rescue instead of buying. This article is not an exaggeration...don't fool yourself.

I think our society needs a huge "Wake-up" call. As a shelter manager, I am going to share a little insight with you all...a view from the inside if you will. First off, all of you people who have ever surrendered a pet to a shelter or humane society should be made to work in the "back" of an animal shelter for just one day. Maybe if you saw the life drain from a few sad, lost, confused eyes, you would stop flagging the ads on craigslist and help these animals find homes. That puppy you just bought will most likely end up in my shelter when it's not a cute little puppy anymore. Just so you know there's a 90% chance that dog will never walk out of the shelter it’s dumped at? Purebred or not! About 25% of all of the dogs that are "owner surrenders" or "strays", that come into a shelter are purebred dogs.

The most common excuses: "We are moving and we can't take our dog (or cat)." Really? Where are you moving too that doesn't allow pets? Or they say "The dog got bigger than we thought it would". How big did you think a German Shepherd would get? "We don't have time for her". Really? I work a 10-12 hour day and still have time for my 6 dogs! "She's tearing up our yard". How about making her a part of your family? They always tell me "We just don't want to have to stress about finding a place for her we know she'll get adopted, she's a good dog".

Odds are your pet won't get adopted & how stressful do you think being in a shelter is? Well, let me tell you, your pet has 72 hours to find a new family from the moment you drop it off. Sometimes a little longer if the shelter isn't full and your dog manages to stay completely healthy. If it sniffles, it dies. Your pet will be confined to a small run/kennel in a room with other barking or crying animals. It will have to relieve itself where it eats and sleeps. It will be depressed and it will cry constantly for the family that abandoned it. If your pet is lucky, I will have enough volunteers in that day to take him/her for a walk. If I don't, your pet won't get any attention besides having a bowl of food slid under the kennel door and the waste sprayed out of its pen with a high-powered hose. If your dog is big, black or any of the "Bully" breeds (pit bull, rottie, mastiff, etc) it was pretty much dead when you walked it through the front door. Those dogs just don't get adopted. It doesn't matter how 'sweet' or 'well behaved' they are.

If your dog doesn't get adopted within its 72 hours and the shelter is full, it will be destroyed. If the shelter isn't full and your dog is good enough, and of a desirable enough breed it may get a stay of execution, but not for long . Most dogs get very kennel protective after about a week and are destroyed for showing aggression. Even the sweetest dogs will turn in this environment. If your pet makes it over all of those hurdles chances are it will get kennel cough or an upper respiratory infection and will be destroyed because the shelter gets paid a fee to euthanize each animal and making money is better than spending money to take this animal to the vet.

Here's a little euthanasia 101 for those of you that have never witnessed a perfectly healthy, scared animal being "put-down". First, your pet will be taken from its kennel on a leash. They always look like they think they are going for a walk happy, wagging their tails. Until they get to "The Room", every one of them freaks out and puts on the brakes when we get to the door. It must smell like death or they can feel the sad souls that are left in there, it's strange, but it happens with every one of them. Your dog or cat will be restrained, held down by 1 or 2 shelter workers depending on the size and how freaked out they are. Then a shelter worker who we call a euthanasia tech (not a vet) find a vein in the front leg and inject a lethal dose of the "pink stuff". Hopefully your pet doesn't panic from being restrained and jerk. I've seen the needles tear out of a leg and been covered with the resulting blood and been deafened by the yelps and screams. They all don't just "go to sleep", sometimes they spasm for a while, gasp for air and defecate on themselves. You see shelters are trying to make money to pay employee pay checks and don’t forget the board of directors needs to be paid too, so we don’t spend our funds to tranquilize the animal before injecting them with the lethal drug, we just put the burning lethal drug in the vein and let them suffer until dead. If it were not a “making money issue” and we had to have a licensed vet do this procedure, the animal would be sedated or tranquilized and then euthanized, but to do this procedure correctly would cost more money so we do not follow what is right for the animal, we just follow what is the fastest way we can make a dollar. Shelters do not have to have a vet perform their euthanasia’s so even if it takes our employee 50 pokes with a needle and 3 hours to get the vein that is what we do. Making money is the issue here not losing money.

When it all ends, your pets corpse will be stacked like firewood in a large freezer in the back with all of the other animals that were killed waiting to be picked up like garbage. What happens next? Cremated? Taken to the dump? Rendered into pet food? Or used for the schools to dissect and experiment on? You'll never know and it probably won't even cross your mind. It was just an animal and you can always buy another one, right!

I hope that those of you who still have a beating heart and have read this are bawling your eyes out and can't get the pictures out of your head, I deal with this everyday. I hate my job, I hate that it exists & I hate that it will always be there unless you people make some changes and start educating the public. Do research, do your homework, and know exactly what you are getting into before getting a pet. These shelters and humane societies exist because people just do not care about animals anymore. Animals were not intended to be disposable but somehow that is what they are these days. Animal shelters are an easy way out when you get tired of your dog (or cat), and breeders are the ones blamed for this. Animal shelters and rescue organizations are making a hefty profit by keeping this misconception going. Between 9 and 11 MILLION animals die every year in shelters and only you can stop it. I just hope I maybe changed one persons mind about taking their dog to a shelter, a humane society, or buying a dog. For those of you that care--- please repost this to at least one other craiglist in another city/state. Let's see if we can get this all around the US and have an impact.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Youth and Divorce and General Stupidity

Actual conversation I heard at the deli counter yesterday:

Man: Hey, remember me??

Woman: Umm….

Man: I’m the guy that you didn’t invite to your New Years Eve party. You know, but you did invite my ex-wife.

Woman: Umm, oh hi!

Man: Yeah, I spent it alone, at home, with my mother.

Woman: Oh really? That sounds nice.

Man: Yeah, we just sat there together, alone.

Woman: Yeah, I haven’t really seen or talked to your ex.

Man: Oh, she’s probably with her boyfriend.

Woman: Oh, really? You think so?

Man: Of course! I mean, there is no other reason for her to have done what she did. The way she was acting, and behaving, and just being such a total bitch.

Woman: Umm…yeah, I texted her.

Man: Oh, she turned off texting on her phone.

Woman: Oh really?

Man: Yeah, she’s just completely whacked out.

At this point, it was my turn to place my order and I had to stop listening. But folks, let me give you a little advice. Even if your significant other leaves you for absolutely no discernable reason, and you don’t get invited to a party, assume you lost that person in the divorce and LET IT GO. Without even knowing the circumstances, I felt so awful for this poor, innocent woman who just wanted to get some Waldorf salad. And if you do want to confront some random acquaintance, be damn sure you look your best and aren’t wearing sweatpants and a lime green jacket. Also, it would probably be best if you didn't give everyone in the deli section a pretty good idea of why your wife left you.

Another example of stupidity…A few weeks ago, I got a prepaid credit card in the mail. It was my address, but not addressed to me. Or my husband. Or my daughter. Not even the dog. Some random chick. (her name is Marchelle S. Adams) I called the credit card company, and they simply told me that they would put a stop on the card and hung up. No idea how or why this happened or if I should do anything about it. Saturday, I get a letter from the Indiana Department of Revenue, made out to this chick. Turns out her credits were higher than what she reported, so her refund will be more than expected. I now have this girl’s social security number!!! How can she not know her own address??? And now I am all paranoid that somehow this is part of a bigger scheme, so I need to run our credit reports and put red flags on them. But seriously, what would you do?? Is this part of some bigger scam that I haven’t heard of?

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Post It Tuesday!!

I am stealing this saying from a co-worker...hope she doesn't mind.

Bipartisan Bathroom

So today I am a little sad, because I live here in Indiana, have my whole life. (except for those rogue few months in Florida) And for most of my life, I knew the name Evan Bayh. He was our governor when I was little, and he’s a Democrat, and it really isn’t easy for a Democrat to get elected in our notoriously conservative state. He was in charge for 8 years, and then became a U.S. Senator. I don’t know what kind of governor he was, if he was really good, or if people just vote for him all the time because he seems like a nice guy, but he has been in politics for most of my life, anyway.

So yesterday, he announced that he was retiring from the Senate. Not because he is old, or because he doesn’t want to fight for re-election, but because he is sick of the partisan crap going on in Washington. He is tired of fighting. He is tired of losing no-brainers. He is tired of literally getting nothing done because no one will cooperate with anyone else. And I’m just saying, that makes me sad, and a little mad. And that’s all I‘m going to say about that.

On a much lighter note, I decided to do a load of laundry yesterday. (stop the presses!!) This particular load included the towels from our master bathroom. I’m kind of lazy, so I’ll wash and dry the load and then just hang up the towels, rather than getting new ones from the linen closet and having to fold and put away the towels that I just washed and are super-duper-clean. But I forgot that the towels were in the dryer. And I still forgot when I saw Workaholic go into the bathroom.

Workaholic really likes the bathroom. Not as in, “sit on the toilet, read a magazine until he does his business” like, but as in, it’s his favorite room of the house. The floors are heated, (not as fancy as it sounds) there is a fan that spews heat from the ceiling, he turns on the water (yes, I tell him every day that he is killing the environment) and he’ll watch TV and play on my Nintendo DS. So it’s no wonder with all the heat and noise he didn’t notice in the 20 minutes that he sat in there last night that there were no towels. And he still didn’t notice when he stepped into the shower that his purple towel wasn’t hanging right next to the door as it usually is. And while, yes, some of the blame could be placed on me, since I knew the entire time that he was in the bathroom that he was in there, he didn’t notice until he finished his shower! And then he noticed that there was no towel to dry off.

Except, except, Sam’s towel. I like to wash her towel with her clothes, and it was still hanging on the back of the door. Her tiny, white and pink hooded towel. Which now definitely needs to be washed. I do love my boy...he makes me laugh.

Friday, February 12, 2010

New Blogs and Babies

Somewhere along this fantastic road known as life, we sort of get lost around the way. I have nothing to follow up with this, I just wanted to say, “Somewhere along this fantastic road known as life.”

Any-hoo, I’ve found a couple of new blogs that I have added to my list over there to your right. Check them out, these ladies are fun-ny! I wish, oh HOW I WISH, I could complain about my job on here. But too many people in my real life read this, and I would get fired, in…oh, say an instant.

I do have a cute Samantha tidbit to share. Workaholic put her to bed last night, since I got my hair done after work and had to eat dinner at 8pm. He called me up to her room and she was sitting in her crib, blanket in one arm, baby doll in another, rocking the baby and doing her own special version of cooing. (it sounds more like a moan, but I figured saying my kid was rocking her baby doll and moaning didn’t sound very good) It was so. friggin’. cute. I wish I’d had the video camera, but it was too dark and she probably would’ve stopped as soon as she saw it anyways. I am not sure where she learned that a baby doll is just a smaller version of her, and you know, not real, but she hugs it and rocks it like I do her, so I guess she is a smart little cookie.

I had my 13 week check-up yesterday, and we got to hear the heartbeat for the first time. It took her a minute to find it, and instead of getting all worried that there might not be a heartbeat, I got excited, thinking “Oh! Maybe we’ll get an ultrasound!” But alas, not meant to be, good strong heartbeat was found and Sam heard it and stopped and listened, before continuing to attempt to hang Workaholic’s keys on the wall. Without a hanger. It was cute to see her get all mad. And when I pointed out to my doctor that I was 13 weeks, and not 12, and that meant only 27 to go, he laughed at me. Then he pointed to Sam and said, “Well at least you get a prize at the end!” I heart him.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Comcast Update and Resolution

I was reading old posts on my blog the other night, you know, because that is what I do when I am bored, as opposed to actually writing another post. Anyway, I happened upon the one I wrote about Buster, and the one about death, and I started crying. And then I happened upon the one about Comcast, and I stopped crying and immediately felt guilty about the fact that I HAVE NOT kept you all updated on what happened!!

So here’s the final scoop. I wrote that post after the 2nd visit from Comcast, upon which they came to the house, didn’t have the cable cards, switched my phone and fucked with my TV. Which is what inspired me to write the post. It’s like being a crack dealer and then yanking the product away from the poor addicted soul who needs her fix, and actually has the money to pay for it! And the crack dealer happens to have a monopoly and has you in a long-term contract. So it has been a little more than a month since the whole situation got resolved, and here’s the rest of the story as I can remember it.

We set up a 3rd appointment, and Comcast called beforehand and didn’t have the cable cards, so we told them to not even bother coming. And we set up a 4th appointment. Each time I made an appointment, I made the point to give customer service Workaholic’s phone number, since he would be the one to meet them, and because I didn’t want to deal with it. For the 4th appointment, he would be working not far away, so if they called 10 minutes before they got to the house, as they were supposed to, he could meet them there no problem. Problem…they called the house. When they were in the driveway. And no one was home. So we got a message that we needed to reschedule our 4th appointment for the 5th time. Sigh.

By this time, I got shittier and shittier each time I talked to Comcast. I was firm, and angry, so they got the point that they needed to do what I asked. I can’t exactly remember what happened on the 5th appointment, I think that they called to confirm and once again, they did not have the cable cards. Which was the ONLY REASON FOR THE APPOINTMENT. By the 6th appointment, I was defeated. I didn’t care anymore, and told Comcast so, and was like, “Whatever, let’s set up another time for you not to come because you don’t have the right equipment.”

Around the 4th or 5th appointment, I started filing reports to the Better Business Bureau. If any of you have ever had a bad experience with a company, and DIDN’T file a report with the BBB, I highly recommend it. Comcast called me and was kind enough to offer me $20 for my inconvenience. I laughed and told them we would work something out when all was said and done. I did get the direct line of a very nice woman who never answers her phone, but always returns calls and follows up. And when appointment #6 didn’t work out, because they didn’t have the right equipment, I called her and WENT OFF. On her voicemail, of course, since she doesn’t actually answer her phone. Which, I guess if I had her job, I wouldn’t either. So appointment #7 was rescheduled for the same day. Here is where I got screwed and was hormonal and cried.

It was shortly before Christmas and my nephew was staying at my house for a couple of days. I needed to make cupcakes for a Christmas party, and realized that I did not have cupcake wrappers OR sprinkles. What is wrong with me?? Workaholic told me that our new appointment was between 2-4, which I thought was odd since all the others had been in 3 hour increments. (they actually called his cell phone, for the first time) Appointment #6 had been for 9-12 that same day. So me, thinking I had a little time, left the nephew in charge of the girl, and ran 3 minutes down the street to Walgreens. Did you know that Walgreens carries pie crusts and coconut flavoring, but NOT CUPCAKE WRAPPERS?? Yes, hard to believe, but true. As I stood there, in aisle 3, ready to cry, my phone beeps with a text message, “Comcast is here.” You. have. got. to. be. fucking. kidding. me. So I rush back home, and they are screwing around outside, and then need to come inside and screw around. Which I don’t understand, because we are ONLY INSTALLING CABLE CARDS. As it turns out, my friendly Comcast customer service rep (who I think is my own personal rep at this point), assigned to me to keep me from going postal on their ass, had called in that we had a problem with our service. So they came right out and were checking everything.

So as they are rearranging the cables for the 7 TVs that we have hooked up, and fixing the OnDemand for Workaholic’s cable box, I am pacing and angry that I can’t make my cupcakes. I don’t even think about the fact that yes, we have 7 TVs in our house, but we have 2 more rooms that we may randomly want to hook up, but since we don’t have TVs in those rooms currently, now we can’t hook them up and have them work. Grrr. (Please don't get me started on the fact that we have 7 TVs in our house. This is a lifetime of a hoarder not throwing away/giving away any TVS and accepting any free ones offered. So they get hooked up.) Finally, they install the cable card. Yes, one cable card which does the job of two. After weeks of appointments, and a couple of hours of phone calls, it magically is done in 45 minutes. Amazing. And at that point, I am tired, and defeated, and I don’t want to talk to anyone from Comcast anymore. Ever. Again.

But she calls, my rep. More than once. And I ignore her, because I don't want to talk to Comcast anymore. And I get a follow-up e-mail from BBB, because apparently when you file a claim, they want to know how it turns out. Around this time it was announced that Comcast was trying to take over some other huge company, or the other way around, and I am convinced that claims made to the BBB were investigated, and I have a bigger feeling that I am not the only one who has had issues. So finally, since I don’t have caller ID at work, I talk to the Comcast rep. And she offers me a free month of service. And I had already received a credit for a free month of service. I tell her that 21 hours of my life has been wasted, and a month and a half of TiVO service, and this has just been so frustrating and degrading and stressful, that I want THREE months of free service. Which amounts to almost $450. And she hesitated. For a long moment. And she said, “Three months?” And I said, “Yes, this was extremely upsetting and aggravating.” And then she agreed. WAHOO!!!! THREE MONTHS OF FREE TV!!!

In the end, it all worked out. Our service has been great. I love my TiVO more than ever, and want to get one for Workaholic in our bedroom. We are still living off of the credit, and I get a free movie or two for random things. Having Comcast phone is pretty great, since when someone calls, the caller ID shows up on your TV. Just like the commercial. And we have one less bill to pay since I switched over the phone from AT&T. So far, I am happy. If I ever have to change anything else though, I am calling my personal rep to let her know first. It just seems easier that way.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Ice Day Ice Day Ice Day

I’ve been hit with a bit of writer’s block lately, which is super-annoying, because I want to update my blog, I just don’t know what to write about. And then my friend sent me a link to some super cute backgrounds, and I feel like I need to pretty-up the place, but I can’t make a decision on which one, and you have to change all the colors, and OH THE WORK. And then I was reading another blog, and I saw there is this writer’s workshop, by Mama Kat. So I thought that perhaps I would give it a try. And one of this week’s topics is your worst winter weather story. And while we were just teased with winter storm warnings and promises of 12 inches of snow and blizzard warnings, we didn’t get much of anything, and while I am annoyed by that, I am grateful we didn’t get an ice storm.

It was the winter of 1991, I believe. I would’ve been in the 7th grade, smack in the middle of the terrible years known as middle school. (Wanna kill a kid’s self-esteem? Lock them in a building with other self-loathers for 3 years.) Anyway, I remember there was lots of talk on the local news and amongst the adults about a winter storm we were about to get. Our shop teacher, I can’t remember his name, but he drank gallons of Mountain Dew to stay sane around preteens with power tools, told us to go home and chant “Ice Day,” three times. So I did. (anything to get out of going to school) And little did I know what effect that would have on the next week of my life.

I don’t really remember waking up and not hearing that there was no school, although I have a vague recollection of sitting in band class and looking at the clock, waiting for the time when my bus would get there. School had been let out early, but once they decide that, the high school kids get to go home, and then the rest of us waited for their buses. I think we got to go home an hour early. The bus ride was uneventful, maybe it seemed like it was raining. But nothing awful or traumatic, that came later.

The next day, it was declared that there was no school, and at some point pretty early on I think, we lost power. (my memories are quite vivid, as you can tell!) I thought nothing of losing power, except you couldn’t flush the toilet, and all meals had to be cooked on the gas stove. My mom was raised on a farm, so it seemed like this was no problem. But I clearly do remember walking down Woodcliff Drive.

The neighborhood where I was raised was kind of idyllic, looking back. It was pretty heavily wooded on my street, large oak and maple trees that had been there for 50-100 years. There was one entrance into the neighborhood, and it was pretty much a large circle with a few cul-de-sacs. We lived on the main drag in a cul-de-sac. Kids could go out and play with no fear of being hit by speeding cars, or being accosted by some stranger, since we knew everyone. And even if it was someone you didn’t know, there was someone outside who would notice if you were taken away in a Chester-Molester van. There was a steep wooded hill behind my house which led down to the river, and I spent many afternoons playing either on the hill or down by the river. And no, we weren’t stupid enough to get too close and fall in and drown, that’s what other kids did.

Walking that first day down the street reminded me of a newly discovered planet on Star Trek. My dad was really into Star Trek: The Next Generation back then and the combination of the stillness and the accumulation of ice on the trees was breathtaking. My parents probably looked and got sad, knowing that the weight of the ice would be too much for the trees and we would lose many, old branches, and that the entire look of the street changed that day. But I didn’t know that. I just walked and stared at the bare branches, encased in glistening, shimmering ice. Teeny sticks that were ¼ inch thick had 2 inches of ice surrounding them. No one else was out while we were taking our walk, and so it seemed like a deserted planet for that short amount of time.

And then I began to realize what “no power” truly meant. It meant that sleeping on a waterbed that had no heat source was a REALLY BAD IDEA. It meant that you had to go to the YWCA to take a shower. It meant that you should not go near the electrical wires lying across your backyard. It meant only flushing the toilet every once in a great while, no TV, and it meant that when everyone else in the neighborhood got their power back, you did not, because of the aforementioned wires lying on the ground.

After a week of no electricity, and the day that our next door neighbors got their power back and we didn’t, my mom lost it. I’ve rarely seen her lose her cool before, and while I am sure that this wasn’t the first time, it was one that I definitely remember. Because it sent my dad scrambling to the power guys who had moved on down the street. From what I remember, he basically begged them to come back to our house. He understood that they had worked several days straight, and that the reason that things were taking so long is because our power lines were on the ground, and they were focusing on getting as many houses back at once, and power lines to one house just wasn’t as important. But somehow, someway, he made them understand that WE were important. We (more importantly, my mother) needed power. We needed it days ago, and we had been patient, but we couldn’t be patient anymore. And you know what? Those guys came back, and they turned our power on. I don’t know if my dad tipped them, or called their supervisor to thank them, but he should have.

That is my worst winter story. I don’t remember losing power, missing school, playing outside, and sitting in front of the fire. I remember a friggin’ cold ass waterbed, not being able to flush the toilet, and just getting sick of living like a caveman. It’s entirely possible I even went and spent the night or two at a friend’s house, but I don’t really remember. I just remember thinking I hoped to never have to live through an ice storm again.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Drumroll Please

There's been something that I've been just itching to tell the internet world, but I couldn't, because, you know, once you tell the internet world, everyone knows, and that means that, well, everyone knows, and I figured that if my boss at work found out from the internet world, she might get a tad bit pissy. (I totally had this whole other post written for this in my head over the past few weeks, but right now it is 1:30am and I have jumpy legs, so ya'll are going to have to take what I've got at this point.)

I'm pregnant!! Yay!!! On Thursday, I am officially 12 weeks. And I told my boss yesterday. Right before asking if I could go home to continue to recover from the stomach flu. Which kind of kicked my ass. She took it well, and told me that my August 19th due date was "So far away." Which really surprised me, because usually she is quite the planner. Since this will be the 6th kid in about 3 years to be born in our department, I guess she has learned to relax a little.

Samantha and new baby will be about 20 months apart, based on my accounting skills, which I hope are accurate, you know, considering I'm an accountant. And yes, we did plan on having them that close together, well, sort of. Turns out I'm kind of fertile. We seem to have the process down pat. Close is good, and hopefully they will like each other long before they are 45 and planning whether or not to have me come live with one of them or if I just get stuck in some nursing home. I mean, fighting over who gets to have me come live with them.

Being pregnant, and getting pregnant, means that I had to go off of my meds. Which made me sad. And kind of moody. And pretty darn irritable. (not sure if you noticed or know, the sad part??) I am dealing, and will continue to deal until my doctors tell me that I am crazy and really should, for the sanity of my husband and child, go onto some sort of medication. Not being on happy pills did NOT, I repeat, did NOT, help January out. At all. But it's over now, and things can only go up. I hope. I'm holding on to that.

Sam knows about her impending sibling, and so far her reaction has been to get sick. Hopefully she'll adjust a little bit better over the coming months. And yes, you all will have to wait, with us, until August to find out the gender of this little bun-in-the-oven. We decided it's more fun that way. What is NOT fun is that I have shot another summer of fun, since I won't be able to drink. At least I'll be able to drink through the holidays next year. But it's worth it.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010


I was sooo looking forward to February, a new month, in a new year, and all the old crap behind me. Gooo February! I've never been so excited for a month, I think, except maybe summer. A couple of weeks ago, Sam was sent home from daycare...ear infection. A week ago, she woke up crying, and puking. Two days ago, she woke up with goop in her eye.

So let's recap...ear infection, stomach flu (which she oh-so-kindly passed on to me), and now, possible pink BOTH eyes. The poor kid just can't catch a break. I'm loving February so far.