Reset
your thingies! I know I've reset mine. meow.
September
10, 2004...2:00pm Check
it out Give this
a shot, see how it goes...pictures are hosted on another site so
this site shouldn't crash. Right?
Dungeons
and Dragons - pictures from a DnD game last
Saturday. Hubby and The Eldest finally talked me into playing with them.
I am Autumn Half-Elven, chaotic good ranger with mitheral armor.
And that's not cherry Kool-Aid in my goblet.
And
I just deleted a previous post. DAMNATION. I'll repost it later.
Found it.
What
tomorrow is In light
of how tomorrow is the 3rd Anniversary of 9/11, I'd like to say
a little something:
America
is still the good guy. People still flock here for opportunity,
peace, and human rights, and we still give so much money and
resources and security and hope and promise to other parts of
the world - we don't hear about those things, though, because
the negative is far louder than the positive.
And
people hate us. Many different types of people hate us. Some
American's hate themselves.
But
I want to talk about one particular group:
This
particular group of people hate us because hate and prejudice is
the core of their belief system. These people, they want to kill
us. They want to kill you. If you are an American, they want to
kill you. If you are European or Australian, they want to kill
you. If you are Jewish or Christian, they want to kill you. If
you are none of these things but you are in the wrong place at
the right time, they will kill you.
They
send their own children to die so that you can be killed.
No
matter where you live, if you are not like them and do not
believe as they do, they want to kill you. They believe you are
the devil. They want to erase Western civilization and all it
encompasses from the face of our planet because you and I sicken
them. They want to throw the world back into the stone age where
their religious laws govern the land, where women are oppressed,
where children are taught that it is good to pray for the death
of their enemies....where children are taught that we are
their enemies, even though we aren't.
They
lie to their children so that their prejudice and hate will
continue.
After
9/11, America could have exterminated all of these people who
believe the way I just described. America could have killed them
all, men, women, and children, as well as innocent bystanders.
America could have done this and still only used a fraction of
her fire power.
But
America didn't. If you have to ask why, then you know nothing of
America and it's people.
If
those who want to see us dead had the same capabilities to kill
and destroy as America has, those people wouldn't hesitate to
use that power - against you.
That
is what makes America the good guy. Yeah.
September
9, 2004...10:30pm My
friend Thiamin. This is
probably some sort of placebo effect playing with my mind and
body, but I got me some B Complex Vitamins today. All those Bs
help to regulate the nervous system and as a result can reduce
stress and anxiety and depression. I took one tonight with
dinner.
A
couple hours later I'm standing at the kitchen sink and I felt
slightly euphoric, very relaxed. I realized that it wasn't just
my mind feeling this way, it was my body. My arms were limp at
my side, I was leaning to one side as opposed to standing bolt
upright, and my muscles were all at rest.
It
was at that point when I decided to do something - I tensed up.
Tensed up my back and my stomach and my legs, jaw, and neck. My
teeth clenched. My arms bent and were flexed, my fingers
tightened into frozen claws. I didn't have to work at doing all
that, it just happened in a fraction of a second.
It
felt normal.
People...for
the last several months I have been walking around like that all
day long. I hadn't realized this, I hadn't noticed that my body
has been in a constant state of tension.
It
hurt.
So
then I relaxed again. That felt good.
Gawd,
I've been a fucking MESS, I'll tell you what.
I
love my B Complex Vitamins!
Billy
Bob Thorton is afraid of antiques. I always
thought that was a little strange, but then this morning as I
was listening to my favorite radio morning show I came to grips
with something that I've been denying - ladies and gentlemen,
I'm afraid of classic rock.
This
radio station I listen to in the morning is a classic rock
station. I only listen to it in the morning because I like that
talk show, it's funny as has become a ritual of mine, but each
time the talk stops and they play a song, I turn the volume
down.
Classic
rock makes me feel depressed and detached from what I consider
my reality.
I
like The Beatles and Led Zep, but Bob Seger gives me the
willies. Credence Clear Water Revival - they make my stomach
shrivel. I cringe when I hear Styx.
And
when I see old concert or video footage of bands from the 70s -
I'm afraid of their hair and their clothes.
I
wonder if they got a cool phobia name for this.
September
9, 2004...1:30pm Walking,
good. Not walking, bad. I was up
a little late last night - 3:30am to be precise. Why? I dunno. I
think I was in the Raising Little Children discussion forum
reminding those people that they are behaving foolishly when
they say "you're
baby's fine! I wouldn't worry! *hugs!*" to mothers who post questions
regarding their children's health and development.
How
do they know that the babies belonging to other women are
"fine"? They don't, and that's my point. Ho's
should ask their doctors.
I'm
not a doctor in real life, but I play one on the internet. *hugs!*
Pfft.
ANYHOW
- I wasn't going to go for my walk today because I wasn't
feeling well due to lack of sleep and 3 o'clock in the morning
garlic toast.
But
after calling my husband half a dozen times and moaning into the
phone that "I don't want to go for my walk" and
"sorry I'm old, fat, and ugly", I finally forced myself to go for my walk.
A quarter of the way through, and after my third lap up and down
the Wooden Stairs of Death, I
remembered that these walks make me feel better...they act like
a giant vitamin B12 shot laced with fairy dust. Before my walk today,
putting a gun to my head and jumping from a ledge with a noose
around my neck and a mouthful of sedatives and a hungry
alligator attached to my ass was sounding
preferable to living.
I
think I'm going to walk 24/7. I'll have to create, patent, and install a contraption
so that I can type, sleep, and shit without sitting or stopping, but I
think it's doable.
September
8, 2004...10:15pm What's
that smell? Jimmy the
Masturbator went into The Eldest's bedroom tonight. He said,
"It smells in here." I said, "That's the smell of
clean, Jimmy."
Hubby
washed all of The Eldest's linens and put down some carpet
cleaner stuff and vacuumed. Mmmmmmm...The Big Blueberry Room is
now hospital scented with a hint of mountain spring
freshness.
(A
couple years ago when I was going through my "walls don't
have to be strictly off-white" stage, I painted that room
an interesting shade of blue that looked purple when wet in the
can, hence The Big Blueberry Room. During this same raging color
fit I was having, I also painted the kitchen...those walls look
like Silly Putty. Good job. Stupid bitch.)
ANYHOW
- smokin' crack - that's a metaphor for having one's head
elsewhere. Hubby's clean livin'. He'll get a six pack of his
favorite beer (I can't spell the name of it) and it will last
him for at least a month.
I've
got another chore for Hubby tomorrow - find that smell.
Something smells like an old prostitute's cunt under my kitchen
sink and it's Hubby's job tomorrow to seek and destroy.
Have
mercy on him. He's new to housekeeping. He doesn't see dirt.
Low
Rent Better Homes and Gardens I did a bit of yard work this evening. God bless new weed
wacker wire - I went crazy with the lawn trimming...you can see
dirt now where there's supposed to be grass.
My
homestead...the yard and gardens
and house look like I'm a creative person who tries, but who
just doesn't seem to have the knack yet.
Find
a weed? Pound the living daylights out of it until a crater
forms in the earth. If the weed grows back, tie a ribbon around
it!
September
8, 2004...1:30pm Hello? David
Lee I Be had a post where he said, and I quote, "...how
many times must a person repeat themselves before they are
allowed to stab you in the throat with a plastic spoon for
non-compliance?"
Once
I stopped giggling I thought to myself, "Like yeah...no
shit."
So
now, for the one hundred gabillionth time - If you want to
get laid, be my knight in shining armor for fuck's sake. This
non-compliance is beginning to vex me.
Hello?
Girl in a
tower, here, and she's wearing clean underpants.
*echo
echo echo echo*
I'm
beginning to suspect that the hand sandwich is a bit more
delicious than the box lunch.
September
8, 2004...coffee break I'm
a loser Grandpa took The
Eldest to get new shoes.
He's
a forgetter Hubby is
forgetting things lately. Big things. Little things. It's hard
to tell if he's really forgetting things, or if he's using it as
an excuse to get out of helping with household chores and errand
running.
Irregardless,
it's annoying.
Dearest
Hubby - Please sweep the damn laundry room. I'm a patient woman,
it's taken me a week to remind you that I asked you to do that
for me. I'll do everything else myself. Jeez.
And
put down the crack pipe. It's frying your brain, darling.
This
is your brain on heavy metal Hubby used to
listen to a variety of music. Now he listens primarily to metal
and has for some time.
I'm
finding a correlation between strict metal listening and a
shortened temper, a shortened attention span, and forgetfulness.
And crack smoking.
I
played some Dixie Chicks on Saturday. Holy Christ, it got me
into trouble. Hubby usually dominates the stereo on the weekends
and although I appreciate Metallica's contributions to the world
of rock and roll, quite frankly I'm fucking sick and tired of
them.
Gawd.
So I
played the Dixie Chicks...commandeered the stereo, if you
will...and Hubby accused me of trying to make him feel bad.
It
was at this point when I explained to him my theory that too
much metal leads to crack addiction.
Guess
what? He agreed with me. Therefore he can't be mad at me
for telling on him. Neener.
Smells
like ass My house smells
like ass. Someone needs to move the refrigerator and the stove
to sweep and wash the floor beneath them. Someone like me.
Someone
also needs to properly remove the banana from the chair cushion
in the living room. Someone does. Someone like me.
Someone
also needs to remove The Eldest's bedding and wash it. His
bedroom not only smells like ass, it smells like feet and dirty
tongue, too.
Bleck.
Speaking
of bleck, all the blankets and pillowcases in the basement
family room need to be laundered, too. Boys have been slobbering
on these items all summer and it's grossing me out.
Someone's
gonna be busy tonight. Someone who looks just like me.
September
7, 2004...11:00pm HELP! Seriously, I'm
stupid and I need some help:
1.
What is a good inexpensive web host? I want www.myname.com, I
don't want to share that www stuff with anything else (thanks
tho, bud...you know who you are).
2. Once I register my new cool domain name, how do I get a
host?!
3. Bloggers - you use cool stuff like automatic archiving.
HOW?!
I'm
an idiot, I know this, but I decided upon a new domain name and
I want to go legit. I do not believe that I used any of your
really really REALLY cool suggestions, but I'll check to be sure
so you get credit if I subconsciously chose your idea. And get
anything else I promised offered.
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE. I'll share some of my faves:
theporchmomster
temptingautumn
boobiesmaximus
icollectkids
GoneInsanePurpleSparkleAutumnBosom.com, only because you worked
so hard at that
yourfriendlysavior
jesusunderyourbed
abeautifulautumn because that's just so ME
Thanks
for all of your contributions. Really. I mean it.
And
no...I'm not revealing the domain name I invented out of my own
mind because it was working one night just yet. I don't know
when I'll get a host and all that jazz. I'd like to do that SOON
like as in this weekend, but you know what Mary Poppin's says
"That's a pie crust promise...easily made, easily
broken."
ANYHOW
- it's a web site name that I can grow into and have fun with. I
can change the layout and colors and graphics all the fricking
time (which goes against the very most basic web designer rule I
know of, which is why I intend to break it). From my
perspective, the possibilities for fun are almost endless.
Here's
a teaser:
Yeah.
If
that sky is familiar to you, let me know because I'm about to
infringe on your property.
Oh,
and I'm working on a regular gallery hosted on a different site,
and legit shit like that. SWEET!
Terror
in our schools So I emailed The
Eldest's school principal today asking what their security plans
were for the upcoming election.
That's
right. I emailed the principal.
Don't tell The Eldest because he'd turn gay and then die.
Our
school is a polling place, as are most others it seems,
something which in today's world is really stupid if you ask me.
The principal didn't ask me, but I told him what I thought just
the same. The
principal responded and was very kind and very helpful and he
copied the police on the email.
What
does that mean, exactly? Do I have a file now, as in "she's
a nut and should be watched" file?
If
that's the case, then that is so cool. I have a file like
John Lennon and Martin Luther King. I'm just not sure how that's
gonna keep someone from walking in with a bomb strapped to their
chest.
The
principal sent me a link to the school district safety web site,
and they list their meeting minutes on the site. They haven't
had a meeting since October 2003.
Color
me file-worthy, but...oh nevermind. I'm just a kook.
I'm
so irrational.
Mom
stuff Quickly...The
Eldest's first day of 7th grade went well. He said that there weren't any
"big kids" there anymore. I explained to him that it's
because he's a "big kid" now. He seemed pleasantly
surprised by that explanation. Moms...we cure so much, don't we?
The
Toddler had a toddler tantrum again tonight over a toy. I've
hiden that toy. She didn't go to bed until 10pm as a result.
Thanks, toy.
That
Baby seems to be waking up. That's nice. He's only been asleep
since 10:15pm.
This
isn't mom stuff, but I had a dream early this morning that I
married the punk goth freak guy from the movie Butterfly
Effect.
My
mind worries me today.
September
7, 2004...2:00am Not
good enough This
is something, and it's about fucking time, and it may
serve to make you feel better about yourselves, but when are you
going to use your moderate voice to squash the hell out of your violent
brothers and sisters?
School's
in session The
Eldest started school today. Last night as he sorted through his
school supplies, organizing everything to his liking, I gave him
some instruction of my own:
1.
You have to take showers everyday now because you are becoming a
teenager and you don't want to be the icky, smelly kid.
2. Make sure you look in the mirror each morning and pop any
white pussy pimples because kids will harass the hell out of you
for that and you'll be the icky, smelly kid.
3. Zip your fly.
4. Remember never to talk to anyone you don't know, never go up
to a car that beckons for your attention, and I will never
send someone you don't know to pick you up at school or at the
bus stop or while you're walking home from the bus stop. I
will never send someone you don't know to talk to you or
pick you up, even if I'm in the hospital. Furthermore, the only
people who would ever pick you up in the event of an emergency
or something would be me, dad, grandpa, grandma, or one of your
aunts or uncles. Not even a parent of a friend of yours will
ever be authorized by me to pick up. EVER! And if you haven't
done anything wrong, never get in a squad car with a
police officer.
5. If someone comes into your school shooting up the place,
escape if you can, hide if you can't, follow your instincts,
don't show yourself unless you can see that it's a cop or an
authority figure you know and trust. Pee your pants and eat your
shoelaces when you get hungry if you have to because you aren't
sure if it's safe to come out. Save yourself. Don't be a
hero. (sorry - I'm a selfish mother)
6. Wipe the peanut butter off of your face after lunch. You
don't want to be the icky, smelly kid.
7. Be nice to the girls.
8. It's ok to tell anyone who bullies you to fuck off. Unless
they have a weapon...or are 100 pounds bigger than you.
9. Don't get into trouble, even if Jimmy the Masturbator is
your bestest friend in the whole wide world.
10. Be polite to the teachers...it's the right thing to do and
it's beneficial to you.
When
I was getting ready for my first day of school, the only thing
my mother told me was "don't be late for the bus".
Nice
world we live in.
Oh -
and if I'm extra crabby this week it's because I'm gonna starve
myself and really kick in the workout because #1 I'm angry at
the world and need to find some kind of control especially if
it's painful for me, and #2 I'm not losing weight as quickly as
I'd like.
Also,
I can't afford to buy The Eldest a new pair of tennis
shoes....for the first time ever. His shoes are falling apart.
Literally.
And
that makes me a sucky mother.
My
life is killing me right now. It's killing me.
September
5, 2004...2:00am If
you don't have Yahoo Messenger...you won't understand Since all
the dying babies in Russia have slipped from our minds, I don't
really have much to share with you today except for this...my
conversation with Hubby when he and I started fucking around
with IMViroments on Yahoo messenger.
He
wanted to do the Neopets theme, but I think that's
"gay". This is my choice:
September
3, 2004...9:35pm Sickened
You've all seen this
picture by now. The people who are responsible for this
horror in Russia are monsters.
People
die in wars. Children die in wars. It's...sickening. But the
distinction between accidentally killing children thru the act
of waging war, and deliberating targeting and killing children
must be made.
Nice religion ya got
there.
I
don't care who I offend. If I've offended you...then do
something about it by getting your peace-loving leaders to put
the smack down on your non-peace-loving brethren for fuck's
sake.
Again
- moving to the woods and home schooling my children and
harvesting my own food and making candles out of animal fat from
last night's supper sounds more and more appealing to me each
day.
September
2, 2004...10:10pm I know what I
want to be when I grow up.
I either want to be a snake swallower, or a photo journalist. Do yourselves a favor. Go look at
MSNBC's
Week in Pictures.
September
2, 2004...9:30pm Toddler
Hell
It was 8:00pm. Time
to wait for Piglet's Big Movie to finish up and for The
Toddler to finish her graham cracker snack and juicy
juice.
Everything
was going as planned. That Baby was falling asleep in his swing,
being a good boy by following mother's intricately designed
bedtime routine which has taken mother close to 3 weeks to
perfect and synchronize with the placement of the moon among the
stars and the tidals of the waves....it goes like this:
Movie/video and
a snack for The Toddler after bath time, around
7:30pm.
At 8:00pm, That Baby has been fed since before bath time and is put in the swing.
Baby falls asleep.
Between 8:30pm and 9:00pm, take The Toddler into her room with a
bottle (I know, shut up) and lay with her until the
bottle is half empty, then dump her in her crib with her bottle
and her blankie and all of her stuffed animal guys.
It's
at this point when mother sits down and waits until 9:30pm. And
9:30pm, or if
That Baby wakes before then, take him upstairs to the
already-prepared-for-baby-sleep room and stick a bottle in his
mouth and watch him fall asleep where he'll sleep all night,
waking once or twice for another bottle because he's a boy and
boys are naughty. BUT...he "sleeps thru the night".
This is called "sleeping thru the night" at 4 months
of age. For us, anyways. At least he's no longer waking at
midnight and wanting to party.
Sometimes
he doesn't go down "for the night" at 9:30pm, but sometimes he does. He's still new at
this. ANYHOW -
The
Toddler messed up tonight. She had what I think would
classify as a temper tantrum at 8:00pm. I'm not certain, but I
think it was a tantrum. The Eldest never had them, but I've read
about them and I think this would classify as a Category 4
Tantrum.
Why
did she have a temper tantrum? I haven't a clue.
Kids
don't want to go to sleep at their designated bed time after
having a tantrum. I've just discovered this.
BUT
- being the trooper that I am, after several tries to get her to
go in her crib without behaving as if her crib were the bloody gates to
hell and her stuffed animals flesh gobbling demons, I finally said "G'night" and let her SCREAM and
scream and scream.
I
just recently got back from the porch where I was trying to peer
thru her bedroom window blinds to see if she hung herself or
swallowed her tongue, but I couldn't see anything.
It's
quiet in there. I think she disappeared. *POOF*
And
now The Eldest has somehow gotten Silly Putty stuck in his hair.
A LOT of Silly Putty in his new haircut hair...a couple days
before school starts. He's 12. How does that happen at the age
of 12?
Any suggestions
would be greatly appreciated. Right now, I'm thinking of waking
up The Toddler and allowing her to chew the Putty out with her
fangs that were, an hour ago, dripping in gore.
I
would suspect that Toddler saliva is a lot like a harsh Juicy
Juice smelling solvent.
UPDATE
- ok, I used peanut butter on the Silly Putty Hair Glob and it
worked. Now The Eldest is yelling at me because his
hair...despite multiple washings...smells like lunch.
I'm
getting Pay Pal. I need donations so that I can go on a tropical
vacation without Silly Putty coated tantrum tossing kids. Just
me and and my friend, Mrs. Margarita.
September
2, 2004...12:30pm Hubby isn't the
only one who has a good imagination.
I went for my walk today. We are having the stupidest
summer...one day it's almost cold enough for flurries, the next
day it's burning hot like hell.
Today
it is very humid and it's gonna be burning hot like hell.
Tomorrow it will probably snow.
SO, I go
for my walk and I run my stairs and I feel the sweat dripping
down my back.
Yuck.
Feels good, though. Feels like I'm accomplishing something.
Could be a heart attack I'm accomplishing, but at least that'll
be something. At this point, I'll take just about
anything.
SO, I'm walking and I'm walking and I'm walking and my heart is
pounding (in a good way) and the sweat is accumulating in
my bra between my boobs in that cleavage air pocket and I start to day
dream:
A
mountain lion jumped out of the woods I was walking next to and
attacked me. It swiped at the right side of my head making 3
long gashes that will need stitches. The gashes looked like
those you'd find on the gory face of a rubber Halloween mask,
deep and jagged and fake.
I
wrestled with this mountain lion. I jumped on it and because I
couldn't keep it's mouth shut with my hands, I crammed my fist
down it's throat and caught hold of something in there and poundedhis head into the pavement of the walking path.
POUND
POUND POUND!
I
wanted to fucking kill that cat.
I
pounded and pounded and then picked the mountain lion up, he
weighed 120 pounds, and I ran with him and rammed him into a
fire hydrant.
Dead.
CNN
showed up to take a picture and get the story, and Oprah wanted
me to be a guest on her show.
The
End.
September
2, 2004...7:30am Florida
Don't live there.
It's humid. And it's windy.
September
1, 2004...10:30pm Shhhhh....
Don't know when or
if I'll actually post this because That Baby is overdue for
waking up in his swing so he'll be waking soon and I'll have to
stop this typing thing I'm doing and go give him a bottle and
hope he goes back to sleep.
I
don't talk anymore about how I'm feeling with Hubby. I talked
and talked and talked for years, really, and I don't think he's
paying attention. I think I talked so much that it's become
white noise.
I do
talk a lot, ya know.
He
loves me, no doubt about that. He just...I don't know what it
is. I don't think he's hearing what I'm saying and I am not
beating around the bush, here. I am very frank and direct, just
like I am on this blog.
Something
is wrong. I'm sad and I shouldn't be.
I
don't want to be sad anymore.
Really...I'm
happy. I am. I am a happy person. I am happy on the inside. All
the money worries and tiredness and such....I still have all the
great wonderful stuff in my mind, I can see it and taste it and
feel it. It's there.
Like...deep
down inside I'm happy. Deep down inside I have hope and joy and
thankfulness and deep down inside I'm excited about the future,
about the Halloweens and the Christmases to come with my new
babies, and all the fun with...well with the future. I
anticipate stuff. Ya know? I look forward to stuff.
But
when I think of it, those happy thoughts of what's to come hit
my tongue like cotton candy. It's there, I taste it, and then
it's gone I'm left going "huh? what? come back..."
It's
like looking through a window. An old, worn-out metaphor, I'm
sure, but that's what it's like. My happiness and joy is in a
store...the Christmas store...with all the little trinkets and
sparkly lights and sweet music and toys and pretty stuff...and
I'm on the outside looking through the window. And it's dark
outside, cold and snowy, and it's late. Very late at night and
I'm alone and the store is closed.
And
I'm cold. I press my face against that glass and I look in
wanting all that Christmas cheer, all those items, but the store
is closed and even if it were opened....I couldn't afford it.
That's
how I feel.
So I
turn and look down the cold, snowy deserted street and I can see
in the light of the lamps that it's pretty outside....but all I
can think about is how quiet it is and how I have to walk down
that street alone until there is no street any longer...until
it's just a dirty bus stop bench and how I'll have to sit there
and wait for my ride. My ride back to my un-Christmasy life.
I
see it's pretty outside, even away from that Christmas store,
but I know I have to go sit on that bench eventually.
I
want a big fucking sledgehammer to break down that window and
steal my happiness back. NOW.
I
called my mom. She keeps offering money. I keep turning her
down. I know money won't make anything better.
Plus...my
dad has to get his hip replaced in October. Mom and Dad are
gonna need all the money they got to buy a device to wipe the
poop off of dad's ass. He won't be able to bend enough to do it
himself for awhile and my mother said "Well...I'm not gonna
do it!"
hehe.
September
1, 2004...12:00pm At work.
I'm having a soggy
salad for lunch. Almost like eating yard waste that's been
sitting out in the rain.
What
I did before going to work.
See previous post if you are confused. I didn't get into work
until 10am this morning.
BUT
- I did 2 loads of laundry and folded and put them away along
with the load of laundry Hubby left in the drier
yesterday.
I
made tonight's dinner (meatloaf, cheesy garlic mashed potatoes,
beans and broccoli - all from scratch), package up some of that
dinner for Hubby so he can take it to work with him tonight.
I
made 2 breakfasts for 2 different kids.
I
got The Toddler's lunch all planned out and ready to go to make
life easier on Hubby today.
Took
out the garbage, emptied the dishwasher, washed bottles and cups
and kiddie bowls, made the bed, straightened up The Toddler's
room, made 3 business phone calls, changed diapers, read books
with Toddler, played with the baby, told the dog he was a
horse's ass, and got myself ready for work...albeit sloppily.
And
in the two hours that I've been at work, I created four 2-page
technical documents from conception to completion, shipped stuff
to all four corners of the earth, reviewed, edited and approved
5 other documents, answered a gabillion emails, made a gazillion
phone calls, transferred $300 from my personal checking account
in to Hubby's and my joint checking account so we can pay the
car payment and car insurance thereby discovering that this will
leave me with $54 to buy food, diapers, and formula over the
next 10 days.
I
also drank four 12oz cups
of water, ate half a soggy salad, and ordered $149.57 in office
supplies.
*thrusts
fists into the air*
September
1, 2004...7:00am Not at
work.
I'm
home.
You
may remember my post on Aug 30 or 31 about my conflicting
emotions regarding this promotion that Hubby is going for at
work.
First
I have to say that OF COURSE I support my husband in this
effort. Wives do that sometimes. When he wakes up today I'm
going to tell him the following things:
1.
OF COURSE I support you. I hope you get the job. I hope you get
the job NOT because the money will be nice, but because of your
mental health. You work your tail off, you do that manager job
already as it is, it's about time you got rewarded for your
efforts in both title and in money.
2. I have conflicting emotions about it, though, because it
will mean more hours for you where you'll be getting home later
during the week and working some weekends. This can create two
problems - #1 you being able to care for the little ones on
less sleep and #2 it will be a hardship for me to be alone some
weekends because the only thing that gets me through the week
is knowing that the weekend is coming and I won't be alone
then.
3. So, I wish you would have consulted your spouse about
applying for this position first because that's what spouses
do, but even if you had consulted me first I still would have
said "Go for it!" Because that's what wives do.
Talking
to your spouses is always a good thing, in so many different
ways.
Then
I'll have to demand of Hubby that if he should be offered the
position - he doesn't have it yet and he very well may not get
it - that he takes the position. No turning it down. And if he
turns it down and then comes home and lies to me telling me
that he didn't get the job, I'll kill 'im.
Why
am I telling you about this? Because wife is always right. I'm
home right now when I should be at work because Hubby worked
from 5pm last night until 4:45am this morning...doing work for
the man who will be determining who gets this manager position.
See?
I'm always right. People need to accept that and summit
themselves to my all-encompassing rightness.
I'll
be getting Hubby up at 9:30am and heading to work myself. I'll
toss him in the shower and put on a pot of coffee and tell him
to nap in the afternoon when the babies are napping.
And
by the way...I got a decent night's sleep last night. I went to
bed around 10:30pm when That Baby went to bed. I behaved myself
that way. Of course, that kid wakes up every 2-3 hours still so
I have to stick a bottle in his puss to put him back to
sleep...but, I feel better.
Tired...I'm
still tired...but it will take many nights of sleep like this
one for my body to catch up I think.
TTFN.
And
I hope Hubby gets the job. He really deserves it.
Disclaimer
The jokes on you. And furthermore, all words put together to make sentences are the sole property
of me...unless otherwise noted, blatantly apparent, or
coincidently just like your words.
