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This. Fucking. Week. — Part One

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The week of September 23, at least.  THAT. Fucking. Week.  Maybe by the time I post this all of my injuries, physical and emotional, will be healed.  Not likely, but maybe.  The week started out with so much hope and potential—Robin’s TENTH birthday was Thursday, but Monday was also an incredibly significant and exciting day:  The Mr. moved into his new office space! 

He’s been self employed for two years now and overall it has been wonderful.  One of our biggest family issues was his overwork and absence so just being present in the home made a huge positive difference.  It absolutely eliminated some problems while simultaneously introducing new problems because that’s literally how life works.  Now, working at home wasn’t some magic bullet that made our family happily ever after, but it improved the quality of our lives exponentially.  Businesses can only grow and thrive so much out of a home office; happily, he’s outgrown being at home full time and has officially leased a great little office in conjunction with another established professional.

While all that was cause for celebration, Monday was going be my ‘get-shit-together’ day:  clean up the classroom, run birthday errands, clean the house up, etc.  Also on my schedule was making our dinner for equinox (as opposed to giving in to my inherent lazy desires and ordering take out) and baking some cakes in preparation for the Big Ten birthday on Thursday.  By 10 AM, I had a text from the Mr. asking me to pick up some things for him from Home Depot which was actually a welcome distraction and an option for the kids and me to see the office for the first time.

Well, that errand turned into a FIVE HOUR ORDEAL.  No, I wasn’t being cattle-prodded or anything like that, but…I have this condition that makes it damn near impossible for me to stop helping others right in the middle of a project.  Especially if it gives me an excuse to procrastinate on my own overwhelming mountain of a task list.  I hate this aspect of myself and if I don’t keep in in check it makes me a resentful garbage pile which is only exacerbated by the fact that I am volunteering.   Here’s how this part of the day went down:

  • go to Home Depot for a power strip and surge protector
  • Home Depot does not have the requested surge protector (as recommended by our IT guy). Drive a quarter of the way to his office when he finally gets back to me and tells me it’s at Lowes.
  • Turn around, go to Lowes.  In the aisle literally labeled SURGE PROTECTORS there are none of that brand or even that style.  Ask an employee if there are surge protectors anywhere in the store other than the surge protector aisle.  NO.
  • go to the office.  Yay new office!  Further research mythological surge protector and find out it’s in aisle 15, not in aisle 6 labeled SURGE PROTECTORS.  Make extensive list of additional needs from Lowes and set out again.
  • back at Lowes, aisle 15 is full of plastic storage containers and trash cans which is great because I needed a trash can but still no elusive surge protector.  Find help; turns out surge protectors are in the TV accessories aisle, aisle 11.
  • one small mortgage payment later, return to the Mr.’s office to lay on the floor to help with electronics installation.  It’s hot and stuffy because the doors are closed.  The doors are closed because the office mates have a gentle giant bulldog mix that wanted to be under the desk with me and I am not into that.
  • a fan and lunch are desperately needed.  Went home to start laundry, start dinner, take fan from bedroom instead of buying one as that would take too long.  Pick up lunch and deliver food and a fan; eat and go home by three-ish.

Phew!  What a day!

So, finally at home and have just enough time to wash Josh’s TKD uniform and gear and make equinox dinner.  No big deal.  I have about two hours.  I got this, I thought, which is an incredibly stupid thought.  I got nothing.  I have never in the history of ever gotten anything so maybe I was having heat stroke or low blood sugar or an out of body experience.

Things could have been gotten…except that there was a load of clothes in the washer that needed to be re-washed.  We have a new fancy washing machine (our old workhorse died after 17 years!) and it’s extremely efficient in spinning the clothes and basically pre-drying them before putting them in the dryer.  This is wonderful except when I don’t swap clothes out immediately and it gets The Smell.  You know what I mean.  Clean, yes, but with that low undertone of mildew.  The Smell of one minute too long of a delay and The Smell of wasted water, energy, and most importantly, time.  The Smell.

So a load takes about an hour to wash, about 40 minutes to dry (thanks to that super extreme spin cycle).  As I walked back into the kitchen, I realized I needed to put a bottle of mead into the fridge if I wanted to have it with dinner.  I pulled out a bottle from a low cabinet and immediately slow-motion-dropped it on my foot.

I dropped a full wine bottle approximately three and a half feet onto the bones of my left foot.  Specifically, the first long bone connecting to my big toe, a.k.a.: first metatarsal.  My scream brought a crowd of concerned children while also scattering a variety of indoor and outdoor animals.  I refused to take off my sock to inspect my injury because compression stocks are too much of a pain to take off and put on so I substituted cussing and hobbling around while I prepared the pork roast.

It was then that I realized the pork that I was preparing was rancid because of course it was.

Another trip to Kroger, a clean uniform fresh out of the dryer 30 minutes before the start of class, and the day from hell ended with many things accomplished but so many MORE things unfinished.  I did not fully inspect my foot until after dinner for a few reasons, all of which were fairly childish.  Basically, it boiled down to the idea that I didn’t have time for that shit and if I could walk I could ignore it for just a little while more.  A glass of mead and a thousand ibuprofen afterwards, I finally peeled off my sock.  I determined that the bone wasn’t broken as I could still move my toes without blacking out but could have a hairline crack or something.  Walking wasn’t terrible, but stairs were total bullshit.  Shoes were borderline intolerable but obviously I was wearing shoes and running around like a crazy person for the entire week.  As of today (Saturday the 28th) the knot is smaller but still there and I’m subjected to a constant sharp/burning pain and even I’m tired of my own complaints.  7:30 AM found me rubbing Tiger Balm on the spot and then groggily wiping MY FUCKING EYES so sufficed to say I am, if anything, consistent.

And that was only day one of that week.  Ugh.

Thinking about things

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Man, what a month. I had a birthday and didn’t act like a whiny bitch.  I KNOW, RIGHT?  I am now 38 years old and am determined to…well, not act my age or anything, but maybe hide my immaturity a bit better.  Yeah…

I’m trying to think about this blog going forward.  The PB thing really took the wind out of my sails, so to speak.  I know it’s not ‘ruined’ but it sure feels that way. I really want to restore all the pictures and bring it back to its former glory.  Don’t laugh.  I am even thinking about switching to WordPress pro because it’s pretty darn neat.  I use it for my actual work website and blog and it’s snazzy.  I find it difficult to rationalize the expense, and I can generally rationalize most things I want to spend money on. I don’t want to quit, but I just wonder if it needs a face lift. Start a new blog or just draw a line in the sand and say I’m starting over right here?

There is always something more I want to say, one more thing to joke or whine about.  I’m feeling spread thin, between teaching, working on the social media for the business and blogging for the business which gives me more stress than I like. Mostly because I have a lot of research to do before I can blog somewhat intelligently on topics that I am unfamiliar with just to get a good framework and draft set up before the rest of the technical stuff is added.  We have a full client schedule now, and the Mr. is nice and busy which is encouraging.  Everyday I take a moment to be thankful for the life we have now, and secretly hope that nothing changes from this exact moment in time though I know that’s not realistic in the slightest. That’s not how it works.

I’m doing a terrible ob, by the way. At everything, mostly. Dishes are never done enough, laundry is never done enough, school is never thorough enough, social media presence is for shit, blah, blah, blah. I find myself inordinately excited when I remember to pack ice water for taekwondo or if I remember to practice violin enough. I need to get back on my diet.  I figure as of right now, I have two months before I screw it up with Robin’s birthday. And for all of this, I’m still grateful and happy. Is this what comes with age? Figuring out that things are good, or at least, will be?

It’s late a shit, and I’m obviously not being an adult by playing around on the computer at 0230. I will sleep and I will wake up on time and diet and do dishes and teach and go grocery shopping and go to the library and go to taekwondo and practice violin and clean out the litter box and blog and for fun and profit.

We’ve adopted! — and other things

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His name is Luis!  Not sure how old he is, but he has a child of his own.  Oh, and he’s a soldier.

Soldier cat deserves a cheezeburger.

So, no, we didn’t adopt a child nor did we adopt another pet.  Through the Adopt A US Soldier program, we were matched up with Luis.  I don’t know how much detail I should give, but the above picture is not of him.  Let’s just make that clear.  Any additional information I may or may not have is really not for discussion.  It makes me sad that on the AAUSS site they have to reinforce this idea over and over.  Also that this is not a dating site.  I mean, really?  Really, people?  I get it, but people have enough shit to worry about, wherever they’re stationed.  They don’t need a stateside stalker.

It may not seem a lot to some, but letters are so important, even in these times of instant information and communication.  Letters take the time and effort to say that you’re really thinking about someone.  I thought about this and realized that the servicemen and women that are in these far flung corners of the world could be my children.  Both because I’m so decrepitly old and also because so many soldiers are so excruciatingly young.  We are sending letters each week and I’m going to send a care package soon; I need more details about his preferences before I spend money on things that he’ll hate.  I don’t think it will matter that much, because even if my guy doesn’t like the stuff, surely someone else will.  But I adopted Luis and I want to get things for him, not for “any soldier”.  Any suggestions would be appreciated, there are lots of things that have been suggested to me that I haven’t even thought of.

Speaking of care packages, I got gifts for Chinese New Year (why yes, it was many months ago, that’s not the point) that I haven’t even posted about.  The Awesome Xingible over at Special Thanks sent me and my kiddos some awesome gifts.  In true shithead fashion, I ate everything and used everything and took very few pictures.  Here’s all the goodies:

They weren’t my favorite, but I still ate the whole bag.

 

I drank all the tea, but I did have one picture!

 

To balance the teh tarik. All eaten.

 

Josh got a bottle similar to these.  I’m too lazy to go downstairs to take a picture.  That second moss green seems a bit off.

 

My favorite! Fish for fish!

Robin got some awesome gel pens which she uses to make super fun pictures.  I don’t have any pictures of them because I’m a horrible parent.  Other things I got: embroidery thread, turmeric for my sleep, bullion, also got a *signed* copy of Eva Goes Solo so how awesome is that?!

So much stuff, all of it amazing.  Thank you, Xingible!  You really are the best and I’m very, very lucky.  Now off to video games and naps and such.  Priorities.