How in the world is it only 1:30pm? (PST) I fee like it should be 8pm. Or Wednesday, at the very earliest. Since waking up this morning, I feel like I've lived three lifetimes.
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but it's been a crazy seven hours.
It started with the financial guy ('m just going to blame him for everything.) He scheduled our medical exams for this morning at 7am - you know, the one where some pseudo-medical professional takes some bodily fluids and ask you a million questions, all to make sure you are not going to expire within a month of opening a multi-million dollar life insurance policy? (That would be Brian. My policy is for exactly $14.32. Monthly premium? Three cents.)
Some very nice woman showed up on our doorstep at 7:15, marched into our house, and weighed both of us. Right there in the kitchen.
Now, this would put me in a bad mood any number of ways, but it was especially offense since we weren't allowed to drink coffee, as it would "raise our blood pressure." Let me tell you, my blood pressure did not remain stable when I saw that number. Nor did it when the woman, some matronly grandmother-type, launched into an attack on our parenting skills and informed us sippy cups are dangerous and unnecessary. Her twin 2-year old grandsons do not use sippy cups, and they are amazing, smart, and courteous two-year olds.
I love it when other people into your home and tell you how to raise your children. 'Cause after all, nothing has changed in the 30 years she raised her daughter, and she obviously knows best.
::cough, cough::
Scott sat there, blissfully ignorant, sipping his strawberry milk and eating his pancakes and strawberries. He wasn't looking his finest, since his little nose has been a faucet of boogers since Thursday night, and everything (mostly dirt and food particles) was sticking to his face as a result. He looked like a Wal-mart baby at best, but it was a.) not even 8am yet, b.) he was still clad in his jammies, and c.) who cares? All kids get sick. She just happened to catch us at a bad time. I just hoped it didn't go in her insurance report.
I, however, attempted to manage my irritation by eying the coffee pot with longing and making faces at Brian.
So the woman finally left (after poking me exceptionally hard, I believe, during the blood draw since I did not take to her advice kindly) and Brian tootled off to work. I continued wiping Scotty's increasingly yellow, sticky snot from his face (day 4) and checked Facebook. It appeared that some kind of bug managed to dismantle our entire play group. At least six kids were sick. It was like the Seal Team Six of Germs came and attacked our little village of toddlers. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
As I played nursemaid to the Bear, I glanced outside and noticed a large piece of broken off piping in our backyard. Upon closer inspection (read: me gingerly stepping over the rocks while still in my own jammies), I realized an entire chuck of our underground sprinkler system had been broken off. There was a giant, gaping hole in our backyard where it used to be.
Like any good wife, I immediately called Brian and yelled at him.
While he swore he had nothing to do with it, we weren't sure how to fix it, either. This situation had happened last summer during Scotty's fraternity-boy-I-mean-bears-and-balloons-themed birthday party, when one of Brian's friends began tinkering with the system and broke a head off. Gushing water resulted. As well as a giant bill from the sprinkler people, and four days of me hand-watering our lawn in August. In Las Vegas.
The whole thing left a very bad taste in my mouth.
So looking at this chuck of black plastic only made me really, really frustrated. Brian swore he hadn't touched the sprinkler (and I believe him...he's not one to tinker), but that only leaves an unknown assailant, breaking into our yard, not stealing anything, yet damaging our sprinkler system? It didn't make sense.
So we yelled at each other for about twenty minutes (with Brian declaring, "Well, if you want me to fix it, I'm going to have to dig up the whole backyard!" while I seethed, "That is NOT an acceptable solution!") until I finally just hung up. I grabbed some needle-nosed pliers and attempted to dislodge the remaining plastic pieces until my hands were dirty, cut, and practically bleeding.
Then I threw in the towel and called a new sprinkler company.
You all know how I feel about workmen. I don't like men I don't know coming into my home, carrying large weapons, er, tools. It creeps me out. And then, imagine my surprise when 20 minutes after calling this company, two of the largest men I've ever seen in my life show up at the door, carrying a giant wrench. I'm fairly certain I worked with one of them when I was on the mountain, although I couldn't get close enough to read his neck tattoos.
Yay.
Turns out it only took them about 15 minutes to fix the whole thing, which is approximately 5 minutes less than Brian and I spent discussing it. (hooray for college educations.) And it only cost $10. I was so excited I tipped them another ten, and promised to call if our unknown assailant returns to create more damage.
Then finally, after all of this, I notice Scotty is pulling at his ear as the snot flowed freely. We jumped in the car immediately to hit Dr. Awesome's office (breaking the streak! Ugh, it kills me. Eight months, three weeks, and one day without a sick visit), only to sit there for a full 60 minutes as they processed our new insurance. After dropping off his prescription (ear infection, 10 days on antibiotics) we didn't get home until well after 12. The Bear went down at 12:30 (two dill pickles, some watermelon, and milk for lunch) and here I am, freshly showered and very tired. We have two errands to run this afternoon before I head to a Junior League meeting, and quite honestly, the meeting can't come fast enough. Because all I am supposed to do is sit there and think, right? Offer my opinions, take notes, and not fall asleep. I don't have to wipe boogers, use needle-nosed pliers, or attempt to keep a toddler from licking toys in a waiting room.
And there might even be wine involved.
Sign me up, folks.
Happy Monday to all of you, too.
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but it's been a crazy seven hours.
It started with the financial guy ('m just going to blame him for everything.) He scheduled our medical exams for this morning at 7am - you know, the one where some pseudo-medical professional takes some bodily fluids and ask you a million questions, all to make sure you are not going to expire within a month of opening a multi-million dollar life insurance policy? (That would be Brian. My policy is for exactly $14.32. Monthly premium? Three cents.)
Some very nice woman showed up on our doorstep at 7:15, marched into our house, and weighed both of us. Right there in the kitchen.
Now, this would put me in a bad mood any number of ways, but it was especially offense since we weren't allowed to drink coffee, as it would "raise our blood pressure." Let me tell you, my blood pressure did not remain stable when I saw that number. Nor did it when the woman, some matronly grandmother-type, launched into an attack on our parenting skills and informed us sippy cups are dangerous and unnecessary. Her twin 2-year old grandsons do not use sippy cups, and they are amazing, smart, and courteous two-year olds.
I love it when other people into your home and tell you how to raise your children. 'Cause after all, nothing has changed in the 30 years she raised her daughter, and she obviously knows best.
::cough, cough::
Scott sat there, blissfully ignorant, sipping his strawberry milk and eating his pancakes and strawberries. He wasn't looking his finest, since his little nose has been a faucet of boogers since Thursday night, and everything (mostly dirt and food particles) was sticking to his face as a result. He looked like a Wal-mart baby at best, but it was a.) not even 8am yet, b.) he was still clad in his jammies, and c.) who cares? All kids get sick. She just happened to catch us at a bad time. I just hoped it didn't go in her insurance report.
I, however, attempted to manage my irritation by eying the coffee pot with longing and making faces at Brian.
So the woman finally left (after poking me exceptionally hard, I believe, during the blood draw since I did not take to her advice kindly) and Brian tootled off to work. I continued wiping Scotty's increasingly yellow, sticky snot from his face (day 4) and checked Facebook. It appeared that some kind of bug managed to dismantle our entire play group. At least six kids were sick. It was like the Seal Team Six of Germs came and attacked our little village of toddlers. Yuck, yuck, yuck.
As I played nursemaid to the Bear, I glanced outside and noticed a large piece of broken off piping in our backyard. Upon closer inspection (read: me gingerly stepping over the rocks while still in my own jammies), I realized an entire chuck of our underground sprinkler system had been broken off. There was a giant, gaping hole in our backyard where it used to be.
Like any good wife, I immediately called Brian and yelled at him.
While he swore he had nothing to do with it, we weren't sure how to fix it, either. This situation had happened last summer during Scotty's fraternity-boy-I-mean-bears-and-balloons-themed birthday party, when one of Brian's friends began tinkering with the system and broke a head off. Gushing water resulted. As well as a giant bill from the sprinkler people, and four days of me hand-watering our lawn in August. In Las Vegas.
The whole thing left a very bad taste in my mouth.
So looking at this chuck of black plastic only made me really, really frustrated. Brian swore he hadn't touched the sprinkler (and I believe him...he's not one to tinker), but that only leaves an unknown assailant, breaking into our yard, not stealing anything, yet damaging our sprinkler system? It didn't make sense.
So we yelled at each other for about twenty minutes (with Brian declaring, "Well, if you want me to fix it, I'm going to have to dig up the whole backyard!" while I seethed, "That is NOT an acceptable solution!") until I finally just hung up. I grabbed some needle-nosed pliers and attempted to dislodge the remaining plastic pieces until my hands were dirty, cut, and practically bleeding.
Then I threw in the towel and called a new sprinkler company.
You all know how I feel about workmen. I don't like men I don't know coming into my home, carrying large weapons, er, tools. It creeps me out. And then, imagine my surprise when 20 minutes after calling this company, two of the largest men I've ever seen in my life show up at the door, carrying a giant wrench. I'm fairly certain I worked with one of them when I was on the mountain, although I couldn't get close enough to read his neck tattoos.
Yay.
Turns out it only took them about 15 minutes to fix the whole thing, which is approximately 5 minutes less than Brian and I spent discussing it. (hooray for college educations.) And it only cost $10. I was so excited I tipped them another ten, and promised to call if our unknown assailant returns to create more damage.
Then finally, after all of this, I notice Scotty is pulling at his ear as the snot flowed freely. We jumped in the car immediately to hit Dr. Awesome's office (breaking the streak! Ugh, it kills me. Eight months, three weeks, and one day without a sick visit), only to sit there for a full 60 minutes as they processed our new insurance. After dropping off his prescription (ear infection, 10 days on antibiotics) we didn't get home until well after 12. The Bear went down at 12:30 (two dill pickles, some watermelon, and milk for lunch) and here I am, freshly showered and very tired. We have two errands to run this afternoon before I head to a Junior League meeting, and quite honestly, the meeting can't come fast enough. Because all I am supposed to do is sit there and think, right? Offer my opinions, take notes, and not fall asleep. I don't have to wipe boogers, use needle-nosed pliers, or attempt to keep a toddler from licking toys in a waiting room.
And there might even be wine involved.
Sign me up, folks.
Happy Monday to all of you, too.
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