Do you know this woman? Sadly, I do. Image courtesy of http://www.enumclaw.com.

Let’s say you’re a parent, and one of your kids’ friends is in the middle of a falling out with his own parents. You want to help, because the kid in question has never been in any trouble, he’s a sweet kid, and he simply needs some down-time to get his proverbial shit together before graduation.

What you should do -

• Perhaps call the parents and identify yourself and let them know that you are aware of the situation at hand.
• You should ask them for their side of the story.
• You should ask them if there is anything that you can do to help. The absolute worst thing that could happen is that you could be cussed at and then told to stay out of it. But, hey…at least you made an effort to help make peace.
• Or…(and this is my favorite) you can mind your own business and stay the hell out of the parents’. But, that’s just me. What do I know? I have only raised 3.5 of them over the past 28 years.

What you should NOT do -

• You should not show up at the parents’ house, unannounced, and walk through the front door as if you live there, too.
• You should not stand in the middle of the parents’ living room and talk down to them like they are criminals and you are so much better than they are.
• You should not WAIT to be asked not once, but twice, just who the hell you are before telling the parents.
• You should not say that you are there on behalf of the school to ensure that said offspring retrieves his items du jour safely and without incident.
• You should not tell the parents that you know where their offspring is staying, and then tell them that it is best that they don’t know.
• You should not act like this is the parents’ first rodeo and behave as if you are mother-of-the-year and be proud of the fact that your children do not abide by curfew rules and forget to call home when it’s not convenient for them to do so. Along these same lines? You shouldn’t belittle the parents’ disciplinary plan, especially since you don’t even know what it is.
• You should not show up at the parents’ home the following day, again unannounced, and attempt to walk through the front door, even after you have been told TWICE that you are not welcome in the home. (As a side note, this will prompt the involved parties to pay a visit to the local magistrate’s office and swear out a no-trespass order with your name on it. That said, you SHOULD expect to see this family in court next month.)
• You should not pull a student out of school an hour or more before dismissal to bring him to his parents’ house unannounced to retrieve more of the student’s belongings.
• You should not put your nose in a situation that you know little or nothing about, because this will only cause you further legal trouble, ESPECIALLY if you forged the parents’ signature to remove the student from school without their express permission.

That said, it is now time for Mom to have her say.

Dear Busy-Body -

You met me ONCE, in passing, as I was picking my son up from a party at your house last winter. You don’t know me; you don’t know my husband; you don’t know our family dynamic. Never again will you walk into my home, unannounced, and plant yourself in the middle of my living room and commence to tell me about myself. You thought you were pretty hot shit, just showing up out of the blue with the element of surprise on your side. I get that. The fact that I had been averaging about 2.5 hours of sleep per night since my son packed his belongings and left because “he needed space” left me slow to respond, thanks to sleep deprivation. That you even let yourself into my home without an invitation was enough to stun my muddled brain into non-reaction. You probably should be thankful, given that you still have the same teeth in your mouth that you arrived with and that my internal “southern hospitality-self” was in high gear. This coupled with the absolute stunnage to your very presence in my home had me almost offer you a glass of iced tea. You know, because that is how I was raised, and knocking your teeth out would not have been very sociable. Oh…and also? I’m better than that.

Had I known that there was a deputy sheriff outside my home during your stay is a bad on me. Had I been aware of this fact, the deputy would have found out that you walked into my home, uninvited, which is where I found you when I came out of my bedroom. That, my dear, is breaking & entering (I work with law enforcement, and do retain an attorney, so please understand that I know of what I speak). It is also trespass, which I am sure you have learned by now, as if a deputy hasn’t visited your house with the no-trespass order yet? I’m sure he will.

Further? Just because you gave us your first name, and stated that you are so and so’s mom to avoid giving away your entire identity? Please know that Facebook is my friend, and finding out who you were was a piece of cake. I may have been born during the day, but I wasn’t born YESTERDAY.

Then you have the absolute BALLS to show up with my son, after having pulled him out of school early WITHOUT my permission, at 2:00 p.m. the following day (because you knew that I would be at work, and apparently felt that my husband, who didn’t say much during your initial “visit,” would probably be a silent voyeur to your exploits into my home), once again. You also, apparently, didn’t bank on my middle son answering the door and blocking your ass from entering through the front door. He told you politely that while my son could come in and get more of his things, you were not welcome in the house. Yet you tried to push past him, so he had to tell you again that you were not coming in. That was your final mistake, ma’am. THAT is what prompted the no trespass order with your name on it. And guess what? As sad as it makes me that my name isn’t on it as the complainant because I wasn’t there? My middle son was a very willing complainant, and will be testifying against you when we see you in court next month.

I do apologize for my “mild mannered, push over” husband, however. I understand the language he used with you when he told you to get off our porch, get back into your vehicle, and get out of our yard was more than a little harsh. But he did appreciate your squeaked, “Yes, sir,” as you were backing down our porch steps. So it’s apparent that you DO have some grasp of the word “respect.” I, personally, was starting to wonder.

My advice to you is this, Lady: While I appreciate your wanting to help my son? I think you seriously need to rethink your position in your self-perceived holier-than-thou-ness and butt the hell out of my family situation. This is only going to get you into a more serious situation if you choose to continue.

You have been officially warned.

One of the interviews in the city was quite particularly a success, I thought, but you never truly know until something is printed or delineated. The young journalist, Cara, was refreshingly well-prepared and talented. That was nice to encounter. I tend to presume that people are going to be scattered and unreliable (because they usually ARE) but Cara was one of those sparkling sapphires that proved me wrong. YES! Many cheers for Cara but, again, I will have to see her write-up. Suffice it to say that the interview about the new books went well and that a great many ghosts were roused, rattled, and riddled. I’ll share Cara’s article when she completes it. She did send me a photo I have permission to use; hopefully I will be able to post it, given my neophyte status with WordPress. Anyway, I am home, it was not really a good day (I’m rather grumpy) and I am so ready for bed it is actually painful. Physically. Give me the weekend to exhale.

We’ve all had those days… you know, the Rough Day.  Sometimes it’s not that bad, but for that day it all got to you.  You cursed the world and it cursed right back at you.

In our world, everything is affecting us in a way that is only understandable in only in our own eyes.  You  or “I” have had it that day.  And sometimes if feels like no matter what happens, nothing works out right.  You get there late, your friends ditch you, your family doesn’t understand you, the project you were working on didn’t work and you had to start all over again, you arrived to the wrong meeting place.  Whatever it may be… that day you just couldn’t laugh.  You had a furrowed brow that even Botox couldn’t erase.  You looked in the mirror and saw that sourpuss face staring back at you.  You could only pout, and you wanted to scream, or strangle someone… but being the civilized humans we are, we must endure it.  Endure the pain, the suffering, accept that day has being absolutely horrid.

And hopefully, the GOOD days are more than the BAD days.  Sometimes the bad days are about people, misunderstandings, disappointments, frustrations, miscommunications, etc.  What does pressure come from?  It comes from the inability to solve, to progress, to move.  And when there is no resolution in sight for that one ROUGH day, we feel helpless.

Sometimes, it’s just time.  We have to wait, to vent, to talk and scream, and workout to get it out.  BUT, we must get it out in some way.  For me it is all those things… to write, to talk, to scream, to workout, to box, to sprint, to give myself a self-massage and to smooth out that furrowed brow.

A Spa Day.  I’ve had probably less spa days then I can count on one hand.  Probably not enough.  I considered it a luxury, a waste, weird, some stranger massaging you, rubbing green mud on you, naked under that towel.  Maybe that’s what we need.  Someone to pamper us, to entertain us, to bring us Abuelita’s hot chocolate, cover us in rose petals and help us forget all our worries.

A good boxing session.  To hit that bag, to flurry, to bob and weave, to hit focus mitts with speed and power.

A yoga session.  The downward dog,  some tree poses, with mantras.

Aerobics.  A good cardio session to keep your heart pumping, bring yourself breathless.

Sleep.  Sometimes its best to just sleep it off.  Sleep well, wake up late, don’t plan anything in the morning, just rest.

Whatever it is, let it out somehow. We’ve all had them: The Rough Day.

About a month ago.

So did my boss and my administrative assistant. All on the same day.

Strangely, we’ve all been down hard this week. In fact, I spoke with my admin this evening. She isn’t much better, either…Things that make you go hmmm.

Yeah…right. >:(

I started feeling weird (more so than usual) last Sunday night. I woke up Monday morning with a tickle in my throat, and a bit of a headache. By quitting time, I had no voice, my head was pounding, and my joints were aching. My admin couldn’t talk, either.

By Monday evening, I had a fever, still couldn’t talk, and ended up texting in sick. People with no voice are very thankful for modern technology. By o’dark-thirty Tuesday morning, I was coughing. By six a.m. I was miserable. I went to the doctor on Wednesday, and she initially thought it was the flu…until I told her I’d gotten a flu shot. So that narrowed it down to a simple upper respiratory infection. Great! A Z-pack and Mucinex perscription later, I was headed home, thinking I’d be fine within 24 hours. Antibiotics are amazing like that. The doctor’s note said I’d be fine to return to work today, which, by the way, I didn’t.

I’ve still got a fever, aches, chills, cough, and now I have the benefit of a snotty head, too. Four days of bed rest, three days of antibiotics, and I am the same as I was Tuesday morning.

If I have a choice in the matter? I don’t take the flu shot. This year I had no choice. It was take the flu shot or lose my job, so I took the damned shot. My bad.

Last year I didn’t have the shot. Yes, I went to the doctor a couple of times, but that was because once I tripped over a curb and busted up one knee, and then again when I got hit by the dog. The year before that? I had a flu shot. I was at the doctor right before Christmas with bronchitis. The year before that? I had a flu shot and I was at the doctor for something ridiculously similar to the flu. The year prior? Flu shot and TWO bouts with walking pneumonia. I get a flu shot, and I go down hard at some point that season. No shot and apparently I’m just harder on my knees.

So I sit here, at eleven o’clock on a friday night, still running a fever, and still feeling like ass, because, you know…I had the flu shot, so I couldn’t possibly have the flu.

And the worst part? I love food, but don’t want any. I REALLY love wine, and don’t want any of that, either. On the bright side? I think I’ve lost a couple of pounds.

Ugh…WhatEVER….

Stay healthy, people…

Some things remain the same. I am, for instance, having coffee. Right now. I think I’ve had coffee every day since I’ve started having coffee, except for the day Lauren and I were in Paris and I checked my bank account in the evening and Lauren said I looked like I was about ready to die and IT’S TRUE, I was. If only I had the bean-wine in my veins. I could have handled the news better.

I am still resplendent with feelings. I still don’t throw anything away. I still love the song “Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine” by the musical artist James Brown and I still remember the time I was walking home and heard it blasting from not one but two open garages. I still really like beets.

I still really like cats.

They are, perhaps, the one thing that remains. Along with my love of scavenging.

In honor of the impending great lady herself, I will share with you an email sent some time ago by good old Auntie Jo, who claims not to like cats BUT THIS IS A LIE.

It was entitled FWD: No Stress! 

“This is how I heard your day was going”

First you had trouble getting out of bed…

You had a stiff neck…

Your new diet really doesn’t seem to be working out…

You pulled a muscle when you tried to exercise…

You keep losing things…

You got caught in the rain at lunchtime…

Then the lunch you had didn’t seem to agree with you…

You feel trapped…

Uninvited guests showed up at dinnertime…

On top of that you think you’re coming down with the flu…

And finally, you’re alone in the house at night when you think you hear a noise in the basement…

MAYBE TOMORROW WILL BE BETTER!!

You’re taking one down

You sing a sad song just to turn it around

You say you don’t know

You tell me don’t lie

You work at a smile and you go for a ride

You had a bad day

You’ve seen what you like

And how does it feel for one more time

You had a bad day

You had a bad day”

-Lyrics from “Bad day” by Alvin & The Chipmunks

photo credit: google images

So it was one of “those days”…Right from the start of the day everything went wrong,You got late for work,you missed the bus,got stuck in traffic,you had a fight with somebody,your work didn’t get appreciated,etc.etc….it was like some evil had overshadowed your simply cheerful life,As if the world had come crumbling down on you,it was a crazy day when with or without a reason your mood was angry,upset or plain bad….Now what?

You had a bad day doesn’t mean that you can’t lift your mood now.Here are a few things I do when I have a really crazy day.I hope that these will help you end your day happily and you go off to sleep peacefully with a wide grin in your face no matter how bad a day you had.

1.DON’T FAKE IT

If you are feeling bad,you are.There is absolutely nothing wrong with having a bad mood-it happens.The more you try to pretend that there is nothing wrong,the more miserable you feel inside.Don’t fake a smile when all that is in your head is bouts of anger.Instead,try making things better than pretending you are fine.

photo credit: google images

2.MEET A FRIEND YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IN A WHILE

Sometimes,we get so busy with our life that we don’t realise how long it has been since we met our friends.Meet or talk to a dear friend whom you haven’t spoken to one of these days.The thing with friends is that-they take you as you are and  share your moods too-even if it is mad.

3.TAKE A WALK

If you shrug and sit in a corner,your mood won’t be any better.Take a walk to the nearby park or a spot you like,spend sometime in the evening breeze,listlessly watch people passing by when you stroll on your own….It helps relieve those stressed nerves!

4.WATCH COMEDIES

Tickle your funny bone with a light hearted comedy and laugh out all the stress and mis happenings of the day.Invite friends over or enjoy your own company.It always helps to have a good laugh and when it’s a bad mood..even better!

5.TREAT YOURSELF WITH YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD

Go to your favourite restaurant or food joint and treat yourself your favourite food.For a foodie like me,having  food that I crave is heaven..it is an instant mood lifter.Try it and munch away your bad day.:)

6.LISTEN TO YOUR FAVOURITE TRACKS

They say-Music is  food for the soul.Whatever your taste in music,listening to your favourite numbers and humming or even shouting them along is one great way to turn around those effects of a bad day.

.

7.LET GO

Do whatever makes you feel good,there is no need to go crazy thinking “why does it always happens to me?” .The bad times come,they pass.There will be a new day,a new promise,a new hope tomorrow.Let go!!!

Happy Living.

Related articles you might love,too!!

• One Cure For The Bad-Day Hangover (thewishfactor.wordpress.com)
• Faking Happiness has a Downside (merlinspielen.com)
• Hold on (oldworldcharmvintage.wordpress.com)
• Psychology | Moods (mike10613.wordpress.com)

Insert in mouth.

As I’m sure you know all too well, I have a filthy mouth.

My mother, who is a proper lady, never swears. Instead she says stuff like…

Drat!

Rats!

Oh, crumb!

That’s scuzzy!

Darn-it!

Shoot!

Shucks!

It’s just not fun!

Using her language, I will now describe my day…

Drat! Today was scuzzy. Lots of things went wrong and it was just no fun! Oh, crumb!

(I don’t know how that woman lives. That was not satisfying at all.)

Congratulations, Pam & LP!!! I love y’all!

I went to my friend, Pam’s, wedding on Saturday in the capacity of “guest” who just happens to be a professional photographer, so it was kind of an all access pass for me. Generally, as hired help, I don’t have access to the abundance of food and beverage available to the guests. Well, after bringing the hubs along for the ride, I didn’t indulge here, either, but that’s ok. I think a glass of wine or a couple of beers would have done me in, because there was smoking. A LOT of smoking. I think that had I been drinking in a social situation, it could have been very bad, as in my head would have spun, and I would have been snarky bad.

If anyone reading this has ever quit, then you might be able to relate. It seemed like everywhere I turned there was a lit cigarette. Even the children were lighting up. Ok, no, not really, but it sure seemed like it.

Celtic tradition is really romantic!

I think the kids and I were the ONLY ones not smoking. And that may be an untruth, but I cant swear to it.

The ceremony was beautiful. My friends are not what you would call religious traditionalists. They are creatives (she’s a painter and he is a musician) and I love that about them. It was a very casual/bohemian-style wedding with some Celtic tradition thrown in, as well. I initially thought I might be under dressed, wearing a long sundress, shrug, and flip-flops, but no. I fit right in. Who says Bohemian is bad? LOL…

I’ve sent Pam & LP their web-res images and going to be burning and sending the full res images to them soon.

Like I have NOTHING else to do, I asked Shaunna Rodriguez, writer of Her Obsession to let me proof her books-to-be, and I am just tickled, because she said she could really use my help! If there is one thing I love next to reading? It’s reading to help an author. I worked with Sandra Carrington-Smith last December on A Killer in Sight, and I eventually would like to write AND edit, as well as photograph and blog. I hate that I’m such a creative, as it doesn’t make a mint, (especially since I am no Jenny Lawson or Stephen King), but it makes me happy, so….

Speaking of Jenny Lawson…Guess what came in the mail today? Yes!!! My pre-ordered book, and I feel uber special to be the last of my friends to receive her copy. I had to laugh the other night when J and I were at WalMart, picking up some groceries. Our WalMart is one of those “Super” ones and has a book/magazine section, so of course I had to slow down and see if I could find a hard-bound book with Hamlet von Schnitzel on the cover. I mean, if the AIRPORT got theirs before I got my pre-ordered copy, it’s entirely possible that my local Wally-World got some before I did, too. Do you know how strange it sounds to tell your spouse, “Hey, if you see a book with a taxidermied (is that even a word?) mouse dressed in period clothing on the cover, would you let me know?” Well, maybe you do…Or maybe it just isn’t that strange, considering we WERE in WalMart, after all, and I HAVE seen the People of WalMart. That said, I think I’m going to have to climb on the exercise bike (because I didn’t make it to the gym after work this afternoon) with this book and do some recreational reading before I get back to editing.

Gee, it sucks to be me…I read for leisure, I read to edit. Damn.

Ok, so the reason I didn’t make it to the gym was twofold. The first reason is that both pairs of white sneakers had grass stains on them, so I threw them into a bleach and soap pre-soak and then a wash cycle late yesterday afternoon, so of COURSE they weren’t dry in time to pack my bag for the gym this morning. The other reason is because the day job was simply dreadful, and I REALLY needed to have my poor nails done. After having snapped off the right thumbnail overlay a couple of weeks ago, I thought I would wait as long as I could to get them done, as I’ve been kinda busy, lately. As luck would have it, I started noticing lift, and today that one nail was catching and snagging on EVERYTHING, and it was really starting to get up my nose.

This beats my former scurvy manicure. I really need to make more time for me.

So I went to my regular nail place straight after work. The cute girl who does my nails was nowhere to be found, so a new person did my nails, which were, even in my opinion, simply atrocious. The newcomer was a DUDE, man…A GUY! I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve NEVER had a guy do my nails before. I don’t know about y’all, but getting my nails done is kind of a personal hygiene thing to me. And having a GUY doing them? Initially I was seriously skeeved out, but he wasn’t whimpy about doing them. (That is NOT to say I like it a little rough, thank you. Get your minds OUT of the gutter…) I found out, however, that not all my fingers have equal flexibility. It seems that the middle fingers on both hands have a little more flexibility than the rest of my fingers. I simply canNOT imagine why that is. Just sayin’…

I know they tell me to come back at the two and a half week point, but I just never seem to remember, and today it was 4 weeks and 2 days since I’d last been and I was looking more than a little ragged in the digits area.

After he restored my “ten” to a “perfect ten” I got the hand massage, which, apparently, I need to get J to learn, because after a whole day on a computer keyboard? There are only one or two things I can thing of the would feel any better. One is wine. Just sayin’….Oh, HONEYYYYY!

Until Next Time…

Don’t forget to follow me on Facebook!

I don’t care about other teams I just really love the Bruins and watching them play. I was at a bar downtown when they won over the summer, best day of my life almost. Best day ever in Boston at least. Even better than that day was when Ference brought the cup through the North

End and I snuck into the guarded area and pretended I knew his crew and touched the cup and stood next to that sweaty, sexy man.

I love the Bruins so much so that the first internships I applied to for this spring semester were all at TD Garden or with the Bruins. I regret that. I applied to them first, and although I had my resume and cover letter reviewed by peers and professors, I shouldn’t have sent the first few to the internships I wanted the most. I actually really fucked up on one email, I sent the wrong copy of my resume to them, forgot to attach a cover letter, and addressed it to the wrong person. I can’t help but think if I didn’t stress so badly over the deadline for those internships, that I wouldn’t have panicked as bad and probably would have a much cleaner cover letter and resume. In fact they probably would have given me an interview. At the interview I know I’d be a huge hit and really impress them.

…I’d probably intern for the PR department for a semester, stay into the summer too, and be offered a job come September. I know I’d work there and get a raise after 6 months which would allow me to live in the North End still. After 2-3 years and another championship, I’d be promoted and given a raise again, enough to pay off my student loans in 2 years vs. 25.

I’d probably retire with a couple rings, marry Tyler Seguin and have a boy and girl. I’d retire early and sail the world with my cat, kids and husband. On my 60th birthday TD Garden would invite me to a meeting which actually turned out to be a huge surprise party because they named a section of the Garden after me. So really, I messed my whole life up by stressing out about deadlines and getting sloppy.

Hey that’s my cat, Beyonce. Yes, Beyonce.

You think you had a crappy day? Read about mine.

In Judith Viorst’s “Alexander’s Horrible No Good Very Bad Day,” Alexander wakes up with gum in his hair.

I did not wake up with gum in my hair. I woke up with every intention of a breezy summer day’s visit with my friend Larisse who had come all the way from Vancouver, BC.

When loved ones come into our homes we expose the rat’s nest of our lives. So, though I had no gum in my hair, I had a rat’s nest of complications to attend to before I was free to play with Larisse.

The day’s goal: find two free hours to TALK, that web-spinning type of talk. Talk that drifts from sex lives, to good books, to make up, to children, older  parents’ illnesses, shoes, plans, hopes and dreams.

But before the two coveted hours could occur, I had to co-parent with my ex-husband via tense phone calls about scheduling. And drop my daughter off for her first day of camp.

My daughter goes to a camp where campers choose “majors” and spend hours perfecting the art of improvisational theatre, honing their photography skills or sitting in the shade practicing French. Well, they do said activities if the child’s parent has remembered to sign the child up for their first, second and third choice. I had not. I could see the paper, in my mind, on my dining room/desk/dumping pile for all things important and all things with no place to go.

My daughter had filled out the paperwork in her neat handwriting and entrusted it to me. I had completely dropped the ball. She graciously, other than a fleeting accusatory glare, accepted that she would be playing chess instead of flexing her acting muscles. I felt horrible. When I sidled up to the camp director, I broke my parenting rule of not asking for exceptions for my child. Though I still believe that is an excellent tenet, I snapped it in half and begged the director. He agreed to shuffle her around, saying what a great kid she was. He offered calmly, that she might take the opportunity of my dropping the ball so egregiously to learn how to gently remind me when there is paperwork involved.

The last thing I imagined being helpful that moment–as I was surrounded by women clutching keys to their idling Volvos and smelling like they’d been anointed head to pedicured toes in Aveda products–was how helpful having my teenage daughter remind me of anything I had not done well would be. But I agreed with the camp director that he had a fine point and shamefully shuffled toward my dented and, by that point, bird shit-covered car. I’d parked beneath a tree of birds who’d feasted on berries.

After I dropped my daughter off and bribed the camp director, I headed home. iPhone clutched to my ear (my iPhone is a new purchase and I am still learning how to stay connected when on a phone call) I called my son’s doctor’s office.

My son still sees the doctor our children saw when I was married. The doctor is not my favorite person. He never was. He is arrogant and arrogance and reassurance are not sold together. My ex-husband believes the doctor is an excellent doctor and rather than battle about who our son saw, I agreed to keep the doctor for our son. Why not?

I had not anticipated what it would be like to deal with a doctor I already did not like after he’d learned about my private life. You see, my ex-husband visited the doctor during our divorce and filled him in on the sordid details of our marriage’s demise. Let’s just say, if the man had low regard for me before, I was not elevated by my husband’s version of things that lead up to our divorce.

So, mostly I don’t deal with my son’s doctor. But on that day–the day my only goal was supposed to be to talk to my friend from Vancouver–I had to call the arrogant doctor’s office.

My son, in order to attend a pre-college art studio program for two weeks, needed a Meningitis vaccination. I called to 1. See whether or not he’d received one the year before 2. If he had not, to make an appointment for my son to get the vaccination.

The day ended with images of my son’s spine cushioned in puss, his brain smothered in the stuff. And ended without an appointment or a shot or any foreseeable shot.

And the various problems I had encountered with my ex-husband and my son’s doctor’s office? Each and every one had felt distinctly personal.

I had no real reason, other than sheer paranoia bred of having spent AN HOUR on hold with the hospital to secure an appointment for the vaccination. Or the three conversations with the receptionist. I had been careful to be respectful when she referred to the doctor’s signature like it was Obama’s signature on a declaration of war. I had been respectful and patient. And then, at five minutes of five (the office closed at five), I received a call.

I did not answer the phone, because the one minute of that day the newfangled iPhone had not been attached to me. The message from the doctor. He was confused. Had he not already written the prescription for the vaccination a year ago? Still, there was not verification of my son receiving the vaccination from the hospital…anyway, could I give the office a call to clarify?

Ah, but my day with the receptionist had BEGUN with clarification. Eight hours earlier when I’d attempted to make a four-minute long doctor’s appointment for a vaccination, I had said: “A year earlier, my ex-husband had gotten the prescription for the vaccination and had not taken my son to receive the shot.” These things happen. We parents don’t always follow through. I’d left my daughter’s camp choices wafting about on the table for god’s sake.

No matter. All explanations aside, at five minutes after five, the doctor’s office now closed, the window for making sure my son’s spine did not get encased in pustie menegies. I looked at the iPhone and its cheery interface and told it to stop fucking smiling. It was not funny.

But, in the words of wise, wise Judith Viorst, some days are like that. Some days, your rat’s nest is where you reside and some days, you spin webs of conversation and some days, you do both. Larisse and I found a bottle of wine, and a couch, at the end of the day.

(image: google image)

I’ve always been a vivid dreamer.

My dreams are in color, I can remember small details, I always “know” when I am dreaming, and most of all… I’ve become very perficient at knowing how to wake myself up from a dream I don’t like.

I’m not sure how I figured out that last part. As a kid, I had a lot of nightmares, and my trick (back then) to waking up was first realizing I was dreaming, and then closing my eyes in the dream and pressing my belly button.

Viola! My bad dream cure.

Except sometimes it backfired (and still does), when I manage to think I woke myself up but realizing I just forced myself into a parallel dream state. Even when I wake from a horrifying dream, I need to stay awake for at least 10 minutes, because I can easily slip back into the same awful dream.  Great, right?

Last night I had a particularly bad dream. I was stuck in some sort of pit, and snakes were chomping on my limbs. You see, I hate snakes. Like Indiana Jones, when I see a snake in my dreams I think: “Snakes! Why does it always have to be snakes?!” It’s my anxiety dream of choice.

So I manage to wake myself up (or so I thought). I sat up in bed, breathed a sign of relief, and just when I thought I was home free, a snake appeared under my covers. Argh! Worse- I had a heck of a time waking myself up. When I did finally, I jumped out of bed and stood in the middle of the room praying that I was really awake. ala Paranormal State without the demon in the house.

I was awake… but the fear of lying back down was too much. So I rocked back and forth and willed the nightmare away before I slipped back into bed.

I’m not sure how I was blessed with such a jabberwocky brain. Or if there are many people like me, or if I am a class unto myself. I’ve pinpointed that my dreams are stress relief for me. It’s a way of my working out the cobwebs nestled in the far corners of my head.

I just wish I dreamed more about good things than bad.

The irony is my dreams have gotten a little more nightmarish in the last 5 years (oh, duh!) no doubt due to the constant state of stress I’ve managed to wrap myself into.

I had always liked to blame the infertility medications on my active imagination, but now that it’s been 6 months without any artifical substances in my bloodstream, I guess I can’t.

The key now is to channel the negative energy away from my sleep ritual.

The problem… I’m not sure if that ever will change.

Because, really… could this week even be more drama and suspense filled?

Little D has the flu. His symptoms started last night and evolved into something closely resembling H1N1. They are treating it as that because, well… it’s too early to be the seasonal flu, and he did have a regular flu shot a couple weeks ago. Process of elimination I suppose. S. took him to the doctor this morning for official diagnosis.

Half the town was there.

In speaking with the ped office and his school this morning, it seems Jersey went from the fewest cases of swine flu to a zillion in just the last week.

So far, S. and I are well. No symptoms for either of us. The house has been sanitized, and our hands are raw from repeated hand-washing.  I am waivering between concern for my son and concern for myself considering this is the WORST week for this to happen.  THE WORST.

I just want my baby to feel better.  And I want to not feel guilty for trying to keep my distance because of my own situation.

Transfer for my FET is tomorrow at 11am.

God-willing.

I’ve been stewing on these emotions for the last two weeks, but this week it just reared it’s ugly head to the forefront.

So what’s new? Well, I started the estrogen (in pill AND patch form), and just counting down the days for the donor to start stimming on the 10th.

Man, was I EVER glad to knock down the Lupron injection… the headaches were a royal PITA. Made me grumpy too.

Or, perhaps the grumpy part came from running into two Moms from David’s old school (gloriously pregnant with #2 and #4 respectively). They were talking about being sick and tired during their pregnancies, and all I could think was how I wanted to be in their shoes. I wished they knew how lucky they were. I put on my happy face and let them rattle on until I couldn’t take it anymore, and excused myself to my car. Driving home, the whole way… all I felt was a large lump in my throat. I will not cry. I am so damn sick of crying.

Looking forward to the holiday weekend, although not a long or restful one for either of us.

S. has to work for some of it. I’m not off any extra days. I want to check out fireworks somewhere (last year if I remember correctly, I think it rained a bit and we missed them).

Fireworks make me happy. I think I even have a few boxes of sparklers somewhere that I picked up out of state (NJ says NO! to fireworks… freaking buzzkillers). Yes, I know they are dangerous… (funny how when I was a kid no one thought they were dangerous at all) but again, they make me happy.

I have such fond memories of running around the backyard with two sparklers in each hand… wishing they could stay lit forever.

So what are you doing this weekend?

The donor meds saga was resolved, but not without a minor freakout yesterday that all my work to date was for nothing when ONCE AGAIN a customer service person thought I was paying cash. Thank goodness for my new friend at the other specialty pharmacy who reminded me to remain calm, and then called the OTHER pharmacy to remind them of my insurance details. Ugh, such horrible communication between these insurance agencies.

Anyway, when it rains it pours. Husband and I recently changed over our phone service to the MASTER MONOPOLY CABLE PROVIDER in PA/NJ (we already had internet and digital cable with them), and man, they screwed us big time with our bill. In addition, our phones still aren’t working correctly since the initial install. S. has been in charge of that big ‘ole mess, and last night just went ballistic on the customer service folks. We call with a service problem that’s been ongoing for two weeks AND a bill issue… and what do they do?? They try to freaking up sell us on another one of their worthless features!! Arghhhh! Are you kidding me??

All of my complaints this week are directly related to the US Economy, I suppose. Is is me, or are all of you feeling like you have to fight with service providers more than you used to? I have to be honest, I feel like I have another full-time job just dealing with money-obsessed companies.

What’s next? Will my favorite donut shop start not filling my coffee cup to the top to save a penny?

Oh, nevermind. I don’t want to go there. That’s too traumatic to think about.

You never will get where you’re going
If you never get up on your feet
Come on, there’s a good tail wind blowing
A fast walking man is hard to beat
Put one foot in front of the other
And soon you’ll be walking cross the floor
Put one foot in front of the other
And soon you’ll be walking out the door
If you want to change your direction
If your time of life is at hand
Well don’t be the rule be the exception
A good way to start is to stand

David has been obsessed with Christmas television shows. The lyrics above, from the 1970 classic “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” (by Jules Bass). I adored this as a kid, and still do. And this song is one of my favorites… I can hear Fred Astaire singing right now.

What a simple message.

One foot in front of the other. And soon you’ll be walking out the door.

Perfection in so many ways, eh?

So yeah, I didn’t mean to scare you guys with my freak-out post yesterday (thank you for your supportive comments!), but it is what it is I guess. S. is in limbo with his employment, and well, that situation may either change drastically (if he’s laid off soon), or improve (the job fairy finds him a suitable place to land).

On the other side of the coin, my employment (forever up in the air, as it has been for 15 years) is once again on the skids. The goal: find another job within the company that provides safe-haven (in other words, gets me thru 2009 without getting a pink slip). The technology environment is always so cyclical, and I’ve been laid off twice before (and found a job in-house), so this is no new news really. Just a harbinger of things to come. A situation that I DO NOT NEED when my husband’s position is in jeopardy.

The good news is we’ve already been cutting back on expenses. The intent was to lighten the load for the donor cycle expenses, but it appears we had good timing to at least get our debt in order the last three months.

We need to re-examine our lifestyle and seriously crank back MORE just in case. And, no the donor cycle is still in play. And, yes, David will indeed have a great Christmas. Just less stuff.

Burgermeister Meisterburger is not going to rain on my parade.

I woke up only to realize I overslept (thanks to my new friend, over-the-counter sleep aids). S. was already out of the shower, and David was still asleep in bed.

As I woke up David, I found he had a nosebleed in the middle of the night. A giant puddle of blood on the pillow, on the sheets, on the mattress cover. Lovely.

So I stripped the bed, and decided to get a quick shower. But, HELLO?! the shower was freakin’ ice cold. There once was heat, after all… S. had steamed up the mirrors… but for me NO HOT WATER. It was a quick and bone chilling experience.

Now I head downstairs and see S. replacing light bulbs in the hallway. I ask “why are you doing this now???” his reply, “the house is about to burn down”. It appears that those energy saving lights I’ve been replacing throughout the house don’t like closed-in light fixtures. Who knew??

In my rush to get David’s backpack together, I trip over a metal toy wagon in the hallway.

I promptly yelled “OWWWWW! Jes&*^ frig8^$#” and threw the wagon out of the side door into the garage.

Problem solved.

It’s about this time when I realize it’s pouring rain outside, and windy as hell. I figure it’s best to take the car to the bus stop.

Meanwhile, David is getting dressed in his uniform, and he yells that he can’t find his shoes.

Oh man.

I suddenly remember that I left them out on the front step the day before… because his shoes were muddy and I didn’t want him tracking mud in the house.

His shoes were still outside on the step alright. In the RAIN. Soaked!

Idiot mother that I am, I only have ONE pair of uniform shoes. I had meant to buy a back-up pair (I almost always do), but I never got around to it. Dumb me.

Now we are late, and I am frantically writing a note to his teacher… “Sorry about the shoes…”
and we barely jump into the car and I see I have no umbrella. Figures.

We pull out of the driveway, and no sooner do we drive down the street and around the corner… here comes the bus. I leap out of the car, and attempt to open the rear door for David, only to realize the child safety lock was engaged so the door was locked. I run back to my door and unlock the doors and tell David to run to the bus.

“run David, runnnnn!” It was a Forrest Gump moment in pouring rain and wind.

I am only holding back 15 cars waiting on the bus. I know someone was cursing me from behind the wheel, because I used to be that person before I had David.

Now I am here in the safety of my home office. About to begin the work day. All sharp objects have been removed from my office, and I have a giant mug of coffee at the ready…

What else could go wrong today??? I mean, really…