Incoming!

Another year about to end, a new one about to begin. 2015 has been relatively good to me, but the year is not over yet. And the past week we've had torrential rainfall resulting in some pretty dangerous flooding plus a lot of tornadoes, which is pretty darned unusual for December.

What I want for the new year hasn't changed from what I want every year. I want to keep my family, friends and self healthy and happy. I'd like us to be able to pay the bills comfortably. I'd like the kids to do well in school. I'd like all of us to live another hour, another day, another year the way we want to. Oh, and I'd like a smaller ass. And a long weekend or two and/or a cool vacation or just time spent with friends.

I'd make resolutions, but I don't often do so. First, they are so very easy to break. And once you break them, it's not like you pull up your big girl undies and get back to the business of keeping them. You generally fall off the wagon for a while. Or I do - I'm probably projecting. One way or the other, I'd rather not do that.

Second, using the first of January as a good day to start the rest of my thinner, healthier, happier, more self-actualized life has never worked well for me. The best place to start is that moment I realize, "I'd better do something about this or it's going to get much, much worse." I know myself. If I future-date my better self, my better self never happens. I envy those people who have the discipline to not only remember their promises but to make good on them on the date they specify, but apparently I have the memory and will of a gnat if I don't start right the heck now.

So, that's that. Another year ends, another one begins...really soon anyway. So happy everything - Happy Christmas, Kwanzaa and Hanukkah. Happy Solstice, Happy Anything I've Missed or Am too Ignorant to Be Aware Of. Happy New Year, Happy Holidays. May you be blessed with health and happiness and family and friends or at least contentment with yourself. May I have the same (and a smaller ass, which I'm working on right now).

40, 40!

Today I am 40. I say it every year, but every year I'm shocked at how not upset I am. Yes, I wish I were still as young as I feel. I was a hell of a lot slimmer when I was in my 20s and had all the freedom of being childless and unmarried (but living with my then boyfriend, now husband). Yet every year, though it brings more responsibilities, brings new experiences, new joys, new friends and more opportunity. So, thanks for coming, 40. It's good to see you. May this be the best year and the best decade yet.

Falling down on the job

I haven't posted for a long time. I honestly haven't had anything interesting to say. Life has been mercifully calm with the exception of sarcastic children and insane work. I'm trying to decide if sarcasm = intelligence or just means you're an asshole. I guess I'll find out.

Anyway, we've reorganized at work. Again. Because that's apparently what we do instead of what we actually should do. Which makes absolutely no sense, but it's corporate America, which as a rule, makes no sense. That's how people get employed.

Speaking of, my husband's contract is not being renewed at work, which is kind of a bummer. On the upside, his contract doesn't end until February. On the downside, I might be the primary breadwinner in February. Hopefully I did well on my performance review this year, because I could use that bonus.  

Long and lost

I am facebook stalking my brother and sister. Yes, I have another set of two siblings - twins - that I don't talk to. I remember when they were born. You have no idea how happy I was not to be the baby anymore, even if I was 15 at the time (my dad and my step-mom had an oopsie).

Anyway, as luck would have it, my dad has shitty taste in wives (my mom excluded, of course). His second wife was insane and ran away one day, though that lady made fabulous blueberry pancakes. She left him for a handyman, he said, but later admitted that he couldn't throw stones because she used to be his secretary.

His third wife - my brother and sister's (and step-brother and step-sister's) mom - had bipolar disorder and, over the course of 5-7 years, poured a steady stream of verbal poison into my brother and sister's ears until they refused to speak to any of us. They talk to my dad now. He's no prince, either. He had a temper on him, which is why my mom left in the first place.

Anyway, I'm hitting another milestone birthday this year and I wish I knew my siblings better. Or at all. I wish my kids wouldn't their their extra family. I love my sister - she is wonderful. It just freaks me out that there are two more siblings, even if they're half siblings, out there in the world somewhere who couldn't pick me out in a lineup. And when they have kids, those kids, my children's cousins and my nieces or nephews, won't be able to pick my kids out of a lineup either.

I could do what a normal person would do - e-mail, call. Dad frequently texts or e-mails us in a group, presumably so we have each other's numbers. We never respond to the group. None of us. I wonder what they think of me. I wonder if they care that they have two sisters somewhere, out there in the world that they never talk to.

Run, rabbit, run!

I went to the gym on Saturday afternoon. It was awesome - I got a decent run in and lifted weights. As I was tossing my towel into the bin, however, things took a turn for the strange.

I made a mistake: I made eye contact with someone and smiled. The older gentleman on the bike in front of me smiled back and asked, "How are you?"

"Great," I said. Everything's going swimmingly. Then it took a turn.

"Who are you voting for?"

"What?" was my response.

"Tell me - if you're a Democrat, you're probably a socialist. If you're a Republican, I'll find a reason to fight with you anyway. But I'm a Christian. Those Dems are baby killers - I'm anti-abortion. No abortions. Ever." At this point I considered mentioning that in 2011 I was faced with the choice of terminating a pregnancy or a 95% change of dying (it was ectopic and causing internal bleeding), but I decided that that was a discussion I really didn't want to have with a stranger.

Because I'm either way too stupid or too polite or a combination of the two, I decided to play along. We chatted, I answered honestly. He told me my choices were socialist. We argued back and forth for a while. Then he looked at his bike and said, "There we go. Done! You were my rabbit."

Uhhh, WTH? "Rabbit?" says I.

"Yeah, I find a pretty young thing every time I go to the gym to argue with so I can finish my workout."

For the record, I'm 39. At one point in my life I was pretty enough, but I would hardly describe myself as a pretty young anything. Anyway, he went on to say that he finds some woman he finds attractive to talk to anytime he goes to the gym and that I ought to take that as a compliment. Who the heck does something like that (other than this guy)?

Anyway, it's not like he catcalled me and told me I should have sex with him or told me what he wanted to do to me (after all, he is a Christian - yes, sarcasm intended), but still... Rabbit? Ick, ick, ick.

Home again, home again

It's back to the grind. I've been on vacation with my family in South Carolina. It was wonderful and I'm still shaking the sand from my flip flops. Of course, today we all went back to our day jobs: my kids to school, my husband to work and me to my kitchen table to work, too. I could do without it. Well, not financially, but I'm not quite mentally ready. Is anyone mentally ready to go back to real life after vacation?

I'm sitting on a conference call all day today - it's a webinar put on by the federal government. I hate these. They're spun far in advance and involve carefully scripted talking points, much like you'd expect of the government. After all, you can't reveal too much but you can't be perceived to be deflecting questions, right? Even though that's exactly what happens - "we'll get back to you." "The right people aren't here to answer those questions." "That'll be posted later." Dude, if the right people aren't "here to answer those questions," why the hell would you present on the topic in the first place?

Oh, well - what do I know? Darned logic. It never works.

Bright, sunshiny day

I've been busy. Really busy. My daughter started kindergarten a couple of weeks ago and I proceeded to be completely devastated and very proud. My son started 4th grade and I felt the same. Amazing how sad it is to watch kids grow up successfully.

After dropping them off, I cried my way to the airport to fly to Minneapolis (yay, pharmacy transactions!) to set industry standards for next year and talk to the government. The government stood us up, but we got decisions made for next year without them, so go us.

My husband managed to get hand, foot and mouth disease and then bronchitis, so I've been a single mom for the past two weeks. I have no idea how single moms do it without going stark, raving mad. And I discovered twitter and instagram, which are probably both very bad ideas, because people can not only "enjoy" my sarcastic bitterness on my blog, they can also enjoy it now on another source, and more frequently.

So that's what I've been doing. I was planning to writing a bunch of other crap, but I read the news about the shootings in Virginia. After the shootings here in St. Louis, then the additional gun violence throughout the country, I just don't see how people can justify NOT putting in place gun control laws. And it makes me numb and sad and exhausted to see all the senseless acts of violence that are made just that much easier by putting guns in the hands of people who shouldn't have them.

The Liquid Lunch

It's not what you think, honest. I'm drinking a big-ass smoothie today for lunch because I've been talking non-stop and the only time I can get to consume anything is if I drink it. Luckily I had an absolutely enormous breakfast, but I still want to punch someone. I wish this had vodka in it. Or crushed Xanax.

Dream a little dream...

I clearly need more sleep. How do I know? Well, I'll tell you. Last night's dreams featured:

1. My daughter creating a new name for me: Carne Asada Thundershak (misspelling hers)

2. I decided to go sledding on an inner tube attached to the back of a car

3. John Lennon smoked pot in my basement and stole all my Cheetos.

 That last one pisses me off the most, by the way. I love a good Cheeto. Anyway, back to work. It's 2 p.m. and I've been working since 6 a.m. I shouldn't complain (but that hasn't stopped me yet).

I've gotta say thank you

I always wonder how many of the "entities" that read my blog are bots or people. Those who fall into the latter category always surprise me. So whether you're a friend or stranger, thanks for reading my drivel. I get that most of it is stream-of-consciousness writing and really has no actual content, which makes me all the more appreciative that I have click activity at all (and which is probably why I imagine, though don't know, that most people quickly click away).

So, whether you're searching for panties under sundresses (my most common search term, followed by Benedict Cumberbatch and heat rash (love, love, love the combination by the way)) or just looking for random entertainment during downtime, I've gotta say thanks for reading.

That said, I'm going to give you my top 10 annoyances and aggravations of the day (I've been saving them just for you!):

10. It was too damn early when I got up. That's my fault, but still...who the hell invented 5 a.m.?

9. My bum hurts. What? I went running last night and did intervals on hills. I'm sure the neighbors found it hilarious, but I take my butthurt very seriously, as should we all.

8. I don't want to talk to anyone, but my meetings started at 7 a.m. and don't end until 4. I'm on one right now, but I'm not actually important to its continuance, which makes the fact that I am supposed to be on it all the more annoying.

7. I'm turning into a sarcastic cow. Actually, I've always been a sarcastic cow. Nevermind - this isn't a problem. I like being a sarcastic cow.

6. I'm experiencing a complete lack of motivation. But at least I'm motivated enough to be annoyed by it, right?

5. I just got a new piece of legislation last night that makes my job ten times more complicated. That should be a good thing - I love a good challenge and it's job security - but see #6.

4. Jon Stewart will soon be leaving The Daily Show and no one can do the news (or satire of said news) as well as he can.

3. I don't have enough time to think, but when I do, I daydream instead.

2. People who don't use their signals irritate the living hell out of me. Hovering next to me and glaring at me (when I'm not paying attention to you because I'm driving) is not likely to have as much of an impact as a signal to tell me you want to change lanes, you leech-infested git (let's see that as a search term!).

1. I've run out of minor aggravations and annoyances. It was way harder than I expected to create this list. I always think I'm vastly annoyed, but apparently I was wrong. I've got some pretty major concerns, but they're too big to go into here.

Adventures in product management

I think I need a mental health day. And I'm not saying that facetiously. Today I have had:

1. Two people call me to reassure me they're not dead (happens with distressing frequency)

2. Three different people yell at me for mistakes they made (assertiveness training?)

3. One person call me in tears because she got overwhelmed (I kind of want to tear my hair out, too)

4. Notification that we're reorganizing again (are you serious? individuals in my department have had job stability for an average of 4 weeks at a time - the contractors who do not work here full time have more stability than we do)

5. I also have 25 meetings scheduled for today and 8 hours in which to attend them; looking at my schedule, finding time to pee will be a challenge, much less eat anything or do actual work.

6. I've also had someone notify me that they accidentally approved code that was the direct opposite of what I requested.

I want to injure someone. First world problems, though - first world problems. I still hate everything.

slice my fingertip off once, shame on you

Slice off a second one and that's totally my fault.

See, I thought my ring finger on my right hand was looking a little longish so I fixed it. With a mandolin slicer (not the instrument), while I happened to be slicing a radish. Kill two birds, right?? Yeah, that's it.

Ow, ow, ow.

More proof my children are plotting my demise

A conversation between two kids, aka, my children plot my demise before a baseball game:

Evelyn throws her arms around my neck and whispers, "Mommy, I love you so much that when you and daddy die and the sun devours the earth, I'll take you with me in a box to another planet."

I say, "Oh, God, really? I mean, I love you, too. You're sweet and creepy. But mostly sweet." (Note to self: don't call your daughter creepy.)

Rags, disgusted, comes back with "Evelyn, you can't do that! You can't carry mom and dad around in a box!"

Stupidly, I breathe a sign of relief until he says, "They're too heavy. You'll have to rent a truck or put wheels on the box or something. Come here, I'll show you. Mom, can I measure you?"

My response? "I'm going into the kitchen. I'm sure there's something I'm supposed to be doing there."

Fin

Burned - also known as "learning to wear sunscreen the hard way"

Back to my normal, mundane irritations. Today I hurt like hell.

Yesterday I worked out at the Y for about an hour and a half, doing substantial amounts of cardio and increasing my weight load, which is always bound to hurt. Still - yay! I'm stronger!

Then I took the kids to the pool to meet up with a few of their friends and one of the moms, who I'm friends with. And, like an idiot, I forgot my sunscreen before taking my children to the pool. Keep in mind, my kids do not burn. It doesn't matter whether or not they wear sunscreen (though I make them anyway to avoid skin cancer and guilt) - since they were babies, I've never seen them develop even so much as a light blush across the bridge of their noses, whether we were at the beach in stinging hot sun or not. I, on the other hand, do not have the beautiful, rich tawny and latte skin they inherited - the best of both me and their father. Instead, I'm "blessed" with pinkish cream-colored, freckle-prone skin.

We were at the pool for almost three hours. As a result, last night I was so crispy I was feverish by bedtime. The fever seems to have gone away this morning, but my skin hurts today. It stings even when I don't move. That, combined with normal muscle soreness (which will be way worse tomorrow - usually takes me 48 hours to really hurt), has resulted in the consumption of lots of ibuprofen with my coffee.

But there are two bright sides to this stupidity: one, this will fade to a tan, a pretty decent one. Two, while we were at the pool, my daughter taught herself to swim without help! She has now earned her snorkel. That's what I use to bribe my kids to learn how to swim alone. Normally I refuse to bribe, but if it gives them incentive to either a) learn something scary that will ensure their future safety (learning to swim is not optional) or b) finally learn a difficult task that is developmentally appropriate (limited to potty training), I'm all about it.

Anyway, off to attempt a shower. Glad I took all that ibuprofen because I will surely need it.

Just another crazy week in the news

Sometimes I hate everything. This week is a good example. It seems like when everything goes to shit, it does so in spectacular fashion. Anyway, enough about work...

Two things:

1. Flipping devastating news in Charleston. First of all, I am not big on organized religion, but I still hold things that others hold sacred as sacred or at least worthy of respect. Second, race. It's a huge problem in this country. Not that people are other races - that's beautiful. But that people hate other races just for being.

I'm in an interracial marriage. I don't often think of it that way, but I am. My husband and I come from vastly different backgrounds and cultures. As my kids often point out, he's brown and I'm pink. Had my children been in that church, had my husband been in that church, would they have deserved to die just because of their brown-ness? Of course not. It's hard to imagine what the hell was going on in that kid's mind and how he became so poisoned. And it's hard to imagine how one half of the country or at least the talking heads that represent that half can sweep that aside. Race is an issue in this country. It never went away. If we don't talk about it as a problem, it will never be solved.

2. Climate change from the Pope. I cannot tell you how happy I am that a Pontiff would recognize the devastation that is climate change. We all contribute - I do. You do. And I cannot tell you how disappointed I am that people are decrying recognizing science as "political." There's nothing political about accepting fact.

Data is put before you. You analyze the data. It proves X, therefore X must be a valid point. If X hurts us all, we should do something about it. Simple, but not easy, but there nonetheless. Again, if we don't talk about it as a real problem, we will never be able to stop it or, in this case, make it less bad. Because at this point, that's really all we can do.

Ok. Off my soapbox and back to the absolute and complete circus that is my work. Sometimes I just want to walk out that door. Other times I'm energized by the spiderweb of challenges set before me. Anyway you look at it, Medicare is hard and many people are jackasses for whatever reason.

Tell me lies, sweet little lies

Work is aggravating the bejeezus out of me. I've been in back to back meetings since 7 a.m. and it is now 4 p.m. I still have another couple of hours of work ahead of me, but luckily I can do it while my children sleep. In the meantime, I've been able to stand up only long enough to pee (you're welcome).

Anyway, to entertain myself when I'm not speaking or thinking I started thinking of all the nice things we say to each other when we don't always mean it.

Here are a few:

To my husband: "Your beet root, broccoli, kale and pineapple smoothie is delicious!" (Urp.)

To my son: "Those shoes make you go way faster." (You're too fast as it is.)

To my daughter: "I just don't want the roly-poly bugs in your bed because they're happier outside. They should be with their families." (OMG, bugs in the bed - bugs in the bed!!)

To my mom: "I think Meghan Trainor's song All About that Bass is adorable, too." (at least the version used in the diaper commercial is)

Anyway, that's all I've got. My brain feels like it's turning to mush inside my skull and will shortly run out my ears. Another delightful visual. And something heavy (hopefully a branch and not a dead squirrel, badger or other rodent-like animal (I like to say badger, though realize having one fall on my house is unlikely)) just fell on top of the roof. So I should probably go make sure it's all intact.

M/I Brain

I cannot seem to get reject codes out of my head today. Probably because I help put them into a large claims adjudication system. We've been getting new legislation almost every day on one of my projects for the past two weeks, and my brain is turning to absolute and complete mush. Seriously, it's getting to the point where I'm getting a bit numb and it's hard to give a shit. Probably because I no longer have many shits to give.
 But, on the bright side, it's summer! Pools are open, days are hot and the water is starting to warm up after a pretty chilly start to the season. I can't wait until this evening. Watching third graders play baseball is pretty boring, but I get the company of adults that aren't expecting me to do stuff, my daughter gets to play on the play ground and in the dirt with her friends and my son gets to do his favorite sport with all his buddies. It's win-win-win.

Also, since I have meetings double and triple booked from 7:30 a.m. straight until I leave to pick children up and frequently get so pissed in the middle that I find myself walking around the block a few times to calm down, I'm losing weight pretty quickly. So that's not all bad. Though heaven help me if things slow down.

Assisting in this delightful de-poundage is my husband, who has adopted the Vitamix as his new baby. Did you know that a kale-beet-tomato-pineapple smoothie tastes like dirt? Sweet, sweet dirt? Yeah, I didn't know that either until this morning. I also now know that I don't like drinking dirt, but it's filling. Oh, and better than the previous day's raw broccoli-carrot-pineapple smoothie, or whatever that was. I had a sip, but my husband forced down two glasses. Probably not incidentally he had broccoli smell oozing out of his pores for at least 24 hours.

That's really all I've got - boo work, yay summer. So more or less the same thing I say everytime.

Come live with me under my bridge. But shut up.

I'm having one of those weeks where I really, really wish I didn't have to talk to anyone ever. I mean, I normally loathe speaking to people who are not my friends and family outside of work. Even during work, I hate to talk to people, but I'm required to do so to get money.

Anyway, for some inexplicable reason it's worse than usual, particularly today. I think it's a matter of having expectations that are just too high. In other words, it's too much to expect that:

1. If I have no meetings, it will stay that way. It's 12:39. I'm on a meeting now, waiting for it to end because I'm really damn hungry and about to stab someone. I was so excited because my 1 o'clock meeting is one that I don't actually have to pay attention to, so I was thiiiiis close to having my soup. And then...someone more important than me schedules a meeting for me and a small group of people that is mandatory and on which I will be obligated to speak. Well, fuckbuckets. I think it's time to invest in an IV and a catheter (and yes, sometimes I don't even have time to pee).

2. My kids will not argue. They seem to reserve arguing for when I super duper don't want to talk. Most people's lives in general are filled with noise, chatter, clatter that you have to tune out just to focus on what you're doing right now. One could argue that I should ignore them, too. But that becomes impossible when I know what's coming. [cue JAWS music] "Moooommy, Ragsy called me crazy!" "I did NOT. I said don't be crazy." "He did it again!" "No I didn't!" and so on until I want to slap someone silly to prevent my children from slapping each other.

3. My husband will not have a midlife crisis or want to talk about "something very concerning," like the fact that surely my son will wind up friendless and failing out of school if he keeps wearing his hat, day in and day out. Seriously, man, chill out. I love you. I love our kids. Their lives will NOT be ruined if they have bad posture - no lecture required. Tickling his back to get him back up straight will do nicely.

4.  The government will not send out new legislation that will require that I completely scrap my current project requirements to develop new ones. I've been working on this for more than a year, dammit. Are you freaking serious?

5. Someone will let me hide, just for a while. Not. Gonna. Happen.

So, now I know what I'm going to do today. I'm going to find a bridge and crawl under there with a novel, maybe my laptop (my personal laptop, not my work laptop), some earplugs and a pillow. And possibly a giant pile of cookies. You can come, too. But keep very, very quiet. I'll be the new troll in the Billy Goats Gruff.

Move along - nothing to see here

Seriously, I'm dead boring this week. Which is a good thing. Because I must say, I'm tired of the end-of-year crap, the Mother's Day crap and people being sick. This is one thing about Mother's Day: I love being appreciated. In fact, you could say I very much appreciate it. However, I feel most appreciated when I'm appreciated on my time. In other words, being appreciated at 10 a.m. on a weekday when I have to specifically ask time off from work so I can go be appreciated is kinda contrary to that purpose.

End of year: really, do I have to be there to celebrate my child reaching the end of the school year? I'm happy for them. I'm proud of them for somehow having survived another year in school without getting the snot beaten out of them, destroying their lives forever or otherwise getting into deep donkey doo. However, schools have yet to realize or care that very, very few families can afford anymore to have a single earner. Which means, again, asking for time off work to go to these parties, which the kids enjoy, but you still wind up standing in a corner with the other adults while the kids do their thing and don't really care if you're there or not. Woo hoo.

People being sick: can't do much about it. Still, I've noticed that there seem to be stages in parenting a sick kid.

1. Denial. He's not sick - it's allergies.

2. Dawning horror and guilt. Crap. It is a virus/bacterial infection/other infection! I'm a terrible parent for not realizing he was sick.

3. Action. Take temperatures, make kid comfortable, maybe take kid to the doctor.

4. Relief. The doctor tells me to give him Motrin and make him rest while feeding him juice and soda and popsicles.

5. Annoyance. Kids who have been prevented from moving all day and whose fever has been managed with Motrin then who have been encouraged to drink and/or eat juice, soda and ice pops are not so fun to hang out with. I'd rather be at work.

6. Anticipation. He's almost better. Tomorrow everything will be back to normal. Yay!

7. Relapse. Ugh, the kid is still sick. Seriously??

8. Closure. Finally, everyone is back to work, back to school, sleeping and eating normally and no longer downing sugary drinks and ice pops like they're going out of style.

Then kid #2 (if you have one; if you don't, it's got to be you or your spouse) gets it. Repeat the cycle.

Because I suck, that's why

My worst fears are realized. I didn't get a call from the school, but when I picked my son up last night, he was unusually lethargic and almost fell asleep in the car on the way to get his sister. So we got home and I took his temperature. 101.5. Meh, not too bad, but bad enough he's staying home, right?

So he woke up this morning and his skin was stinging hot. So I took his temperature. 101.5. Huh. That's not the end of the world. Two hours later, his temperature is almost 104. Well, shiiiat. So we went to the doctor and he happens to have a pretty nasty virus characterized by high fever, coughing, loads of snot, blisters on the roof of his mouth, lethargy and dizziness (from the fever). Oh, and a terrible parent who is in denial.

I wish I'd clapped my ears over his hands when the doctor recommended drinking and eating juice, popsicles and ice cream. Sadly I was too far away. Oh, well. Can't have everything. But you can have ice cream.

Cardinal Sin

Today I committed the cardinal sin of motherhood: sending the potentially sick kid to school. Rags woke up this morning, the day after his birthday (9, for Pete's sake! 9!) feeling a tad on the gross side. Super stopped up, a little oogy in general, but hungry enough to have a bit for breakfast, to feel better after some food and liquid and well enough to choose school over a day spent in bed. Plus, he was taking cupcakes for his birthday, so that was additional incentive.

I'm now I'm waiting. Waiting to hear from the school nurse to tell me he needs to go home. One might argue that I should never have sent him to begin with. And that is possibly true. In fact, it probably is true. That said, have you stayed home with a pissed off kid who's decided (and demonstrated) he's just fine, thankyouverymuch, and doesn't want to spend all day in bed?

Anyway, now that I've committed the cardinal sin, I'm subject to the law of 50/50.

For the uninitiated, the law of 50/50 is also known as the law of It Could Go Either Way. Which means you wait all day to hear from the school nurse and it may or may not happen and you're not quite sure whether to feel like the worst mother in the world (if you get The Call) or a reasonable person making an educated call based on what you know of your kid (if you don't get The Call). Here's why I expect to feel like dirt later:

1. I took the day off. Yes, I'm selfish. I took a whole day off and don't want to be interrupted. Sue me. I have a doctor's appointment I've rescheduled twice due to kid events and would actually like to just get it over with.

2. I need to schedule some home improvements, something that requires a simple call but that I rarely actually have time to do while I'm at work. These home improvements are fairly important: we need our trees trimmed before they fall on the house and Rags needs an actual door to his room (we took the other one off when the frame cracked so hopelessly we couldn't open or close the stinking thing).

3. I would really, really, really like to go for a hike alone and I need new pants that aren't ripped and shoes that aren't falling apart. This is the part that makes The Call most likely. I'm doing something alone for myself with very few time constraints.


So, slap me on the wrist. The law of It Could Go Either Way certainly will.

TGIF, baby

I slept in this morning - way too late. I usually get up between 5 and 5:30 a.m., but at some point I must've attempted to reset my alarm, but forgot to turn it on in my sleep-dazed state. So I woke up at 6:09 instead. I should be grateful for the extra sleep, but I felt buzzy and weird from the rush. That "oh, shit!" moment, followed by a frantic five-minute shower and subsequent "getting ready for the day" activities, going in to wake my son only to realize much to my relief that he was already awake, and my daughter woke soon after.

My reaction to sleeping in demonstrated how thoroughly my workplace has warped my brain. My thought process started normally, them promptly shifted into root cause, impact, fix, prevention:

1. Holy monkeys, I slept in more than an hour! Need to hurry! Shower! 
2. Shower done, clothes on - only 6:22 - wake kids! There's still time to fix this with limited impact!
3. Sweet, kids are awake. Why the heck aren't they dressed? Get them dressed get them dressed get them dressed.
4. Feed kids, make lunch, get kids to check backpacks, kids need to brush, put on shoes, get them the heck outta the house.
5. (And here's where my brain went south) Hmmm, is there any way to identify a history of my alarm-resetting activities so I can identify what happened and figure out if this is a pattern? I don't usually do this, but when I did last, what were the circumstances?
6. Hmmm, that's right - I've had the same clock since college. It won't give me a history of inappropriate sleeping in, so I'll have to rely on anecdotal evidence. Dammit. 
7. If it won't give me a history of sleeping in inappropriately, what will? How can I prevent this in the future, and what would the impact be if I did it again?
8. Maybe I should go to bed early or set my alarm later to prevent this. 
9. Time for an action plan. 

I told a friend at work and she told me I needed a vacation. I concur. I'm so glad it's Friday. And my wedding anniversary to boot - 11 years of wedded bliss. Hooray!

Testing is hard

I'm writing test scenarios for a product I own, and I've developed a newfound respect for the people who had this as part of their job description before me. Our previous product development and management model had been that we would read the law or subregulatory guidance, tell IT what to do and IT would do it and tell us how they recommended testing it based on the requirements we gave. Someone else would handle any resulting operational processes. It resulted in a lot of miscommunication and annoyances, but had no idea how good I had it.

Our new model is end-to-end product ownership. In other words, I have to read the law, tell IT what the law says, IT codes it, I tell them how to test it, I approve the results, I put in the operational processes and figure out how to report out afterward and make sure we're actually doing what we said we'd do. I also manage congressional complaints, discussions with the federal government and other fun. In other words, if something gets screwed up, the only person I've got to blame is myself unless IT jacks with the code.

On the upside, I'm forced to actually read what I told IT to do because I have to cross reference all my requirements to make sure they're tested. It makes me identify potentially missed requirements, requirements that need tweaking, items that may have changed, etc. And it makes me respect IT more.

The project I'm putting in place is large - very, very, very large. It's a massive industry change from the way we've been doing things so far and I've written nearly 100 test scenarios on logic in our system alone and I haven't even gotten to the hierarchies and data part yet, let alone putting together the operational processes I will then need to support and monitor on top of my other responsibilities.

Hats off to you, IT and ops. You guys are rock stars. And I'm the poor schlub trying to fill your shoes.

Goodnight, Vienna, city of a million something somethings.

Sorry - I've got a terrible earworm today, but I guess it's better than Shake It Off. Now that was a rough day.

I am working from home again. Sometimes I wish I could work from home permanently (and I know my boss wouldn't care); then I work from home and blog from my kitchen while listening to another interminable industry call. Probably not super awesome. That said, these calls waste a ton of time. Instead of industry intel, I learn more about people than actual requirements. One thing I've learned from these calls: everyone - and I mean everyone - wants to sound smart.

Which is totally understandable. I want to sound smart, too. I'm guilty of "smart talk" on occasion when I'm feeling defensive, which I consider to be a huge flaw. But lots of people use smart talk all the time. What is smart talk? Trying to sound smart by nitpicking (oh, Sharon - clearly you've forgotten scope of practice and its relationship to deceased prescribers! Uh, there should be no scope of practice if the prescriber is dead. Just sayin'.), asking pointed, dickish questions and/or quoting obscure pieces of legislation having little to nothing to do with the actual subject at hand. That's smart talk.

Congratulations - you're very smart because you know the DHS requirement regarding unlawfully present individuals. That doesn't have much to do with a prescriber unless he or she is also unlawfully present, but I suppose if you're trying to feel smart, that's probably beside the point.

The crappy thing about smart talk: it actually works. People are frequently insecure enough in their own opinions that if someone smart talks confidently enough and won't back down, it makes others question themselves and defer. Which sucks, especially if you're like me and constantly questioning your intelligence and knowledge, thinking you couldn't possibly know enough and always needing to know more. I wonder when I'll stop feeling like that.

For that matter, I wonder if I should ever stop feeling like the village idiot - isn't thinking you know everything a big sign of arrogance and a hallmark of someone who is no longer curious, who will no longer learn? Whatever - this post has gotten way more philosophical than I anticipated. Time to get more coffee and read more law and ignore more smart talk. Goodnight, Vienna.

So...Cranky....

I'm going to complain. Just so you know, if you don't want to hear it, stop reading.

1. I cheated yesterday evening on being vegan and now I want to die. Just two weeks and apparently having two mouthfuls of cheese means my stomach is going to scream at me. All night and all day.

2. I cannot get information into my brain and churn it quickly enough. This ticks me off. I have a stack of legislation to read. Well, not that high - about 257 pages (should take a few hours) - but I hate, hate, hate that I read it, absorb it and then when I'm pulling together the physical impact of that legislation I don't know enough about the guts of our system to translate it to detailed impact. I. Hate. That. Of course, I didn't build the damn thing. But still...I don't like to wait. I need the knowledge now. If I could, I'd take every process flow, every book, law, newspaper and periodical and website, learn every flipping language possible and just cram it the heck into my head and process the hell out of everything.

3. Regardless of the gurgling of my stomach, I still "get" to take two kids to two baseball games because the tournament that was supposed to start yesterday instead started today thanks to wet fields. So now instead of one game starting at 8, we get to go to two games, one at 5:30 (which is a delightful time for a working parent) and another at 8. Dammit, can't they play in mud?

4. People are assholes.

5. They're also not dead and keep ensuring I know that.

6. They also will not. stop. scheduling. meetings. I hate meetings. "Let's chat on the phone." Um, no, let's not. Especially if you're dead.

7. I can't think a full thought without being interrupted, which makes me want to punch someone or something. But I can't remember who or what I want to punch, so I don't get to do that.

8. I don't feel like being an adult today. Honestly, I'm done - instead of working, then shuttling people to and from baseball games while trying to figure out how to feed everybody, what to take and when, I want to go for a run around my neighborhood, get all sweaty, shower, sit on the couch and eat ice cream (it'll have to be vegan, I guess - see #1) then sleep until noon tomorrow. Then I want to get up, spend oodles of time with my husband without disruption, then shower, nap and do it all over again.

Oh, well. To balance things out, there's got to be a bright side, right? So, here goes - as many good thoughts as there are bad:

1. It is Friday, thank goodness.

2. It's beautiful outside. Even if it were pouring, that wouldn't change the fact that everything is green and purply from spring.

3. The people calling me are not dead, so that's good (better if they would stop calling me).

4.  At least the last baseball game will end at 9:30 and not start at 10 or something ridiculous.

5. My pants are looser.

6. I get to sleep in tomorrow until at least 6:30 a.m.

7. I got to come back home and continue working here because of said upset stomach (telecommute policies = awesome compensation for stupid long hours).

8. I get to go to the library tomorrow. I love the library! I just need to know what I want before I go - I get so overwhelmed when we go. I want to take everything home.

Week of the weird

Everyone has one - an odd week where things happen that are a little off. Yesterday I got calls from three different people to inform me that they were not, in fact, dead. The day before that, a large line of cars was stuck on an exit to the highway to accommodate a rather large wild turkey that had decided to hang out in the middle of the road, gobbling at the honking cars. This morning was a little weird because there was a large herd of deer having an orgy in the backyard.

I'm ready for this week to be over. Things should calm down, people should chill out and stop calling to tell me they're not dead. The deer doing it in the backyard are fine (it wasn't people, so that's good). So is the turkey (didn't want to go to that meeting on time anyway), but having a day, a morning, an hour when something strange or escalated isn't happening would be nice.

Hopefully I'll get time to read later on. I've got 300+ pages of legislation to read and not much time to read it in. I'm sure I'll get it done. As long as I don't get attacked by a wild turkey.

My blog as a movie character

I was thinking, which is dangerous because doing that hurts my head and makes me appear a bit like a mad scientist when I decide to execute on an idea. Which is cool, because I've got wild curly hair as it is. It lends itself well.

But, I was thinking nonetheless, that if my blog were a movie character, hiddenchicken would be the female version of Bob Destepello from Gross Pointe Blank. It's not that I'm particularly aggressive, but the scene where he reads John Cusack's character his "poem" resonates with me on an almost uncomfortable level.

Primarily because I'm here, in my kitchen, producing random glurge that people are nice enough to read, but they'd probably really like me to skip to the end. I feel that way all the time at work. "Dammit, man - what is the POINT?"

The point is, I don't actually have one. That, my friend, is my secret.

So that's that. Yet you stay with me anyway for whatever reason. Maybe you want to spam me and use me as a way to get others to read your blog. Maybe I entertain you with my bumbling attempts through life. Or perhaps you're looking for more information on looking up women's sundresses or Benedict Cumberbatch (apparently someone may a lifesized chocolate statue of him...no, really).

My most common search terms, by the way, are related to heat rash and looking up sundresses, which leads me to believe that people might be getting chafed from attempting to look at panties in the summer. You really need to stop that, by the way, or at least try Runner's Lube or Body Glide.

Well, I'm going to peace out - I'm technically working, but with Good Friday, most people are out or not paying attention, which is nice for a change.

The April Fool

I am an over-competitive idiot. Over the weekend I entered into a bet with my husband that I could go vegan for a month. After all, we've been primarily vegetarian (flexitarian now, right?) for nearly 5 years. On the face of it, it's a really sound decision. More produce, something we all need. And no animal products means I can't eat cookies, which are my kryptonite. It also means I can't eat most commercially made bread, drench things in cheese (I still refuse to try vegan cheese - it seems wrong somehow) and I can't use whole cream in my coffee. As such, I've already lost 3 pounds, which is awesome.

And honestly, except for a few moments of weakness - this morning I caught myself staring at my kids' eggs and plotting to scarf them down after my husband left with them for school/work - it hasn't been much of a hardship. Oh, and for what it's worth, I managed to distract myself with quinoa, spinach and cashews.

BUT...

• After researching to figure out the best way to do this, I do have concerns, B12 deficiency being top on my mind. From what I've read, more than 90% of vegans have or develop a B12 deficiency. If I had a normally-wired brain, this might be solved - emphasis on "might" since scientists disagree with the notion that a pill will get you the nutrients you need - with a tablet. Sadly, B12 vitamins, being unregulated and often misused, are notorious for making your body over-metabolize certain medications, anticonvulsants included. It takes a while to develop a B12 deficiency, so I'm willing to stick it out (see above re over-competitive idiot), but this is not going to be a long-term lifestyle choice for me.
• Logistically speaking, it's a pain in the ass. Unless I want my kids' diet to suffer - and I don't think it's appropriate for my kids to be vegan until their bodies are grown and they can make that choice themselves - I have to make two dishes for every meal: one with meat or animal protein and another devoid of animal products. My kitchen looks like every single pot and pan has been vomited forth from the bowels of hell, aka my messy system of putting away kitchen utensils. 
• Another logistical challenge is going to people's houses. If I wind up being invited anywhere for the next month, I see myself showing up with a pot of vegan goodness and offending a lot of people. 
• If you undergo a lifestyle change that has a positive impact, it probably doesn't make a difference why you do it. However, the likelihood of that change having any stickiness is probably way lower if you're doing it to see if you can.   

So there. A vegan's life for me...for a month. Then I'll peace out, hopefully with an extra $50 in my pocket (I should've asked for more) and more produce worked into the diet.

Third time's the charm

I just realized I've only posted a couple of times this month. I'm sure you're devastated. A huge issue at work combined with a road trip to the Grand Canyon means less of me and more relaxing for you.

But your break is over.

Allow me to regale you with our Griswalds-esque vacation. Luckily no animals (that we know of) were injured during this road trip nor were children. Here's what we did:

We headed to Tulsa on a dark and stormy Friday night. We didn't get there until 2 a.m., which kinda sucked, but we got there.

The next day, we headed from Tulsa to Albuquerque. Did you know that on the way from St. Louis to Albuquerque you will get an opportunity to see not only the largest rocking chair in the world but also the American Banjo Museum? I'll bet you didn't!

Anyway, we got to Albuquerque. I love this town. We stayed in a condo we found on VRBO and it was wonderful, cheaper than a hotel and we had three bedrooms and a kitchen. During the full day we had there, we went to Old Town, Sandia Peak (where we got engaged), Petroglyph National Monument, the Aquarium (shockingly awesome) and the Botanical Gardens (coolest enchanted gardens ever).

And then, then came the drive to the Grand Canyon. There was a TON to see on the way, but we only managed to get to the Petrified Forest. It was beautiful and very stark. Funny enough, there is a scuba diving hole in the middle of the desert between Albuquerque and Flagstaff. In fact, there were a LOT of unexpected findings in the desert, like the Indian buffet/diesel/truck stop we ran into outside of Tucumcari, ice volcanoes and museums in pretty much every town we went to.

We spent a full day at the Grand Canyon, which was absolutely amazing. Then we drove back to Albuquerque, seeing the world's largest, best-preserved crater along the way. Once in Albuquerque, we went to the National Museum of Nuclear Science (which is awesome, but hard to take for 4 hours), then to the kids' museum, Explora.

Then we drove home. All in all, it was an awesome vacation, from what we did to the random arguments we got into with our kids. Witness Ragsy's first threat to run away from home. He decided that since I wouldn't let him throw planes in the hotel he was going to run away. But to do so, apparently my job was to drive him from Albuquerque to St. Louis, then drive all the way back to the Grand Canyon once he'd gotten his wallet.

We talked about it for way too long, during which I allowed myself to get backed into a logical corner. By an 8 year old. Dammit. Oh, well - if he's smarter than I am, I've done my job, right??

It's Always Sunny in St. Louis?

It has been a weird, horrible week and I am so done. Sadly, it is Tuesday. We've been dealing with a huge client escalation at work. As such, I've been working most nights and weekends. Again. When I did get out this weekend (what? I needed pajama pants so I went to the mall), an older lady - maybe 60 or so - cat called me. Kind of anyway.

It's always unsettling when you walk through a pair of doors, hold open the door for the person behind you, only to be told, "Damn, baby - you sure fill out those jeans nice!" Uhhhh. Not many people who aren't my husband can tell me that without getting punched. But I do make exceptions for the elderly and those who I hope have dementia.

Anyway...

This weekend we're going on a Griswalds-esque trip. It should be loads of fun. I cannot wait, but I'm going to have to take my laptop. Just in case you see.

The things we do for love

February is already gone. When did that happen? It's been a busy few weeks. A trip to Charlotte, a hideous infection, caring for children with their own hideous infections and trying very, very hard not to roll my eyes too much while my husband and son snipe at each other. Cub scout awards, dance recitals where the Frozen soundtrack is playing for the eleventy-billionth time. Ah, bliss. Right?!

It's been fun. Luckily my husband redeemed himself last night for sulking so much lately about the above-mentioned sniping. It involved running around, singing, "I Love Rock & Roll" and "Pour Some Sugar on Me" in his native Indian accent (if you've ever met my husband, he sounds like he's from Midwestern United States). While washing dishes. Without me having to ask. It's the little things, right?

But I earned my keep. You don't want to know how, but I'm going to tell you because somebody's got to hear it and you're the lucky winner. This is too much information, so if you're grossed out by kid poop stories, stop reading. If you're not, by all means, read on.

So...my husband and I were sitting at the table. Evelyn goes skipping off to the bathroom yelling that she's got to poop. Love it how much they share. Anyway. after a few minutes I hear, "Mommy, help!" I'm thinking I'll have to go pick up a big mess. But it was actually worse.

Have you ever helped "clean out" a constipated five year old who is crying because her bum hurts? No? Well, you are missing out. On feeling like you need a long, boiling hot shower. She didn't like it, either. Luckily there were no trips to the ER. But holy mother of enemas, there are some parts of being a parent I could do without, bodily by-products being primary.

I'm sure I will look back on this and snicker. I already am. Mostly because these things tend to happen at fortuitous moments, such as just after I'd said, "It's nice to actually sit down and talk to you," like I did to my husband last night.

Ah, the things we do for love. 

Plot Maps - More Fun than a Barrell of Monkeys

After going to a party over the weekend and asking a friend if she used a plot map when writing her novels, I wondered why I had asked that since I have rarely used one when writing mine. I generally use a simple spreadsheet and just make random notes in it so I have a vague sketch of what the heck is going on - otherwise I wind up rewriting the damn thing twenty times before the novel is even half done.

So today I decided that for my upcoming book, I was going to sit down and write a plot map. I forgot how much I love plot maps. Not only do they force you to think about what it is you're going to say, you can say things like "hot monkey sexand "Cheez Wiz" in your notes and no one cares (luckily they were not in the same section - because that would be gross). I don't get that very often in my regular line of work. No one wants to hear about Medicare and hot monkey sex in the same sentence.

Anyway, it's a really nice brain break. Of course, once you actually get to the guts of writing the thing and tying the parts of the story together, that can get annoying. But worthwhile. I wish I'd written another plot map sooner.

Oh, and yes, I did get off my virtual butt and google BAFTA. So instead of thinking, "what is that?!" I now think, "Ugh, another award ceremony? Thank God I wind up drooling on myself before I can watch TV at night."

I'm fairly convinced that very few normal people watch award shows and that viewing is probably limited to famous people who couldn't be there for some reason or members of the press who couldn't be there. The normal people who watch them are probably watching them to get a glimpse of someone particular. So there.

Does that mean we're done being sick?

These last two weeks have sucked. Week before last, Evelyn had a delightful ear infection. That's cool - we go to the pediatrician, have it checked out. She needs antibiotics, we get them, we're good. Cool...let's move on.

Then Wednesday late she has a mystery fever. We decide to keep her home Thursday (24-hour rule: must be fever free for at least a day). Only I've got a fever, too. So my husband stays home with both of us. Did I mention I love my husband dearly?

He stays home, Evelyn gets better. I, however, do not. My fever gets higher and higher and my back and stomach are killing me. Finally, I give in and go into urgent care. Did you know you could get strep in your kidneys? And did you know it hurts? It could've been worse. On the pain scale, I'd put it under a seizure, childbirth, shingles and being lanced by a stingray, with childbirth being least painful and the stingray being the most. Maybe around the same as having chopped off part of the tip of my little finger, but not as sharp. (Note to self: do not cook when you have shingles in your eye.)

Awesome. I get antibiotics. We send Evelyn to school Friday and happily attend a large party on Saturday full of children. Yay! But everyone's healthy! We have a great time and the kids go to sleep way too late.

We wake up Sunday. Hmmm, Evelyn looks exhausted - bags under her eyes, rubbing them a lot. Today we will have naps! A few hours later, "OMG, IT'S PINKEYE! PINKEYE! BURN EVERYTHING!" Another trip to urgent care. Another trip to the pharmacy for antibiotics. Now sounds like a damn good time for a pizza - no one has eaten, I sure as hell am not cooking (afraid to touch anyone's food). So I swing by Dominoes on my way back.

I pay for pizza, turn to leave and...the pizza sales out of the box, flies a few feet and splats on the ground. I had no clue a pizza could fly like that. So start snorting and giggling and go in to apologize, then help clean pizza off the sidewalk while Evelyn's demanding to know why I threw her pizza.

Dominoes generously makes me a new one, on the house. I tip them a lot and leave.

The End.

This post brought to you by, "You've got to be flipping kidding me," and "What the hell is BAFTA?" (mostly because I don't know what the hell BAFTA is...I suppose my buddy Google can tell me)

Hedgehog Day

I almost accidentally created a new blog, blogger. Just so you know, I'm probably your bestest tester - I will PROVE to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you try hard enough (or don't even try), at least one user will wind up with a thousand blogs simply due to inability to tell the difference between new post and new blog.

Anyway, today is Groundhog Day. Or, if you're my daughter, Hedgehog Day. She asked me this morning if you rubbed the hedgehog if you'd get a better result. Ahhh, no. What I didn't tell her was that rubbing for a good result usually only works well if you're holding onto a magical lamp or another person. Clothing is optional, though not recommended.

What was I saying again?

Oh, yeah - six more weeks of winter apparently. Whatever. It usually takes a while for spring to break winter's back anyway. And you can't be sure it's happened until you smell it outside. The world always smells subtly different when the seasons are changing, but if you smell it you know. Winter smells cold and sharp and icy whether there is ice on the ground or not. Spring smells like just a hint of sweet and warmth tinged with ice. Summer is sometimes dry and dusty smelling, though usually in St. Louis it smells hot and moist and sultry. Just outside the doorstep you're surrounded  by the scent of our star magnolia (aka, the soaptree). The fall is rich, cool and mossy-wet, like decaying leaves crunching and smooshing under your feet.

I miss summer. But until it comes, I will just have to steam the bejeezus out of myself at the YMCA when I work out. Then in July, I can steam the bejeezus out of myself by running outside. It's win-win.

No more sparkly wine and nachos...because I'm old.

One thing about aging (and no, I'm not that old, even though sometimes I feel kinda old): my body and my mind usually feel just like they did when I was in my 20s. But, you feed my body crap and it will feel like the garbage dump it is. Case in point: my husband is out of town. So last night I indulged in some terrible, terrible TV/movies, as well as some sparkly wine (awesome stuff from a winery up the street) and nachos.

I'm not sure whether it was the fact that I rarely drink or the fact that I don't often eat junk food or the fact that I lifted weights yesterday afternoon for the first time in a long time before skating with my kids (also, first time since high school!). But holy mother of Maug, I wanted to die when I woke up.

There was no hangover-like headache, thank goodness. So I'm pretty sure it was a combination of weight lifting and nachos. Nonetheless, my husband wasn't here to make fun of me. Since I love him and miss him (he's on a guys' vacation in San Diego this weekend), here's our back and forth so I can pretend someone's actually around to make fun of me, other than my kids, who would get in trouble:

Me: "Oh, God, why the hell did I eat that many nachos? And why did I lift weights? Why?"

Him: "No kidding. You can't even tell. Just do what I do and eat nachos all the time. You develop a tolerance. And here's a secret: if you don't lift weights, it won't hurt."

Me: "You're an ass. If my arms didn't ache so much I'd go over there and smack that stupid grin off your face."

Him: "Ooooh, oooh, you mean this one? The one I'm making fun of you with? That one?"

Me: "I despise you."

Him: "I love you, too."

Fin

What the bloody hell am I'm watching?

Oh, wait. I know. I'm watching Ten Things I Hate about You. It's sad and bad and all kinds of horrible 90's angst-y wonderful. Ahhh, 90s, you really made the most out of movies where the heroine was deep and bucking society's conventions and the assholes who tried to trick her, yet later fell in love with her. No, honest, they were really in love with her and they were going to change everything. Just everything.

So, basically, they portray high school the way everything felt, not the way everything was. Sweet. And I only come to this conclusion after four glasses of wine and a pile of nachos. And I'm 39. Crapcicles. This late realization does not bode well for my kids, their sobriety or sense of proportion. 

I registered my daughter for kindergarten and promptly lost it

I'm working from home again, today to get parental stuff done. And as the title suggests, that parental stuff involved registering my youngest for kindergarten. It was so easy and so horrible at the same time.

I brought in everything they asked for and had done the pre-registration online, so all they needed was documentation and we were good. So I got back in my car after the school signed off and I signed off and drove toward home. I started thinking, "Hmmm, should we have her do the pre-k summer school so she's used to going and knows the kids she'll be in class with for the next 6 years? We'd have to take her out of preschool for 3 weeks, but it'd be worth it probably. I hope kindergarten is easier on her than it was on Rags. I hope she thrives. I hope she's not lonely. And I hope....Oh, God! My daughter's going to be in kindergarten in 9 months!" Cue the meltdown.

I shouldn't be that upset. The universal reason children are born is to grow up. But it is bloody devastating. Both to the kid and to their parent. This time next year, there will be homework.There will be less play. There will be the push, push, push to get her out the door, just like we push, push, push her brother. There will be tears about kids who are mean to her.

We'll have to have the talk that you never have in preschool that was so horrible when I had it with Rags: not everyone is your friend. In preschool everyone is called your friend, but that kid over there? The one who hit you or called you stupid? Not your friend. And your teachers won't always protect you, so you have to identify who is your friend and who is not and avoid people who are assholes (even if you're not allowed to call them that yet).

And the day I watch my teeny tiny little girl get on the bus and wave goodbye alongside her big brother (who may or may not agree to sit with her), I will be even more devastated than I am now. Because I'll know that my kids are both doing what they're supposed to - growing up and growing independent - and I'm so proud of them yet so sorry that they're both going to be at an age where a hug and a kiss no longer solves their problems.

I had no idea parenthood - those simple stupid little milestones you don't think anything about - would cause such visceral, violent reactions that I'd have to tamp down. This is way harder than not knocking heads at work.

Oh, the glamorous life!

My kids were asked yesterday what I do for a living. Apparently they told the person asking that I a) tell people who to do and b) read a lot and then c) tell people that's they're wrong and why. When I asked if I do that at home, they said not so much b and c, but yes to a. Oh, well.

What's most sad is that they're not entirely wrong. I usually tell them, "Mommy helps people get their medicine and helps make sure that they get it safely and in the right amounts." Which is true, but apparently I've worked at home enough around them that they've heard me debate several times with government agencies and give technical requirements to our tech group, which I'm sure is way more scintillating than it sounds. Right?!

So right now, I'm gearing up for another fight. Which means tons and tons and tons of analysis. Right now I'm waiting for my laptop to cool down and finish doing it's thang while I take a much-needed brain break and bore anyone who reads this sad, sorry blog.

I wasn't a technical person until 2 years ago. But apparently technical work warps your brain and you find yourself being the annoying shit constantly pointing out how data proves someone else incorrect and demanding to know  how they arrived at their own analysis.


I could be wrong, but I'm sure my kids' teachers hate me. A lot.

Stop it - you're doing it wrong

I was thinking about Martin Luther King yesterday, as many of us Americans are wont to do on Martin Luther King Day. I was thinking, "Jeez, I wish I had the day off, too," but mostly I was thinking about how far we've come since before his assassination and yet how far it feels we're sliding backward. And it blows goats.

This blog is not generally a serious blog. God knows that, between stores of my children pretending to be drunken ducks (should NOT have let them watch that much Looney Tunes) and my sleep-deprived rantings of what a dumbass I am, most people probably don't know much more about me than I'm borderline insane, like Sherlock and really do not like having my feet peed on (I'm lookinga t you, Evelyn).

But even if you don't know me, all I ask is that you do one thing. Just one thing. And that's to do something - anything, regardless of how big or how small - to make someone else's life better. Whether it's listening to someone who needs to be heard or owning up to your own prejudices and confronting them, or just treating another person like they're human, do it.

It doesn't have to be specifically with the intention of eliminating injustice - just with the intention of being better and helping others to be better, too. So there.

Another day, another bottle of whine

Today has turned out better than I expected, though still with some suck-itude. My five year old daughter had to have a cavity filled. I had been one of the smug, "my children drink juice or soda in my home but once every month!" moms, but avoiding the sugar apparently doesn't matter when you strip all the fluoride out of your water with a reverse osmosis water filter. Who knew?

It's amazing how having children will make you into an unwitting liar. Top five best examples, at least from my life as a parent so far:

• "I will NEVER feed my child anything other than homemade organic babyfood." (until I realize that if I do that, I will never sleep)
• "They will never eat at McDonald's." (until all his friends got to go to McDonald's after baseball...except him, until I relented)
• "No formula for mine!" (until I had a seizure, resulting two week migraine and astronomically high blood pressure that made it difficult to sit up, much less nurse)
• "Children do not ever belong in the marital bed." (until our child screamed so long and hard he vomited and I realized I couldn't do that to him or myself ever again)
• "I don't believe in bribes for children. Ever." (until Rags was having his first good day in months when he was going through the "terribles" and I could tell he was about to lose it and just couldn't handle another bout for a couple of hours)

It's always the absolutes the come back to bite you in the ass, huh?

Anyway, the cavity worked out well enough. Apparently it wasn't deep enough to require any anesthesia - no novicaine, no topicals - whatsoever. And our dentist prefers not to introduce needles to children unless absolutely necessary. So instead she let her look at the tools for a bit, showed them how they worked, cleaned her out with the drill, filled the tooth and let her go - all in about 15 minutes. No pain, no apparent discomfort. Did I mention that I love our dentist?

And now, here I sit, "working" from home. Working in quotes because my work is about to reorg again and I'm waiting for more legislation before I can move forward on really anything. So all my afternoon meetings are canceled, I'm spinning my wheels when I should be proactive and burnt out from working 14 hours a day for three weeks with no breaks only to suddenly find myself with downtime. Which I apparently can't handle.

Rant Du Jour

Today's rant du jour is brought to you by the public school systems in our county and this morning's "late start for professional development," requiring me to work from home and lose at least one hour of productivity. The district my children attend is the best in our state, which is good. So perhaps I shouldn't complain. But.

In general, it really chaps my butt that they are still operating as thought it were the 1980s. They're at least 20-30 years behind today's American family. Meaning, more than half of American families have two wage-earners, mine included. Which means that when they just decide to start late for "records" or have no school at all during bank holidays or random Mondays for development, let alone the two week breaks students get thrown in with almost three months off in the summer, it's phenomenally inconvenient and expensive to scramble to find childcare in order to keep your job.

I am lucky. 100% of the employees in my team are virtual. I'm the only one that goes to a local office, so no one bats and eyelash when I just work from home. My husband also earns enough money that, although we take a significant hit, we could still pay our mortgage if I weren't working for whatever reason - at least for a few months until I found something else. But for Pete's sake - if I were working hourly for minimum wage, it seems like dealing with this crap would be almost insurmountable.

No, school is not a substitute for childcare. But, just like any business, wouldn't you imagine that the expectation would be a consistent schedule and standard business hours? From the parent's perspective, your options in the current system are:

1. Find childcare. This could be extremely expensive if you have no immediate family nearby or some other adult or older sibling willing and able to pitch in.

2. Take the random days off, be deemed unreliable and lose your job, putting your household at risk. If you're lucky you have an understanding work place or someone who will swap shifts with you, but you still may carry a stigma of unreliability OR if you get those days off, you're out the money for those hours, which isn't good if you're living paycheck to paycheck.

3. Be considered a neglectful parent by leaving your kid to their own devices during the day while you go to work.

4. Drop them off somewhere free (library, mall, cheap museum, other) to mill around aimlessly. See option 3.

From a kid's perspective, it's awesome that I occasionally get to sleep late or just mill around the house or somewhere else, but during the summer I'm losing at least two and a half months of school, falling out of practice with newfound academic skills and have to then regain lost ground at the start of the school year. Also, perhaps I'm just getting to the point where I'm mature enough to be able to sit still as long as school requires - at this point, I could have lapsed back into squirmy and have a tough time getting back to school expectations (which are kind of excessive given that they diagnose kids with the medical condition of being children).

From a teacher's perspective, I get these days off, but some of the days I may or may not get paid for, I'm still working. During the summer, maybe I do or do not have to take a separate job. Not many people want to hire seasonal workers except retail and a few other limited industries. The kids come back and I have to drill them until they're back to where I can teach them the current syllabus. They still have vacation brain, making them difficult to manage.

So far the only reason I can think of that this "works" is that that is how it has always been. But the thing is, the circumstances that drove things to "always" be that way no longer apply. Kids don't leave cities for months on end to escape the heat. Most schools have air conditioning. Virtually all businesses operate on a five day per week basis with standard hours from 8-5. More than half of all parents work, mothers and fathers. Schools aren't babysitters, but wouldn't it be better, more effective and just plain easier for kids, teachers and parents if schools operated year round or at least with far shorter summer breaks and more consistent hours? Or am I just smoking crack?

There. Done. I'm sure there are teachers out there who can explain this to me and why I'm smoking crack. Though I still reserve the right to be miffed that my kids have a two hour late start the week after they've been out of school for two weeks straight. So there.

2015!

It's a new year. The year I'll be 40. Back when I was my son's age (around 8), 26 was my "cut off" year for some reason. It was the year I'd be truly old. I never could've imagined I'd still feel like I was in my 20s even as I approached 40. Who knew?

My husband will turn 40 in just a few days; I'll follow in November. My daughter will enter kindergarten and my son the 4th grade. At last this year, everything will fall into place. Everything will get done. Or not.

The best I can hope for is that we'll make it through the year healthy and smarter. Hopefully my mom will get her transplant soon, but she seems to be doing ok. Hopefully my sister and brother in law will be happier than they were this year, struggling with a newborn and a little boy in the throes of the terrible 3s. Hopefully friends and family will enjoy a successful, fruitful year.

Hopefully the world will be better and our city will heal and people everywhere will no longer be persecuted just for being them. I doubt it, but I girl can dream, can't she?

Welcome, 2015. I hope you'll be good to us. We'll do our best to be good to you.