I'm Not Dead and I Don't Get to Stay in a Hotel

I'm home.  I've actually been home for an hour, but that time was spent getting my car unstuck from an unfortunate position half way in my driveway and half way on the street.  We finally succeeded, but good luck to the husband with getting it unstuck.

Pie and I had a fabulous time at the science center.  In the rush to get out of the house, I forgot my camera, but apparently they have made every Tuesday free kids day, so I'll take pictures next week.  It's quite awesome, though, and I'm glad we appear to have a new Tuesday outing.

We are getting the big storm, but it didn't start until I was nearly home.  Or it started before that, but didn't affect me until then.  I don't know.  I just know I got stuck pulling into the driveway and that sucked.  And, I fell twice on my way in.  It's also really cold.

So, I didn't get to stay in a hotel like I wanted, but the day was still all full of win.  And, I suppose pizza and a movie is almost as good as a hotel.

Snow

I did post something yesterday, but it was stupid, so I deleted it.  I intended to start over, but I felt a little sick, so I took some Nyquil and proceeded to fall asleep on the sofa at 8:00.  According to George, I spent a lot of time talking in my sleep, at one point becoming threatening.  Eventually, he talked me into moving to our room, where I woke up at 6:30.  I remember nothing before that point.

We're supposed to get a really bad snowstorm today, which sucks, because the science center is letting kids in free today and that's awesome, but I don't know if driving all the way out there and getting stranded is such a great idea.  But then, if it doesn't snow, I'll be really pissed off.  I guess we could try to find a cheap hotel if I don't feel good about driving back home.  Pie likes hotels.  George won't be able to get to work, but I guess if it's that bad, he should probably stay home anyway.  And, at this point, I'm just typing things as they enter my head.

So, back to the snow.  I love snow.  At least, I love snow in December.

I dress Pie in more clothes that can possibly be comfortable.

We play in it.

I happily shovel and make sure the sidewalk is clear.

I tirelessly pull Pie up the sledding hill.

Then, something happens:  January.  I no longer love the snow.  It's not the worst thing in the world, but it's getting irritating.

I remember how much I hate being cold.

I curse my husband for not buying a snow blower when they were on sale.

I lose focus on everything except how badly my arms hurt.

The white shit continues to fall, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking being so excited over this nonsense.  We start spending more time inside, then I feel guilty for depriving Pie of the joys of winter.  So, we try again, but I just can't find all the enthusiasm I started the season with.  It turns into a cycle.  By the time February hits, I come to a realization:

I

 

really

HATE

snow!

So, to hell with the storm!  We have a low cost opportunity to do something that appeals to both of us, is educational, and happens inside a warm building?  I'll take it!  And if the snow comes, all the better!  I like hotels, too--especially ones with a big, heated pool.  With any luck, I won't be back tonight.

This Is Boring. Sorry.

This morning I woke up from a shitty dream that put me in a really foul mood, so I've been avoiding the internet all day.  There's enough hostility without me adding to it.  It's also a good thing that Sundays have always been my husband's guy day, because irrational or not, he'd have probably been my main target.  He just got home and I'm fairly docile now, so that's good.

I really didn't want to leave the house at all, but I did suck it up and go to church.  I'm really glad I did, not because church was anything spectacular today, but because my parents kidnapped Pie.  Outstanding!  Oh, and they took her shopping, which boils down to more piles of stuff we don't need.  That's okay, though, because now maybe she'll stop whining about all the creepy toys I got rid of last week.

So, basically, I had the house to myself all day.  There was a time I'd have taken full advantage of that, but you know what I did?  I slept.  And I cleaned.  Oh, and I played some video games and did about 40 seconds worth of video editing.  Neato!  I pretty much wasted an entire day.  My house is immaculate, though, so I suppose there's that.  Not that it's very interesting or anything.

In other news, now that George's work schedule is slowing down, I'm thinking of taking a class.  I haven't decided what yet, but I'm really looking forward to it.  There's so much I wanted to take, but could never fit in, and I'm glad for the opportunity to go at it from a laid back, personal enrichment standpoint.  Should be fun and I'd love any suggestions.

Also, since we're probably the least responsible people that ever existed, we've decided to forgo making the rest of the house look nice (yeah, ugly living room wallpaper, I'm looking at you) and instead focus on creating a home theater in our creepy basement.  We never have company anyway, but we do watch a lot of movies, so I guess that makes sense.  I did some rough sketches of it the other day and it will be awesome!

Holy hell, I just re-read this and came to the realization that I'm even more boring than I realized.  My brain is soupy right now.  We have neat plans tomorrow, so hopefully that will be more interesting.

Pie Has a Big Mouth

I should clean the house and start dinner, but that sounds tremendously unappealing.  Besides, George is working and Pie's sleeping, and I get the good computer, so bonus post!  Yay!

Today was one of those days.  Not at all a bad day, I just didn't care much.  In fact, it can easily be summed up with the images one of my 54 favorite people in the world sent me.

I'm tired.  I mean really tired.  Probably could have slept last night, but Pie put an end to that.  I've tried going to sleep tonight, but the insomnia has more or less decided that's not going to happen.  I napped for two hours and now I'm up and feeling particularly pingy.  Neato!

Anyway, today just wasn't happening for me.  Aside from going to Giant Eagle, there wasn't really anything I needed to do, so it was okay.  I let Pie and her toys have run of the house while I sat around in my pajamas and drank too much chocolate milk.  At one point, I made cinnamon rolls--nothing fancy, just the kind in the exploding can--and I'm really not sure why I did that.  I wasn't hungry.  Now I am hungry and cinnamon rolls sound fantastic, but they're hard from sitting on the counter all day, so I can't eat them.  I guess we can go feed them to the ducks tomorrow. I also finished an MS Paint picture I'd working on and photoshopped something else.  They turned out great!  I thought about posting those here, but they really only make sense to the person they were for and otherwise make me look all the more insane.

Around 3:00 Pie made it clear that she was bored and wanted to be entertained.  Stupid parental responsibilities.  That's alright, though, I have a trick just for this.

When I was Pie's age my dad would sometimes take me to work with him so my mom could have a break.  Basically he'd show up, make sure everything was running the way it needed to, knock out any problems if it wasn't, buy me a soda in a glass bottle from the cool machine in back, and then we'd go get into some kind of trouble.  Which either meant Cedar Point or going for a "music ride" depending on the season.  Music rides are exactly what they sound like--driving around aimlessly, for hours, listening to fantastic music.  Sometimes I wonder what my dad did when he went to work by himself.  

Music rides probably aren't the best idea with $3 a gallon gas and all, but finding something to entertain both of us that requires minimal effort on my part seemed worth it, so I cleaned myself up, burned a couple CD's, and set off for a couple hours of back roads and music that would have been really good if I didn't feel the need to sing along.

Sometime around 5:00, Pie started getting bored and I figured I shouldn't waste anymore gas, so I headed home.  On the way, we saw a guy standing on a street corner with a sign that said, "Homeless, hungry diabetic. Anything helps."

I might be a sucker, but stuff like that breaks my heart.  I use my debit card for everything, but I try to keep a few bucks on me, just in case, so I pulled the $5 out of my pocket.  Since he was on the passenger side of the car, I had Pie hand it to him.

George hates when I do stuff like that.  Hates it.  Since we moved in together, it's always been our money, except when I give it away.  Then he gets all, "I work to support this family, not everyone else!"  We're not wealthy people by any means, but I figure we have a house and fridge full of food and $5 isn't going to make us late on the mortgage.  It's not like I see homeless people regularly, so when I do, I give what I can.  I feel good about it, and Pie apparently thinks giving someone $5 is the coolest thing she's ever done.

The minute we get home, she runs inside yelling, "Daddy!  Daddy, guess what?"

"What, baby?"

"Mumma gave money to a man standing outside!"

"What?"

"There was a man and Mumma gave him money!"  She's incredibly proud.  I'm getting a dirty look.  I'm really going to have to teach her about when to keep things to ourselves.

In other news, I completely forgot that I was going to have the Magic 8 Ball dictate my actions this weekend.  During the week there are actually things I have to do for my house to run smoothly, so I guess I'll have to wait until next weekend.  I know some people were really looking forward to that, so I'm sorry!  Remind me, because I'll really do it, I just forget stuff like that.

Being on the shitlist and all, I guess I'd really better go clean the house and think about food.

Last Night Sucked

I have a king sized bed.  Most nights, 3'2" of Pie take up well over half of it.  I don't know what happened.  Last year, she was great about going to bed in her own room, then slowly she began making her way into mine.  It crept up slowly, starting in the middle of the night, until she was eventually just falling asleep there.  She's old enough for her own room, so one of my new year's resolutions was to get her there all night, every night.  Or, at least almost every night--I'm not heartless if she's sick or has a nightmare or something.

For the most part, this has been awful, but out of no where we had a break through.  She slept in her bed for nearly a week and a half.  How fantastic!  Then last night happened.

"Mumma, where's Eugene?"  Eugene is one of her dolls.  Since the day we got him, he's gone everywhere with us.  He talks too loud in the library.  He refuses to be shared with the other kids at the playplace.  He threatens old ladies at the supermarket.  And he's tucked into whatever bed she's sleeping in every night. 

"I don't know, sweetheart.  Where'd you leave him?"

"I dunno."

We search the house for the better part of an hour, but sadly, no luck.  I try thinking back to the last time she had him, but it's sort of fuzzy.  In fact, I don't think she's played with him since we got home from the grocery store.  The grocery store? 

Oh no!  I ran, fingers crossed, to check the car.  Pleasebeinthecar, pleasebeinthecar!  He's not in the car.  The store will be closed before I can get there.  Shit!  At this moment, I know tonight is going to be difficult.  And that's thinking positively.

"Babydoll," my eyes beg her to be agreeable, "Why don't you choose a different goodnight toy and we'll find Eugene in the morning?"

"No."  She says it casually, dismissing the suggestion without even a hint of thought.

I try again, "Pie, I think you left him at Giant Eagle.  We'll check in the morning, but you'll have to choose something else tonight."

"I don't wa--"  My words register with her and horror paints her tiny face.  Then the tears start. 

I panic and do the only thing sensible thing in this situation--wake up my husband so he can handle it.  He takes charge, pulling her into our bed and holding her, trying to coax her to sleep, but she's kicking and screaming that she needs her doll, and she just keeps crying.  After 15 minutes, she wins.  My husband has another idea. 

We frantically check every Walmart in a 50 mile radius.  None of them have one.  Neither does Super Kmart and everything else is closed.  This is just spectacular.  Maybe I'm too much of a pushover, perhaps I should just tell her to pick something else and suck it up, but instead, I go into damage control mode.

"Why don't I put Tangled on the tv in my bedroom?"  I hope with every fiber of my being that she'll take it.

"Okay."  I rejoice internally, and her teary eyes light with something new.  "Can I have a soda?"

"Sure!"

"And a cupcake?"

"Got it!"  At this point I'm ready to give her my soul just to get her to go to sleep.  And it works!  At some time after 1AM, she falls asleep in my bed, surrounded by various junk food wrappers.  I'm such a horrible parent.

On the bright side, Giant Eagle does have her doll and as soon as she wakes up, we'll go get him.

My Husband the Phone Stalker

Despite my grumbling, there are a couple parent groups I haven't dropped yet.  One of them is a mentor program.  Anyone is welcome, but it's mostly geared towards very young moms and unexpected pregnancies.  Ignoring the fact that I probably shouldn't be any kind of mentor to anyone, much less a parenting mentor, I really like this group.  It makes me feel useful and productive.  Also, it only meets once a month, which is noncommittal enough, even for me.  I'm on a call any time list, but I don't have to worry too much about actual meetings.  Plus, it gives Pie a chance to play with other kids.

I have an alarm clock, but since I very rarely have anywhere to be in the mornings, I hardly ever use it.  Most of the time, I wake up on my own, otherwise, Pie knows to wake me when she gets up.  Her new method is less than endearing, but it worked this morning.  I sat up quickly, the minute her wet little finger entered my ear.  This really needs to stop.  I was about to yell at her, but I noticed the clock--10:30.  Shit.  My mentor group was meeting at 11, and it's one of the few I haven't been ostracized from yet.  I scrambled to get myself and Pie reasonably presentable as quickly as possible, which pretty much means I brushed my teeth, slapped on some deoderant, grabbed the first clean clothes I saw, and left looking like a complete bum. 

I stumbled into the meeting five minutes late and half out of breath.  Everyone was seated at a table, with the kids and one mom off playing in the corner.  It dawned on me that I wasn't just late to the meeting, there was a speaker today.  So much for inconspicuously sneaking in.  I settled in at the table as quickly as possible, so the speaker could get back to her business.

She talked about the warning signs of abuse, at one point mentioning things that may seem romantic, like calling all the time just to hear your voice.  After talking about the early phase, she went into some of the other phases, talked about having an escape plan, then opened it up to the moms for discussion.  Over half the people there had some sort of story, which made me both sad, and extra appreciative of George who really is a fantastic husband.  In the middle of hearing from a fifteen year old who has apparently had a very tough life, my phone rang.

Crap!  I usually put it on vibrate for these sort of things, but in the morning rush, I'd forgotten.  I fumbled to hit ignore, without looking at it.  A few seconds later, it started again.  I hit ignore without looking again and offered everyone an embarrassed, apologetic half-smile.  The girl went back to her story, when my phone rang for the third time.  I looked down.  It was the husband.

My husband almost never calls me.  Maybe a few times a month, usually to remind me to grab something from the store or to let me know he'll be at work late, but never just to chat.  In ten years, he never has, and that's fine.  When we left the house this morning, he was asleep.  We're a one car family, so I figure he's probably calling to see where we are and when we'll be home.  I quickly texted him that I'm in a meeting and would call him in a few minutes.  It seemed to work, and I pushed my mind back to the meeting, then--

Ring!

"Oh, come on!" I muttered half to myself, starting to get irritated.  "Excuse me," I said, everyone's eyes back on me.  I answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey, Bean!  Where ya at?"

"I'm in a meeting.  I'll call you back in a few minutes."

"What kind of meeting?  And where's my shirt?"

Everyone was still staring, and I tried to force my irritation down my throat.  "I'll call you back in ten minutes."  At this point, I'm pretty sure he could hear the annoyance.

"Okay.  Love you!"

"Love you too..."

"Stalker!" the girl next to me shouted, and everyone started laughing.  At least I'm good for lightening the mood.

ETA:  I just asked him if I could post the picture of him doing the smolder to make up for making my group think he's a phone stalker.  He said no.  I asked him if I could at least post it on facebook.  He said no again. Sorry, Jenn.

Does Survival Count?

I really want to post something to go with this, but right now I just can't.  It just don't have it in me.  And to be honest, I haven't even checked off survival yet, because I'm not certain it's guaranteed yet.  Still, this was fantastic and needed to be shared.  Take it wherever you'd like it to go.  Perhaps more will come later.

In other news, this weekend, I will be letting my Magic 8 Ball make all of my decisions, then I'll post about it here.  I loathe decision making, preferring to just sort of let things happen, so this should be a fun exercise.