I'm Back....Or Am I?

Yes I am still middle-aged and yes I am still having my mid-life crisis.  And yes, I still bump into all those rude, stupid, self-important, entitled people.  Who doesn't?


I have been on a bit of a hiatus. I first strayed due to the AdSense scam and my inability to find a more deserving venue.  I stood on my principals for a while, but eventually those principals got tired of holding me up, and let go.  It felt more like a bite off your nose to spite your face thing after a bit.  I mean really, Google doesn't care whether I am out here or not.  Then my absence was more about time, or I suppose if I am honest, priorities.  I stopped writing because I was focusing more on that job that I scorned in my last posting and yes, it is still all those things and less.  But, it pays the bills, well some of them anyway.  What it doesn't due is allow me an outlet for my frustration or validate that frustration like you all do.  So I am wondering, do you miss me?  Should I come back?  Will you forgive my extended absence and follow my rantings once again, or will you snub me like you might a misguided lover and leave me to wallow in my own inadequacies?  Let me know if you are out there and if I will be granted a second chance.  I have postings and will work for validation.  After all, I am not working for much more than that at my other job.

The Short List

Okay so all of you are no help. I thought maybe one of you might comment on a good blog host that doesn't rip you off, but apparently not.  And because life is so hectic with my constant search for some sort of employment, which includes numerous attempts at reinventing myself, I just can't find the time to find a new home on my own.  So before I explode from all the pent up rants, I decided to just continue on here until, well, until I don't. 

Anyway, today I decided to institute a dress code on the ark.  Now, as someone who at times dresses somewhat eclectically occasionally sporting a short skirt and cowboy boots, other times wearing leather pants, or an authentic witch's cape, but more often donning a pair of jeans and a sweater, I am the first to say you should wear what you want...within reason.  

Today, I am sitting in Starbucks (I know again) and in walks this 40 something woman in a very short black dress, and I mean VERY short.  Either she bought it in the junior's section or she is wearing it as a dress when it is meant to be more of a tunic with leggings.  She forgot the leggings.  Tights would have still been obscene, but better, but she seems to have forgotten those too.  Hell, she wasn't even wearing nylons.  Now I never wear nylons; they aren't my thing, but naked legs under this way too short dress?  She was just begging for attention.  Well she got it.  I was staring and so were many others, but not in the "look at that hot thing with the nice legs?" way, but in the "Whoa, what the hell were you thinking?" way.  And yes I am sure even the guys were thinking that because the man next to me who brought his son in had a horrified look on his face, and the older gentleman in the corner was shaking his head.  I just looked at her with a disgusted expression on my face and started this blog. So here is the dress code:  If at any time in any position in a public place on the ark, we can see something that God gave you that was only meant for private eyes, you’re off the ark, probably via the railing at the side.

No Cents out of AdSense

This one’s easy; today’s rant is about kicking GoogleAdSense off my ark. 

How annoying are they?  So according to my payment history, I hit my next hundred-dollar mark back in July and then again in August.  Since it is now September 15^th and I haven’t received either check, which their information reads I should have received over a month ago, I sent them an e-mail (because God forbid they have a phone number where you can inquire about anything) asking them why I hadn’t received my payment.

No response.

No acknowledgement of my inquiry.

Until today when I get an automated e-mail telling me my AdSense account has been disabled.  What a coincidence; I go looking for my very late payment, and they terminate my account…hmmm? No response to my original inquiry.  No explanation.  No information at all.  So I spent a while surfing around trying to find a way to contact them and ask them WTF?  But there is no phone number, no live chat, and no direct e-mail.  No way to deal with disputes at all unless you count filling out a generic appeal form, which asks a bunch of questions I don’t have the answers to and gives you a short space in which to tell them about why you think they are wrong.  Well how the hell would I know? They never told me what the problem was so how can I dispute it?  If they had said I was clicking my own ads, I’d say no I wasn’t.  If they said I was altering the ads, I’d say no I wasn’t.  If they said I was auto-generating clicks, I’d say no I wasn’t.  But they said none of those things; they didn’t give a reason, so how can I refute their reasoning?  Besides, how does one prove a negative?  I could possibly prove that I did something (if I was more computer savvy than I am) but how can I prove I didn’t do something?

I’ve heard of this happening before.  I have read other complaints about the fact that Google doesn’t give you any way to interact with them directly.   Now I understand those complaints.  Perhaps it is time to find a different host.  We’ll see how quickly they resolve this issue.  They owed me over $200.  If they reinstate me soon and I get paid, I’ll stay.  If not, look for a post giving you my new address.

Unemployment Is Underemployed

The bureaucratic fools in government do not get on the ark.  Their common sense is just too deeply buried to warrant their admission.  Extended hours have been implemented in the unemployment office, a toll free number has been designated to handle all the extended unemployment claims.  Hold times are at an all time high, and yet it seems no one in the division has figured out that perhaps THEY should hire more people.  What follows is my story of how their inability to see the excruciatingly obvious screwed up three different days for me.

The other day I placed my eighth, yes eighth, phone call to unemployment trying to submit a claim for extended benefits after months and months of fruitless searching, first in my field of expertise and then in any field remotely related.  The first time I called I got an extended message explaining what I could and could not do on the automated system.  After determining that I could file my claim, it asked for my social security number.  This was about 7 minutes in.   I input the number only to be told I needed to call back Tuesday.  (7 minutes wasted)

            So Tuesday, I called back, waiting until the kids were down for a nap so that I could have the important conversation.  I made the mistake of eating my lunch first and then calling.  This was a mistake because after going through the automated system again (7 minutes), it told me that due to extraordinarily high call volume it expected to be able to answer my call in about 30 minutes.  I waited, and waited, and waited.  Then my youngest woke up before anyone ever came to the phone.  The rest of the day was rather hectic so I had to wait until the next day to call back.  (34 minutes wasted)

Wednesday, I called in at the beginning of nap to allow myself enough time.  I figured I could make a sandwich while I was on hold.  In fact, I could have not only made the sandwich, but I could have baked the bread.  Problem was, this time, my oldest came home from school and I needed to tend to something for him so after about 20 minutes on hold, I once again had to terminate my call. (54 minutes wasted)

            I called again on Thursday, but the automated system now told me it wasn’t my turn.  (61 minutes wasted)

This time I needed to wait until next Tuesday, or so I thought.   So I took my cell phone with me on my vacation with my mother, and after learning that it didn’t work in the hotel, I went outside Tuesday morning, listened to the seven minute message about what I could and could not do over the phone, and input my social security number.  Apparently, Tuesday was no longer my day, I needed to call back Wednesday. (68 minutes wasted)

            So I did.  We were leaving Wednesday so I went out around 10:00am to make sure I had plenty of time to get the call in before we needed to check out.  I dialed, listened to the seven minute message, input my social security number, confirmed that this was the right day to call and listened to the system tell me that my wait would be 32 minutes.  I waited, and I waited and I waited until the automated musak went silent.  I looked at my phone.  The display that only a few minutes ago had read 18 minutes and counting was gone.  I’d been disconnected.  (86 minutes wasted)

I called right back, the seven minute message had listed a “special toll free number” set up just for the reason I was calling.  I tried that.  If it were instituted for only one of the many services, perhaps it would be quicker.  It was, 29 minutes to the original 32.  While I waited a number of people joined me in the courtyard and hearing became difficult.  Not to mention this was a conversation I wanted to have privately.  After10 minutes, I realized this was not the time and place and so I hung up and decided I’d call back while waiting for the ferry home; we’d have about a half hour wait anyway. (96 minutes wasted)

            But it was pouring rain while we stood outside with two bags in each hand waiting for the ferry, and I forgot to call.  It wasn’t until 4:55 when we were sitting on the ferry and the nice woman next to me asked what I did for a living that I remembered I had to contact the office, in the next five minutes, or wait for another week to go by unpaid.  I excused myself and quickly pulled out my phone.  Much to my pleasant surprise, I had service.  I listened to the seven-minute message again.  I input my social security number again.  I was told my wait time would be 31 minutes.  I looked at my watch; they’d be closed in 31 minutes.  But I couldn’t wait another week so I took the chance that I would sit on the phone until 5:00 and then get automatically disconnected when they shut off the phone service.  Or worse, I might sit on the phone in the automated system after everyone had left for the night, not realizing no one was going to answer my call.  It didn’t matter.  I had to try.

            So I waited.  5:00 came and went and the musak kept playing.  I waited and waited and waited.  31 minutes went by and I still waited.  I entertained the thought that I was now lost in an unmanned automated system which no one would return to until the morning, but still I waited.  I was on a boat that would dock after 45 minutes so I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.  The captain announced that we would be arriving soon and gave us our disembarking instructions.  Just as I was about to give up again, I heard another man’s voice on my cell phone; “how can I help you today?” he asked. (141 minutes and counting)

            I told him that I had been waiting for over 45 minutes.  I told him that I had spent two weeks trying to get through.  And then, knowing full well he was just an operator with absolutely no authority, I stated the incredibly obvious:  The unemployment office should hire more people to answer the obviously overtaxed phones.  I stated that this would kill two birds with one stone by decreasing hold times via having more operators AND by having fewer patrons because it would create jobs.  I know this is too obvious a solution for the government, but it made me feel better to point out the excruciatingly obvious. 

  In the end, the actual phone call took less than 4 minutes.

I May Be Sick, But I'm Still Feeling Good

My Feel Good Friday moment was courtesy of my six year-old.  Now, he is a bright kid and normally pretty good, but to understand why this particular instance made me so happy you have to realize he has been a pain in the butt lately.  I swear he is channeling a sixteen year-old girl what with the eye rolling, and the head shaking, and the “I know mom,” said with a sing-songy voice, emphasis on the know.  This kid has teenage size attitude in a kindergarten body.

            So when we left a restaurant today just me, him, my middle son, and my two year-old daughter who I was carrying in my arms, I really appreciated him holding the door open for me.  But when he stayed behind to hold it open for four elderly women who were just arriving as we were leaving, I actually stopped and smiled.  And when one of those ladies stopped and thanked him for being “such a little gentleman,” I actually beamed.  My heart swelled and I thought, I did that.  That kid who will stomp off into the house at 6:00pm because I called him into dinner before his friends had to go in, that kid that causes other moms to laugh out loud because his eye rolling is so pronounced when I dare to tell him not to ride his scooter down the middle of our street at 5:30pm when the sun is setting in the drivers’ eyes and many of neighbors are coming home from work, that kid that daily I think has an aptitude for sarcasm above all else, that kid still knows enough to stop and hold the door open for people and that makes me proud.  It makes my Friday; in fact, it makes my whole week.

Feel Good Friday

In clicking through on other sites, I came across www.thegirlnextdoorgrowsup.com and saw her call for Feel Good Friday.  Since I spend most of my blog ranting about the annoying things in life, I thought perhaps it might be a nice change if I took a few minutes today to appreciate the little things that make me happy.  Per her suggestion, below is a list of 5 things that happened this week to make me smile.

1. My eldest son participated in a family day at school.  It was nice to see him interacting with his classmates and get to see the program they prepared for the parents.  In addition to singing Frere Jacque in French and English, they sang it in Chinese.  That was pretty cool.
2. When I was punishing my eldest son, his little brother begged me not to, even though the punishment was for hitting him.  When I asked him why he didn’t want his brother to be sent to his room the little one responded, “because I love him.”
3. My youngest (not yet two) spontaneously started singing “daddy daddy, I love daddy.” Too sweet.
4. My mom called and took me out for lunch, just her and I; no kids; no husbands, just girl time.
5. I started writing this list and realized I have a lot more than 5 things I could put on it.  I have a great husband, awesome kids, a terrific family and a multitude of blessings.  I love my life and that makes me smile.

Catholic Paradox

Okay, I’m going somewhere a little risky with this one, but the Catholic Church cannot come on my ark.  That is not to say that no Catholics are invited, but the Catholic Church as an institution is out.

            You may have noticed in the national media last week, that a Catholic School in Massachusetts rescinded their acceptance of an eight year-old boy to their school because they learned that his parents were lesbians.  I am not going to use this forum to preach about tolerance or challenge anyone’s personal preferences.  I’ll leave that to another blogger.  But what I do want to point out is my outrage at the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church.

            What I want to ask someone in charge is: is homosexuality a cause for exclusion from the church or not?  What is the church’s official position?

            That is the joy of the Internet; you can find the answers right from the comfort of your living room.  According to many websites I read, including this one, the following is the Church’s position on homosexuality:

“Every human being is called to receive a gift of divine sonship, to become a child of God by grace. However, to receive this gift, we must reject sin, including homosexual behavior—that is, acts intended to arouse or stimulate a sexual response regarding a person of the same sex. The Catholic Church teaches that such acts are always violations of divine and natural law.

It goes on to say:

“However, the Church also acknowledges that "[homosexuality’s] psychological genesis remains largely unexplained. . . . The number of men and women who have deep-seated homosexual tendencies is not negligible. This inclination, which is objectively disordered, constitutes for most of them a trial. They must be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity. Every sign of unjust discrimination in their regard should be avoided. These persons are called to fulfill God’s will in their lives and, if they are Christians, to unite to the sacrifice of the Lord’s cross the difficulties that they may encounter from their condition.

"Homosexual persons are called to chastity. By the virtues of self-mastery that teach them inner freedom, at times by the support of disinterested friendship, by prayer and sacramental grace, they can and should gradually and resolutely approach Christian perfection" (CCC 2357– 2359).”

So the way I read that is this.  Although the Church believes homosexual acts to be a sin, homosexuals themselves should be received with love and compassion.

 Is that what they are doing in Massachusetts?  I think not. 

But where my real problem comes in is here.  The church rejects parishioners who are consenting adults engaging in homosexual relationships, BUT it protects Priests who rape innocent children, and may I point out that in the majority of those cases the Priests were also engaging in homosexual activity. The only difference is what they were doing was actually a crime, not to mention disgusting, immoral and certainly unchristian.  Why does the church take a greater stand against a child of two consenting adults in a loving relationship than it does against the monster raping little children?  And how can anyone then defer to the authority of such a Church?

Do not be confused.  I am not bashing Catholics.  Individual Catholics are not my target here.  My target is the Catholic Church, the institution that has grown so massive that its power has corrupted it allowing it to say, do, and support things in the name of God that are not only so obviously wrong but also unconscionable.  Where is the logic here?  Who is the person who made the decision that the eight year-old boy and his two moms were not allowed to be a part of the church but Father Geoghan and others like him, who should have been excommunicated and were not, would be protected?  It certainly wasn’t determined with the theory of WWJD. So to the Catholic Church as an Institution….I hope you can swim, but it looks like you are starting to sink.

Southwest Sucks!

Not that it would really affect them all that much because after all they have a fleet of planes so they could fly above it all, but when that flood comes, Southwest Airlines is not invited onto my ark.  Or maybe I’ll handle their travel arrangements the way they handled mine.

So my husband and I flew to Baltimore to see our home team play at Camden Yards.  It was a great weekend.  We met friends, saw two ball games; the weather was great.  I really enjoyed myself.  That was until I arrived at the airport, or the Southwest terminal to be specific.  We got to the terminal an hour and a half early, which should have been plenty of time, but when we got there, there was a mass of people standing around the counter.  People were not happy. Someone told me that the flight was overbooked. I waited in line anyway because I had my ticket after all.

Whenever I have flown before and a flight was overbooked on any other airline, they asked for volunteers and offer free tickets and a seat on another flight.  I wouldn’t be doing that today because my young son was home with my mother and I needed to relieve her, two full days with a toddler was probably pushing her physical limits.

Anyway, as I near the counter I begin to hear bits and pieces of other people’s complaints and I come to realize ALL Southwest’s flights back home are overbooked.  Finally I get to the counter and get to ask my questions.  Mind you it is about 3:00 Sunday afternoon. 

“When is the next flight home?”

“At 7:00 but it is over capacity as well.”

“Okay, so when is the next one?”

“10:00 but it is full too.”

“Okay, so when is the next flight home that is NOT overbooked.”

“Tuesday.”

“WHAT?!”

“Tuesday.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No Mam.  The soonest we can get you on a flight is Tuesday.”

“Have you called the other airlines to see if you can get us on one of their flights?”

“We don’t do that Mam.”

“You don’t DO that?”

“No Mam we don’t.”

“So you expect me to be happy with you putting us up in a hotel at the airport for TWO nights while my son is at home alone with no one to watch him?”

“We can’t put you up in a hotel either Mam.”

“Well what CAN you do?”

“We will put you on Tuesday afternoon’s flight Mam.”

“And what will I do in the meantime?”

“I don’t know Mam.”

“Well I have a two year old I need to get home to so you need to figure it out.”

At this point my husband gets on the phone with Delta to see if they can get us home, while I continue to argue with Southwest.  My plan is if I can get a flight on another airline, I’ll make Southwest pay for that ticket.  Come to find out they won’t do that either.

They will let us sleep in the terminal for TWO DAYS.  Or, they will refund our money and suggest that we drive home.  I live over 14 hours from the Baltimore airport and my mother needs to leave my house by 10:00 tonight.  I can’t make the drive home by then even if I was willing too, which I am not,

“So you can’t get me home. You won’t put me up in a hotel.  You’ll refund my money, but that isn’t enough to get me on another airline this last minute.  This is disgusting!  I bought a ticket to be on this flight, why the hell am I unable to get on it or any other flight in the next two days?”

“Well Mam, Southwest overbooks every flight by a certain percentage because we don’t penalize people for missing their flights. We allow our customers to fly on another flight out without any surcharge.  Since many people just don’t show up, we need to over book all our flights to assure we fly as close to full as possible.  Sometimes, if everyone shows up, that means some people can’t get on that flight.”

“So when you were booking flights during baseball season out of the city of the World Series Champions to Baltimore, on a weekend when they were playing in Baltimore and all your flights OUT were filled, it didn’t occur to you that all those people would actually need to get home?”

“Well we don’t book our flights that way Mam.”

“So basically Southwest is in the lottery business.”

“Excuse me Mam?”

“Well see, I thought when I handed over my money for a roundtrip ticket to Baltimore that I was actually buying a ticket to get me to Baltimore AND back. But what you are telling me is that I bought the CHANCE to get to Baltimore and back.  That wasn’t disclosed when I bought my tickets. And quite frankly, it isn’t acceptable.  You are not going to penalize me because someone else may not have shown up for a flight and you don’t want to lose the money.”

“Mam, you aren’t penalized.  You also can use your ticket on another flight.”

“Excuse me Miss, but being bumped off a flight I already paid for and having to spend TWO nights in the airport waiting for one you didn’t overbook, IS being penalized.  Especially when I have a two year old at home.  Are you going to pay for his babysitter?”

“No Mam.”

“Didn’t think so.”  Did I mention she was pregnant?  Well she was, so I went on to explain to her that once her baby was born, if she found herself standing in an airport expecting to be on a plane that was sitting on the tarmac, she would be as upset as I was if her baby was home and she and her husband were stranded for two days.  “So what do you think I should do about the fact I have a baby at home that in six hours will have no one to watch him?”

“I don’t know Mam.”

“Well I do. You are getting me home tonight. I don’t care if you put me on that plane, the next one, or one of the other airlines that I have already confirmed has available seats.  If I have to talk to the CEO of Southwest himself and have him come pick me up in his private jet, you WILL honor my ticket and get me home tonight!”

In the end, despite the fact that I saw at least three other parties including one of 11 people take their refund and go rent a car to drive over 14 hours to get home, I was on that flight, the one for which I had bought a ticket, the one sitting at the gate.  So was my husband.  We sat apart, but we were both on the plane.  The kicker?  No one got off so we could get on.  I sat next to a lovely woman and her daughter who had been on the plane since it took off from Chicago.  When we got into the discussion, she told me that they had never so much as made an announcement asking for a volunteer to get off the plane.  Not once in the hour they’d been sitting there dealing with more than 30 disgruntled and displaced customers.  Not once.  So who was sitting in those two vacant seats my husband and I now occupied?  My bet.  Employees.  I have never flown Southwest again, and I never will.  By the way, here is the link to Jet Blue.

Fences Make Good Neighbors - Hah!

Today’s biblical flood victim is my neighbor.  I know, I know, not very neighborly, but I think you’ll see why as we go on.

We moved into our new house in suburbia in the middle of the winter and not one single person came to introduce him or herself or welcome us to the neighborhood.  However, four months later, the woman who lives behind us decided to come over and make herself known.

 It started out innocently enough.  She introduced herself, said hello and then said she wanted to talk about the fence.  She had decided that the dilapidated picket fence in our collective backyard needed to be replaced and she wanted me to split the cost.  Okay, a little forward given this is the first time she has even acknowledged us; it is her fence after all.  But we are neighbors and I can see how that might be mutually beneficial.  I explained to her that since we had to fix up some things when we first moved in, we didn’t have any extra money right then, but perhaps down the line we could chip in on a new fence.  She was pleased and we started to discuss it.

            Now to understand where I am coming from here, you have to envision my yard.  It is bordered by 4 different fences.  My side neighbor to the left has a 6 foot white picket fence.  In the back there are about 4 sections of a 6 foot white fence that has a criss-cross pattern for the top, then the dilapidated gray picket fence about which we were just talking, then there is about 1 section of another white fence with a completely different decorative topper.  I am sure from each of their yards the fences are fine, but from ours, it is a mish mash of different styles and colors and gives the appearance that we patched together our fence with sections from a junk yard.

            Anyway, my discussion with my neighbor continued.  When asked, I explained that my ideal would be to put up a fence that matched the style of the 4 sections of white fence that her neighbor had and that began the line of fences across my back yard.  That way, at least it wouldn’t look so mismatched from my side.

No, she said. She didn’t want to have to paint a fence every year. 

Okay, understandable.  So I suggested that we consider the same style but in white vinyl so that we wouldn’t have to paint. 

No, that wouldn’t work; it would be too expensive, she said, besides she didn’t really like the style.

As the conversation progressed and road block after road block was raised for each of my suggestions, I conceded (or so I thought) and offered that any style or type of white fence would be fine because at least that way the color would be consistent across my back yard.

“That won’t work for us,” she tells me. “I don’t want a white fence.”

 “I understand that,” I say, “but if my husband and I are going to split the cost with you, it has to be something that works for us too.”

“Well we have a problem then,” she says in a very snotty voice.

By now I realize that no, I have a problem and she lives directly behind me.  “No problem. “ I tell her in as neutral a tone as I can.  “It is your fence, you can put up whatever you want.”

I don’t think that was unreasonable do you?  You compromise and put up something, anything, that goes with the other three fences bordering my yard and I’ll split the cost.  You won’t compromise, that is fine too, it is your property, your fence, I am not going to make a fuss about it, but don’t ask me to subsidize it.  Really is that so horrible? 

She thought so because it has been ten years since we had that conversation, I’ve given birth to three children since then and not once has she so much as said hello over the fence, which by the way, she never did replace despite the fact that parts of it fall down periodically.  Instead, she gets some string and ties them back up.  We, on the other hand, waited about 8 years until we could afford it and put up a beautiful border of 10 foot arborvitae trees that conceal all four of the mismatched fences, and provide a buffer from that particular neighbor.   Maybe I’ll use her fence as lumber to build the ark.

On The Lighter Side

In a flood, blinkers probably won’t be of much help, but while the earth is still dry and we are driving cars instead of floating around at God’s will, they are not only helpful, but also required.  Those of you who are too self-centered to use them, will not gain access to my vehicle when the flood hits, and if God is as fed up with the @^$#* down here as I am, that might just happen sooner than you think.

So today, I am waiting to enter a rotary (or round-about for those of you in other parts of the country) and I sit there while three different cars exit to my left without ever putting on their signal.  But hey, I had all day and I like playing the equivalent of a vehicular Russian Roulette while I try and guess which cars are going to exit, which might let me on, and which will plow right into my side if I dare to pull out.

I also particularly enjoy being the second car in the left hand lane at a red light when the person in front of me intends to go left but doesn’t want to let me, or the oncoming traffic, in on that little secret. It is always really relaxing to be stuck behind him as 20 cars pass on my right and I get to sit through a second red light.  This is even more fun when I am trying to get to my son’s school in time to get him before the late dismissal fee kicks in.

It is also fun to be driving down the highway at 70 miles an hour having traffic dart in front of you without using those pesky little directionals. The only thing worse is to be driving down a one-lane road going 10 miles an hour behind someone who has figured out how to use them, but has NOT figured out how to turn them off.

Inconsiderate drivers drive me nuts.  Since when did blinkers become optional?  Why is it so darn hard to push the little lever up or down and let the rest of us know where you and your 4000-pound vehicle are going to go next?  I have actually been known to flag down the driver in front of me and very innocently tell him “you may want to get your car checked out, it doesn’t look like your blinker is working.”  In less agreeable moods, I have been known to stop the occasional luxury car and say “wow, for that kind of money you’d think the directionals would work.  I usually feel a little better after that.

Random Act of Strangeness

Today’s flood victim is anonymous which is precisely WHY he or she has been voted off the ark.

Not only is common courtesy dead, but I actually think it has been erased from the collective memory of the human race.  This morning, as I am getting ready to take my son to his Karate class, I notice that a strange car is in my driveway.  There is also a large truck blocking the driveway so I can’t get out.  I go out, in my pajamas nonetheless, to let the 5 guys gathered out there know that I will be leaving in a half an hour and ask them to at least move the car so I can get out. 

It isn’t their car.  They don’t know whose it is.

Who parks a car in your driveway without asking or at least letting you know?

I guess given it is only 8:00 in the morning I should be glad that no one came ringing the doorbell, but have you heard of the phone?  Or you could leave a note letting me know who to contact if I need you to move it for any reason.  Or here’s a good one, park down the street.

It’s not that I mind anyone parking his or her car in my driveway; I have offered it before (we have a large driveway).  I just kind of expected the common courtesy of letting me know first.  It is startling to see a strange vehicle sitting on your property, especially one with random dirty clothes in the back that you have never seen before. 

But it must be someone affected by the work being done right?  It must be a neighbor, too coincidental if it’s not.  But if you don’t see another post appear by the end of next week, assume that it was the abandoned vehicle of a vagrant murder that broke in and slaughtered us all.  

"Taking Care of the Kids"

Today’s flood victim is my husband.  Okay, truth be told, in an actual flood, I’d grab on tight and never let go.  He is a great guy and I love him dearly, but I’m not feeling well today and he just happened to get on my bad side.

Why is it when he is sick I have to play nursemaid to him, take care of our three children, the house, the bills, the dishes, the laundry, etc., but when I am sick, all he can handle is making sure our three kids make it through the day alive?

I get it, watching three kids under six is hard. I have been doing it for years.  I have been doing it, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, making dinner, paying the bills, carpooling, and dealing with every single miscellaneous thing that pops up (the broken dishwasher, the flooding bathroom, the sick kids, the service men that can’t ever come when they say they will and inevitably end up ringing the doorbell ten minutes after you have gotten the baby down for his nap, the cable going out, the car needing repairs, all of it).  Trust me I know it is hard.  But it is necessary.  And if I am too sick to do it, he should. 

It shouldn’t all be waiting for me when I come downstairs.  And as all you moms out there know, we always return sooner than we should because we don’t have the luxury of paid sick days where the world doesn’t collapse if we stay in bed.  Our world does collapse and then we have to pick up the pieces.  It’s just easier to suck it up and get back to business as usual. I mean really, every time I am sick I end up feeling guilty, like somehow he thinks I WANT to be tethered to the bathroom not sure which end to point toward the commode.

If he’s ill, he gets to call in sick and lay in bed all day and recover, but unless I am actually physically unable to move, I have to get up and do my work feeling like crap.  Any moms out there know how hard it is to handle making lunch for your kids when you are ready to toss your own.  And it is not uncommon to do exactly that, put them at the table with their meal, waiting for that moment when they are all occupied so that you can finally rush into the bathroom and release the vomit that has been burning its way up your throat for the past half hour.  I can’t even recall how many times I have had to beg my oldest to “be good and keep the babies happy while mommy runs to the bathroom.  Mommy’s not feeling well bud, I’ll be right back.”  I wonder how that would go over at the office.  You are in the middle of a presentation about to toss your cookies and you say to the board of clients sitting in front of you, “Now you five just wait here patiently, I’ve been really sick and I just need a minute to throw up and then I’ll get back to telling you why your company should spend thousands of dollars with mine.”

But I digress.  It all boils down to this:  When I am done with my 24 hours of flushing everything, and I mean everything, out of my body, I get to get up early with the kids the next day while my husband gets to sleep in to give him a break. (Poor him because he’s had to do my job, no one says poor me that I still feel like death).  Anyway, I get up and go to change the baby, but of course there are no diapers at the upstairs changing table so I need to run downstairs with her, change her there and then come up and get my three year-old dressed.  That is a chore on a good day.  My six year-old is out of underwear because it never occurred to my husband to put in a laundry.  So I throw one in hoping that I can get it washed and dried before my son needs to leave for the bus in 40 minutes.  In the meantime, I tell him to wear the pair he has on (yuck!)  He wants to borrow his brother’s but I think day old underwear is the lesser of two evils.  When everyone is finally dressed, we are now running late. I go downstairs and I find a stack of dishes sitting in the sink so that I can’t even access the tap to clean what I need to make their breakfasts.  The baby is crying because she wants her sippy cup, which is sitting in that mess in the sink.  The other two are complaining that they are hungry but my husband used the last of the cereal.  When I finally get that ironed out.  I start to clean up all the dirty napkins and paper plates from the night before and find the trash is so full I can’t even stuff those in.  I have to empty the trash, which spills all over the floor.

When my husband comes downstairs, he hears me mumbling under my breath, complaining about the fact that apparently I am the only one that knows how to do dishes, laundry, or empty the trash.  And the argument begins, because, God forbid, I be allowed to blow off a little steam.  I mean it is not like I said anything directly to him, and if I had been mumbling under my breath “do you think you could stop by the market” he wouldn’t have heard that!  But instead, because I am still sick and tired, I ask the inevitable, why are these dishes here, why couldn’t you empty the trash, is there a reason you left me with no diapers?  And the answer….I am sure all you moms out there have heard it before…many times…”I was taking care of the kids”…said with that air of annoyance. 

Well then by all means you are excused. 

Why would I ever expect that you, a forty year old man, would possibly be able to stick the kids in front of the TV half the day AND wash a few dishes, or take out the trash.  Silly me, and here I thought that was part of the job all these years.  Good to know.  So tomorrow when you get up and wonder where your underwear is, or why there is no gas in the car, or why I haven’t paid the credit card bills and we are getting hit with a huge penalty, I’ll remember the magic words to make it all go away: “I was taking care of the kids.”

 I wonder if that will work with the IRS?