I Am Having a Coffee-Not-Brewed-Strong-Enough Kind of Day

I hope all the Leap Year babies out there are enjoying their -once-every-four-years-birthday. Also, that must really suck.

Also sucking today; my body. I caught a cold somewhere and am alternating between having a nose so stuffy that I can hardly breathe and must therefore resort to the ever-so-lovely mouth breathing and a lovely snot waterfall pouring from my nostrils. I’m so pretty!

In better news, while Hugh and I were frolicking about Denver last weekend, I was being honored in absentia with an award at the annual Chamber of Commerce Awards Banquet. I was awarded the President’s Award which is the highest honor the Chamber gives out and I got it because my Board of Directors nominated me. I’m touched. Also, I take back half of the negative things that I have said about certain members of the Board.

You know what is annoying?

People to change the subject with the subtlety of a train wreck? No, parents who sign their kids up for a sport, don’t bother to actually bring the kid to practices and then have the nerve to act as though it is my problem that their little preshus is not on the official tournament roster. Hello? I need to have the kid weigh in, among other things, before I can register him for a tourney. In order to do that, I kind of need to see the kid in like, the flesh at practice. Gah.

My nose just re-entered the waterfall portion of the program. Aren’t you happy that I shared?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go brew a better pot of coffee before I dash to the school to give the Man-Cub his antibiotic which we neglected to administer this morning. I might be a sweetheart and also take his spelling homework and the mini-bag of popcorn that he popped for his mid-morning snack and then left sitting forlornly on the counter when he left for school. Luckily, I have not stumbled upon the child’s head but I assume that is merely because he has not found a painless way in which to remove it from his shoulders.

I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.

Porky, Petunia, Babe and Wilbur, To Name a Few

Hugh’s ninety-three-year-old grandmother’s health has begun to fail recently so, Oscar traveled to Ohio to tend to her affairs this week, leaving Emily to her own devices. Since we missed celebrating her birthday earlier this month (she was in Arizona visiting friends), I invited her out for dinner tonight. She accepted and we were accompanied by the woman who we employ as the General Manager of the variety side of the store (and, as a friend although, we don't pay her for that); it was a very nice evening.

If you had told me fifteen years ago that I would enjoy an evening out with my Mother-In-Law, I would have told you to watch your head; those ain't pigeons in the sky.



I am evolving as a person; my parents will be so proud.

We Are Falling Apart At the Seams

Remember the Man-Cub’s earache? The one that I was convinced was caused by the pressure in his ears not regulating when we went over the Divide? That one? Yeah; ear infection. And, not just any ear infection; a serious ear infection.

Mother. Of. The. Year.

In my defense, he never did run a fever which is what he usually does when he has an infection. And, he only had the pain the first night; it totally went away when my sister bestowed upon him the Magic Cottonball. So, really, who can blame me for missing the infection?

Besides myself, I mean.

That’s what I get for not consulting Dr. Google, immediately.

Speaking of Dr. Google, lately, I have been experiencing some fucking hellacious minor heel pain. And, by lately, I mean since November. The pain was not getting any better and had started to impact my workouts so I consulted Dr. Google who offered the following possible diagnosis’s: Plantar Fasciitis, tarsal tunnel syndrome, arthritis (what am I, eighty?) or raging foot cancer.

Ok, not really; there is no such thing as raging foot cancer-as far as I know.

So. Today I called a podiatrist to schedule an appointment and, as luck would have it, I am somewhat aquainted with the nurse who answered the call. She was more than happy to listen to my complaints and she concurred with Dr. Google; I most likely have Plantar Fasciitis. Of course, I’ll still have to go in for ex-rays and an exam to be totally certain but, I’m guessing two-out-of-three medical experts (or, you know, a medically trained nurse and the internet) can’t be wrong.

All of which means one of three things:

1. I will have to forsake my cute summer shoes for orthopedic clogs.

2. I will have to stretch my plantar fascia every morning before I even think of getting out of bed.

3. I will walk with a noticeable limp for the rest of my life because I am too lazy to stretch my plantar fascia before getting out of bed each morning and I am too vain to wear orthopedic shoes.

Your call.

And, please bear in mind that I have a closet full of really cute summer shoes.

Ticketmaster Sucks Schweaty Balls

But, I’ll get to that later.

Our trip to Denver for the State wrestling tournament and to celebrate The Girl’s birthday went very well-not counting the part where our first-level, ninth-row seats for the finals were inexplicably “re-located” to the third level, second row of the Pepsi center, hellooo, nosebleed section-but, I said I would get to that later so….

…the drive on Friday was gorgeous. The weather was perfect, the sunshine glinted off the moisture in the air like a million prisms and the snow that had fallen the day before glittered with the light of a field of diamonds; it was a typically beautiful Colorado day which created a nice mental image to which I clung in desperation two days later when driving home in a blizzard but, I’ll get to that later as well.

Right. So, I picked the children up at school at noon and we were in the Grand Hyatt relaxing by five o’clock which is when the Barbies arrived to join us for dinner. We picked the Hardrock Café on the Sixteenth Street Mall for dinner and I managed to polish off the better part of a ginormous plate of nachos before my stomach threatened to split open like an over-ripe melon.

Speaking of nice mental images, huh? My apologies.

After dinner, the Barbies swept the Man-Cub off for a weekend visit at the Barbie Mansion and the girls and I headed back to the hotel for a dip in the pool; an occurrence we would repeat many, many times over the course of the weekend.

Hugh, for his part, was enjoying his time as a virgin wrestling official. I have resigned myself to the notion that the grin on his face is probably permanent so I guess I will simply have to adjust to being married to Howdy Doodie. I guess I can think of worse things.

Saturday morning, the girls and I ventured back to the Mall for breakfast at the Corner Bakery.

Hugh had left us earlier in the morning but was able to break away from the tournament long enough to join us for The Girl’s birthday breakfast which delighted both girls.

Not as much as shopping at their favorite store following breakfast but, close.

And, sadly, not nearly as much as riding the escalator at the mall. We are hicks, hear us roar.

After spending damn near her entire stash of birthday money on cheap jewelry, we went back to the hotel to meet another of her friends who was being dropped off for the day while her parents attended the tournament; which worked out quite nicely.

We dined in the hotel restaurant which all three girls proclaimed “the fanciest restaurant they had ever eaten a chicken strip basket in” and then headed back to the pool for hours of splashing and shrieking at levels heard only by dolphins (and, mothers with sensitive ears).

(Speaking of sensitive ears), meanwhile, back at the Barbie Mansion, the Man-Cub was struggling with an earache caused, I think, by the pressure in his ear canal not regulating appropriately following our trip over the Divide. Luckily for him, the Barbies know how to handle the earaches and he was set up with eardrops and cotton balls in record time (note to self: cotton balls are magic), and he went on to have such a good time that we were hard-pressed to get him to leave with us on Sunday.

He did, of course; we need him for the tax deduction.

Anyhoodle, after the pool, the girls and I went upstairs for cake and, if you are asking yourself how one gets a birthday cake to Denver; this is how.

Knowing that Hugh would be sad about missing the whole birthday cake thing- despite the Howdie Doodie perma-grin-we texted him and sent along a picture of The Girl blowing out her candles. Oh, and we saved him a piece of cake; because we are generous like that.

Next, we went to the tournament which is when the day took a turn for the worse, thanks to Ticketmaster or, as I will forever refer to them; Ticketmaster-bater, who sold us a premium ticket knowing full well that the section in which we would be sitting would not exist.

Can you say fraud? Because, I can. And, I’m pretty certain that a lawyer would agree.
The moral of this story is; Ticketmaster-bater sucks schweaty balls. If you need event tickets, heed my warning.

Other than being relegated to the nosebleed section of the Pepsi Center after paying good (non refundable) money for premium seats; we had a good time watching Hugh do his thang.

Then, we went back to the hotel for a room service dinner and yet more swimming.

Sunday, we drove home, as I mentioned, in a snowstorm. It sucked.

But, not as badly as Ticketmasterbater.

And We’re Off

The Girl, The Man-Cub, Kaz and I are headed to Denver to join Hugh at the State wrestling tournament. The car is packed, gassed up and ready to go. Now, if the weather will just cooperate; we’ll be gold.

Seriously, though, do you think we packed enough for a two-day trip?

Yeah, me neither.

It’s Just Like Swimming…in Quicksand

Pee Wee Wrestling, oiy. I swear; we had at least two million extra kids at last night’s practice. And, you may think that I’m exaggerating but, nay, my friends, nay; it’s as though they multiply each week (like Gremlins only; minus the bad teeth, homicidal tendencies and swinging from the rafters. Well, so far, anyway).

This exponential multiplication in numbers is making my task of ordering uniforms quite challenging and, frankly; I be tired of the process. With any luck at all, we will have a complete roster by tomorrow and I will have the T-shirts ordered by Friday morning; just in time to leave for the State wrestling tournament in Denver.

If I’m not so lucky, I’ll spend my entire weekend obsessing over the fact that we will never have our uniforms in time for our first tournament. It will totally ruin my weekend and The Girl’s birthday to boot.

Either that or I’ll don my Scarlett O’Hara mantra and la dee d a…I’ll think about it later.

On a different-but related-topic; this evening I get to spend four hours at the school taking registration for youth baseball and, I know I said that I wanted to get more involved in our community but; the theory was ever so much more pleasant than the practice.

I bitch but; I’m adjusting.

Speaking of bitching, I’m in month two of my new employment and I still feel like I’m struggling to get it down pat. I can’t remember how long it took me to get so good at my previous job that I could basically do it on autopilot but; I don’t think it was this long. I’m trying not to get discouraged but, it’s hard.

On the other hand, if all else fails; I have a future as a professional community volunteer. It doesn’t pay much and the benefits suck but the demand is high and I would have my weight in free T-shirts.

Lookin' on the bright side, 'cuz that's how I roll.

I Got Tagged

Jen tagged me for a meme detailing my own personal brand of weirdness. Since I am the least weird person I know (snork), I am at a loss as to what I should write.

I’m sure I’ll think of something, though.

First the rules and then the random weirdness:

The rules are as follows:# Link to the person who tagged you
# Post the rules on your blog.
# Share seven random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog.
# Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
# Leave a comment on their blogs so that they know they have been tagged.

Now, let us commence with the weirdness.

1. I think I have mentioned this before but; I cannot drink Diet Pepsi from a can. Although I am completely and hopelessly addicted to the stuff, I will pass up a can every time.

2. I cannot eat in a restaurant that has fish tanks in it. Well, I can, as long as I can’t see the tank from my seat.

3. Likewise, I cannot eat near a lake, stream or pond. Pretty much anywhere that smells like fish. Yes, I know, weird.

4. When Hugh and I watch horror movies, I have to cover my face with a loose-weave blanket and watch the scary parts through the holes. Hugh finds a great deal of humor in this but I guarantee you, if a psycho killer comes out of the television to kill me; I’ll be protected…by my blanket. Ok, that is weird.

5. I frequently call my children and their friends “babies” as in, “come on, Babies, let’s go get a soda”. I have also been known to refer to them as my “small fries” and “chilluns”. My children find this quite embarrassing and, yes; weird. For the record, their friends don’t seem to mind in the least; no doubt their parents are really weird.

6. Apparently-and I don’t know this for a fact-when I sleep, I sometimes raise my left arm above my body and stroke it with my right hand. Then, I reverse the procedure and tickle my right arm with my left hand, sigh, and lower both arms. As I said, I don’t know this for a fact and, since video evidence does not exist, I am only repeating what I have been told. By the man who sings Bad, Bad Leroy Brown in his sleep.

7. On a similar note, while I don’t talk in my sleep very often, when I do; I order chicken nuggets and French fries. I have no idea.

Well, that’s it. Now it’s your turn,

Erika
Mary
Jess
Finland’s Finest
Dana
Semi-Desperate Housewife