TheMommyBlog

Thursday, January 15, 2004

[goes off to re-take quiz as often as necessary]

Wednesday, January 14, 2004 Family

It’s been a while since I’ve had such trouble deciding Who Got Ripped Off for the Day in our family. It’s usually pretty clear that being at home or being at work was the suckier option, but today we have a draw!

Home: hacking baby keeps both of us awake most of the night; wakeful fretting about inbox keeps me awake for the rest.

Work: Inbox lurking, just as I suspected.

Home: all three children still in various states of undress and anarchy 5-7 minutes before they should all be in the car to make it to school before the bell. Watch closely and see Mommy slipping stealthily out the front door, carrying her shoes.

Work: budget meeting at 9 sharp, where it becomes painfully obvious that the only one watching the actuals in the organizational database all last year was Yours Truly. Everyone else in the organization utilized crucial system of rumor, barter, and hallway deal making, which quite surprisingly yields a different set of figures than the ones I’m presenting. Hmmmmm. Must get to the bottom of that.

Home: discovery of strange, rapidly-spreading rash on eldest child’s body necessitates urgent care appointment, to be squeezed in between school drop-off & pickup, naps, and potential job interview.

Work: thrice-rescheduled catch-up lunch with old friend turns into two-hour, gut-wrenching weepathon which completely drains self of all stamina and will to hold self upright. Once in car, realize that am ten minutes late for crucial policy rollout meeting, and have makeup smeared underneath eyes.

Home: slip into office for short phone call-slash-job interview, during which time baby manages to poop on ivory shag rug, and 3-year-old manages to track own poop through house and onto beige twill sofa.

Work: first day of financial activity for year heralds record numbers of checks to be run and wires to be initiated. Checks skip a number in printer; error only discovered after checks sent off to be signed. Am now two hours post arbitrary-slash-meaningless deadline for wire initiation; am typing this post instead.

Home: diagnosis of aggressive form of highly contagious impetigo rash, accompanied by prescription for nuclear-strength antibiotics and ancillary diagnosis of “the crud” for baby (“It’s going round—get her some cough syrup.”).

Work: “Mindy, it’s January 14. Where the hell are the new budget figures?” “They’re in Never Never Land, getting a final dusting of pixie magic. I’ll have something for you tomorrow noon, latest.”

Home: “Mindy, you coming home anytime soon? I’d like to go out and try to get myself run over by a Mack truck before rush hour ends. Otherwise, I’ll schlep everyone to the pharmacy for prescriptions. [pause…crickets chirping…] Right. Schlep it is.”

Work: spill entire bottle of water all over desk, keyboard, and floor. Use seventy-four Kleenexes to wipe it up. Decide that coffee would improve concentration and motor skills. Spill coffee all over remaining papers and telephone.

Home: “I think I’m coming down with whatever Daphne had going on last night. My head hurts and my throat is a little sore.”

Work: “I think I’m coming down with whatever Daphne had going on last night. My head hurts and my throat is a little sore.”

Home: [despair at sight of three thousand, four hundred eighty-six toys strewn across living room and hallways]

Work: [sound of spinal matter leaking from vertebrae and of body slumping to the floor]

Home: [sound of bottle uncorking]

Wednesday, January 14, 2004 Weblogs

I have been meaning to synchronize my TypePad hit counter with the SiteMeter one for a while now, and was goosed into doing it this morning when I realized that The Mommy Blog has almost reached the 10,000 mark! The new count really is the real one, so don’t go thinking I’m padding my bra on you.

The 10,000 visitor will get a special treat from me…

Tuesday, January 13, 2004 Oddbits

So I was driving into work this morning, watching the drizzle materialize on the windshield, grumping about the slow traffic this tiny amount of wet fog was causing, when I realized that I couldn’t see a single thing past the “car” in front of me. This “car” was easily twice the size of anything else for miles around. I was sitting in my Volvo, staring right into the license plate holder. Good Christ. I’m not about to go on a rant about SUVs here, because we have one we use to haul our seventeen children and 400-lb dog around, but there is a limit, folks. This guy (and I know it was a guy, I don’t need further proof) was driving a late-model, jet-black Ford Excursion “Limited” (read : I have the biggest knob in my Fantasy Foolball league) with a lift kit that would make your mama weep. I could see the bumper of the car in front of him. About the only thing going for the whole design was that it seemed to adhere to the classic architectual ratio of 1:1.6; the wheels made up fully 40% of the overall height of the vehicle.

So, having nothing better to do, I started imagining that it was my car. First of all, I would have had to dig out a skillet and bop my husband over the head for even thinking that anyone could use that thing in good health. I am a tall woman, but I doubt I could even reach the rear window latch. We may as well just weld that puppy up and be done with it. Even if I could reach it somehow (maybe balancing on the tow ball? The one dangling from a 20-inch extension arm, for those with really tall “cars” and a burning need to tow?) the minute I tried anything with the rear gate, it would come down on my head and knock me flat. Makes it sort of impractical when you have three children to herd between the kitchen and the driveway.

How would I ever clean the windshield? Would a gas station attendant really view this as reasonably fitting within “full service?” Isn’t that a bit like bringing Fat Bastard with you to an all-you-can-eat buffet? Wouldn’t the guy just wad up his little rag and bounce it off your head for even asking?

And what good is a roomy storage compartment if you can’t reach it? I’d need a forklift to get anything heavier than a roll of paper towels in there. I suppose I could get one of those light-bulb extendo-pincer-thingys and adapt it to open the rear window and then practice my spiral, but good lord, what about when I have to put a stroller in there? I’d have to install a rope ladder for the dog.

While all this was going through my head, I found myself getting too close because I couldn’t gauge the traffic flow because all I could see was the shiny new shocks and absolutely humungous axle holding it all together. And, really, there are only so many times you can read the words “FORD EXCURSION Limited” before you want to dig out a tire iron and put some dents in the udercarriage, a la some cartoon mouse sobbing and pounding his fists on the knee of a cat about to bend over and pick it up by the tail…

Anyway, it was an interesting diversion, and it made me very grateful not to have to share office space with whoever was driving (commanding?) that “car.” Could you imagine having to look out the window and see that thing throwing shadows for three parking spaces? Or having to listen to weekend wrapups? At any rate, I was glad to get into the office without being rear-ended and inadvertently giving myself a tow-ball shaped divot in my head.

Monday, January 12, 2004

This is probably an urban legend, but I’m posting it anyway because I like this (probably fictional) guy’s thinking.