Vaguely Uneasy

Lately I have been feeling vaguely uneasy.
I don't know what it is. I just keep on second guessing every thing I do. Even little things. I'll approach an intersection feeling anxious thinking "is that light going to turn red before I have a chance to apply my brakes?" or "Is that green car going to slow down? Or should I just yield to him?, just to be on the safe side of things. But then the will the car behind me be angry for slowing down?" And I just can't seem to shake it.
So of course I have decided that I need to do SOMETHING to address my unease, and that something, obviously, is going to be shopping. I have heard from people in the biz. (OK- my mom) that the Slap Chop is available at Zellers, so I plan on going and securing one immediately (while supplies last!!). The only unfortunate thing is that it doesn't come with the Graty, as it does if you order from the TV. But I can do without the Graty.
For now.
But in the meantime, I will be slapping and chopping like there's no tomorrow.
That, somehow, sounds vaguely sexual, which is weird because you wouldn't think that "chopping" would sound sexual in any context, ever. Unless you were Ted Bundy . Or slapping for that matter. God what is wrong with me??
Perhaps everything sounds vaguely sexual to me because of...
other issues.

For example: my husband. Last night he had to work late, so whatevs. I'm cool with that. No big deal. It is, after all, parent teacher interview night, but no worries. I can handle it. I'll just go and pick up the kids at 5:30, go home, cook supper, feed the kids, tidy up, get things packed up and ready to go for 6:30, go to Paytons interview and try (somehow) to keep Alex out of everything in the classroom, wrap things up there and go to Gage's interview at 8:00, hoping that Alex will continue to be cooperative, return home for 8:30, give the kids a bath, change Alex and Payton into their PJs, fix them a quick snack, put Alex down, read with Payton, brush her teeth and put her to bed.
Easy peasy.
So then my husband comes in at ten pm looking for sympathy from me for his long,hard day at work.

I was like 'SCREW YOU asshole. Have you ever had to change a writhing sixteen month old baby on a gymnasium floor? Well I have. And it blows. And have you ever had said same sixteen month old shrieking loudly because he wants to pull down every single book off a shelf, and every other item as well, while we're at it, while you're trying to intelligently discuss the PRIME math teaching model and have a five year old whining in your ear that "this is boring, I want to go home," all at the very same time, while simultaneously carrying: four coats, a monkey blanky, a folder full of Paytons kindergarten art work (which includes, incidentally, a life size self portrait of herself), a purse/makeshift diaper bag, a baggie full of cheerios and a sippee cup, which has incidentally, sprung a hereto now unknown leak .

And incidentally, I remind him, he has happened to have had to "work late" on every SINGLE parent teacher interview that I have EVER EVER gone to, either by accident or design, and I'm beginning to suspect design, by the way. To which he gets all in a huff and comments that if he had to choose between a little tete a tete with a teacher and serving 160 SaskTel employees, he would choose the tete a tete no problem, a 'walk in the park' it would be, compared to the rigors of doing whatever, precisely, he does at work, which is mainly PR stuff, with roughly translated means: hanging out with the members of the old boys club.
And then.
AND THEN, can you believe it?? As if it wasn't already enough.
He starts in about the garbage.
And I said "OH, I'm so very sorry that I didn't have the time to do the garbage. I guess I should have done that while I was cooking dinner with a baby on my hip. Perhaps I could have also found the time to paint the fence and sodder a few pipes."
Of course, I have no idea what soddering is, and I realize I've probably spelled it wrong here. But still. You get my point, of course.
I just really, really get annoyed.
So this morning when I got to work I found myself regretting that I went into nursing at all. The only other people I see all day are women, so of course, that takes having an affair right out of the equation at all.
Unless...
But no.
I found myself wishing that I gone into something entirely male dominated, like lumber jacking or something.
Although lumber jacking seems like a bit of a tough job.
The slivers and such.
And to be honest, if I was going to take up an affair, I'm not sure that a lumberjack is the way I would go neccessarily.
Anyways. I was surprised to see the other day a male nursing student happened to present himself for a clinical rotation.
But I couldn't get past his boots.
He was wearing these really pointy, alligator skin like boots, and I just, I don' t know. I couldn't get past it.
Well that and the fact that he's also married.
And his wife just had a baby, literally, yesterday. A girl.
Cheers.
Oh well. Life goes on.
Such as it is.

My Predictions

I am still thinking about that Slap Chop. Twice in the last three days, I had to dice tomatoes, and each time I was just wishing and dreaming about having that Slap Chop. I think I'm going to go for it. You only live once, right, and I don't want to have any regrets when I go gently into that good night. I don't want to have to go and sit or lie my death bed (whatever one does in their death bed) thinking "what kind of a life would I have had if I'd have had that Slap Chop"- all the salad and lettuce I might have eaten. Perhaps I wouldn't even be on that death bed at all, you know, maybe just one or two cholesterol points lower and I would lived another year, another ten!! Who knows. So I won't chance it. For twenty dollars, I'm making an investment in myself and in my future and I'm getting that Slap Chop.
I'll just have to wait six weeks for delivery.
But.

So this weekend I was out and about, and it ended up that we were involved in a conversation about life and just how unpredictable it really is. The substance of it was that there's a guy, younger than me, an RN like me, who's battling cancer and has a very poor prognosis at the moment. It made me sad and gave me pause to think about just the random and crazy nature of this universe. It made me scared, but for some odd reason, it also made me a little excited. Why that should be, I can't precisely say. I mean, if there are valleys, then peaks, right? It occured to me that we're on some grand adventure, heading towards a destination that we are not fully aware of, or even at all aware of. Even though I see myself headed towards a singular destination, I could veer off course at any point, with no warning at all whatsoever. And so I wonder, where will I go? Where will I be in one year? Five? Ten? And so then I thought it would be fun to make some predictions, some based on some amount of intuition, and some made up entirely. A year from now, I can go back to this blog and see if anything panned out. If so, I can become a psychic and become rich and famous. Although I'm not sure there are any rich and/or famous psychics, except for Patricia Arquette, but she's not really a psychic- she's a medium, and I'm not so sure that's the same thing. And she only plays a medium.
Anyways. Here goes. My attempt at prophecy:

Within one year:
-My bathroom will be painted (OK- that I already know- I plan on doing it next weekend)... I detect a greenish hue.
-Geoff or I will get an unexpected job offer (wishful thinking on my part- read my last post for clarification).
-Geoff will face a health crisis, (this is an educated guess based on the fact that he's six months over due for his blood pressure refills) but be OK
-I will face a moral dilemma at some point (I like the ambiguity here. In any event, I will be able to make something up after the fact: for example- remember how stressed out I was when I was trying to decide whether to use recycled toilet paper or not??)
-Geoff's family will reach out to him (this is maybe just wishful thinking)
-I will meet someone who will become a lifelong friend (this, too, maybe wishful thinking. I daresay, my current friends and family are a little, shall we say, out there.)
-Lorrie will have a baby girl on a frigid February night, just before midnight, after only a short labor.
-Someone that I know will have an unexpected pregnancy (in this family that reproduces like rabbits- this I can be nearly certain of.)

Within five years,
-I will be living in another location.
-I will have lost a loved one.
-I will have a different job.
-Geoff will have a different job.
-One of my children will have a special talent (out of the three of them, one of them has to pan out, right??)
-I will have made some success as a writer, but still have my day job.
-My parents will have adopted three more foster kids (just kidding-- had to put that in there. Tee hee. Just kidding. But seriously- props to you mom and dad)
-Someone in my close circle of friends and family will have divorced (that's bound to happen-- if the divorce rate is fifty-fifty as they say- it's either them or me and I can't afford any legal fees, so I know it ain't gonna be me. And I dare say, if I haven't that kicked that shlep to the curb yet- it ain't gonna happen)
-Geoff will have lost all of his hair, while mine will continue to be thick and lustrous.
-Trent and Lorrie will surprise us and have "one more"- wishful thinking again, maybe. But knowing my brother, the way he is, can't keep his pecker in his pocket (EW, I can't believe I even just said that about my own brother. God, what is wrong with me??) it seems like an accident waiting to happen.

Within ten years...
-Gage will enter prelaw (definitely wishful thinking. Probably what will happen is he'll struggle to 'find himself' while living in our basement and working at Fas Gas)
-I will have to make a difficult decision regarding someone I love (keep it ambiguous- just the way they do on TV), specifically regarding someone with an "A" or a "J" in their name.
-One of my children will enter a turbulent phase, likely Payton, my teenage drama queen- who is, incidentally, only five years old at the moment.
-A family member will have a health crisis.
-I will be in a job completely different from what I am doing now.
-My house will be like "The Jetsons"
-Nuclear technology will have made cats into super cats, and they will establish a civilization of their own, which will threaten to take over life as we know it.

So there it is. My prophecy for my life in the future. Now we shall wait and see.
Just like with the Slap Chop.
Good night.

Hotel Room Drama

So my husband, in all of his infinite wisdom, decides that to give me a break, he's renting a hotel room for the night. Which might have been all well and good, except that it involves the kids. And I have to say, from the very get go, I was not totally enthused. All I could think was of the logistics of having the baby sleeping in the same room as the rest of us, I mean, literally, unless we all fall asleep at precisely the same moment in time (and how could that happen, really?, short of spiking the Kool Aid?), all I could envision was chaos. So OK. The baby falls asleep first, presumably (hopefully) as his bedtime is 7:30pm. And then what?? We all sit there in the dark?? I mean, any light, any sound and he's awake again. And not only that. But guess who has to get all the kids packed? Who has to go to Superstore and buy Lil Swimmers. Who has to deal with three increasingly edgy kids all day waiting for a three o'clock check in. Who has to reroute nap schedules so that the kids will be well rested before we leave?
Me.
And then we get there and guess who gets to go in the water with the kids while my husband watches football leisurely in the bedroom?
Me.
And then, guess who has to go back to the room and be dressed and ready for "business casual" dinner at 5:30, with pool hair and pool make up?
Me.
And then who snored his head off all night while the rest of us tried to sleep?
My husband.
Momentarily there was a break in the snoring, and instead of being relieved, I sat bolt upright, fear and adrenaline pounding in my veins. I thought "Oh God- what if he's dead? Right here in this hotel room?? I mean for the love, if he's gonna go, couldn't he at least have the decency to do it in the privacy of our own home??
And then I got all excited and thought- Oooh, I can miss work next week.

You know your job sucks when....

And then he started snoring again, and I was like "Damn. Maybe I should just switch back to margarine instead of Becel. I don't know"
Just kidding. I was relieved that he was alive and all, but when the snoring started up again I almost wished...
well never mind.
I mean. Whatever.
And that, sadly, was our hotel room drama. A moment where I thought he may have been dead, subsequently had mixed feelings, and then went back to sleep.
And incidentally, don't ever ask your husband to buy you tampons. Inevetibly, you will end up with pads. And bulky ones at that. I think they think it's like buying a TV-- the bigger the better. But that principle doesn't apply.



But honestly, about work. Things are going down hill fast. When I first heard the words "adjuvanted" and "unadjuvanted" I could scarcely pronounce them. Now I toss the words around like Dom and Cristal (OK, not like I ever use the words 'Dom' or 'Cristal 'anyways. In my world it's more like Naked Grape and Baby Duck)-- I'm like "can we open another bottle of Adj. here, I'm running low on adj." I have them abbreviated to adj. and unadj.--the H1N1 vaccine lingo, cuz I'm down like that. I could seriously write a book called "Tales from the H1N1 flu clinic" but of course, I couldn't- because of libel, but if I could... I mean, I've seen it all. Kids hiding under chairs, trying to coax them out "I've got a lolly pop"-- but there ain't enough lolly pops in the world when you're coming at them with a needle, let me tell you. Adults passing out. Reactions that range from 'thank you very much' to swearing, cursing, crying and sobbing. You ask one simple question "Are you feeling well today" and some take this as an invitation to spew forth their entire medical history starting with thier first tendon repair back in nineteen sixty two? Or was it three? No, it would have had to be two. It was before we sold the trailer. And so on and so forth.

I quite honestly find myself fantasizing from time to time about some tragic life event that would get me out of my work responsibilities for the next four to six weeks. Like OK. How bad would it be to say- get hit by a bus? Enough to put me in a coma, but not a bad coma that causes death or paralysis or speech problems or anything untoward like that. Just a nice, temporary coma that I'll pull through after flu season. And maybe when I'm in a coma they'll see it fit to get caught up on all my dental work and give me breast augmentation, because of--- damage from the bus?? Is that asking for too much?? I don't think that it is.

Anyways.
Lately I have been considering whether or not to buy the Slap Chop. I have to say that I'm intrigued and impressed by what it can do on TV, it looks AMAZING, and not only that, but if you order now you also get the Graty, which would be nice. And to be able to chop a tomato so easy like that! Is there a really good way to dice a tomato? I don't know about you but every time I do it I just make a total mess. Like for all my efforts, I might do just as well to smash the blasted thing with a mallet. Tomato juice and seeds all over the place. So it seems like a good deal, but then I've sworn off Infomercial buys after I got that Omelet Express. They made it look so good- like you could make all these fancy things with it- desserts, crepes, omelette's, full meal even!! But then as it turns out, there's really only a certain amount of omelette's that a person can eat, and it's actually not as much as you might think. I can't remember, I think I paid forty bucks for it or some stupid thing like that by the time you pay the taxes and all, and then I used it like, twice, if that, and then I realized that it was a stupid thing to have bought in the first place. I mean, I don't even like omelette's.
Anyways, I will continue to consider it, the Slap Chop that is.
Have a good night.

Housekeeping

So I've hired a housekeeper. I've thought about it before, but couldn't really make that commitment. I was always like 'it seems so self indulgent to have someone come into my house and pick up after me', but eventually, I got really tired of picking up after everyone else, so I decided if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And so it was that I found Amanda. At first it was TOTALLY unnerving to have someone come into the house and actually see the mess. Normally when people come over I try to shove the mess under the couch or something, as a bare minimum, and depending on the importance of the company, actually try to clean it up. At first she came for a 'walk through' during which she took notes on various aspects of the household condition and determined a price range. I wanted to take a peek at her clipboard but then decided that perhaps it was better if I didn't, imagining words like "complete pigsty" and "total dive" and then increasingly scowling faces followed by "Note to self: notify social services- totally unfit for human habitation" scrawled across the paper in her cursive script, underlined and follwed by a series of exlamation points. But she was a professional about it and didn't roll her eyes or sigh heavily when looking at the bathrooms, which I might have expected. So, for about the price it would take to feed a small community in Africa for a month and supply them with much needed anti HIV medications, I now have someone to wash my floors and dust my shelves. It still feels self indulgent. But I figure, well, it's too late to become a lesbian and marry a woman, so the next best thing is to hire a cleaning lady?? I think even Geoff is coming around to the idea. At first he was like "What do we need a cleaning lady for, our house isn't even messy!" And I was like first of all: A) It is, dickwad, you're just too wrapped in your own testorone filled world of football and farting to notice minor things like toilet scum and B) the only reason why it maintains SOME semblance of cleanliness is because I practically KILL myself cleaning up after you and your rigging animals. And kids. Even though the animals and kids were mostly my idea. And OK, I'm exaggerating the "kill myself" part. But my back does get sore, and my hands get dry from the scouring.
I mean honestly. Men are so stupid. Like, if they do even one little measly, measly thing around the house they think they're a freaking hero. Like the other day, I come home and Geoff is like "Well, I erased the history on the phone. We had callers on here from way back in August!" And I was like "OK, two things. First of all-- we're losers- that things only holds twenty five phone numbers and August was four months ago. Second of all- THANK YOU for taking the very taxing and onerous chore of pressing a single button on a phone twenty five times. That REALLY takes a load off of me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just go and tend to the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning.
Anyways.
Life's too short, right. I'm not even gonna go there, even though I'm pretty sure that I just did. Too late now.
So new insurance policy at work. Big, exciting news. I had the chance to peruse it, and I have to say, it was VERY enlightening. Did you know that I could, for example, stand to profit upwards of ten thousand dollars just for losing a couple of fingers off my dominant hand. And I started to think "Hmmm. How hard would it be to accidentally on purpose knock off a few fingers? I mean- what? A chain saw would do it? It would look natural, I would just say that I was working on some new kitchen cabinets out in the shed. Everyone knows thats my hobby. Part time cabinet work. I just put on my lumberjacket, light up a stogey, and go out to the shed to rip out some cabinets. Best part of my day. I'll just need to figure out what, presicely, a "stogey" is: is it a cigar? Or a cigarette?

And now is the time that I should knock on wood. God forbid some freak accident happens and I somehow lose my fingers and then they seize my computer and read this and then they send me to jail for attempting to commit insurance fraud.
And without any fingers I'll be the least popular person in prison, assuming of course that it's an all female population, which will make my time very hard indeed.
That was a bad joke. Sorry.
Anyways. I've decided not to tell Geoff about my insurance policy, because I don't know if it's just me or if I watch too much 48 hours Mysteries, but honestly, it seems to me like lucrative insurance policies correlate with freak accidents far too often. And it always starts off the same way. Pictures of thier wedding day. "They were the typical, young, happy couple. But after three kids, a house that was heavily mortgaged, and the pressures of stressful jobs, cracks began to appear in the marriage. And then two weeks later, a freak accident. Stay tuned for more of "Gunshots in the bedroom." ("Gunshots in the bedroom" said in a deep and menacing voice as the picture of the happily married couple shatters. And then fade to black and cue a Viagra commercial). And then Geoff and I look at each other and we're like "let's just watch the Seinfeld reruns." Because everyone likes Seinfeld.
I mean, I don't really like to think about murder or Viagra. Both prospects are entirely depressing.
Anyways, that is all for now.
Have a good night and Happy Rememberance Day. OK there's no such thing as a "Happy" rememberance day per se, but still. It's a holiday. So. Enjoy. But be respectful though.