Category Archives: Black clouds in my brain

Smooth Criminal

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Remember how I was joking about the orthodontist office, how the orthodontist who purchased the practice from the highly-respected, retiring doctors suddenly “stepped away” from said practice, and another orthodontist stepped in? Remember how I joked that maybe one day I would go to the office and it wouldn’t actually be an orthodontic practice anymore, just a dark deserted shell of a lease?

Well.

My husband was alerted by our insurance company that the forms we submitted were not correct. I was having an extraordinarily busy week, but Tuesday between classes I zipped over to the office to pick up the correct forms. When I got there, it was dark and the door was closed, but not locked. I opened it and was surprised to see all the assistants and desk staff sitting in the waiting room, all in casual clothing. On a Tuesday. At 11:45 pm. I explained my problem and the main receptionist took me to the desk and printed off a number of forms. She said they were having a “staff day” which, frankly, isn’t a thing, but I’ll get to that. I left, feeling somewhat unsettled, but I had the forms so that had to be something, right?

The next day, I was in the Superstore parking lot when I got a call on my cell from the interim orthodontist’s office manager. She explained that the orthodontist who “stepped away” really went bankrupt and although the other orthodontist had tried to keep the office open, there were all sorts of legalities that were popping up that precluded that. As I was absorbing this information, she gave me an option: I could continue with this orthodontist in the other office across the city, or I could just find a new orthodontist.

To back up a little, the last couple of weeks have been of the “just keep swimming” type. It’s just life, you know? Life is busy and hectic and joyful, but there has also been a significantly stressful thing that I have been dealing with. Add that to giving my cataract-ridden dog eye drops every few hours, and carrying him up the steps when he has been outside for more than five minutes, due to the extreme cold. Have I mentioned the extreme cold? We are in what is cutely called an Alberta Clipper, and it has been the longest, coldest stretch of weather since 1998. To give an idea of how cold it has been, every single day since February 1 the temperatures have dropped into the low minus twenties at night, windchill factors in the minus 30s and 40. After my Tuesday afternoon class, I left the studio thinking it suddenly was warm and beautiful outside; when I got to my car the temperature read -17. I have become so hardened that -17 seemed balmy. In addition, my garage door opener broke so every time I went in or out of the garage – which is many times a day, hashtag “mom life” – I would trudge through the snow, fight with our ill-fitting back gate and squeeze through, and open up the man door. So putting all these things together – plus, “ladies’ holidays!” – and I was, to quote from Shrek, a donkey on the edge.

I unloaded the groceries from the car, noting that I had an hour before I had to leave for my afternoon appointment. I thought to call the pediatric dentist for a little bit of guidance here, because, as you may imagine, it is not every day that an orthodontist goes bankrupt and leaves all his patients to fend for themselves. I mentioned to the receptionist, with my voice cracking, that I was a little upset right now, because of my son’s orthodontic treatment. “Oh,” she said kindly, “Dr. Halpern. I know.” At that point the dam burst, so to speak. I started to cry. I cried like an overtired two-year-old who missed her nap to spend the afternoon at the fair, ate cotton candy for the first time, and then, at the end of the afternoon, accidentally let go of the helium balloon given to her by the nice lady at the promotional kiosk. I cried and cried as I watched that theoretical red balloon float away, getting smaller and smaller as it floated to oblivion, probably to meet its demise in a wooded area somewhere to be consumed by, and subsequently kill, a beautiful member of the wildlife community. I sobbed so hysterically that I couldn’t breathe, as the receptionist spoke to me in a soothing voice, my mascara running down my face like Tammy Faye Bakker.

As we all know, hysteria isn’t that useful a coping mechanism. I somewhat collected myself and, while I was having a nervous breakdown, my husband was researching nearby orthodontists and calling to see who would take our son at this point. He found a place five minutes away who would give us an appointment the next day, and when I called to confirm, I was so relieved I started crying again. The office manager at the disgraced clinic was working for free, trying to help patients, and told me to get there before 3:00 and she would get help me with some administrative things. I quickly and badly fixed my makeup, and rushed over with a pounding dehydration headache, feeling hungover and swollen-eyed.

Even with all this I feel like we dodged a bit of a bullet: we are out some money but not a lot, and with my son in the early stages of orthodontia, we are better off than many, if not most, of the patients. We found a new orthodontist who is NOT a criminal, and as an added bonus my husband fixed my garage door opener. Yesterday I was on the go from 4:15 am to 3:00 pm, when I took a small break to give myself a mani-pedi and regroup a little. I was feeling much better about everything, and then my son broke a bracket last night after dinner.

Insert giant sigh-slash-rage.

Well. There are many, many worse things in the world. All of these are Princess Problems, most definitely. And yet. And yet they are still draining, and I currently feel like a wrung-out rag of a woman. I’m so tired. But there are many bright points: the new office was kind enough to squeeze us in on this Friday of Teacher’s Convention, before a long weekend. I have held off on drinking all week, despite being very very tempted, and tonight that temperance will be shattered with a nice bottle of Cab Franc. We are having my favourite dinner – Greek salad and pita with hummus – and Barkley was groomed yesterday, which has resulted in a giant Gund stuffie of a dog. Tomorrow, after all, is another day.

Barkley, helping me unload the groceries.

Barkley, wondering if he will ever find out who’s a good boy.

Don’t throw the rocks in your glass house

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Sometimes it feels weird, writing when there are so many tragic, horrific, and frankly depressing things going on in the world. It seems strange to complain about the astounding difference the subtraction of one child from the household makes in terms of noise, activity, and general household mood. This is not a particularly important thing in the world, but it is an important thing to me. I was in a state of low-level worry, but my young traveller actually phoned me yesterday, and all is roses and happiness, and to say that the phone call lifted my spirits would be a tremendous understatement.

All of our spirits were a bit low this week; there was an honest-to-god, Pa-sings-his-sunflower-song blizzard on Monday, complete with snow, high winds, and general despondency. Well, we had a good run.

I learned an important lesson yesterday, speaking of general despondency, and that is that choosing to shop at Costco on the day after a blizzard is not an optimal choice for anyone wishing to retain any semblance of sanity. A few months ago my friend Janet (HI JANET) told me about the magic time to shop at Costco, which is 2:00 pm on a weekday, and when I switched my shopping schedule to that time, the experience was better, albeit some days marginally so. But marginally better is still better, and so yesterday I pulled into the parking lot at 1:35, and I do not think that I am exaggerating when I say that I wondered if I was taking my life into my hands. There was much road rage, people randomly and rapidly backing up perilously close to my and other’s cars. There were people swerving around pedestrians wielding giant carts, nearly making contact with my and other’s cars. I am surprised I didn’t seem random people flattened like cartoon characters in the middle of the lot, and I hoped I could get out of there without loss of life or limb, or at least without having to make an insurance claim.

I made it inside the store and the lineups to the checkouts snaked all the way around the aisles; I despaired of reaching the toothpaste section, and I had a coupon for $4 off a five-pack of that 3D whitening toothpaste I like. Don’t make this coupon go to waste, people. I vowed to take a photo when my turn for the checkout came, so I could send it to Janet to let her know that her magical time wasn’t magical after all, as if Janet was the Costco-whisperer and this entire herd of people with their giant carts was somehow her fault. I went to fetch everything on my list, keeping a slight smile on my face, because in the words of Diane Court’s mother, “Smile, dear, because when you don’t your mouth turns down.” I grumpily noted that they did not have the giant can of cocoa powder that I wanted, but they did have some nice strawberries. I wondered if I would even make it out of the refrigerated produce section alive, but when I got there, it was empty with the exception of one woman looking at every single clamshell of strawberries and a man staring blankly at the kale salads.

People, by the time I wound my way around to the checkout, the crowds had dispersed and there were only a few carts in each line, at 1:55. Janet, I am sorry I doubted you. You are indeed the Costco whisperer. The parking lot had plenty of open spaces too. JANET IS RIGHT, IT IS MAGICAL.

Speaking of checkouts, do you ever notice those tabloid magazines that have incredibly unflattering photographs of celebrities with captions about beach bodies or the lack thereof, or the weight of the photographed celebrity with a caption about letting themselves go or eating themselves to death? These unflattering photographs must be a part of a very successful business plan, since the magazines have been doing this for many decades; obviously they sell the magazines. I always feel a wave of pity for the celebrities; clearly they are photographed without their knowledge or consent, and even though there is a little bit of caveat emptor, being in the public eye and all, it still is fairly vile. We have all taken those accidental selfies with our phones on our lap; imagine if those selfies were being used to sell magazines? Double chinned, wrinkly, and ruddy: Nicole is letting herself go! 

Imagine also if there was a photographer trained on you at all moments of the day, and that any moment – any moment at all – could be posted for all the world to see. Well, I have news, dear readers: this is already happening. You may remember a while back there was a meme going around with a photo of a woman at an airport; she was looking at her phone and her baby was lying on a blanket on the floor. SHAME, the internet said, SHAME THAT SHE ISN’T PAYING ATTENTION TO HER POOR BABY, I’M SURE HER PHONE IS MUCH MORE COMPELLING.

*I know, I didn’t really pay attention either. But the internet did, fortunately.

Well, that woman has released a statement – A STATEMENT – that saying that she was exhausted, her flight was delayed, and she just needed to put the baby down for a moment while she texted her family. I have a huge problem with this.

SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO SAY ANYTHING.

In today’s society, we seem to feel that we can view a snapshot of a person’s life, one single second, and make a sweeping judgement about them. She’s a bad mom, she doesn’t like her baby as much as her phone, she is making terrible choices and we are all a nation of zombies. I have more news: we can’t make these judgements. Until we are comfortable with someone tracking our every move and posting photos for all the world to see, maybe we should keep our snap judgements to ourselves. If you haven’t been exhausted and looked away from your baby for a moment, then you probably don’t have a baby. I did not have a smartphone when my kids were small, but I did take them to the playground and would often sit on the bench reading a book or O Magazine (don’t judge, I was living my best life). My eyes were not on them for every second and frankly, it would be weird if they were.

I also saw someone online berate this woman for having her baby on the germy floor, but honest to god, everything is germy. Airplane seats and seatbelts, public change tables, the key pad where you use your credit card – all of those are covered in filth, that’s the world, we have to deal with it. In any case, the baby was on a (presumably clean) blanket, and babies are much safer on the floor than lying on an elevated surface that they can roll off of. God, I’m all worked up again. LEAVE HER AND EVERY OTHER MOTHER ALONE, YOU PEOPLE WITH YOUR GLASS HOUSES AND GIANT ROCKS. NONE OF US ARE PERFECT, LET’S STOP PRETENDING THAT WE ARE, AND MAYBE STOP LOOKING AT YOUR OWN DAMN PHONE IF YOU’RE ONLY GOING TO SPREAD STUPID PHOTOS.

Hoo boy, I need to take a breath here. With all the awful things happening in the world today, let’s all be kind. Be nice. Be understanding and compassionate. And let’s not assume everyone else is the problem with society. If you want change, make a change within yourself first. xo

 

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

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Last Friday our roof was re-shingled and, as the old shingles were tossed into the big bin, so went my sanity. My husband asked why I didn’t just leave the house for the day, but it happened to be one of the only days that I had slated in my week to get some work done at home. All day long was the scraping of the old shingles off the roof, then the hammering and nailing and sudden startling bangs that made me wonder if something had just fallen through the ceiling. Through it all was the faint, tinny sound of the roofers’ radio playing. The music was especially audible in the bathroom, so whenever I went in there I could hear the strains of various popular songs of yesteryear. Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me, maybe. It wasn’t the music that I would have expected the roofers to be listening to.

Fortunately both house and garage are now done, to Barkley’s extreme relief. Having a sound like someone is loudly knocking at the door for eight hours will stress a dog out, not to mention seeing unknown persons in the yard. The occasional shingle would fly off the roof in unexpected ways, and so I was paranoid to let the dog out, or have the children come home, lest someone get concussed.

September flew by but this week has been a long one, and it is only Wednesday. I have been feeling a bit dreary and complain-y the past couple of days; this morning an article entitled How To Complain Less popped up on my Facebook feed. Oh, omnipotent Facebook. The article was prefaced with Complaining is almost never a positive response to our circumstance. See also: feeling judged by my Facebook feed.

It’s true, complaining gets us nowhere, but on occasion we must all vent a little, lest we explode, like when Homer gives up swearing and ends up kicking down his shoddily-made doghouse. So I will own up to being a big complain-y pants yesterday, and will make up for it with things I’m thankful for right now. ‘Tis the season for thankfulness, at least up here in Canada.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Thanksgiving Edition

Nature Is Wearing Her Prettiest Clothes, But She’s Also Kind Of Nude

Sure, most of the leaves are already off the trees at the dog park, but there are still some pretty fall colours out there.

nakedtrees

The trees might be naked, but look at that sky!

sylvan

The trees are still in full colour at my parents’ place.

Boring, Yet Somehow Satisfying

I have become a person who has an actual, strong preference for dish soap, and that preference is this:

palmolive

This is the part where I say no, this is not a sponsored post and no, I did not receive anything for free. I just really, really like this dish soap. Don’t we all have funny little frugalities? Mine is with dish soap; I usually buy the Palmolive brand that is “Original” scent, because it’s about $0.50 cheaper. But for some reason I SPLURGED on this brand and now I don’t feel like I can ever go back. I get much more than fifty cents’ worth of satisfaction from this Oxy brand. The marginal benefit I receive is much, much higher than the marginal cost, for all you economics types.

Stop! Smoothie Time.

My current favourite is spinach, almond butter, almond milk, frozen banana, and cinnamon. It has gotten to the point where I eagerly look forward to smoothie time, because I love this combination immoderately.

greensmoothie

Ugly, and yet beautiful.

Pasta Night Is The Greatest Night Of All

Wednesday night is Pasta Night in the Boyhouse, and some of us are happier about that than others. I love pasta night, and I love that I have this sundried tomato sauce simmering on the stove right now. It smells divine, it tastes divine, and it makes enough for three Pasta Nights. I roast cauliflower and zucchini and add it to my pasta, and it is just the best, most satisfying meal of the week.

pastanight

I’ll Make Him An Offer He Can’t Refuse. And In The Morning, I’m Making Waffles

donkey

On our morning constitutional, up at my parents’ place this weekend, I spotted this guy. There’s nothing like a severed stuffed donkey head to make you wonder what’s going on with the neighbours.

Those are the things I’m thankful for and happy about today. I hope you have many things that are making you smile – perhaps your own severed donkey head? I don’t know what’s going on in your life. Happy Thanksgiving! xo

This is fine.

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I consider myself to be a pretty upbeat, optimistic person, but this morning I read a post about being prepared for emergencies like possible rioting due to civil unrest and it made me feel a bit like this:

And a little bit like this:

 

So, anyway, let’s think of other things. Let’s not think of how I’ve been Kondo-ing everything, including donating all my extra towels and sheets, and working to NOT stockpile up on things, etcetera. EVERYTHING IS FINE WE ARE ALL GOING TO BE OKAY WORRYING DOES NOTHING EXCEPT DRAIN STRENGTH TAKE DEEP BREATHS HAKUNA MATATA.

What I really need to do is adopt my husband’s attitude of No Matter What Happens The Next Day Basically Everyone Will Just Get Up And Go To Work. Whether or not this is true, it’s good for my mental health, serenity now serenity now serenity now.

Speaking of serenity, Facebook Memories reminded me that it was three years ago today that I found mouse droppings in my kitchen. So, it was only three years ago that I had complete nervous breakdown and considered burning the house to the ground to start fresh, but really just cried a lot and spent hours disinfecting everything, buying pantry staples, and transferring all said foodstuffs into impenetrable glass and stainless steel containers. Three years! How time does fly. We haven’t had a mouse issue since and my mental state is much, much better for it. Serenity now.

I’m so glad we have the Facebook Memories feature, or the anniversary of that incident would have passed unmarked. What an age we live in.

Today is Picture Day at the junior high, and it is also the day the grade sevens start their swimming module in phys ed. Maybe the school gets a kickback for Picture Retake Day, I don’t know. I do know that grade seven gym is in second period on Tuesdays, so the likelihood of them all getting their photos done prior to being in the pool seems small. It doesn’t really matter to me, since my short-haired son looks pretty much the same no matter what happens, but I feel indignant on behalf of all those who might take pains with their appearance, only to have those pains be for naught. I think I would have ohmygod literally died when I was that age, because how could we ever have teased our bangs to appropriate height in the small amount of time given for changing? How could we have reapplied our coloured mascara and crimped our hair in only ten minutes?

To be totally honest, I never did have coloured mascara nor a hair crimper, but oh, how I wanted one. I had to be satisfied with a Toni home perm.

001

Some brief updates: the carts are gone from the alley. I repeat, the carts are gone. They have either died in their gang turf war and their pieces are buried in the gravel, or someone took them away. We will never know the answer.

What I do know, however, is that there was an unknown black cat in my backyard yesterday. Jake and I were walking home and Barkley started lunging and pulling on his leash like nobody’s business. Nobody, that is, but the strange cat that was sitting in full view near our back door. Jake offered to go shoo it away while I held Barkley, and when he turned around it had disappeared. We looked all around and couldn’t see it, so we concluded it hopped over the fence. To be safe I put the going-insane dog in the house, and Jake and I followed suit. As we emptied his backpack and chatted, Jake suddenly yelled “THE CAT CAME BACK!” and instead of answering with the very next day as would be my instinct, I ran to the back door. We looked again and the cat was gone. We were just about to go inside and question our sanity, but Jake found it hidden underneath a potentilla. It escaped over the fence and we watched it scurry away, thankful for a few things: that Barkley was still in the house, albeit having some kind of dog-stroke, that there was a cat and it wasn’t just our imagination, and that it was GONE. I don’t know whose cat it was but I don’t need a) Barkley to attack anyone’s beloved pet, or b) Barkley to get scratched by some unknown cat and therefore get Cat Scratch Fever, which I assume is a real, tangible threat.

I mean, I have enough to worry about without that. Civil unrest, for one.

I’m not a cat person by any means; I never know what cats are doing, I find their sudden movements startling, and I much prefer the straightforward, tail-wagginess of dogs. However, it’s too bad that cat didn’t show up on my doorstep three years ago. I could have saved myself several bouts of hysteria.

Northern Tragedy

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I had a happy, fun post planned for today, all about Music Monday and the garden centre and how the orthodontist told me Mark’s appointment would be fifteen minutes and it really took an hour, but everything has taken a backseat to the fires in Fort McMurray. If you haven’t seen the images, here is the latest. As of this moment, the entire city was evacuated – that is almost 90,000 people – and 1600 buildings have been destroyed. There is one highway out of Fort McMurray, and the images of bumper-to-bumper traffic while the flames raged within meters will stay with me forever.

My husband and I were watching the news last night, and when a photo was shown of vehicles trying to drive away with flames, smoke, and ash all around, he said, “I guess there are probably lots of kids and families in those cars.” We looked at each other silently, and then continued to watch.

Really, there’s nothing to say and do, being far away, other than to donate to the Red Cross and wait until the fire is out to see what else is needed. It’s a terrible tragedy and I personally know many people who work in, live in, or are from Fort McMurray. I cannot imagine what they must be going through.

The good news is that tragedy often brings out the best in people, as people in Northern Alberta opened their homes to people fleeing. No one has been hurt or killed, everyone in the city, including all in hospitals or acute care facilities, has been evacuated, and two babies have been born at worksite camps. People are working together and will continue to work together, I’m sure.

Sadly, tragedy also often brings out the worst in people. I have some advice for you: during times like this, the only thing that is acceptable to say is this is terrible and how can I help? Not acceptable: politicking and comments that indicate that the residents and workers are to blame for this tragedy. If you have reservations about the energy industry in general, and the oilsands in particular, then those reservations are best kept to yourself until the fires are out and the damage is assessed. Even then, compassion and empathy go a long way. Imagine what it would feel like to leave your home and all your possessions, which you may never see again, with your family in tow and your town burning to the ground behind you. People ran out of gas and were stranded on the highway, with nowhere to go. Unless you have been to that part of the world, you can’t imagine how isolated it is.

Anyway. Perhaps I should end on a more cheery note, the one on which I had planned for today. Music Monday was beautiful, and the children sang Is Somebody Singing, which never fails to make me verklempt. They also sang a bizarre song about a possum comin’ a knockin’, and each classroom had a verse to sing. It…seemed long to me, but it was my kids’ favourite part of Music Monday so I’m happy they’re happy.

For the first time in many years, I have tulips that are blooming! The squirrels didn’t eat those bulbs *knocks wood ferociously* and now look:

tulips3

I went to the garden centre today; it’s tradition in my house that for Mother’s Day (or thereabouts) I buy myself some plants. I thought I showed restraint:

flowers

I texted the photo to my husband, who replied “Not enough.” Is it any wonder I love the guy? I assured him that it was only my first trip of the season. After all, I couldn’t fit more in the cart!

Take care, everyone in Fort Mac. Our hearts are with you. xo

At least we can calculate the volume of a sphere.

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It’s a good thing today is Pi Day – pancakes for lunch to celebrate the fact that we can calculate their area! – because otherwise I would be in a complete state of bitchery, rather than a partial one. Time change fills me with impotent rage every year; every year I think of the futility of moving the clocks around and I am furious that this outmoded imaginary concept is still a thing. Why are we forced to deal with crabby people and car accidents and general confusion two times a year, not to mention the children, oh god, won’t someone please think of the CHILDREN? It just doesn’t make sense.

Worse yet is the idiots who continually say such things as “It’s for the farmers.” Who started that rumour? Was it just to prove that people will believe anything, no matter how ridiculous? If I was a part of the farming community, I would be so pissed off that Daylight Saving Time was attributed to me and my ilk. Do you know who doesn’t care what time the clock says? FARMERS. Farmers get up and work when it’s DAYLIGHT, they don’t punch a time card on a clock. Daylight Saving Time is NOT for the farmers, it was originally established as a wartime measure to save on electricity, and do you know what? THERE IS NO EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE TO SUGGEST THAT THIS WORKS ANY MORE OR IF IT EVER DID. So don’t tell me it’s for the farmers, and don’t tell me this is a good way to be environmentally savvy because IT IS NOT.

God, I get so worked up about this every year. It’s ridiculous. Let’s all pour one out for the parents of small children who will be impossible to get to bed on time tonight and who will be impossible to wake up tomorrow morning and who will be sobbing messes for the next several days until their little bodies adjust to the new “time.”

And while I’m on a rampage, here, let me just tell you that words matter, people. If you are the sort of person who enjoys more light later in the evenings, I understand that. I don’t particularly share that view, being an early morning person, but I understand it. Here’s what I hate: when people say “I like that extra hour of daylight.” NO. That is not how it works. That’s not how any of this works! Oh, you enjoy the extra hour? Why not move our clocks ahead three hours? Why not 12 hours, then we can have 24 hours of daylight! There is the exact same number of daylight hours as there were before Daylight Saving Time, it’s just adjusted differently. So do not tell me that you like the extra hour because there IS NO EXTRA HOUR.

I love early morning light but I would be willing to give it up for you late evening people if it meant NO MORE CHANGING THE CLOCKS. If someone in a powerful position woke up tomorrow and said Let’s just leave the time where it is right now I would be perfectly accepting of the situation. But since no one – NO ONE – has the balls to do this, I am fated to semi-annual rages until the end of time, or until I do something drastic like move to Hawaii, whichever comes first.

Why does no one have the balls to do this? I don’t know. Are all our politicians in cahoots with the time change lobby group? Is there a time change lobby group? Since there is no empirical benefit to time change, there probably isn’t a lobby group, so why is this happening?

Yes. This is the hill I am going to die on.

All work and no play make Nicole scream at telemarketers

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Last November 1, my husband took the kids to Walmart and for about $100, came home with a minivan-load of Halloween-themed exterior decorations. You all know me, come November 1 I’m really more of a Buddy the Elf girl, and so I didn’t really pay much attention to what they had purchased.

You guys, my yard. My entire front yard is filled with gigantic creepy scary things. There are 20 foot decorations swooping from the trees, across the grass. There are things hanging in every tree and shrub, there are severed hands and tombstones in my garden, there are skulls jammed alongside the withering elephant ears and hostas. Every time I look out my front window I have heart palpitations:

spooky

I have a feeling our poor mail carrier is less than pleased with having to dodge this on the way to the mailbox. Not to mention there is a plastic dead rose stuck in the mailbox.

In what can only be described as a brilliant move on the administration’s part, today is a PD day. What with the full moon, the lead up to Halloween, and the upcoming time change and subsequent darkness just after school pick-up time, it’s been kind of a shitty week. My husband has been travelling for work all week, and the kids (and me) have been missing him. EMOTIONS HAVE BEEN RUNNING HIGH.

Let’s turn this day around! I cheerfully said to the children several times this week, but really, it was ME who most desperately needed to turn the day around. MY GOD PEOPLE. Things hit a massive low on Wednesday afternoon; the boys were emotional, I have been crazily busy with work and volunteering, and I just wanted to squeeze in a quick workout on the elliptical trainer before making dinner. That’s all. I just wanted 30 minutes to be able to sweat out some of my frustrations while the kids told me about their day, but the crying outbursts of “I miss Dad!” necessitated me stopping the machine, getting off, and snuggling with them for a few minutes. Things had settled down, and I was about halfway through when the phone rang. It was marked Private Caller, which I don’t normally pick up, but because of my husband travelling I did.

Regrets. I have them.

A few months ago we had a nasty telemarketer who called for my husband, and left a name. “Oh, he knows me,” the guy assured me, “He’ll definitely want to talk to me.” Puzzled, I called my husband to tell him that Steve Fredericton called, and of course, he had no idea who it was. Later, when “Steve” called back, it was just some telemarketing idiot.

Fast forward to 4:45 on Wednesday afternoon, when I jump off the elliptical trainer and grab the phone. It was for my husband.

Me: He’s not home right now, may I ask who’s speaking?

Asshole on the phone: It’s Dave Draper.

Me: Dave…Draper? What number are you at?

AOTP: He knows my number.

Me, bathed with light and complete understanding of the situation: Really. He knows your number?

AOTP: Oh yeah. And he’s really going to want to talk to me.

Me: REALLY. Why? What is this regarding?

AOTP: I have a really great proposal for him. So, when can I call back?

Me, apparently snapping: You want to know when to call back? You want to know when is a good time? NEVER. NEVER FUCKING CALL BACK YOU MOTHERFUCKER.

Kids, listening to the whole conversation: Mom? Are you okay? Mom? Who…was that?

Believe me when I say I have never done anything like that in my life. Usually I have sympathy for telemarketers, and am polite: after all, it’s a crappy job and I imagine these telemarketers, just trying to put food on the table. I usually listen to all the spiels and politely say I’m not interested, thank you. But for some reason, this pretending you actually know my husband when you do not scheme just doesn’t work for me. Also, since I fell for it once I’ve been a bit more on edge.

Well, that was the low point. Yesterday was pretty bad too, since I was busy all day and yet somehow managed to accomplish next to nothing. I volunteered in Mark’s class for an art project, but it turned out that they really didn’t need volunteers, so my morning was wasted. Then I attempted to get some work done in the afternoon, but I had computer issues and all the photos I had taken didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to. The one thing I accomplished was a quick trip to Superstore while the kids were at karate. I was unloading my beans and pizza sauce at the cash register, as the fellow in front of me unloaded his items. He had a fresh whole chicken in a plastic bag, which somehow burst apart, sending the chicken right in my path. SALMONELLA FOR EVERYONE. It was not as low a point in my week as screaming at a telemarketer in front of my children, but it felt close.

Things can only go up from here, right? My husband is on his way home, I have all day to re-photograph some food, the kids are happy, and by this time on Sunday, I can start thinking about Christmas! Have a great weekend everyone, and Happy Halloween!