It was so nice to have a day off. Feels… normal. Frank and I shopped, searching for a Favre #4 jersey, kids size 8. We scoured the rotten, evil mall. Every store said they were sold out.

“Number four’s a popular number this year…”

I didn’t even know I was looking for a number four, just Packer, Favre and kid size. But that number four, uttered from a kind salesperson’s lips, was what ended up saving the day. Steve & Barry’s was having an eight-dollar sale, everything for 8 bucks. I picked up 3 pairs of jeans (twins and Dants). Had them wrapped at the “free with optional donation” kiosk. They weren’t intentionally gifts, but since I could get them wrapped for free, why not?

The lady was kind, but slow, and I ended up wrapping one of the boxes myself. We left a $2 donation.

I stopped in at Payless shoes, hoping to find another pair of the furry suede boots that are all the rage (right now I’m outfitted in my daughter’s too-big ones), but no luck. We left the mall, ready to get some food, but made a quick stop at TJ Maxx. Frank ran down to the athletic store to see if he could find the jersey. I browsed the purses, fragrances, boots (still looking), wandered past the women’s clothing, back to the linens where I picked up a twin flannel set to hold in my hands and “ponder” while I shopped. Frank showed up with a Favre jersey that looked fit for a toddler.

I shook my head. “How much was it?”

“Fifty.”

“Frank. Take it back!! He’ll be lucky if he fits into it at all, there’s no room to grow even. No way. We’ll have to shop online and hope we find something. And hope it comes before Christmas.” I set the flannel sheets down on a display table by the men’s clothes, deciding not to get it. As we walked by the customer service desk I saw a flash of green and gold and the number four amongst a rack of clothing behind the desk. I leaned into the counter, fondling the shirts. Two were large men’s size and one — I knew from the experienced eye of a mother — was a child’s size 8. “Are these on hold?” I asked the young man who was ringing up a customer.

He came over, looked at them and pinched the two man-sized shirts in his fist. “From here down is.” He motioned opposite of the jersey I had my eye on. I snatched it up and checked out the tag. Size 8. Price? $29.99. Score.

As Frank came back to see what the hold up was, I held up the jersey. “Size 8.” He was about as shocked as I was. I shrugged. Smiled. Stifled maniacal laughter. And raced my fat little legs over to pay for it before someone could tell me differently.

Lunch was at the Hong Kong Cafe, Madison. We had calamari for appetizer, Mongolian beef and governor (something). I liked Frank’s governor (something) better, and ended up mixing both dishes for a satisfying meal.

. . .

Frank has off tomorrow, and we thought I should go ahead and take tomorrow off, too. It is hard for me to take a day off, for some reason. I feel guilt. Like I’m playing hookie. Heh.

My mom once told me that I could not be quiet. She feared an intruder in our home. If someone ever broke in and we had to hide? It would never work. I could tell you to be quiet and you simply would not have been able to. I thought it was funny when she told me that. But now, as a mom of a (couple) apples that landed quite close to the tree, I share her concern.

. . .

This morning there was a threat of an icy commute. I braved it anyway, and went to work. Everyone that called said they did not expect me to be there on such a wintry day. Two ladies that stopped in to make baskets for shut-ins around noon, an hour before I leave, warned me to get an early start out of the office. The snow was coming down hard and the plow had not visited yet.

As I left (on time, not early), the plow was getting started in the parking lot. The only vehicle in the east lot was mine. The plow passed me and I crossed the lot. unbeknownst to the driver of the pick-up/plow, he backed up his vehicle, gunning it, coming within half a foot of crushing me. In the moment I registered that I was still standing and alive, I noticed I had been plowed in, up to the door on the van.

“Make your heart jump?” I heard from behind. The truck had stopped. I could see two men inside, neither face registering the fear and anger that mine was. I made a sideways motion with my hand, saying, “So-so.” It took all my strength not to spout off on the mouth about being nearly hit, and on top of that, PLOWED IN.

It took me about 10 rocks in forward and reverse, with the plow kindly watching, to release my vehicle (a HUGE van) from the packed in snow. After backing out, I stopped in the plow’s path, stepped down from my van, and scraped the ice and snow from each window. He didn’t say anything, but sat and waited for me to finish.

The ride home was a slow journey through snow and cautious drivers. Some people won’t exit the house when it is snowy, as if the flakes are something foreign and forbidden. As someone who has lived in Wisconsin and New York, snow in winter does not concern me too terribly much. I enjoy it, especially when it dumps buckets like this. Talk to me in late winter, though, when Christmas is past and snow is not as new and exciting.

. . .

The kids hoped for a snow day tomorrow, but it doesn’t look like it will happen. That means I have the day to spend with my husband. Yay. We will shop and have lunch and spend the day together like we used to before I took this job. I miss that.

Eggnog and brandy. Yum-yum delicious. Although, 11pm, writing an entry with eggnog on the brain…

Today.
Work. Staff meeting, bulletin compiling, printing and folding.
Dinner out with Frank and Sophia. Indian food.
Come home, check email.
Go to doctor, quick visit. All OK.
Back home for a short while.
Take daughter to work, head out to mall.
DT’s birthday coming up, bought him a hoodie from Zumiez. He’s love a snowboard, but we haven’t enough money.
Also bought a belt for Franny.
Sweatshirt for Lootie (for Christmas).
T-shirt with the Hulk on it for Sal (bought on the sly along with the sweatshirt from Steve & Barry’s). Got DT some desperately needed jeans.
Went to Barnes & Noble, got a coffee and window shopped.
Went to Verizon and replaced Frank’s dying cellphone with an upgrade (thank goodness we were due for one or the phone price would have been outrageous).
Came home, Frank went out with a few friends, I went to pick up Sophia from work.
Did a little shopping while I was there, just me and Soph. Nice. Things have been so rocky with us, her — it was nice to just walk and enjoy some time together.
Got deodorant, dental floss, a new purse (after slinging a half dozen or so options over my shoulder, annoying my daughter to near tears — she just wanted to get home and eat pizza).
Came home, heated up some pizza, transferred my things to my new purse.
Ate pizza, had some eggnog and getting ready for bed. Have to get up at the obscene hour of 6am to get the twins to a soccer game.

Ciao.

If you ever suffer from constipation, Dulcolax will do ya. Well. It will do most of ya, I should say. I don’t like having to resort to it too often, though. Please be warned: do not take Dulcolax before heading off to work. There is a chance you (and your co-workers) will be displeased.

Yesterday, in a bind (pun intended), I contemplated running to Whole Foods to pick me up a box of the Smooth Move Tea, thinking that would be a natural alternative to my dillemma. I didn’t want to make a run out in the cold, though, and for some reason, will stand and stare at the Smooth Move Tea, but never purchase it. That’s me. The lady, standing in isle. Contemplating. Since I had the Dulcolax at hand and I was already at the point of needing some relief, I bit the mental bullet of indecisiveness and popped two of them. Normally I take one. I don’t know what posessed me to pop two. Desperation? Insanity?

Within a few hours I felt something stir in my abdomen. Gas, surely. Another hour and the cramping began. An hour later I was in the bathroom. Relieved. Yes, yes, how DO you spell “relief” — I say D-U-L-C-O-L-A-X. Relieved and foolishly thinking that would be the end of it all. Within 15 minutes I was back in the bathroom. Again. Surely now, I was done.

After tucking the kids in, I settled into bed and started reading my book. Franny, read his book alongside me for a while, before setting it down.

“You know, Finn has a half-pipe in his backyard.” He said. He likes to read before bed, like I do. But when he’s done reading, he enjoys a little conversation before he shuts his eyes. This is usually always when I’ve got my nose buried in my book. “He has one, and it’s really cool, but he had it covered up so I didn’t get–”

What was that?

My goodness, it was ME. A gurgling, churning whoosh of–? I set my book down and excused myself from the conversation, making a charge to the bathroom. A few seconds after I closed myself inside I heard my husband’s muffled voice ask if I was OK. I confirmed that all was OK… probably, and that this was the opposite of my earlier problem. And I sat. In the bathroom. For a good quarter hour. Having already read the back of the lotion bottle enough times to memorize it, I stared at my nails. Thought about my day… pondered on how grateful I was that the two orange pills I took had been taken at a time that, once they worked through my body, I had an available bathroom and it was in my own home. Thankful that I was not still at the grocery store. Or out shoveling snow… Continued to be thankful that I had not waited until morning to take them, ending up exploding in the middle of a work day.

Which is why I write a kind caution to you, my friend, on those little orange pills. I know. I know. How kind and thoughtful of me. Take one for the team, I have.

By the time I returned to the conversation with my son, he was nearly asleep. I apologized for speeding out like that; he thought nothing of it.

. . .

The boys have wrestling tonight. Thank goodness we can go THERE and have them beat the tar out of each other instead of it being in our house each night. The obsession with wrestling has been contagious, spreading from Lootie to the twins to DT in the matter of a year. Last year it was just Loo wrestling. The twins showed interest, but we didn’t sign them up. Lootie had a good year, winning the majority of his matches. After the season was over, he became obsessed (because with Lootie it is all or nothing) with John Cena and WWE. He even went to see them when they came to Milwaukee.

Lootie at WWE in Milwaukee (on Picasa)Over summer the 3 youngest went to a wrestling day-camp and fell in love with the sport, and this winter the oldest was sucked in, too. I guess it is good that they all enjoy it, like soccer, it gives them a common joy and interest. But my house literally shakes at times, from the commotion going on in the bedroom. Frank’s all, They’re boys — they’re having fun. And I’m a nervous poodle forming an ulcer from worry.Ciao.

Aaaaah Mondays. Not the easiest day, being the beginning of the week and all, and for those who work Monday through Friday, a slap back into reality.
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Sunday. Frank’s off, and our plan was to go to church, which we did. Last Sunday Loo (middle child) lost his video game privileges last week for his antics during church, so he has been looking forward to redeeming himself through better behavior this time. He succeeded in earning back his game-playing privileges. But you know what was really cool? Honey, when we came home, everyone piled out of the van and ran inside the house. Frank and I decided to work on chipping away at ice that was forming from the the melted snow (and the piles of water-logged snow — rain + snow = heavy work). Without being asked, Lootie stayed outside to chip ice, shovel and scatter salt down. He shuffled up and down the sidewalk throwing salt like he was feeding pidgeons. Chipped away at the layer of frozen ice like a dedicated little worker. After about 45 minutes he came in and played his game for a bit, but now he’s heading back outside.

(Christmas lights on Picasa)
Lunch today will be chicken patties. And what, though? I’m not sure. I really wanted to spring for Chinese. Like, reallyreally. Buuuuuuuuuut. We’ve got bills to pay and gifts to buy. And $45 for lunch isn’t really called for since there is food in the pantry. Right? I mean, there’s not a lot of food, but enough to pull a few meals from. Probably. I can heat up the leftover spaghetti to have with the patties, cook some broccoli for a veggie. That should be OK. I also threw a cake in the oven. With lunch solved, though, I will still need to figure out dinner.Cereal?. . .As the weekend comes to a close I start to obsess and worry a bit about two job offers that I have waiting for me to accept or deny this week. One is for a seasonal job that I’ve been doing for the past few years. It is Human Service work for a non-profit. I enjoy it, the pay is OK, but it is definitely work. The other is working part-time, mainly from home, typing up bulletins and other documents for a local church. Although the first job is more rewarding, interesting and… “important” — I’m leaning towards the typing one simply because (hopefully) it is a no-brainer, easy kind of job.I go for the interview tomorrow for the church and I’ll need to call the non-profit tomorrow as well. They’ve already marked me in as doing the job (even though I said I’d need to think about it). Though I hate to let them down, I don’t want to overextend myself too much. Making more money doesn’t really count or help when you’re spending it up on ordering out to compensate for your lack of time to prepare a meal.

Ciao.