The Queen's Rambles

I’m still reeling from Tuesday. I subscribe to Pigs view of Tuesday: it’s the worst day of the week. Ever since she put her theory forward, I’ve noticed Tuesdays always suck. It’s now Thursday evening and I’m still not over my Tuesday.

Originally I had a dental appointment scheduled for 9:45 and then BodyPump at 10:30. I had e-mailed a friend to see if she would be available for a playdate and she was only available on Tuesday. I love this friend and didn’t want to miss a chance to see her, so I promptly decided that I didn’t need to go to BodyPump. Seriously. That’s how much I love this friend. If I skip BodyPump for you, you know you’re on my A list.

I totally forgot about the dental appointment. My brain is mush.

I step out of the shower at 9:36 and suddenly realize “OH SHIT! DENTIST!” I flung clothes on myself and Elsa. Didn’t even bother to button her or put shoes on her. My hair was sopping wet. Her hair was sopping wet. I was wearing a sports bra, for dog’s sake! I may not be high fashion or fancy or even mildly put together, but I don’t leave the house with wet hair and inappropriate boob lifters.

I was only five minutes late for the appointment. I felt like an idiot with my dripping hair and boobs, but what can you do? Other than take some sort of memory enhancing drug?

I was just there for a panoramic x-ray so I can set up my wisdom teeth extraction, so being late wasn’t a big deal, except in my own mind.

People, this extraction is going to hurt. I’ve seen the x-rays. I don’t know how the oral surgeon is going to get the teeth out, other than with a lot of pure, vicious force. The bottom two are sideways. I guess he’ll have to cut through my bones. MY BONES!

I am so not looking forward to this, but the ones on my right side simply must come out. They are becoming bothersome. I never notice the ones on the left so I hope the surgeon will say they can stay. A girl can dream, right?

Anyway, I got home and found out my friend couldn’t come over after all because she needed a nap. She has a 3 month old that doesn’t believe in sleep. I don’t hold it against her. We ended up hanging out later in the day so it was all good.

I decided it would be the perfect time to go to Costco since I really wanted to get the rest of the Bob Books. I looked for them on Amazon and realized the Costco versions were a hell of a good deal, so wanted to grab them all before they were gone. Erik adores them and wants to read them 24/7. He’s becoming such a good reader! It almost brings a tear to my eye to hear him read “Mark and Carl hopped in the car!”

I get there, it’s raining, I run in and plunk Elsa in a cart. Her shoe falls off. Her leg gets caught. I am trying to give the lady my card. Pennies are falling out of my wallet.

No card. NO FREAKIN’ CARD! I can’t get in.

I had gotten there early enough that I had a primo parking space. Literally in the first row. That never happens. NEVER. And now I didn’t have my card? What the hell? Why wasn’t it in my wallet?

I came home, found the card in the coupon bin—WHY? WHY?????—and went back. I really wanted those books.

Of course I didn’t get a primo parking spot. I was out in the hinterlands in the rain.

As expected, Costco was miserable. I spent a lot of money, but got a lot of things I needed. Erik has been begging me for some green pants and they actually had some ugly green boy pants, so I spent way too long looking through every single pair. Guess what? Not a single size 6 in the lot. I almost bought him a pair of camo pants, because camo is his favorite color. I couldn’t do it, though. My hatred for camo won out over love for my son’s color preference. I am going to start crying the first time I see him dressed in camo.

Two good things happened at Costco.

1) Elsa was happy the whole time. This is not unusual. I don’t have any trouble taking her shopping. Erik would have been screaming the whole time, but she’s content to just sit there and look around, waving to people and saying “bye! bye! bye!”.

2) When I went to put my cart away, the cart in front of mine had a big tub of blueberries sitting in the child seat. I looked around to see if I could find the owner, but there was no one. I suppose I should have returned them to the store, but Elsa was already buckled into the van, we were miles from the entrance and it was pouring down rain. That’s no excuse for being a thief, but I was a thief anyway. I stole those blueberries. I’m not proud of it, but now we have blueberries coming out our ears.

I don’t even like blueberries, but I thought I could make Mike a blueberry cobbler or muffins or pie. Is there such a thing as blueberry pie? Turns out, there aren’t enough left for baking. Elsa is crazy about them and has been snarfing them down the way I snarf down peanut butter cups.

I’ve been giving her extra iron to try to make things a little more solid in the diaper department, and that seems to be working. Only problem? Combine the blueberry coloring and the iron and you have the blackest turd you’ve ever seen. I don’t believe any object in the entire known universe is as black as these turds she’s been having. You could fly to Jupiter and still not find such a black object. I think they’re the color of Satan himself. Unless he’s really red. But he doesn’t exist, so the point is moot.

When I finally got home, Elsa wouldn’t nap. Then I got a call from a MOMS Club person that had a complaint for me. Why was I working so hard on recruiting new members, when I wasn’t working hard to retain the members we already have? I am still bothered by that comment. I don’t know how I can work any harder to keep them.

Ok. That’s a lie. I guess I do know.

I can start calling absentee members and making them really uncomfortable by asking why they aren’t coming to events. I suppose 1 or 2 people might appreciate a call, but I think it would just annoy/embarrass/bother the rest of the people. I know I wouldn’t want to get a call like that, unless I was really lonely and depressed.

I send out weekly e-mails begging people to attend events. I feel like every single newsletter I send out is just article after article of me begging people to participate. I am friendly and upbeat. I tell people they are welcome.

Sorry, folks. You joined a club. If you want to participate, please do! But we are not going to call you up and extend an engraved invitation to you personally for every event. At some point you have to take charge of your own destiny and go to a place that you’ve been invited to go, even if no one is calling you to personally invite you.

At least Tuesday is over, right?

I can’t believe I blew off BodyPump today, too. I had a reason. I think. I can’t remember, now. Where are those memory enhancing drugs?

I know I went to the mall and was trying to buy shoes for Elsa. She has such wide feet that I thought I better take her to Stride Rite to get her measured.

Sure enough–6 1/2 Extra Wide.

They didn’t have any extra wides in stock, of course. They gave me a coupon for free shipping from their site, so I was happy about that, thinking they would have all the shoes in extra wide. Then I came home, went to their site, and saw that they have a pretty crappy selection of extra wide shoes. Of course. Why should babies be treated any better than adults? Why should we of the wide feet have any options? My poor baby girl will have to live with the same crappy shoe selection I’ve had to live with all my life. That’s one reason I can never be a fashionista. I will never have the shoes for it.

I ended up buying a totally different brand of shoes off Endless.com, so I hope they fit her. Then I did a little search for women’s shoes and found a pair of super cute boots in my size. I bought them! I have very little faith they will actually fit, but that’s the great thing about these internet shoe sites: free shipping and return shipping. Any time I find a shoe that is halfway cute and in my size I order it. Guess how many of those I actually keep? Maybe 15%. It’s nice to have a low risk way to take some risks. Just think of life pre-internet, when my only shoe shopping option was the 11W rack at Payless Shoes in Podunk-ville. Let’s never go back to those dark days.