I really hope that title was subtle enough.
This entry will present itself as one of those letters you're told to write to a dead friend. Or mayhaps a letter a psychiatrist tells their crazy patient to write and then burn. Either way... it'll help me feel better. Better than a lot of other responses I could have presented. Better than being imprisoned for blowing something up or running down the street waving my arms and screaming obscenities. Maybe you'll get a giggle.
Last Monday was the Hubs birthday. *My* birthday was pretty awesome 2 weeks before. Not because our babysitter decided to go party and cut us short, and a friend of mine was a no-show, but because the Hubs somehow managed to present me with a Kindle Fire. We're pretty old fashioned up in this hizzy so this thing has been treated like the brand new Nintendo our family got circa...uh... 1990?? It hardly ever gets put down. I am in love. And I've managed to still regularly go to the library, so I still stand on my soapbox.
Anyway... point: my birthday was good. I wish his had just been bad at least... or maybe a little sucky. I myself began this day with a 'Bad Max Day'. Insane behavior all over the place. The kind that makes you call the school system you've been dealing with SINCE EARLY MAY and quite nearly spurt out, "WHAT THE HELL?" literally. I instead gently reminded this waste-of-oxygen of a woman that we had seen the system's psychologist a month ago. She giggled. The woman fucking giggled that my son's paperwork with the psych had been lost, in fact, never evaluated and whoopsy... they had done it again. This is where I considered driving to her place of employment, calmly punching her in the nose, and getting back in my car. Instead I flatly said, "This is my number. Straighten this out. Set up the IEP meeting" and hung up.
Meanwhile, at work, the Hubs apparently was taking a psychological beating. He had an interview for a promotion weeks ago and was waiting to hear what was decided. Managers and co-workers had congratulated him ahead of time. Hearing through the grapevine he had gotten it, assuming really. It was not going to be major, but rather a landmark for our family. A place where we were growing. Hope that things are always getting better. He came home bleary eyed. I asked him what was wrong and he promptly went to puke. On his birthday the company told him he should just stay at his position at his meager pay. He's simply too 'good' to move up. They need him right where he is. You are awesome. Please except this lack o'raise. Thank you. This made me incredibly sad. Hopes dashed. There it was. It's done. But to hear who got it. OH. MY. GOD. It was a slap in the face and in mere seconds my mind raced to things I had heard and realized this asshole had been groomed for the job right under our noses. And the very person that will have to help train this person will be, of course, The Hubs.
I left him at the kitchen table, amazingly upset and bewildered. I had to get to a doctor's appointment that I was sure to be late for. Sitting down after finding out I weigh a million pounds, I exclaimed to the nurse (the same idiot as this) "I will have high blood pressure. It's been a very stressful day". "Man troubles?", she asked. WHAT? Sure enough, I had to talk my way out of a situation that could have been very complicated by what seemed to be a 35-week-pregnant woman with high blood pressure. I could only imagine calling the Hubs sitting back at home at the kitchen table and telling him, "eh... headed to the hospital...guess I'll see you in a few days..."
What was swimming in our heads, the weatherman threatened to make a reality. Storms. Wind. Possible hail. I have dead trees. We called someone who was going to help out with these back in May. And June. And July. And then 2 weeks ago. One of the trees is so dead I lie in bed at night praying to the Lord Baby Jesus to keep me and all those sleeping on my corner of the house safe. Friday I finally called a tree guy who proudly pointed out a few trees that need to go. Pregnant, barefoot and embarrassed I asked him which ones were the most dangerous for lack of the million dollars per tree he was asking for. He chose my target of prayer and said, "I do not even want to be parked here". This is where my brain turned to oooze and flowed out my ears. Keeping my big girl panties on, I asked..."you'll be able to cut it down before the storms tonight?" He cackled and said, "Oh, no ma'am! It'll be late next week before I can get to it." sigh. This is where I thanked him politely, scheduled it up and calmly ran into the house before calling the Hubs and completely losing my shit.
I am tired.
And I am tired of people.
Really tired of people that say, 'Ima do this for you'... only to disappear.
Maybe prayers worked. It never rained on Friday. Not one iota. It had been a 70% chance of storms earlier that morning. The Hubs came home on time. His 'new boss' had declared no more over-time. We played music, made finger paints and painted models with the big kids. I ordered pizza. I declared it over. All the ridiculousness. I'm not taking it anymore. There won't be another week like the last. Things are going to change around here. It's already happening.