You, know I feel the same way

Last night I had to resort to the working mom's cafeteria: McDonalds.

We don't go that often, really. It's still considered a *very* special treat around here. So last night, when I got Lucy buckled up and headed down the hill to drop her off at gymnastics before I started my shift, I didn't tell her right away what I had in mind for dinner.

"Hey Luce, you want a burger?"

"IWANTABURGERIWANTABURGERILOVEBURGERSIWANTABURGER"

and a few minutes later it dawns on her......

"Mama, WHERE are we going to get a burger?" Oh, the twinkle in her eye. She sees where we are headed, and she knows, and yet doesn't dare to dream.....

"Hm, where should we go?"

"MCDONALDSMCDONALDSMCDONALDS"

"Are you *sure* you want McDonalds?"

"YESSSSSSSSSSS'

So we go to McDonalds, and I get her a burger and oh my god you would think I just gave her the world. She's hlding it oh so tenderly, taking big bites and "mmm mmm mmm"-ing. I am rolling my eyes.

"Lucy, can you take it down a  few notches, there?"

"Sorry mom, but you know McDonalds. It's DAMN GOOD."

"LUCY!"

"Sorry mom, don't worry, it's not as good as your burgers."

Well, at least she's got that straight.............

Turns out, I wasn't so much unemployed as just taking a night off.

Oh calm down, of COURSE I didn't go back to work for that asshole my job. No no no, I sent out an APB and thank god someone was able to get me an interview and voila I am off to fill out new hire paperwork and I guess my first shift is, uh, tomorrow.

I really hope I don't fuck this up. Between the fact that I basically got the job as a favor, and the fact that I will technically only miss one night of work during the transition, this is just too good to be true. So I am frantically cribbing shot recipes and tasting beers (FOR WORK, not for FUN) and trying to bone up on my bartending skills (bwahahahaha I said "bone").

My point is this: I got another job. Thank God and Hallelujah. I have never been more relieved. Not only do I never have to go back to work for that awful, awful man who clearly hates me (and maybe most everyone else, I can't be sure) but I don't have to stress out about weeks of being unemployed and the slow season coming up, which would make this a difficult time of year to find a new job.

I'll be bartending, at night, in a bar where there is more of a party atmosphere. They are transitioning from a classic sports bar with huge TVs playing every game available and countless beers and shots and Jager on tap, to a more relaxed atmosphere. Less sports memorabilia, a vastly improved menu, and organic wines - I think I can do this.

Would you like a Jager Bomb? Perhaps a Buttery Nipple? No, not mine. What the hell is wrong with you?

Many thanks going out to my friends, who totally came through for me this weekend. Especially Trouble +1. Thanks, guys.

Nappy McNapper

I'm a napper. Oh, the naps I have enjoyed over the years.

I didn't used to nap, but now that I work at night and get up early in the morning with the kids, napping has become a critically important part of my day. So important that I will fight for my right to nap. People talk about napping as a recreational activity. Something that's nice to do. Something that they enjoy when they have the chance. A luxury few can afford. And I get that - I do. But with a cumulative 3 or 4 hours a sleep a night, napping is not optional for me. It is a survival technique. Because I would not be able to drive to or from work safely if I didn't get some sort of rest, at some point prior to my shift.
 
My point is......I get up early, I work late, and I have insomnia. If I don't get some sleep during the day I Lose My Shit. I am not fooling around. I am VERY SERIOUS. And my husband can tell you just how serious - as soon as he gets his hearing back and I untie him from the doghouse he is residing in this evening. Because that man Fucked With My Nap.

Every week, it feels like we have the same conversation. I ask what jobs he has lined up for the weekend, we discuss the other plans we have made, and my work schedule, and we make a plan. And because I work Saturday night, I need to get some sleep at some point on Saturday afternoon. Which means he needs to be here, or take the kids with him wherever he goes. Period. End of story. Full stop.

And this Saturday was no exception. We had commitments in the morning, and the afternoon was already blocked off for MY NAP. We had a very full day planned, so he was going to do his work on Sunday - we talked about it several times during the morning, in fact. Which is why at 2:30pm, I was surprised to hear that he was leaving to go do some work, without the kids. Because, of course, that would make it nearly impossible for me to sleep, between making snacks and breaking up fights and repeatedly asking that the television volume be turned down. I was confused. But maybe that was just the extreme fatigue, coupled with a debilitating hangover. More on THAT later.

So he left, and I tried to sleep, but that went about as well as I expected, which is to say not well AT ALL. Not well at all.

Which is why tonight, after The Most Boring Shift Ever, I'm simultaneously exhausted and wired from being So Damn Tired for so long. I am on this crazy second wind (third wind? Fourth?) that has left me feeling sort of twitchy and cold. All I want to do is sleep, but my mind is racing and I drank a cup of coffee during work to keep myself awake and fuuuuuuuuck I am miserable. And twitchy. Did I mention twitchy?

Don't let that door hit you on the way out

It was a quiet, rainy night. Windy and dark and damp and the perfect evening to spend curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea.

At least, that's what I would imagine. I wouldn't know. I was at work.
God knows no one else was there, though. We had live music and a fun crew working, so it was OK that it was slow - gave us more time to work on small projects, do some side work, and get out of there nice and early in order to rush home and put on some sweatpants.

The kitchen closed at 8pm. The band wrapped it up, the customers went home, and we were cleaning up and getting ready to hit the road. On quiet nights, we try to get out early, to keep the payroll under control. We're thoughtful like that. So when a small group of people - who may or may not have already been intoxicated - wandered in, we were halfway through our sidework, with one foot out the door.

"Can we come in and have a drink?" one of the group asked from the door way, noting that there was someone (a band member) sitting at the bar.

"Hey there." I greeted them with a smile. "Sorry, we're just cleaning up to go."

"Oh.....really?"

"Yeah, we're almost out of here."

"Oh." There was a flurry of movement, a few more people had come in from the foyer, and they were looking at me suspiciously. I smiled, and went back to resetting the table.

On a quiet night, you would think we would be happy for the business. But three people who want to come in and have a beer will not cover the cost of the electricity and the 3 staff that would be required to stay open and wait for them to finish their drinks. So, yeah. No. Sorry.

They weren't going quiet into that goodnight.

"REALLY?" asked another of the threesome. "We can't just come in and have a drink?"

"We're done for the night." I was friendly but firm. No late night drinkers in an empty bar for me, thanks. Been there, done that.

They glared with eyes, all the while smiling these tight fake smiles. They were not pleased.

As they turned to go, one stayed behind."Thanks for your hospitality!" she said sarcastically.

"Good Night" I said with a smile.

And as the door swung shut behind them I muttered to myself, darkly.
"Fuck you very much!" someone called out from across the room.
"BuhBYE" chimed in another.
And for the rest of the evening, which really only lasted for another 15 minutes, we traded barbs. "Hey, thanks for your hospitality!" "I'll show you some hospitality." "Yeah, that's what your mom said last night."

Closing time. It's not for the faint of heart.

Making excuses

as·pi·ra·tion  [as-puh-rey-shuhn]

–noun
1.strong desire, longing, or aim; ambition: intellectual aspirations.
2.a goal or objective desired: The presidency is the traditional aspiration of young American boys.

as·pi·rate  [as-puh-reyt]
-verb
to inhale (fluid or a foreign body) into the bronchi and lungs, often after vomiting.

"So....what do you do?" I wish I had a better answer for that question. I should just say "I'm a waitress" and move on. And I do, sometimes. But not often.

We've been over this before, here. I do a lot of things. I cobble together a life with various part-time gigs, a healthy dose of parenting, and some quality time with my husband. It's a pretty nice situation we have out here in paradise. Is it what I imagined for myself? No. Am I satisfied? Well......

Listen. I love my family. We are healthy, and have health insurance. We have a home. I have a job. My husband has a job. We have two reliable cars. We live in a beautiful place - even if it has been raining for 2 weeks straight and blowing like a Nor'easter. So I have no right to complain. BUT. This is not how I imagined things. I thought I would have it more together by now. I thought I had plenty of time to
"Make Something of Myself" and to "Reach My Full Potential".

And I haven't done that. All the goings on lately have reminded me....I need to get on that. Time's a wastin'. I'm not getting any younger. I can't keep putting off my dreams and hopes and goals and aspirations. Or I'll choke on them. After vomiting. (According to the dictionary.)

Are you living the dream? Have you achieved all of your goals? No??? Are you worried about that? Or do I need to just come to terms with my life as it is, and stop waiting for something more? It's not like it's so bad, my life......I mean, really now. I have nothing to complain about, no reason not to enjoy it as it is.

Which is good. "It" is good. When the fuck am I going to be satisfied?

I don't care where you are from. If you don't know how to tip, don't eat out.

Folks, you can look at this as a Public Service Announcement, or a rant. I don't really give a shit. But it has to be said.

In the United States, when you eat in a restaurant, you tip.

Tipping is a sensitive subject, but it's a fact of life, and rather then sit around whining about how "you shouldn't have to pay a tip on top of the actual price" or "they did nothing to deserve it" you should just shut up and tip. Period.

There used to be exceptions. You didn't tip the owner of the business, or you didn't have to tip for take out. But now, you do. Yes, you do. Yes, even you. Yes, even if it's only for that. Yes, even her. You have to tip.

Let's recap the weekend, and we can discuss when tipping should have taken place.

Friday, I had a guy sit at the bar. He wanted a beer. He wanted the glass frosted. He wanted a lime. He had to put it on a credit card. So I had to spend about 10 minutes frosting, pouring, setting up, totaling the tab on the computer, running the credit card, cleaning up after him, and then the paper work involved in having a credit card sale. He did not tip me at all. Just left the "tip" line on the credit card receipt blank. I, however, had to tip the staff who brought the ice used to frost the glass, cut the lime, and washed the dishes. A good rule of thumb at a bar is $1 tip for every drink. Deal with it.

I also had customers who wanted to buy pastries. GREAT ! I love it when people buy our beautiful freshly baked pastries. Luckily we had folded up extra cardboard cake boxes, and I arranged all of the pastries in there. Awww. So pretty. I spent probably 10-15 minutes helping them choose, explaining the fillings, getting everything packed up, ringing it up, running into the back to get change for his $100 bill, etc. I had several tables that waited patiently for their drinks while I helped these customers. The people at the tables, of course, were going to tip me (at least, let's hope they were planning to  - more on that later). The man who wanted all of that one on one "me time" for his pastry selection? Didn't tip. No tip at all.

I had a table of 5 people. English was not their first language. They sat at the bar, moved to a table, then decided they didn't like THAT table and moved to another table. They ordered round after round of drinks - one drink at a time. so I had to go back and forth to the table over a dozen times, just for drinks. And then they ordered sushi. One roll at a time. 8 rolls altogether. And then they wanted desserts. Which involves fetching a tray, bringing it to the table, describing each dessert, taking the tray back, plating the desserts with pretty decorations of powdered sugar and colorful syrups, and bringing the desserts with fresh silverware to the table. If I had a question, they would ignore me, and leave me standing there for several minutes while they finished up their discussion. But if I walked away, they would grab whoever was walking by, and ask THEM to go get them something, rather then waiting for me to return, or signaling me for assistance. So not only did MY other customers have to wait while I helped these bozos, but also OTHER servers had to take time to help them, or find me to pass along their latest request. The tab was over $200. They left me $10. That's 5%. For 2 hours of almost non-stop hustling. And they were the last people out of the restaurant, so we all had to sit around and wait for them to decide they were done.

So to recap. If someone helps you by making you a drink, or putting together a to-go order, they have devoted time to YOU, and you should tip them. Yes you should. For take out, that server has spent time on YOU and YOUR ORDER. So say thank you in the universal language of love. (Which is money.) This is why when the guy at KMart carried my TV out to the car for me and put it in the trunk, I gave him $5. Because he didn't have to. Because he made me a priority. Because he HELPED ME.

Times when it is OK to skip the tip? Well, here's the thing. You should always tip. You don't want to be THAT GUY. Very few times will people refuse a tip. It makes them feel good, both about YOU, and about themselves and the service they provide. You will get better service when you come back. It's good karma. YOU will feel good about it. It doesn't have to be a huge tip, but in a restaurant, 15% is seriously the MINIMUM. Feel free to use the calculator on your phone to figure it out if you are mathmatically challenged. Or you can do the math on the receipt - we don't mind at all. If you have experienced horrible service, and you have expressed your disappointment to the server, and the server has not tried to make amends, well.......I understand not wanting to leave a tip. I do.

But trust me when I tell you that everyone will know you didn't tip. Every staff member, every manager, and probably half the people within earshot of the waitstation will know you didn't tip. They won't know WHY you didn't tip, but boy oh boy, they'll know you didn't. And when you leave a crappy tip - like you just didn't feel like tipping the correct amount, and figured something was better then nothing....well, it's not. It's worse. It's infuriating and insulting. And it makes servers want to hand you back your handful of pennies and say "Keep this, you must need it more then I do." Which is why, Table 12, everyone in the bar after you left knows what a total asshole I think you are. And they all agree with me. Because you made a poor impression from start to (very belated and drawn-out) finish.

Regardless of that, I will be happy to wait on you, again and again. Because I work hard, and I love my job, and I am proud of the service I provide. I know what I am worth. If you had left your credit card behind, I would have run after you with it, for several blocks, even. My quality of service will not waver. Maybe you should work on your role as a customer, though. It could use some adjusting. About 15% should do nicely.

I never said I was the perfect mom

The past 24 hours has been a perfect exercise in how NOT to be a perfect mom.

Step One. Even though you know your child has been a bit under the weather, but has no specific glaring symptoms other then a low grade fever off and on, you dose them up with Motrin and Cheerios, and send them to nursery school anyway. Actually, they are one of the first to be dropped off.

Step Two. Work late, and forget to check messages until you leave work. In fact, forget to call the mommy who is supposed to be picking up your other kid, just to make sure everything is still happening as planned. Thank god, everything happened as planned.

Step Three. Get to nursery school later then expected for pick-up, and find daughter sound asleep on the floor. They don't close for another hour, and the teacher says your daughter has been complaining about an ear ache. Leave her asleep on the floor. Go home to shower and change, and make a doctor's appointment for that evening. End up being one of the last parents to pick up at nursery school, so that you can just grab her on the way to the doctor's office, since it's on the way.

Step Four. Keep both kids out until 9pm on a school night trying to fill a prescription for the ear infection your daughter has.

Step Five. Take older child to school an hour late, because you neglected to deal with homework the day before, and let him sleep in in the morning.

Step Six. Completely ignore the new rule of always wearing pants to take child to school. Squeal into school parking lot an hour late, in bathrobe and thong. Wave and smile, and shout "I love you honey" out the window as you peel out in the sand. Son is horrified.

Step Seven. When daughter suggests playing a new game, you continue to type, and say "Maybe Later." When she scoops up a handful of change and says the new game is "Make all of mommy's money disappear" say "We play that game every damn day" and continue typing.

Step Eight. When you have finally decided to shower and dress for the day, take child to library for story time, and leave her in the children's section while you go read the New York Times in the back of the library. Return to children's area only when your daughter says she is getting nervous and needs you. Bring New York Times. Do not sing or clap or dance. Sit and Read and ignore the adults acting like idiots.

Step Nine. Instead of going to yoga and doing the grocery shopping, return home to work and let your child watch TV for 3 hours. Give her a peanut butter and jelly. Almost out of jelly. Crap.

Step Ten. Fall asleep on the couch, and forget to pick up your kid until the school calls and wakes you up and the secretary announces in a cheerful voice that "you forgot your son". (OK, that one happened last month, but it could happen again at any time.)

Why ? Because I said so.

Tonight, I stood at the kitchen counter and glared at the children until they meekly finished their desserts. Because I am (pause for effect)

Exhausted.

Dude. I am getting old. Because of Mr Barf-o-rama, last night I slept on the couch, far far away from our comfy but contaminated bed. And I use the word "slept" very loosely, as there was very little sleep, and a lot of tossing and turning and thinking mean thoughts. I woke up sore and cranky, and went to work. It was a quiet morning. In the first hour, I had only had one table, and I was really giving it my all. I gave them a rousing description of the specials - and sold 3. Seared Ahi Benedict ! Mango Blueberry stuffed French Toast ! Sausage Gravy and Biscuits ! My heart sang !

(The fourth customer at the table got the basic breakfast......sooooo boring).

So anyway, they all got big breakfasts. I gave them many coffee refills. I brought condiments, I fetched pastries, I chatted and smiled and really - I thought we were all having a lovely time !

And then, they paid and left. Do you see the important part of this picture that is missing ?

No ??????

THE TIP. They did not leave a tip. On an $80 tab. No. Tip. At all. None.

So, here are my tips for the day. (HAHAHA - get it ? My TIPS for the day. sigh.)

OK, let's get to it. Public Service announcement number 43.

1. Always get a good nights sleep before work or school.

2. When mommy is tired, just go to bed. Seriously. It will be more fun in your room alone, then trying to tell me some long drawn out story or show me some new Lego creation. I don't care. I am tired and sore and cranky and I love you but I will love you EVEN MORE after I get some sleep. You can stay up As Late As You Want. Just keep it quiet so I can pretend I don't know you are still awake, and so that I can fall asleep.

3. When you eat in a restaurant, and someone comes to your table and takes your order and brings you food and/or drink, leave a fucking tip. You cheap bastard. If you don't want to tip, don't sit down - take it to go and get the hell out.

4. When you are sick and you have contaminated the bedroom, it is important that once you are feeling better, instead of going to your friends house and playing WII, that you decontaminate your room. Change the sheets. Do some laundry. Open a DAMNED WINDOW for the love of God.

OK, that's it. Vent over. I am going to bed. In my own bed. That I decontaminated myself, and probably will come down with the barf bug as a result.

You have been warned.

Of COURSE that would happen

So yesterday, when I was all cocky and gloating about the tickets I bought to fly to Seattle, and how cheap they were, and how they were non-refundable because *nothing* was going to keep me from going? Yeah.

Lucy has an ear infection. An ear infection that elicited this response from the doctor: "Oh, ew. You can see all the green snot behind her ear drum."

Nice one.

So we brought home a loverly bottle of antibiotics, and I am going to pump her chalk full of them so her ear drum clears before we try to fly somewhere. She has a 10 day prescription, which should just about guarantee some sort of yeast infection too.

Sweet.

I am also plyig her with decongestants, and a cough syrup with codeine just because I am a cool mom like that. If you gotta be miserable, you might as well sleep through as much of it as possible. Her cough is hideous....it makes me wince every time I hear it. So while I am bummed that she has an ear infection, I am relieved that it isn't just a cold, and that it will respond to meds and she should be feeling much better very shortly.

Another surprise today (albeit a much nicer one) was a 6:40am phone call, asking me to cover a shift at the cafe, starting in 45 minutes. I know, I know, I have a hard and fast rule that I have to hate *anyone* who calls me before 8am, and usually a phone call at that hour would be answered with "This had better be an emergency" or threats of bodily harm, or at the very least some loud cursing. But the offer of a Sunday shift at the cafe can only be responded to with an enthusiastic "Thank YOU !" because it means beaucoup $ and an early exit from the cafe. Within 30 minutes I was showered, deodorized, and on the road in a freshly laundered apron, listening to NPR and trying to pull my head out of my ass. God I was so tired this morning. I was the kind of tired where you wake up, and you can't believe it is light outside, and you feel like maybe you actually never slept at all, or maybe just fell asleep an hour before. Your eyes are puffy, your head is foggy, your muscles are stiff and sore. So, "How 'Bout Some Breakfast Folks !"

After slogging through a slow but steady kind of day, I hit the wall at about 2pm. I was starting to lose focus, and then some guy wandered in, sort of looking like I felt. Tired, puffy-eyed, slightly disoriented and wearing a "what the HELL just happened" kind of expression. At first I thought he was just weird. Then, I thought maybe he was mildly delayed, or had some sort of a communication problem. After a few minutes of conversation, I suspected he might be high. And then he wandered up to the empty bar and ordered a whiskey and water - and stood up, waiting to drink it. I was pretty sure that he was not of sound mind, but still couldn't tell if it was chemically induced. I stalled. I needed someone else to make the call. I was too tired to be completely, totally sure. And I didn't feel like dealing with a confrontation if I refused to serve him.

I needed backup.

My manager walked in and I introduced her, explaining that she would be working the bar. She and I had a little non-verbal communication, I poured the drink, she watched, and then......he staggered. Just a little. But enough. Quick as a flash, she took the drink away, and handed him back the money he had just put down on the bar. He didn't argue - he just took his money and left. We both stood there, watching him go. I was relieved, something hadn't felt right at all. She and I looked at each other, and shook our heads, then reassured each other that we had made the right decision. We also discovered that it was the first time either of us had ever refused service to someone. I mean, I have cut people off many a time. But never have I had to refuse to serve someone at all.

I am home now, lying in bed, and I am ready for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is filled with St Patrick's Day preparations (soda bread !) and organizing the chaos in this house. I envision many trips up and down the attic ladder - lugging up the last of the sorted "do not sell" items, and tugging down the suitcases necessary for a family of four to travel to a cold weather climate. And on the next sunny day, so help me, I am dragging all of our yard sale crap out in the yard and trying to get someone to buy it.

You likey? One Dollah.

Wait, what ?

If you were vacationing in Hawaii right now, you would be bitterly disappointed. It's gray. It's (relatively) cold. It's windy. It's rainy.

And, since this is Hawaii, the land of fun-n-sun, it stands to reason that indoor activities are basically non-existant. So your options as a resident are: sit in your house, go to a friends house, see a movie, or bundle up and pretend everything is totally normal. Even our malls are open to the elements - so if it raining outside, it's raining in the mall.

We have been inside for far too long now. It has gotten to the point where I load everyone in the car including the dog, and head to town to run errands - just for a change of scenery.

A pleasant side-effect of the crappy weather is my body's reaction to being cold and damp. I can barely turn my head, and the amount of pressure radiating up my neck and across my shoulders is insane. Yesterday, when I woke up, I actually had trouble getting out of bed. As I perched on the edge of the mattress and debated calling in to work, I decided to tough it out and take a muscle relaxer that was prescribed after the crash. For the first hour, I didn't feel different, but I soldiered on. And at about 90 minutes in, I was feeling GREAT. And about 2 hours after taking the pill, I tried to curl up in one of the booths and take a nap.

People, I was high. At work. Trying to wait on people. It. Was. Ridiculous.
I would approach a table, and greet them, and then sort of stare into space for a minute. Specials ? Oh, right, THE SPECIALS. Yes, yes of course....uhhhh. Yes. Today's specials. Hm. Hang on a sec, OK ?

So my neck felt FANTASTIC - like I didn't even HAVE a neck. But the rest of me was *freaking the fuck out*. I realized in the span of about 10 minutes that:
A. I shouldn't be at work, or even in public.
B. I couldn't drive myself home even if I wanted to go.
C. There was no one to call to come in and cover for me and
D. I was an ass for taking medication (even prescribed medication) right before a shift at work.

I alternated between "high-speak" (wherein I would babble to myself and anyone who would listen about how high I was, and how inappropriate it was, and how embarrassed I was to be so high, and how I probably needed to go home, and Do I Sound High to You ?) and trying to talk myself off the ledge that hangs precariously over "lock yourself in the bathroom and cry and throw up" land - a place I have seen a few times and never want to visit agin.

Man, was I high. *shakes head sadly*
What a waste.

So, fast forward to 3 hours later, I am still high, but now my neck hurts and I am getting nauseous, from a pain/highness combo that had to be experienced to be explained.

Then, a few hours after that I was no longer high, but still nauseous. So I did what any other clear thinking, non-high person would do. I went home, and went to sleep.

And this morning ? I woke up stiffer then yesterday, and in total misery. Luckily, I didn't have to work, so I took another one of the muscle relaxers. Boy, am I high.

The Eagle has Landed

Baby has come home.

I am sleep deprived, emotional, and enthralled by this miraculous being, who weighed less then a pound at birth and managed to survive despite some incredible obstacles. I am a very proud foster mama.

We have spent the past few days getting into a routine of sorts. I wake up early, but instead of getting on line, I run the nebulizer while a bottle warms on the counter. Then, just before feeding (which, due to a few of the many medical complications is a process in and of itelf) I measure and dispense 5 different medications to address more of the medical complications. And then, after the feeding, we run the nebulizer again, with a different medication in it. Then change the diaper before I run around like a lunatic trying to get everyone to school.

This "getting to school" is suddenly a lot more complicated. I have to switch baby to portable oxygen, get everyone in the car - with oxygen tank, carseat, diaper bag and baby - and get out the door by 7:30-ish. Hah. Needless to say, I am still in my pajamas.

Once I get back home, baby is sleeping, and I have time to check email and make a few calls for one if my OTHER jobs. Then we run the neb, feed, change, and maybe try to run an errand, or get to a doctor's appointment.

Around lunchtime we feed, medicate, change, nebulize and run some laundry. If I am very lucky, I get a nap in.

Mid afternoon it's time for another neb, and we pick up the big kids. Then it's time for a feeding, and homework, and a neb.

By 5pm, I am mixing a new batch of formula (which has to be thickened and has very specific measurements of formula powder, thickener and water) I am also pulling out the meds for the dinner time dose, and basically I run an exact repeat of the morning - 5 meds, 2 treatments, bottle of formula, clean pants. By 5:45pm I am out the door to the restaurant, where I have started working nights so that I can be home with baby during the day. I leave baby pretty much ready for bed, dinner on the stove (or at least read to be cooked in the fridge) and I get back home in time for hte next neb treatment, before I crawl into bed.

It makes for a full day, but not just full of responsibility - full of love and joy and the feeling that we are making a difference in one small life. The kids take turns holding bottles and nebulizer wands, and the baby sleeps a lot which makes it easier to keep up with everything else. I managed to get the house somewhat under control this morning, it was very messy, with piles of clothes and medical supplies everywhere. Some supplies ave been safely stored in a suitcase in the corner of the living room - out of site but easy to access when needed. The laundry is almost caught up, and luckily I had the foresight to thoroughly clean the bathrooms before baby came home, so I can sort of "surface clean" until i get caught up on my precious sleep.

Speaking of which - it's nap time !

Finding Peace

Today I am feeling aggravated - and it is 6:30 in the morning.

Not a great start.

It all comes from checking email for work. I shouldn't do that anymore.

Except, I have to. For now. But I am slowly unwinding from that obligation - because yes, it does feel like an obligation. I used to love my job. I loved my job when I worked in an office. When I had co-workers, and the buzz of energy, and a hot pot of coffee, and multiple phone lines and a copier and fax.

Now, everything feels more intrusive. It's all here, in my house. Nagging at me. What I have decided is, working from home sucks. I love GOING to work. And then LEAVING WORK. Working from home when Lucy was young was wonderful. It was a blessing. It allowed me to parent AND earn some money. But the fact is, I am happier - and thus more productive - AT WORK. And I am happier at home without work intruding on my family time. This point was driven home during our family vacation over Thanksgiving. I had one client that was planning a very complicated itinerary. (Just thinking about it right now makes my stomach hurt.) And I emailed and called about this itinerary EVERY DAY OF MY VACATION. It was awful. It was intrusive. But I was obsessed, and didn't want to stop until I got it right.....In the end, the client decided that my price wasn't good enough, and my service was lacking, and they went to a different agency after the holidays. So I lost the booking anyway, despite all of the time and effort and intrusion. Bah. And then this morning, an email from one of the companies that I was working with on that booking, to tell me that all of my work was being transferred to the new agency. Thus, I am feeling aggravated. I do have one small bright spot in all of this - the destination they are headed to (with their kids) is in the news, both for malaria and for burning people at the stake. Have fun !

So. First resolution of 2009 (and I thought I wasn't going to make any !) Check work email ONCE per day. In the morning. New inquiries will be responded to ONCE a day. I will set aside one hour to deal with work-related issues. If they want to call my cell, that is fine - but email is ONCE per day.

Personal email can continue to be checked obsessively.

A hard call

I am supposed to be going out to dinner tonight with friends, to celebrate a girlfriend's birthday. It's not going to work out for tonight - I have already phoned my regrets to the birthday girl - and when I actually sat down and thought about it for a bit, I came to the conclusion that maybe it is for the best. We have these dinners 5 times a year - once for each birthday. The birthday girl tonight is a sweetheart, and I haven't seen her in ages. We talk on the phone from time to time, but we never seem to connect in person.

There were a few things about tonight that had me worried. The restaurant they chose for dinner is one that competes directly with the restaurant I work with. Times are tough, and every table counts these days. They are just around the corner from each other, and I felt guilty for going to this other restaurant. But I don't feel comfortable explaining my discomfort. I would almost rather just NOT GO and avoid the whole thing. And I certainly don't want to ask to relocate the dinner just because of where I work, or MY preferences..... Maybe they didn't suggest my workplace on purpose, so that I wouldn't have to hang out at work on my off night. But again, I wouldn't bring it up, because I don't feel comfortable making suggestions with this group anymore.....I feel that I should be grateful that they continue to include me in these dinnners.....

And the issue of money does enter the equation. I began 2009 choosing a cash-only lifestyle. And I do not have any cash right now. I used to think nothing of throwing down my platinum AMEX for these dinners - but not anymore. These dinners are to celebrate a birthday, so I definitely need to have extra cash on hand, to chip in for the birthday girl's dinner.....something that I never used to think twice about, but now I have to consider very carefully. My income and expenses have changed considerably. And that is not something I feel really comfortable opening up about with these women - especially at a birthday dinner.....and maybe, you know, that's a sign for me that I shouldn't ignore. If I *don't* feel comfortable being honest, then maybe I *shouldn't* be hanging out with them. They deserve better then that - these are awesome people, and great friends.....

And with that I begin to touch on how much our relationships have changed. Things have changed a lot since this group of ladies started going out on a regular basis 3 or 4 years ago. I feel like a 5th wheel. A stranger in their midst. I don't have much contact with them other then these every-few-months girls nights out....and I don't feel like I am their really good friend anymore. Of course, I don't know how much time they are spending together other then these dinners - maybe we ALL only see each other once every few months ? I honestly have no idea.

When taken all together, the prospect of tonight made me nervous. Uncertain. Not just a fun night out with the girls - it's loaded with all sorts of worry, concern, stress.......which is SO not what this is supposed to be about ! It's supposed to be FUN ! Birthday celebration ! Girl's Night OUT ! Woo FUCKING HOOOOO.

And for me, right now, well....not so much. And if I said anything, I would feel like a spoilsport. A pouter. A "take my toys and go home" kind of girl - which I am definitely NOT.

This is just the sort of thing that I will worry myself sick about...... and it seems so ridiculous. Stressed over going out to dinner ? Afraid of offending friends by sharing my fears and concerns ? God, I'm a schmuck. It's all moot anyway - I'm not going, so the problem is solved, essentially.

Troublemaker

I think I may have mentioned this before, but I am, um, loud.

And, sometimes I am rushed, and do not take the time to be as nice as I could be. SHOULD BE.

I try. Oh, how I try. I am all too aware of my shortcomings, and they eat away at me in a constant inner dialogue that is far too annoying to relay here.....suffice to say - I will always go there. Assume it was my fault. That I was in the wrong. That I hurt someone or offended them, or infuriated them.......and of course, that is accompanied by the guilt, and the inner dialogue which kicks into high gear at a higher volume, and makes me, well, a teensy bit crazy.

Today, I got really aggravated at work. There was a communication problem, perhaps a language barrier, or maybe I was just being an impatient, short tempered bitch. God knows stranger things have happened.

And today, when I was frustrated, and I tried to explain why I was frustrated, I was unsuccessful. I don't know why. It was as a result of a mistake made by someone else, and perhaps by the end of the discussion, I was no longer trying to be diplomatic - or friendly. I ended up being quite, well, loud.

And here's the thing. I am aware. I try. I apologize. I make amends. I try to change. I OWN MY ISSUES. But when it's just plain NOT my issue......well, fuck 'em.

So, today, when I was frustrated, I ended up having to apologize - and I wasn't even sure for what. And that really pissed me off. More then the *thing* that had frustrated me to begin with. Because dammit - I didn't do anything to apologize for. Being loud is not a crime. Frankly I was loud only because the person I was speaking to was louder. And the person who was really the root of the problem doesn't like loud. Doesn't like swearing either. But usually, is fairly good at communicating, or asking questions, or clarifying. Not this time.

Luckily, in this case, it was a very minor issue - just an order that was screwed up at the cafe. But It was screwed up three times over, and by the third time, the customer was aggravated, and I was aggravated on their behalf - and my own. In a job that is a fast paced as the restaurant business, there is not a lot of time to walk back and forth to the kitchen because of forgotten items. If I have forgotten the items, then it's my problem, and I deal with it. If it is someone else's mistake, I accept that shit happens, and wait for them to fix it, while appeasing the customer.......But if there is a mistake, and I point it out, then I damn well expect a quick fix - just as fast as I would be expected to respond if I had made the mistake myself. (And for the record, I have been known to RUN when necessary.) And if something is missing because we are OUT of it, and I was never told, well then, you had best have a few options for me to present the customer.

Stony silence is not one of the options.

I have the next several days off - or maybe forever.......but whatever the outcome, I would just like to reiterate.....a lesson that can be applied to so many of our life experiences......

If you fuck up, own it. Just own it. It's yours. Fix it, or apologize, or compromise - but make it better.

And she's back.......and she's gone again......

Sorry, bear with me. It's nuts right now. (Derfina, I said "nuts").

I am resurfacing briefly, but I have two more days of head down, ass dragging work ahead of me. And I am totally dealing with an internal struggle, I just wrote a column about how hard it is to live with tourists in your space all the time - and I am a god damned travel agent. My JOB is to make people tourists. A bit of a conundrum, let me tell you.

So with the outer struggle (work at the cafe) and the inner struggle (um, my entire life right now) I am really FEELING it - all torn and confused and bewildered and conflicted.

And the real blood and guts of it is something I touched on recently. I have too many jobs. I am totally torn between different (and conflicting) roles. Thus my feeing of inner conflict mentioned above. It's not just about mental anguish - I am physically beat. I have spent most of my adult life trying to rein in my commitments to work, to friends, to family (and you notice the order those appear in, it's not accidental). With the marriage to my adoring husband (who enables me to live my freakishly accelerated life) and the arrival of my two kids, and now the dog, I have been slowly trying to get a grip. And failing miserably.

So my big challenge in 2009 is to pare down. Minimize.
I am going to work at the cafe.
I am going to write my column.
I am going to work as an independent travel agent.
I am going to freelance.
I am going to develop the business I started a year ago, that has basically been on hold for 10 months.

Oh. Wait. See, dammit. Too much stuff. SHIT this is hard ! I think part of it is fear that I am gong to miss something. An opportunity or experience that is unknown right now, but will become clear later. And part of it (most of it ?) is my completely ADD personality. I am either running around like a crazy person, or asleep because I am so completely fatigued (like, bone deep exhaustion) that I HAVE to stop and rest. And neither of those options is good for me, my kids, or my marriage. The dog can roll with it, he's a terrier for christsakes.... Come to think of it, he and I have a lot of similarities in our personality.

Hm.

moneymoneymoneyMOH-NEY (moh-ney)

New Years Day
A Full Bar
World Famous Loco Mocos and Pancakes

It's gonna be a busy day at the Moana. And me, I'm working All Day Long, bay-bee.

Gotta run, but feel free to continue singing along with me !

I'm here, I'm here.....

OK, so it took me a few days to recover. Saturday night I informed Sami that we were going OUT to dinner. I had a craving for chinese food, and dammit, we were going to get some. Even if I couldn't really walk, and my back hurt so much that I whimpered every time I changed position.

We trundled down to Watercress in the pouring rain, and binged on saimin, beef and broccoli, and garlic chicken. I sucked down two CocaColas, the kids had ice cream for dessert. It was so exactly what I wanted - though you might not have known it if you saw me nodding off a few times during the meal.

I have slept a lot over the past 36 hours. Power sleep. 12 hours at night, 2 hours on the beach, an hour on the sofa here and there. My body is slowly coming out of it's short-circuited stiff and achy state. My mind is clearing, somewhat.

And yesterday, as I came out of the fog, I looked around my house and totally lost my shit.

There were PILES of THINGS everywhere. The living room, and both kids bedrooms, were littered with Legos. There were crayons, coloring books, art supplies, and paper everywhere I turned. Boxes, with tissue and gifts and wrapping paper and god knows what else were scattered all over the couch, the coffee table, and the kitchen counter.

I started with the tree. With an attitude reminscent of Xena, Warrior Princess, I took the tree down in under 15 minutes. Ornaments were flying, boxes were retrieved from the attic, I dismantled the symbol of the holiday with the tinsel and lights still attached, so desperate to have the damn thing down and away and out of my sight.

The children responded to my raised voice and angry tone in short order. Toys were removed from the surfaces of the living room and kitchen, and they scurried back and forth to their rooms silently, shuttling gifts and toys and clothes and assorted other "things".

I vacuumed.
Sami put things away in the attic.
Sami also put away some laundry, and did some dishes.
I shoved the pieces of the sectional around the living room until I came up with a acceptable layout.
I took down every red and green, gold, sparkly, flashing, plug in piece of holiday crap I could find.
Wreaths were taken down from the outside of the house.
I even soaked off my artificial nails - especially applied for the holidays.

In one hour, we went from festive holiday chaos, to peace and order restored.
Christmas ? It's OVER, dude. O-VER.

Hallelujah.

Oh. My. God.

No, seriously. I think that now, my legs might actually fall off.

It has been a 48 hour marathon, filled with bitchy customers, lovely customers, and customers who are challenged by the concept of tipping - and a few who know EXACTLY how to tip on Christmas Day.....100% ? Spank you very much ! Mister 5% ? Fuck You.

I have two stories for you today. I was going to dole them out, one at a time, over the next few days, to buy me an extra day of entertainment for the masses - but I'm just gonna go all out, and hope to god something interesting happens tomorrow for me to write about.

First, Boston the Dog.
Boston the Dog has found his bark, which is actually a very cute RrrrUFF RUFF kind of noise which doesn't really bug me at all. He keeps shitting on the porch - which bugs me a lot. We are trying to work on that. He is scared to death of Sami, which we are also working on, because honestly Sami is probably the gentlest man ever and the last person Boston should be afraid of. Max, on the other hand, Boston should keep an eye on. Boston also needs to keep an eye out for the neighborhood dogs. Because he is seriously pissing them off. Someday, someone is going to get out of their yard, or off their leash, and really mess his punk self up. He is cruising for a bruising.

Last night, I let Boston out. We have a number of dogs in the neighborhood, and as Boston ran down the steps, he got a wild hair and decided to visit all of them. So he takes off like a shot, while I run behind saying totally ineffectual things like "Boston come HERE" and "Boston GET BACK HERE" and muttering some very not nice things about what a bastard he was. First he runs across the street, into the yard of a large German Shepard. The German Shepard is extremely territorial, and has an invisible fence type of system keeping her in the yard. What that means is, anyone can go IN the yard, but she cannot go OUT of the yard without getting a shock from her collar.

Apparently, Boston figured this out. He tore up her driveway, and into the garage where she sleeps. He then comes galloping back down the driveway, looking over his shoulder at the huge German Shepard bearing down on him. She hits her boundary, stops short, and he keeps going, totally taunting her over his shoulder like "Neener Neener Neener, you caa-aan't get meeee" and runs around the street in circles, just out of reach. Torture.

The dog across the street now HATES Boston, and she is preparing herself for the next time he comes prancing into her yard. He is going to have his ass handed to him next time - I hope he's smart enough to figure THAT out. But he is just as cute as he is smart, and I have a feeling he'll find a way to talk her out of tearing him to shreds. Maybe he'll try to hump her or something....

He went on to visit several other neighbors, before I finally grabbed his collar and dragged him home. I was wet and muddy and pissed - but definitely NOT as pissed as the German Shepard.

Lest you begin to worry, let me reassure you - Boston isn't the only one leading a life of excitement and adventure this busy holiday week. I have another story for you - the tale of the yogini.

I observed a yoga class earlier this week. It should go without saying that there are more then a few yoga instructors on island. Maui is a very touchy-feely kind of place, people are all "in tune with themselves" and shit. And yoga is a very popular activity here.

Oh the stretching and the twisting.

So anyway, back to my observation class. I was trying to be discreet, and unobtrusive. I didn't want to distract anyone, or make anyone uncomfortable. I sat at one end of the studio, quietly watching. I did not take notes or photos, even though I was there because I am going to be writing about this instructor and notes would have been helpful.

A few minutes after class began, a man entered the studio. His presence created quite a stir. He was tall and handsome, and well, sort of the perfect physical specimen. I mean, if you are into a tanned, toned, chiseled sort of physique. Not really MY cup of tea, but I suppose some people might find that appealing..... Sorry, back to the story. This guy comes in, and rolls out his mat RIGHT in front of me. He was blocking my view of the rest of the class, as well as being, well, a foot away from me and totally in my personal space (which I guard with the zeal of a german shepard). So I move down a bit, in order to see the length of the studio. And that is when the man bends over, and starts grunting, with his (ahem) nether regions right in my face. He did have pants on - pants made of a very thin fabric, but pants nontheless. He did not, however, have any UNDERWEAR on. This was, well, distracting. Things were swinging around in a pendulous fashion, while I was trying very hard NOT to look. It was hard. It was very, very hard.

Adding to the swinging and swaying I was trying not to look at - He is one of those guys that just is never still. I cannot understand why yoga appeals to him, because seriously, he was always MOVING. He was never at rest. He never held a position. And he never seemed to be doing what everyone ELSE was doing. Either he is so A.D.D. he can't follow along, or he is so pompous and self absorbed that he didn't feel the need to go along with the program. Either way, he certainly didn't belong in a class, because he wasn't actually TAKING the class. He was doing some sort of crazy free form bullshit, throwing in weird poses where he was all twisted sideways and supporting his entire body with one arm, or doing headstands while everyone else was meditating. Plus, he was sweating so profusely, the mat and the floor around him was wet. I felt like someone should put up a cone to warn others of the puddle. He was fucking ridiculous. AND distracting to me and everyone else in the studio.

It was especially distracting when the instructor handed out straps, and demonstrated what was to be done with them. Of course, she chose this lovely man as her partner for the demonstration. So he bends over in a downward dog sort of pose, and she places the strap across his hips, with the ends of the straps hanging down on either side of him. She stood right behind him, and REACHED DOWN BETWEEN HIS LEGS to grab the straps and pull them through and out behind him. As she went to stand up with the straps in her hands, she said "you'll have to help me here" and he grabbed his package and moved it between the two straps, then re-assumed the position. I just had no idea where to look. I consider myself to be pretty open minded, but DAMN it was hard to keep from laughing with her all bent over, face in his ass, and her hands between his legs, and him holding his junk all bent over and sweating.....

Blessedly, the team exercises didn't last too terribly long, and then we went back to the more traditional yoga. Which is when Mr Excitement popped a boner.

Good. God. I almost had a stroke.

Maybe I should just sleep at the cafe

Hi there. It's 11pm. I have just returned home from the cafe. I have to leave again in 8 hours, to go back to work.

Ho Ho Ho.

I will be regaling you with tales of a really special yoga class, complete with straps and men without underwear and all sorts of other fun stuff that I know you are just DYING to read about.... Plus, I can tell you all about the latest and greatest adventures of Boston the wonder dog.

Are you on the edge of your seat ? Will you be checking back often ?

Oh good.

xo

Holy Night

Holy Mary Mother of God. That seems to be just about the most appropriate curse I can come up with right now, because I'll bet that woman was tired too, after dragging her damn self all over town just trying to find a place to sit her ass down.

Today I walked into the cafe, and was offered a shift - starting right then and there. And it was busy in the restaurant, and I didn't have enough cash to pay for the breakfast we were planning to eat ANYWAY, so I said yes. Yes of course. Absolutely. I would *LOVE* to work.

And I was thrilled - it was busy, I made money, everyone was happy, all was well.

But my god, I think my legs might fall off. I am not just saying that. I mean it.

Fall. Off.

But it is all worth it because, you see, I am trying to be a real honest-to-goodness writer. I need to earn my street cred. Real writers (and actors, and musicians) wait tables. Or enjoy an assortment of other cash-money, easy to quit gigs that do not require (nor provide) references.

And as a writer, I need to make some cash money, to finance my extremely tenuous monthly budget.
Hah. Budget my ass. More like, write some checks and just hope it all works out.
Oops. Except for that auto-payment for the cellphone that I forgot about. Oh, shit, and the car payment that gets deducted each month. (sigh). I think I just made a big boo-boo in my checking account.

I am very overdraft dependent. As any self-respecting writer would be.

I am also angst-filled, and overly dramatic, and I like to drink and smoke and talk while waving my hands around. I take long hot showers, where I compose columns and articles and press releases in my head, and then run - naked - to the computer, clutching my towel around me and trying to get everything out of my very cluttered mind, and onto my hard drive.

I bet you are SO GLAD I shared that with you.

Let's get back in the holiday spirit, shall we ?

Today, we delivered a Christmas meal and presents to a family that was identified by a social services agency as "needy". We explained to the kids that we were going to go and bring food and presents to a family that could not afford to buy gifts this year, or have a nice meal. That really, everyone deserved a present on Christmas, and that we had so much, it was important to share. I think I prepared them well. They were excited, glad to be "playing santa" and proud to be helping someone in need this holiday season.

They would not be quite so needy, methinks, if they sold their GIGANTIC WIDE SCREEN TV.

When the father opened the door, we were all mesmerized by the TV. The TV that was, literally, the size of a small car. It took up most of one wall of the living room. When I say it was a good 5 or 6 feet across (and not diagonally - I mean straight across) I am not exaggerating.

Disillusionment, anyone ?

I'd like to say, to anyone in need....let me know how I can help. I want to help. It makes me feel good inside to help others. Need someone to watch the kids ? No problem. Need a ride ? I'll be there. Want to come over for dinner ? See you at 6.

But don't tell social services that you are in need of Christmas presents for your kids, when there is literally so much shit in and around your house, that you could open a second-hand store.

You know what I do when I need money ? I have a YARD SALE. I sell things on Craigslist. I don't call Family Services and sign up for charity. If you have a roof over your head, then there is someone more in need then you this holiday season.

And if you have a TV the size of a golf cart, you should just go fuck yourself, because you know what, those things are obnoxious, and I bet your neighbors below you and next door to you HATE YOU FOR IT.

Happy Holidays, asshole.
(Oh, did that sound negative? I really didn't mean it that way. I meant it in the lighthearted, fun way. Ha. Hahaha. Asshole.)