Rilly, Im taht stoopid.

There’s a water line in our laundry room that has caused us problems in the past.  Specifically, as I was nursing newborn Jackson in our bedroom six summers ago, I realized that the sound of running water was not, in fact, my over-active letdown, and there was a leak in the laundry room.  Unfortunately for us, whoever plumbed this house was a moron, and put the water supply line at the ceiling.  Fortunately, my husband knows just enough about plumbing that he was able to stem the flood and fix the leak.

Too bad he’s been hit by the Lazy Stick, and couldn’t be bothered to strap the damn thing back to the support beam.  No, that would have made sense, and we just can’t have that.

Fast forward 6 years, during which time I have, on occasion, glanced at the offending (fixed) water line, and thought, “Hey, I should really strap that thing back up.  Or bang some nails into the beam and make it marginally safer.”

People, tonight was that night.  My attempt at fixing it, however, was solidly # 1 on the List of BAD IDEAS THAT ONE SHOULD NOT ATTEMPT*.  It seems that six years is just enough time for the plastic to get comfy in one position, and to burst like a motherfucker when disturbed.  Ok, maybe not a full-on mofo, but a damn pissy one.  Water spraying, me swearing, kids freaking, neighbour boy worried about the children hearing “bad words.”  Yeah, because they’ve never heard me swear before.  Riiiiight.

Call husband, and, using my Exceedingly Angry tone, manage to figure out that Step One in the Plumbing Plan is to turn off the goddamn pump.  Sprint upstairs, throw breaker.  Return to husband, who is two hours away, and listen to him rack his brains as to who to call.  Hang up, call family friend M.  Cry (just a little!!  am a girl, after all) on phone to M, who immediately agrees to come over to check it out.  Tears = power, at least sometimes.

M arrives, has me run out the water in the system (we’re on a well, hence all the fancy plumbing work I get to do), says he can fix it tomorrow night without much trouble.  M leaves.

Realize that I am packing for a 2-week vacation.  And finishing up the laundry for said vacation.  Tonight.  Call trusted friend D2, explain the problem, and have her agree to let me come over to finish my laundry and hose off my filthy children.  D2 calls back almost immediately, says she has all the stuff to fix my problem, and will be right over.

D2 & her husband = Angels of Plumbing.  The leak is fixed - out, damn leaky pipe! - and the water is on.  Of course, I was slightly embarrassed when I learned that my nine phone calls to D to find out how to get the pressure tank going again had interrupted a long-distance call with his parents.  Ah well, at least they got to laugh at their daughter in law.  Humour, it’s what I provide.

*Previous to tonight, I really thought “Frying Bacon Naked” was in contention.  Not so much.

Still waiting.

When, exactly, am I going to feel like the adult in this household?  I catch myself thinking “Hey!  How is it possible that I’m the one responsible for signing permission slips?” and feel like I’m getting away with something.  Like I’m back in high school, forging my dad’s (or mom’s) signature on a note for school.**  Like at any moment the Adult Police are going to show up and remove me from the premises.

Because it’s JUST NOT POSSIBLE that I am in my mid-thirties.  With a mortgage.  And kids.  And a career.  Oh, and a minivan.

OY.

I swear, I was 18 years old just last month.  SWEAR.

There was a B side to the Hit Parade.

It’s been Illness Hell around these parts lately.  I neglected to mention that Austin caught a gastrointestinal bug in the middle of Jack having the disappearing/reappearing fever.  That wasn’t pretty.  I won’t elaborate beyond stating that the garbage can in the bathroom came in damn handy at 2:30 am.

I was horribly sick by last Thursday, so I managed a half-day of work and then came home to commune with my couch.  There was napping involved.

The weekend was relatively uneventful, illness-wise.  Jack continued to pass out early each night, and Austin’s stomachache was ongoing (the vomiting was gone, thankfully).  Stupidly, I thought we were done.

HA!

Austin’s stomach was bad enough for him to stay home (with a friend of mine) on Monday.  I took him to the doctor just to rule out anything weird, and it’s “just a virus.”  Thanks, doc, I’ve never heard that one before.  Then, at 3 am on Tuesday, Jack woke up in a puddle of vomit.  I woke up to him crying, in between barfing on the basement carpet, the stairs, and in the toilet.  Oy.  He was covered in it, and spent the rest of the night on the couch, chucking into a barf bowl a few times.   He spent Tuesday at the same friend’s place Austin had the day before, and she was shocked.  Instead of tear-assing around like normal, he laid on the couch all day, napped, and hardly ate.

So.  It’s been great fun around my house, and February really went out with a bang.  Thank god that fucking month is OVER.

In other news, I have served up a nicely-presented ultimatum to my “problem” employee.  Shit or get off the pot is the general gist, with a dash of “if you decide to stay and things don’t change, I promise you that I will fire you.”  I think she got the point, and we’re having another chat tomorrow.  I feel it was the best thing to do, and I was straight with her.  For someone who loves harmony and avoids upset, I’m quite proud of myself for having the guts to drop the hammer.  At least a little.

Fuckity fuck.

Sometimes, swearing is really fucking appropriate.

About two hours ago, I heard a weird noise outside.  Thought it was the wind.  Or the neighbour’s dog, who has been known to escape and come to say hello.  No such luck.  After weeks of snowfall, the 8 (10?) inches piled on the garage roof decided to come down.  It’s a lovely metal roof, which means when it warms up just enough - like today - the snow just slides right off.

I stood in the garage, gaping at the growing pile.  Then, when it appeared to be done, I started shoveling.  That was an hour ago, and I just heard the rest of the white shit slide off.  Because nooooo, the four fucking tonnes of fucking snow I shoveled was nowhere near all of it.

Just heard more crash down.  Oh, the unmitigated joy.

So.  It’s 10 pm.  And I’ve got to shovel again.  If I don’t, the temperature will doubtless drop to minus-something-evil, and voila!  Solid ice mountain on which to practice my winter climbing.

Fuck.

He’s got the right idea.

I had a little mental meltdown today.  I kept it mostly to myself, which is probably a good thing.  Until A’s sensei was injured in September, there were four nights of classes:  2 in town, 2 at a school 20 km out of town.  I loved the town classes.  Because of the limited mobility, sensei dropped the town classes until he’s healed.  Ok, fine.  Turns out he might not reinstate the town classes.

And I am freaking the fuck out.  My problem?  I can’t get him to more than 1 class a week.  One starts at 7:15, and runs until 8:45.  The other starts at 5 pm.  I work in town, which is a good 12-15 minutes from the class.  I can’t guarantee I’ll always be able to leave early enough to get A to the 5 pm class, which leaves the late one.  It’s bad enough it’s past his bedtime, but it’s wayyyy past J’s.

Tonight was typical:  take A to karate, J is asleep in van by the time we get home (7:30).  Let him sleep on couch until it’s time to get A, bundle him up while sleeping, carry his heavy ass to the van.  Do the reverse when we get home at 9.

Gack.  Me no likey.

This is really going to suck when the roads are ice-covered, and it’s 30 degrees below 0.  It doesn’t help that all I wanted to do tonight is fall asleep with J.  I definitely need to hit the bed earlier….I’m such a wreck.

Revenge of the Killer To-Do List

My current to-do list is getting ridiculous. Sure, I’m crossing things off, but more stuff keeps magically appearing at the end of it.

On today’s agenda:

- work (LOTS of it)
- speaking on the radio about the soccer association’s lack of volunteers. Basically, I’m going to guilt people. Whee.
- having a “chat” with my most problematic staff member.
- organizing & tagging all 150+ auction items for tomorrow. (tomorrow?! Ack.)
- finding a way to get A to karate and still go to the hall to help set up for tomorrow.
- call babysitter, in case Plan A (husband) and Plan B (my dad) fall through for tomorrow night.
- confirm new staff member can start Monday, get paperwork rolling.
- convince children to get along 24/7

Ok, that last one’s never coming off the list. But it’s nice to have dreams, people.

Budget Hell and other fun.

The black cloud, it has lifted.  The Dreaded Budget is done.  Finito.  Kaput.  Until, that is, my boss calls me to have a “conversation” about the numbers I’ve proposed.  And until I ask him if I can add stuff I forgot.  Oops.  The Dreaded Budget has consumed my time this week.  It also consumed all brain cells available, and guess what got ignored?  Not only this little blog, but my whole computer.  This, people, is serious.  Something that actually keeps me from my computer?  Very rare.

Of course, the Dreaded Budget time coincided with the arrival of my new toy:  a CrackBerry.  My reward for taking on this new job and all it’s assorted responsibilities!  It’s purdy.  And a bit intimidating.  Will have to review the 4300 page manual the IT guy emailed me.  Can’t wait for that.

In completely unrelated news, I had a birthday yesterday.  Nothing significant, just another mid-30s number.  The best part was having three (3!!) people sing Happy Birthday to me.  And the chocolate cake we had at work.  Mmmmm.  Chocolate.

Thursday evening ramblings.

I have so much to do. As usual.

Saturday is turning into 2007’s June 10th and I am unimpressed. Austin has 3 playoff soccer games, our neighbours are getting married, my sister’s at the lake and wants to see us (ok, the boys), there is a raffle draw that I should attend, and I have to organize the U5 soccer wrap up for Sunday. There are also two birthday parties that Austin has been asked to attend.

Since I have yet to clone myself (or find a wife), this is what will really happen:

Austin will be at his 2 morning playoff games, and may be able to have the free lunch with his team.
He will miss the afternoon game and the medal presentations.
We will all attend the wedding. It’s next door, we’d actually have to leave the house to show that we’re unavailable.
I’ll beg & plead with my sister to have her come here, instead of me trekking out there.
I will have the U5 wrap up prep DONE by tomorrow night.
Austin will only go to one party.

The only one making me laugh: the second-to-last one. Yeah, right. I’ll find something else to do and then be up at some godforsaken hour on Sunday, getting it all together. Gah.

Stress: not a funny punch line any damn more.

This last month has been harder than I thought.  The last week has been the worst.  Sure, I’ve been promoted, which is great, but we’re now down a staff member 100% of the time - before, my boss was in our office 2-3 days a week, and it wasn’t so bad.  Also, I’ve had to pick up all her work, because she’s got another office to run.

It took me four goddamn days to clean out her office so I could move into it.  Four. Days.  What a fucking nightmare.  Stuff that should have been filed/shredded/dealt with wasn’t.  The paper that came out of that desk is nothing short of incredible.  I have dealt with all but one stack - unfortunately, it’s almost 2 feet high.  Gack.

To add to all this is the number of business trips I have to take between now & October 24th:  four.  FOUR!!!  Apparently, manager = being out of the office for meetings.  Woo.

I’m excited, but I’m also stressed.  I’m trying to be all zen about things, but whatever.  It’s not fucking working.

Special K is going to kill me.

She’s always unhappy when I share News (capital N, people!) on here without calling her first. Come to think of it, my sister might be pissed, too. Fuck it.

I have become that which I have vilified at times in the past: The Boss. Or, as Jack put it: “Mom, I hear you’re the manager of sompfing. Manager of the world.”

That’s right, kid. Mwahahahahahahahaha.

In all seriousness - or as much as I can muster - I have been promoted to branch manager of my office. Woot! This involves, as expected, new and exciting levels of stress, responsibility for our performance, the need to fill the spot recently vacated by me (bitch! leaving me in the lurch like this.), and no less than 2 business trips to CowTown in the space of two weeks.

Please take a moment to remember that my husband is away from home during the week, and I have no family living close by. Whee! More stress: what do I do with the kids while I’m jaunting off to meetings? Actually, I have really good friends. Friends who are about to have all those favours called in. Heh.

It also means I am bailing on some SPCA responsibilities, a situation I regret.

Good god, am I going to be busy now. Gahhh.