I haven’t given up, I’m just, uh, resting. I’ll see you in a while.
No good deed goes unpunished. It’s like that phrase was coined just for my particular use.
A friend of mine had a birthday last Sunday. A few days before that I asked what her birthday celebration plans were, to which she responded that she didn’t have any, and, in fact, would be lucky if anyone at her house would even remember it was her birthday. I thought to myself, “Well, this just won’t do!” and invited her to go out that Saturday evening. “I’ll get a couple of the girls together and we’ll celebrate,” I said. “That sounds great, but I’ll have to make sure it’s OK,” she said.
A couple of days later she calls to see if we’re still on for Saturday. I told her I had just been waiting on the go-ahead from her and that I would make a couple of phone calls. She offered to help. I told her it was her birthday, so she shouldn’t have to be involved in the planning. I was planning to call two people, but asked if there was someone else she would want to include. She gave me two more names, which was fine, although, I was a little bit surprised by one of the names. Not that there was anything (at all) wrong with this person, I just thought to myself, “Hmm…interesting”, as you do when something strikes you as “interesting.” At this point, we had not decided on a location, but I told her I would work it out with the others and call her back.
So I made my phone calls and we decided to meet at restaurant X at 7 pm on Saturday. I called back the birthday girl to let her know where we’d be going, and she told me that sounded great. She also told me that she’d thought of just a few more people (six more very lovely, yet interesting people) to invite to our “girls night out”, so she went ahead and called them. Hrrmmm. My little birthday party of 4-6 was turning into a girls night out of 12, which was fine. It wasn’t what I had in mind, but hey, it wasn’t my birthday, so there should be no skin off my nose. I did have concerns about being able to get a table for 12 at restaurant X at peak dining time, but I figured it would work itself out. Whatever.
Saturday morning the birthday girl calls and says her daughter is throwing up, so she’s not sure if she’ll be able to make it. Not sure? She says we can still plan to meet, she’s just not sure if she’ll be there. “But this is for your birthday,” I remind her. “If you’re not going to be there, there’s no reason for me to go.” She says she’ll call me back at 3 pm to let me know. Maybe her daughter will be feeling all better by then. After we hung up, I called a mutual friend, one I had invited, and asked her opinion. She advised me to cancel it, saying it would be unlikely that her vomitting daughter would be feeling magically better in the next few hours. So I called the people I had invited to let them know the situation.
Three o’clock came and went and I hadn’t heard from my friend. A little after 4 pm, Chuck calls me on my cell while I’m at the grocery store to let me know the birthday girl had called to say her daughter was feeling better and we were good to go. “Are you kidding me?” I thought. Actually, there’s a good chance I said that out loud with a few !!! thrown in. I called the mutual friend again for her advice. She told me just to call the birthday girl back and tell her we should just reschedule it. But I was feeling guilty for having canceled her birthday party without waiting for her final confirmation. Plus there were all those other people that she had invited. I didn’t know what to do.
The store took longer than I expected. By the time I got home and finished bemoaning my situation to Chuck it was after 5 pm. By 5:30 pm, I finally decided to just suck it up and call back everyone to tell them it was back on. A couple of them had made other plans. I left messages for the other two. I figured worse case scenario, it would just be me and the birthday girl and all of those other random lovely, yet interesting people. But I was wrong.
Worse case scenario was actually the birthday girl calling me back not two minutes after I got of the phone with the last person, telling me that her daughter was throwing up again and that she’d have to cancel after all. Of course! Of course she did!!!
So I laughed hysterically and pulled out all of my hair, and then I called everyone back and told them it was off again.
Some of you may be thinking that this is hardly more than an inconvenience, a minor frustration. And maybe you’d be right, except for the fact that I have a phone phobia. I hate making phone calls. I hate planning activities. Tell me when and where to show up and I’m there ready to party, but please don’t make me choose the place and extend the invitations. On the phone. And please, please, please don’t make me call the same people (some of whom I would consider more acquaintances than close friends who know me well enough not to think I’m a complete flaked-out idiot) four times about a single event with “It’s on. It’s off. It’s on! It’s off!!” messages!!!
Needless to say, it will be a cold day in some place that is generally understood to be typically very hot and unpleasant before I plan a friend’s birthday celebration again. And lest you think I am a completely unfeeling and unforgiving monster, I did take dessert to this friend on her birthday, and told her I was sorry our plans hadn’t panned out and that I hoped her daughter wasn’t still vomitting. Much.
Other than that, there’s not a whole lot going on here. Just that and my husband left me again, I was mistaken for Air Sports Dad’s wife, Air Sports Dad’s actual wife confessed (inexplicably) to me that she let her twin girls pee in the women’s locker room showers, oh, and did I mention that DynaGirl got her cast off? Yeah, that’s about it.
What’s new with you?
Me: You guys already drank all the OJ?
DynaGirl: Mr. T finished it off last night.
Mr. T: There was only a little bit left. It’s not like I drank the whole thing. I will not be blamed for this crime.
I detect a new catchphrase.
Before swimming lessons.
BigHugs, to Goose: You smell like a bathing suit.
Waiting for present time. (BigHug’s birthday)
Me: You just have to learn to be patient.
BigHugs: But it takes too long for me to be a patient.
That’s a true statement.
Dinner time. DynaGirl’s under the table.
Me: What are you doing, DynaGirl?
Mr. T: She’s hiding away from all her fears and sorrows. She’s emo.
DynaGirl grabs Mr. T’s leg.
Mr. T: She’s got my leg!
That’s funny, usually Mr. T’s the one pulling legs.
DynaGirl: Can I have a hug?
Me: I gave you a hug.
DG: No, you didn’t.
Me: Yes, I did.
DG: But I don’t feel the love from it.
I give her the look.
DG: I’m serious!
I give her the hug.
DG: One more, one more!
DG: But I still don’t feel the love.
Me: I have no more love to give. Goodnight.
It’s not that I have a maximum capacity for love, but rather a minimum tolerance for stall tactics.
Mr. T’s back from scout camp.
Mr. T: Seriously, I think I have some kind of butt rash.
Me: That is not information that I need to know.
Mr. T: But you’re my mother. You’re supposed to know everything about me. Evverrryyythiiiiing.
I used to think so. (And that sure was a long week without him.)
The family blog is still a half-dozen posts shy of being fully up to date, but I’ve lost my steam. I’m going to try hanging out here for awhile to see if you guys can steam me back up.
The past few nights I’ve been struggling with insomnia. Saturday night (Sunday morning?) I woke up at 1:30 am and was still awake an hour later, so I decided to get up and read for awhile. Reading usually makes me drowsy in the wee hours of the morning, which is super frustrating when I’m anxious to finish a particularly good book, but I was really counting on its powers of sleepiness this time. I was still awake at 4:30 am and decided to just try going to bed again. I think I fell asleep some time around six.
Sunday night (Monday morning?) I woke up at 3:30 am. I was still awake at 5 am when Chuck got up for work, so I decided to get up. I skipped the reading, having not forgiven it for letting me down the night before, and went to clean our play room/family room/computer room. That took me almost two hours since I threw in organizing our 12-ft long desk. Then I went downstairs and swapped out the laundry in the dryer. Then I folded a load while I watched last week’s episode of Burn Notice. Then I went and took a shower and got all ready for the day. Then I went to the grocery store. Then I came home and made some kids breakfast. Then I got a roast all ready for the crockpot. Then I got the youngest two ready for swim lessons. And then I took them. All of that happened before noon, which makes it quite possibly my most productive day ever.
Last night I slept just fine, which most likely means I’ll be a slug today.
On Saturday night (Sunday morning?), as I was lying in bed not sleeping, I had all these random thoughts come into my head. And I mean random. At one point, I decided that when I’m an old lady grandma, I’m going to give everybody high-fives because wouldn’t it be cool to be the old lady high-fiving grandma? Much better than being the old lady crotchety McGrumpypants grandma. Right? I better write this down, so I don’t forget when I’m all old.
Last night’s roast was just OK. I make roast just a few times a year. I always throw it in the crockpot because, well, I don’t know what else I would do with it. My grandma (who doesn’t high five, but says exclamations like “Good honk!”, which now that I think about it is possibly even cooler than the high-fiving thing—I’ll have to give that some thought) always cooked hers in the oven in some cast iron pan thingy. And it was always perfectly delicious. When I cook a roast, it’s a crapshoot (hmmm–that’s kind of an unfortunate choice of words when talking about food). Sometimes it’s perfectly delicious and sometimes it’s perfectly dry and sometimes it’s perfectly chewy. I do it the same way every time. I don’t get it. I’ve decided that it’s the meat’s fault. That’s logical right? Plus, if I’m powerless to change the destiny of my meat, then that makes it not my fault. It’s not that I’m a bad cook, it’s just that I’m not a supernaturally awesome cook going around all changing the fate of her family’s culinary experience and junk. I can live with that.
Yesterday at swim lessons there was this dad playing air sports. He was talking to some kid, who I think may have been his nephew, about baseball and football, and the whole time he was talking he was throwing imaginary footballs and baseballs and taking swings with imaginary bats. And he was serious about it too, making sure to have the proper stance and follow through (because I totally know what that would look like). He was a big guy in sweats and a Mariner’s jersey. And he talked just like Puddy. Every once in awhile he’d walk over to the pool to shout little bits of encouragement to his kids while clapping his hands.
Chuck got braces yesterday (he got those cool Invisalign kind). First the gym, now the braces—he’s on this whole self-improvement kick. Which is great. For him. Unfortunately, I have no desire to self-improve. I hope that doesn’t become a problem in the future.
DynaGirl goes back to the orthopedist today. I’m hoping the cast comes off. She’s got quite a bit of mobility in her left arm where the elbow was broken. I’m really looking forward to her being able to take care of herself again. The “But I’ve got two broken arms” thing is getting a little old. Yes, I realize what an awful mother that makes me sound like. Does that make it better or worse?
How’s everybody doing?
I’m taking a few days off to update my criminally neglected family blog. (I’m pretending that my family is more important than my real blog. For a few days. Don’t worry, I did 8 posts today—a dozen more and my guilt will be sufficiently assuaged for at least another six months.)
In other news, it has cooled off considerably here, so threat levels here in the Bythelbs household have gone from Mommie Dearest to, uh, I dunno, Roseanne? Full psychoticness to run o’ the mill irritability and non-threatening apathy?
(For those of you who don’t actually know me, I’m totally kidding, of course. Totally.)