I swear I’m alive. Seriously. Totally alive. Just swamped by life. I attribute this mainly to my husband traveling so much recently for work. Oh. My. Word. My. Husband. Has. Been. Traveling. So. Much. 8 days here. 3 days here. Pretty much anything that keeps my husband away from the house more than 14 hours stresses me out. So repeated travel for the last two months makes my head want to explode. I spend the entire time he’s gone treading water trying to keep my head above water. Then he comes back and I attempt to catch up and then he’s off again. Yikes doesn’t begin to cover it.

On top of that, work has been very hectic. The powers that be pulled several deadlines out of thin air and I’ve been spending all day everyday trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. I think maybe I’m almost done. The rabbit will most likely be dead by the time I scrape it out of the hat but I guess I’ll meet the deadline. Whatever.

Normally, I have significantly more down time at work. Not “Let’s decoupage the walls and grind our own wheat” kind of time on my hands. But maybe “Hi how are you I love your sweater let’s do lunch” time on my hands. I look forward to returning to those days sometime soon. Certain coworkers are not helping me do this however. I don’t want to say they’re lazy and generally apathetic. Except, unfortunately, they are.

As a general rule, I don’t care if people are lazy and incompetent at work. I mean, it’s not a positive thing. But if I can’t really do anything about it, so be it. But if you are lazy and incompetent and you take credit for my work repeatedly, you are officially on my last nerve and I will not pretend I have any tolerance for you. I do not even care how high up the food chain you are. I refuse to smile and nod while you copy and paste my work without giving me credit. My husband says that’s how it goes. I say I don't pretend you're awesome if you're not.

My list of work related pet peeves currently includes:

1. People who forward my emails on as their own. You know. The people that delete your name and email information and then sign at the bottom like they wrote it. Or better yet. The people that copy and paste your writing into their reports. Um. Didn’t your boss tell you specifically to write it yourself? Since when does copy and pasting count as writing?
2. When people who forward on my emails as their own copy me on the email in which they have forwarded on my email as their own. Um. Wait. That sounds familiar. But my name’s not at the bottom? That’s odd.
3. People who conveniently forget to forward you their report which you discover later is because they cut and pasted your writing into their report and maybe just maybe they didn’t want you to see that. Um. Wait. Didn’t you tell me three times you’d send that to me? And didn’t your boss specifically tell you to send it to me too?
4. People who expect you to pretend you wrote something you didn’t write. Don’t tell me to go sell your load of crap to people and take credit for the crap. If you wrote the load of crap, I’m going to tell people you wrote it. Because that’s personal responsibility. You also don’t pay me enough to lie for you. Not that I’m the sort to lie but I’m just saying I’d need to be paid really well to even consider it.
5. People who write a load of crap and ask you to go sell it but don’t bother to take the time to understand how and why it’s a load of crap.
6. People whose goal in life is to just stay out of trouble. They don’t really care about getting ahead or fixing problems. Their whole goal is just to stay off their boss’ radar. If you need them to speak up and get something done for you, too bad. Because speaking up might put them on someone’s radar and that’s inconvenient. Nope. Not gonna to do it. Even if you asked me nicely 7 times in a row. Even if I told you I would. Because I was just saying that. What I’m really going to do is give you lame excuses while I drag my feet another two weeks until you corner me and demand an answer about whether or not I’m going to speak up or not. Although then I’ll just come right out and tell you I don’t want to because it might get me more work and then you won’t know what to say and then too bad for you because I’m still not going to do it. Ha ha. Sucks to be you.

My husband went out of town again. That’s become such a regular occurrence no one even cried when we dropped him at the airport. Not even me. And I enjoy me some airport drop off crying.

In honor of his departure, everyone in the household decided to celebrate at 3:53 am. This was led by the newest 4 year old who decided to wake everyone up again. This time I went ahead and used the phrase “in for a world of hurt” when I explained just how unacceptable that was. Then everyone wanted to sleep late in the morning except I had places to go and people to see and maybe certain people wouldn’t be so tired if they could learn to embrace the concept of “stay in bed.”

My big places to go and people to see was a rescheduled appointment with my gynecologist. Love that chick so much I swear I left the office feeling like I had fun. I know. So weird. And she convinced me I need an iPod. Her 11 year old has had 4 of them already. I’ve had zero. And my cell phone can't take pictures either. Whatever. So I think maybe I need one. Not want. Need. Because she even sent me home with a list of podcasts to listen to. And how am I supposed to listen to them without one? So we'll see.

I’ll probably change my mind by next week because that's how I usually roll but yesterday I was like 3 minutes away from ordering one online. Instead I ordered Sigg bottles for me and the kids so we can start drinking more water. And Saturday I bought organic milk at the grocery store. What has gotten into me?

So apparently Survivor was really awesome this week. I only know this from reading a recap of it as we had bad weather Thursday night and my CBS affiliate opted to show ongoing weather reports instead. NBC's affiliate was similarly inclined so I didn't get to see The Office either.

It's unclear to me how this sort of preempting manages to coincide with stuff I wish I could have seen instead of, say, something I wish I could have missed. Like last week's American Idol where the Australian guy I like got emotionally toyed with.

My husband pointed out that I should just be happy we didn't have any hail damage because we were smart enough to move our cars inside 20 minutes before it started coming down. Except that just wouldn't be like me because I enjoy complaining about things that are beyond my control.

Like how I also missed America's Next Top Model this week. Although that wasn't weather related. It was Military Channel related instead. My husband claims there was something so riveting taking place on that channel that a strange force entered his body and forced him to stop one of my DVR recordings so he could change channels. I'm pretty sure it was something akin to the history of the steel toed boot. That is only preferable to Top Model if you are male.

Sadly, I am not. And Wednesday is a busy night for my DVR. I'm going to need to patrol the remote a little better or be forced to subject my husband to a thorough explanation of the hierarchy of my crappy reality television viewing. Because he thought I'd want to watch Chatty Natty get voted out instead of Top Model. But, seriously, Big Brother's on 3 nights a week. Duh. Men.

Everytime I try to scan documents at work, I have to do it twice because I never remember to face the documents up instead of down. Because at home, they need to face down and I'm not capable of retaining different sets of scanner instructions inside my head.

It's sort of the same reason I travel around the building at work with a pen and paper. Because no one ever needs anything from me until I don't have a pen and paper. But no pen=let's chat.

The route to the bathroom is the main culprit. Like I'm going to remember anything by the time I get back. Because my husband's going to call my cell phone while I'm washing my hands and heaven knows that man's going to have some story about how he turned the lights off on someone while they were using the bathroom and by the time he's done laughing at his own little prank I'll be back in my office and there is just no way I'm going to remember that you plan to leave early Friday so I shouldn't send out a search party to look for your cold dead lifeless body. Seriously. Is it so wrong to need everyone to email me anything even mildly important so I won't forget?

Eh.

I'm going to need everyone that thinks I have more than 3 brain cells to stop reading now. OK. Everyone that's left, did you see Sunday night's Rock of Love 2 finale? I can't decide if Bret really likes Ambre or if he just decided he couldn't admit he wants to date dopey but hot strippers that still live with their ex-boyfriend in a one bedroom apartment. Chick was totally his type. But not as fun as Heather who everyone knows he should have picked the first time around.

He's either breaking away from his type or trying to pretend he is. And, um, speaking of dopey but hot strippers, the possibility exists that Natalie could be evicted tonight on Big Brother. Which sort of makes me happy. Except if she's not busy explaining the significance of random number combinations, misquoting the Bible and wearing socks up to her thighs, what would I have to make fun of?

Dude. Lice suck. Thought I got them last week. Revisited them Sunday night. The joy never ends. Someday I will tell the story of the combing and the combing and never ending combing, combing, combing. I will also tell the story of how my husband thinks he has lice on his own head at least three times a day now but never seems to think my head could possibly contain any.

On the other hand, we did hit Ikea hard Sunday and come home with many fun new things. For example, an actual dresser or my son. He started his life with nothing but a closet to hold his stuff. Then he got a rolling thing my husband had made to use in the garage. It had giant drawers and sort of matched the floor in his room so we kinda liked it. But the kid’s getting bigger and the drawers aren’t ideal for tiny fingers without adult supervision. Since I can’t supervise the entire free world we bought him something less likely to bite his hand off and swallow it whole. It’s nice. Mainly because it’s shiny and new. And there’s lots of room to grow as my friend, organizer Peter Walsh, would say.

We even bought our 2 year old a bed. While crusing through the bed section he pointed to the twin beds and said he wanted one. Me, in one ear and out the other. My husband, soft and mushy after a week away from the kids. Next thing you know we bought that kid a toddler sized bed. Seriously. Whatever.

We never did a toddler bed with our daughter. Partially because her brother was on the way when she moved to a bed but also because I didn’t understand the point of shelling out for a toddler bed. I know you can reuse the crib mattress but they’re going to need a twin sized bed in a few years anyway. So why not buy the twin sized bed, slap a kiddie rail on it and skip the toddler bed frame expense? This makes perfect sense if your husband says you are never endingly cheap which my husband does. But I don’t care because it’s practical. Although now my practical self is co-owner of a cute toddler sized bed.

At least I convinced my husband not to let that kid escape the crib for another 2 weeks. Because my husband is going out of town yet again and no one’s allowed to emancipate kids from their crib and then up and leave the city limits. Holla.

Sunday night I noticed a sort of rash on the back of my 4 year old's neck. She has Grade A supersensitive skin and she'd been saying the day before that she was sweaty. I figured the rash looking area was heat rash or eczema. I figured I'd give it a day to see if it went away on it's own. Monday night it was looking scratched up thanks to fingernails that needed to be cut. But then she commented that her head was itchy. Not her neck. Her head. Like last week when she commented her head was itchy and I did what I thought was a paranoid spot check of the head. Right. Cue the chills running down my spine.

I immediately shoved that kid's head back under a lamp and did another spot check. Nothing was moving but there was stuff at the base of her neck. But that girl hates having her hair washed. It had been 2 or 3 days since it was washed. So I wasn't sure if it wasn't just "hair that needs to be washed" stuff or "Oh, my word we're infested let's shave everyone's head before the lice take over our existence" stuff. I'm a lice newbie. I've never even performed a lice check let alone seen actual lice. I wasn't sure I'd know it if I saw it.

So I did what any good mother would do in that situation. Scoured the internet, of course! By the time I was done I was half convinced the kid had scabies. But I talked myself down from the ledge and thought things looked better after we washed her hair. I even took the kid to the day care on Tuesday. I know. Merry Christmas, other parents with children at that day care! Although, technically, one of your kids gave it to mine so I'm kinda sorta not as sorry as I probably should be but whatever.

Tuesday night I nearly flipped my gourd when I discovered a moving organism on her head. After her brother had already gone to sleep. After I had no way to get to a store to buy any stuff to get rid of it. And way after that kid's mental breaking point. She passed out on her bed with the lights on so I decided to just let her sleep and work on the Infestation o' Lice in the morning.

Which would be today. Rather than overseeing the training I've been planning and coordinating at work for several weeks now, I was at home combing strand by strand through that kid's hair. That's after I bribed her with a Kit Kat bar to leave the RID shampoo on her head for ten minutes. The combing was the real ordeal though. My neck hurts just thinking about hunching over like that for an hour and a half. No really. She watched all of Cinderella while I was working.

I'm sure lice suck at any age, but I'd just like to say lice on a 4 year old is especially annoying. 4 is old enough to know your mom can't do much about your hair unless you agree to it but old enough to understand when something is going to suck big time. She also still fidgets and can't sit still for an hour and a half.

I let her wash and comb my hair first. That helped her start off pretty agreeable. She quickly decided it was taking too long though. By 30 minutes in I offering up a trip to Target to try on high heels to keep her seated. An hour in it was lunch out and letting her order lemonade like a big girl. And by the last 10 minutes when she had to look down the whole time and was crying off and on, I think ice cream got mentioned. It was rough. I'd have agreed to anything. All I could think about was how close we were to being done.

Which is remarkably naive since I discovered some nits behind her right ear while we were brushing her teeth tonight before bed. We're clearly not done. Because that means I either didn't do as good a job as I thought I did going strand by strand earlier today or I missed some surface in the house that needs to be submerged in scalding hot water. Either way, sucks to be me.

I'd love to provide a more in depth explanation about the myriad reasons why it sucks to be me today, but I've got to go crane my neck in the mirror to see if there's anything moving on my own head. Because the only thing worse than your husband out of town and unable to help hold your kid down while you do a lice check is the rampant paranoia inside your head that makes you think your head itches because there's no one to look for nits on your own head.

My husband's home again. But, wait, he's leaving again tomorrow for 5 more days of training related stuff. Like I care what valiant cause takes him away. Inside my pea brain, you're either here with me in the trenches or your not. Although the trenches have been fairly pleasant today. We did bubbles outside followed by coloring with chalk. Then the 4 year old tucked me and her brother in for naps. Using her as my role model, I demanded to have my back rubbed and repeatedly asked questions every time she tried to leave the room. Good times! And there's always crappy reality television to keep me warm at night!

American idol: My favorite was the Australian guy. The kid was good but I like Dolly’s version better. I liked David Cook too but got a little distracted every time he sang the word sparrow. I love that the country genre which might on paper seem like the hardest for him ended up being a very good week for him. He’s talented. And, boy was that haircut overdue. He used to look all 1990s Goo Goo Dolls retro. He looks a lot better now that he joined us in 2008. And honestly, what is wrong with Syesha’s brain? I can’t figure out if she thought her version would be better than Whitney or Dolly’s. Surely she didn’t. And if she didn’t, then why do it? Because you’ll just end up looking second rate. Does everyone not agree Dolly and Whitney have I Will Always Love You pretty well covered? The only thing that surprised me on the elimination show was that she wasn't in the bottom three.

Big Brother: Ever since Josh made fun of Amanda’s dad killing himself, I’ve been sort of over him. So I’m not really sad he's gone. And I totally thought Sharon was going to win head of household. Or maybe I just wanted her to win so we wouldn't have to listen to Natalie explain why she's right over and over again for another week. I'm sure googley eyed Adam will continue to do her bidding so let's all wish James luck in the next veto competition.

America’s Next Top Model: I think the judges only eliminated Claire because it would be a surprise. There's no way they look at her and Lauren and think Lauren has a better modeling career ahead of her. No way. Claire's just as photogenic, can walk and has a better personality. Lauren walks like a horse. They claims they care about how you walk on the runway on this show so what's she still doing there? She not only doesn't work the runway, she doesn't even look normal. If she could just pretend she was walking through the grocery store she'd look better. Unless that's how she walks in the grocery store. Girlfriend stands no chance of winning. I'm getting concerned Anya may win though. But I'm rooting for Katarzyna. Her new haircut was super cute.

Survivor: I realize Ozzy is a stud in challenges and when it comes to fishing. And I realize that’s kinda cool. But I’m really not into his personality. And by that I mean, where the hell is his personality? I’m sure he’s a nice guy but he’s not all that exciting to watch. But, again, totally respect the fact that he’s valuable to the team. I just feel like the game is headed down a long boring road where we’re going to watch everyone let Ozzy skate by. And Amanda lost to Todd last time because they saw her as nothing but his sidekick. So what did she learn from that? Find another guy to go to the final 2 with so you can lose again? Because let’s be honest, who wouldn’t vote for Ozzy. Finally, I think Fans vs. Favorites was a bad idea. The favorites have a big advantage already having done the show before. And they seem kind of full of themselves too. They're starting to annoy me. And it’s a miracle that ice cream scooper kid that slammed chest first into the platform doesn’t have any broken ribs. Holy cow, he hit that thing hard.

Two nights ago, I was very ill and very tired. To ensure I would sleep through the night, I took Nyquil and a Tylenol PM. I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow and there was a pile of drool on my pillow when I woke up. I know because I distinctly remember that wake up call.

I didn't hear the bedroom door open. I didn't hear the pitter patter of little feet. And I didn't even hear them climbing the step stool at the foot of the bed. That's how out I was. It took bouncing on the bed to yank me out of REM sleep. My head was so foggy I didn't even lift my head up. My eyes felt heavy and my first thought was that I didn't know how I could get through the day that exhausted.

Our kids don't normally come in our bedroom to wake us up. It's not anything we trained them not to do. The newest 4 year old just always waited for us to come get her. Even when she moved from a crib to a big girl bed. She just happily played in her bed until we came. It was awesome.

In the last six months, she's started coming out of her room in the morning, but she still doesn't generally come get us. We usually just find her sitting at the dining room table coloring or flipping through a book on the couch. Again, awesome. Except when my husband's out of town. Because then she pops right in to get me. In the last month, she's been doubling my pleasure by helping her brother out of his crib too. Clearly, this wake up call should tell you my husband's out of town again. Oh, the joy.

But I was so tired. Way more tired that usual when these wake up calls occur. And then they turned all the lights on and flung themselves on my back. The two year old began riding me like a pony. All the commotion woke up both the dogs and they're jumping around wanting to go outside now too. And, again, mucho tired and pondering how many Dr. Peppers it's going to take to make me feel human. But the bedroom had been so dark. Why was it so dark when I first woke up? Exactly how early are they getting me up?

So I motivate myself to roll over and lift my head off the pillow to check the clock. I think I see a "2" on the display except I'm sort of blinking while my eyes adjust to all the light so I think maybe it was a "5" instead. And "5" makes a lot more sense inside my head. So I look again and it really is a "2." But there's a pillow and bunched up comforter sort of in front of the "2" so I start thinking maybe I just didn't see the "1" before the "2." Because in my head midnight would mean the newest 4 year old had just somehow stayed up way past her bedtime instead of being a complete wackjob. Because by now they're both bouncing off the bed and running down the hall squealing and anything other than way past bedtime meant my head might explode.

Too bad it was 2:38. She had been asleep. Then she woke up. And because she can't tell time, waking up meant it must be morning so then she got up. She flicked on the light in her brother's room and got him up too. Then they turned on every light in the house and raided the kitchen for some Kix. That's when they decided to come get me.

2:38. Everyone wide awake and ready to party. Except me because I'm medicated and desperate to sleep. Our 2 year old hates bedtime as it is. Kid's been crying every night at bedtime for a month now. How the hell am I supposed to explain to him the difference between morning and "your sister is insane."

It went as well I had expected. Which was badly. In the foggy Nyquil haze I had to chase him around the dining room table pulling all the chairs back out of the way and then dragging him out from under it by the shirt. I tried rocking him to help him calm down but that was like tossing a thimble of water at a house fire.

While he was letting me know how endlessly futile that had been, I headed next door to give his sister a briefing on just what a buzz kill she was in for. It included, "I don't care if you go back to sleep or not but don't get out of your bed again until it's light outside." I also explained that her brother is not to be woken up ever unless flames are literally shooting out of the wall at her. I wanted to use the phrase "in for a world of hurt" but I wasn't sure she'd understand it.

And then I laid down and passed out again. The best part of the story is how easily I fell back asleep. The worst part of the story is that my second wake up call of the day was a mere 3 hours later. Apparently, 5:30 looks light outside when you're 4. And insane. What. On Earth.

Yesterday, I told my husband that my cell phone kept shutting off. I was convinced I needed a new phone. Then sometime after dinner, I discovered I’d been pushing the wrong button. I kept turning it off every time I thought I was locking the keypad. I’ve had the cell phone for over a year and locked the phone countless times. Dude. No really. Dude.

I wonder if I can blame yesterday’s mental defect on cold medication. And if I was unable to operate a cell phone, should I be concerned about the freaky stuff I might have screwed up at work in my overmedicated haze? Not that I get overly concerned about doing freaky stuff at work but it’s good to have a humorous little anecdote ready to explain it. Whatever.

In other news, a certain someone who I’m coming to believe needs to be my new best friend because she's always so sweet and nice happened to notice that I finally referred to my son as “the 2 year old” in my last post. I had been calling him my 18 month old for pretty much a year now. Except he was born 27 months ago.

As much as I would like to continue to call him my 18 month old until the end of time, forces beyond my control have flushed that plan down the toilet. Allow me to illustrate. Here is my 18 month old the day before Easter:

He’s so cute I think I need 9 more babies. And here he is on the merry-go round the same day:

Just look at those precious little baby hands holding on. Seriously. Do you not want to eat him alive? You do. You know you do. Stop pretending he’s not the cutest baby in existence. How about this picture of him clomping around the kitchen wearing his sister’s dress shoes on the wrong feet:

I demand you acknowledge his overwhelming cuteness right now or prepare to duel.

Right. So now look at my baby three days after Easter:

Um, yeah. That kid’s 2. What is the haps, people. I mean the cheeks are still there. And the pretty little eyelashes. And he definitely hugs like my baby. But come on.

After his haircut, we took this mysterious little stranger to McDonald’s to play on the playground and he toddled off wearing little Nike athletic pants with a football jersey-ish looking shirt. I swear to you I glimpsed my future in that moment. I told my husband it was a vision of him as a broad shouldered linebacker. The truth is a little of it was the running off into the world leaving me behind thing. My little baby. Sigh.

No more haircuts. That’s all there is to it.

I've recently been trying to get our household on more of a schedule. Specifically to be more consistent and help make getting two kids to bed easier. I made the schedule sort of a rough estimate. 5 is dinner, 6 is cleanup and play, 7 is pajamas and 8 is bed.

My husband finds the schedule amusing. Mostly because it gives him new fodder for jokes. Such as telling the kids they only have six minutes left to eat or he'll have to throw their food in the trash because the schedule says so. He also called me up at work last week at 5:10 wanting to know how the hell I would be feeding the kids at 5 when I was still sitting at my desk at work.

First of all, did anyone notice he thinks I should be the one to feed them at 5? Let's just gloss over that madness before I have to use the words "grown man." Second, the schedule is supposed to be more of an hour long window of opportunity to shoot for rather than exact times. I'd be happy if the feeding of the kids took place anywhere between 5 and 6. My goal is mainly to make the lead up to bedtime less rushed. I also liked the idea of a set time for clean up with play time when we're finished to motivate everyone.

We've been doing it for a week now. The kids like it. It keeps me on track. And I'm thinking it helps the house run more smoothly. Half the time the newest 4 year old announces to me when it's time for the next activity. I love that. She and I even made a handy dandy sign with novice artwork created by my own two hands and taped it over the clock on the microwave for easy reference:

Tonight, however, even the handy dandy sign couldn't stop my downward spiral into botched bedtime. I though I was doing pretty well when I had them in pajamas with clean teeth at 7:45. We read books and did some cuddling and just as I'm preparing to route them to their beds the newest 4 year old starts itching her head repeatedly. Being overly paranoid and mildly delusional, I felt obligated to shove her head under a lamp and do a quick lice check. Then I agreed to delay her bedtime to let her wash her hair. Because the kid hates washing her hair. When she announces she's willing, I'm game.

While I was turning the bath water on for her, our 2 year old gets his leftover mac & cheese off the kitchen counter and wanders into the bathroom eating it. Figuring this is a sign he's hungry, because I'm smart like that, I decide to let him finish while I scrub his sister's hair.

The rat's nest took 3 good washes. While she was wringing her hair out, I turned away to brush her brother's teeth again. Then the 4 year old announces that she needs to get out of the tub immediately or a nuclear winter will commence. So I turn and let the water out and the 2 year old spills an entire cup of water down the front of his shirt. I head off to put a new shirt on him and suddenly there's no water left in the bathtub and the 4 year old is shivering.

I find her a towel and dry her hair and the 2 year old disappears down the hall. I track the 2 year old down under the dining room table and carry him to his room. We do an immediate U-turn to begin ransacking the house for the blankie he can't sleep without. Then there's rocking, singing and a million and one kisses. Then the 4 year old needs water. Then the 2 year is annoyed at life. Then the 4 year old wants her bathroom door open an extra 1/8 of an inch. Then the 2 year old is still annoyed at life.

I didn't seal the deal on bedtime until 8:48. And my husband wonders why I need to start at 7. Seriously. One thing after another.

My car is out of the shop and I'm told good as new. It's the weekend and my husband hasn't gone out of town again yet. And I've done enough laundry that everyone has clean panties on. It's great to be alive. So great I'm returning to my weekly reality television wrap up!

American Idol: I can't believe I'm watching this show. I got suckered in by the Australian guy's version of Bohemian Rhapsody several weeks ago. Now I keep fast forwarding through Paula and Ryan while I wait for him to be that good again. This week was pretty good. But I'm trying to decide if I want David Cook or the blond girl to win. For about a minute I thought the kid David Archuleta might have a chance but the theater park crap this week on top of forgetting the words to a Beatles song has sealed the deal for me that he won't. Or shouldn't? I don't know. I like him but I'm not a fan. Although I'd totally let him date my daughter. Kid seems sweet. And for the record, I like the original version of God Bless the USA. I didn't realize it before but I now realize that I like the original enough that it's one of those songs I don't really think anyone else needs to try unelss they can add something unique to actually make it better. Just like I heard a cover of Bridge Over Troubled Water on the radio the other day and I kinda sorta thought America should beat that person up for thinking it was okay to try that song. Whatever.

America's Next Top Model: Am I the only one that knew Aimee would be leaving soon when she expressed a reluctance to take her clothes off for a photo shoot? Kiss of death. That and being larger than a size 6. But the real story of this episode was how to be exceptionally self absorbed with Dominique as our subject matter expert. She demonstrated that it doesn't matter if you sleep in the same room with 10 other girls. Because it's nobody else's business if you want to set your alarm clock a full hour early everyday and let it go off repeatedly until you decide to get up. To hell with the other girls that might want to sleep. If I lived with that chick, the plug on that alarm clock would "accidentally" fall out of the wall several times a day. She'd keep finding the numbers flashing and be wondering if the power went off. If that didn't fix the problem, the clock would just disappear entirely only to magically reappear the next morning in the freezer. And her on the phone with her mom getting all self righteous crying about how everyone is against her was too classic. I also love that she talks about herself in the third person.

Big Brother: Chelsia wears too much makeup and I'm not sad she's gone. And I cannot believe Natalie won HOH. Although I find it amusing because I'm sure it makes her and her alliance feel like everything goes their way so the fallout will be especially good when things eventually stop going their way.

Survivor: Wherefore art thou, Survivor? Stupid old March Madness. Is The Office with you? I miss you both. Return to me. I'll leave the light on.

There was probably a time in my life when doing bubbles in the driveway while wearing candy cane pajamas might have been unthinkable. That time in my life has clearly passed:

Somewhere around the age of 30 I developed a very strong sense of "So what?" Maybe it's my husband rubbing off on me. Heaven knows that man genuinely doesn't care what other people think of him. But, truthfully, I don't think he had anything to do with my own lack of concern. Somewhere between 25 and 30 I think I just realized that it doesn't really affect my life if people think I'm odd. So then what's the point of caring?

I've even been known to use the line, "It's not like I'm going to see any of these people again." Although I've used the line in the grocery store around the corner from our house where I most likely will see the people again. But I say whatever.

Because so what if I do see them again. Are they going to ostracize me and refuse to be my friend? Because how would I even notice? We never leave the house. And so what if they remember me as the crazy lady hanging off her husband's back in the frozen pizza aisle. If that's the worst thing you can say about me, I should be so lucky. Because I've also been the crazy lady dancing in the frozen pizza aisle. And I sing made up songs in the frozen pizza aisle too. The one about my husband's Indiglo watch being my personal favorite. I guess it's just lucky for me my husband doesn't have a camera on him when we grocery shop.

And on a separate note, my husband takes like 3 pictures of me per year. What is up me in the candy cane pajamas made the cut? Last year, one of the 3 pictures he took was when we played in the rain with the kids and I looked like I was in a wet T-shirt contest. I'm beginning to see a trend. Although I probably have no room to talk.

There aren't enough hours in the day to begin to describe the exceptionally long list of things that have kept me busy the last two days. Yesterday I received the first of many urgent phone calls from my boss at 8 am on the way to my gynecologist appointment. I think the sky was falling or something equally critical. Never mind the fact that I'm not on the clock yet. Let me bore you with the details of how bad your day is going to suck once you get here.

I fended her off with talk of a pap smear. But first thing in the door later that morning, there was no avoiding her. Because I am She-Ra and I will singlehandedly hold the sky up for her.

It's nice to be needed but let's be honest. I'm just a girl. Is there no back up sky holder upper? Because technically I only got to work when I did after my gynecologist blew me off to deliver three babies. Speaking of which, my doctor is lucky I didn't run into her in the hall on the way to reception to reschedule my appointment. Because I was commando and seated on the table when they announced the rain delay on my pap smear. I think that's a little late in the game to come up with these flimsy excuses about emergency C-sections.

They tried to talk me into a nurse practitioner instead. They clearly haven't met me. I'm difficult about gynecologists. I successfully avoided going to one until I was 25. And even then, it was a family history of medical issues that require an annual pap smear that made me go. Even my dad had started asking me if I had gone for a pap smear yet. Seriously. My dad. I know. It was time to give in to the inevitable.

My gynecologist turned out to be one of my top 2 all time favorite doctors I've ever been to. She reminds me of me. Which I love and my husband finds entertaining when he tags along. My annual visit feels like going to visit an old friend. Which is extra amazing considering I cried at my first visit. It was the stirrups. I had a traumatic stirrup related incident at the doctor when I was 12 and a long memory that never let it go. But it's all good. Because I love my doctor now and her name is the first one I check for on the list of providers when I contemplate switching insurance companies. She's worth waiting for. Although, I still think the lack of underwear should get you squeezed in between C-sections or something.

You know how sometimes you think you had a really bad day only then you have another day that's like 12 times worse than that other day and you suddenly realize, that the day you thought was bad really wasn't bad at all and you'd be okay reliving that one over and over again for months on end if it would mean you could avoid having the really and truly bad day ever again. Yeah, well, that was my Tuesday.

In the middle of a hectic day at work, I came up with the bright idea of going home for lunch. Mostly I wanted to go get my cell phone that I'd left laying on my nightstand. I felt naked without it. Which isn't an uncommon feeling for me since I forget it at least a couple times a month. Except my husband's still out of town and unreachable most of the day. And I have small children. Children I fret will fall down a well and need me the moment I step away from my desk phone. So I decided I couldn't go on another moment without my cell phone.

Except it was raining. Really, really hard. I discovered this on the way to the door when a coworker made fun of me for not having an umbrella. She insisted on sending me out with her umbrella. Because it was a downpour and she's nice. And I was clearly pathetic and clueless.

Which could not have been more true because then I went and drove my little Honda Accord into two feet of water, the engine stalled and there I sat stranded. I was six blocks from work. On a street I've driven everyday for six years. On a street I've never seen fill with water like that in all those six years.

Once I finished cursing profusely, I turned to my purse to get my cell phone to call 911. Except, the whole point of my outing was to get my forgotten cell phone. So clearly I didn't have it. Except I'm sitting in water. So I went from just being the idiot that drove into 2 feet of water to being the stranded idiot that drove into 2 feet of water without a cell phone.

I couldn't tell how deep the water was but the mass hysteria taking place inside my head had me convinced the water was halfway up the car door. I figured the only thing worse that being the stranded idiot that drove into 2 feet of water without a cell phone would be compounding things by opening the car door and flooding the car's interior. So I started planning climbing out the car window. I had several concerns with that. First, my pants, shoes and socks would be ruined by the water and I was wearing brand new $80 leather cute but still comfortable work shoes. So I took the socks and shoes off and rolled up my pants legs. No really. I did. Then I put the socks in my coat pocket in case I decided to sit down on the curb to put them back on once I waded out of the river.

My second concern was, of course, that I'd look like an idiot. Which is insane. Because I just drove my car into water. Someone seeing me climb out my car window is the least of my "looking stupid" problems. But that didn't stop me from watching in my rear view mirror until there were no other cars around.

Once the coast was clear, I finally rolled the window down. But then I couldn't decide whether my head or feet should exit the window first. While trying to decide, I realized maybe I should just cram my head out the window and evaluate the depth of the water. Turns out, I could open the door the whole time. So I did. And then I took the loaned umbrella, my purse and my shoes and I began walking through 2 feet of water.

My pants legs fell down and I actually felt a pang of despair that they would now be soaked. Which is yet another example of the idiotic things that cause me stress. Because I had six blocks to walk in the driving rain. Keeping my pants dry was nothing but a pipe dream. By the time I got back to work, my underwear was soaked. And that's with an umbrella. My lovely leather shoes were soaked too. Because six blocks is a long way to walk barefoot. And the water was cold. And a 1/2 block in I'd lost my will to live let alone my will to protect leather from water.

Once I got back to work, I went directly to the ladies' room to wring my pants legs out over the toilet. No really. I took them off and wrung them out. But my socks were dry! Because I'd put them in my pocket! Except dry socks are of no use when your shoes are so water logged that every step you take squeezes water out of the sole! The shoes also made a lovely squishing sound when I walked. But really, who notices noises like that when you're busy staring at wet pants clinging to legs.

Once the pants were wrung out, I headed to my office to call someone to rescue me. Oh, wait. No cell phone. And no cell phone = no phone numbers. So I looked my brother's employer up on the internet to get a phone number. Then I asked for him. And then I restrained myself from shrieking into the phone at him. He gave me the cell phone numbers of several people and I wasted several minutes trying to get assorted relatives on the phone.

Then I gave up and called AAA and found out I had to be at my vehicle to get it towed. Which makes me want to yank someone's teeth out when I think about it. Because the vehicle was six blocks away in driving rain. Because why would I confess to a coworker this level of incompetence let alone ask them to drive me anywhere near a road hazard I was too stupid to avoid. But my car was sitting in the road. And my husband was unreachable. And I'm supposed to be a grown up. So in one of the most grown up moments of my life, I headed back out into the rain to meet that stupid tow truck. I mean, my shoes were already ruined by then. What the hell did another 6 blocks matter?

By the time I got back to my car though, it was already being hoisted onto a flat bed tow truck called in by the police car parked behind it with its emergency lights on. A cop got out of the police car to explain to me that my car was being impounded unless I paid the tow truck guy to take it somewhere else. I said I'd be happy to pay him. But, wait, the policeman's tow truck guy only takes cash. $125 cash. I told the cop I had checks and a credit card but no cash. Because it's 2008 and when was the last time you needed $125 cash on a moment's notice.

The cop and the tow truck guy did not appear to care when I told them I didn't have the money. Technically, the tow truck driver was so uninterested in me he didn't even look at me. The cop said I could go to an ATM. Except there were zero ATMs anywhere near the scene of this flood. He suggested maybe the tow truck driver would agree to stop at an ATM on the way to the car repair place. But the tow truck driver wasn't even interested in looking at me let alone doing me a favor. While the cop was verifying the tow truck driver's lack of interest in helping me, I started crying. Right there in the middle of the street. Standing under a borrowed umbrella that had broken by then. I was literally using one hand to hold the umbrella while the other hand held the umbrella open over my head.

Apparently there's something to be said for looking pathetic in the middle of the street because next thing I knew I was in the back of the cop car being driven to 7-11 to use an ATM. And so began the second leg of my journey. The highlights of that leg included my first ride in a police car and telling the guy at the car repair place the story of how "I drove into water because I am a great big loser." At first you think you'll sink to the floor in a puddle of profound shame telling someone you did something that dumb. But, really, after you tell the story a couple times, it's impressive how devoid of feeling the whole experience becomes. By the time you're on the phone with the insurance company, it's almost like it wasn't even you that did it.

I finally got a ride home from the repair place in a courtesy van. I apologized to the driver for getting his seat wet and ran in the house to weep pathetic "Dude, my life sucks" tears. Then I stripped off all my clothes and shoved them in the dryer. 20 minutes later I put them back on, grabbed the keys to my husband's car and headed back to work. I returned the borrowed umbrella with profuse thanks and went back to my office to finish working on the Incredible! motivational! project! that had to be done by Wednesday. And I did it without telling anyone what happened.

Partially because I didn't want the entire building to be talking about what an idiot I am. But mostly because I didn't think I could talk about it without crying. When your self control is hanging by a thread, sometimes it's best to just keep plowing ahead and pretend everything's fine. Until you talk to your husband later that evening. Because then it's best to weep uncontrollably and let him tell you it's just a car. A car that now needs a new engine for $3000. Which didn't surprise me at all. Because if you're going to have a bad day, I say do it all the way or not at all. And be glad you have insurance. I know I am. I'm also pretty glad it's not Tuesday anymore.

Saturday night I had the motherhood equivalent of a mental breakdown. It was probably 90% lack of sleep, 6% stuff getting shredded daily by the World's Most Annoying Dog, 3% screaming toddler and 1% I really want to move to a new house but can't figure out when it will ever happen. My breakdown culminated in a tearful long distance phone call to my husband while I sat in the garage trying to avoid the newest 4 year old. Because when I babble incoherently into the phone I prefer to pretend I'm alone.

Too bad that 4 year old's like human On Star and immediately tracked me down. So I told her to close the door and go back inside. Technically I might have shrieked it like a banshee but whatever. Let it go. I have.

Then my baby closed the door, dragged a chair over to watch me through the window and periodically tapped on the glass. I know it's sweet that's she's concerned about me. But seriously, it's called needing a moment. I should have hid in a closet instead. Not a little closet with clothes hanging all around me. Because that would be pathetic and sorta creepy. I'm thinking a nice well lit walk in closet. You know, because sitting in a well lit walk in closet is infinitely more normal.

Anyway, my blubbering was mostly a laundry list of tearful complaints that included the house, the annoying dog, the laundry, my weight, the neighborhood, the kids, a lost remote and the color of the sky. My personal favorite was the lost remote. The man's 600 miles away. The odds of him finding it for me are slim.

My husband talked me down from the ledge and suggested I get more sleep. Then he sent out the equivalent of the bat signal and my dad came over to babysit today. Leaving the house without your children probably shouldn't be that awesome but I'm okay with the fact that it was. 5 hours without checking anyone's diaper and $200 in crap from Target and I thought maybe I could last another couple days until my husband gets home.

I even went to a store that doesn't have shopping carts. And I tried on clothes for myself. In the store. There was even a lady in the dressing room area to go get you stuff if you needed a different size. Not that I'm the sort of girl capable of asking a complete stranger to get me stuff let alone tell them my size but still.

And there were cookies outside the dressing room. On a little doily on a silver tray. Which seems like a bit much because who needs cookies when you're trying to cram yourself into jeans and catching glimpses of your flabby stomach under fluorescent lighting. But knowing the cookies are there is sort of pampering all by itself. Which is like the polar opposite of leaning into the backseat of your car to wrestle a screaming kid into a car seat. Which makes seeing cookies on a doily a really nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

My kitchen sink has been overflowing with dishes for two days now. I finally called in the JV cleaning squad to help:

They tend to use too much water but they work cheap. I'd like to say they have a future career in the domestic arts but it's worth mentioning that they got distracted several times shooting water at the ceiling with the sprayer and they dropped an entire roll of paper towels into the water. On the other hand, at least no other areas of the house got any messier while they were working.

After dishes, we emptied the trash and dragged a week's worth of garbage to the curb in the kid's wagon. Then we loaded the washing machine. Then we fed the dogs. Then we got ready for bed. And then we all wondered how much longer until Daddy gets home.

I like Daylight Savings Time a lot better in the fall. Springing forward sucks. Falling back is awesome. I'm all about the extra hour of sleep. I crave sleep pretty much all the time. Not enough to prevent me from laying in bed watching that new show High School Confidential. But still. I think I was sucked in by the commercials with all the girls talking about how they never once spontaneously broke out in song during high school. So cute.

It's also sort of lame that springing forward means it's now dark in the morning when I get up for work. Today was Day 2 of the MIA husband so it was also dark when the kids got up. That wasn't a problem though because the newest 4 year old actually woke me up instead of the other way around. It's amazing how rarely I actually need an alarm clock since having kids.

After bouncing on my back for a few minutes, she went and opened her brother's door to make sure he didn't sleep through anything fun either. Then she helped him climb out of his crib so he could come jump on my back too. I thought she was kidding when she said he was standing at the foot of my bed. Imagine my heart attack when his finger touched the bottom of my foot. Oh, the squeals of delight as I jumped.

At least work was uneventful. In the most wonderfully stress free sense of the word. Lunch with a friend. Found time to call the insurance company and tell them they suck. And best of all, sat in zero meetings. Which means I didn't really exist today but I'm okay with it. At one point I had so much time on my hands I couldn't even decide what to work on first. Such a luxury. At this rate I might find time to shop online too. Rock on.

My husband left this morning for some work related training. I was so worn out from being up and down all night with an upset stomach the night before that I could barely muster up my usual weepy china doll clingy-ness while he packed. I also didn't bother to catch up on dishes or laundry before he left so now I have an overflowing sink and 3 baskets of laundry to do. And another 2 1/2 baskets already waiting to be folded. But who's counting.

I miss my husband a lot when he leaves. Partially because I'm a cream puff. But mostly because I just really like his company. And my kids have lots of energy and wear me out by noon. I've spent the day alternating between watching a Say Yes to the Dress marathon on TLC and brainstorming ideas for a work related project. My husband swears I've been brainwashed by the powers that be and become a rah rah shish boom bah team player or something. Mostly, someone mentioned they were going to hand out giant thermometer posters for each division unless we came up with something better to visually track our progress toward goals. I'm fairly certain I will in fact hurl if I'm forced to update a thermometer to attempt to motivate people.

Instead, we're geeking out doing a The Incredibles theme. My husband, in his infinite patience, waited to roll his eyes until after I got to the part of the plan that involves making Incredibles T-shirts for everyone and having a theme day once a week. And there may or may not be plans for a giant skyline and superheroes flying over buildings as goals are achieved. I know. Maybe my husband's right. Although there are cash bonuses involved so I might be okay with it. At least it's better than a jumbo thermometer. And the fact that I'm contributing to the dorkiness does not in any way mean I won't be making fun of it right along with everyone else.

My children have taken my husband's departure fairly well. The 18 month old cried when his father got out of the car at the airport. But then, he cries when his father walks inside the post office for 2 minutes. It's been a non issue for him since. The newest 4 year is a different story. She cried when he got out of the car followed by more crying at bedtime. She likes to go with, "I want Daddy" which is the most perfectly impossible thing to fix for her. This is the first time she's really cried because she missed someone. I guess she's old enough to understand that it sucks.

I felt bad for her. Mostly because I know how she feels. Except she's not allowed to stay up late watching Law & Order reruns until she falls asleep with the television on. Not that I know anything about that.

There was no snow day. The sky did not fall. In fact, the uber important work related matter got a last minute 20 day extension to get completed. So I stressed for nothing. My husband would say that is the real story of my life. Whatever.

I have been ill, ill and more ill the last two days. It is a mystery illness that includes lightheadedness, aching joints, fever and a failure to understand why my children can't drive themselves to the daycare yet. The cure for this is extended laying around in bed, forcing my husband to offer opinions on last night's Project Runway final collections and online shopping.

For example, today the Easter Bunny ordered each of my kids a panorama easter egg for their Easter baskets. As a kid, I had a friend that got one every year for Easter and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I could never figure out why the Easter Bunny left one for her but not me. Which is retarded because the Easter Bunny that dropped by my house was a most excellent Easter Bunny and would no doubt have produced one of those things if I had just let it be known I wanted one. I guess I thought she'd read my mind since she'd already successfully figured out that I liked Peeps and hated Cadbury Eggs. But it's all good because this year I'm vicariously getting my panoramic eggs. If my children do not appropriately appreciate them I will confiscate the eggs and send them to bed with no supper.

Speaking of Easter, what's up it's like 2 1/2 weeks away? I did not get the memo on this Easter is in March thing. I need cute egg hunting outfits. I need to get a photo of my offspring with a six foot rabbit. I need crap to go in everyone's basket. Yet another reason why online shopping while you are ill, ill and more ill is so very awesome.

Speaking of awesome, did we all see my BFF Christian win Project Runway last night? Believe it or not, I wasn't totally sure he'd win. I thought Rami's collection was really good. Jillian's too. But Rami's was the one that was so good I thought he might actually win. It's complicated with Rami. On the one hand you want him to be more versatile and do more than just drape. But then when not everything in his collection was super drapey, my first thought was that he should have done more draped evening gowns because he rules at gowns.

But Christian is just so creative and has so many tricks up his sleeve. Although I did not love the feather dress Michael seemed to think was the greatest dress ever. I did, however, love that Christian's confidence was gone by the end and he was actually crying before they even announced the winner. Sometimes confidence comes across as conceit when it's really just bravado or how people keep a stiff upper lip when they're nervous. I thought it was charming that he wanted it that bad and that it meant so much to him.

Speaking of conceit, I also caught America's Next Top Model last night and enjoyed the comeuppance of full of herself Allison. I especially enjoyed that she could not catch on when they were telling her to say "Thank you." Although, for the record, I liked her hair dark better than the reddish/brown. And it never ceases to amaze me how many people think it's a good idea to sing Whitney Houston songs on American Idol. Seriously. Whitney, Mariah and Celine. Just don't do it. The end.

I'm the girl at the office that never knows the weather unless it's going to snow. Because I don't care about the weather unless it includes the potential for a paid snow day. Today, several coworkers tried to burst my bubble and tell me there was no chance of snow. They were wrong:

It may not look like a lot. Especially if you live somewhere that gets snow more than once a year. But just roll with me. There's snow. It's cold. Where I live that's enough to potentially close my building tomorrow.

Oh, wait. Hear that noise? That's irony raking fingernails down a chalkboard. Because I have a date with destiny in the form of a work related matter that has to be taken care of tomorrow. Do or die. The entire city could be on lock down and I swear to you my boss will be blowing up my cell phone to explain why I'm going to have to dig my way out with a teaspoon and hike uphill 10 miles through the snow to get to the office to make sure it gets taken care of. Because her boss' boss will have already blown up her cell phone to explain how the sky will open up and swallow the office whole if we don't. I'm not even joking about the cell phones blowing up. It's an exceptionally time sensitive matter. It's also the opposite of optional. It is the story of my life that it may fall on a snow day.

As it is, the matter is wildly unpopular and will require arm twisting to get anyone to agree to do it. So how the hell am I supposed to get anyone to drive into the office on a paid day off to do it? Right. The odds of that happening are so slim I'm actually rooting against a snow day. Which means the apocalypse must be upon us because there can be no other rational explanation for the queen of snow days rooting against a snow day.

At least my husband is amusing. While I was outside taking that photo of the snow, he mooned me out our front window. Here he is afterwards looking proud of his cleverness:

Here's part 2 of his cleverness when he decided to lock me out in the cold:

He pulled his shirt up over the lower half of his face to increase the "I'm a raving lunatic" quotient of the shot. You'd be amazed how high that quotient is without any effort on his part. For example, I wish there was a photo of him pretending to unlock the door and laughing when I fell for it and tried the doorknob. But that's okay. Because every minute I spend outside is just an extra minute he gets to cuddle me until I warm up. Lucky him.

So the Kindergarten hunt is on for the newest 4 year old. The state we live in requires children to be 5 by September 1st to start. Our kid just misses that deadline. Knowing this, we've been planning to try to get her into a private Kindergarten. We realize not every kid is ready for Kindergarten at 4 years 11 months. We think this one will be. Other people besides her father and I believe this as well.

So I started by making a list of all the schools that have a private Kindergarten in our area. I listed the ones near the house we currently live in and the ones near the neighborhood of the new house I secretly shop for on Realtor.com. That gave me 6 schools to choose from. One is boys only. Two make absolutely no no exceptions to the 5 by September 1st rule. And one of those was mentally crossed off my list before the chick on the phone even confirmed the no exceptions stance because she was such a raving wench. Which is so weird. Because what sort of school has a wench answer the phone? If they can't even do a good job picking someone to answer the phone, why would I think you can pick good teachers and treat my kid right? But whatever. They make no exceptions so it's a moot point. So now I'm down to 3 schools.

I went to look at one and it seemed nice and they could even take our 18 month old, too. Everyone at one location is gold but they only have Kindergarten. No first grade. We think she'll need private first grade too. And that's assuming we don't decide to keep her in private school forever. So this school will require extra switching of schools. I hate that. I believe strongly in consistency for our kids. I think it helps them feel safe and comfortable and confident. The newest 4 year old has gone to the same daycare for nearly 4 years. She's practically the mayor of the place and it's like a parade when she walks in greeting everyone we pass. I think that's priceless. So I think maybe that place is out.

That leaves me with 2 schools to choose from. One is close to our current neighborhood. The other is in the neighborhood of all the houses I secretly shop for on Realtor.com. The neighborhood we don't currently live in. The neighborhood I have no idea when we'll get to. I like to think it could be by the time she starts school in the fall. But I don't know. And the nice neighborhood school only goes through 1st grade. So we'd still have to switch her for second grade. Which would be fine if we decide to send her to public school for 2nd grade but who knows. The school in our current neighborhood goes through 8th grade so it won't require the school switching but moving to the neighborhood I secretly shop for on Realtor.com would mean having to drive across town to take her to school. Anything that increases my drive time sucks. Kind of like Kindergarten hunting. What on Earth.

I think I'll delay worrying about it until I go tour the last two schools and have the newest 4 year old evaluated. The chicks that answer the phones at every single private school I called felt the need to tell me repeatedly how rigorous their curriculum is and how most kids wouldn't be ready. One asked me if she's reading yet.

Too bad I never know what counts as reading. Obviously, she's not writing dissertations on the symbolism of Hester Prynne's scarlet A but she knows all the letters, the sounds they make and she's practicing sounding out words. She can also identify her name and recognize lots of simple words. But to me that just seems like memorization after seeing the words a lot. Is that reading? I don't know. I told all that to the chick on the phone and she made a point of telling me their preschoolers are all reading so if she's not she's probably not ready. But I told you I don't even know what counts. So shut up. Or I'll have the newest 4 year old memorize Kindergarten readiness exam questions so I can rub it in your "all our preschoolers are reading" face. Whatever. Who knew picking a Kindergarten would be so complicated?

I started the week feeling pretty peppy only to slowly peeter out. Mainly because work has been so very, very busy. The moment I walk in the door there are things to do and people that require my attention. Many is the meeting I've sat through. Many is the hand I've been required to hold. Monday morning I came into work and headed straight into meetings. I didn't even get to check my email until after lunch. Which is the equivalent of totally leaving me hanging. Because if there's one thing you learn as you get promoted, it's that if the sky is falling it's going to be accompanied by no less than 47 emails documenting how and where things fell apart and what needs to be done. And at least 7 of those emails will be someone trying to deflect blame or otherwise push "the sky is falling" problem on someone else.

Technically, I planned to take today off to take care of some personal errands except I discovered a need for my presence specifically on a teleconference early this morning. I had to stay a little late yesterday just to coordinate the teleconference. When coworkers gave me a hard time for being at work a little later than usual I mentioned I had a matter on my desk that makes me want to stab my eyes out repeatedly. Which is worse than just wanting to stab my eyes out once but significantly less severe than something that makes me want to fling myself head first into a woodchipper. The hierarchy of things that torture my soul is a complicated business.

Tomorrow I have two meetings on my calendar but I have high hopes to disappear to parts unknown after lunch. I'll be so completely un-peppy by then it'll be hard to not scrap running errands and just head home for a bubble bath. Which is relaxing but not especially productive and I've got stuff to do, people! I've got appointments to make! Paperwork to fill out! A small child in need of a kindergarten! What kind of mother puts off kindergarten hunting to sit in a stupid teleconference? Someone's going to come to my house and take that child away and give her to a mother capable of getting her act together!

And I will be sad. Although I'll probably be sad while sitting in a meeting. Because if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to meet to discuss it, the tree didn't really fall and you are a liar for saying it did and you better figure out a way to get the alleged uprooted tree back in the ground no later than the close of business today. I meet therefore I am.

Yesterday I took my daughter to meet up with the no show birthday girl from two weeks ago. Chuck E. Cheese again. Believe it or not, we had a really good time. Me, too. I almost didn't want to leave. Except they don't serve Dr. Pepper so I totally couldn't live there. But visiting is acceptable.

It probably didn't hurt that I left my 18 month old at home with his father this time. And that the birthday girl actually showed up. Apparently she had 104 fever last time and her mother attempted to call me. I forgave and forgot. Especially since I'm notoriously bad about getting calls and/or messages on my cell phone. Turns out she left me a message but I'm an idiot and routinely leave my cell phone at home on the weekends. Sucks to be me.

I sat with the birthday girl's mom and another kid's mom while the kids played. We chatted about kids for 4 hours. I'm not saying they're my new best friends. But they were really nice. So I hugged them when I left. I think that means I could use some lady friends.

I was going to make fun of going to Chuck E. Cheese again. Mostly the fact that for once I left the house alone with a kid without wanting to stab my eyes out. Except I just watched Jon and Kate Plus 8 and they were flying from Pennsylvania to Utah with their 8 small children and the plane got delayed 3 hours and they had to get through security and a million potty breaks and screaming kids everywhere you looked. I laughed the whole time until Kate broke down crying on the tarmac in Idaho after their plane got rerouted because of weather. And then I just felt like an ungrateful whore. It took 12 hours traveling with 8 kids to make her break down crying and I complain about the freaking Chuck E. Cheese. Someone save me from myself.

I swear we're going to leave the house more. Although, for the record, I really think going in the driveway should count as leaving the house.

Holy guacamole, my DVR is full. So much reality television. So little time. And my poor little DVR can only record two things at once so I even missed 2 nights of American Idol this week. That's what happens when you're recording schedule gets a little bloated. I've fine tuned things because Heaven forbid I miss that Australian guy doing anything even remotely as pretty as that Bohemian Rhapsody from last week. Anyway, the DVR is full and it's great to be alive.

Survivor: What on Earth, people. How can you vote out sweet little Yau-Man so early? I already miss him. And he's smart. Why do people on these shows never appreciate keeping smart people around for awhile? My husband and I thought the two groups of 4 should have gotten together and just agreed to vote off Cirie. Why beg for someone’s vote when you could just vote her out when she tries to be difficult? And why was she so worried about Yau-Man finding the immunity idol anyway? Just don’t send him to exile island. Then he can’t get it. And why would the other team want to send him to exile island either? Because they know he’s smart too and that he’d find it. Whatever. I like Cirie a lot less than I did last week. Mostly because the other game players let her be in control of the game. Which isn’t technically her fault but oh, well. I just hate when people spend too much time complaining about how things are out of their hands when in truth the power is right there in front of them the whole time. Like in The Wizard of Oz when Glenda tells Dorothy she had it all along. Now that I’m off the Cirie bandwagon I can’t decide who’s bandwagon I’m on though. I’m mostly hoping they do one of those tribal switcheroos so the two happy little couples get split up. Speaking of happy little couples . . .

Big Brother: Just when you thought nothing could be more annoying than Sheila complaining about her partner along comes Jen. My favorite is how she threw her boyfriend under the bus telling people he’s racist. Nice. National television, chick. National television. Do you care at all about his life after he leaves the house? Because it doesn’t seem like it. And lying to him about it is beyond dumb given the cameras capturing your every move. Good riddance.

Project Runway: Believe it or not, I kinda didn’t want Christian to win the fan favorite. Because even though he’s my best friend, I want him to win the whole show. And if that happens, now no one else gets any money. I guess I'm a let’s share the wealth kind of girl. Especially since the others are super talented too. Oh, and when did Carmen become overly sensitive to the extreme? I realize her men's outfit with no shirt might be a little embarrassing to have to relive over and over again but build a bridge and get over it already.

America’s Next Top Model: I’m all about Fatima. I’m also all about finding out when Marvita is going home. I'm of the opinion she's a bit of a wack job. I'm basing that on the fact that she was threatening to beat people up on the very first episode because someone made a hand gesture that touched her a tiny little bit. She also appears to lack some social skills which no amount of therapy will help. I also like Claire. She reminds me of someone. Maybe that chick from The Matrix. I’m not sure. Her face just seems familiar. She also seems nice.

Yesterday was a good day. I told my husband that while I sat in the garage eating a sandwich for dinner while we watched the kids play in the driveway. I got a pretty good night’s rest. Everyone got up and out the door in the morning without screaming. Work was good. Traffic was light. And then we spent the evening washing the cars in the driveway. I even vacuumed. The kids drew chalk on the front window and rode their bikes. It was so peaceful and easy it was the sort of evening that makes you wish your entire life felt like that. Effortless. But sweet and familiar.

And then you go to work the next morning, and there are stacks of things to do, meetings to attend, training to make you want to kill yourself and not a moment to breath. Somedays, being busy is awesome. But somedays, when you need to call the doctor’s office and fill out some insurance paperwork, it's less awesome. In fact, it's kind of frustrating.

It's also above average frustrating when you already have a lot to do and then you discover people that need you to hold their hand every step of the way in order to get them to do their job. I don't have a problem showing people how to do things. And I don't mind explaining things either. But people who just lack the confidence to make decisions for themselves just annoy me. If I have to babysit you, it makes me think I don't need you. Which is harsh but real. And I like to keep it real. Don't pretend you're valuable if it takes two people to do your job. And, also, don't bother asking why you didn't get an award while everyone else did.

I'm off to hold more hands. If I have time, I may pretend to care too. Just kidding. Sort of. Oh, whatever.