Attendance awards are bullshit.

Today's rant is brought to you by an extremely sore throat and headache and no sleep from listening to a child cough all night long.

Public schools are big on handing out attendance awards. At the last award show I was at they took roughly half the program just to hand out the awards for JUST SHOWING UP. The awards for achievement in Reading, Writing and Arithmetic were squeezed in at the end.

My kid did not get an attendance award.

She did get a Reading Award.

She will likely never get an attendance award.

Why?

When the kids who always get attendance awards are sick THEY GO TO SCHOOL.

2) Those kids? GET MY ASTHMATIC KID SICK. (as well as me, my husband, her grandparents, aunt, uncle, etc.)

3) When my kid is sick SHE STAYS HOME.

The ONLY reason schools hand out these awards to encourage attendance is because attendance = money. If your kid is out sick they don't get paid for that kid for that day. That is why it is worse to be truant than to bully. Money, money, money.

I'm not saying it's their fault that they do this -- it's the system and laws and blah blah blah.

But it's a horrible system.

And I'm flipping sick today because of it.

End rant.

I tempted fate.

We watched my brother's puppy, hereafter to be referred to as Bacon, on Friday night through Saturday afternoon and it gave my husband and I a great chance to practice having a baby in the house.  


Bacon whined all night. He antagonized our three Chihuahuas. He got water and food all over the place. He took out every single toy and left them on the floor. If one of us left the room he cried at the gate. When we came back in he acted as if he hadn't seen us in years. When the kid was around he only had eyes for her and we didn't exist. Once he fell asleep we tiptoed around the house so that we wouldn't wake him. Friday night my husband slept downstairs with him because he wouldn't stop bothering the other dogs. I slept upstairs with the kid who coughed non-stop from 9 p.m. to 4:30 a.m.


Neither one of us had any sleep that night.

We enjoyed having him but after he went home the next day we immediately fell asleep and didn't get up until 10:30 this morning.

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Yesterday I happened to mention that despite the kid being sick at two different times in as many weeks that I hadn't caught whatever she was suffering from and that I must have super genes or those vitamins I've been religously taking must really be working.

Today I woke up with a raging headache and sore throat.

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My provera regiman was over last Thursday and I'm sooo not looking forward to what is going to come next. IfyaknowwhatImeanandyouprobablydon'tbutit'saboutladythingssoit'sjustbestleftunsaid.

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I am in the mood for egg salad sandwiches so I got all the stuff for egg salad sandwiches (well, my husband did) and I am boiling the eggs now but I really hope I don't get all exhausted from making them because I really want to have an egg salad sandwich.

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My husband and kid just called. They are bringing home Taco Bell.

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Cheers!

The Haps.

Since we last met there have been many things going on around here.

First, my house got messy again despite my fear that should another murderer try to break in and the police come that the crime scene photos will include my dirty underwear laying in my dining room (not because I took them off there but because that is where we sort laundry. Seriously.)

Second, other things have been happening that I can't talk about because it's not my story to tell so I'm not telling it but I hope that the person knows that they will always have my loyalty and support.

Third, panic room? Built. Suck it murderers!

Fourth, not really because my husband refused to do it. Hopefully the murderers stopped reading after I told them to suck it.

Fifth, my kid tested for GATE. She was the only one who finished the entire test so either that means she is super smart or she just randomly filled in answers because she wanted to go home. I never know with her.

Sixth, my kid also got sick this week and when I stayed home with her on Thursday she told me no less than eleventy-billion times that she didn't feel good. It was hard to remain sympathetic but I did it because I'm the mother and it's my job. But, REALLY, kid? REALLY?!?

Seventh, we met with the fertility doctor. My vagina is apparently very interesting because when it was time for the vaginal ultrasound there were a total of four people in the room with me. One of those people was my husband and for once he was the only one NOT looking at my vagina (sorry Mom). I am considering selling tickets for the show next time because holy shitballs fertility doctors, drugs and test are expensive.

Eighth, I have a billion tests that need to be done before I can start fertility drugs. My husband only has one test but I'm not allowed to talk about it because I've been told in so many words that it is also not my story to tell.  Hmphf.

Ninth, being infertile sucks.

Tenth, it's rainy and cold and I'm bored. (And no, Dad, I don't want to clean my house).

Cheers.

Now with video cameras and a big, scary dog!

I have a hard time getting up for work.

I don’t know why I can’t get out of bed in the morning. Well, I know why. I’m flippin' tired.

And I’m addicted to my sassy little friend.

Snoozy.

Snoozy loves me because I know exactly how to push her buttons. She likes it rough but not too rough. Because she lives in my iPhone and my iPhone is a delicate flower. All I really have to do is tap blindly until I hit the right spot. Kind of like a teenage boy who fumbles around a vagina for the first time. Except when I hit the right spot it makes the noise stop and when awkward teenage boy hits the right spot…well, ya know, the opposite of that.

It’s does get a little awkward when my husband is home and I hit her again and again and again (she’s a needy bitch) but he’s learned to deal with it.

I’m not sure why I personified my alarm clock as a girl. Maybe because bitches be naggin'?

I think I just offended myself.

ANYWAY.

I casually mentioned to my mother that I wanted one of those alarm clocks that runs away from you when it goes off so that it would force me to get out of bed to turn it off.

She listened.

Cuz she’s a good mama.

Snoozy is totes jealous of my new friend, Tocky.

Tocky is a boy. Because he runs away. Probably because I try to suffocate him with my love.

I was hesitant to use my new friend Tocky because when I tested him I couldn’t exactly figure out how to turn him off and it kept beeping and vibrating and rolling and it made the dogs go batshit crazy. I know it sounds like a good time, but it’s not. Trust.

The first night I used him I woke up a good half hour before he was set to go off because I was terrified he was going to cause my dogs to go batshit crazy again. After I turned him off I laid in bed until I had exactly 17 minutes left to get ready before I was going to be really late to work.

The second night I set him and everything happened exactly as I thought it would that next morning.

Picture it. Sicily. 2011.

The dogs are barking and howling.  I'm fumbling around on the floor, yelling at the dogs to shut the hell up already. Blindly reaching around until I stumble across Tocky. Sitting quietly on my night stand. Like an innocent teenage boy.

I looked at his cute little Justin Bieber face.

5:56 a.m.

He wasn’t vibrating. Or lit up. In fact, it was a half hour before he was set to go off.

I grabbed my iPhone thinking it was Snoozy being a louder than normal jealous bitch.

Nope.

I get myself up off the floor and sprint over to my house alarm control pad.

Holy Shitballs.

My back door slider!

5:57 a.m.

The kid is awake. I tell her to go to the bathroom and lock the door.

I called my parents.

COME NOW. SOMEONE IS TRYING TO MURDER US.

My husband is calling me on the other line because the alarm company called him.

TELL THEM TO HURRY. I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. THE DOGS ARE GOING BATSHIT CRAZY! I MIGHT BE DYING. YES, I’M DYING.

I look out the window and my motion lights are on.

OHMYGOD OHMYGODOHMYGOD I’M GOING TO PEE MY PANTS RIGHT NOW.

My mom is on the phone telling me to go to the bathroom with my kid. I say something about my dogs and she told me to not worry about the dogs.

I’M STILL WORRYING ABOUT THE DOGS, MOTHER!

I go into the bathroom with my kid. I tell her that she has to take the phone because if I don’t pee rightthissecond I am going to wet myself.

It seemed like we spent hours in that bathroom. I vaguely remember setting up a poo area (the toilet, obviously) and a place where we could prepare our food (the tank, it was the best I could do). We might have also fashioned clothing out of toilet paper and feminine hygiene products.

6:10 a.m.

My parents arrive (seconds after the police) but in their rush to leave their house they forgot my house keys.

The police officer tells my mom to tell me to come straight to the door, open it, and step to the side. I send the kid back to the village we started in the bathroom, tell her NOT to open the door nomatterwhat, grab a sweater to cover my fun bags and prepare to meet my killer.

I have literally (not figuratively) never been more afraid to open a door in my entire life.

I also have probably never sprinted down the stairs that quickly either.

6:15 a.m.

My husband calls back and asks if the police are there and what is going on and holyshit. THE KID! She’s still upstairs in our bathroom. I ask my mom to go get her. My kid is upset. She told my mom she thought I had been killed.

Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus.

The police find nothing. No marks on the door. No footprints. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Of course whoever it was did have like eleventy-billion minutes to get out of there.

My mother said I exaggerate and it was only like 10 minutes.

Even I could hop over a fence in 10 minutes, mother.

It might take me the whole ten minutes but I could still do it.

I guess it could have been my alarm just randomly going off when it has never gone off before.  Or it was the wind even though there wasn’t any wind or other extreme weather conditions that morning. It could have been a ghost. Or a five foot raccoon who decided he was going to be civilized and use the door instead of the incredibly convenient doggie door.

The possibilities are endless.

I’m inclined to think that someone just wanted to murder and rape me (just me, not my kid because there is never a scenario where I can ever imagine that happening to her. Oh shit. I just did. I’m as bad as Ray imagining the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. And now I’m crying. Because of that horrible thought. And also because now I want marshmallows and I don’t have any. But mostly that horrible thought.)

My parents are inclined to think it was the wind because I imagine they also have the whole Stay Puft Marshmallow thing going on.

My mother told me that I don’t have any enemies and nobody wants to murder me.

I agreed with her that it’s possible no one wants to murder me (because I’m super nice, yo) but they might want to rape me.

She said no one wants to rape me either.

I was offended that she thought that.

Then I was disgusted with myself that I was offended that she thought that.

And then she was mad that I was disgusted with myself that I was offended that she thought that because that is NOT WHAT SHE MEANT and could I please stop being so dramatic?

It’s like she doesn’t even know me.

(She totally does, though.)

33

I had a really excellent birthday this year.

Chinese food, margaritas and my family.

It was all I needed.

In addition to the awesome cards and presents, natch.

My brother gave me a card that you could lick and it tasted like a margarita (and then EVEN BETTER he made me a pitcher of margaritas!) and my sister and her boyfriend gave me a game called The Game of Things that we played and it got totally out of hand. Possibly due to the margaritas. But mostly due to our love of the inappropriate.

My husband and kid bought me the Harry Potter Lego Castle and Diagon Alley should be here soonish. YOU GUYS. Do you know that means? Any day now I will have the ENTIRE set. Totally Nerdtastic.

My parents got me the most beautiful purple Coach purse and matching make up bag. Also some very pretty jewelry that can be partially seen here. And some very lovely flowers. My mom has excellent taste.

On my actual birthday I came home to flowers and cards from my husband and the kid. And he made dinner and cleaned up and took us to Baskin Robbins for some 31 flavors. Divine.

I had a two lovely voicemails of people singing to me (aunt & uncle and my best friend), an e-mail from my Dad and my facebook wall blew up like a mofo. Nothing like a notification badge in the double digits to make you feel loved.

All of this loveliness staved off the immense sadness that I've felt on my birthday since 26.  I don't get sad because I'm getting older but because for the first 25 years of my life I always got a phone call from my grandparents no matter where I was in this world. I think this makes me miss them more on my birthday than on any other day of the year. I get a little sad. I remember them. I smile. And I do my best to honor them by wrapping myself up in the company of my family.

And a few margaritas.

You do the same.

This is my year, Internet.

Smooches.