You know, I came into work today and had a total bitch session including: feet stomping, arm crossing, and pouting. I DIDN'T GET MY GOOD VACATION!!! And now I feel better. Those 5 year olds, they're onto something.
My body is in some kind of shock, and I feel like such a freak. The 105 degree heat did something to my internal thermostat and it's no longer functioning. It's August, correct? Why am I sitting here in a TURTLENECK?? Why? And, okay, I'll admit....I also have a space heater pointed directly at me under my desk. If building management knew about that one there'd be a battle. They have a policy against them, but have no ability to make the temperature of the building comfortable. We're either all huddled in our offices, wrapped up in anything remotely heat giving...kleenex. Kleenex provides heat when you're really cold. Or it's the other way around, and suit jackets are flung on the floor, sweat dripping off our foreheads as we plug away.
In Mr. Drake news the hubby found some long lost lego's during his parent's move that are the.coolest.ever. They're not just any lego's....they're pirate lego's. I just don't get it, but if you are a boy you do. Swords, pirates, treasure chests, and ships are the greatest creation. The hubby is even grown up enough to refuse to GIVE them to Drake. Instead he keeps telling him they're on loan. I've asked him a few times what his plans are, but he keeps mumbling something about entering a lego building in the state fair.
Instead of being able to handle the killer heat I was passed out in an air conditioned hotel room. THE ENTIRE TIME. Well, except for the time spent in the car, in a hospital, and half a freakin day in the music and sunshine. 105 degree sunshine that is.
And I only got 1/2 a sock and 6 inches of a sweater finished. Pretty damn poopy if you ask me.
See, the hubby is pretty good at predicting when I'll get a migraine, and he predicted right here. Me? I'm always in denial. Until it hits. Then I'm a sobbing, babbling, moaning pile on the floor. Covered in a towel to protect against the light. I remember trying to tell him to cut the top of my head off and trade it with another (just to give you an idea of where I was at). I think between that, me moaning unintelligible things to him, and a little convulsing on my part he decided he'd better get me on down to the ER.
I remember bits and pieces of that involving:
* Being convinced they were trying to kill me when they gave me the demerol for pain.
*Changing beds 3 times because there was a sudden bed-on-wheels shortage.
*Them trying to get me to pee sitting on a seat with a bucket under it. Nuh-uh. I don't care how sick I am.
*Waking up in a totally different room/bed than I remember starting in, and once again being able to feel something other than a giant throbbing mass on my neck.
During this all the hubby was a saint. He called around to find me a hotel room to pass out in, which was not an easy task. You see, Reggae on the River is in the middle of nowhere in Northern CA. And when you suddenly cram bunches of people in the middle of nowhere every nook & cranny is full. And beyond full.
He finally found me a spot in the prestigious Benbow Inn. Apparently the nurses at the hospital were trying to impress him by saying Clint Eastwood stayed there. If Clint Eastwood DID stay there I sure as hell wouldn't want to meet him looking like I did. I had on pajama pants, a crumpled camisole, sandles, and two day old pigtails. SO not a pretty sight.
I promptly passed out in the room while the hubby tried to go enjoy the nightly festivities. He said when the bus pulled up to drop them off there was one window where the blinds were wide open and all the lights were blaring. Mine.
He came into the room to find me totally passed out, facedown on the bed, my face planted in the middle of a pile of sock, yarn, & 4 very sharp dpn's. It's a wonder I didn't poke my eye out. The next night was more of the same...weird medicated sleeping.
But I'm back, not quite at full speed, and dare I say....burned out? I didn't even feel like knitting last night let alone moving my ass off the couch. But I had to go pick up my dear doggy. Remember my brother, the saint? He took such good care of my doggy, the mean thing didn't even act happy to see me. He took one look at me, and promptly passed out in the backseat of the car. DIDN'T EVEN COME IN FOR A DOGGY KISS. And the little bastard had no idea what I had to go through to go pick him up.
The next time I think I can somehow go 20 miles in rush hour in one hour, smack me. My excitement included seeing a few cars (including a cop car) nice and smashed up...even on fire! A person serious about picking their nose, and lots and lots of very bored, pissed of people. All going where I was going.
The day before vacation always ends up being a weird day. You really want to throw on flip flops and a tank top, but instead you must dress up, go to work, and pretend all is normal. That your hair will not be braided in cornrows, that you will not be wearing a bra, and that you will not be drunk on margaritas and music the very next day. So today I made a compromise. A dressed up version of flip flops, no life sucking pantyhose, and a summer dress. I feel like a gooney.
I have to tell you all, I have the best brother ever made. Remember the sweet little doggy I have?
I'm a horrible, horrible, TERRIBLE pet owner. He doesn't have his last rabies shot (The doggie, not my brother. Judging by the looks of him, I just haven't been to worried about rabies) Hence, no doggie sitter wants to watch my baby while I'm on vacation. And between that and my really really bad procrastination I was left with few options. I called and begged my parents, but between watching Mr. Drake & having 3 boxers of their own they weren't up to protecting my darling doggie also.
So onto other family members. My parents had four of us for a reason other than washing dishes, right? I figured I'd better start with the most responsible one, and after asking for a huge favor he said yes, not even quite sure what he was signing up for. I told him the whole story, and what a crappy pet owner I am. He laughed, asked if he poops in the house, what he does all day (sleep) and said sure, no problem. I LOVE MY BROTHER.
Now I can leave on vacation knowing all my responsibilities will still be alive and kicking when I return. Life is good.
Well, except for the working, cleaning, cooking dinner part, which can be forgiven because it's not going to happen for a few days during vacation.
The hubby was smart enough to take today off also, bastard. While I am slaving away in my crappy half summer/half work outfit he is out playing frisbee golf with friends. Not just his friends, either. Nope, our mutual friends. I feel so left out. It doesn't matter that I can't throw a frisbee more than 5 feet, and never in the right direction. Nor that when I join in the game takes about 2 hours longer than usual. I am so jealous.
He should be at home doing the loads of laundry that need done before we can leave. How is it that every single freaking one of my bras is dirty? Explain that one to me. Hence, the bra-less comment above. Who needs them anyway, right?
Goodbye all! When I get back I will most likely be burned to a crisp by the unforgiving evil sun, have hair that circles my head in a giant fro once the cornrows are taken out, and hopefully have massive knitting done. I'll let you know. And maybe take a few pictures.
Two days, TWO DAYS, people until I'll be cruising in the rented minivan to hot and sunny Calif-or-nia. Like it's not been hot and sunny enough here in the Seattle area. My god, it's been miserable.
Usually every night before bed we run around and do the door & window closure routine. We live in a totally safe neighborhood, but I'm a freak and can't sleep if even one window dares to be cracked open more than the allowed 2 inches (with the lock on, of course!) So this morning when I woke up and the house was FREEZING I ran around and did an inspection because I just knew something had gotten left open.
The sliding glass door was wide open, just begging for someone to come in and take our entire sad collection of belongings. Drake and I got up at around the same time, shivering, and looking at each other like WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED??!! Last thing we remembered we were sprawled out on our beds, wanting to die we were so hot.
But back to the minivan.....I am SO not a minivan person. The trip in the minivan is really pushing my limits. I just want to put a sign on the window as we make the treck, the back of the van stuffed to the roof with brown & orange sleeping bags, camping stoves, etc, "YES, WE ARE INDEED ROADTRIPPERS."
It's so embarrassing to (1) Be driving in the fast lane pushing 60 (the FIL is a, well, interesting driver. It's all or nothing with him. Either 80 or 55. And no rhyme or reason for either)
(2) Have non-tinted windows so that everyone passing us sees my mouth wide open catching flies while I'm totally passed out with boredom.
(3)BE SEEN IN A MINIVAN.
I agree, they do have some winning qualities. Just not for me.
I still haven't narrowed down what projects I'm bringing with me. For some reason I seem to think I can get EVERY project I have yarn for finished and I've felt a compulsive need to order more yarn because I won't have anything left after this trip. Ya, right. Uh-huh. Very logical.
I am going to bring the lime green Cascade 220 superwash I got at Little Knits for the "Terry Cable Sweater" because Drake is anxiously awaiting it. You should have seen his eyes light up when he saw the blinding-ness of that yarn. It was love at first sight.
I'm also gonna bring some sock yarn, because I'm thinking that will be the perfect project for taking with me to the music. Portable, and easy.
Is there anything better than getting to play with yarn and then be rewarded with yarn? Especially when you get to do so with two very fun, nice, cool people. I met Karma & Fulay at Little Knits on Saturday to help organize yarn. Okay, okay, I confess....there was a lot of yarn fondling & oogling involved, but we did accomplish some organization.
And by going and involving myself in yarn porn I was able to sneak away from Mr. Pukey. The big dentist trip is over, and thank god. When he finally woke up, he looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said
"But mom, they forgot to give me my free toothbrush."
And then he proceded to puke for the next 2 days.
Anyone who knows me knows I don't do puke. Or blood. Or any bodily fluids. I faint, freak out, run, scream, and hide. Just the qualities you're looking for in a mom, right?
In fact, last year I was cutting up tortillas, the knife slipped, and I saw blood. Knowing myself I didn't dare peek & see how bad it was, I just shoved a paper towel around it. Drake was, of course, running around half naked so I made him throw some clothes on, and off we went to urgent care.
I still wonder how much they talked about me after I left....I ran in with a bloody paper towel hanging off my finger, holding my whole arm behind me so I couldn't see it, and Drake managed when putting his shorts on to twist the front all the way to his side, so it looked like he put both legs in one hole. And I might have been just a bit hysterical.
They put me in a room and the doctor came in to take a look. I could tell she was trying not to laugh at me once she saw the cut & had cleaned it out. She slapped a bandaid on me and told me it was just a nick, I'd be fine.
Oh, I'm motherhood material all right.
This week I've got to work on getting my projects straightened out and decide what exactly I'm going to bring on The Car Ride. How much can I get done in 22 hours? And 3 days of sitting around listening to music? 5 socks? A sweater?
I'm a twenty something, mom of two boys, who loves chocolate, coffee, knitting, and being a girl. I'm happily unmarried (engaged though!) to great guy I've been with for 7 years.
