Today MJ was in school from 9:15 to 2:15. Here’s what I got done while she was gone:
Picked up all toys, clothes, and artwork from floor.
Straightened MJ’s “studio.” Put all beads, pipe cleaners, stickers, “treasures,” and stamps back in their designated bins, muttering under my breath the whole time.
Vacuumed whole house.
Mopped kitchen and utility room.
Cleaned both bathrooms.
Did three loads of laundry.
Wrote fundraising e-mail to committee of Winter Faire at MJ’s school.
Attempted–twice–to reach donation department at Home Depot. Want them to give two Christmas Trees for our Faire. Won’t get hopes up–they won’t even spring for voice mail.
Wrote e-mail to work, asking for days off so that I can attend important Halloween events with MJ. Worried I’ll be denied.
Attempted to play with cat. Desisted, due to lack of interest.
Washed kitchen rug.
Dusted living room.
Removed one more alphabet sticker from flat screen TV. At this rate it will be cleared of them completely by 2014.
Attempted to remove glue from coffee table. Failed.
Attempted to remove piece of construction paper pasted to bathroom sink. Failed.
Wrote another fundraising e-mail.
Scanned and e-mailed banking forms for our life insurance company. We fell victim to fraud again (!!) last week, and have had to close our old checking account and open a new one. This has meant contacting everyone we do online billing with and giving them our new routing number, etc. Next time an innocent-looking teenager comes to our door selling newspaper subscriptions “for her school” and asks me for a voided check I plan on assaulting her with a stepping stool.
Brought in trash cans.
Left for pickup.
Tomorrow, at least, I get to go back to work. Maybe I’ll even get a manicure on my lunch break. That’ll feel like a day off, indeed.
Never again will I write a post entitled “Happy Meal.” Or publicly celebrate an uptick in my satisfaction in any way. It’s clearly too risky.
Here are some of the things that have happened in the last three days:
We found out that my husband’s debit card was compromised. But, before we did, the thief got most of the money in our checking account.
Our credit union informed us that it would take at least ten days to get said money back. After we filled out their forms. Which we couldn’t, because our printer was broken.
We had no money to pay our mortgage, which was now late. I had several tearful and humiliating phone calls with our home loan company. They talked to me like I was a crazy vagabond, and offered no solutions. Only after the third such phone call did they mention that there was a fifteen day grace period. I broke down, sobbed that they were sadists for not telling me sooner, and hung up on them.
In a panic, wanting fast money, I sold a stock that Mike later informed me was “the wrong one to let go of.” It’s too late to change it. We won’t get the money for days.
I also sold Myra-Jean’s balance bike, because she’s had it for two years and never used it. Plus it was always underfoot. And–ahem–money is money. When Mike heard about this he informed me, ruefully, that it was a shame. “She was finally really, really into that thing.” I am the asshole mom of the century.
I came up with a fundraising scheme for MJ’s school. It involved gathering used clothes and shoes and selling them to a company I found online. I announced said idea to the community with great fanfare, thinking “I am a genius.” The next day I learned that this company and its ilk are basically destroying Africa.
The weather has been hellish. If it were any hotter outside I could dry fruit on our front steps.
I got my first paycheck. It barely covered the DWP bill.
Our tax return seems to be lost. I wonder if the identity thief got that, too.
Doing traffic school online is taking forever. Plus, it has made me paranoid and fearful. I am obsessed with collisions. Everywhere I look I see one about to happen. I pause for so long at stop signs that people drive around me. I peruse other motorists like a gazelle watching for tigers. Everywhere, I see an impending attack. The joy is gone.
Because of the above, I have no time to watch “Orange is the New Black.”
All of our customers at the store are Chinese. I don’t speak Mandarin. I speak Latin. There are few, if any, ancient Romans looking for high-end jewelry. The result? Veni, vidi, no vici.