Entries Tagged 'general frustration' ↓

I have kids, so I shouldn’t worry about that, but I do. With three kids under five I suppose my life will be pretty kid centered, after all babysitters are spendy and the park is my current domain.

That said, I screwed up.  Bigtime.  I loosened my rule on the two year old not having Red Dye #40.  I figured, what the heck, it’s Easter, I’ll deal with it.   He had the candy on Saturday.  For the past two days it’s been nothing but the full on, throwing himself to the floor, spitting, screaming bloody murder tantrums.  When he’s not doing that he’s Mr. Moodswing chattering up a storm one second and sullen the next.  Some would chalk it up to the terrible twos, but there is a big difference in his behavior.

Lesson learned.  Who wants to babysit?

Arriving exactly on time for my 2:45 appointment, I was presented with two sets of nearly identical doors.  One had hours posted on the glass and the other was plain.  I entered through the door with office hours, assuming the other was the staff entrance.

I entered a fairly standard medical foyer, with the receptionist slightly apart from the waiting area.  I approached the no nonsense lady behind the counter only to be told, without eye contact, “Have a seat.”

She was on the phone, with an insurance company so I sat down and flipped through a magazine while thoroughly enjoying her phone call.  I began to think that if I ever had problems with my insurance carrier I would love having her around to handle the details.  She didn’t take no for an answer, was firm, and persistent.  While she handled that she was also working on payment arrangements with a man I could not see from my position.  In between demands to speak with a supervisor I heard the man make a good natured, if half-hearted joke about the aggravation involved with something or other.

In a bossy, yet somewhat genteel Southern manner she snapped “It’s good for you” and the burly man left as though he had been chastised by his granny, fumbling with his paperwork, cell phone, and sunglasses.

Several minutes later I was summoned, “Miss Lewis.”

“I’m not Miss Lewis.”

“You’re in the wrong building.”

Having been on time, I was now more than ten minutes late; blushing furiously I entered the unmarked door.  The lady behind this counter greeted me and I  sheepishly mentioned that I had been on time.  Without glancing up she replied, “She told you to have a seat didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not the first.  How long were you waiting? We’ve had patients sit there for forty-five minutes before discovering they were in the wrong office.”

At least I wasn’t the first.

For what it’s worth that temperamental gall bladder is coming out.  I just have to set a date.

I enjoy my job reading and highlighting posts for the P & C.  There are times though where I just get burned out on topics: politics, religion bashing (including the reverse), abortion, and secular vs progressive all come to mind.  I’m working through it, developing the ability to scan without internalizing a lot of it

Perhaps what tires me the most are hyperbolic arguments, slippery slopes, even the word ‘strawman.’  I can’t help but notice, and I’m not only referring to the local blogosphere, that the ability to debate is becoming a lost art.  Looking back on my own highschool experience I can only recall one instance per year where persuasive writing was covered.  With the amount of data available to the average person perhaps more focus is needed on critical reading and analysis. Honestly though, would it help? My college courses spent far too much time focusing on remedial grammar.

So I know I’ve written far too much in the mommy department, but I couldn’t let this one go even if it is embarrassing.  Last warning guys, bodily fluids and hormones ahead.

Lately the boys have been sneaking into our bed at night and when Tim is away I appreciate the body heat.  What I don’t appreciate is being awoken at 3:40 in the morning by pee.  Not just a little pee, a whole lot of it; soaking my pajamas, me, the sheets, the mattress cover, of course the pee-er.  So let’s just set the scene.  I’m soaked, I have two crying boys, one covered in pee, the other just mad that he’s being sent back to his own room so I can strip my bed.  Not two minutes into this, the baby wakes up with a lovely case of the runs.     So, three kids crying, pee, a dirty diaper, and for icing on the cake the dog is whining because that’s what he does best. At the precise moment I pick up the screaming baby, my period starts.  No, not a trickle, it’s a post pregnancy nightmarish episode.

Sufficient to say I spent a moment telling God that I didn’t find this particularly funny and that I would appreciate some patience STAT.

Well, it’s a little funny now, but then again I’m not currently covered in pee.

I’ve had a blast on this trip.  It’s been fun to visit with those I am close to, when our day to day lives have so much distance between us.

• I finally got to meet Newscoma and I look forward to speaking with her in the future when my rugrats are not dominating the scene.
• I have learned it just isn’t a trip until someone spews.  This year it is Mark.
• I am critically behind in e-mail, but I’ve decided to just let that go until Wednesday.
• I am dreading today’s five hour drive, but it could be ten.  Thank you Carye!
• The kids are clingy.
• I’m aggravated.
• It is all worth it.

I wonder if Google’s promises are currently outstripping its resources.  My mail is slow, my feed reader is about to get tossed out, and even Google’s homepage is only working intermittently.

My car is dying.  It has well over one hundred fifty thousand miles on it, but it’s still depressing.  It’s not a two hundred dollar rattle I’m hearing, it’s a four thousand dollar engine knock.

I had to pull over six times on the way home from my mom’s yesterday.

We’re going to replace the engine, the rest of the car is fine and it’s the most cost effective choice.  I would love to have something more gas efficient, but with three car seats for the next however many years, it’s not in the cars.  I swear they are going to keep kids in car seats until they can get their permits.  What a pain in the butt.

On a very good note, I found my wedding ring.  It had been missing for about six months after a certain grubby child swiped it off the bathroom counter while I was in the shower.  Said child must have crawled into my bed to play with it where it fell behind the mattresses and into the crevice between the carpet and the wall.

I’m looking over an itemized list of charges for an afternoon spent stopping labor.  I think a doctor spent less than three minutes in my room.  Over four thousand dollars for a few tests, IV, a steroid shot, and terbutaline.

Something smells and I just changed the baby.

I’m waiting for a call back from billing on a couple of the more obscure, but extremely expensive charges.

At some point yesterday I was putting away laundry.  In one hand I had a pile of clothing belonging to the boys and in the other nearly every bra I own.

For the life of me I cannot find where I hid the second pile.

Once there was a husband who complained of a wicked sore throat.  He moaned and groaned, sweating and pale.

“Go to the doctor!”

“It’s just a cold.”

One by one we’re succumbing to spiking fevers and glassy eyes.   Expensive trips to Urgent Care, throat swabs, shots, and antibiotics.

I’m the last one standing.  A few more sleepless nights and nothing will save me.  I swear, if I go into labor with strep throat, there will be Hell to pay.