Because being demoted at my job is even extra, super-duper lame

I'm currently typing with a toddler draped over my chest. Something happens after nap that makes Boobers needyneedy, and I'm not allowed to put him down lest he emits ear-piercing shrieks. And just as I was about to get firm, to tell him I HAVE TO TYPE WITH TWO APPENDAGES, he wrapped his baby arm around mine and put his head down on my shoulder. Then I melted and decided I'd peck with my nose if I have to.

As of the week after next, I won't be a supervisor at work any more and I will drop down to barista. It means a pay cut, but I think it will more than make up for missing sanity. The whole company is going to pot (heh. I said pot), and to cut costs and save money and in general fuck with the employees, you have to be available NINETY hours a week to be a supervisor. Not that you have to work that much, just basically be available, ohhh, twelve hours a day. I can't physically do that. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be prudent to pay for daycare for two to three kids while I make my $9 an hour.

And then today I filled out applications online to a couple of hospitals I'd really like to work at when I graduate. I've heard it's good to have a foot in the door. I don't know if they'll call back, because I resisted the urge to type somewhere, "WILL MOP FLOORS IF I HAVE TO." Because really, at this point, I'd scrub toilets with toothbrushes if it got me out of the hellhole I'm at now.

I've come to the conclusion that this job is really, really bumming me out. I probably let it affect me more than I should, but I can't help it. Well, I guess that isn't true. I can help it by leaving. Which I hope more than anything happens soon. I have my toothbrushes and Comet ready.

What I've been doing the past almost three weeks

1. Painting Smella's toenails. I picked a soft, pale-pink and she balked and insisted on the whore red shade. I won out.

2. Working. All the time. Still dreaming of the place burning to ashes.

3. Finishing up loose ends for school. I have an anatomy final in two weeks and one more paper to write for sociology. Can. Not. Wait. Until. It's. Over.

4. Celebrating the husband's 33rd birthday. I not-so-secretly enjoy that he'll always be older than I.

5. Fretting over not posting. Fretting over having nothing to post about. Considering never posting again.

6. Cutting myself some slack on the blog thing and getting a grip.

7. Hyperventilating about the fact that I'll soon have a two-year-old next month.

8. Enjoying the weather. I briefly considered rolling in the warm grass and soaking in as much sun into my pores as possible.

9. Deciding the neighbors don't really wanna see that.

10. Sucking it up and finally posting. Hope y'all are okay. I think I'm finally seeing a faint, tiny light at the end of the tunnel.

Never once mentioned in that What to Expect book

I'm totally going to be a nurse. A registered nurse. Hopefully a registered nurse on a labor and delivery floor. There will be blood and amniotic fluid and barf and poo. I'm okay with all of that, believe it or not. I mean, I'll have gloves, and I can totally handle it.

Here's where I admit my Achilles heel: snot. I have major, major issues with snot. Literal gagging with watery eyes issues. I just hope and pray that a) there's not a lot of snot on a L&D unit (And please, don't comment to tell me you deal with snot on a daily basis. I don't wanna know right now) or b) I get used to it. Fingers crossed, eh?

The other day I had all the kids in the car on our way to my mom's house. We were peacefully driving, humming along to the radio when I hear Big D say, "Smella! What is THAT?"

I glanced in my rear-view mirror at Smella. There were...smeary, viscous marks on her window. I reflexively gagged.

"Smella, what did you do?" I asked. "Did you just wipe your nose on the WINDOW?"

She nodded and then I died.

"You can't ever, ever, EVER do that!" I shrieked. And at this point, Big D is chiming in with me. Perhaps snot phobia is hereditary?

"But mom," she says sensibly, "I didn't have a Kleenex."

I may have shrieked at her a little more about grossness and responsibility and asking for a motherfucking piece of paper or grocery bag or something before doing that again. I think she got it. I hope she got it. Or I'll have to seriously consider leaving her on the side of the road the next time that happens.

Big D will help me.

Random Tuesday thoughts

1. Even though Keely doesn't, I have to center that button above. Have. to.

2. Did you all see Dooce on Oprah yesterday? Did you hear them mention she makes 40 grand a month in adverts? I would kill to make that in a year, people. My blog is just as good as her's, right guys? Guys? Hello...?

3. It rained all day long on Sunday, and wouldn't you know it, Oscar hates rain. As in, he would just stand still in one spot outside until he was soaked, and no amount of, "Go potty. Go potty. Go potty. Go Potty" would make him budge. Which is fine, awww, cute, the puppy hates the rain. But then he came in and shit on the floor. It stopped being cute then.

4. Incorrect use of punctuation annoys me. There's a pet store here called Pet Supplies "Plus." Like they don't really mean "plus." Or, yeah, it's "plus" all right. Snicker, snort, snicker.

5. For lunch, I had TGI Fridays. I ordered some kind of steak sandwich that was absolutely heavenly until I bit into a fried plantain. Mushy, sweet plantain with chewy, spicy beef. I just urped thinking about it again.

6. Guys? Right?

A day late

I meant to post this yesterday, but you know, whatever. I barely remembered it was April Fool's Day. Hell, I'm lucky I remember my name most days.

There were no big jokes yesterday, so I'll have to retell one from several years ago. I was pregnant with Smella and a stay-at-home-mom. The husband and I thought it would be heeeelarious to call and prank my mom. Because, you know, I didn't torture her enough by being an evil 14-year-old back in the day.

So I called her, went through some pleasantries and then informed her that the husband had lost his job. Yeah. She was upset of course, that meant no income or insurance for us. You just know she was wondering where the hell she'd put a family of soon-to-be-four in her house.

I didn't let it go on too long before I let her in on it. "April Fool's! Ha ha ha...ha..ha?" She sputtered a second and then HUNG UP ON ME.

I stared at the husband, open mouthed. I was hurt. It was just a joke! I didn't know whether to call back or write her out of my life forever.

I decided to man up and call her back. If anything I was going to holler at her for hanging up on me when obviously it was a really, really, really funny joke, dammit.

I dialed, and when she answered, she was laughing uncontrollably.

"What?" she said. "You thought I was serious? April Fool's ME, bitch!"

(Yes, my mother and I name call each other. Our relationship's a tad different, I'll admit that.)

And so ended my career of April Fool's pranks. I was so traumatized for those two minutes that I've completely learned my lesson.

Don't fuck with my mom.