I've been very quiet lately, so my apologies for that. I don't usually have a lot to say for myself this time of year. It's still snowy. And also cold. My kids come down with the sick what seems like every other week because when winter lasts forever, so does winter cold and flu season. (I actually have 3 sick kids at home right now.)
But! On a more positive note, my buddy Matt has put together a gorgeous music video for his upcoming album and I feel the need to share.
I like the song a lot. I've heard him do it live a few times, and it's one of those ones you always walk away humming at the end of the night. The video suits it, and I like the nostalgic camerawork. Also, Matt is pretty to look at. (He did, however, just get married, ladies. Sorry.) And now I'm humming the song again and I want to know why this album isn't out yet so I can put the track on and at least have an excuse to be singing it.
There are some things men just don't get. Having a variety of different sizes in your closet is one of those things.
Me: (looking at a closet full of clothes) Okay, I have nothing to wear.
The Husband: How about those jeans?
Me: I'm too fat for those.
The Husband: (wisely side-stepping the "fat" issue) Why don't you give them away, then? We can get you some new jeans.
Me: Because I just had a baby three months ago and I'm still hoping to slim down enough to wear them again.
The Husband: Okay, well, what about those pants?
Me: Those are maternity. I'm not pregnant, dear, just fat.
The Husband: So... you have a closet full of clothes that are either too big or too small?
Me: And now you see the dilemma.
Of course, he still thinks I should clean out the closet and get rid of stuff. Oh, honey, if I do that, you'll be hearing me whine yet again once I finally lose that last 10 pounds.
And I'm back again. All hooked up with the internet, phone, and cable once more, which leaves me with a lot of catching up to do.
First things first. I promised I'd give the woeful tale, so here it is:
We moved last weekend into a larger apartment (new babies make these sorts of things necessary). There was lots of advance notice, so two weeks before the move I called MTS, our internet/phone/cable provider to let them know and make an appointment to have someone come hook us up. They were to send a guy Friday afternoon, which was lovely because my strapping young brothers were to help us move all the furniture that evening.
Since this is an apartment building, you either have to have a key or someone needs to let you in. The easiest way to work this is to either use the buzzer system at the door, which is hooked into the phone. Since we were moving just down the hall in the same building, this shouldn't have been a problem. Shouldn't have. Was.
See, apparently MTS decided it would be a brilliant idea to disconnect my phone that morning. Then they acted all surprised that I didn't answer when their guy couldn't get ahold of me. So I get a note around 11:30 (did I mention my appointment had been for the afternoon?) saying the MTS guy had buzzed the apartment and then called but since there was no answer, had moved on and I should call to make another appointment. Evidently the company does not see the irony in any of this.
Fortunately, the husband has a cell phone he uses for work. He called MTS and was told they didn't have any available appointments until next Friday (today). Which means that yes, they expected us to go a full week without internet, cable, or a phone. They fail to see the issue here: after all, they'd still charge us for that week. I mean, it's not like a house full of small children could possibly have any sort of problems or emergency for which a panicked phone call would be necessary. (I maintain that while a week without internet or cable is a nuisance, a week without a telephone is actually dangerous, especially since I can't drive.)
We finally got everything connected again about an hour ago. And apparently during that week of no internet access, my e-mail has taken the liberty of sending spam to all my contacts at least twice. Awesome. So I'm terribly sorry to everyone on my e-mail list. I clearly need to create a shiny new e-mail account today and shut down the old one.
On the up side, we're all in the new place now. There are still boxes all over, but all the hefting and cleaning is done, we're just down to the sorting. Hurray!
My apologies to those who have been trying to get in contact with me. I haven't had internet access since Thursday night because of issues with my service provider about which there will undoubtedly be much ranting when I have more time (keeping three wiggly children quiet in the library is an interesting feat that only works for a few moments at a time). So I'm alive, and I'm alright, I'm just about to go postal on the people who still haven't come by to connect my phone, cable, or internet (even though I'm still paying for these services).
Ahem. Yes, there's much frustration over this. Currently, though, my three-year-old is singlehandedly re-enacting a Disney movie and causing a bit of commotion, and I should probably rein him in before the lovely people using the wifi start taking a fit.
I am convinced there is a shoe monster eating my footgear.
It's been really warm the past couple of days, and between that and my pregnancy, my feet are swelling up to the size of pontoons. I'm not able to wear my sandals anymore, but obviously I need something on my feet now and then. As this is my third pregnancy, you'd think I'd have this dilemma solved, and theoretically I would, except for the shoe monster. This critter is so insidious, he never eats both shoes in a pair, so I have an enormous pair of adjustable mens' sandals from my first pregnancy (it says something to how swollen I was that NOTHING in the womens' section of the shoe store fit my feet) and a very large pair of comfy black slip-on shoes from my second pregnancy. The shoe monster got to them before I did, so now I have the right mens' sandal and the left slip-on shoe, but although we've searched all over, we cannot find the matching shoe to either pair. I can only conclude they've been eaten.
I really hope the doctor's office doesn't mind too much if I show up in bare feet this afternoon. Y'know, for their own sakes, because if anyone says anything, I will whip out my rant/story about the shoe monster, and they'll be sorry they ever mentioned it.
My brand-new, autographed copy of Shannon Butcher's No Control --the one I brought back with me from Polaris-- hopped in the shower with me. I guess it got lonely sitting on the shelf over there by itself, and wondered if it could make the leap through the shower curtain into the bathtub. The answer is yes, it can.
Fortunately, only the top edge got wet (albeit very wet), and it's still readable. I'm just annoyed because it's new and it's a signed copy. Likely the book knew this would annoy me and is now snickering.
A few days ago, my four-year-old came home from preschool with a cold. A couple of days later, my eighteen-month-old have it. Apparently now it's my turn.
Which is mostly annoying because it's pretty rare for me. I'm almost never sick, so when I do catch something, I like to make up for it. Like having the year's colds all at once. It's, uh, more efficient that way. Yes, that's my excuse.
Oh, and did I mention (TMI alert) it's That Time of Month? I pick the awesomest times to get sick.
So needless to say, right now I look really sexy. If you understand "sexy" to mean "a remarkable resemblance to roadkill." (Then again, at some dance clubs...)
Of course, with all the cold medication I'm on right now, I could probably write something really interesting. Last time I was sick, I wrote a short story about a little frog thing who'd fallen helplessly in love with a grizzled mercenary (think Jayne from Firefly). I still weird people out with that thing. It's great. (The weirding out part, not the short story itself. The story reads like... well, like it was written by someone on cold medication. Go figure.) I'm sure I could come up with something equally bizarre today. I just have to use this whole sick thing, force it to work for my own benefit. Or something like that.
This whole blog entry made no sense at all, did it? I don't even remember what I was whining about, just that I was being whiny. I blame the penguins. They're evil, you know.