Bad Day 316--I also can't yodel

I do not know how to poach an egg. There. I said it. It's a horrible admission from someone who considers herself a great cook, but eggs scare me. Not scrambled, which I excel at, or omelets which are a breeze with a good pan, or even quiche, which I no longer make because I hate making pie crusts. And there is the whole wheat thing. The difference is, though, that I can make pie crusts, I just don't like to. But I cannot poach an egg. I have tried. Oh, how I have tried, but every single time it sort of ends up like egg drop soup only not as delicious because it's water not broth and it's very disappointing because I am so good at breakfast that I made up my own fried onions and bacon and potato side dish and Child 1 asked where I got the recipe and I said my head. She was impressed. This is what my poached eggs looked like last time I tried and it would not impress Child 1.

But I cannot poach eggs. However, I think I want to give it another go because eggs are one of the few things I can eat without fear and I love poached eggs. Especially with salmon. Or avocado. Or salmon and avocado? And English muffins! Those will be harder to replace with gluten-free, but I think I saw some in the frozen section, so I just might try something akin to Eggs Benedict this weekend, although I think I might just buy a Hollandaise sauce mix because Hollandaise scares me. Sense a theme here? That's why I was so proud of myself when I made that Avgolemono soup and it turned out perfectly the first time and I tempered the eggs like a pro and then the children hated it. So we'll see about the poached eggs.

This hit an run driver in England is having a worse day than me. This is her picture which she posted on Twitter.

As you know, I never, ever post pictures on Twitter. First because I don't take pictures, and second because my Twitter account is for getting school closing messages. I think the last thing I tweeted was a poem. Years ago. But in this age of over-sharing, this girl also Tweeted the fact that she hit a guy on a bicycle and she didn't stop AND she wasn't sorry. And some helpful people forwarded it to the police. Once she realized her tweet had gone viral, she deleted it, but she learned, as should we all, that nothing is ever really deleted. And the police tracked her down and are investigating her for a hit and run. So thank you, Ms. Twit, for reminding me to be grateful that I have never, ever hit someone with my car, and if I did, I would not leave the scene. I hit a cat once while going over a speed bump in my neighborhood. Even though the cat ran under the car and thus the wheel, I am still scarred by how awful that was so shame on you for hitting a human and not stopping!

And confidential to Child 2, I am only an awesome parent because I have awesome children! And I love you. Now it's time for bed.

Bad Day 315--How about an award for worst cold?

My cold won't go away. It is just lingering and lingering. It's like it's found a home and it doesn't want to leave. I may never be well again. And before Artemis or Sister 2 suggests it, no I'm not leaking brain fluid. Unless brain fluid is green and icky. Yuck.

But it is awards season at the Department which means that I will have extra time to work because why go to the ceremonies when you are never, ever nominated for an award? I never am. Not ever. Not even when I evacuated people from a disaster zone. Nope. Not that I deserved one this year, because I'm pretty sure there is not an award for best make-up job after crying at your desk. Or one for number of sick days missed to take care of your children. I am really good at doing the things you are supposed to do every day for your job, but since I can't go off and do the exciting things (because someone else is already in Afghanistan and I can't leave the children unattended,) I won't be nominated for any awards this year. I spent a good part of the afternoon feeling grumpy and unappreciated. I mean, no one even noticed my awesome shoes today! And a total of two people noticed my hair cut and I had about 8 inches chopped off, so it's pretty noticeable. But that is the kind of office I have, so I decided to award myself some new shoes. I bought these. They are navy if you can't tell. Because, um, I already have a black and white polka dotted pair, but those are sandals with bows and are completely different. Also, these were on sale and really, really cheap.

Way better than some dumb certificate that comes with a monetary reward and helps you get promoted, right? If only they had an award for best shoes. Or one for best complaining about your children in a blog--I think I would totally have a shot at that one!

Speaking of new shoes, there is a homeless guy whom I see regularly on my way to and from the Department who was wearing some shiny new dress shoes today. The other week, I found $20 literally in the gutter icky and dirty and I picked it up vowing to give it to the first person I saw begging. So I saw him and I gave him the money and I wondered today if the new shoes was what my $20 had helped purchase. And then I really hoped so because everyone should have a nice new pair of shoes once in a while. I used to think that being poor meant you should only spend your money on essentials like food and shelter. But now, I think a little luxury now and then is a good thing. Plus I really understand the joy a new pair of shoes can bring, so I hope that is what the money I found bought him.

My friend "Guido" sent me a link to an article about this 10 year old girl in Utah who is having a worse day than me. She was apparently bullying another girl at her school and making fun of her clothes, so her stepmother went to the thrift store and bought her a weeks' worth of new outfits to wear and then made her wear them. And boy, did she find some ugly stuff. I have been to thrift stores in Utah, and I can safely say that they are terrible. I mean awful. No vintage because vintage in Utah gets snapped up at the garage sales people hold before things get donated to the thrift store--these are home-made rejects that even people who had lost everything but the clothes on their back would think twice about wearing. The cutest of the thrift store outfits was this mu-mu.

Poor girl. But she says she learned her lesson and maybe, some empathy for the girl she was bullying sunk in there because I'm certain that's what her mom was trying to do. So thank you, Utah Mom, for teaching your daughter to appreciate what she has, and for making me grateful that my own children have a great deal of empathy. And also thank you for giving me great fodder for the next time they complain they have nothing to wear. I can always threaten to buy things for them at the thrift store next time we go to Utah.

Bad Day 314--I have no memory of that

I would make an awesome congressional hearing witness at the moment. I looked at my blog post from yesterday and I have no memory at all of writing any of it. I'm blaming it on the cold/flu/strep throat or whatever the heck I have that is making me so ill. On Friday, I was so spaced out that I actually missed my metro stop and went one too far. And that was on the way home! And today, I almost did it again. And today I forgot to bring both my phone and my Kindle which made my commute not so fun, so I don't even have the excuse that I was so absorbed by my book that I didn't pay attention to where I was. I have the ability that many moms have (especially those who are hard of hearing like me) which is to tune out everything while reading. Yes, I am one of those moms who can completely not hear their children saying Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom?! But really, when I am reading, the fire alarm could go off and the sprinklers too and I wouldn't even notice except that I would have to wipe my Kindle screen occasionally. But even with that super-power, I have never, ever missed my stop. So it must be this nasty cold/flu thing. I am miserable and it is only the Alleve-D that is keeping me going.

Well, also that Husband is here and there is someone else to pay attention to the children and walk The Dog in the morning and help with dinner and do the dishes. And then rub my temples to make the headache go away. I had forgotten how nice it is to have a husband. I tried to make Child 2 rub my feet the other day and she basically patted them while holding her nose and saying EWWW! Child 3 gives a nice, soft temple rub for migraines, but it lasts about 30 seconds before she gets bored. And my massage chair is just not the same.

But before I forget, I keep meaning to write about my bangs, which I got on Saturday, or "fringe bangs" as my Cambodian hairdresser calls them. They were her idea. I haven't had real bangs since I think 10th grade. About 10 months ago, I got side bangs which were "sort of bangs" and really weren't bangs since they didn't really cover my forehead. But now, I have committed to the bangs. Probably because of Iron Man 3 and Pepper Potts because my hair kind of looks like that now.

Husband is happy. He is happy whenever I cut my hair. He has this amazing ability to like however I wear it, even when it is a mess. I am not complaining--I am bragging. It is my favorite trait of his because it means that I can experiment with bangs and he will say I love it. You look amazing. Again, it's so nice to have a husband around, if just for the ego boost.

These seniors in Kentucky are having a worse day than me. They decided that for a senior prank, it would be really funny to release 10,000 crickets into the high school, which most people would tell you was a really, really bad idea because 10,000 crickets looks like this and requires an exterminator.

I know! I get the willies just thinking about it. So the school administrators who found the prank less than funny forbade them from walking during graduation and fined them each $600 which they must pay before they can receive their diplomas. Their fellow seniors protested, but to no avail. So thank you, clueless Seniors, for reminding me to be grateful that the exterminators came this afternoon to get rid of our ants and the wasps nest. And it did not cost me the thousands of dollars it will cost your school district to get rid of those crickets. (And to my friends in Oklahoma, I am glad you are all safe, and if you need to get away from the destruction, DC is a very nice place to visit and I live in a house that right now is completely bug-free. Just saying. You can stay with me any time.)

Bad Day 313--Home! (for 10 days anyway.)

Husband is home. We picked him up this morning and we are so happy he is here. But I am still sick, and my cough drops are mocking me. I noticed for the first time today that they have stupid little messages on them like "give yourself a high five!" because that is exactly what I want when I am feeling like I've been hit by a truck and my nose is a faucet and my head is going to explode--some dumb cheerleader message on my medicine. I need new cough drops.

Child 1 has informed me that bow ties are now cool. We got into this conversation because Niece 1 mentioned someone was wearing one at a wedding and I said that worried me. Apparently, I have underestimated the cool factor of bow ties because they are "very Downton" and quite popular with people not in my generation. So when Child 1 and Niece 1 think about bow ties, they imagine this.

I, on the other hand, imagine this. That is Senator Paul Simon, for those of you born after the 80s.

Senator Simon was a nice person, I'm certain, but he was no Matthew Crawley. Husband had a bow tie once which he liked to wear and I hated. But maybe I'll have to re-think the bow tie disdain. Still, I think they probably are only cool on people under 30 which Husband is not. Neither am I, for that matter, but I am not trying to pull off a bow tie.

This soccer player in Russia is having a worse day than me.

First, he tweeted something that made his fans mad. Then they booed him at the beginning of the game. Then, when he scored the winning goal, he dissed his own fans with a rude gesture because he was mad at them for booing him. Then the umps ejected him from the game. So thank you, Mr. Rude Footballer, for reminding athletes everywhere that biting the hands that feed you is never a good idea. You are not bigger than the game, and you will look pretty stupid if people stop paying for tickets to see you play. Also, you will be broke. I hope you remember that next time your contract is up for renegotiation.

Bad Day 312--I'm speaking English!

We are having a language problem at our house again. Apparently, when I say something, the children don't understand what it means, so they do the complete opposite. For example, I told Child 3 to go get her homework folder, so she went and took a nap on the couch. So I have decided to write my own dictionary of commonly used terms so that they will be able to understand what I mean when I speak to them in English. Honestly, you would think I was speaking Norwegian (which I can, but I don't because they don't understand it. But then they don't understand English apparently, so maybe Norwegian would be better.)

Not now:  Not at this moment. Maybe, in the future. But not if you keep asking me and really stop asking or it will turn into a "no." (See below.)

No:  Not now. Not ever. No means no. It doesn't mean maybe, nor does it mean really yes if you keep bugging me. This is a hard no and once I have said no, I am not changing my mind. Ask Husband. Or any of my many visa refusals. Repetition of the question or "please" is going to get you a "really no!" (See below)

Really No:  Don't ever ask again. Ever.

Maybe later:  Contrary to what you may believe, this is a possible yes. But not if you keep asking because later doesn't mean now. (See below)

Later:  Not now. Not in 5 minutes. Not if you keep asking over and over and over again for 10 minutes straight. That is not later. Tomorrow is later. Next week is later. Two seconds from now is not later.

Go get your homework:  Your actual homework. The stuff your teacher assigned you. Not the Wii, or your iPod, or a snack, or your blanket, or some knitting. Your homework.

It's time for dinner:  Now. (See below.) Not later. Right at this second and if you don't come now, then we will eat without you and no, I won't save you any.

It's time for bed:  Now. (See below.) Definitely not in an hour or after you have watched five episodes of that show on the Disney channel that I hate but not before you walk The Dog.

Now:  Not in 5 minutes or after your snack or when your TV show that you have watched 10,000 times on Netflix so that you can quote each line is over. Right this second.

Cut it out:  Stop. Don't keep going. If you keep going then Yelling Mom might show up and we all hate her, so really, just stop.

Are you kidding me?:  Mom is angry and you had better cut it out. (See above.)

I don't know:  Try Google.

I love you:  This one is tricky. It has many, many meanings including I am proud of you, I am stunned by how amazing you are, and you have no idea how much faith I have in you.

Now, cut it out. It's time for bed. I love you.

Husband is arriving home tomorrow for his final R&R, so there are lots of people having a worse day than me, despite my being really, really sick. But I think Pat Robertson wins.

For those of you who don't know him, he is a Televangelist which basically means he is a preacher on TV. Now, Mr. Robertson is very popular and a lot of people call into his show for advice. One woman called and said she was having trouble forgiving her husband for cheating on her. And he told her first that her husband is a man and men like to wander. And then that she shouldn't complain if he was handsome and provided a good living. And then he said that she should be a better homemaker and make the kind of home he wouldn't want to leave. OK. I think I need charts to explain how wrong all of those statements are. But thank you, Mr. Robertson, for reminding me to be grateful that when Husband left me, it was for Afghanistan. Not all men wander, you know, and your advice has mad you a laughingstock, and rightly so. And to the woman who called you, I am sorry you are going through this. Have your husband call me and I will give him some advice about making you a nice home.

Bad Day 311--Ugh!

I am sick. Really sick. Fever, sore throat, headachey sick. I'm certain it's Child 2's nasty cold from earlier in the week because I caught her drinking out of my water bottle. So as penance, I'm making her guest blog with the caveat that she has to say nice things about me. So here she is. I'm going to bed. (Husband, please still call.)

Hello everyone!  :D This is Child 2 speaking!  I guess I'll just tell a few jokes as I write about my day.  Well, I got to have an awesome time in band today as I usually do, since I have band every day.  And this week, I heard this funny joke that this one kid in my band section told our band director.  What do pirates and trumpet players have in common?  They kill on the high C's!  After band, I got to take the skills test we had on soccer in gym today, and then I had lunch with my friends, which consisted of pizza, chocolate milk, and fruit.  I actually came up with a funny joke I made about fruit back in April.  What did the cantaloupe say to the apple when it asked why the cantaloupe was crying?  "I'm crying because I'm so meloncholy!"  After lunch, I had French class, where I got my results back on this test we all had to take to see how much we'd progressed in learning French so far.  To be honest, I think I did surprisingly well.  At least I've improved since the beginning of the year when I accidentally told my teacher that the fish in the picture she was showing us was swimming on the beach.  Yup.  My friends and family and I still laugh about that, along with how I accidentally said I was going to wash my face with soup last year when we were doing excersises out of the text book in Spanish.  When I got home, I played a fun game of go-fish with my cousin, and had piano lessons.  Then I slept a lot, had dinner, did homework and other stuff, and now here I am.

People who were at the airport in Duluth, Minnesota are having a worse day than us.  They were probably just sitting at the gate in the airport, waiting for their flights to come in, which were probably delayed due to two fighting bald eagles crash landing onto the runway.

They did manage to get the birds to a wildlife rehabilitation center eventually, but the people at the airport gates were probably still slightly mad at the birds for delaying their flights.  So thank you, bald eagles, for teaching us all that if we ever pick a fight, we should at least pay attention to our surroundings so we don't end up on the tarmac of an airport runway.

Bad Day 310--When will they make an end?

Husband's PRT has closed. He has left. The Embassy decided it was no longer safe, so they shut the doors and pulled the civilians out. You would think that this might mean Husband would be coming home early, but then you would not be thinking like the Department. Because, instead of sending him home (and thereby making me happy AND saving money), they have decided he should move somewhere else. So he has moved to a safer place where he has nothing much to do. He only has 55 days left, give or take, but they are determined to make him stay until the very bitter end of his tour. So the fact that they wouldn't have to pay him any more danger or hardship pay if they sent him home does not outweigh the fact that he volunteered for 365 days, so that is how long he has to stay. I would march into someone's office and complain if I thought that would do any good, but Husband doesn't like to make waves. He can make all the waves he wants at home by leaving for Afghanistan, but I can't make even a ripple of discontent with his office. So I will do what he wants which is nothing. Except cry. I'm getting quite good at that. I am almost to the point where I can cry in front of people and they won't even know. Except The Dog. The Dog always knows when I am sad and chooses that moment to lick me which is not helpful and just makes me annoyed. It is really hard to concentrate on crying when some smelly dog is licking you and eating your tissues.

Today was not a good day. I am tired. I am tired of The Dog and of whining children, and the children have not yet tired of whining. So Yelling Mom made an appearance.

I hate Yelling Mom. She is mean and she gives me a headache and she doesn't really show up all that much, but today she yelled at Child 1 to stop picking a fight and at Child 2 to stop trying to make me feel better and at Child 3 to stop sharpening pencils and just do her homework already! Then she made me eat Doritos until I got sick. I've decided that Yelling Mom needs to go away and so I am in my jammies and I think I will read trashy novels until I fall asleep which will be in about 5 minutes if my stomach will ever settle down from the Doritos. They are gluten-free, but I really ate too many and then I had baked beans on top of that and that was not a good decision. Neither was the yelling. (I'm sorry Children. Feel free to eat all the chocolate people gave me for Mother's Day as a consolation prize. Oh wait. You already did that. Sigh. I so need a brownie. I so miss brownies. Can someone just bring over a brownie so I can smell it?)

This would-be thief in Michigan is having a worse day than me and the children. She loaded up her car with food, dishes, and silverware from a hotel and then got in it to drive away. Only she didn't realize that she had dropped her keys outside, which wouldn't be a big deal, except her door latches were broken on the inside, and she had automatic windows. Which won't roll down without the keys. So yep, she locked herself up with all the evidence so that when the police arrived, she was still there. So thank you, Ms. Careless and Reckless, for reminding me that crime doesn't pay, especially when you are really, really bad at it. And for making me grateful that you can't get locked in our mini-van. Unless you are The Dog and have no thumbs with which to open the door. But then again, The Dog loves the minivan almost as much as she loves me, so being locked in it with a bunch of food would be just heaven for her. Anybody want a dog who likes minivans and eat tissues?