Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Bad Day 21--Stop Tiptoeing So Loudly!

Migraine Day 3. This is a record for me. I'm pretty sure it's from the crying, or the green beans with bacon I ate on Sunday. One of those. But probably the crying.

See, the problem is people are being nice to me and when they are nice, I can't be angry and then I am reminded of how sad I am that Husband is in Afghanistan, and then I start crying and then I get a migraine. So I either need to find a way to be angry in spite of all these nice people, or I need some stronger drugs. Maybe narcotics. (Just kidding, children. Narcotics will not make you happy. Chocolate will. Oh wait, I can't have that either. Maybe waffles?)

Or maybe some Eastern Medicine. Maybe I should try some meditation--my mantra could be "Jimmy Choo, Kate Spade, Tiffany. Jimmy Choo, Kate Spade, Tiffany." But knowing me, I would probably start thinking about British designers and my too-small Olympics T-shirts and then I will just be angry all over again. So maybe not meditation. I think I'll try massage therapy. I'll let you know if it works. Or maybe not, because if it actually works, I will finally get some sleep.

Today, I think that New Zealand Kayaker Mike Dawson might be having a worse day than me. Not only did he touch a gate and get a two second penalty during his race, his own mother called him on it. She was the gate judge who penalized him.

Then again, he is at the Olympics and his T-shirt appears to fit very well, so maybe it's not such a bad day for him after all. But anyway, thank you, Kay Dawson, for reminding me that if I am ever asked to judge my children in an Olympic event, I should turn it down. I would much rather be their cheerleader than judge.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Bad Day 20--Ouch!

I am on day two of a very bad migraine and I have already taken all the heavy duty medicine I am allowed in 24 hours. So I am going back to bed. Maybe for an entire day.

For those of you who have never experienced a migraine and would like to know what it feels like, here is what you need to do. First, take an ice pick and insert it into your brain from the base of your skull until it is touching the inside of your forehead. Then poke the inside of your eyebrow over and over again with the point of the pick until you are driven crazy. Alternatively, you can just bash your head continuously with a cast iron skillet for an entire day.

Since my head hurts too much to be funny, I can't think of anyone having a worse day than me. And for those of you who feel the need to be helpful and make suggestions today, hold still while I go fetch my skillet.

Bad Day 19--Fly Away Home

Child 3 wanted to make something for me to remind me of Husband, so she made me some jewelry. This is a child who knows her mother. The jewelry is a necklace and earrings with ladybugs on them that she made out of shrinky-dinks at summer camp. For those of you who have never experienced shrinky-dinks, they are this weird, magical plastic that you draw on a regular sized picture and they shrink and thicken right before your eyes. Well, actually in an oven, and then you have this tiny little picture that you drew encased in plastic. It is the coolest thing ever, and it can save lives. Just ask Child 3 and she will give you a long, involved story about a girl and a shrinky-dink in her pocket and a bullet that it stopped. I'm not sure if the lady bug necklace will save my life, but I will wear it proudly and it will remind me of Husband because he has always called the children "the ladybugs." I collect ladybugs, and I love jewelry, so it's a happy thing all around, and it shows that Child 3 did NOT inherit Husband's gift giving paralysis.

Husband calls it "present anxiety". It's been this way since we've been married. I am not hard to please, nor am I very hard to buy for. True, I'm allergic to perfume and now chocolate, but there are a host of other things you can buy me that will make me happy. Candles, for instance, or lotion, or cooking utensils, or cookbooks, or gourmet foods, or tickets to musicals. Or jewelry. But Husband has a hard time thinking of any of these things, so he waits until the very last minute and then buys the first thing he lays eyes on which is pink or has flowers. No, actually, he has gotten better because I have gotten more specific. Years ago, I told him that for my 30th birthday, I wanted to do something I'd never done before which was to go to New York to see a Broadway play. So he took me skiing. True, I had never been skiing before and it was fun, but it wasn't Broadway.

After that, I decided he needed more help, so I started circling things in catalogs and showing them to him. Now that we have internet shopping (yes, I'm that old that I remember when you couldn't buy things on the internet, and even when nobody had internet at home) I just send him links. And I make sure he knows exactly which color and size to get. My sister asked me once if that was cheating, and I said no it's getting what you want. And I don't think Husband minds because he told me he doesn't and sometimes, he even prefers to just go shopping together. See, it's a win for him because he still gets all the credit for the gift even though I am the one who picked it out. Not a bad trade, off, if I do say so myself.

Today, everyone flying in and out of Newark airport is having a worse day than me. I know, you are thinking, that is a no-brainer. Everyone who has to fly through Newark is always having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day and what is new about that? Here is what is new: Newark is paying a ton of money for a virtual customer service agent.  This fancy-schmancy virtual woman is supposed to be able to answer all of your customer service questions. Yeah, right. Because the only thing that makes people happier than having their flights canceled and being re-routed through Minneapolis to get to Orlando from Newark and arrive days later than originally planned is talking to a machine!  So good luck with that, Newark, and thank you for reminding me to never fly through there again.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Bad Day 18--Is it Still Tuesday?

I went shopping for swim noodles today with Child 3. If you have children in America, you probably know what swim noodles are.. If you don't, then they are big foam tubes that apparently ALL American children must have or swimming is not the same and they will be laughed at by all the other children who possess noodles. The last time we bought noodles, we were on vacation in Florida. I must have had a brain lapse because apparently at that time I bought four. We only have three children, unless you count The Dog who did not go with us. Or Husband who did, but isn't a regular noodle user. Of course I can't find those noodles anywhere because I think it is still Tuesday. And Child 3 longingly remembering the days of noodle abundance said, "Remember in Florida when you bought us 4 noodles?" I said, "yes, and Dad kept poking you in the bum with them." She put her hands on her hips and gave me The Look and said, "Mom, that was you!" Because that is the kind of mother I am.

Child 2 and I thoroughly enjoyed the Jimmy Kimmel video where parents give their children bad Christmas presents and then film them. We laughed so hard at the mother who gave her kid a potato and said "Look! You got a Mr. Potatohead!"

So for her birthday that year, Child 2 got a potato. She laughed for 5 minutes straight. She laughed so hard she had to stop opening presents. Child 3 hates Justin Bieber, so we wrapped all her Christmas presents in Justin Bieber wrapping paper. Child 1 is usually my co-conspirator in these escapades. Husband is still angry about the time we fake spilled nail polish on his Blackberry for April Fools. He was angry, but it was really funny. It is going to be hard to find a way to prank him in Afghanistan. I'm open to ideas, though.

Today, this man in Nebraska is having a worse day than me. And apparently will keep having them until his lease runs out. Because of these:

A nest of brown recluse spiders has invaded his apartment, and instead of killing them or moving like any sane person, he has opted to learn to live with them. He either isn't afraid of spiders like I am, or he is very, very stubborn. So thank you, Mr. Spider Roommate, for reminding me how horrible it was when the ants swarmed in my apartment in Norway and how happy I am that it has never happened again, and how thankful I am that I don't have one brown recluse spider, let alone 40 in my house.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Bad Day 17--Hey British, We're Coming!

So I'm watching the London Olympics opening ceremony, and I'm NOT wearing any of my tiny British T-shirts that are too small. And I completely don't get it at all. Why are there drumming Pilgrims? Maybe all that too tight clothing has collectively cut of the flow of oxygen to their brains so they put together this weird show with Redcoats marching with Sgt. Pepper wannabes. And I hear they have pumped the stadium full of sulfur just so you can feel like you're there in a steel mill.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't most people who work in steel mills want to get out and that is why they make their children play football and go to college? So why then, would people who have paid $800 for tickets to this event want to feel and smell like they were in a steel mill? There was a steel mill we used to drive by when I was little and we would hold our noses and it was NOT a nice smell at all. And the air around it was brown and when you would blow your nose it would be black and the steel people said that wasn't because of the mill but when it shut down, I never blew my nose once and had it come out black and there was no longer a smell. So I'm thinking this is not a nice idea for those poor people who spent their life savings getting a ticket to the Olympics and now they smell funny.

See, it's the British. They know that many of the ticket holding people are Americans and they are out to get us.  Here is proof.

Yes. You read that correctly. A FAT American family. See! I knew I was right about the T-shirt conspiracy!  But just wait until we win all their medals. Then we'll see who is fat and who is awesome. They'll probably make all the medal ribbons too tight so our athletes will gag during the national anthem, but we won't care because we'll have all the medals.

OK. I should probably mention that there are a couple of things that I like about Britain. Because it can't be all bad, can it? I mean apart from the T-shirt conspiracy. But James Bond was one of the best inventions ever. Ever. Also Jane Austen and salt and vinegar potato chips. And there is one British designer I know who doesn't hate American women and I buy from him all the time and I'm not going to tell you who he is because then you will buy from him, too and we will have the same clothing but 1/2 of my wardrobe is from him, so there. I don't hate everything that is British. Just mostly their stupid Olympic T-shirts.

And why are the opening ceremonies so looooong? And don't you really wish the founding fathers had thought about things like alphabetical order a little bit more and named us the American United States so I could go to bed a little earlier? See, they needed a woman at that convention because we would have thought of things like that. Also, that not everybody looks good in red, white, and blue. And stripes are NOT flattering, not even on Olympic athletes.

Speaking of countries in the As, this man in Australia is having a worse day than me.  Obviously he did not see The Unsinkable Molly Brown or he would have known that an oven is a very bad place to hide money. So thank you, Mr. Australian, for reminding me to be grateful that my paycheck is direct deposited so that my money will never look like this:

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Bad Day 16--The Perfect Amount of Fluff

I think I have too many pillows on my bed. I know, you are thinking, how can you have too many pillows on a bed? There are never enough pillows. Unless you are Husband, who right now is thinking, "Finally!" You see, it all has to do with the not sleeping. I keep thinking that the reason I cannot sleep must be due to the fact that my bed is uncomfortable. And believe me, we have had some uncomfortable beds.

See, we lived in Asia. For years and years. And many Asians think that the harder a bed is, the more healthy it is for you. I went to a museum in China with my Chinese teacher, and she showed me what a pillow in ancient China is like. And for those of you who have not been to China, this is what an ancient pillow is like: it is a rock. No, actually, a rock might be more comfortable because it wouldn't be carved into the shape of a person and be all lumpy. Since I can tell that you don't believe me, here is a picture of a Chinese pillow:

See what I mean about the rock? Once we went on vacation and stayed in a hotel on a Korean island that is famous for its volcanoes. This hotel is famous in our family for two things. First, the microwave turned out to be a dishwasher, thus making our microwaveable meals really hard to heat up. And second, it had the world's most uncomfortable pillows. Yes, even worse than the stone Chinese pillow. These pillows hurt. I hardly slept all night. In the morning, I opened up the pillow to see why it was so awful, and I discovered that the stuffing was made of rocks. Yes, actual lava rocks. It is supposed to be good for your health and keep you from overheating. I'm not sure how overheating is worse than not sleeping at all for even one minute, but there you go. If the pillows are made of rocks, you can imagine what the beds are like.

Now I know I have lots of friends in both China and Korea who do not sleep on uncomfortable beds, but that is because they are smart and they buy their own. When you live overseas because the government has sent you there, they buy the beds for you. And they buy them the same way that they buy everything--they get them from the lowest bidder, and because nobody else in the world would buy those beds, they get them very cheaply.  So I have for years tried to make up for the uncomfortable beds by adding more pillows that are not made out of rocks. I have tried all kinds of combinations and types and fillers and covers, and I have come to the conclusion that it's not the pillows, it's the mattress. So when we came back to the US, we bought a king-sized memory foam mattress. And I was right, it was not the pillows. I LOVE my mattress. I love it so much that I never want to get out of it, ever. (OK, that may have a little to do with my depression because Husband is in Afghanistan.)

And now, because my mattress is so comfortable, I don't really need so many pillows. I currently have eight, which is so many that this morning, I had trouble getting out of the bed because there were so many fluffy pillows in the way. So I'm thinking of getting rid of one or two. I mean, what's the difference since I never sleep anyway? I swear this week had more than one Tuesday.

This family in New York is having a worse day than me. They came home to find their house ransacked by a family of bears, and then the bears did it again the next day! The worst part wouldn't be cleaning up the mess twice, but knowing that bears know how to enter your home when the door is locked! So thank you Bearsville, NY, for reminding me how happy I am to live in an area with no bears. Because I'm not all certain The Dog would have been much help in this case, unless one of the bears looked like Hello Kitty.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Bad Day 15--Zombies aren't dead, they're just really tired.

I used to be able to sleep. When I was 20, I toured Europe on trains and slept sitting up for a month. I took a nap on a park bench in Geneva. I could sleep in cars, on planes, on sofas. And I would sleep like the dead, for hours and hours until someone would poke me to see if I was still alive.

All that stopped when Child 1 was born. I have never had a full night's sleep since. Husband does not have this problem. I've watched him fall asleep in meetings. Sometimes I have to sit next to him to poke him if it's an important meeting. Sometimes I just let people throw things at him for fun to see if they can wake him up. He falls asleep reading bedtime stories to the children. He sleeps through movies. He slept through Independence Day and Men In Black--two of the loudest movies ever. (I know they were loud because I could actually hear them.) It's entirely aggravating and it's so unfair. It's like a super-power, his ability to sleep. I should start calling him The Sleeper. Can't you just see the movie about The Sleeper roaming around Afghanistan in his bathrobe saving people by falling asleep?

This picture could actually be in Afghanistan except Husband says there is not much grass there. Afghanistan looks like this:

The supremely unfair part about the not sleeping is that I sleep even worse when Husband is not here. I have a year of this zombie-zoned-out-I-can't-even-remember-my-name state that I'm constantly in. My forgotten items list is up to 5. And today I forgot what day it was. I mean, why would Tuesday happen twice in one week? Pretty soon I'll even forget the names of the days of the week. I'll start referring to them as that day when you don't have school and we go to church or that day that I don't really like because it's in the middle.

As I write this, The Dog is mocking me by snoring while sleeping on my bed. I'm going to wake her up and make her go for a walk just to torture her. Because if I'm not sleeping, nobody should be sleeping.

Today, this man who wouldn't leave jail had a worse day than me. He was a little entitled and demanding for having just been released from jail. So thank you, Mr. Stubborn, for reminding me that I at least have never confused a jail cell for a hotel room.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Bad Day 14--Mad As I Wanna Be

This is why I love my children: when I wake up cranky in the morning from lack of sleep caused by Skyping Husband late at night, I find a note on my mirror that says "Wake me up! Pick me up and put me under the faucet!!" Child 3 wanted to get up earlier. So I woke her up earlier and then she just moved to a different room to sleep. She is falling asleep on her feet right now, but maybe she'll go to bed on time tonight.

I had dinner last night with my friend (whom I'll call Artemis) and her husband. Artemis is an amazing friend, the kind of friend that I'll sit down to type her an e-mail and while I'm typing, a new one from her will pop up.  She called the other night to see how I was doing and I started sobbing, so she invited me over for dinner. Artemis and her husband have the perfect marriage. They are so in love, even after years and years together, and their marriage is so perfect that you could hate them, except you can't because they're too nice. Anyway, Artemis' husband was sent to all kinds of war zones last year for months at a time. It was hard for both of them, but I learned two things last night from listening to them that made me really, really happy. When Artemis' husband took the job that sent him to war zones, she was mad at him, even though she had encouraged him to go. And when he came back to visit, sometimes she found his presence annoying. So see, Husband? It's not just me! Lots of wives get mad at their husbands for going to Afghanistan and leaving them with all the responsibilities and then get annoyed with them when they come home. Artemis and her husband successfully weathered the storm of deployments, so maybe I can, too.

Husband doesn't understand why I need to be angry, but sometimes, I do. Being a crying, distraught mess makes me incapable of doing anything but sit in bed watching bad Lifetime movies. But anger is productive. Also, when I'm angry, I clean. One time when I had a fight with Husband who was then only Fiancé, my roommates came home to find me scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees. "What happened?!" they asked. "He said (scrub, scrub) he didn't like (scrub, scrub) the way I dressed!" Scrub, scrub, scrub. Some women wash men out of their hair, I scrub mine out of the floor or the sink. Fury makes for a very clean kitchen. It also helps me cope and gives me a reason to get out of bed. (He wants to live in Afghanistan?! I'll bet their kitchens aren't this clean in Kabul!) And also, back to the earlier fight with Fiancé, I have a great sense of style and Husband was wrong about the way I should dress, and no adult woman ever looked good with a big bow in her hair, even if it was the 90s and I looked HOT in that green suede mini-skirt.

So maybe tomorrow will be a better day, and maybe I won't need to be angry. And at least I know that my day won't be as bad as this guy's.

FILE - In this May 23, 2012 file photo, a fire burns on a nuclear submarine at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Kittery, Maine. A civilian employee working as a painter and sandblaster aboard the submarine has been charged with setting a fire that caused $400 million in damages to the vessel in May, and a second fire near it in June, Navy investigators said in a complaint filed Monday, July 23, 2012. (AP Photo/WMUR, Jean Mackin, File) MANDATORY CREDIT

He wanted to go home early, so instead of pretending he was sick like everyone else, he set a nuclear submarine on fire! And caused $400 million in damages! That is way worse even than the guy who drove the BMW into the harbor. So thank you, Mr. Sub Worker, for reminding me that no matter how bad my day was, at least I have never set fire to a nuclear submarine.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Bad Day 13--Being Early Makes You Not Late

Today, I was almost late, but I wasn't because I was early. Let me explain, no, let me sum up. Child 3 and I arrived at summer camp a little early and waltzed in to sign her in when she looked at me and said, "LUNCH!" We had forgotten to pack her a lunch and there is no cafeteria at summer camp. So we rushed to the grocery store and searched up and down the aisles for those tuna and crackers lunches that don't have to be refrigerated because we also didn't have an ice pack, and we rushed back to summer camp, now a little late. Then I rushed to the metro and made it to work, just in the nick of time. See, this is why I like to be early, so that I'm not late.

But, you are thinking, if you had taken the time to remember the lunch, you could have left later and still not been late. The problem with this argument is that I forgot the lunch, and so therefore couldn't have left later, and the reason I forgot the lunch is that I have SIFD (Stress Induced Forgetfulness Disorder.) When I get stressed, I begin to forget things. Not facts, but actual physical items. It comes in threes, and then I know I need a vacation. Yesterday, I forgot the plane tickets at the McDonald's counter when I was buying the children breakfast. Today it was the lunch. If there is a third thing this week, then I will know it is vacation time.

Funny thing about the vacation, I am scheduled for leave to go to a Family Reunion, but unfortunately, that is NOT the same as a vacation. Here is what a vacation should include:  you go to a place that is not your home where there is no cooking and cleaning. There are no friends, family, or other people to distract you. Your children are so bored without aforementioned friends that they are forced to spend time with you for entertainment. You do things you can't do at home and you make lovely memories. When we went to New York and saw the Statue of Liberty and got on Good Morning America and met the Cake Boss, that was a vacation.

Here is why a Family Reunion is not a vacation: There is cooking. There is also cleaning and washing dishes. There are cousins to distract the children. Everyone ignores me and I sit in the hotel room and take naps or read a book while aforementioned children are nowhere to be found and there is cooking! For 50 people! And I have to bribe the children to spend time with me. This is not a vacation. This year Husband won't be there and everyone will be nice to me and then, as we discovered yesterday during The Church Incident, the sobbing will begin and it will not be a vacation. And there is not even a beach. So although it will be lovely to see Husband's family and at least I won't have to go to work, it will not be a vacation. The children will have a ball, but still, not a vacation.

Today, this girl is having a worse day than me.


You might think she looks like she is having a lot of fun, but she is supposed to be selling a suit. If she were really interviewing for a job with me, or any other employed American woman, she would not be hired. Because, she has no idea how to wear a suit or what it means to interview for a real job, the kind where you get paid for using your brain. As Judge Judy says, beauty is skin deep, but stupid is forever. So sorry, Plastic Blondie whom I will never buy a suit from. And thank you for reminding me that I have a great job where people value my education and critical thinking skills. (Points to the people who can find the Princess  Bride reference.)

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Bad Day 12--Desperately Seeking Naps

I have writer's block. This may have something to do with the fact that I only got 2 1/2 hours of sleep last night. I mean, 2 1/2 hours isn't even enough time to recharge my phone, let alone my brain. I got so little sleep because I stayed up late helping Child 1 and Child 2 pack to go visit grandparents and then I had to get up at 4 to drive them to the airport, which is totally my fault because I picked the airport that was farthest because they had a non-stop flight early in the morning and I thought it would be easier for the children, but it was WAY harder on me. I was exhausted on the way home but kept myself awake imagining all the horror of what would happen if I had a car accident on the way home and then the children had no parents left in the U.S. (I did mention that I was an Olympic-qualified worrier.)

So now Child 3 and The Dog and I have the house to ourselves. We celebrated by eating dinner in bed while watching Disney movies.

We deserved dinner in bed after the major meltdown at church when someone had to leave early because they couldn't stop crying. OK, both of us were crying, and I started it. It's just that at church, everyone was so NICE and kept asking how I was holding up and looking all concerned so I had no choice but to start crying because they all expected it. Or rather, more likely because I am exhausted from getting no sleep and the niceness was the last straw. My good friend Jesse said upon hearing that Husband was in Afghanistan, "It must be so hard because you're a matched set."

And that is pretty true. We're two halves of the same whole and I feel lost without him. And that is a close to a love letter that I'm going to get in this blog, because mushy love stuff is not funny and the children will complain and start giving me writing advice again.

As for someone having a worse day than me, this man wins today.

Steven Mann, PhD

Not only was he assaulted in a McDonald's over these glasses, but he had them surgically attached to his head. So thank you, Mr. Cyborg, for reminding me of the importance of good judgment and better common sense.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Bad Day 11--Dance Like Everyone Is Watching

Some people might get the impression that I don't like The Dog. This is only mostly true, but she is growing on me. I do have to say that it is nice to have someone who loves me unconditionally. The children mostly only love me when they get their way, or when I buy them things, or when they break something and they don't want me to be mad. But The Dog luuuvs me. I can pretty much ignore her and she still wants to be around me all the time. Plus, I know that if a shadow, or a baby, or Hello Kitty ever tries to break into our house and hurt me, The Dog has my back.

Today, I fired the maid service and I am not happy, either that I had to fire them or that I now have to clean my own toilets this weekend. They were an hour and 45 minutes late again and so I told them not to bother because I did not have another 3 hours to wait around for them to finish. It's very disappointing because this is the maid service we hired six years ago when I went back to work full-time. The working full-time was Husband's idea, but I quickly realized that our house was never going to clean itself, especially when I wasn't home and the children were. I told Husband if we were going to survive, he needed to help around the house more. So we hired the maid service. Now they are under newer, cranky management and I don't want to have a maid service that shows up late and bullies me, so I fired them. Bummer. I know that many of you reading without maid service will think that this is not a big deal, and wonder why am I complaining when you  have three jobs, eight kids, and a sparkling clean house. But remember that my husband is in Afghanistan and this was one of the bribes he promised to make it seem like he wasn't leaving me with ALL the responsibilities and taking off for a year, which he totally is.

To make myself feel better and face the prospect of cleaning the house easier, I went shopping for cleaning products, which I bought and am very happy with and also a purse. OK, you are saying, isn't this the woman who has approximately 31 purses and just bought the perfect purse and why on earth would she need a new one? To which I will reply that it is pretty and purple and has jeweled handles and is decidedly NOT for commuting, and did I mention that my husband is in Afghanistan? And he told me yesterday that I couldn't substitute french fries for him anymore because they were unhealthy and purses are definitely not unhealthy unless they fall off the shelf and hit me on the head, so I will find a different place for this one.

Child 1 was in a big dance spectacular and she was amazing. It was a big spectacle with all the youth from our church in the area. Some of them were not dancers and you could tell (though they were still very enthusiastic,) but Child 1 was so good that people asked me if she took lessons. I said no, I could never get her to take lessons because when she was little she thought that ballet slippers looked silly and she wouldn't wear them. Child 2 piped up with "no one in our family can dance." Which I actually managed to overhear despite the noise of the music and the crowd and I was shocked. Shocked! Because I am a Cha-cha Champion. A long time ago, before I met Husband I was a dancer, but Husband does not like to dance, so we don't. OK, technically that is not true. It is not that he didn't like to dance, it was that I didn't like the way he danced, so I wouldn't go with him. I feel terrible about this. If I had it to do over again, I would dance with him. But first, I would give him lessons.

This is the photo of Child 1 dancing. Can you see her? I SO should have brought a better camera.

For the person having a worse day than me, I choose this woman:

This is her second mug shot. She was arrested, didn't like the first one, so called 911 to complain, and then was arrested again for misusing the 911 system. Seriously, how much worse could the first one have been? So, lady, thank you for reminding me that as bad as things are, at least I have never been arrested and had everyone in America laugh at my mug shot.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Bad Day 10--Where is My Medal?

The thing about cats is that they probably are the perfect pet, so of course I am allergic to them. So is Child 1. I think she is even more allergic than me. She spent the night last night at a home with a cat and now she is miserable and full of Benadryl and very sleepy because not only does Benadryl make you sleepy, but she couldn't sleep because she was sneezing all night long because of the cat. And of course it is all my fault because I did not think to ask if they had a cat before I let her spend the night and I am the Mother and so everything is always my fault.

It is always my fault. Because I am the Mother. I have accepted this fact for as long as my children have been alive. When they fall and hurt themselves, it is my fault. When my husband dropped Child 1 while playing skin the cat and she landed on her face and lost two teeth, it was my fault, even though I was across the room and had warned him not to do it. And when I tell them to do their homework and remind them over and over again that their project is due soon and they had better get started on it and they don't and then they have to stay up all night and they are cranky and get a bad grade, that is also my fault. Husband is in Afghanistan, and that is also, apparently, my fault.

Some thing are my fault, like the very bad decision to get a  light colored carpet in our second home because you can't hide root beer stains (which were not my fault,) and the lavender cupcakes that the children said tasted like soap, and the time I used the wrong floor cleaner and the linoleum got all sticky. Those were all my fault. Husband being in Afghanistan is not my fault, but he is not here, so I am the only parent left to blame.

But back to cats. Cats would be the perfect pets because they would leave me alone. The Dog does not leave me alone. She decided immediately after we brought her home that I was the alpha dog and she would shower me with attention until she won me over. This is so not the way to win my affection. And she is always under my feet so that I am always tripping over her which is bad because China broke both my ankles and they have never been the same since. But a cat would not bark at shadows, or destroy all the Hello Kitty dolls in the house, or make me walk her in the rain. I want a dog that is a cat.

Today, I took two of the children to the Department to get medals because their father is a hero and volunteered to go to Afghanistan. And it is true that he is in a very dangerous place and that he will work hard and be very lonely and have to wear body armor. But I am here, so no matter what happens, it will still be all my fault, unless somehow I can blame it on the British fashion industry.

Today, everyone in Aurora, Colorado is having a worse day. For some of them, it is The Worst day. My heart goes out to you all and you are in my prayers. What a horrible way to be reminded that Afghanistan is not the only place where people can be in danger.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Bad Day 9--Well Meaning = Clueless

The good thing about Husband being in Afghanistan is that I am now on time for everything. Husband is always late. Always. He likes to leave the house with seconds to spare. I prefer not to have to run after the bus and wave it down. Also, my legs are shorter and I can't run as fast. So every day that I wait for Husband so we can leave for work together, I am late. And I hate being late. It must be some male macho thing that has to do with the thrill of risking missing the bus, or secretly he loves seeing me huff and puff trying to keep up with him, or he can't tell time.

I knew he was chronically late when I married him. It was such a problem that my roommates and I would joke about it. In fact, (Husband will deny this but it is perfectly true,) I told him that our wedding began 30 minutes before it actually did so that he would be on time, and because he is male and didn't actually read the invitations, he believed me and he was exactly on time because he was 30 minutes late. Yes, you read that right. I lied to my husband on our wedding day, and I would do it all over again because it meant we actually did get married.

So that is one good thing, but the bad things about Husband being in Afghanistan are myriad. Here is one--I am married to a voice on a telephone. Here is another--pixels on a computer screen cannot hug you. Yes, I know it could be worse. I know that wives during whatever other war you can name had to wait sometimes months for letters. And I am SO tired of well meaning people telling me this.

So here is a list of things for you well-meaning people to stop saying to people whose husbands are in Afghanistan.

  1. Don't worry.  No, don't even try saying that because it never, ever works. I'm a professional worrier, so I know. Really, if there were an Olympics of Worrying, I would win ALL the gold medals, so you might as well tell me to stop breathing.
  2. He'll be home before you know it. Unfortunately, I already know when he's coming home and it's in 365 days. I do know how to count.
  3. It could be worse. Just because it could be worse doesn't mean it isn't bad, and today, it's really bad.
Here are some things you should say to people whose husbands are in Afghanistan.
  1. I'm so sorry! That stinks. Empathy works every time.
  2. Just take it one day at a time. This is what my boss said to me and it is brilliant because it is all I am capable of.
  3. I'm bringing you dinner. No explanation necessary. Everyone loves to be brought dinner.
Here are some things Husband could say that would help.
  1. I will cook dinner every night for a month after I get home.
  2. These diamonds are for you.
  3. You were right. I would have missed our wedding if you hadn't lied to me because I am always late.
A girl can dream, can't she?

I almost forgot to nominate someone who is having a worse day than me. Today, that would be my friend Wendy who is a librarian on a small Korean island and normally has a fabulous life of which I am a little envious. But tonight, her flight was canceled because of weather and she had to find a hotel and she didn't get anything to eat and went to bed hungry. And the very SADDEST part is she doesn't know that I'm only about 30 minutes away, and if I had known she was stuck at the airport, I would have gone to pick her up and feed her and give her shelter for free. So Wendy, thank you for reminding me to be grateful for my comfortable bed and the yummy Chinese food I ate for dinner, and next time, let me know when you are passing through my way and I will take care of you.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Bad Day 8--Can Google Translate Teenage Girl?

The children are not happy with yesterday's post. Apparently being worried about their father being in Afghanistan and having nightmares is not funny. Also, they were not in it enough. I appear to be raising children that are obsessed with over-sharing and are literary critics.

I love my children. They are smart and fun and beautiful and I am fairly certain that they do not speak English. This I why I don't think we speak the same language--every time I tell them to clean up their rooms, they hear "please go play on the computer for hours with headphones on and ignore everything I say." When I tell them to put away the groceries, they think I told them to dump the grocery bags on a chair and leave the lunch meat out overnight so that I have to throw it away in the morning and then they yell at me that there is nothing to make a sandwich with. And apparently "do your homework" means "play Angry Birds until the battery on your iPod runs out." (I stink at Angry Birds, but it is addictive and if I get stuck I can always ask the children for help.)

I know it's not because they are deaf. I am losing my hearing and can no longer hear anything over the vacuum or blender or garbage disposal. Thank goodness we got a new dishwasher because the last one not only didn't wash the dishes, it was louder than a 747 taking off in our kitchen and I couldn't hear anything anyone said ever and I was always yelling and Husband told me to stop yelling so much and I would say "WHAT?" So I know what it's like to not be able to hear and that is not the problem with my children. The problem is that I keep asking them to do their chores and then I actually expect them to do them!  You would think that after 15+ years I would have learned, but I must be secretly an optimist because I still believe that they will do what I asked and I am always surprised when they don't. Either that, or I am just too lazy to check up on them.

So now they are all upstairs not doing what I asked them to do, and at some point I will have to get up and go check on them and they will look at me like I'm crazy and ask why am I always checking up on them and don't I believe them when they say they will sort the laundry later? Someday, I will pay them back and when they come to me and say, "Mom, I told you I needed 36 cupcakes for the soccer bake sale tomorrow! Where are they?" I will say, "No, you told me to sit in bed, eat Cheetos and watch the first three seasons of Dynasty on DVD, which is exactly what I'm doing."

But seriously, aside from the never doing chores part, they really are good kids and I feel lucky every day to be their mother. And some of them are leaving to visit their grandparents soon and I will miss them desperately. And so will The Dog because I definitely do not play with The Dog as much as they do, or at all, and she will be very bored and will probably eat my shoes which is what she does when she gets bored. If I had more energy, I would play with her to save my shoes. But frankly, it's just easier to buy new shoes.

As for someone who is having a worse day than me, my friend Robyn suggested this guy who drove his friend's BMW into the Newark Bay.

Now THAT would be a bad day. Not only would you be cold and wet and almost drowned, you would owe your friend $47K. So thank you, Mr. Bad Driver, for reminding me that at least I am a better driver than you.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Bad Day 7--The Worst So Far

Today was a bad day. It started out well. I wore the cute new outfit I bought last Friday that fits beautifully and makes my neck look longer because the designer isn't British and is not out to get me. And I did my hair really well. Usually, good hair makes for a good day and my hair looked really good today. It even got the random Asian girl seal of approval. I was walking home from work after a long hot day, and a strange Korean girl I had never met before said she really liked the way I did it. And one thing I have learned after living in Korea on three different occasions (Husband is in love with Korea probably even more than with me) is that Korean women know good hair. So I do believe mine looked really good today. I was inspired by this up-do worn by Kate Middleton:

Mine was a little less elaborate and required no bobby pins, but you get the idea and it looked really pretty. And also it did not give me a headache which wearing a pony-tail always does. So there I was looking and feeling good, and then all of a sudden I fell apart. I blame the nightmare.

I have had the same nightmare for years which is that I am standing on the ground and look up to see a plane falling from the sky and I rush to the scene to try to save people, but I can never get there quickly enough. I have this dream only rarely, but often enough to remember it. I told my friend in China about it once and he said I was psychic and I should look in the paper for plane crashes around the time of my dream. However, my friend is very superstitious and also thought that a jade bracelet would cure me of cancer, which I didn't have anyway, but that is a different story. I think the dream is more about stress and trying to do too much and being overwhelmed.

I had it again last night, and it is all Husband's fault because this time he was on the plane and I knew it and I couldn't reach him and it was awful. Admittedly, I have a lot of dreams about Husband that aren't true. Once I woke him up to tell him I had a dream we were fighting and I was really mad about the things he said. He didn't appreciate either being woken up or being accused of saying things that were in my imagination. I think he had a point with that one. I also used to dream he was cheating on me, but I realized that was because he had a new job and he wasn't sharing much about it with me. So even though I know this dream is not real and there isn't going to be a plane crash, I'm still mad at Husband for making me stressed about him being in a place where I can't reach him to save him if I need to and I cried all morning. And also, he said he would call and he didn't call and he said he'd Skype and he didn't so now I'm probably going to have that stupid cheating dream again. Grrr.

As for who is having a worse day than me? That would be Lindsay Lohan.

Because not only is she no longer a cute red-head, she is having serious hair issues and she looks older than me and I am old enough to be her mother. I think I may be older than her mother, actually. So Lindsay, thanks for reminding me that good hair helps, even when your stupid Husband is in stupid Afghanistan. (And thank you, Donna for this suggestion.)

Monday, July 16, 2012

Bad Day 6--More food issues

The children are not happy with the blog. Or rather, Child 2 is unhappy with her portrayal as a picky eater and is upset that I didn't mention that she also doesn't like orange juice. She has demanded that I write about Child 3's inability to clean the room that she shares with Child 2. So naturally I am going to write about how I am allergic to chocolate.

Yes, you read that right. I am allergic to chocolate. My doctor told me that no one is allergic to chocolate, but I am. Every time I eat it, it makes me sick, sometimes to the point of vomiting. I would be willing to put up with that, because I have discovered that if I eat it right before I go to bed, I'll be asleep during the worst of the symptoms and not feel too bad in the morning. Unfortunately, it also gives me itchy hives ON MY FACE! That is the cruelest part of all because I am just vain enough to fear the ugly, itchy hives that I now avoid it all all costs. It is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. OK, not really. The Afghanistan thing is really the worst, but the reason giving up chocolate is bad  is because it is like losing my best friend. So now I can't even drown my sorrows in Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk which is the best chocolate ice cream ever and I can never eat it ever again. I've tried other things, like caramel, which I've always liked, but it's not chocolate. Nothing is chocolate except chocolate. I miss you, chocolate!

Also I can't eat bacon, or ham, or corned beef. Well, it's not that I can't, it's that they give me migraines. Every Sunday for almost six years I would end up with a migraine in the afternoon. It was like clockwork. We couldn't figure out what it was. I thought maybe perfume, or dust, or mold, or stress. Finally my doctor said, "Do nitrates affect you?" Well, I didn't know what nitrates were, but apparently they are used to make bacon and all those other yummy meats. Once I gave up bacon on Sunday mornings, the migraines went away. But when I fall off the wagon, and say, eat a whole bunch of corned beef because my husband is in Afghanistan, I can just take a bunch of migraine medicine and have a nap and I'm OK. So not as bad as giving up chocolate.

The funny thing about not being able to eat chocolate is how crazy it makes other people. When you turn down a brownie, they look at you like you are an ax murderer. Then they say things like "just have one!" or "it's gluten free." (What exactly, pray tell, does gluten have to do with chocolate!?)  Or "we have some chocolate chip cookies instead." The very best are the women who try to empathize by telling me about their latest diet, as if giving up wheat temporarily to lose a few pounds is the same as never being able to have a piece of chocolate cake, or a chocolate frosted donut, or a Snickers bar, or a handful of M&Ms, or a brownie, ever again! The next time some skinny little chippy tells me how hard it was to only eat grapefruit for a week, I'm going to call up the British fashion assassins and put a hit on her. Her T-shirts will be so tight, she'll only eat grapefruit for the rest of her life and when she is at her wit's end and would sell her grandmother for a piece of bread, I'll say "THAT'S what it feels like to be allergic to chocolate!"

As for who is having a worse day than me, today it is Laszlo Csatary, the Nazi war criminal who was just found in Hungary. He is finally being brought to justice at age 97 and he deserves every day he has left to be a bad one. Thank you to the Simon Wiesenthal Center for reminding me that one of the reasons Husband is in Afghanistan is to prevent evil men like this from preying on those who are weaker than them. 

Bad Day 5--Food, Glorious Food!

I learned today that you cannot fill the hole a 6 ft 1 200 lb man leaves behind with mashed potatoes. Although I did try, but the children are not fooled. Maybe next time I will sculpt their Dad's head out of the potatoes and it will make them laugh because apparently I cannot draw so there is little likelihood that I will be able to sculpt. I have no artistic talent whatsoever, which I proved tonight while playing a game with the children that requires drawing. I drew what was clearly a button that put a force-field around the Starship Enterprise and the children thought it was a birthday cake with fried eggs.

I am, however, an excellent cook. I make a killer spaghetti with meatballs and my lasagna is legendary. However, I learned this week that Child 2 doesn't like them. I blame her father. When we were first married, I made all my special dishes for Husband, and he hated all of them. Every. Single. One. Really. And he also thought that any salad made with anything other than iceberg lettuce was too much. And that stuffing should come out of a box. Really. After 20 years of marriage he has changed his mind (although now all salads must be made of spinach for the health benefits) and he happily eats everything I cook and claims to like it, even corned beef and cabbage which he said had a weird texture but he eats raw baby octopus on a stick, so what does he know about texture. So even though Husband claims he likes corned beef, I still make it as a treat for the children when he goes away because then we don't have to share and there is more meat for me.

But back to the lasagna. I have somehow raised a child who doesn't like lasagna. Or spaghetti. How is this possible? Child 1 is the picky eater. She hates uncooked tomatoes, mangoes, onions, and bell peppers. She won't drink orange juice unless it has pulp in it (I know, backwards right?) and she picks all the nuts off everything. Child 2 is supposed to be the easy going one who will eat whatever I put on her plate and now when her father is in Afghanistan she drops the bombshell that she doesn't like lasagna! Or spaghetti! What am I supposed to make for Valentine's Day now?

I should explain about Valentine's Day. We celebrate it as a family and we call it The Red Party, not because we are communist (which we are not, not even a little bit) but because Child 2 (the one who hates lasagna) couldn't say Valentine's. When she tried, it came out obscene. I'm not kidding and I won't recreate what she said in this blog because my Mother reads it, but you can use your imagination and it would make for a whole different kind of party than the one we had in mind. So on Valentine's Day we have our red party and we wear red clothes and give red presents and eat red food. Can you think of another main dish that is red that isn't lasagna? Or Spaghetti? I mean, come on! Even The Dog loves my lasagna. Last Valentine's Day she got up on the table and ate all the leftovers making Husband very angry because he LOVES leftover lasagna and then he also had to help clean up the dog vomit because The Dog was sick for days.

So if anyone has any grand ideas what I can make that is red and is not jell-o, I would be happy to take them. (Spaghetti! Who doesn't like Spaghetti! I totally blame her father for this.)

As for who could be having a worse day than a chef who can no longer make her signature dish and whose husband is in Afghanistan, today I think it is probably Tom Cruise.

Not only is he going through his third divorce, but everyone knows about it and will talk about it forever and all the people who didn't believe the marriage was for real now can say they were right and they knew it wouldn't last. My husband may be in Afghanistan, but we still love each other even after 20 years and so Tom, thank you for reminding me how lucky I am to have a great marriage.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Bad Day 4--The Problem with Smart Children

The problem with my children is that they are smart. I have often believed that raising stupid kids would be a lot easier. If they were dumb, I could say to them, "Look, your Dad has been replaced by this smoothie. Drink up and feel the love." But there are only so many junk foods I can distract them with before they come to the conclusion that they would rather have their father home than eat Cheetos in bed.

Day 4 was a struggle. We got a late start because the maid service I hired came late. I know that you are thinking that this is not a bad problem to have, because hey, I have a maid service. It was one of the promises that Husband made to help make my life easier while he is in Afghanistan. When one's husband is in Afghanistan, one should not have to clean one's own toilets. So after weeks of searching for a housekeeper and deciding that women who send you pictures of themselves in bikinis are not good maid material and what kind of maid did they think I was hiring, I went with a maid service because they can come on weekends which is necessary because of The Dog.

We got The Dog because of Husband. It is entirely his fault. For years, I told my children we did not need a dog because we had a baby. This worked fine until the baby started asking why we couldn't have a dog. I would have found a good excuse but Husband chimed in and said the reason we couldn't have a dog was because we were moving to China and would live in an apartment and it would be too difficult to have a dog in a place with an elevator. He should have stopped there, but being a debater, he wanted to add more heft to his argument and he went on with if we moved somewhere like Korea where the housing had a yard with a fence, we could get a dog. So naturally, the place we moved after China was Korea where we had a yard with a fence and when the plane touched down, the children started asking when were we going to get a dog.

This is a picture of The Dog.

It wouldn't be so bad having a dog except for two things--she follows me around like a puppy in love and she treats everyone who comes to the house as if they are some kind of British fashion assassin who is out to get me. Husband and babies are the biggest threat, apparently. She really did not like Husband at the beginning, which I feel was appropriate since the whole dog thing was his fault anyway. Also birds and Hello Kitty are on her hit list. It would be great if she would protect me from things that might actually harm me (like bees and chocolate) but as attack dogs go, she is all bark and no bite (so far.) However, she can scare the dickens out of people so even though the maids could come when we are not home, we have to protect them from The Dog and we therefore had to wait to leave the house until they were done and they were late and took a LOOONG time because apparently my house had more dirt in it than I knew.

We did manage to Skype twice with Husband who made it as far as Dubai, although the first time he fell asleep while we were talking to him so apparently either we are extremely boring or he is jet lagged or maybe both. We also had family movie night and ate Cheetos in bed and only left a few crumbs which is not a problem because The Dog is very good at finding and eating crumbs. So all in all, not as bad a day as I expected despite the too small Olympic T-shirt which I decided to wear anyway.

As for people who had a worse day than me, my friend Hester wrote to tell me that her baby pooped in the bathtub while it had water in it and he had eaten tomatoes. Hester's husband is not in Afghanistan which is a point in her favor, but she doesn't have a maid service and had to clean it up herself so she wins for having a really bad day. Thank you, Hester, for reminding me that as bad as things are, at least my children are no longer in diapers and for that I am very grateful.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Bad Day 3--The Hangover from Retail Therapy

Who are these China Smack people and why did they replace my picture of Kim Jong-un? Now instead of illustrating just how ugly North Korea has made a formerly cute Korean boy, I have some dumb collage. I managed to replace the ugly collage with a new picture, but if they do it again, I just can't be bothered to re-fix it. I have too much griping to do.

So we survived Day Two--just barely. I took the kids to the mall to drown our sorrows in shopping and food that's bad for you, and it worked (which tells you exactly which gender my children are, unless you are male and clueless in which case you are having a worse day than me.) Unfortunately, in my shopping-drunken state, I made a purchase which I now regret.

I have this strategy when I shop for therapy which is that I don't try on clothes. You would think this would make purchasing clothes a little difficult, which it sometimes does, but I have become an expert at buying things that do not make me look fat. I own lots and lots of shoes, purses, and jewelry. I have (this is just an estimate because I'm too embarrassed to count them) around 30 purses, maybe 40 pairs of shoes, and more pearl necklaces than anyone will ever need. In my defense about the latter, I lived down the street from the Pearl Market in Shanghai China and they have an entire floor filled only with jewelry! And one simply should not turn down the opportunity to buy a $15 ruby ring. That would foolish and criminal. And when one lives down the street from the Pearl Market, there are lots and lots of those kind of opportunities.

So last night I bought a new purse, which I don't regret in the slightest, and a T-shirt from Old Navy which I totally do. Before Husband comments on why do I need another purse when my closet is so overflowing with them that they sometimes fall down and hit me on the head, I will remind him that I am commuting to work every day on the metro and commuting requires a specific kind of purse which until last night I did not have. After much trial and error, I have decided that a commuting purse must have straps large enough to sling over my shoulder, be roomy enough to hold a water bottle on hot days, be leather, and not be white. None of my other 30 bags fit the bill, but last night I found the perfect bag in the store where I bought the white one which would be perfect except that it used to be white and now it's an ugly, dingy gray. I'm trying out the new bag today and I will give you updates on its perfection.

No, the purchase I regret is the Old Navy shirt that I didn't try on. You may think I'm foolish for not trying it on, but I NEVER try on shirts at Old Navy. I have been the same size at ON for years and years. Once I found out that I was always the same size no matter what the style, I happily bought in stores and online many, many shirts (mostly T-s) all of which fit. Since dressing rooms are a known blow to my self-esteem, this strategy has helped fill my shopping needs and kept my denial about my actual size intact and worked swimmingly until this morning when I tried on the shirt which is too small. You might think that the problem is that I might have gained weight from all the stress eating, but this is not the case (yet.) All of my other clothes still fit and I've actually lost a little weight this week from being too stressed to eat. No, I'm firmly convinced that the problem is with the shirt and is because it is British. And before you are thoroughly confused, I will mention that it is a London Olympics T-shirt which I bought to replace the London Olympics T-shirt I actually bought in London and discovered when I got home to America that British sizes and American sizes are NOT THE SAME! And now that T-shirt has been consigned to the Drawer of Things I Might Fit into One Day. So when I saw one at Old Navy, I thought "here's my chance to get one that fits!" And now it doesn't. It wouldn't be so bad if I could return it but I did the thing I am always getting after my kids for doing and I cut off the tag before I tried it on. I am now convinced that the British are out to get us, so here is my moment of Colonial rebellion.

I might just drive up to Boston and throw all my too small Olympic T-shirts in the harbor. Who's with me?

Since I am obviously not in a good mood and am convinced that pretty much everyone who has clothes that fit is having a better day than me, especially if their husband is not in Afghanistan, I'm going to go with my friend Adair's suggestion that women who don't know they are pregnant and give birth win for having a worse day. I don't see how this could happen myself because I think I am pregnant every single month even when it's not physically possible, like when my husband is in Afghanistan. And I always hold my breath (figuratively, not literally) until I receive absolute confirmation that I am not. If I ever go into menopause, it will be after many, many drugstore pregnancy tests. But I can't imagine how overwhelming it would be to think your appendix was bursting and then have to give birth without an epidural because you didn't know you were pregnant. So ladies, thank you for making me grateful I am not you. (Although you still get a baby out of it, so maybe that's not so bad.)

P.S. I tried out the purse in the grocery store and it is still perfect! So is the new wallet. :-)

Bad Day 2

Husband is packing for Afghanistan. Or rather, Husband is trying to pack and I keep taking it over because he's really bad at it. I know I should let him do it on his own, and I highly suspect he throws things in there willy-nilly on purpose just to make me say, "Stop throwing things in without folding them! And why are your shoes on top of your dress shirts?" Calculated incompetence, imhop. Still, I'm the better packer and I might as well maximize my time with him because he's leaving in a couple of hours.

It's been a fun day, with one child after another bursting into tears at random moments. None of us are looking forward to this separation. It's wrenching and terrifying and heartbreaking. Knowing that there are thousands of families going through this every month doesn't help. I don't really care about anyone else's separation--only mine. Myopic, yes, but a carefully chosen myopia. I have to hold my own little family together because I'm the only grown up left in the house. I have to be strong, so I have to ignore everyone else for the moment. Sorry, friends and extended family. I'll have time for you next year. Right now, I'm busy.

So, who could be having a worse day than me? Kim Jong-un, that's who.

Not only did they give this poor kid plastic surgery so that he would look more like his dead grandfather (who is definitely no Daniel Dae Kim,) he has to wake up every day in North Korea knowing that he will never live anywhere else for the rest of his life. Oh, and also people are trying to kill him. So thank you, Jong-un. I feel better already knowing that my bad day is better than your best.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Why am I having a bad day?

Husband is leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow evening. I am not happy about this. I am not, by nature, an optimist. (Husband is laughing at this extreme understatement as he reads this, I predict.) Because I am trying to be a supportive wife, and also because I am trying to entertain myself for 365 days until he comes home, I am starting this blog.

Here is what I will not post: Things related to Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Syria, or war in general. Nothing "uplifting" or "inspiring." No real information about my family life because I do value privacy even though my blog is decidedly not private. No politics. At all. Unless they are funny.

Here is what I will post: Snarky comments about my situation and ineptitude at various things. (Just wait until I try to paint the bathroom trim on my own!) Mistakes I make. Mistakes Husband makes. Ridiculous things. And each day, to help combat my pessimism, I will pick at least one person to comment on who is having a worse day than me.

I said before that this will not be an inspiring blog, but I hope it will be funny. Please comment and suggest. Please add to my list of people having worse days than me. However, please do not remind me of starving people in the Sudan, or that people are dying in Syria. I assure you that I do know these things. My job (which I will NOT write about) compels me to learn about them. I probably know more about them than you do. (Actually, I really do for reasons I will also not discuss.) But since I have to think about awful things for 8 hours every day, and since this blog is for entertainment purposes only, forget trying to make me feel bad because I will just delete your comments. I can do that. It's MY blog!

Now, on to the fun stuff. For the first winner of people who are having worse days than me, I pick the following.

Kate Gosselin every day she wore her hair like this:


This hairstyle was bad for America. And to wake up every day thinking it looked good, well that's a long string of bad days of denial. Even my worst bad hair days aren't as bad as this, so for that, I thank you, Kate.