The cost of doing business.

I gave up a long time ago on “free” (hobbies, games, products, etc) ever really being free. Running definitely isn’t free. You would think it is – all you have to do is run around, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

Way back when I first took up running, pre-dating my Couch-to-5K days, I went out and bought myself some official running shoes. In case you haven’t heard, official=expensive. I went to a discount designer shoe store and tried on all the Asics running shoes they had. One of my acquaintances who is hardcore into working out used Asics, so I figured they were probably the way to go. I settled on some Asics Kahana Gel Strikes, or some such ridiculous fancy sounding name. $80. But it was an investment and they would last forever and keep me as injury-free as was possible. Okay, there’s the shoes. You need to invest in quality shoes. I was done, right? Wrong.

Once you have the shoes, you’re going to need some gear. I bought two or three sports bras ($17 a pop) and two pairs of running shorts ($11 each). I had t-shirts coming out of my ears, so I didn’t need those. I had a few ratty ones of my own and all of my then-husband’s old t-shirts from his (much skinnier) military days.  Almost $200 and I was all set for my “free” running stint.

Well, then the divorce happened and the running stopped. (The aerobics didn’t, but that’s an entirely different set of expenses.) Flash forward to Secret Agent C talking me into this Couch-to-5k thing. I had the shoes. I had my gear from before. Surely I was in the clear now, right? Right! For awhile, at least. Then the weather started getting colder – stupid weather! – and I needed some warmer clothes. So Santa picked up two pair of capri running pants ($15 each), a running jacket ($20), a fitted tank-top in case the cotton jersey’s didn’t fit under the jacket ($9) and a long-sleeve fancy-schmancy running shirt ($11). I had two pair of running pants I was using as lounge wear that I finally hemmed so I could wear them outside, but I was still out another $100. And that’s not even going into the money I spent to replace my iPod or the number of earbuds I’ve bought to find some that won’t fall out while I’m running, the ace bandages, re-usable ice packs, and braces I’ve bought to keep me in one piece, or the reflective gear I should buy to make sure no one tries to run over me.

The point is: I finally, finally got to where I think I’m in the clear. I might want to pick up another pair of shorts or some new sports bras when the weather warms up, but they’re not necessities at this point. I’m good. Which is why my shoes wore out. Yep, I needed new (expensive) running shoes. My knees were starting to hurt every time I ran. I had been running this C25K program for the past 5 months – and before that I was using them sporadically for over a year – and they say that shoes are good for x number of miles or about 6 months of regular usage. I have no idea how many miles they’re good for because I knew I was never going to hit that number. So I went out and bought some brand new shoes. Or, at least, I tried to. My shoes are not imprinted with their name. They have a number and the shoe size printed on a tongue-tag. That number was not helpful when I searched all the shoe sites. I finally googled it and that’s how I found out I had Kahanas. Then DSW wouldn’t let me use their coupon. And Zappos wanted my first-born in exchange for their sneakers. Amazon had them, but they couldn’t ship them for over a week – and that was with Super-Saver shipping, so no telling how long they would take to get here once they shipped. No worries, I would try the local DSW store – nada. In a fit of desperation before I resigned myself to sore knees while I waited for Amazon to slow-boat my shoes to me, I tried Famous Footwear. I found them! The price was not cheap, but the gratification would be immediate. And to be honest, the price was only $5 more than I would have paid on Amazon. So I gave in and bought my shoes. Then I went and had stomach issues on Monday and weather issues on Wednesday and that is why I didn’t even get to run until this morning. Le sigh.

But! NOW, now I am all set. I am good. I am ready to go! And also I no longer care that the registration fee for my race is $25. Because at this point, who cares.

Um…not really.

I like how that title works on so many different levels. This isn’t really a post – I had company last night and it deluged on the way home, so there were muddy carpets (and little girls) to clean and dinners to cook and movies to watch all on top of the company to entertain. Could I elbow a short post in there somewhere? Um…no. Not really.

No problem! I would just wake up early this morning and bang one out. Ha. Ha ha ha! We were supposed to have ice this morning. And if there wasn’t ice, the weathermen promised freezing rain. Or ice pellets of magical proportions (or something). Instead, we have Day 2 of The Flood. So work wasn’t even delayed. No matter – I was going to have to leave early to drive slower (and more safely) to drop the children off and navigate the flood plains streets to work. I could write a post then since I would be so early. HA! So, um…not really.

And speaking of the deluge, the girls – they were excited. Because all. of. that. rain! meant that they could use their Hello Kitty umbrellas. That would be helpful – the girls wouldn’t get soaking wet and I would have to keep yelling at them to keep their hoods up and walk faster towards the door…right? Um, not really. Have you ever tried keeping an umbrella over your head while trying to manually open a kid’s umbrella and then holding that open while you try to assist the child out of a very tall jeep, and keep said child’s bag from dragging in the standing two inches of rain? NOT EASY! Then try adding another child, another umbrella, and another bag into the mix. Also, these “cute” umbrellas had these “handy” loops at the end – supposedly to carry them or hang them on a hook. Really, those Death-Loops are for holding the umbrella and swinging it around like a baton of death when the umbrella is closed, or to catch onto everyone else’s umbrella causing mass confusion and soakage (because hello! it’s pouring!) when they’re open. The umbrellas? So not helpful!!

And that – that – is why there is no post here this morning. But it is Friday and I’m splurging on Starbucks at lunch and I have a few Hershey Kisses sitting here waiting for me to savor with my coffee. So while it sounds like maybe I’m in a bad mood – um…not really!

Love likes to hear it.

This is a pretty silly post, but then again I was in a pretty silly mood yesterday.

You see, I wore one of my new pairs of shoes. A really cute pair of shoes that Santa may or may not have picked up at the Oprah Payless sale last fall and then stashed away for Christmas. The shoes are black wedges with the sexiest ruffle and bow on the front of them. I’d been saving them for a special occasion or for when the weather warmed up a little bit – whichever came first. I had meetings today and while it wasn’t exactly what I’d call warm, the weather is supposed to get much more wintry later this week and next week. I thought I better grab my chance while I could.

So I did. I dressed up in my charcoal, pin-stripe dress pants, a black lace camisole, and my red dress shirt. I wore gold hoop earrings and a dangly gold necklace that jingled when I walked. My sexy new shoes were the perfect way to finish the outfit. I felt super girlie today…except when I walked across the marble entry and hallway at work whenever I traversed the building.

What’s the big deal, you ask? Well! Let me tell you – I don’t get dressed up that often. I wear sexy heels (as opposed to normal heels) even less often. When I do, I like to hear the feminine click, click, click of my heels shouting out to me: “You look great! You’re sexy! You are rocking that outfit!” I find it all very reaffirming. My sexy new shoes? The wedges apparently have rubber soles. Damn them. Perfect shoes for super-sexy sneakiness, but all day I had to keep telling myself how fantastically beautiful I looked instead of letting my perfect heels do all the work. Wow, did that get exhausting after awhile.

Le sigh.

Still, I managed to keep up with my sense of self, finished all of my projects, successfully navigated the hallways and broke in my new shoes. It’s a good thing I love them so much or I just might have to put them on a high shelf for emergency stealthiness situations only.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone! I hope you hear from someone today just how fabulous you are (even if you have to whisper it to yourselves).

I am hooked on fancy brownies.

And brownies are hooked on me. Ahem. I was saying…these mint chocolate chip brownies taste better than they look. It’s not the best picture. I didn’t mean to forget about the picture until I got to work. That’s just how it played out. So. Stop looking at them and go bake them instead. It’s really easy – look:

The Brownies:
Take a box-mix off of the shelf (doesn’t everyone have a baking shelf?) and make the mix according to directions. If the mix doesn’t have chocolate chips, empty a goodish amount of chocolate chips into the batter. See how easy this is? I even use a mix because I am fancy, yo. Also – a single mommy with not very much time. Details.

The Mint Layer:
While the brownies are baking, you can make the mint layer ahead of time. You’ll need:
2 cups confectionary sugar
3 Tblsp of milk (the recipe calls for heavy cream; my substitute works just as well)
4 Tblsp of butter, softened
1 tsp of peppermint extract

In a smallish bowl, microwave the butter in 10-second intervals until it’s softened, but not necessarily melted.
Add in the confectionary sugar, the milk and mix well.
Mix in the extract.

Ta-da! You have your mint layer ready.

When the brownies come out of the oven, let them stand for about 5 minutes. (I find it helpful to set a timer. Otherwise hours will go by before I wander through the kitchen and exclaim, “Oh! The brownies!”) When the 5 minutes are up, spread the mint layer over the brownies. This recipe should make enough mint for a thin layer (all you really need) for a 13×9” pan. You can half it if you’re using a 9×9” pan or you can make the mint layer a little thicker. Or, if for some reason someone in your house is kinda freakish and doesn’t like mint, you can halve the recipe and mintify just half of your brownies. The mint isn’t too runny and will stay in place.

Once the mint layer is in place, refrigerate the brownies for 10-15 minutes or until the mint sets. (Don’t forget to put a potholder under the hot pan if you have glass shelves.)

The Frosting:
The frosting is even easier than the brownie mix, if that’s even possible. Take a container of chocolate frosting, microwave it until it’s a little runny (but not burned, ruined, or runny beyond salvage). With my microwave, I zapped it for about 25 seconds. That’s how I discovered that I – accidentally – bought chocolate frosting with mini-chocolate chips in it. When I pulled the container out of the microwave, I saw these teeny, tiny lumps. I thought that either the frosting was uber-disgusting or else it had lived past its “sell by” date. Then I thought, “Hey, those lumps are about the size of tiny chocolate chips!” And then I thought to check the label. Now can you see why I needed chocolate in the first place? It’s a proven sanity restorative. Once you’re sure that the frosting is runny enough not to smear the mint layer, pour the frosting onto the brownies and spread gently with a butter knife or spatula. Refrigerate again until the frosting hardens.

Voila! Fancy mint chocolate-chip brownies that are perhaps the best I’ve ever tasted in my life. And, judging by how quickly they disappeared at work, the best they’ve ever had, too.

Dear Construction: I HATE YOU.

I was going to write about my new running shoes and the cost of this so-called free hobby, but my stomach has been a ball of stress since lunchtime* and my pain level skyrocketed on the way home to the point that I was afraid I might have to pull over and be sick on the side of the road. So instead of running (full disclosure: I did not run tonight), I decided to take a leftover vicodin and rest. It seemed silly to write about running when I wasn’t actually celebrating a runner’s high, so I decided to write about one of the things that probably contributed to my great big ball o’ stress.

Construction.

I hate construction.

Okay, okay – I don’t hate construction if it doesn’t get in my way. But right now? I have four different construction zones on my way to and from work. The four zones o’ construction fun range from mildly annoying to OH MY GOD, I HATE YOU! It’s funny: I didn’t really notice them until the more intrusive ones started…you know…intruding and then it seemed like the construction cones were breeding and taking over the city.

The first one I noticed was on our nice narrow, twisty country road that connects our subdivision, which is pocketed away on a farm road, into the city. We live between two interstates, but five miles or so in between is filled with horse ranches, a river, and lots and lots of trees. Normally it is a very pretty drive. The condition of the road is getting a little ridiculous, what with all the stupid tanker trucks and the constructions trucks driving through now to mine the natural gas, but that’s not even the issue. The issue is that first there were potholes and fissures and odd dips forming in the road from sudden heavy usage. Next came the plowing of trees for some as-yet-unknown usage down near the intersection with civilization. First I thought it was for a new subdivision. Then I thought maybe it was for an apartment complex and the seeds of doom started to grow. Then I thought maybe it was for a business building of some sort. It’s not really on a main road, but it’s behind a building that is on a main road (near the intersection, remember?), so it was unlikely but possible. The clearing of trees meant lots of construction equipment and trucks sitting on the site, facing traffic and blinding us with their headlights on during the pre-dawn trek to work. Then the cones appeared, creeping dangerously into already narrow (single!) lanes, and then a metal plate covering a hole in the street. Someone must have complained because the edge of that metal plate almost punctured my tire several times; now there’s a speedbump built over it. One that you can’t see in the dark, I might mention. Overall, that construction zone rates a 6 out 10 on the scale of You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me!

The next construction zone is across from daycare. It takes up the left turn lane and is only mildly annoying. I don’t need that turn lane and there are several more that let you cut through the median so I don’t think many people miss it. The dozen or so construction saws/roadblocks that are scattered about look awful and make newbies slam on their brakes because it looks like they’re in the driving lane, but I can’t get too worked up about it. Not having just survived the Country Road Construction Massacre. This site gets on a 2 out of a possible 10.

The second two zones only affect me on the drive home. And yet – they drive me bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. The least offensive of the two is up past the car auction place. On the plus side, there’s a decent amount of traffic affected, but the construction doesn’t cause backups. Then again, the entire right lane is eliminated with little warning and so you have lots of cars zooming along at 10-15 miles over the speed limit that are suddenly jamming into the middle lane. There is going to be a wreck of massive proportions one of these days and I had better not be a victim. I’ll give this construction zone a 5 out of 10. I always drive in the left lane, but I’m scared of the inevitable casualties.

I’ve saved my very favorite construction zone on the Are You Kidding Me?! scale for last. This one earns full marks – 10 out of 10. The city has decided to fix some gigantic potholes in the middle and right hand lanes that are in the street just outside the gas station and the Starbucks and right before the access ramp to a major highway. So two of three lanes are shut down. On a major city street. That is the only exit for my employer, several other small companies, and a major employer in DFW. Even with all three lanes of our street open, traffic gets backed up big time during rush hour. You can only imagine how catastrophic the damage is with two lanes closed off. The only other option is to take a second highway that is a block away – and usually backed up to the tune of 40 extra minutes to your commute. And that was before the extra traffic thanks to our construction zone. We were warned that this project will take months. I cried a little when I read the notice posted in our building. Thankfully, one of my best friends told a few of us about a super-secret backroad that cuts through the land between the construction zone and the highway. I’m waiting for the word to get out and ruin it, but so far there hasn’t been more than a 10 minute delay in my normal commute.

And you know what kills me the most? In the Mother of All Construction Zones, they’re fixing the potholes that are negotiable. A little bumpy and still annoying, yes, but on the same street on the other side of the highway and in the opposition direction of traffic there are three potholes that are not passable. Everyone avoids that middle lane because the three depressions in the street are allignment-wreckers if you hit them. Does the city do anything about those? Noooooooo.

Okay. I feel better now. Maybe it’s the painkiller or maybe I just needed to vent. Any lingering grouchies I’m sure will be banished by those funny guys on Big Bang Theory. A night of silly TV shows is just what I need tonight. At this rate, maybe every night for the next few months.

*This post was pre-blogged Monday night and I was just too tired and icky to be sneaky and make it sound like I wrote it Tuesday morning. So there.

Committed.

No, not to an insane asylum. I don’t know why you would have thought that. This time it’s completely innocent.

I finally broke down and bought a (much) smaller camera case so I can take my lil point-and-click with me everywhere.

On one hand, it used to be so much easier to grab my camera and go. My first point-and-click was a piece of plastic that used 110 film and was about the size of a remote control. It was great because I didn’t care so much about the wear and tear – if I wanted to bring it to school for pictures, I just took it with me. I threw it in my purse and didn’t think too much about it. It wasn’t fancy, it didn’t matter if it got dirty, and it was resilient enough that it could take a few bumps or bruises. I was young when I got it – 10 maybe? I remember getting it for Christmas from Santa…mostly because I have a lot of pictures of all of our gifts that year!

The problem was its size. It was slim, but it still wasn’t anything you could just slide into your pocket. My 35mm was a little more compact, but no way was that fitting anywhere discreetly. The same thing went for my first or my current digital. I thought about picking up something much slimmer that I could just slip into my pocket if I needed to – or at least something smaller than what I have. But I couldn’t justify buying a new camera when the one I have works fine. Sure there are things I would change if I could, but it’s functioning just fine for my needs and I don’t exactly have hundreds of dollars lying around, so…

My camera case. Yes. I picked one up yesterday while I was running errands and now my camera can travel everywhere. I can’t promise that it will magically remind me to snap pictures while I’m out, but if I do remember, I’ll have it. I’ve been doing okay with my 365 project, though, even with the camera tethered to the house. There’s only been one night when I had to take a picture of my bookshelf because it was simply too late to think of anything else. Most of the time, they end up in blog posts (like the storm clouds, the scarf, and the stack of movies and cold meds). Lots of the pictures are of the girls. Some of my daily pics aren’t good even by my standards, but I’ll remember what I was doing that day (there’s a self-portrait of me re-caulking the shower, one of the towel wrapped around the faucet, one of potato soup).

And in a little bit, there will be one of mint chocolate brownies. The things I do for this 365 Project. Le sigh.

The way it’s supposed to be.

I went out to dinner with the IO Friday night and – thanks to some luck and with a little intervention – had a very nice date. The luck and intervention? Luck stepped in and helped both of us keep our cool when we wanted to scream at the inconsiderate jackasses who were leaning (almost literally) on our food. As for the intervention – that came from a very unsuspected source. Actual customer service.

Let me back it up a bit. I was supposed to meet the IO at his place for Music Appreciation Night. We listen to really good tunes at deafening levels and he usually plays piano and guitar for me. We drink and relax and generally have a rather awesome time. We can spend hours rocking out and since there was the possibility that he could get called into work at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m., I thought I would go for a run after work, scarf down a sandwich, and head straight to his house. That was the plan in my head…until the IO called me while I was driving home and asked me if I wanted to meet him at a restaurant for dinner before the musical portion of our evening. I knew time would be tight – by the time I ran, showered, threw some clothes together and dealt with officially one of the worst rush-hour traffic routes in the state, it was going to be a late start. But I agreed.

Because traffic really was as horrific as I’d imagined, we decided to meet at the restaurant he picked out – Flips – instead of us waiting for me to sludge through 30 more minutes of traffic only to backtrack. It was a good idea (even after I got lost and had to be rescued) because the place was packed. We decided to walk around the bar area instead of being wait-listed and found a couple of bar stools at a sort of bar addendum. This addendum-y thing was a long, skinny table that ran about the length of the bar on one side and had stools placed around it. Sort of like an over-flow area for everyone to drink. It was only about a foot wide, but it didn’t seem like much of a problem. A lot of the people there were eating apps while they waited for their table to open up and the overall atmosphere of the place – and the millions of plasma TVs surrounding us – was incredibly fun.

So we ordered drinks and then shortly afterwards we ordered dinner. The menu was mostly bar-type food – burgers, sandwiches, apps, a few simple fried entrees – but it only added to the environment and seemed to go perfectly with our evening. We weren’t looking for glam, we just wanted a fun night. Everything was going well. The IO was even impressed with our waitress and that never happens. But just as I let go and really started to have fun and flirt with my date, my evening started to crash around me. Why? Because drama follows me everywhere. Hmph. It sounds a little more innocuous: a guy and his wife were walking around, looking for a place to wait for their table and they decided to stand on the other side of the overflow bar where we were sitting. People were standing and sitting on both sides of the overflow bar all the way down (we were at the end), so you wouldn’t think this would be a problem. Unfortunately, they turned around so they could watch the game on the TV and leaned against the table. Which, considering their girth and the billowing of their shirts – meant they were taking up a large chunk of our space.

The IO,  for all of his endearing qualities and general adorableness, is half-Italian and has a quick-fired temperament. As soon as the couple leaned against the bar, the IO became upset and I had visions of our entire evening going up in flames. I tried to calm him down. I knew that he was thinking about our food being delivered any minute; as it was, it was hard to navigate just our beers without hitting the backs of these people. So I told him that as soon as our food arrived, obviously the couple would back off. Obviously. You just don’t go throwing yourselves in other people’s food! Of course, that’s when his salad arrived. The couple either didn’t notice or didn’t care. So I tapped Mr. Ignorant on the shoulder and politely and charmingly explained that we had ordered food and would they mind standing back because when they leaned, their shirt was in our plates. He and his wife looked at us briefly, said okay and what have you, and immediately turned back to the TVs. Not five seconds later leaned back against the bar. The IO had had enough, our food arrived, and my sinking feeling grew exponentially – all at the same time. The IO told the waitress that we would pay for our beers and go because the couple wouldn’t move. I hate confrontation. If I do have to say something, I’m going to go for charming and see if I can’t wheedle myself into a compromise with my end of the bargain heavily compensated. The poor sweet waitress was flustered. She didn’t know what to do. She said there was wait list for the tables and she wasn’t able to move us into one. So she went and got the check. It was a little while before we had it, and then the IO had to wait for change, and the entire time I was looking down at the bar or at the wall, or boring holes into the backs of the horrid couple who ruined my evening. They didn’t look like they were single parents who didn’t ever get to go out to dinner.

While I was glaring at the rude couple and their refusal to acknowledge that anything had happened – they didn’t turn around once! – I noticed the IO was talking to a manager at the servers’ door that was right next to our end of the bar. He walked back over and I found out that the manager had said to our waitress as she walked by that he wanted to talk to her later. The IO had gone over to explain to the manager that it wasn’t her fault and told him about the rude couple. He didn’t want the waitress to get in trouble – isn’t that sweet? Next thing we know, the manager appears in front of us, apologizes, and gives us a $25 gift certificate to buy our dinner the next time we come in. He apologizes some more and says that we can use it tonight if there was any way we would like to stay, and he says that a table just opened up and it’s ours if we want it. He personally escorts us and asks if we wanted the same thing we had ordered. Just to show off, he repeated our orders – right down to the special requests we had made – and had our food out to us in no time. (I would have wondered if they had just reheated it, but the food was too scorching hot for it to be anything other than freshly cooked.) Then, the manager offered us free drinks, apologized again, and sympathized with us over the Rude Couple. At the end of the evening, we asked our waitress for the manager’s name so we could both write his supervisor and thank him for saving our evening. Turns out, the “manager” is actually the owner. He was pulling a manager shift on a Friday night to help out. The guy was young – about my age, maybe a little older – and apparently his family has been in the restaurant business for years.

How awesome is that?! What was bordering on catastrophic disaster not ten minutes before had turned into an even better evening just because one man took the time to make us feel validated. He was out $35 (with drinks) and earned repeat business and the bonus that I’m going to tell everyone I know how great their service is. That is how you make money and generate business. It also helps set up a really, really fun evening for a cute couple desperately in need of a happy-go-lucky date. You know – if you’re interested in that sorta thing.

Flips Patio Grill is, unfortunately, a local chain. But, if you happen to be in the DFW area and you want delicious food (the turkey burger melted in my mouth – seriously to die for), some place with a really fun groove, and customer service to rave about, GO TO FLIPS! If you’re not in the area, don’t worry. I have a feeling that Flips will be coming to your city very, very soon.

A Mommy’s wish list.

In the midst of what turned into a Friday-afternoon disaster last week trying to get my daughter to the doctor, I forgot all about something. I understand why – it was such a little thing. But as the saying goes, sometimes the little things mean the most. What happened was this: Gracie told me her ear hurt. See? I told you it was a little thing. But that little thing – being able to put to words what was bothering her so that I could fix the problem – made my heart happy. That one little sentence offered up in a tiny, sleepy voice lifted mountains of burden off of my shoulder even if it did give me another problem to solve. The point is that the problem was a little bit easier to solve. Just a little bit…and that’s all this mommy needed.

So, I decided to petition the universe. These are a few things that I would like to see happen. Little things that could make a big difference in my life. Things I’d love to add to my Mommy Gift Registry, just in case The Universe wanted to surprise me with a little thank you gift for sticking it out and being an overall wonderful person. Ahem.

If Bee could be done with the nighttime Pull-ups already. I know, I know – she’ll train when her body is ready and everyone is ready at different times. But the other night, Bee woke me up at midnight to go potty (the first time she’s made that request). Her Pull-up was already wet, so I got her a new one…and that one was still dry when I woke her up at 6:30 the next morning. Finding a dry Pull-up should not have made me feel like walking on air, it shouldn’t have been the best thing to happen to me all day, it shouldn’t have made me feel like dancing in the streets. But it did. It made me realize just how incredibly ready I am for her to be done with pull-ups.

If daycare could get some things right. Have I mentioned a time or 200 that daycare is raising rates another 40% to “get in line” with what other centers charge, but then refuse to provide the same level of service as those “other” :cough:Premium:cough: centers. The building is literally falling apart. The teachers aren’t paid well so the good ones don’t stay. They can’t even keep my tuition straight. And I always pre-pay each month! So when they manage not to lose Bee’s extra clothes and they actually make it into her cubby where they belong I feel like I won the lottery. A little help with daycare costs and consistency in care would go a loooong way in helping me keep my sanity.

A good night’s sleep. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since the girls came back from The Ex’s after Christmas break. I heard from a little birdie that The Ex lets the girls climb into bed with him (wonder if that will change soon…) and so I’m sure they got used to that very quickly. At least, that’s what I blamed for the fact that they were waking me up three and four times a night. Then both girls got sick and I blamed the fevers for their frequent nighttime wakings. And when they got well, I still blamed their fevers because they had gotten used to frequent comfort from mommy. But now I am broken and exhausted and ready (please dear god) for a good night’s rest.

Temperatures that are just a tiny bit warmer at night. I don’t want it to warm up too much – I love cuddling under a pile of blankets – but just enough so that I don’t feel compelled to get up, walk across the house, and cover up my wiggle-worms again. When it’s really cold, I feel like I need to make sure my girlies aren’t freezing to death. You would think their survival instinct would make them reach out in their sleep and cover up again. Alas. So if it were just warm enough that I could be confident my kids wouldn’t freeze to death, I think it would go a long ways towards getting that good night’s sleep I mentioned.

Children who can go potty by themselves. Neither one of the girls minds walking through the dark house – all the way across it – to wake me up. What kills me is that if it’s the 5-year-old who is waking me up, chances are it’s to ask me to take her to the bathroom. You know – the one with the nightlight in it that she walked right past to get to my bedroom! Perhaps I wouldn’t mind the “just because” reasons and the “I had a bad dream” reasons and the “Can you cover me up?” reasons if they could take care of this little reason all on their own.

A temporary truce with the runny noses. I’m usually a pretty laid back mom with this one. I just calmly ask the girls to throw away their tissues when I see a pile of them on the floor or next to the tissue box. I just sigh and send them to wipe their noses when I notice that they need tending. I do flip out if I hear one sniffle too many. But both girls have been congested and runny since the week before Christmas and I’m about to reach my limit. My white flag is out and ready to be raised. Gracie sat down on her bedroom floor and cried this morning because she blew her nose and was still stuffy. I know, baby girl – I wanted to sit right down there with you and cry too.

Gas prices that are a little bit lower when I look – in dread – at the sign. I drive past the “cheap” gas station on the way to daycare. Twice this week gas has gone down two cents and I’ve done a quiet little happy dance in my head as I drove by. For TWO PENNIES. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, Universe – I’m a single mom.

So there you have it, Universe. Please pick one (or more!) and don’t worry about the gift wrapping. I’m not really all that desperate – I’m throwing these suggestions out there mostly for the fun of it. Don’t worry about my mental state, really guys. I’m not drowning in wine just yet. It’s just that I amuse myself sometimes with how little it takes for me to start celebrating and I thought I’d share with the class. (But really, Universe – throw me a bone here.)

Dominate, dominate, dominate.

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Tornado season!
Tornado season wh… CRAP!

Yeah, I didn’t think the joke was that funny either. Don’t worry – I blamed it all on Kim. See, she and her friend S. are coming to visit me in a few weeks. She mentioned when we were talking the day before yesterday (!) that she told her friend not to worry about the tornadoes because it’s not tornado season yet. Then I sorta mentioned to Kim how warm it’s been here – in the low 70s – and then Kim used some not-very-nice words. And then she said that maybe she should warn S. after all.

Dear Universe: SHE WAS KIDDING!

Guess what? About an hour before I left work last night I got a nice little text message from The Weather Channel letting me know that we were issued a Tornado Watch. And that’s just about when I cursed Kim and her jinxes. I even called her cell phone and told her so. I started thinking about how I was leaving at 5 p.m. instead of my usual, earlier release time because my co-worker was out, and how the main artery that my work is on is down to one lane because of stupid construction, and how I was going to have to dodge cows, hail, and tornadoes on my way home.

So I did what any rational woman would do: I checked The Weather Channel and sent Super Secret Agent C to check Reed Timmer’s Facebook page and Twitter account. Hey – last season on StormChasers, the resident crazy guy and competition started cursing Reed because he had mentioned via live update that he captured a massive tornado. Sooooo, obviously if our storm system was something to worry about, Reed would have posted about it. (And guess what? He did! Sort of.)

A little comforted that the metroplex didn’t make it into Reed’s post, and by the fact that the storms on TWC’s radar didn’t look too scary, I headed home through the construction zone without any issues. No storms. No cows. Only a few raindrops. The supercell a few counties east of here did go tornado-warned, though. That perked me up a bit because at the time I couldn’t quite remember whether the counties mentioned were to the east or west of me, but most of the scary looking clouds were to my east. I didn’t get any pictures of those (I need to start lugging my camera around with me), but I did get this one:

This storm was BLOWIN' UP! as Reed would say. The picture doesn't do it justice. Or show the dark, ominous clouds just right of the frame.

Moral of the story: do not let my sister mock the weather any more. And maybe get a bit more sleep so I don’t base weather forecasts on blog posts by Discovery Channel celebrities. That is all.

[Edited to add: I talked to Kim on the phone last night to discuss the blog post. She decided that if Reed were ever in the area, we would have to follow his chase car (Nicknamed The Dominator. No lie.), if only so we knew where not to be. At which point I offered up our chase car's nickname: The Sublimator. Annnnd we cracked up. When we had recovered enough to talk again, I kinda ruined the quiet by quietly and mock-earnestly chanting, "Sublimate, sublimate, sublimate."

When we fully recovered from that fit of the giggles, I told Kim about my ride home and not knowing where the hell Kaufman county was. West? East? North? What the heck, weather dudes?! Kim thought that the radio peoples should offer clues since there are so many counties around here. (It's true - I have a map of Texas showing all the counties on my fridge with mine outlined in red for easy reference.) I thought if they really wanted to be helpful, they should just alphabetize the counties starting in northeast Texas and working their way down. Kim said we could then call them Jack county, nee Wise. I doubled over with laughter. It's a good thing the girls came home and cut our conversation short - I'm sure I would have peed my pants before too long. We are hysterically funny people. But usually more so if you know us.]

Book Review (without spoilers): The Book Thief

A few months ago, it seemed like everyone around me – both in the real world and online – was talking about Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief. There was an incredible, raving buzz about the book that I just couldn’t ignore. When my sister was here in November, she found the book marked way, way down at the half-price bookstore and picked it up. Yay, I thought! She can knock it out and then I can read it. She started it that very day – and gave up on it before the week was out.

Maybe I should have been discouraged, but I wasn’t. My sister and I, we are like a pretty, pretty Venn diagram. We are distinctly unique (and have I mentioned pretty?) circles with a small portion of our tastes overlapping. Depending on the subject – men, books, music, friends, jokes, movies – our common area grows or shrinks. I figured The Book Thief was one of those finds that just didn’t fit into the bookshelf in our common area. I meh-ed to myself and went on my way.

Until just before the holidays when I picked up the book and started reading. Then I thought that we had found the rare book that neither one of us liked. Book Thief starts off as such a slow, unlikable read. The characters are unfamiliar and vaguely like shards of glass – I was afraid to pick them up and try to fit them together because they seemed so pointed and unfriendly. In fact, I was about 100 pages in – at the soccer match between Liesel and Rudy – when I emailed Mrs. E. in a fit of exasperation. Does it get any better? I asked her. You see, I was pretty sure that Mrs. E was one of the people I had heard talking about the book. Only, it turned out that she wasn’t. She hadn’t read it. Oops.

Thankfully I hadn’t given anything away. Even better, the book picked up. The pace got better, the characters…well, okay, the characters will still acting like stubborn, obstinate creatures who refused to be loved. Vignette by vignette, Liesel became sorta likable at times. And that kid Rudy she chummed with – he was okay. Her Papa becomes more endearing as you watch his relationship with Liesel grow. Funnily enough, as human connections were made between the shards of glass, flashes of brilliance started peeking through. And I found that as the story progressed, as the inevitable became even more so, I realized I cared about the story and the people populating it. It was never a charming or an easily likable story. I don’t know that I’ll read it again. But I ached at the ending even when Death (our narrator) warned me in advance what was going to happen. Maybe I ached even more because I knew.

I never thought that I would recommend this book to anyone. I never thought I would care about the characters. Once I figured out the ending, I didn’t think I’d even finish the last sixty or so pages. But the last quarter of the book blew me away. I contemplated adding Rudy or Papa to my list of most intriguing male characters. I read some of the most tender passages of literature I’ve ever read. Seeing human life analyzed through Death’s eyes – something that happened more often and more poignantly towards the end of the story – was so moving that I found it hard to stop thinking about The Book Thief. It is such a haunting, beautiful story nominally about the people who live in a small German town during the World War II, but really about loss and how the human spirit adapts. You have to really want to like this book, but if you can tough it out – if you can have faith in little Liesel until she makes that connection with Rudy – it’s worth it.