What A Difference Three Inches Makes

I caught your attention, there, didn't I? And you're undoubtedly thinking, three inches? She's excited about three inches? Her situation is worse than we thought. Yes, I am excited about three inches. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Of course, the three inches to which I am referring are the three inches of hair that my stylist cut from my trashy mane last Thursday. I treated myself to a pedicure and an eyebrow wax, as well. There is nothing like spending a little money to make a girl feel just a bit brighter and lighter in her Pumas.

I needed some sort of intervention. I have been finding gray hairs left and right lately, and it has really turned my little world upside down. I always imagined that I would age gracefully and peacefully. Not so. It's pissing me off, in fact. Every time I spy one of those coarse, silver, renegade hairs taunting me from the mirror. Anger.

I suppose I needed a reminder that I can still look hot when I need to.

Recovery

We are still recovering from the plague. It has been over a week and I still feel like I could lay down and fall asleep at any time of day.

On a more positive note, I signed us up for a membership at Lifetime Fitness. We need something to shake up the monotony around here. I figured I could stand to have my ass whipped into shape a bit, too. I figured it would give me some "me-time", since the girls will be in the play area while I work out. And it never hurts to exercise. Well, it hurts a lot. But you know what I mean.

More snow tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure this is the snowiest winter I can remember.

Spring, get your ass here. Like, as in, yesterday.

What's REALLY Wrong With Healthcare in America Today

Dying. Am I.

I went to the doctor on Saturday because I could not take the ridiculous coughing fits. He told me, very gently and kindly, that I had a cold. Colds sometimes take a long time to go away, he said. But then he gave me a Z-Pak. You know, just in case it's not a cold. So is it or isn't it?

If this is a cold, I've never encountered one like this. I'm hacking so much that I can't sleep at night. My little one is just a puddle. Her fever has been over 102 for the past four days. I took her in to the pediatrician today. Same story. It's a cold, the doctor said. Of course, her fever was gone by the time I took her to the doctor. It promptly shot back up over 102 this afternoon. Nobody swabbed us to test for the flu, but that's what I'm guessing we all have.

Dishes are piled up in the sink. I have not showered since, well, I'm actually ashamed to say how long. The house is a certified disaster area. It probably qualifies for FEMA assistance. I don't even have the energy to fix meals for my own kids. They have been existing on frozen waffles, Chee-Tos and ice cream sandwiches. Luckily, whatever this is zapped their appetites. Mine too. I managed to eat some toast today.

And speaking of government assistance, here's what SHOULD be happening. Nannies, and not just any nannies, but certified pediatric nurse-nannies, should be sent to my house to care for the girls. A team of cleaning ladies (or men, we're EOE here) also should be dispatched to sanitize this den of disease. A personal chef would be good, too, for when the girls feel like eating again. I should be admitted to the hospital where I would have narcotics administered intravenously, and continuously, until such time as I no longer feel like crawling in a hole and disappearing.

I think I should run for President.

Kickin' Me When I'm Already Down

As if I didn't have enough to bitch about (and believe me, I manage to find plenty), I got bitch-slapped with a case of bronchitis. All these poor girls did today was watch television while I hacked on the couch. I did take them to the McDonald's Playplace for lunch, though. For some reason, respiratory distress makes me ravenously hungry.

In between bouts of hair-pulling, pinching and slapping, they actually let me get some rest. Bless their little hearts. The few times I stumbled into the bathroom in the middle of a hacking fit, they scrambled in there with me, curious to see if I was going to "have the puke-ups".

I shouldn't really complain because I usually am, for the most part, healthy. Maybe that's why it feels extra rotten when I actually do get sick.

My husband is on his way home and I am confident he is going to make me some nice, hot, chicken-noodle soup. He will then draw me a luxurious, hot bath. There will be candles, and rose petals in the bathtub. There will be a warm, fluffy, hotel-type robe waiting for me when I get out.

Did I mention that the Mucinex I'm taking makes me hallucinate and have delusions of grandeur?

OMG, Seriously, Snow Again?

So. More snow. We are supposed to get six to nine inches tonight. Now, ordinarily, I would welcome six to nine inches. But not when we're talking snow.

I might stick my head in the oven if we get another foot of snow. Didn't Sylvia Plath do that, by the way? I don't think I can take another snow day. These girls have cabin fever something fierce. So do I, for that matter.

I think I'm allergic to staying home full-time. I have recurrent dreams in which I visit my former employer and beg them to give me my job back.

I desperately, desperately wanted to absolutely love staying home. I wanted to have an epiphany in which I would say, "How did I not discover the joys of this years ago?" I have had no such epiphany. Not of that sort, anyway. I've had a few others that I won't mention. You never know if my girls might someday find all of these posts in which I bitched incessantly about them. I don't want to do any permanent damage.

I do want to bitch, though. I mean, isn't that partly what blogging is about? Am I alone here?

The annoying thing is, I run into all of these mothers who sincerely seem as though they could not be happier staying at home. Some of these mothers have, like, five kids, too! They seem to thrive on it! It really makes me feel inadequate. They should be ashamed of themselves, flaunting their happiness and efficiency. Couldn't they stifle it just a little bit around the rest of us? I can't even get up the energy to vacuum my family room these days. I could probably feed a family of four just with what has accumulated on the rug.

Actually that's not such a bad idea. "Kids, we're having leftovers tomorrow night!"

Oh yeah. I'm in a dark place. No question.

An Answer?

So, my doctor thinks I am suffering from panic attacks. Or panic disorder, if you will. He prescribed some medicine that allegedly is going to help with this problem. I am skeptical (surprise, surprise) that it is going to work, but God, I hope it does. I've never been a medicine gal, so I am struggling with even the decision to take the darn stuff.

Apparently, this panic thing rears its ugly head during life transitions. Hmmm, have I made any life transitions lately?

Oh, yeah, that's right. I completely turned my life upside down and inside out about six months ago. So I suppose that makes sense. I guess I just thought that you had to be panicked about something to have an actual panic attack. Turns out you don't. They can happen even when you're sleeping, I'm told.

Lucky me, mine happen while I'm driving.