time

I need more time. as in... I need to not have to work a full time job. LOL... Notice I say, "not have to work". That means being able to afford to quit. It does NOT mean losing the job when I still need it.

But, seriously... how the hell did my mom hold down a job (often working overtime), raise me and keep the house clean???? Is there some secret she failed to pass down to me? Because I sure as hell cannot keep up with the housework!

I need A LOT more time.

The state of the world....

remember when you memorized everyone's phone number? Cell phones contribute to the de-braining of society by taking away the need to remember phone numbers.

I was driving back to work after taking the baby to the sitter on my lunch hour. I approached a left turn lane and got in line behind a few vehicles. We had the green, the cars ahead were just waiting for their opening to turn. Finally just one pickup truck in front of me, but the green light turned to yellow. The pickup started to pull out... then the guy stuck out an arm and waved at this little old lady on the corner for her to go ahead and cross the street.
Now, this little old lady may have been a transient... more likely just very very poor. She looked rough around the edges and had no teeth. She, trusting the pickup guy, stepped into the intersection to cross. Pickup gunned the engine and turned wide around her just as the light turned red. She, surprised by the pickup and then realizing that the other traffic now had a green light, realized that this jerk had set her up to get run over! She backtracked to the sidewalk, gaping after the pickup jerk. And I sat there at the red light wondering just what kind of gene pool we're going to have if creeps like that multiply.

What IS the deal?

In the last 3 days I've observed my husband:

• use a kleenex to wipe water off the outside of a baby bottle, bypassing a towel that was closer and then tossing the used kleenex on a table only to walk right by a trash can on his way to the baby.
  
• use a kleenex to blow his nose, toss it toward a trash can... miss... stare at the kleenex on the floor and then walk away. Leaving the kleenex on the floor.
• Not to mention the 5 dirty kleenexes left on the couch.
• I watched him accidently drop a piece of plastic that tied our yard waste bags on the floor. Instead of picking it up, he tried to kick it under the couch. Then denied that he kicked it under the couch when I immediately said "don't kick that under the couch."

This is a small sample of the things I see every day. Are men just naturally pigs or just my husband? Are they born this way or do they work at it? What is the deal? Is it really so difficult to do some minor picking up after yourself?

And you know, if I weren't here to pick up after him, eventually this place would look just like his living space before we moved in together... like a landfill.

I hope that I can instill some value in keeping one's space halfway clean into my son.

Breaking and Entering...

I managed to lock myself (and my 5mo old son) out of the house last night.

He was asleep in the car seat, so I tote to the house all the mom-shit that one suddenly has to carry with her once she's given birth, dropped it inside the door and ran back to get the kid. He's asleep on my shoulder as hand grasps the screen door handle and tugs... ineffectively. WTF?

Dang door's lock managed to slip down and lock somehow, leaving me and sleeping rugrat outside... and keys, cellphone, purse, DIAPER BAG inside.

As I sit on the porch steps, ready to rant or cry (silently so as not to wake the baby) I think, surely the husband will be home soon. I wait. Foot taps. Kid stirs. Pat the baby's back, he returns to sleep, thank you goddess! and wait. Hang on... is the back screen door even unlocked? What's the point of waiting for the husband if we can't even get in WITH keys? I go around to check. Sure enough, the back screen door is locked. DAMMIT. I really really hate being married to a wanna-be cop sometimes. I appreciate the desire for home security, but this shit's for the birds.

So I go back to the front door and jiggle the screen door handle some more. Then I slam on it with my fist. Ha. Damn thing is made better than I thought. I stare at the door some more. The window is up 2 inches. If I rip the screen at the bottom, I can get my fingers in there and raise the window enough for my hand to go in and unlock the door.

So, 10 minutes later I call the husband on the cell. "Where are you?"

"the mall... why?"

"buy some screen on the way home."