Suburban Goddess

Network Geek was reading through my blog and found a bunch of spam on the older comments, so he suggested I upgrade my blog software.  I checked with my host, and they didn’t have the latest version either, so I had decided to try to upgrade this thing, all by myself, from the OUTSIDE.

I don’t know if anyone dropped by to find a string of error messages and broken code, but that would be me screwing up my blog by trying to upgrade it all by myself.  My heart stopped for a minute, because the past three years of my life are on this monster, and I really, really did not want to lose those memories.  So when I opened my browser and saw that line of code where my beautiful little patch of Internet grass used to be, it was like watching my house burn down with all my pictures in it.

I went back to the software site, and actually tried reading the directions this time… and POOF!  I’m back!

Backups are for wussies!

*Special thanks to Network Geek: hopefully my Blackberry will stop filling up with spam now!

“Oh my God… you look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean, like, you LOOK like crap…. um.. you look… um…. SICK.”

“I’m actually feeling much better.”

“Man, I’d hate to see what you looked like when you felt worse!”

When I went to bed Thursday evening, life was great. I had my weekend lined up, things were looking good, and I was tired enough that I might even sleep.

When I woke up, it felt like I had a brick in my sinus cavity and my throat had swollen shut. Overnight. I chalked it up to allergies, although this was unlike any allergic reaction I’d ever had. As the day progressed, my joints and muscles started to ache, and I found myself freezing while everyone else complained about the heat. I spent most of the day with my head on my desk praying for a swift death… we were under an EXTREME deadline, so I chalked the extra symptoms up to stress.

I drove home in a haze, picking my Alex and heading to the house. I had the intention of driving through McDonald’s and grabbing her a movie as I retreated to a hot bath, but my health was deteriorating so swiftly that by the time I picked her up, I barely had the energy to lift her into the Jeep. When we reached the house, I had nothing left, climbing onto the sofa and shivering uncontrollably. As the hours rolled by, the nausea set in, and soon I was shivering in front of the toilet, barfing uncontrollably. With shaky legs, I stumbled to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, only to have it come back up.

By morning, the aches were so intense I knew there was something going on. I was so proud of Alex; I told her Mommy was sick, and she was so sweet, pulling my hair back, rubbing my back, and whispering quietly, “It’s okay, Mommy.”

But I wasn’t.

Somehow, I made it to the doctor’s office, the nurse giving me a peculiar look as I filled out the form while I was doubled over and tears rolling down my face. I sat in one of those horribly uncomfortable chairs, pulling my knees to my nose while my daughter busied herself by looking at pharmaceutical brochures. (Now you know the severity of my sickness.)

About an hour later, I had a diagnosis, and I was in shock. Strep throat with a fever of 102. That’s it.

I remember having strep as a kid, but I don’t remember it ever being that swift or that painful. My throat was so swollen that the doctor wanted to see me again in a day to make sure the antibiotic was working. Two hours later, the symptoms started to subside, and by that evening, I was starting to think that living was a viable alternative again.

Honestly, I hear people talk about getting older all the time. I know I’m getting older. But it’s when simple little childhood diseases have me praying for death that I begin to realize; this sucks. It’s freaking strep throat. I can’t imagine what cancer, or heart disease, or any TRULY painful thing feels like. I’m rolling around on the floor whining like a pathetic baby with a HEAD COLD.

Definitely an incentive to keep myself in shape.

When I dropped Alex off at daycare this morning, she was in a different room. I didn’t give it a second thought, but apparently geography is a very important subject to a three year old at 7:30am, because she had a complete meltdown.

“No, Mommy! I want CEREAL! CEREAL in THAT room!” she wailed, pointing down the hallway, despite that fact that there was a huge bag of cereal right next to her. I tried to explain it to her, but apparently the cereal in the BLUE room is far inferior to the cereal in the ORANGE room, because she would not listen to me for anything. After a few moments, I gave up and kissed my wailing child goodbye, shrugging apologetically to the teacher who looked at me with a “Dear God, you’re not going to leave her here like THAT” look.

Yes. Yes, I am.

I have to admit, as I walked out of the door, the guilt ate at me. I hate leaving my child in that state, always thinking that if I died, I wouldn’t want her to remember me walking away while she was upset. Thank you, Catholicism. Your fierce grip still wrings my heart at every opportunity.

There was a white car parked next to me, and I was slightly annoyed that the father unloading his child had his car door opened so I couldn’t leave. I stood near the front of the car, waiting for him to come around and close the door… as he did I gave him my best “oh, no, it’s perfectly okay” smile, feeling guilty that I was annoyed at this poor man who was trying to balance four children. As I looked in the door, I realized he’d closed it without getting the child out.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized, feeling even more like a spoiled brat.

“Oh no, it’s okay. He’s not cooperating anyway,” the father smiled. As I climbed into my vehicle, I mentally ran through all the things I had to be grateful about, and the number one thing waas that I only have one child to get out of my vehicle in the mornings. Right about that time, I looked around and realized the interior of my Jeep was now tan.

Only the interior of my Jeep is black.

As I looked around a little more, I noticed a Chevy emblem on the steering wheel, a bottle of water I don’t drink in the cupholder, and a picture of a man I’ve never seen before attached to the sunvisor.

As I slowly opened the door, forcing the dad to shut his again, I laughed nervously….

“Um… not my car….” I laughed as I walked around the white car to my Jeep on the OTHER side of it… I’m sure as I got into in, he understood how I could mistake a BIG BLACK TAHOE for a LITTLE BLUE JEEP.

Hey, it could happen to anybody.

“Alex, what are you doing, honey?” I exclaimed when I came around the corner to find twelve CD-Rs lined up on the coffee table, each holding a small portion of macaroni & cheese.

She gave me a look as if to say, “DUH, MOTHER.”

“Mommy, I having a birfday party!  I cooked dinner!”

“What’s with the flames?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just kind of sinister, don’t you think? Are you some kind of closet arsonist or something?”

“I did have the urge to torch my old house… with the ex in it.”

“I wouldn’t say those kind of things out loud too much if I were you.”

“Come on… I’d never do anything like that!”

“I don’t know… you definitely have a dark side…”

“We all do; I’m just not afraid to let mine show.”

“There’s a difference between letting it show and broadcasting it like a gay musical.”

“Hey! That’s profiling!”

I was sitting on my back porch yesterday, watching Alex play in her playhouse while trying to keep the flying monkeys that Houstonians like to call “mosquitoes” from carrying her away, when I noticed the familiar sound of the frogs and crickets chirping in unison.

The sound of a summer afternoon.

I sat back in the deck chair and closed my eyes, transported back to my grandmother’s camp, a small piece of land at the intersection of two bayous. My relatives would sit for hours on “the point,” the whirr-click-click of their fishing rods a nice compliment to the song of the frogs. For a moment, I was completely there, five years old…

And then a chopper rolled by, bringing me back to my suburban reality.

I think it’s time for a trip home.

“What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“No way. What are you really doing?”

“What is with you people? I’m WORKING. I WORK. That’s what I DO.”

“You goof off with Adobe products all day… that’s not work. You should pay your company to do what you do.”

“And you should shut your mouth before I pull my voodoo dolls out and stab you in the heart.”

“Is that why I have a persistent case of heartburn? I thought it was the BBQ.”

(sigh) “I don’t know why I stay friends with you sometimes.”

“Because I’m the only one who will tolerate your constant threats of physical violence.”

“No.”

“Because I’m so damn sexy.”

“No.”

“Because no one else will listen to your incessant bitching?”

“I think that might be it.”

My three year old is quite adept at shapes. If you give her one of those little cubes with the shapes cut out, she can find the corresponding block and stuff it in the right hole.

My question is, how come grown adults cannot grasp this same concept?

In my field, it’s a common complaint; SQUARE PEG…. ROUND HOLE. Now, MAKE IT FIT, but don’t stretch, squash, manipulate, squeeze, or crop the picture in any way…

Again, this is why I’m crazy.

Friday night I met for dinner with a reader of my blog. I don’t do that often, but this was a special circumstance.

She was an amazing woman, a person who stands up for principles and fights for what she believes in, even when it’s not a popular choice. The deciding factor for me to meet her came in her email; “I need more strong, honest women in my life.”

That truly hit home, for so many reasons. So many women around me are catty, backstabbing, manipulative and vindictive. It’s such a waste of incredible energy; we could be so much more. So I have decided that this particular person could be a great example for my daughter… so here I go, stepping out of my comfort zone again.

But I truly believe this is worth it.