Certainity. A Luxury We Can No Longer Afford.

This has been reposted from my American Mom in London blog, because yes, it's just that important to me.

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Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, "But how does all this affect us?"

("Us" being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)

At the time, life around us hadn't changed much...

The London's streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.

Furthermore, we're decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don't need to worry, but his question still struck me as the "Gee, what else can go wrong?" of sitcom folly...

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What I'm about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.

I've avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it's too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.

When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend... while on the bus... and standing in line at the post office... and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.

So here, goes...

Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike's contract still hasn't been renewed.

Note, this is not to say that it wasn't renewed. Only that it hasn't, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way...)

On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn't been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn't been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can't...

Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.

Everything could still change on a dime... er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we'll have no choice but to move back-- uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)

This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.

Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?

The answer is simple. I love my husband and it's great job. Not to mention, it's was an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up.

When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We'd have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.

Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people "in charge"...)

We were just getting settled-- creating routines, desensitizing ourselves to the banking system, making wonderful new friends...

We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here...)

As difficult as it has been to "adjust", the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven't slept in over three weeks.

Please don't tell me "It's going to be okay" or "We'll be fine". I won't be able to stand it. Not yet.

North, South, East, West. Mother's Milk Is Still The Best.

I would like to preface this post with saying that I am an ardent supporter of breastfeeding... and come to think of it, formula feeding too!

I'm also generally NOT a prude, nor do I think that there should be any shame or indecency associated with feeding one's child, but something happened the other day that struck me as funny and I just had to share.

I've been trying to get involved with this great parents' group in our area. As you can imagine it's mostly British mums and dads. They have been welcoming, but in a less whole-hearted and gregarious way than I'm used to in Texas.

It's not their fault. The Brits just tend to be more reserved and aren't so keen on inviting strangers "to drop by anytime" for play dates and mutual bitching, so I'm fine that things are still rather formal.

However there's one mom that I've gotten to know really well, but in a most unconventional manner...

The first time I met her, it was at another mom's house. She walked in with her kids and before introductions could be made, she pulled up her shirt to nurse her baby. No cover up or even a pretense of one.

The conversation merely pressed forward and she had to go before I could catch her name.

This happened again on the two or three other occasions I've run into her. Last time, we were in a public place and she got so caught up in the conversation that she (absent-mindedly) left her breast exposed well after her son had unlatched and nodded off.

This is all very funny to me, but only because I still don't even know her name.

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In any case, if you were wondering about the rest of the world's attitude towards nursing mothers. The answer is... there isn't one.

(Well, at least not in my London circles.)

It makes me cringe to even think about all those times I had to squeeze into an ill-fitting fitting room to feed my son...

Or the time, I had to apologize for having to pump at work...

Or my friend that was asked to leave the dinner table because what she and her baby were doing was "gross"...

Blue Screen of Doom

Oh.

My.

GAWD!

I did NOT mean to take another blogging hiatus, but this time it had nothing to do with the writer's block, exhaustion, or utter lack of inspiration of which I also have been suffering lately...

This time it was a bad (evil, nasty, hiss, baa) "mandatory" Windows Vista Update that killed my blogging mojo... and my computer.

Yup, it zapped my brand new laptop and rendered it totally useless for over a WEEK ago... and, of course, where were the restore disks?

Ummm, tucked neatly in a box at my parents house on the other side of the world...

Stupid of me! I know, but trust me, it would be the last thing you'd be thinking about too if you were A) moving OVERSEAS and B) with a toddler who has never flown before...

... and so what if I opted to pack those five extra diapers instead?

In spite of all this, I still do NOT regret it... and neither do my fellow passengers on American Airlines Flight #384.

Besides, my parents managed to find the disk and mailed them to me molto pronto. They were particularly motivated after I told them there won't be anymore web cam calls with their beloved one and only grandchild until they do...

In the meantime, my hubby, sexy, open-source lovin', techy programmer geek that he is, loaded a version of Linux on my computer, so that I could at least get online.

FAIL!

Everything took so excruciatingly long to load that I couldn't stand to do anything more than check a few e-mails each day before I was over it. I won't even go into the "mystery key strokes" and random prompts that would pop up as I typed...

(To all of you who received a typo-ridden emailed from me last week, now you know why...)

I'm not pro-Microsoft or anti-Linux or even think I'm cool enough for a Mac...

(What? Do you not have those debates with your husband, too?)

I just want my COMPUTER TO WORK, damnit!

Talking A Load Off My Mind... and switching it with another

Thank you for the well wishes. My son is doing a lot better today.

I haven't done much else this week-- just lots of watching my son breathe and researching childhood asthma. I've been educating myself on the terminology, treatments, and theories.

I even contacted our local asthma specialist and got her to come to OUR HOUSE and examine my son THAT day. (It pays to be pushy, people)

There's plenty of info out there, just not much in the way of a cure or prevention...

Since my son's asthma seems to be brought on by upper respiratory infections which are a permanent fixture of... you know, CHILDHOOD and completely unavoidable, there's apparently "nothing we can do about it".

The best we can do is "hope" he outgrows it and just accept it as "part of our lives" until then.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'm just too much of a control-freak mommy to buy that!

His doctor has put him on daily inhalers as a preventative. However, I'm not too keen on that either as they seem to come with some equally scary side-effects.

I've also read that something like one in FIVE kids suffers from asthma, so I guess that means at least one in five of you parents reading this post are dealing with this too.

Any insights or support you could provide would be really helpful to me right now... even if it's just to tell me to get over myself already.

I'm a big girl. I can take it.

In the meantime, I'm going to get started on designing that bubble for us to live in and resign myself to a life of only having online friends...

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Other things that have been overshadowed by the recent week's events, as if this post wasn't long enough...

OUR HOUSE IN TEXAS SOLD!!!! Yew-haw!

Oh yeah... did I forget to tell you? It was under contract for about a month, but seeing as the last "committed buyers" backed out a week before the closing, I wasn't about to hold my breath.

In talking with other American expats in London, we've learned that most opted to rent out instead of sell their homes in the States. We actually considered doing the same when a serious offer came in...

As much as we didn't like the idea of being absentee landlords, we hated paying that mortgage even more. Now, we don't have to do either one!!!

Now for the tacky details... We certainly didn't make a killing on the house, not that we expected that we would.

We got back about as much as we put into it-- the cost of two buckets of paint and some nifty Container Store shelves, which is just fine by me.

Politics for Dinner

Every night, my husband comes home with a new rant about the elections... usually something said on FoxNews, news about the candidates' stances on the war or national debt, etc.

He claims to only read this stuff while he's waiting for things to load at work...

However, judging from the amount of email he sends me each day, I think he secretly spends his entire day trolling the Internet for video clips or memorizing facts and figures to present over dinner.

I listen. We discuss. We usually agree and then, I change the subject... except he's not done yet...

He goes on, getting louder and louder and LOUDER still, to the point where he is shouting and scaring our child.

Our son actually burst into tears last week because he thought Mommy and Daddy where fighting. We weren't even though my husband was following me around the house shouting and I did tell him to "shut the hell up already".

If you must know, my husband and I claim to be disenchanted Republicans. We both agree with several of the key issues that the Republican party stands for... or at least, what they used to stand for. However, we also disagree with some big ones, too.

(I'm not interested in starting a debate, so won't bother to say which issues...)

The funny thing is I don't recall my husband being this passionate about politics during the last Presidential election. Nope, nope. We had to move OUT OF THE COUNTRY and ACROSS THE OCEAN for that to happen.

Of course, this time four years ago, I was listening to similar rants from my best friend (then roommate).

She also liked to quote FoxNews every night when she came home from work except it was always in agreement, rather than disgust... (smirk)

Every Vote Counts... I guess.

My mom signed off her last email with the following:

Got to go; Sarah Palin is going to deliver her speech at the GOP convention. Hope you can vote for them there. If you're still a Democrat, don't bother to vote. Take care.

Mommy

We have a lovely relationship otherwise...

Dispatches from Toddlerhood

My son has had allergies since the day he was born. It was never a big deal until it morphed into asthma.

Since then, I've gone out of my way to keep him away from any dirt, dust, pollution, or pollen, and especially smokers. It sounds maddening, but it was actually quite do-able until we moved to EUROPE (!!!)

I've instituted a strict "no outside shoes in the house" rule and vacuum every single day-- upstairs, downstairs, and the staircase, too. It's a thankless pain, but I'm happy to do it to keep my kid healthy...

...and for all of my efforts, I turn around today and find him with the dirty vacuum attachments in his MOUTH!

(Loud SIGHING)

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We went ahead and transitioned our son into a toddler bed along with our move.

It took a few days, but we finally found a nice one. Our son was so eager to have his very own "big boy bed" that he lay down and took a nap on it that afternoon.

I don't know why we bother to congratulate ourselves on our "parenting brilliance", because he has yet to actually sleep in it again...

Bedtime used to be tidy little process in our house. After our son's bath, we read stories and said prayers. Then, we'd play his lullaby CD, put him in his crib, give him a kiss, and leave the room. Most nights, he wasn't heard from again until late the next morning and I was free to clean, do laundry, blog, whatever... I was a blessed woman.

All that wonderfulness has been replaced with whining (his), begging (mine), and lots of crying (ours).

We've tried silently waking him back to his room a la SuperNanny, but the kid is relentless. We've offered brides and talk about all the exciting things planned for the next day "that will get here sooner" if he would... just... close... his... eyes.

We've stayed downstairs and ignored his screams of bloody murder at the gate, but I'm pretty sure that our neighbors hate us for that. (We share a wall on both sides.)

We've even tired making it bedtime for everyone. Hubby and I make a big production about turning out all of the lights and getting into our bed, but our son just comes into our room and yells "Get up!" repeatedly a mere three inches from my head.

Lately, we've just passed out from days upon days of exhaustion while he stays up and plays with his toys. Who knows what time his finally gets to bed... if ever.

Did I mention that he's usually up before we are? Yeah, it's maddening....

There have been a few mornings when we've found him asleep. We've woken up to find him curled up on the floor next to our bed or his, but ever IN his bed...

I'm about to do a little regressing of my own and put him back in a crib. At least, he had no choice but to stay there.

Any advice, Internet????

Culture Clash

I was in the middle of explaining to a store clerk that my family and I just moved to London when he complimented me on how well I spoke English...

"Why, I can understand you perfectly," he added for good measure.

I clarified that's GREAT especially since we just moved here from the UNITED STATES of AMERICA (but thank you, nonetheless).

Even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm SHORTER and BROWNER than most folks, I tend to forget that I'm Filipino sometimes. Having been born and raised in the US, it's not like it really impacted my daily life.

I shopped at Wal-Mart, celebrated Thanksgiving with green bean casserole, and pled the fifth just like everyone else I knew. I grew up with Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. I even know all of the Presidents and state capitols.

When nosy people ask where I'm from, I always say, "the US" and leave it at that, but I know what they are really after...

As one of the locals so quaintly pointed out during our recent trip to Greece, "No, no. You're not an American. Not in the face. Now, where… you… from?"

Okay, so if pressed further, I will begrudgingly clarify by saying that my parents are from the Philippines, but I am from America. This is then usually followed by one of the following:

"No, I can't converse in Tagalog, but I can understand it when spoken."
"Yes, I've been to the Philippines and yes, it is quite lovely."
"No, I will not clean your house/ know your next door neighbors' cousin's wife's who is also Filipino/ make you chicken adobo."

Okay, that last one was just a joke, but you get my point. I am proud of my heritage, but it's just tedious to explain to the casual acquaintance or souvenir vendor.

When it comes to identifying with a people... I'll have the Sonic Buger, onion rings, and a Cherry Limeade. Umm, better make that a Butterfinger Blast. (Mmm, Sonic...)

I knew moving to London was going to be a bit of "culture clash". What I didn't consider was how many cultures would be clashing...

For instance, the closest food market to us is a Middle Eastern/Polish grocery with no less than 25 types of salami and a separate sections for pierogois. The store clerks speak to one another in their native language, but not to anyone else...

The other night, I went there to buy authentic Greek yogurt when I overheard a couple nearby arguing in French. I walked past them quickly and ran into a group of girls dressed in hijab and discussing Mexican food.

If you think I'm joking, here's a photo of the frozen peas I also purchased that night...


The packaging is written in Arabic, even the heating instructions. Fortunately, I already know how to defrost peas. What I don't know if how to operate my British appliances...

What is this Celsius, they speak of?

They walk alike, they talk alike, sometimes they even think alike...

It breaks my heart to tear my son away from all of the little friends he's made...

While he probably won't remember any them in twenty year or even.... say, tomorrow, my parting "wish" for my son's playgroup was a one last photo of all of the boys together.

Besides, I thought it would be great to show him how he was more popular at the age of TWO than either of his geeky parents ever were... Ever.

However, getting this accomplished entails corralling eight boys- six two-year olds and two big brothers- and hopefully getting one decent photo out of it... Just one. I imagined having everyone over, piling the boys on my sofa (plying the moms with mimosas), and simply start snapping away with my digital camera.

Sure, it would be no where near "perfect", but I didn't want "perfect". I wanted to capture them "just as they are"- crazy and unruly, but sweet. All we had to do was wait just another week for one of the boys to come back from visiting his grandparents...

No problem, except somehow that one week turned into two, and my simple little plan evolved into taking the boys to a professional studio and dressing them in matching outfit.

I'm not typically a fan of staged photos, but since it was now going to take place in the middle of our move, I cheerfully set up an appointment at a local studio that I've used in the past and liked.

They didn't even balk when I told them the number of toddlers that would have to be posed, looking at the camera ,and smiling... at... the... same... time.

As "picture day" approached, my son got sick and I had to cancel the morning of. The other moms and kids got together anyway at a local park or somewhere, and unilaterally decided that we should get a photo of the moms, too (!!!)

Also, in matching outfits... (gag.)

Again, the studio didn't flinch when I called to reschedule and inform them about the "moms photo" that we would also like done. In fact, they were more than happy to accommodate us, although I'm sure there was plenty of eye-rolling and heavy sighing as soon as I hung up.

Well, at least there was on MY end of the call... Matching mommy outfits? Really?

The following week, we had to cancel our appointment again due to a death in one of the families... and some hemming and hawing over the jeans which we, the moms, were supposed to wear.

Apparently, one of the moms doesn't own any jeans... like, AT ALL... or maybe it was that she didn't find jeans to be flattering on her...

Well, whatever it was... Jeans are out, but everyone has black pants, right? And a white shirt?

Wow! My favorite combination... for a cater waiter.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Victory Is Mine

I'm back in the town where I grew up, living at my parents' house with my son like the unwed mother that I appear to be these days...

I had my reservation about moving back home. For one, I had sworn up and down that I would rather live in a pizza box under a bridge than live with my parents ever again. It was simply a matter a pride...

How quickly pride gives way to pragmatism when in a bind like suddenly having to sell your house and move overseas?

Well, that and my son is way too precious to live under a bridge.

Then there was the other night, when I was out past NINE and my dad called my cell to ask where I was, who I was with, and when was I coming home... It was just like being in high school all over again... except this time I have a kid, a Roth IRA, and unfortunately, a mortgage.

Turns out Dad was just making conversation rather than imposing a curfew... not that I ever minded the one I had in high school anyway.

So here I was feeling all secure in my adulthood, when blast from the past, I run into my old clique... at SuperTarget, of all places.

I rounded a corner with my son and I came face to face with the meanest, pettiest, bitchiest girls I've ever known in my entire life-- my lunch table crowd from high school.

They haven't changed one bit. In fact, they are all still hanging out together... just without me. In the intervening TEN years since high school, I must have missed the memo 'cuz apparently, we had a falling out which I was not only completely unaware of, but had not even noticed had occurred.

I guess that just goes to show how much fun they were to be around... even when we were the closest of "friends".

Still, I was genuinely happy to see them again, thinking that whatever went on in HIGH SCHOOL would be long forgotten as we connect over shared adult experiences and laugh at how silly we used to be...

Nope!

The chattiest of the bunch cooed over my son and quizzed me on "life in general", while the other two hung back and sized me up. Standing defensively with arms folded and offering little more than guarded, one-word responses, I could tell that they've been rehearsing this moment in their heads for the past ten years. They probably even practiced the cutting remarks they would say to me if ever they saw me again. Yet, they seemed caught completely off guard. I was too until they asked what I was up to...

"Oh I'm back living my parents," I offered unabashedly with a smile. I detected a slight smirk shared between them so I continued, "Well, for now... My husband recently took a job in LONDON. He's working there now, so I moved in with my parents while our house is on the market. I figured it will sell better without my toddler running around and me having to keep it clean by myself, you know. Haha! We'll be joining my husband there in a few weeks. He's looking for a house for us right now."

"Will you be working in London, too?" one asked.

"Oh my, No. I don't have to work. I plan to just hang out with this little guy and just enjoy living in London..." (Okay, that I totally didn't mean to say how it came out, but I was quite pleased anyway)

Floored, they quickly changed the subject and inquired about my best friend. They had heard she got married.

"Oh no. Not yet," I corrected, "not for another two weeks. Their wedding is going to be on an island in GREECE."

"Oh, I guess you won't be able to make it, huh?" another one sneered in fake sympathy.

"Oh no, I'm going to the wedding. Are you kidding? I won't miss that for the world!" I said realizing that I never even thought to invite them to mine...

"Well, look at you, Ms. Fancy-Pants World Traveler... London and Greece? That's so cool, but I guess that means probably won't be flying back for our class reunion this fall, huh?"

"Uhh.... No."

And, do you want to know what the best part was???

Getting to come home and tell my parents all about it...

Grief, In No Particular Order

When I first told my parents that Hubby was interviewing for his new job, my mom slipped into shock/denial right then and there...

"Mom, if all goes well with Hubby's interview tomorrow, we may be moving to London..."

"Oh. Well, before you go, could you return that skirt I gave you? I saw it in your closet--"

"Sure, but did you hear what I said?"

"I never see you wear it and I want it back."

"Okay, you can have it, but Mom--"

"I paid a lot of money for that skirt and--"

"MOM, SHUT ABOUT THE STUPID SKIRT. WE ARE MOVING TO LONDON..."

Then, there was the short-lived "bargaining phase" of suggesting that my son and I continue living here while Hubby lived over there until he decides if this is "really the job for him"... (umm, NO and yes, it is)

A few days later, they started making pithy remarks like, "This is not a time to be happy about anything." That same week, I decided to pack up the house early and move in with them once Hubby left to start working.

Call me crazy, but I just wasn't up for keeping the house immaculate and show-worthy, while still packing and taking care of my son all... by... myself.

Excited that we would be staying with them for a whole month before leaving for good, they perked up a bit. That is, until three days ago when my dad, who is usually the nicest guy in the world, went off on a passive aggressive tirade that quickly switched to a full on aggressive tirade about how we should have taken his advice on storing our furniture...

Even though it was a mere three days before we were set to move everything out of the house and there's nothing I could do about it, but whatever...

We both knew it wasn't really about the furniture, but it still ended badly.

My next door neighbor warned me this would happen, so I knew it was just a matter of time before they would get to the "anger stage" of their grief. I just hoped it would be after we left, and not right before I was to move out of my house and into theirs. I also especially hoped that they would take it out on someone else and not me during the most frazzled stages of this move.

He blew up. I blew up, then cried, called my sister, told her all about it, and cried again. This clearly wasn't the way I wanted to part ways with my family.

In general, my parents have been great through this entire process of packing and moving. They've been very supportive and super helpful-- coming over to help pack, bringing us meals, and such. They even positively insisted that we store the bulk of our things at their house to save money, so this wasn't the way they wanted to part ways either.

My mom called an hour later to smooth things over. She listened to my side of the story and offered to come over and help out anyway I needed.

Both of my parents showed up later that evening baring the two biggest suitcases I've ever seen in my life. They had stopped to buy them for us on their way over because apparently that is how my dad says "sorry".

Everything Has a Price... Literally.

Okay, so our first garage sale was less than fabulous...

After posting the larger items on craigslist and taking the baby stuff to a resale shop, we made a good chunk of change. Unless, of course, you factor in the cost for ads in the local papers, signage, and all of the time and effort it took to price and organize everything only to sit around all day...

The whole thing was a huge waste of time. I have no idea why garage sales are supposedly such a great idea... Or is that just a suburban myth?

As in you're lead to believe that "oh so many" folks will be knocking on your door an hour early because there are people that are just that hard-core about garage sales, when in reality.... everyone secretly loathes them. I mean, I do not personally know one person who enjoys spending their weekends pawing through other people's junk. Not one.

In other news, the house went on the market on Tuesday and we've been shooed out of our home several times already for showings that may or may not have been happening. I guess that's a good sign, except I wish we could caveat that with "No looky-loos. Serious buys ONLY"...

I am already so fed up with vacating my home every time the phone rings that yesterday, I just flat out refused to leave. We stood out in the yard while a real estate agent, a father, and his 2- or 3-year old son looked through the house.

The boy immediately ran to one of my son's toys and started playing with it while his dad and the agent toured, commenting on the slate floors and crown molding. The entire visit took all of 5 minutes, while we were asked to reserve 2 hours for it. That's 115 minutes I could have spent...

A) packing
B) packing

...or,

C) PACKING....

When it was time to leave, the boy had to be forcibly extracted kicking and screaming, "I want to stay! I want to stay! I want to STAY!" I slyly commented to his dad, "You know, that can be arranged... "

However, there is ONE bright side to all this. Hubby's been so super on the ball about keeping the house pristine and beautiful (in spite of the toddler that lives here too...) It's nice to see him be the one so tense and stressed out about the house for a change. I am also loving the clean and efficient household. Laundry gets folded and put away promptly, dishes are done on the spot, and the trash and recycling is removed three or four times daily... at least. No more dirty socks on the bedroom floor or random little piles of papers and wadded up tissues that he'll "get to... later"...

I should have put my house on the market ages ago. (HA!)

What a bust!

Moving out of the country? Have too much crap stuff? Can't take any of it with you?

Have a garage sale!!!

How perfectly logical and possibly profitable... "You have so much REALLY good stuff. You'll make SOOOOO much money," all of my friends told me.

So, why am I blogging... ALONE... on my front lawn, still surrounded by all of my crap... er, really good stuff? (deep sigh)

Our last "busybody browser" came by an hour ago. He told me I was charging too much for a tripod and then proceeded to list everything else that I'm doing WRONG with this sale... everything from the location (umm, not much I can do there...) to the time of year.

"This," he said pointing to all the merchandise still piled up on my lawn, on my driveway, and in my garage, "is NOT normal for this time of day....". Then he left without the tripod that I said he could have for a $1...

Thanks for nothing... jerk.

Why was this such a good idea, again?

Did you know that two-year-olds need passports?

Yeah... It's one of those things that makes perfect sense.

I mean, they are required to have their very own pricey seat on the plane. They stand in the same lines, go through the same security clearances, and must keep their liquids to 3.5 onces and within a Ziplock Brand baggie...

It stands to reason that they would be required to provide the appropriate documentation... when you think of it.

But, WHO HAS TIME TO THINK when your husband starts working in LONDON in 3 weeks and your house in DALLAS, TEXAS still needs to be packed, cleaned, and sold...

Meanwhile the aforementioned two-year-old is unfolding the laundry (as I am folding it) and the aforementioned husband seriously wants to keep all of his comic books, Tonka trunks, Legos, and Star Wars toys from his childhood...

Seriously?

GAHHHHH!

Hi, Internet. Have you missed me? I've missed me...

I know I haven't been around much... you know, commenting and posting like usual. It's because I've been that crazy, stressed out, screaming woman since this insanity all began.

Oh, did I mentioned that we have NO IDEA where we will be living and therefore no idea where to ship our stuff in London, and my mother-in-law wants to come "help" me pack...

I've cried more in the past two days than I had in the past ten years.

Why was this such a good idea, again?

Grass Greener?

Yesterday, my sister-in-law called to "check up on us". She had heard the news about Hubby losing his job, but I'm not sure if she was calling to commiserate or rub in it...

I filled her in on the basics, but after the hundredth time of repeating them, I just didn't have the heart to go over the details. I also left out most of the big parts like...

... finding out the unemployment benefits that we were naively counting on to see us through because everyone we knew said would be so freakin' awesome (like "70% of Hubby's previous salary" awesome) will barely cover groceries for a week. That's NOT 70%... Boo! Hiss! Texas.

On top of that, they get still get taxed... federally. Um, Insult, meet Injury.

... finding out that the toothache that I thought was merely stress-related is actually my wisdom teeth coming in about 10 years too late and a week before we lose all of our health insurance.

No, we can't even afford COBRA (see above). At least, the dentist prescribed some beautiful painkillers until they can be removed.

Of course, once I took one of the beautiful painkillers and was lying in bed happily stress-free, my husband comes in to tell me that our son spiked a fever. Again, no health insurance in a week, but at least for this one, I can call my mom.

Basically, all of the parts that I don't really care to discuss with anyone right now, so I casually changed the subject and asked how they were doing... big mistake.

My brother-in-law (Hubby's youngest brother) has just accepted a wonderful new job. It's a great opportunity that pays double the salary and apparently offers endless growth. She'll get to stay home with the kids like she claims to have always wanted. However, it also means that they will have to move.

Yeah, moving sucks, but you would think that this would still be really, really exciting for her...

Nope. Not her.

After throwing a big hairy hiss about having to move... wait for it, wait for it... a messily hour away for this fabulous, lucrative job, she told me that she only conceded after he PROMISED that they never... ever...move... again.

She also gloated informed me that his salary was only "going to get better year after year" (i.e. they never have to worry about money again) and they fully expect to get three times what they paid for their house in selling it.

In light of our current circumstances, it's difficult NOT to be jealous hearing all this... even if that last part was just plain petty and hurtful.

I didn't feel the need to disclose to her our highly tentative plans of moving wherever Hubby's next career move lands us, whether it be across the country and across the globe....

Knowing how she reacted to moving across their home state of Oklahoma, I didn't really think she would be very supportive anyhow.

That, and quite frankly, I had had enough of talking to her.

My sister-in-law isn't entirely short-sighted, self-centered, and insensitive. She did offer me some words of comfort... I think.

"At least I only have the ONE kid... ", she told me, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean...

Day At The Zoo

A trip to the zoo on a random sunny Friday in the middle of April...

No particular day at all. Well before summer break and long after spring break...

We'll get there when it opens and have PLENTY of time to see everything! No crowds to deal with. Just us and the animals.

What a swell idea for playgroup!

It was until we pulled up behind.... oh! about TWENTY or so school buses.

...with their hooligan children, pushy parents, and even pushier teachers, who had the same idea. Fine. We took our place in line between one group of rowdy, excited kids dressed in matching blue t-shirts and another.

"Umm, we're in a group... together," a mom in a blue t-shirt informed me, "You need to make way."

"Umm, no."

"Well, we have to stand RIGHT NEXT to one other in line," she said pointing to a similar group in front of us.

"Yeah, but there's only one line, three of us, and about a hundred of you... I don't think you'll lose one another. Now, stop trying to cut."

Once we pushed past the long lines, we barely made in to catch "feeding time"...

"Mommy, I want TEDDY GRAHAMS! Me, too! Me, too!"

Once the kids were fed and happily cruising in their respective strollers, the rest of our zoo visit wasn't too bad. The long-anticipated penguin exhibit finally opened to the public...

We got to feed the parakeets...

"Mmmm, everything is better on a stick"

...and see zebra butts.


We also paid a visit to this splendid gorilla, who looked about as pleased about the crowds of gawking humans as we were...


Upon closer observation, I noticed that he was actually eying a female gorilla with her lady bits "up in the air like she just don't care".

As I took this photo, a little grade-school boy charged the barrier next to me and started yelling, "Hey, look that monkey has two BUTTS!" Then, he turned to me and sweetly asked, "Why does that monkey have two butts?"

"Yeeeeeah, kid. That's two butts alright.... "

What? I certainly wasn't going to be the strange lady at the zoo telling him what's what only to have him go home and ask, "Mommy, what's a va-jay-jay?"

Okay, moving on... and next to the gorillas, we find the zoo's world famous "people exhibit"...

I'm only kidding. That's not where they keep the "people exhibit", Silly.

Spreading the News...

Thank you for all of your words of encouragement and support in response to my last post! You guys are the best-est Internet bloggy friends ever.

Not a lot of people in my "real" life know that I write this blog. I like it that way, since they make good blog fodder and I can talk smack about them all I want.

Since there are a few close friends who know about, and to my shock, actually read my blog (Hi, guys!), I jotted a quick note apprising them of the situation before I posted the other day...

I'm not clear on what the proper etiquette is in this type of situation, but I'm sure first hearing about your friend's firing on his wife's blog (as opposed to hearing it directly) is a bit off-putting.

It's not exactly the kind of news you gleefully shout from the rooftops. On the other hand, it's also not the kind of news you "hide and don't tell anyone about" either, only to have it gossiped behind your back. That makes it seem like you're embarrassed by it, which we aren't.

It felt too awkward to personally call and tell everyone about it. Plus neither of us was in the mood to rehash the story over and over again, so I opted to send a quick and simple e-mail.

Just as crass, perhaps? Oh well.

I say that it is was a "quick note," but it really wasn't. I actually thought long and hard about how exactly to word it. I mean, we want our friends to know what's going on, but in a way that didn't beg for forced sympathy or drama. (Besides, I'm more comfortable with sarcasm and jabs anyway.)

We know a couple that sends "poor us" e-mails for every little thing and I'm sorry, but it is uh-nnoy-ing. We didn't to be those people, but we also don't want to hide the truth either. Your husband being fired when you're a SAHM does suck A LOT and, there's no way to sugar-coat and cherry-top that.

After a night of letting things marinate (and allowing the initial shock to wear off), we were actually okay with it by the time I was ready to send my note. Hubby took some time to process and lick his wounds, but he woke up early the next day and started updating his resume, filing unemployment, and researching companies. (whew-hew!) Turns out he has a lot of great contacts in his industry and some reliable leads, so we're really excited about the opportunities this opens up.

As for our son, he is absolutely THRILLED to have not one, but TWO stay-at-home parents. Good. Hopefully, he won't notice when we have to cut Mom's Day Out and Gymboree out of his schedule...

It took a few tries to write that e-mail to our friends, but I eventually come up with something light-hearted, to the point, and funny... or at least I thought so. Hopefully, they did too.

Their responses and phone calls were all very supportive and encouraging as well. They're the best, too!

Yesterday

When I heard my cell phone ring, I figured it was just my husband checking on us. It was around one in the afternoon, so he must have just finished his lunch, just as we were finishing up ours. So, my hands were full at that moment.

When he called again two minutes later, I thought he was just being a pain. Nothing could have prepared me for what he has to say when I picked up...

"I've just been fired."

Those words lingered in the digital eather as my world spun out of control. Just a little.

Just that morning I razzed him for running late to work... again. We talked about being home for dinner and buying some more memory for our computers. Two days before, we were talking to our best friends about their upcoming wedding in Santorini and what we were planning to wear to it. We also had that same worn-out debate about buying a new house- should we, shouldn't we.

I had to mail one last thank you card for a belated birthday gift to our son. I planned to take him to pick out his very own potty chair after his nap. I just took him to get yet another over-priced haircut at that kiddie salon in anticipation of doing his two-year-old portraits this week. Hubby and I have reservations at a swanky new restaurant this coming weekend. My parents are baby-sitting.

These were just a few of the things that became a blur right then and there, as I held my breath and patiently waited for Huddy to tell me their reasoning. Not that they are legally required to provide one, and they didn't.

None of this made any sense. It seems that spite of killing himself (figuratively) to make their ridiculous deadlines, all sorts of glowing praise from immediate co-workers, and a generally cheerful attitude, they let him go with little more explanation than, "Eh, we just felt like it." (paraphrased)

Once my son had gone down for his nap, I was stunned by the horrible sinking feeling. I wanted to cry, but didn't, knowing it just wouldn't do any good. Come to think if it, I really didn't know what I was supposed to do.

Call our financial planner. Don't call our financial planner. Call my parents. No, don't call my parents. They'll just ask if we want to move in with them. Definitely, don't call the 'rents right now.... I settled on eating an entire bag of cookies leftover from my son's huge birthday bash. Oh God! the bill for his huge birthday bash?! I need more cookies...

My Kinda Sugar High

Umm, hi there...

I'm so sorry that I was stoned off my ass at your kid's birthday party, especially since you probably only wished you were (but weren't) at my son's party last weekend. (Sucker!) I assure you, it was for medicinal purposes only.

You see, it's just that it's been a really long week... long day... bad morning... allergy season. I've been stuffy, sneezey, coughy, achy... well, absolutely miserable.

I probably could have sent my Hubby and my son on their own and (blissfully) spent the entire morning in bed, but I just could not miss the BIG party for your little guy. Why, that would be a shame!

(note to self: umm, do THAT next time...)

I haven't left my house in a week HELP ME. and the only thing I had on hand was some of my son's cough medication from way back before it was frowned upon. I figure, they dose this stuff based on weight sooooooo, what's that?

Um, sssssiii-SEVEN times his dosage for me?

Right? No? Oh well... It turned out alright. Everybody seemed to have fun. I had a GREAT time and you have some equally quality footage of me snorting and laughing hysterically at my own lame jokes.

I didn't even mind when you insisted that we have that Barney sing along. In fact, I believe that the medication only enhanced the experience. I hope you didn't mind that I changed the words to that annoying charming "Bingo was his name-o" song... (B-I-T-C-H, was it?)

My apologies for any of the other inappropriate things I may or may not have said... out loud... in front of the kids.

Well, so there you have it. I promise to be on my best behavior next year.

Hugs!

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Click the button for more Monday hilarity and such.

Is the Doctor in?

When I was sick a few weeks ago, I realized it would probably be a good idea for Hubby and I to have a primary doctor...

I usually depend on my pediatrician mom for (free) medical care, but even she has been prodding me to "grow up" and find my own doctor already...

Hubby was kind enough to make all of the arrangements for me at a local clinic (and offer to stay with the tyke while I went). It was one of those places with a number of family doctors and specialists on staff. I was fine with seeing any of them, provided they could see me THAT day...

I didn't bother to get the specifics of who I was seeing-- just a name, a time, and a location, and off I went. I paid my co-pay, flipped through some outdated magazines, and finally met with... the nurse practitioner?!

Okay, let's just say that my concerns weren't exactly properly addressed and I had to come back for a second visit. That meant taking my son along and paying a second co-pay, so this time I asked to see the DOCTOR!

Not wanting to offend anyone, I was polite and discreet with my request. The receptionist, however was not. She simply said:

"Seeing the nurse is just as good as seeing the doctor... Besides, you didn't sound sick enough to see the dooooo-ctor, but I'll go on and squeeze you in today..."

"Ermmm, thanks, but not in my experience..."

I'm no medical professional here, but if I had just gone through 4 years of schooling, followed by another 6 years, followed by life as an intern, resident, etc... Spent all of that time studying for exams, boards, and licenses. I would be a tad miffed and insulted by that comment.

Furthermore, who is the receptionist to be assessing my medical condition (over the phone, no less) and determining whether or not I was "sick enough".

I was sick enough to call. I was sick enough for me and my insurance company to pay someone to examine me. In my book, that's sick enough.

I've noticed that this exact same thing happens at my son's pediatrician. His doctor only sees us if it's a well-check or if she happens to have time. Otherwise, we're sent to her nurse, whose advice the doctor usually contradicts at our next well visit anyway...

My husband and I both grew up in medical families, with each of us having one doctor-parent. Doctor-parents who have been practicing medicine for so long that they still have their "house call" bags, which they still use on occasion. We're talking old school...

As you can imagine, growing up with doctors in our immediate family, there was little reason for Hubby nor I to seek medical attention outside of our home. However, we did get to witness first-hand how a medical practice ought to be run.

My mom, as I mentioned, is a pediatrician. She sees all of her own patients, personally answers all of her own calls, and makes a point of getting to know the families. When people make an appointment with her office, it's an appointment to see her.

This is the only way I've ever known for doctor visits to be and I obviously don't know much about the "state of modern medicine", so please forgive my ignorance.

I don't mean to belittle nurses, but I just want to know...

When did nurse practitioners start taking the place of doctors? Furthermore, when did doctors stop having time for their patients... even the ones they consider "minor cases"?