Not done yet!

I'm still ill from my virus. Immodium and Phenegran are keeping me a member of functioning society. I'm supposed to leave on ANOTHER road trip tomorrow.

Sigh.

The Return from Hell

I've not had good luck getting myself back to Tampa in my travels this fall. It seems like someone's trying to send me a message - do not return there! As referenced below, we had driven up to to The Farm, which is a 6 hour drive away, for the Thanksgiving break.

On Friday evening, we had a big oyster roast, with the cousins and some friends over for a big party. It was great - hay rides, oysters, chili, etc. The only thing is that one of the guests brought with him or her a NASTY stomach virus. This stomach virus spread to my husband, who was sick on Saturday afternoon and evening. He threw up late afternoon, and then spent the evening moaning in bed. Basically, he was miserable, but he was fine.

I woke up Sunday morning (the day we were to return) feeling a bit queasy. And diarrhea. I knew then and there that I had It, as well. So, we waited around until I threw up. I figured then we could leave, because I could lay and be miserable in the car as well as in a bed. Right?

Not so much.

We got about an hour down the road, when we first had to pull over. I heaved and hurled. This time, I tossed out the ginger ale I had consumed, as well as the crackers I'd eaten. But, I noted that my Immodium pills were not there, so they were probably already absorbed.

And then another 20 minutes. Same drill. This time, it was just some saliva and a little bit more liquid. I decided to have a lie-down on the side of the road right then and there. mmmmm.... dirt.....

Then another 20 minutes. Here we go again. Except this time I run off to the bushes for the diarrhea. I take more Immodium.

Then another 20 minutes. This time, I had to heave, and I almost didn't even make it out of the car. And the diarrhea kicked in. So off to the bushes to change clothes. My relationship with poo has taken on a new meaning.

Finally, we get to the town of Folkston after about 3 1/2 hours of driving. This should have taken us less than two. We stop at the Rite-Aid so I can go in and use the facilities (gee - puking and pooping indoors! luxuries abound!) and beg the pharmacist for medicinal relief.

Only I passed out in the parking lot. And apparently, I puked again and did the other deed again. I have no bodily control at this time.

So Mr. Mac takes me over to the emergency room around the corner at the Charlton County Regional Medical Center. They took me back to the back and gave me IV fluids and phenegran. Lovely phenegran. My blood pressure was 75/35 when I arrived (I'm normally 90/60). I was a sick girl.

They poked and prodded and proclaimed me "not pregnant!" (this was a big deal). Finally, they declared me the latest in a string of victims of a nasty stomach virus making the rounds. After x-rays (the purpose of which I don't get at all!) and completing the IV fluids, they got me up. I went to get my clothes, and the nurse said "Let me go see if they're dry". The sweetheart had WASHED MY NASTY CLOTHES!

So we got back on the road - I got in the way back of the Minivan and curled into the fetal position. We finally got back to Tampa at about 10 pm (double the trip time we should have taken).

Home sweet home, at least for 4 days - then it's back out again to Atlanta. Maybe this once we can have an uneventful return trip.

The Real Santa Claus - Part II

We have to CALL to get an appointment to see The REAL Santa Claus now. We had to sit with our phones and constantly redial beginning at noon. I knew there was nothing but futility to be gained here. Mr. Mac knew. Mom knew. Yet, all three of us sat around and began dialing furiously at 10:55 today to get our coveted appointment with The REAL Santa Claus.

At noon, I gave up.

At 12:30, Mr. Mac gave up.

At 12:35, Mom got through. She almost hung up on them out of shock! We had our appointment, and we were going to see HIM. The REAL Santa Claus. Of course, it's on Friday afternoon, and it COMPLETELY changes our travel plans, but who cares! We're in!!

Miracles happen on The Farm. They truly do.

While riding around the farm on the golfcart....

And we came across a stranded calf. 4 adults (Mom, Dad, Mr. Mac and me) as well as 2 kids (Miss Baby and Miss M) on the cart. We took out across one of the cow pastures to see what we could see, and I spotted a stranded calf over at the edge of the pasture. He had gotten out of the fence, and when the herd moved on, he was left behind. No doubt, his mom had left him behind out of youthful exuberance. Or because she couldn't figure out how to get him back over the fence. Anyway, he was stranded. So Dad and I cornered him and caught him, and then we all - now 4 adults, 2 kids and a calf, piled onto the golf cart.

We took him back to the herd, and we sent out a small prayer that he'd find his mom. Knowing it was not very likely. Mom, Dad and I all knew what would likely happen - he would starve looking for someone to nurse.

So we pulled away, knowing we'd done our best to help him - to give him the only shot he had, and my mom exclaimed - "Look! Look at him! He found his Mommy!" And there he was, nursing from a very grateful (and youthful) cow. She was licking him and you could see that she was so happy to have found her little baby.

It made me realize that sometimes we get separated from our herd, but it's still where we belong. If we allow ourselves to get locked away, then we may need help to get back. And if we seek hard enough, maybe - just maybe - we can find that place where we belong.

And I am thankful for that.

Tiresome

I'm so sick and tired of doing things that I do to keep from dealing with any level of confrontation with those People I Just Can't Stand.

Today, I brought a stunning ham in to the office for our office Thanksgiving celebration. It's beautiful. It spent hours being smoked, and then glazed, and now I'll spend another bit of time preparing it to go on the tray with the necessary garnish. And you know what? Nobody will say a thing - nothing.

I do this. I create things to impress people. It's a part of my insecurity that drives me to this. I'm so insecure that I work constantly to create an image of this together woman who has it all - a good job, husband and family. I strive to keep my house in some semblance of order (though I'm failing right now with boxes strewn about and all sorts of baby toys stuffed into every nook and cranny - she seriously squirrels away toys to find later).

I do it with Christmas Gifts. I strive to buy The Perfect Gift for everyone on my list, small though it may be. I fret over what each person would want. My sister in law has asked for 'artwork' done by the girls. I don't know what to do with this request - I mean, doesn't she want me to go *buy* something for her?! What do I do??

I don't know. I think that I'm so concerned with what other people think about me that I don't know what I think about myself.

I'm just having a difficult time of it all right now - I'm facing rejection in the office (I can't apply for my boss' job because I haven't served time in NY). I'm facing a move back home, which I know will be perceived as a failure by some (who really don't matter, but still I care! AGH!). I'm facing 3 years of seeing my husband on weekends and in the summers. And finally, I'm facing the fact that I'm turning 35 with a life that is VERY different from what I ever expected to have.

Rationally, I know all of this is normal, but in the deep dark of night when I can't sleep, I get very upset. And I have a knot in the back of my head that hurts from stressing. And my stomach is bothering me. I'm just a mess.

I hope (DEARLY HOPE) that I can resolve some of these issues over Thanksgiving. Face the reality of moving to the Farm for once and for all, and figure out if that's the right way to go.

So I continue to be tired. Foolishly tired. Selfishly tired. It's not as if it's for a good reason - I'm just plain exhausted of being me, and I just want it all to stop.

The REAL Santa Claus

I did something stupid a few weeks ago. I told Miss M about plans we made to go see The REAL Santa Claus at Phipps Plaza in Atlanta. I use the term REAL because that's what my sister and I were told as kids - and mom took us many times to see The REAL Santa Claus. And he certainly did deliver.

So I tell Miss M about this, and I dutifully mark my calendar for noon on November 18. That's when the appointments are made available for December, the month of our intended visit. I knew that, since I wanted an appointment within a certain window of time on a Saturday, I needed to be among the first to make an appointment to guarantee that I got what I needed to make our busy weekend come together.

I log on at 11:55 or so, and I watch the stupid website laaaagggg. I endure countless number of attempts to "refresh" the appointments page. I get tantalizingly close - I can see the time and day. I select the best time available, but the whole thing crashes.

Today, Monday, it's still crashed. It still tells me that the apppointment scheduler is down. And I sit, humble before the internets, knowing deep down that I won't deliver on my promise to Miss M.

And a shame, too - at 8, the years where she believes in Santa are, at best coming to an end. It wouldn't surprise me if it was already over, but she'd never tell. I really wanted to take her, and it just makes me angry that these guys can't get it together enough to have a big enough server to handle their demand.

I just want to make everything right for my girls. I can't fix it sometimes, and I get very frustrated and depressed. And even worse - all worked up over it. I can't sleep or even concentrate on my work. I just want to curl up in a ball and cry, seriously.

So, santaatphipps.com - you're on my poo list for sure. And pretty much the only way to change that is help me get my appointment when I need it.

Heavy Thoughts

Right now, Mr. Mac and I are at a significant crossroads. Of course, our entire life is up in the air right now, because Mr. Mac has no clue where he'll be attending law school. At the end of the day, though, it appears that Florida is very likely to accept, and Georgia is a good chance as well. Florida State is the most logical backup in that it's the highest rated of the "safeties" to which Rob applied.

So what does all that mean? See, there's me (and I lump Miss Baby in with me) to throw in the picture. What about my career and my life? What do I want to do with myself? And in addition to that, there's Miss M. What do we do about her?

See, we do not have residential custody of Miss M, and so as the "secondary parent", Mr. Mac is somewhat limited by our visitation schedule. It's a fairly liberal visitation schedule, and her mother must afford us the right of first refusal any time she can't care for Miss M herself. Well, what if we're 300 miles away? We can't very well drop life and come get her for an overnight visit because her mother has to work.

At the end of the day, however, we do have the following matters:
1) I hate this place. I really do. It's too damn hot, the people are rude, and it's not home to me at all. There is no sense of community. I have friends, but none of them are close, AND my family is a minimum of 6 hours away. Mr. Mac's mom is in North Carolina.
2) I hate my job. My boss announced her "retirement" yesterday. A year ago, I would have gunned for her job. I'm not so sure that's the case any more. Her job isn't "all that". At the same time, it's stable, it pays decent, and it's here. And my boss is not going to be here any more, which will make my life more bearable, to say the least.
3) Mr. Mac and I want to move to Georgia and raise our kids in my hometown. We can either do it this year, or we will wait another 9 years until Miss M is out of high school. I don't see us uprooting anytime in the interim.

So it's all up in the air. Right now, the only way I can sleep through the night is if I take Nyquil - largely because I've got one of those annoying hacking cough type colds, but then once I wake up, all this hits my brain and I don't know the answers.

I'm not someone who deals very well in the realm of no answers.

See, I plan and plot and make sure that my path is clearly charted. This is a result of having lived life from 18 to 28 completely adrift, following the path of least resistance. Now, I feel the urge to plot out each and every alternative and know precisely what will happen regardless of which step I take today.

And I don't know. It would all be easier if, if, if - there are a thousand "ifs". But real life is what we must contemplate.

There's probably going to be a whole lot more on this subject. Hopefully I can come to some resolution as to the right thing. Who knows, really.

Working Mom

This column on working moms and salary and discrimination. I cannot emphasize enough some of the truths here. The discrimination is palpable, and it's real. And it ticks me off.

I do know that when I'm interviewing that, unless expressly asked, I will not volunteer that I have children. I really can't say that it's any of my potential employer's business. Not that I'd lie, but still - it's really appalling that working moms have to fight so hard, and withhold information, to get any level of respect.

When I came back from maternity leave, I had a discussion with my boss about how my workload was going to be reduced since I had "too much on my plate". I looked at her squarely, and I asked her "Do you really want to have this conversation, with me of all people?" I guess, when I said that, she realized that I was basically warning her that I'd sue the crap out of her if she tried to limit me because of my kids. However, 7+ months later, I can certainly say that I've busted my rear and proven myself repeatedly. But then I have her telling me that she won't be flexible with my time any more (she never has been), and she knows how distracted I get "these days". See, she took 7 years away from the work force to get her kids into school before she went back.

Anyway, in looking at the article above and in thinking about it, it really does smack of horrific discrimination. And, honestly, it's lawful as near I can tell. There's the PDA which prevents discriminating against pregnant women; there's the Civil Rights Act protecting against discriminating against women in general. However, there's no "MDA" - Mommies Discrimination Act. And there should be.

I really don't understand how people can look at what happens all around us and argue that women are afforded equal treatment. We really aren't, and that's being highlighted by Alito's nomination (a real smack in the face!). And it makes me want to cry.