An Ounce of Sympathy, Please

That's not me, but that's how I feel.

Last week I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and vitamin D deficiency.

I know what you're thinking. That's the same response my husband had. He might as well have said, "So?" As diagnoses go, these aren't terribly earth-shattering. But to me, it was sweet vindication.

Finally, I had an excuse a reason for my laziness lack of energy. And I wanted some sympathy. I expected to hear something like this: "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry! No wonder you can't get anything done around here! I can't allow you to prepare dinner for us tonight, not in your fragile state.  Where would you like to dine? Or is that too much trouble?  Should I just order takeout?"

Only in my dreams. I cooked dinner that night, just like every other night of my life. The kids complained about what I served, just like every other night of my life. I'm still cooking dinner every night.  The kids are still complaining. And I still can't put onions in anything.

Please Join Me For a Glass of Whine

It hasn't been a good month life.  And today, our one semi-dependable vehicle was rammed by a clueless woman who proceeded to park at CVS as if nothing happened and step inside (for an awareness pill, I hope), all while my husband and his car were fishtailing helplessly on the highway outside.

I would love to buy a new vehicle.  Or a newer old vehicle.  Just something that doesn't leak a quart of oil daily.  Or doesn't have a crushed side panel.  Something that was built in this century would be a nice change.  I'm just not sure that's a luxury we can afford right now.  We're already dipping into what little retirement money we still have to pay for the monthly cost of living (things like food, housing, electricity, water, orthodontia, and motor oil).

I'd cry if I had any energy left.  My husband depends on that car to get him around while he works his second job trying to sell things to people who don't want to buy.  I drive the kids around in the Pennzoilmobile. Thank goodness we were able to vacation at Disneyworld recently.  It was a great stress-reliever (at least it was once I got used to dodging oversized strollers and speed demons on scooters playing chicken with us).  Luckily, with the exception of food and gas, the trip was already paid for.  And we had to eat no matter where we were.   As if by Disney magic, we didn't have to deplete the retirement funds to finance this trip.

Upon reflection, my life really isn't so bad.  I have two beautiful granddaughters who keep me young (or age me excessively, depending on the day).  I have two daughters I love dearly who give me precious grandchildren (including the brand new grandson I'll get to meet in a few months).  And I have a loving, hardworking husband who thankfully wasn't hurt today, and who laughs along with me (and allows me to cry) about this crazy life we've been given.  I guess I've been blessed after all.

My Next-to-Last Visit to Walgreens

Part of my evil plan to rule the world

I just returned from what would have been my last visit to Walgreens except that I plan to go back one more time to return my purchases.

My primary reason for going was to buy a box of haircolor for my granddaughter using a coupon I received from Garnier for a free box.  (The last free haircolor coupon I received was thrown away by my husband, and I was determined to use this one.)  First we stopped at CVS.  They didn't have the bright-red color she thought she had to have.  "Let's go to Walgreens", she said.  "They'll have the exact same selection!", I told her.  "No, they won't!", was her all-knowing reply.  Mind you, it was her idea to go to CVS because "they have more colors than Walgreens" and "I don't like Walgreens anymore".  (The last one I can so agree with now.)

Thanks to the highway department trying to protect us from ourselves, I had to wait at a traffic signal to make a left turn and go around the corner and make another left turn to reach the store directly across the street.  But whatever.  I had to prove to a thirteen-year-old that I actually learned a few things in my 53 years on this earth.

As I expected, Walgreens had the exact same shades of haircolor as CVS.  Of course granddaughter insisted they had more, just not the color she wanted.  So I picked out my shade instead. Don't worry; she found plenty more for me to buy.  It seems the shampoo and conditioner we have at home isn't as good as what they sell at Walgreens.  And the entire time we were there, younger granddaughter had to touch pretty much everything she saw, and 75% of those items were dropped on the floor at least once (no, she isn't a toddler--she's nine).  To say I was about to lose it is a gross understatement.

It gets better.

I took my armload of merchandise to the register.  The clerk started ringing it all up, but he was having trouble with the coupon.  He called the manager, who looked young enough to be my grandson.  Manager Boy whipped out another coupon to use as an example, then chastised me: "I can't take a coupon unless it has a barcode like this!"  He pointed to the standard style barcode as he hissed at me, and I couldn't argue because my coupon didn't have a code that looked like his.  It had several codes, just not the right kind.  He felt the need to repeat himself as I looked at my coupon in complete confusion.  By now there were several angry people in line behind me, so I just muttered "okay" and Manager Boy walked away.  He didn't say "I'm sorry, but that's store policy", or any of the other niceties that most managers would utter.  Maybe by the time he turns 18 he'll have learned some manners.  Some manager manners.

The cashier did apologize.  He already has manager manners and he's not even a manager.  I'm not sure he's even 18.

I also purchased some hair care products for myself because the sign said they were on sale 3-for-$10, with register rewards of $5.  Seemed like a sweet deal to me.  Do you think I got my register rewards?  Of course not.  Do you think I noticed before I got home?  Of course not.

I plan to return the hair care products because that was the final straw for me.  I expect the cashier will accuse me of trying to return the qualifying purchases and keep the register rewards for myself.  Because as far as Walgreens is concerned, I'm out to overthrow world order one box of stolen haircolor at a time.  Stealing register rewards is my backup plan.

So after this ordeal I decided to calm myself with a bottle of wine.  (And yes, I plan to drink it all.)  After dropping the kids off at home with my husband (let them be his problem for a while), I headed to the nearest grocery store and made my selection (the cheapest, biggest bottle I could find).  The cashier boy thought it would be fun to toy with an old lady like a cat bounces around a helpless mouse.  "I might have to see your ID 'cause I'm not sure you're 21!", he said, thinking he's the only child who's ever come up with such a clever line.  If you think I climbed over the conveyer belt and took him down, well, I'll admit I thought about it.  But that must remain only a fantasy.  I can't risk getting banned from the store.  I can live without ever stepping into another Walgreens.  I can't live without a handy place to buy wine.


It's a cruel, cruel world.  But with a diabolical plan involving counterfeit haircolor coupons and stolen register rewards, I plan to change all that.

How Could I Forget to Pack That?

Keep looking...you never know what you'll find.

It's no secret--I carry lots of stuff in my purse.  Being a wife and mother requires me to bring along anything and everything that everyone else will certainly need.  I once had to see a neurologist for some mysterious symptoms.  He picked up my purse to move it out of the way and told me he wasn't surprised I was having numbness and tingling in my arms.

As we drove the ten or so hours to Disneyworld recently for a much-needed vacation, my granddaughter asked if I had a stapler.  A stapler.  Okay, I come prepared, but not that prepared.

Later in the week one of the girls asked if I had any tape (I'm probably better off not knowing why she needed that).  And then there was this gem: "Nana, do you have a hole puncher?"  Mind you, this was all while we were hundreds of miles from home.  At Disneyworld.  Not at a business conference.  Do I really look like an office supply store?  

Next vacation I'm turning the responsibility of packing the "essentials" over to someone else.  This office is closed.