60 minutes that can make or break a day.

Good afternoon!

First of all, let me just say that I went to "Wicked" and I LOVED IT.  Dinner was great, Marie picked an awesome little Italian place.  The seats were great, the musical was great, and, (And I know you're all dying to know about this) my new shoes got me through the evening in a stylish and comfortable manner.  I may ever keep these, instead of, you know, returning them today.  (Wait, who does that????)

Now, on to our topic at hand.  The first sixty minutes of your day can pretty much define how you're going to view the rest of the day.  I've had some wild 60 minutes, but nothing quite like this.

First off, we didn't get home until almost 1 am.  On a school night, that's a big deal.  Skippy, theoretically, went to bed at 11:30, but I have my doubts.

Everything starts with getting Skippy out of bed.  He tells us he wants to be up at 5:20 so that he has time for a 40 minute shower, a ten minute beauty regimen, another 10 minutes of staring at a wall in his room, 45 seconds of eating half the breakfast I make him, and 15 seconds of storming out of the house and slamming the front door in time to pick up his buddy and get to school in time for an hour of "my parents stink" with his friends.

That would be fine, if he'd get up at 5:20 and get in the shower.  Then Hubby would get in about 6 and I'd have the shower by 6:20, which gives me enough time to shower, pretty up, get Peaches out of bed, make her breakfast, and lunch, and maybe a bit of breakfast for myself.

Here's how this really goes:  At 5:20, Hubby makes the first of four trips he's going to make down to Skippy's room to roust the dead.  By 6:00 there's a lot of shouting "GET UP!", which works as an alarm clock for me.  I hit the mental snooze because, as we all know now, it's going to be at least another 15 minutes before Skippy actually staggers upstairs for a shower.

(Hubby has learned.  He now showers BEFORE he begins the resurrection drama.) 

Once I roll out about 6:15, make Skippy some breakfast.  (Don't ask...I'm a believer in the adage, 'Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.'  I'm not so much a believer in the food pyramid as a rule.)  Generally by 6:25 he's storming through the kitchen to his room to stare at the wall.  He ignores the food, but that's okay because I know he'll get to those delicious sliced apples and pizza rolls.  (I told you not to ask.)  This morning Skippy was running extra late, and didn't get his wall staring time in, so he ate one, exactly one, pizza roll for breakfast.

The good news is, he didn't forget to slam the front door.

Hubby is out the door next, he packs his own lunch and manages a good balanced breakfast at Starbucks.  This morning, however, we were out of bread.  (I'm one of those people who always has plenty of wine, but toilet paper and bread tend to run out.)  I scrambled to the fridge before he did, grabbing the last hamburger bun in the house for Peaches' lunch.   SCORE for me! 

We're calling it "Chicken tartar"and you're going to love it in your lunch!



By now it's 6:45 and I have a choice to make.  I can take a quick shower, or I can just shape my hair with half a can of hair spray.  Since it's chilly in the bathroom  (we keep the windows open until the first snow flies) I opt for just slipping out of jammies and into a skull cap of hair spray.



I pop two toaster waffles into the toaster oven and head into Peaches' room to get her up.  Of course, on the way, I trip over the big box of Partylite candles that got delivered yesterday while I was off being a Theater person.  Even the cat is laughing at me at this point.  I get Peaches up, grab a waffle and get into the car.  I have the car started and pulled out of the driveway when I realize I don't have the checkbook.  This is vital for my day because, well, I have to write out some checks for some bills and stuff that are due today and they need to get in the mail.  (What, like you don't wait until the LAST POSSIBLE DAY to pay the cable bill?)

Back into the driveway and I run into the house.  What ensues is four minutes of frantic running around looking for the checkbook.  The problem is always the same:  If I tidy up, things go one way.  If Hubby does it, things go another.  I had to first remember who tidied last.

Finally, checkbook in hand I am on my way to work!  Since I like to be there by 7:30, I have given myself 8 minutes to get there.  Whoo hoo!

And then my phone rings.  I'm 1 mile into my 1.25 mile drive to work.  Apparently, when we picked her up for the play yesterday, she deposited her backpack into the trunk of the car.  And never got it out. 

So, back to the house, back into the driveway, and back into the house I go.

By the time I get to work, I've already put in half a days' worth of steps, I'm exhausted, and I've worked off the waffle I ate for breakfast. 

Oh, and there are no less than four emails from Bossman regarding things that absolutely must be done by the end of the week.  Since this is Friday, I guess I'll be running around all day. 





Sarah takes a sick day the mom way!

Good afternoon everyone!

I don't know if it was the return of Bossman from his two week European vaca, or the hellacious cold I managed to contract a couple of days ago, but I have not been feeling my normal perky self this week.  Apparently, I was so useless at work yesterday that New Girl informed me I MUST take a sick day today.

"Why?"  I ask from my office.

"Because all I can hear coming from your office is you choking on your own snot."

Goofy idea, or the best invention EVER?

I wanted to point out that for the last four years I've shown up to work feeling way worse than I did yesterday.  That's been well documented in past blogs.  But, since I have more than 50 hours of vacation saved up and more than 9 hours of comp time...why not take a day?

But here's the thing:  Moms don't get sick days.  We get sick.  And we get days.  But sick days?  Days where we lie in bed and eat soup that someone else brings us?  Never happens.

The last sick day I had, the last real sick day I had, I was in college.  The nurse gave me the "soda and crackers" slip and I spent the day in bed.  If memory serves, because that was a Looooooooong time ago, I must have really been sick because, under school rules, you were deemed "well" at 5 Pm, and on that day I didn't bounce out of bed and goof off with friends.  Nope, that was my last sick day.  Some 20 years or more ago.

When the kids were little, they'd get sick and we'd make a bed in the living room and snuggle and watch movies.  When they got older, I liked sick days better because then I would use that as an excuse to watch movies I liked.  "Master and Commander" was a big sick day movie at our house.  And it became a litmus test for just how sick the kids were. 

"I'm sick."

"Okay, you can stay home.  But we're watching 'Master and Commander.'"

"It's okay...I'll go to school."

Since the kids are grown, though,and they no longer need me, the only sick days I get to take are the days I take myself.  And I work for a man who figures if I'm not dead, since I generally work alone, I may as well just be at work. 

Yesterday, however, under the command of New Girl, I informed Bossman that I was taking a sick day.  So I planned for it.  I was going to sleep in, watch movies, stay in my jammies all day, and eat soup.

Today, I did manage to sleep in.  All the way to 6:45.  Now this might not seem like a big deal, but by 6:45 Skippy is at school, so I missed his morning routine.  (Hubby goes down to his room 4 times from 5:20 to 6 am to wake him up.  Skippy takes a long shower, and spends more time in the bathroom than I did in the 80's when we had to DO our hair. Then I make him a breakfast he may, or may not eat based on how happy he is with me.  This week he hasn't eaten breakfast.) But I got up just in time to help Hubby get the cat out of the garage.   There's nothing more fun than trying to get a cat out of a place he wants to be.

The I got Peaches out of bed.  She normally walks to school or rides her bike.  But not today.  Today, my sick day, she needed a ride to school.  So, I don clothing, and since it was steam warm and muggy from yesterday, I donned summer clothes.  I dropped her off at school and then tried to decide if I should go grocery shopping or home.  I mean, we were sadly out of food, so as long as I was home, I probably should pick up groceries.

I went home, mostly because I wanted to shop at Sam's club, and they don't open for normal customers until 10.  I couldn't very well go back to bed for just two hours.  That made no sense.

What to do, what to do?

Ah, a shot of Dayquil, a couple decongestant tabs, and some nasal spray.  The breakfast of champions! 

Then...well, the office is a mess.  And of course i have to sort out the candles from my last partylite party.

Two hours later...the office is great, the candles are sorted, and I'm off to Sam's!

By noon I'd accomplished more than I generally do in an entire day.  I even got some laundry done. 

Then my body reminded me of something very important.

I'M SICK!  Oh, and I haven't eaten anything that isn't an over the counter cold med in a couple of days.

So I did manage to squeeze in a nap.  Well, it wasn't really a nap because the cat wanted attention, but wasn't interested in lying next to me while I slept.  So after I kicked the beast out of the room, I took a nap.  But now I'm up.  Skippy is bowling tonight...I won't see him until midnight.  But Peaches will be home soon...and here's the best part:

I have to help my brother move today!

You read that right. 

So let's recap my sick day:

Slept in an extra 90 minutes. 

Helped hubby chase cat out of the garage.

Drove Peaches to school.

Cleaned the office.

Sorted Candles.

Did laundry.

Grocery shopped.

Took a short nap.

Going to help brother move.

  Maybe it's in my mom DNA that I don't know how to do sick days. But I think what we've learned here is that I  am far more productive on a sick day than I am when I have to work.
Let's not share that with Bossman, okay?

The answer to every question anyone asks me.

Good afternoon!

I'm sitting here sucking down a Slim fast shake.  The can says the flavor is "Cappuccino Delight" which is pretty much the only flavor I can drink without dying.  I tell myself it's a really good coffee.  (Never mind that it makes my pee smell like, well, coffee.  Hence, at the Bradley house, we call it "Cappu pee no.") 

So I'm drinking this shake, which really isn't a shake, it's thick fluid that is supposed to serve as a whole meal, and I'm wondering why?  Why am I sitting at my desk drinking this stuff that makes me think of Starbucks every time I use the ladies room?

BECAUSE I'M FAT.

Then it hit me:  That is the answer to every question anyone has asked me ever in the last 13 years. 

Why are you drinking a slim fast shake?

Because I'm fat.

Why are you going to Gold's gym?

Because I'm fat.

Why don't you go to Gold's more often?

Because I'm fat.

Why don't you let people take pictures of you?

Because I'm fat.

Why are you wearing a step counter?
Because I'm fat.

Okay, those questions all make sense with that answer.  But let's take a look at other questions I get on a regular basis.

From Bossman:

Why didn't you take those packages to the Post Office?

My answer:  Because it was noon and I knew that the line at the post office was going to be brutal, so I decided to wait until tomorrow.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT!

From my mother:  Why didn't you RSVP to your aunt's anniversary?

My answer:  Because I forgot to.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT AND IT'S TOO MUCH TROUBLE TO GO LOOK UP HER PHONE NUMBER and give her a call.  Why can't she just get email like everyone else so I can just shoot her an email and be done with it?

(Okay, that was a bit longer, but I have family issues, so cut me some slack.)

Realizing that this is the answer to every question ever, well, it's sort of freeing.  And probably the reason I haven't made a really concerted effort to lose weight. 

From the choir director:  Why weren't you at practice last week?

My answer:  I wasn't feeling well.

My real answer:  BECAUSE I'M FAT AND I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE GETTING OFF THE COUCH!

Now, it is a myth that fat people are lazy.  Really.  Every fat person I know is just as busy as every skinny person I know.  The difference is what we do in our downtime.  My very skinny friend, I'll call her Marie  (she knows who she is) spends her downtime walking her dog, walking on the treadmill, and reading books on how to get healthier. 

I spend my downtime searching for episodes of "Wipeout"  on TV while glued to the couch and eating lovely salty snacks with dip.

I work hard, I volunteer all over the place, and I'm always on the go.  But ask me a question about why I do or don't do something, and I will bet you a Krispy Kreme donut that the real answer will come back to "I'M FAT."

Now, if you ask my mother or my boss, they'll have to agree with this.  Basically because, between the two of them, I'm reminded every day that yes, indeed, I am fat.  I was relating my hysterical attempt at Albert Haynesworths' fitness test the other day and Bossman said, "Oh, good, I was hoping you were still going to Gold's."

Not the point of the story, but thanks Bossman who doesn't offer a health care plan and therefore gets zero say in what I do and do not shove into my mouth, for reminding me that I need to exercise.

My mother is better.  She once offered me $300 to join a health club some years ago.  I took her money, put it toward removing unwanted hair  (Didn't finish the job, though, but that's another story for another day.)  and gained another 30 pounds.  Why?  BECAUSE I'm FAT!  And because, I'm revolting against her control.  Hey, she can deny my father food, but I'm a grown up woman.  My fat is a testament to my independance!

Hey, yes!  It's not fat...it's a banner of FREEDOM!

Sing it with me sisters of size!  WE'RE NOT FAT...WE'RE FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wow...who knew writing about how fat I am would be so freeing?  I feel great!  I'm going to go get myself a cheeseburger and some fries!

Why?

BECAUSE I'm FAT!

Now my friends, one other little note:  Happy Birthday to Kevin Tighe, the actor who played "Roy DeSoto" on my favorite of all time shows "Emergency."  Cheers to ya!