OK, before I get into my Grinch-mas spirit, I want to start by thanking Julie for the Bloggy Love that she gave me on her site (Oh, and if you check her site out tomorrow, you’ll see my guest post). She even gave me some bling to spice up my sidebar. Problem is, I’m obviously still learning. I tried to get it there. I asked WordPress tech support. They told me, essentially, to put it in my sidebar. Um, yeah. Thanks for restating what I wanted to do. I DID figure out how to get it there. Unfortunately, I didn’t figure out how to do it without making my blogroll completely disappear. So, here it is:
It actually really made my day when she posted it. See, awhile back, I went to have lunch with Sean. “Look,” he told me, “I had to start another wall to hang all of my plaques on.” Yes, in the five years that he has had his insurance agency, he has been given so much recognition that it now requires three of his four office walls to contain it all (and that doesn’t even take into account the trips, jewelry, televisions, etc. that they have given him for his accomplishments).
Now ask me how many walls it takes for my recognition.
That’s right, you won’t find a “Best Butt Wiper” award on my wall (and that subject should have been a post all in itself this week). Even though I would never change my decision to be a stay-at-home mother, there is no denying that you lose a lot of identity when you chose to give up your career. So, anyhow, the kudos were much appreciated.
And now for something completely different…
I should start by warning you that the remainder of this post has a high potential for being somewhat of an emotional colonic. You can keep reading, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
So, Sean wanted to do a family Christmas picture. Reasonable enough, even though the thought of giving family a picture of my rounded frame isn’t exactly appealing. Anyhow…He called Tuesday and got us an appointment for today at 5:30 at the photo place inside one of the local megastores (we just wanted something simple, after all). Since I didn’t have a chance to do it yesterday, I got up this morning, packed the kids in the car, and bought cute, coordinating sweaters for them to wear. I timed out my day so they went down for a late nap (ALL of them–heaven!), and I fixed my hair and put on fresh makeup while they were sleeping. I woke them up, got them ready with amazing ease, and met Sean at the picture studio, thrilled with how wonderfully I had pulled it all off, and how cute everyone looked. C~ and I went into the studio to wait, while Sean took the other two boys to the bathroom.
There was one other person waiting ahead of us (despite the fact that it was, in fact, the appointed time for our sitting). This man sat with his toddler son. Well actually, he sat and his son was standing in a shopping cart, which was being used as a baby cage so the man could text incessantly on his Superman Sidekick without having to worry about what his child was doing. Now, the small seating area had a grand total of eight chairs. Between the man, the cart cage, and his absent wife’s crap, SEVEN of the eight seats were unavailable. This would have been, maybe, somewhat less frustrating if the man appeared to be so clueless simply because of the incessant texting. But no. He would occasionally stop, look up, STARE at my stomach (we’re not talking brief glances, I mean full-on prolonged staring), then go back to what he was doing. Even after Sean and the boys came back and my entire family of five was forced to use only one chair, he never made any offers or attempts to free up any of the seven he had blocked. I came *this close* to saying, “Yes, there is ANOTHER child in there, and you could offer to move your crap and let my round body sit down instead of staring at it” during one of his texting breaks/gawking sessions.
After a LONG wait, the texter and his family go back for their sitting. At this point, Sean decides to take the kids and go into the megastore proper to buy a couple of things. After what seemed like a reasonably brief photo session, the texter comes rushing out with his things (conveniently packaged in a Superman messenger bag) and leaves the photo studio. I call Sean to tell him that they seem close to done, although the wife and child are still back there. Sean arrives. Then, the texter comes back. At this point, given his apparent Superman obsession, I would have assumed that he had slipped off to a phone booth. Except his new wardrobe included tights and some sort of medieval-looking top. Like a knight without the armor. So, I guess he just went to the bathroom.(Incidentally, by the time this was all over, I was having Monty Python, Quest for the Holy Grail, Black Knight fantasies about this nut job). The bulk of the photo shoot commenced.
To make a long story a little less long, we didn’t go in for our sitting until well over an hour after our actual appointment time. The kids, of course, were DONE by then. Getting genuine smiles was nigh unto impossible. The photos, for the most part, sucked. And we all left there frazzled and hungry (since it was, at this point, about an hour and a half after our normal dinner time).
Things can only go up from here, right? Oh, if only that were the case.
We decided to go to the sub shop, also located in the megastore, to buy something quick to eat. No one was in line in front of us. Things were looking good. The sandwich jockey wasn’t in a mood to move fast, but Sean managed to get his sub ordered, grabbed a bag of popcorn, and sat with the kids while I started to order for myself and our children. I told him I wanted a 6″ sub for me, and two mini subs for the kids to split. OK, they weren’t joking about the mini part. After he cut two pieces of bread that wouldn’t have even held one slice of meat (at $2.59 a piece), I told him to scrap that idea, that I would get a 12″ sub for them to split instead. And could he please just cut it into three pieces instead of two once it was made? He cut the bread into three pieces, then started referring to my “three mini subs.” I corrected him, and explained once again that I wanted to purchase one 12″ sub. He argued that, by asking him to make two cuts in the bread instead of one, that I had changed my order to three mini subs. I told him to just make me a 12″ sub and not cut it at all. He still tried referring to my three mini subs a few more times. Oh, and he tried to put my 6″ sub on one of the mini sub-sized pieces of bread. I finally got everything put together, and Sean came back up to pay. I told him to be sure that the boys’ sandwich remained uncut, and charged as a 12″ sub. The guy tried to insist on cutting it in two. Sean, understanding the potential fallout at this point if his 6 1/2 months pregnant, tired, frazzled, and hungry wife saw that sandwich cut in half, wisely stood his ground.
He also, wisely, offered to drive my car home so I could have some quiet time in his car on the way home.
So here I am. The lousy pictures have been taken (and only enough ordered for me to scan and have reprinted for significantly less than $10/page). The kids are in bed. And I finally have the chance to—frantically throw together a photo album in time for Sean’s family’s Christmas party this Saturday (turns out that my favorite online photo book maker now has an option to have my books printed at another local megastore instead of having to wait for them to be shipped to me, so I now have enough time to do them in time for Christmas, but LESS time since the party is this Saturday).