Thursday, January 28, 2010

I feel like that was weird

Our bathrooms at work are cold. Really cold. Really, really cold. There's been snow in there. I'm not kidding. Something has gone horribly wrong with the heating system and now the bathrooms are cold. COLD.

And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "I don't care."

Or, maybe you're like my boss and your mind is in some unpredictable place.

Yesterday we were sitting around discussing how cold the bathrooms were and my boss (one of just a very few men in the office) says to us ladies, "that must be cold on your little butts when you sit down."


Also, we are a roomful of women with decidedly un-little rear ends.

If NPR can say it, I can too.

Because our kids have grown up in a culture that does not speak, let's say, the Queen's English, they have been known to pick up certain speech mannerisms.

Owen, for example, often states that he is "bout to do dat." You know, like he is 'bout to get it, or 'bout to clean up. I imagine if we sent him to daycare in the south he'd be fixin' to do things.

One thing that Chris has a personal vendetta against is the word "busted." He does not like it when Sam refers to things as being "busted." So we spend a lot of time saying, "don't say 'busted,' say 'broken.'" Probably a lot more time than we would have to if we, ourselves, could stop saying busted.

But now we don't have to. Because this morning I was listening to NPR and the host said "busted." Like, out of the blue. Not in a quote or anything. Just something like, "Obama's state of the union focused in on the struggling economy and the plight of the middle class, but many of us are left wondering how he's actually going to fix his busted plan." I figure if the smart dude on NPR can use it, then we can too.

So, sweet. Now we can worry about something else.

Like our busted household budget.


I think that might be appropriate usage.

Karma can be good, too?

Chris told me my last post was "kind of harsh."

I mean, I know one of the benefits of having a life partner is the unwavering support but sometimes it's suffocating, right? Like, back off, man, I already know I'm awesome, you don't have to keep TELLING me. I do think it's cute the way he uses code words like "harsh" when he means "hilarious" and "didn't get it" when he means "highly entertaining."

So apparently I should try harder to be nice. And more funny.

. . . .

Okay. I just tried that for a minute and I didn't like it. When you come over to MY blog, you get you get and you don't get upset.

I rule with an iron fist. My kids know it, now you know it too.

Besides, being nice makes me itchy.

Seriously, if you want yacky stuff like kindness and gratitude, I'm sure you can find that in one of the 18 bazillion OTHER blogs out there. If you are here, it is because you know me so you should know what I'm like. Sometimes mean, mostly funny. With a hint of boring and a trace of whiny.


So, ANYway,

On Tuesday I let Owen have a drink of my water, even though I knew he had a cold. I told myself I would just get a new glass. But then I forgot to and then I got thirsty so I threw caution to the wind and just continued to drink my water. And now I have a cold.

I tell you that little story to illustrate how laziness leads to a lot of bad choices on my part. I should know better. I, in fact, DO know better, and I make these choices anyway. And then I suffer the consequences.

For my next story you need to understand my work parking situation. There is a lot RIGHT outside our door where we are NOT supposed to park. We sometimes do anyway, but we know we're not supposed to do it and one time I got caught and I got a parking ticket for over a hundred dollars. We are supposed to park in the garage that is 357 steps away, through a wind tunnel, and ONLY on the top (open to the elements, up five flights of stairs) floor.

But yesterday I was tired. The baby has compromised my lung space. It was cold. So I parked in the lot. I knew I shouldn't . . . but I hadn't done it in like TWO MONTHS. And I was TIRED. And it was COLD.

And then it turned out that many of my colleagues who had parked in the appropriate, approved, and less convenient garage got parking tickets. For the first time since I started here, they actually looked for the little sticker and ticketed all the people who didn't have a little sticker on their car. I no longer have the little sticker on my car. I would have gotten a ticket. But I didn't. Because I was lazy, and parked in the lot.

I'm uncomfortable with that kind of good fortune.

It makes me feel itchy.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


We moved the boys into the same room about a week ago. We went back and forth a lot on this issue. We thought it might be nice bonding for the boys, but on the other hand, we didn't want their sleep to be disrupted. We thought it might be fun for the boys to be together, but on the other hand, we didn't want OUR sleep to be disrupted. We wondered if it might be comforting for the boys to share a room, but on the other hand, SLEEP. WE LOVE SLEEP.

This urge for as few sleep complications as possible is a powerful one. The sleep side would DEFINITELY have won that argument if not for a little thing called reality. And a new baby on the way.

I spent many evenings, staring at the wall, as my brain spun around in circles trying to figure out how to turn our three bedroom house into one where each of my three children got their own bedroom. You'd think my brain would make one circuit around that track and be all, "yeah, hey, so I looked around and that's not going to work out," and move on to something else, but no. No, my brain made many circles around the track. How many bedrooms? How many kids? And us? So, wait, count those bedrooms again. Still three? And kids? Still three? Are we still here? The closet? The hallway? The bathroom?

I spent time researching this on the internet and apparently there is a controversy about it. (I know, right? A controversy about how to raise kids? Crazy.) Bonding vs. Space. Teaching Kids to Share vs. Allowing Children Privacy. Some people were more extreme, like the lady who had her 14 year old boy sharing a BED with her 13 year old girl. But apparently they didn't mind. For me, it seems weird that this would become one of those parenting "issues." Because seriously, I could not care less where your kids sleep. Also, in cases such as ours, is it really a choice? In our house, this decision is based on the above mentioned mathematical problem.

Eventually even my brain got tired of this and we decided to just give it a shot. So far, it's actually gone pretty well. They have been sleeping a little less than normal, but I have hopes that they will eventually settle down. Owen slept in the toddler bed and Sam slept in his usual mattress on the floor (we are classy 'round here). But then they decided that they want to sleep in the same bed together. As if they LIKED each other. Which seems odd considering how they spend almost every waking minute of their day together trying to take away the toy the other one was playing with.

Still, for right now, I'm trying to go with the flow and hope for the best.

HA. I just said that as if it were a new philosophy I am trying out. But really it's just LAZINESS. And being TIRED. And, also, it's not new.

Monday, January 25, 2010

The more things change

Ever since I got this job the powers that be have been threatening to move us to a difference "space." I gather this happens a lot when you work for a large university. They shuffle. Still, it's been over three years and it hasn't happened so I'm not holding my breath. The current move date happens to be when I am gone on maternity leave, but to put that in perspective, we were supposed to move the last time I was on maternity leave, too.

I just got a look at the latest floor plan for our new offices. They have cut down on the number of offices we are getting that have windows. I don't have a window currently, so it shouldn't bother me that I'm not getting a window in the new office, either.

But here's the thing.

They (the crazy lady that "runs" the office and her hench-lady) decided that window offices needed to be assigned based on seniority. This works for them, because they've been here since the dawn of human-kind, and also if we decided to base it on productivity, they'd have to sit in the hallway.

In the end, I missed a window office by one. Because I was hired at the same time as this other guy. You might assume that that indicates that this fellow was more useful or have more responsibilities than me. BUT WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU ABOUT OUR DECISION TREE AROUND HERE?

I understand that there are many people around the world who would be grateful for any office at all. People who work in cubicles who would weep with thanksgiving if presented with a full wall that connected to the ceiling. But we're not talking about those people. We're talking about me, a Project Manager, a Clinical Research Project Coordinator, if you will, losing out on a window office to a man who regularly wears Velcro shoes and pleated jeans. A man who has a permanent, "I'm confused," wrinkle between his eyes. A man who, while you are talking, will alternately (and repeatedly) squint and then widen his eyes as if to convince himself that you are, in fact, standing there asking him to "work." A man who has been taken off project after project until there is only one thing around here that he is trusted/allowed/asked to do.

And this man, who was hired, not EARLIER than me, but AT THE SAME TIME, has been granted the window office.

You know, I didn't pay that much attention to my mom when I was growing up, but I'm pretty sure I remember her repeatedly telling me, "Well, life is fair!" But, guys, she was wrong.