And my husband wonders why I start so early

I've recently been trying to get our household on more of a schedule. Specifically to be more consistent and help make getting two kids to bed easier. I made the schedule sort of a rough estimate. 5 is dinner, 6 is cleanup and play, 7 is pajamas and 8 is bed.

My husband finds the schedule amusing. Mostly because it gives him new fodder for jokes. Such as telling the kids they only have six minutes left to eat or he'll have to throw their food in the trash because the schedule says so. He also called me up at work last week at 5:10 wanting to know how the hell I would be feeding the kids at 5 when I was still sitting at my desk at work.

First of all, did anyone notice he thinks I should be the one to feed them at 5? Let's just gloss over that madness before I have to use the words "grown man." Second, the schedule is supposed to be more of an hour long window of opportunity to shoot for rather than exact times. I'd be happy if the feeding of the kids took place anywhere between 5 and 6. My goal is mainly to make the lead up to bedtime less rushed. I also liked the idea of a set time for clean up with play time when we're finished to motivate everyone.

We've been doing it for a week now. The kids like it. It keeps me on track. And I'm thinking it helps the house run more smoothly. Half the time the newest 4 year old announces to me when it's time for the next activity. I love that. She and I even made a handy dandy sign with novice artwork created by my own two hands and taped it over the clock on the microwave for easy reference:

Tonight, however, even the handy dandy sign couldn't stop my downward spiral into botched bedtime. I though I was doing pretty well when I had them in pajamas with clean teeth at 7:45. We read books and did some cuddling and just as I'm preparing to route them to their beds the newest 4 year old starts itching her head repeatedly. Being overly paranoid and mildly delusional, I felt obligated to shove her head under a lamp and do a quick lice check. Then I agreed to delay her bedtime to let her wash her hair. Because the kid hates washing her hair. When she announces she's willing, I'm game.

While I was turning the bath water on for her, our 2 year old gets his leftover mac & cheese off the kitchen counter and wanders into the bathroom eating it. Figuring this is a sign he's hungry, because I'm smart like that, I decide to let him finish while I scrub his sister's hair.

The rat's nest took 3 good washes. While she was wringing her hair out, I turned away to brush her brother's teeth again. Then the 4 year old announces that she needs to get out of the tub immediately or a nuclear winter will commence. So I turn and let the water out and the 2 year old spills an entire cup of water down the front of his shirt. I head off to put a new shirt on him and suddenly there's no water left in the bathtub and the 4 year old is shivering.

I find her a towel and dry her hair and the 2 year old disappears down the hall. I track the 2 year old down under the dining room table and carry him to his room. We do an immediate U-turn to begin ransacking the house for the blankie he can't sleep without. Then there's rocking, singing and a million and one kisses. Then the 4 year old needs water. Then the 2 year is annoyed at life. Then the 4 year old wants her bathroom door open an extra 1/8 of an inch. Then the 2 year old is still annoyed at life.

I didn't seal the deal on bedtime until 8:48. And my husband wonders why I need to start at 7. Seriously. One thing after another.

Subject matter expertise isn't always a good thing

My car is out of the shop and I'm told good as new. It's the weekend and my husband hasn't gone out of town again yet. And I've done enough laundry that everyone has clean panties on. It's great to be alive. So great I'm returning to my weekly reality television wrap up!

American Idol: I can't believe I'm watching this show. I got suckered in by the Australian guy's version of Bohemian Rhapsody several weeks ago. Now I keep fast forwarding through Paula and Ryan while I wait for him to be that good again. This week was pretty good. But I'm trying to decide if I want David Cook or the blond girl to win. For about a minute I thought the kid David Archuleta might have a chance but the theater park crap this week on top of forgetting the words to a Beatles song has sealed the deal for me that he won't. Or shouldn't? I don't know. I like him but I'm not a fan. Although I'd totally let him date my daughter. Kid seems sweet. And for the record, I like the original version of God Bless the USA. I didn't realize it before but I now realize that I like the original enough that it's one of those songs I don't really think anyone else needs to try unelss they can add something unique to actually make it better. Just like I heard a cover of Bridge Over Troubled Water on the radio the other day and I kinda sorta thought America should beat that person up for thinking it was okay to try that song. Whatever.

America's Next Top Model: Am I the only one that knew Aimee would be leaving soon when she expressed a reluctance to take her clothes off for a photo shoot? Kiss of death. That and being larger than a size 6. But the real story of this episode was how to be exceptionally self absorbed with Dominique as our subject matter expert. She demonstrated that it doesn't matter if you sleep in the same room with 10 other girls. Because it's nobody else's business if you want to set your alarm clock a full hour early everyday and let it go off repeatedly until you decide to get up. To hell with the other girls that might want to sleep. If I lived with that chick, the plug on that alarm clock would "accidentally" fall out of the wall several times a day. She'd keep finding the numbers flashing and be wondering if the power went off. If that didn't fix the problem, the clock would just disappear entirely only to magically reappear the next morning in the freezer. And her on the phone with her mom getting all self righteous crying about how everyone is against her was too classic. I also love that she talks about herself in the third person.

Big Brother: Chelsia wears too much makeup and I'm not sad she's gone. And I cannot believe Natalie won HOH. Although I find it amusing because I'm sure it makes her and her alliance feel like everything goes their way so the fallout will be especially good when things eventually stop going their way.

Survivor: Wherefore art thou, Survivor? Stupid old March Madness. Is The Office with you? I miss you both. Return to me. I'll leave the light on.

The best thing about being 33

There was probably a time in my life when doing bubbles in the driveway while wearing candy cane pajamas might have been unthinkable. That time in my life has clearly passed:

Somewhere around the age of 30 I developed a very strong sense of "So what?" Maybe it's my husband rubbing off on me. Heaven knows that man genuinely doesn't care what other people think of him. But, truthfully, I don't think he had anything to do with my own lack of concern. Somewhere between 25 and 30 I think I just realized that it doesn't really affect my life if people think I'm odd. So then what's the point of caring?

I've even been known to use the line, "It's not like I'm going to see any of these people again." Although I've used the line in the grocery store around the corner from our house where I most likely will see the people again. But I say whatever.

Because so what if I do see them again. Are they going to ostracize me and refuse to be my friend? Because how would I even notice? We never leave the house. And so what if they remember me as the crazy lady hanging off her husband's back in the frozen pizza aisle. If that's the worst thing you can say about me, I should be so lucky. Because I've also been the crazy lady dancing in the frozen pizza aisle. And I sing made up songs in the frozen pizza aisle too. The one about my husband's Indiglo watch being my personal favorite. I guess it's just lucky for me my husband doesn't have a camera on him when we grocery shop.

And on a separate note, my husband takes like 3 pictures of me per year. What is up me in the candy cane pajamas made the cut? Last year, one of the 3 pictures he took was when we played in the rain with the kids and I looked like I was in a wet T-shirt contest. I'm beginning to see a trend. Although I probably have no room to talk.

Commando and seated on the table

There aren't enough hours in the day to begin to describe the exceptionally long list of things that have kept me busy the last two days. Yesterday I received the first of many urgent phone calls from my boss at 8 am on the way to my gynecologist appointment. I think the sky was falling or something equally critical. Never mind the fact that I'm not on the clock yet. Let me bore you with the details of how bad your day is going to suck once you get here.

I fended her off with talk of a pap smear. But first thing in the door later that morning, there was no avoiding her. Because I am She-Ra and I will singlehandedly hold the sky up for her.

It's nice to be needed but let's be honest. I'm just a girl. Is there no back up sky holder upper? Because technically I only got to work when I did after my gynecologist blew me off to deliver three babies. Speaking of which, my doctor is lucky I didn't run into her in the hall on the way to reception to reschedule my appointment. Because I was commando and seated on the table when they announced the rain delay on my pap smear. I think that's a little late in the game to come up with these flimsy excuses about emergency C-sections.

They tried to talk me into a nurse practitioner instead. They clearly haven't met me. I'm difficult about gynecologists. I successfully avoided going to one until I was 25. And even then, it was a family history of medical issues that require an annual pap smear that made me go. Even my dad had started asking me if I had gone for a pap smear yet. Seriously. My dad. I know. It was time to give in to the inevitable.

My gynecologist turned out to be one of my top 2 all time favorite doctors I've ever been to. She reminds me of me. Which I love and my husband finds entertaining when he tags along. My annual visit feels like going to visit an old friend. Which is extra amazing considering I cried at my first visit. It was the stirrups. I had a traumatic stirrup related incident at the doctor when I was 12 and a long memory that never let it go. But it's all good. Because I love my doctor now and her name is the first one I check for on the list of providers when I contemplate switching insurance companies. She's worth waiting for. Although, I still think the lack of underwear should get you squeezed in between C-sections or something.

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Tuesday

You know how sometimes you think you had a really bad day only then you have another day that's like 12 times worse than that other day and you suddenly realize, that the day you thought was bad really wasn't bad at all and you'd be okay reliving that one over and over again for months on end if it would mean you could avoid having the really and truly bad day ever again. Yeah, well, that was my Tuesday.

In the middle of a hectic day at work, I came up with the bright idea of going home for lunch. Mostly I wanted to go get my cell phone that I'd left laying on my nightstand. I felt naked without it. Which isn't an uncommon feeling for me since I forget it at least a couple times a month. Except my husband's still out of town and unreachable most of the day. And I have small children. Children I fret will fall down a well and need me the moment I step away from my desk phone. So I decided I couldn't go on another moment without my cell phone.

Except it was raining. Really, really hard. I discovered this on the way to the door when a coworker made fun of me for not having an umbrella. She insisted on sending me out with her umbrella. Because it was a downpour and she's nice. And I was clearly pathetic and clueless.

Which could not have been more true because then I went and drove my little Honda Accord into two feet of water, the engine stalled and there I sat stranded. I was six blocks from work. On a street I've driven everyday for six years. On a street I've never seen fill with water like that in all those six years.

Once I finished cursing profusely, I turned to my purse to get my cell phone to call 911. Except, the whole point of my outing was to get my forgotten cell phone. So clearly I didn't have it. Except I'm sitting in water. So I went from just being the idiot that drove into 2 feet of water to being the stranded idiot that drove into 2 feet of water without a cell phone.

I couldn't tell how deep the water was but the mass hysteria taking place inside my head had me convinced the water was halfway up the car door. I figured the only thing worse that being the stranded idiot that drove into 2 feet of water without a cell phone would be compounding things by opening the car door and flooding the car's interior. So I started planning climbing out the car window. I had several concerns with that. First, my pants, shoes and socks would be ruined by the water and I was wearing brand new $80 leather cute but still comfortable work shoes. So I took the socks and shoes off and rolled up my pants legs. No really. I did. Then I put the socks in my coat pocket in case I decided to sit down on the curb to put them back on once I waded out of the river.

My second concern was, of course, that I'd look like an idiot. Which is insane. Because I just drove my car into water. Someone seeing me climb out my car window is the least of my "looking stupid" problems. But that didn't stop me from watching in my rear view mirror until there were no other cars around.

Once the coast was clear, I finally rolled the window down. But then I couldn't decide whether my head or feet should exit the window first. While trying to decide, I realized maybe I should just cram my head out the window and evaluate the depth of the water. Turns out, I could open the door the whole time. So I did. And then I took the loaned umbrella, my purse and my shoes and I began walking through 2 feet of water.

My pants legs fell down and I actually felt a pang of despair that they would now be soaked. Which is yet another example of the idiotic things that cause me stress. Because I had six blocks to walk in the driving rain. Keeping my pants dry was nothing but a pipe dream. By the time I got back to work, my underwear was soaked. And that's with an umbrella. My lovely leather shoes were soaked too. Because six blocks is a long way to walk barefoot. And the water was cold. And a 1/2 block in I'd lost my will to live let alone my will to protect leather from water.

Once I got back to work, I went directly to the ladies' room to wring my pants legs out over the toilet. No really. I took them off and wrung them out. But my socks were dry! Because I'd put them in my pocket! Except dry socks are of no use when your shoes are so water logged that every step you take squeezes water out of the sole! The shoes also made a lovely squishing sound when I walked. But really, who notices noises like that when you're busy staring at wet pants clinging to legs.

Once the pants were wrung out, I headed to my office to call someone to rescue me. Oh, wait. No cell phone. And no cell phone = no phone numbers. So I looked my brother's employer up on the internet to get a phone number. Then I asked for him. And then I restrained myself from shrieking into the phone at him. He gave me the cell phone numbers of several people and I wasted several minutes trying to get assorted relatives on the phone.

Then I gave up and called AAA and found out I had to be at my vehicle to get it towed. Which makes me want to yank someone's teeth out when I think about it. Because the vehicle was six blocks away in driving rain. Because why would I confess to a coworker this level of incompetence let alone ask them to drive me anywhere near a road hazard I was too stupid to avoid. But my car was sitting in the road. And my husband was unreachable. And I'm supposed to be a grown up. So in one of the most grown up moments of my life, I headed back out into the rain to meet that stupid tow truck. I mean, my shoes were already ruined by then. What the hell did another 6 blocks matter?

By the time I got back to my car though, it was already being hoisted onto a flat bed tow truck called in by the police car parked behind it with its emergency lights on. A cop got out of the police car to explain to me that my car was being impounded unless I paid the tow truck guy to take it somewhere else. I said I'd be happy to pay him. But, wait, the policeman's tow truck guy only takes cash. $125 cash. I told the cop I had checks and a credit card but no cash. Because it's 2008 and when was the last time you needed $125 cash on a moment's notice.

The cop and the tow truck guy did not appear to care when I told them I didn't have the money. Technically, the tow truck driver was so uninterested in me he didn't even look at me. The cop said I could go to an ATM. Except there were zero ATMs anywhere near the scene of this flood. He suggested maybe the tow truck driver would agree to stop at an ATM on the way to the car repair place. But the tow truck driver wasn't even interested in looking at me let alone doing me a favor. While the cop was verifying the tow truck driver's lack of interest in helping me, I started crying. Right there in the middle of the street. Standing under a borrowed umbrella that had broken by then. I was literally using one hand to hold the umbrella while the other hand held the umbrella open over my head.

Apparently there's something to be said for looking pathetic in the middle of the street because next thing I knew I was in the back of the cop car being driven to 7-11 to use an ATM. And so began the second leg of my journey. The highlights of that leg included my first ride in a police car and telling the guy at the car repair place the story of how "I drove into water because I am a great big loser." At first you think you'll sink to the floor in a puddle of profound shame telling someone you did something that dumb. But, really, after you tell the story a couple times, it's impressive how devoid of feeling the whole experience becomes. By the time you're on the phone with the insurance company, it's almost like it wasn't even you that did it.

I finally got a ride home from the repair place in a courtesy van. I apologized to the driver for getting his seat wet and ran in the house to weep pathetic "Dude, my life sucks" tears. Then I stripped off all my clothes and shoved them in the dryer. 20 minutes later I put them back on, grabbed the keys to my husband's car and headed back to work. I returned the borrowed umbrella with profuse thanks and went back to my office to finish working on the Incredible! motivational! project! that had to be done by Wednesday. And I did it without telling anyone what happened.

Partially because I didn't want the entire building to be talking about what an idiot I am. But mostly because I didn't think I could talk about it without crying. When your self control is hanging by a thread, sometimes it's best to just keep plowing ahead and pretend everything's fine. Until you talk to your husband later that evening. Because then it's best to weep uncontrollably and let him tell you it's just a car. A car that now needs a new engine for $3000. Which didn't surprise me at all. Because if you're going to have a bad day, I say do it all the way or not at all. And be glad you have insurance. I know I am. I'm also pretty glad it's not Tuesday anymore.

The price of sanity is $200 and it's for sale at Target

Saturday night I had the motherhood equivalent of a mental breakdown. It was probably 90% lack of sleep, 6% stuff getting shredded daily by the World's Most Annoying Dog, 3% screaming toddler and 1% I really want to move to a new house but can't figure out when it will ever happen. My breakdown culminated in a tearful long distance phone call to my husband while I sat in the garage trying to avoid the newest 4 year old. Because when I babble incoherently into the phone I prefer to pretend I'm alone.

Too bad that 4 year old's like human On Star and immediately tracked me down. So I told her to close the door and go back inside. Technically I might have shrieked it like a banshee but whatever. Let it go. I have.

Then my baby closed the door, dragged a chair over to watch me through the window and periodically tapped on the glass. I know it's sweet that's she's concerned about me. But seriously, it's called needing a moment. I should have hid in a closet instead. Not a little closet with clothes hanging all around me. Because that would be pathetic and sorta creepy. I'm thinking a nice well lit walk in closet. You know, because sitting in a well lit walk in closet is infinitely more normal.

Anyway, my blubbering was mostly a laundry list of tearful complaints that included the house, the annoying dog, the laundry, my weight, the neighborhood, the kids, a lost remote and the color of the sky. My personal favorite was the lost remote. The man's 600 miles away. The odds of him finding it for me are slim.

My husband talked me down from the ledge and suggested I get more sleep. Then he sent out the equivalent of the bat signal and my dad came over to babysit today. Leaving the house without your children probably shouldn't be that awesome but I'm okay with the fact that it was. 5 hours without checking anyone's diaper and $200 in crap from Target and I thought maybe I could last another couple days until my husband gets home.

I even went to a store that doesn't have shopping carts. And I tried on clothes for myself. In the store. There was even a lady in the dressing room area to go get you stuff if you needed a different size. Not that I'm the sort of girl capable of asking a complete stranger to get me stuff let alone tell them my size but still.

And there were cookies outside the dressing room. On a little doily on a silver tray. Which seems like a bit much because who needs cookies when you're trying to cram yourself into jeans and catching glimpses of your flabby stomach under fluorescent lighting. But knowing the cookies are there is sort of pampering all by itself. Which is like the polar opposite of leaning into the backseat of your car to wrestle a screaming kid into a car seat. Which makes seeing cookies on a doily a really nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Bringing in reinforcements

My kitchen sink has been overflowing with dishes for two days now. I finally called in the JV cleaning squad to help:

They tend to use too much water but they work cheap. I'd like to say they have a future career in the domestic arts but it's worth mentioning that they got distracted several times shooting water at the ceiling with the sprayer and they dropped an entire roll of paper towels into the water. On the other hand, at least no other areas of the house got any messier while they were working.

After dishes, we emptied the trash and dragged a week's worth of garbage to the curb in the kid's wagon. Then we loaded the washing machine. Then we fed the dogs. Then we got ready for bed. And then we all wondered how much longer until Daddy gets home.

I didn't exist today and it was awesome

I like Daylight Savings Time a lot better in the fall. Springing forward sucks. Falling back is awesome. I'm all about the extra hour of sleep. I crave sleep pretty much all the time. Not enough to prevent me from laying in bed watching that new show High School Confidential. But still. I think I was sucked in by the commercials with all the girls talking about how they never once spontaneously broke out in song during high school. So cute.

It's also sort of lame that springing forward means it's now dark in the morning when I get up for work. Today was Day 2 of the MIA husband so it was also dark when the kids got up. That wasn't a problem though because the newest 4 year old actually woke me up instead of the other way around. It's amazing how rarely I actually need an alarm clock since having kids.

After bouncing on my back for a few minutes, she went and opened her brother's door to make sure he didn't sleep through anything fun either. Then she helped him climb out of his crib so he could come jump on my back too. I thought she was kidding when she said he was standing at the foot of my bed. Imagine my heart attack when his finger touched the bottom of my foot. Oh, the squeals of delight as I jumped.

At least work was uneventful. In the most wonderfully stress free sense of the word. Lunch with a friend. Found time to call the insurance company and tell them they suck. And best of all, sat in zero meetings. Which means I didn't really exist today but I'm okay with it. At one point I had so much time on my hands I couldn't even decide what to work on first. Such a luxury. At this rate I might find time to shop online too. Rock on.

Expect the Incredible!

My husband left this morning for some work related training. I was so worn out from being up and down all night with an upset stomach the night before that I could barely muster up my usual weepy china doll clingy-ness while he packed. I also didn't bother to catch up on dishes or laundry before he left so now I have an overflowing sink and 3 baskets of laundry to do. And another 2 1/2 baskets already waiting to be folded. But who's counting.

I miss my husband a lot when he leaves. Partially because I'm a cream puff. But mostly because I just really like his company. And my kids have lots of energy and wear me out by noon. I've spent the day alternating between watching a Say Yes to the Dress marathon on TLC and brainstorming ideas for a work related project. My husband swears I've been brainwashed by the powers that be and become a rah rah shish boom bah team player or something. Mostly, someone mentioned they were going to hand out giant thermometer posters for each division unless we came up with something better to visually track our progress toward goals. I'm fairly certain I will in fact hurl if I'm forced to update a thermometer to attempt to motivate people.

Instead, we're geeking out doing a The Incredibles theme. My husband, in his infinite patience, waited to roll his eyes until after I got to the part of the plan that involves making Incredibles T-shirts for everyone and having a theme day once a week. And there may or may not be plans for a giant skyline and superheroes flying over buildings as goals are achieved. I know. Maybe my husband's right. Although there are cash bonuses involved so I might be okay with it. At least it's better than a jumbo thermometer. And the fact that I'm contributing to the dorkiness does not in any way mean I won't be making fun of it right along with everyone else.

My children have taken my husband's departure fairly well. The 18 month old cried when his father got out of the car at the airport. But then, he cries when his father walks inside the post office for 2 minutes. It's been a non issue for him since. The newest 4 year is a different story. She cried when he got out of the car followed by more crying at bedtime. She likes to go with, "I want Daddy" which is the most perfectly impossible thing to fix for her. This is the first time she's really cried because she missed someone. I guess she's old enough to understand that it sucks.

I felt bad for her. Mostly because I know how she feels. Except she's not allowed to stay up late watching Law & Order reruns until she falls asleep with the television on. Not that I know anything about that.

No snow but lots of ill

There was no snow day. The sky did not fall. In fact, the uber important work related matter got a last minute 20 day extension to get completed. So I stressed for nothing. My husband would say that is the real story of my life. Whatever.

I have been ill, ill and more ill the last two days. It is a mystery illness that includes lightheadedness, aching joints, fever and a failure to understand why my children can't drive themselves to the daycare yet. The cure for this is extended laying around in bed, forcing my husband to offer opinions on last night's Project Runway final collections and online shopping.

For example, today the Easter Bunny ordered each of my kids a panorama easter egg for their Easter baskets. As a kid, I had a friend that got one every year for Easter and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I could never figure out why the Easter Bunny left one for her but not me. Which is retarded because the Easter Bunny that dropped by my house was a most excellent Easter Bunny and would no doubt have produced one of those things if I had just let it be known I wanted one. I guess I thought she'd read my mind since she'd already successfully figured out that I liked Peeps and hated Cadbury Eggs. But it's all good because this year I'm vicariously getting my panoramic eggs. If my children do not appropriately appreciate them I will confiscate the eggs and send them to bed with no supper.

Speaking of Easter, what's up it's like 2 1/2 weeks away? I did not get the memo on this Easter is in March thing. I need cute egg hunting outfits. I need to get a photo of my offspring with a six foot rabbit. I need crap to go in everyone's basket. Yet another reason why online shopping while you are ill, ill and more ill is so very awesome.

Speaking of awesome, did we all see my BFF Christian win Project Runway last night? Believe it or not, I wasn't totally sure he'd win. I thought Rami's collection was really good. Jillian's too. But Rami's was the one that was so good I thought he might actually win. It's complicated with Rami. On the one hand you want him to be more versatile and do more than just drape. But then when not everything in his collection was super drapey, my first thought was that he should have done more draped evening gowns because he rules at gowns.

But Christian is just so creative and has so many tricks up his sleeve. Although I did not love the feather dress Michael seemed to think was the greatest dress ever. I did, however, love that Christian's confidence was gone by the end and he was actually crying before they even announced the winner. Sometimes confidence comes across as conceit when it's really just bravado or how people keep a stiff upper lip when they're nervous. I thought it was charming that he wanted it that bad and that it meant so much to him.

Speaking of conceit, I also caught America's Next Top Model last night and enjoyed the comeuppance of full of herself Allison. I especially enjoyed that she could not catch on when they were telling her to say "Thank you." Although, for the record, I liked her hair dark better than the reddish/brown. And it never ceases to amaze me how many people think it's a good idea to sing Whitney Houston songs on American Idol. Seriously. Whitney, Mariah and Celine. Just don't do it. The end.

The Story of My Life

I'm the girl at the office that never knows the weather unless it's going to snow. Because I don't care about the weather unless it includes the potential for a paid snow day. Today, several coworkers tried to burst my bubble and tell me there was no chance of snow. They were wrong:

It may not look like a lot. Especially if you live somewhere that gets snow more than once a year. But just roll with me. There's snow. It's cold. Where I live that's enough to potentially close my building tomorrow.

Oh, wait. Hear that noise? That's irony raking fingernails down a chalkboard. Because I have a date with destiny in the form of a work related matter that has to be taken care of tomorrow. Do or die. The entire city could be on lock down and I swear to you my boss will be blowing up my cell phone to explain why I'm going to have to dig my way out with a teaspoon and hike uphill 10 miles through the snow to get to the office to make sure it gets taken care of. Because her boss' boss will have already blown up her cell phone to explain how the sky will open up and swallow the office whole if we don't. I'm not even joking about the cell phones blowing up. It's an exceptionally time sensitive matter. It's also the opposite of optional. It is the story of my life that it may fall on a snow day.

As it is, the matter is wildly unpopular and will require arm twisting to get anyone to agree to do it. So how the hell am I supposed to get anyone to drive into the office on a paid day off to do it? Right. The odds of that happening are so slim I'm actually rooting against a snow day. Which means the apocalypse must be upon us because there can be no other rational explanation for the queen of snow days rooting against a snow day.

At least my husband is amusing. While I was outside taking that photo of the snow, he mooned me out our front window. Here he is afterwards looking proud of his cleverness:

Here's part 2 of his cleverness when he decided to lock me out in the cold:

He pulled his shirt up over the lower half of his face to increase the "I'm a raving lunatic" quotient of the shot. You'd be amazed how high that quotient is without any effort on his part. For example, I wish there was a photo of him pretending to unlock the door and laughing when I fell for it and tried the doorknob. But that's okay. Because every minute I spend outside is just an extra minute he gets to cuddle me until I warm up. Lucky him.