Thursday, August 30, 2007


Every one has it. Some fear or sincere distaste of something that creeps them out. Maybe not quite a phobia per se, but a healthy "ick" factor that gives ya the willies.
G hates snakes. "Anything that can move that fast without legs is not normal," he says. He will not remove an eel from his fishing line either, choosing instead to beat it off the ground until the eel lets go or the line breaks off. Then there was the time he threw himself into the wall with a high-pitched squeal because a hamster ran between his feet. I won't call him a sissy, because he is such a otherwise manly man, being in the same room as him boosts my testosterone levels to freakish proportions.
The Boy seems to be afraid only of the laundry hamper, and a hard day's work. And sometimes, maybe soap.
I usually have a fairly level head about any living creature, and in small quantities, I can live amongst whatever nature has put out there. If I wanted to get a little wigged out, thinking about the dust mites in my pillow might do it, or the "good" bacteria living on my skin and in my colon... but I have to confess something.
Massive amounts of spiders creating a giant web that covers two football fields worth of trees is grody. Watching the video did not help. All I can envision is one enormous "queen" spider safely hidden somewhere, ready to eat the next passerby. :::Shudder:::
Sweet dreams.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The cold, hard reality, as voiced my me

Two very significant conversations occurred today, in which my role was more of a participatory listener; yet, I nevertheless felt compelled to put in my two cents' worth of pessimism.
I must be a joy to work with.

Conversation one was stumbled upon as I came into the middle of an already established tale of the fresh engagement of a co worker's son and the girlfriend she never liked anyway. They're getting married because of an undisclosed uterine condition that will render her infertile (if not already), and they "need to get a jump on having at least one child before she can't". Whatever this problem is, it "can only be cured by menopause or hysterectomy". Mind racing... thinking... fibroids, endometriosis...?? The bare bones of it is, she doesn't currently have health insurance, but will once they tie the knot. Then, they can undergo further testing and treatment, so "she can have the baby in the next year or two before it's too late". The girlfriend smokes heavily, reportedly has abnormal cycles, and is nearing 30. The mother-in-law-to-be stated that she didn't like the girl, but she figures she will at least get a grandchild out of the union. They'll be married in the spring, and hope to be pregnant by the end of next year.

I wanted SO BAD to ask what the diagnosis (if known) was. Instead, I cautioned that things don't always go as planned, and I wished them luck because it sounds kinda risky. How encouraging could I have been? I felt bad after I said it, but the nonchalance attitude made me bristle.

After listening day after day about this or that unplanned pregnancy, announcements that so-and-so intends to be pregnant by October so she can be off for the summer, and someone whining about having ANOTHER boy when they really wanted a girl, I am at the end of my kindness limit. Usually I walk away from the conversations, or at least keep my mouth shut, but today was not one of those days.

Conversation number two came when someone from another department wandered in for unrelated business, and offhandedly mentioned that she was going to be a grandmother "on Christmas Day!". Everyone was so excited! This woman "wished that they could schedule an induction for the week before so [she] could be off to visit". She was disappointed that the doctor wouldn't induce. Can you imagine the nerve of him, expecting the mother to go naturally whenever "that stubborn child decided he was ready"? Add to that the inconvenience of laboring on Christmas; we all know how perfectly timed deliveries are, right? She went on the further explain that this is her first grandchild. She had been "keeping her mouth shut" for the first three years, but decided she couldn't wait anymore and "started dropping hints". She even bought her DIL V!ctor!a's $ecret lingere to "get the ball rolling". Finally, five years into the marriage, they confessed that they were having trouble conceiving. "Can you imagine?" she asked. "I told them something must be wrong, but the doctor didn't do anything about it. But she's pregnant now, so I guess I worried about nothing".

Nothing. She's worried about nothing. Besides a supposed Christmas birth.

Did she really need me to detail all the various things she COULD worry about? Probably not.

I commented that it took us 15 years to have our second child, and he was stillborn.

"I'm sorry," she did say, followed by "but you do have one. Maybe that's all you need. God only gives us what we can handle."

I swallowed hard and chewed carefully on my tongue before launching headfirst into the standard "I don't think "god" has anything to do with it. If you mean to imply that "he" felt I could handle a dead baby over a live one, I believe you are sorely mistaken." She changed the subject to ask about my particular fertility struggles, since she is so sure something must be wrong with her son and his wife that it takes them 5 years to conceive, and maybe I could offer some advice; all I could say was "no". "There are a variety of infertility diagnoses available, and their doctor should be able to assist them if they continue to struggle. All I know is that my miscarriages and stillbirth have made me a lot more cynical, and I wish them well. If you look at the big picture, a holiday-season birth is better than nothing at all, am I right?"
I was, of course.

I fear I am quickly becoming "The One" whom others are warned about. I don't care. I'm there to do a job, and having to listen to people bitching about births is not part of my assigned duty.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Doggone it

My little rascals escaped last night, and went on a tour of the town. Thank goodness they were wearing their collars with freshly applied rabies tags and contact information. I don't usually force them to wear the collars, as they are house dogs, and only when leashed do we really "need to wear them" - or so I thought. My little princess Lucy scratches so much (skin allergies) that the tinkling of her tags drives me insane. Since we had only recently (2 days ago) returned from the kennel, they still had them on. Yay for laziness!
Actually, I can't blame their access to freedom squarely on their creativity. Seems that after The Boy's chores, the gate had not been latched securely (something that has needed repaired for years). It was only after a 2am pee trip (my own, thank you) that I noticed the dogs were not in the house. I wandered down into the basement, clad in socks and some sloppy sleeping attire, and saw the gate W-I-D-E O-P-E-N. In the distance, I hear Lucy yipping at something. I thought I saw a glimpse of her big companion ("Rags" - I didn't name him) off around the corner. I didn't want to lose them by opting for petty little conveniences like a flashlight, their leashes, or you know, shoes. So there I went, stocking feet and all, through puddles and over gravel, calling out to them. They came towards me, just far enough to be in sight, and made a fun little game of scampering off farther and turning to watch me stumble through the night, calling their names. Lucy went off on her own little scavenger hunt, but Rags found some new things to sniff & mark along the way - each time allowing me to get juuuuust close enough to reach out to him before taking off again. Grrrrrr.
I was so mad I was in tears. I was mad at the kid for not checking the gate. I was mad at myself for not wearing shoes. I was mad at these stupid animals for doing this to me. I was mad at myself again, for not having greater control over the mongrels. I was mad at the control they had over me. I was mad at it being the middle of the night, and nobody around to help me. This went on for about a half-mile before I was ready to just give up and head back home. I don't know if the big dog sensed it, or if his fat ass (133.5 lbs of not being walked enough)
was getting tired from all the activity, but he allowed me close enough to grab him. He even "sat" for me when I told him to, and I held onto that collar so tightly you can bet he knew I meant business. He walked with me like a seeing-eye dog, neatly by my side, proud to be taking me back home. Lucy just followed along, never really having had a plan in the first place, just thrilled to have seen/smelled the other side of the neighborhood. I could have carried all 18 lbs of her, but she didn't stray from us once on the way back.
I gave them fresh water and a good talking to. They said they were sorry, and we all agreed to go for a "real" walk sometime soon. For now, I'm going to go fix that gate.


So, yeah, I'm back (if you'd even noticed I'd been gone).
Had an AWESOME time.
'Twas just the old man and myself; The Boy had taken his vacation the week prior to visit The Girlfriend.
The surf was positively brutal. I nearly drowned. Wave after suffocating wave slamming into us, knocking us over, the undertow pulling us back down as we scrambled to upright ourselves.
G insisted I should be "more buoyant", and was slightly disappointed that I am more of a klutz on clown feet. You know what your problem is, he stated, you are short and round, sort of like a beach ball. I wonder why you can't float better?
The resulting concussion wasn't quite as amusing. Butthole.
We actually spent more time fishing than filling our cracks with sand. Whether by boat or by pier, we were landing poor defenseless fishies by the dozens. We each caught a crab, but mine was bigger by far. At one point, I was having more luck than he; he decided he would unhook my fishes, re-bait and cast, and I'd just rotate between our poles, pulling them in as fast as the bait hit the water. It was cool. "Gettin' jiggy wit it" sounded so much more amusing at the time.
Back at the beach, we did a little people-watching rather than the old dunk-and-drown routine. Work on our tans, drink heavily, talk about stuff. It was nice. A young family set up near us; it appeared to be two young couples and their respective offspring, I got the feeling the wives were sisters, and the little cousins played together nicely. The oldest child, probably about 2 1/2 years old (Nick's age, of course) was wearing spiderman trunks and a little red fisherman's hat; the little girl was just barely walking. I felt myself watching SpiderTot a little too intensely. It's not that the mommy wasn't paying adequate attention to the boy; only once or a couple more dozen times did I feel the need to ready myself to spring into action... it's just that when you have a SpiderTot wandering off toward the edge of the water and you're taking pictures of someone or fucking around with the damn umbrella, bad stuff can happen. G thought maybe it was stressing me out a little and reminded me that maybe our neighbors on the sand might view me as some creepy old lady who is staring at their kids. As naptime neared, the little girl who had been making googly eyes and laughing at me started getting cranky. She stumbled over towards us, and her mommy said "Oh don't go bothering them, now, sweety, they don't want you! They don't want a little whiny baby!"
Yeah, actually, we do.
Can we have her? How much you want? I've got the checkbook in the car.
Anyway. It was good to visit with my parents again. Shame they aren't willing or able to go out and enjoy the things they used to. I often felt like we used them more for a bed and breakfast facility than spending quality time together, but they understood, and we had some nice visits. Funny though, you remember the old saying about fish and visitors getting stale after a few days, it is so true. Up through day three it was wonderful, by day 4 we all were getting a little crabby, and by day 5, it was time to wrap things up and get the hell outta there. Suddenly I realized why I was so ready to move away when I was 18. All of my parent's little weird habits and mannerisms suddenly became unbearable, as I'm sure did ours, and we had to cut out before damage was done. My dear, wonderful, perfect father is OCD out the ass, and my sweet, loving, perfect mother is just plain nuts. And we, well, we were just in the way.
To give you a little taste: my father gift-wraps his garbage. Some may look at is recycling, but he is downright anal about it. He reuses the plastic newspaper baggies for trash bags. These go into plastic grocery bags, each tied up tightly and all the air squished out, and they, in turn, go into larger brown paper bags. Every little box and package is carefully torn into confetti before making it into the trash. Cans, jars and bottles are de-labled and rinsed well, and placed into the recycling bin. The jagged lids from cans are wrapped in used paper towels he dug out of the garbage. He saves the wrappers from meat packaging just in case we come down with some dreaded food poisoning. I have long since accepted the reused aluminum foil and ziploc bags, the margarine and coolwhip containers, and the piles of fastfood napkins and condiments that made their way home with my folks. They're thrifty, what can I say? But when he goes along behind us rechecking every door we closed, readjusting any item we might have disturbed, and straightening out every rug and slipcover we touched, we felt a little invasive.
Ah, well. Things are fine. They just loved having us there, and told us not to wait so long for a return again. We did have a good time, overall, and overlooking family weirdness is what reunions are all about, right? Right.

Monday, August 27, 2007


Stupid joke of the week, overheard as my husband talked to his buddy on the phone:
"Hey man, did you hear about the terrorist hideout they found (at the jobsite)?
Yeah, it was really something!
They found Bin Sleepin', and Bin Eatin'
... but I'll be dammned if they could find Bin Workin'!"

Saturday, August 18, 2007


Still trying to wrap my head around this news:
Woman has rare identical quadruplets
Of course, the article carefully states they were conceived without fertility drugs.
Well, no shit, sherlock.
They're identical.
One egg.
Into four embryos.
And they all survived! Healthy, but small, delivered early by C-section.
I wish her and their suddenly very large family health and prosperity.

Friday, August 17, 2007

...I'll take cosmic irony for 500, Alex.

Actually, I am relieved. Honest, I didn't need this weighing over my head. This news is like sweet tea on ice, using real sugar and not $plenda, served by a nice young man with a tight ass.
Not two hours after hitting "publish" on my last post, the phone rang.
They got my application (several days ago). They were initially pleased with what they saw.
The guidelines by which they hire applicants into specific positions require that certain conditions be met.
Those conditions, of course, are experience at the level to which they are hiring, and then, you know, more experience actually doing the level of work to which they are hiring.
Whodathunk it.
After all the conversation I had with the recruiter last week, and all the 'splaining I did regarding my experience, someone else decided I "might not be the best fit."
Huh, Really?
Actually, I do agree. And that is where the relief comes in. Maybe I was a little scared, maybe I didn't feel quite ready to take that leap, maybe it's good to know now before I wasted their time OR MY OWN.
Could you imagine if I cut my beach time short by two whole days to go to this effing interview only to hear THEN that they didn't feel I was right? Man, I'd be pissed.
Thing is, I made first contact for the lesser position. I was ENCOURAGED to try the more advanced one. Then, we discussed salary range(s). The hubby and I decided how much I'd need to make, coupled with his pay, in order to even exist down there. The higher level job with the higher level pay was much more palatable. Of course!
And I'm not right for it. Of course!
And I knew that.
The irony is, the decision was made for me after all, and I didn't have to do a thing to arrive at the end result.
Of course!
So the recipe to my successfully avoiding blame, repercussions, and any involvement in the thought process again falls to dumb luck.
On to my next non-project with I-had-nothing-to-do-with-it results.
Here's the plan. In the past, when attempting to get pregnant, I'd beg, plead, and grovel with some mysterious extraterrestrial to I'd plan, and organize, and try and fail with great fervor. The more I wanted something, the less I got.
I'm turning over a new leaf.
Wow, not having a small child sure is easy. No worrying about daycare, adjusting my schedule around, tying up all that free time. I can take off for a little weekend jaunt whenever I want. It's cheaper, too. I can sleep in late, leave the house at a moment's notice, go out with friends.
I hope I don't accidentally get pregnant while on vacation. That would be a weird curve ball to field, huh? Yeah. Not sure how I'd handle that decision. I mean, what could I do? I'd have to rethink going back to school and moving and everything. So much pressure. Good thing I don't have to worry about that with my inability to get pregnant in the first place. Gee I'm glad the whole idea is a non-issue for me. I don't have the energy to worry about it. I'll just worry my little infertile head off about getting pregnant by surprise and that will hold off the stupid babydust indefinitely. No more babies for Julie. Maybe I'll go on the pill. That should do it.


At the tail end of my vacation next week, I have scheduled an interview with a potential employer.
What am I, nuts?
My husband is pushing me to start the ball rolling to move down there, but The Boy thinks we (meaning he and I) should stay up here. He misses his friends. I miss my husband. This situation is starting to suck.
At the onset of my search, I was nearly giddy with excitement. I was positive. I was hopeful.
As the day draws near, um, maybe not so much.
What is it about change that is so... confusing?
For someone who insists that she likes to be in control, I have a giant lump in my throat thinking about taking this step. A new job is one thing, but moving? Leaving the comfort of what I already have? A year ago I was ready to pull up anchor and take off to god-knows-anywhere-else, to hell with responsibility and familiarity.
Now my feet are weighted down and I secretly hope that I don't have to make the decision.
Maybe the decision will be made for me.
Maybe I'll be turned down. Or, if accepted, some magical omen will guide me to the right choice. Or, better yet, I will have a cut-and-dry "have to" that leaves no option available.
The salary won't be enough.
We can't find affordable housing.
What if... a family member in either location becomes completely dependent on me/us, necessitating an immediate decision.
Or, I get the distinct feeling at my current job that this is the end of the line, and I have to go.
What if... the offer from the new place will be too incredible to pass up.
Or, the counter offer from my current place will be too incredible to pass up.
I dreamt our big dog died, thus freeing us to chose apartment living over a home with a big yard. I cried.
Why does something drastic have to occur for me to make a choice? The choice has to be made FOR me, thus eliminating guilt over it being the wrong choice.
I'm stressing out far to much over a simple meeting. I don't have to decide today, tomorrow, or even the next year. Do I? Maybe I do. Can I just go along with the flow and see where it takes me? It's got me this far in life.
If I have a lousy day at work, I want to go.
If I have a good day at work, I want to stay.
Am I fickle?
I've already started a mental list of pros and cons, based on the unreality that I'd even be considered a candidate for NewJob.
We've conducted a little phone-interview wherein both parties assessed the compatibility of what we each need and want. It sounds like a good complement. She said she is looking forward to meeting with me. I plan to confirm our appointment a couple of days before we are to meet. I was instructed to submit my application and resume via the web format they require. I didn't hear back. This is fine, of course, because we already have the interview scheduled, but... but. but. but. What if now that they have it all down in black and white they have decided that I'm not a good match? Am I wasting time? Should I have received at least a confirmation email that the items were received, and will be reviewed, and I'm still on their list of hopefuls? Will I ruin my entire vacation because of doubt and worry?
NO! I won't allow that to happen. If the husband brings it up, I will change the subject. I will not think about it. Even though we are cutting our beach stay short by two whole days just to attend this interview, I will not be distracted or feel any remorse. Well, maybe just a little. Already I'm questioning if it's worth it. I deserve this damn vacation, and why should I cut it short for anyone, especially a potential nothing that will be a waste of time and energy?
Man, I need to get away. From myself.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Can ya her minnow

Maybe my husband is getting old, I mean he does own a pair of grandpa reading spectacles and all... But his hearing?
We blame the phone.

Today, he had a decent day at work. Wasn't great, but was tolerated well.

What I said: "At least you aren't miserable."

What he heard, repeatedly, until the point I broke into a fit of screams:
"At least you aren't a gerbil."

Because that makes more sense.

*To his credit, he was imagining a cage with a hamster on a wheel, symbolizing his job...
Still. It's just weird.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Odds and Ends

Let me start by saying to my body, Ahem! Is this thing on? It's CD38: just bleed already, dammit!
In lieu of any discernable symptoms, and, of course, given my history, I believe the delay is in relation to weight gain and stress. And, of course, my history. I'm due for my annual lube & filter, but, uh, nah.
The hubster swaggered up to me while I was at the sink ('natch), gently encouraging me to drop the sponge and (::wink, wink::). I steered the conversation to missing him, and now The Boy as well, and just where is that darn kid at, anyway? etc., etc... He replied that we could always get busy at making another. Then we colapsed in a fit of laughter.
Speaking of missing them both. Josh moved to VA, and is living and working with his father. I am empty-nesting like crazy. For 18 years I had that child as my lifeline to some sort of control in my world. He's my baby. Now he's all growed' up and gone. I speak to him on occasion. They come home every third weekend or so for a short visit. I went to see them a month ago and took The Girlfriend*. It doesn't seem to be affecting the The Boy nearly as much as it does me. The hubster doesn't even call me as much anymore, because they have each other for company. So, it's just me and the dogs.
Eventually, we will sell/rent this house and I'll be down there, too. But not for a few years, I'm guessing. We have some updates to make to this place. Money to save. Contracts to honor. I'm returning to school to add a few more letters to my title. I've joined a committee to plump up my resume'. I have my career to keep me warm at night. I have not yet utilized my abundant free time to clean obsessively. Don't see that one happenening, like, ever.
Speaking of committees. Ugh. I swear to you, this is why I never stayed on one before. Boring. Seems like all we do is waste time going over the last meeting's minutes, and planning on what to do the next meeting. I don't get it. Add to that the stupid corporate buzzwords that drive me insane, and I feel like a drone that's only there in appearance only. Oh, wait. I am. My bad. I managed to fill up three lines of my performance evaluation with 'positive action words' to simply state, "I work good. Pay me well." I enhanced my accomplishments by restating my capabilities, augmenting my efficiency while enriching my proficiencies, and exercised solid judgment as I implemented working knowledge of my responsibilities and validated my goals. Or whatever. Did get a good raise, though, so bullshit is alive and well in my world. Oh yeah, and it was fiscally sound.
So, I rarely watch TV. Never daytime television, but on occasion I can catch a prime-time show. As it was last night, when I caught the finale' of K of Q. I do enjoy this program on occasion, maybe catch a rerun now and then, have no real idea what has been going on. Didn't know it was the end, until I noticed it ran over 30 minutes, over 45 minutes, and hey! I've been watching bits and pieces of this for an hour now! (While making a meatloaf, doing dishes, talking on the phone, and paying bills...) As is my tendency, I have to complain about commercials. Naturally, I have seen several that get my goat, but I have to say that KFC is killing me. Why does KENTUCKY fried chicken have "Sweet home ALABAMA" as their theme song? Aaaand, am I the only one who is irritated by the background noises in their version of this music that include a camera shutter and what sounds like a backward-track of girls screaming under water? I have noticed for quite awhile that advertisers put in doorbells and phones ringing to grab your attention, if only on a subconscious level. My dogs really noticed this first. Grrrr. On to the show. WTF? I shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone knows that is how it happens in real life, right? Assholes.
The "send" button on my cell phone quit working. I'm not eligible for a new phone until October of '08. I don't have insurance. I sort of want a different style of phone, but mostly I don't. Currently, (until it drives me insane), I can only call people in my contact list by choosing menu>phonebook>find>options>call. Ditto for retrieving missed calls, no more single-click access. A few extra steps, no real aggravation; makes me wonder just how lazy I really am when I ::sigh:: each time I have to do it this way.
In other news, with the departure of my son and the less-frequent visits from the husband, the only people left in this world to look after my widowed mother-in-law and her spinster sister are the SIL and myself. Being as they are both elderly, but not yet demented, they remain living in their own homes even though they can barely get around and need near-constant supervision. SIL (who is single) lives with MIL. Aunt-in-law lives up the street from them. I live two neighborhoods away, over a mountain and under a tree. (Just kidding, I have no tree). Usually, the burden lies with the SIL who is closer in proximity as well as in relation. I am called upon as the needs arise. And arise they have. I'm sorry, was I complaining of being bored and feeling alone? I rescind those comments, effective immediately.
AIL is currently in the hospital. MIL has had a few hospitalizations herself in recent years. Our new goal is to get these two old birds together in one house, so they can have each other for company, and it makes it easier for SIL to do whatever it is that she does. The obvious solution would be for the three of them to inhabit the larger home up the street once some renovations for accessibility are made. I shall dub it "Old Maid Haven".
The hubster has told me he picked out my birthday gift. Says it's something I've been wanting for a while. There are only 3 things I can think of that I've mentioned. He says it's not a ring, and its not a new crockpot. I can only assume it is a Mustang.
Speaking of birthdays, and home renovation. It's that time of year again, my annual "big" vacation time off of work when I plan an extended visit to my parent's in Va. Beach. We will recall last year when my plans for sun and fun were thwarted by the Big Bathroom Breakdown that resulted in completely gutting the room and making it so freaking awesome I never want to leave it. Wonder if this year we will be working on the OMH. Groan. If I have to spend one more birthday covered in gypsum dust, I will cry. 38, if any of you were wondering. Thirty.fucking.eight.
As an added bonus of having to search my phone listings to make a call from the cell, I realized I still have MaryAnn's numbers. I miss her so much. I called her home number the other day just to hear her outgoing message on the machine. I wonder if her husband cancelled her cell service. I considered calling it, too. I joked (to myself, and her) about the roaming charges. She would have found that amusing. I often think about her looking after Nick for me, holding him. Gives me a little solace, I suppose.
Brings to mind another post, for another time, about how I deal with myself and others. I'm still working on interpersonal relationships. A little bit of soul searching has enlightened me, even though I still need to enact some changes.
*The Girlfriend. Lovely gal. Longest relationship either of them have had in their short lives. Her mom and step dad moved the family down to SC last winter. When Josh was still here, they were able to see each other frequently, as she came back to visit from time to time. We flew her in for Prom. Of course, there was no "graduation ceremony", but she would have been here for that, too. She came in to stay with her grandma for a good chunk of the summer, before The Boy got on the job with his dad. That's how she got to come along with me for a visit. For her birthday, Josh bought her some jewelry. A nice necklace, perhaps? Earrings, a bracelet? Nope. He gave her a ring. A RING, of all things! With the little disclaimer that it wasn't really a promise ring, but, you know, they are going together and all. (He cringes when I say "going steady", because that sounds so old-fashioned, you know). The ring is a very nice gold band with set-in diamonds, just like I've been wanting, but never manage to get. G said he was upstaged by the kid, yet again. They have a theme song. "Hey there, Del!la.h". Months ago I switched our family plan over to unlimited minutes because they talk for hours on end. He's going down there (instead of coming home to see his poor old mother) next week. I like the girl very much, as do we all, and am impressed by my son's ability to stay focused on one thing for such a duration. They know they have a couple of years ahead of them before they are allowed to get TOO serious, and as time and young love goes, well, you know. In the back of my mind, I see two scenarios, both of them with glaring exclamation points and a giant "crap" thrown in for good measure. I am trying to step back and let it run its course, while still trying to be a good mother whose advice and meddling is unwelcome. Man, this is rough.
Guess that's all I have to share today. Have a splendid week/end!