Actually, I've learned quite a few things. Some I'm sure other parents could've easily told me. But do I listen? Noooo, I'm all-knowing. I'm gonna learn the hard way! But, here's some lessons she's taught me:
1) It doesn't matter what the gift is, she'd rather eat the wrapping paper. She will also have more fun with the wrapping paper than anything else.
2) It doesn't matter what kind of expensive baby food I buy her, she'd much rather gnaw on the dogs tail. Thank God we have a very understanding dog that doesn't mind if she's got a death grip on her ears while gnawing on her tail.
3) When introducing solid foods, don't introduce fruits first. Why? Because unless you want a Top Notch Snit on your hands, just don't. The first time I tried to get her to eat peas instead of the apple sauce she's used to, not only did she spit it out (on me, no less) she got mad. And, like her Mama, once she's mad it takes an Act of God to get her calmed down.
4) Speaking of solid foods, thank you Keebler and thank the inventor of graham crackers. In the store, and forgot to pack a bottle? Whip out a Keebler Club cracker or a graham cracker and you're good for at least 15 minutes. Also provides some prime photo ops.
5) Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, don't interupt Pook's routine. Don't have the time to give her a bath right at 2000 hours? Better make time. Daddy not there to play bath squirties with her? Better get here. Don't have the lotion for her nightly massage? Damn well better find some. Why? Because screwing up her routine makes her one angry baby who refuses to sleep.
6) Speaking of sleep, that kid has an internal alarm clock like you would not believe. It doesn't matter if she goes to bed at 2300 or 2000, she is UP at 0730, like clockwork. And ready to be fed, changed, and played with. There is no snooze button on her, either. No giving her a binky so you can get an extra couple Z's, no bringing her into bed with you so she'll calm down so you can sleep. When she's up, she is UP. And you better be ready to cater to her every whim, unless you want WW3 on your hands.
7) When she's hungry, she's hungry now. She will not wait the 1 minute it takes to get her food prepared. Nope, she wants it all, and she wants it now. (Bonus points if you not only know what band sang that lyric, but what song it's from.) Oh, and she doesn't give you any warning. She doesn't just start to get fussy, she just is fussy. One minute you're playing happily with wrapping paper, the next she's screaming like a banshee and demanding food.
8) Everyone said I deserved a daughter just like me. Well guess what I got. A hard-headed, stubborn, won't sleep kid. Just like me. I should've known God has a sense of humor. When she's tired, you can't just lay her down and leave it at that. Not unless you want to hear ear-piercing screams for twenty minutes. Nope, you have to more or less wear her out until she's ready to drop then lay her down. Still screams, but it's only for a minute or so.
Those are just a few of the many life lessons I have learned. Like I said, God has a sense of humor. Which is why I ended up with a baby girl just. Like. Her. Mother. Someone's having a good laugh at my expense. (DAD!)
As they are wont to do, the weather people were wrong. They predicted 2-4" which turned into more like 6-8". So my office shut down at 1400 again. So, I slowly drove to my daycare. And when I mean slow, I mean I never got out of second gear. All was well until I turned onto my street to pull into the alley where I park.
I'm driving down the right side, prepared to make the trek into my alley, which our neighbor cleared with his snow blower. Some dickfuck decided to use the street like the damn Autoban and drove right down the middle, doing about 45. Now mind you, the side streets in my neighborhood are like ice arenas, and most intelligent people are doing 15-20 MPH. But not this genius! Nope, I've me here this four-wheel-drive pickup truck and I'ma gonna do what I's feel like doin'! At any rate, he's coming right at me and I've got Pooker Butt in the car with me. I can tell he's not making any attempts at slowing down, much less stopping.
In about a nanosecond I've got 2 choices: swerve into a berm or collide head on and make my car resemble a crumpled beer can. Well, I chose to swerve and risk having my bumper dented.
The car did indeed hit the berm, and the bumper is indeed dented. The fucknut actually had the gall to yell out "MOVE IT, BITCH!" Um, excuse me? You're the one driving far too fast for conditions, and putting not only the lives of my daughter and I at risk, but yours as well.
I tried to get a plate number, but of course, snows got his license plate covered. Of course. A good samaratin helped push and dig me out and after about 45 minutes, we got free. In the meantime, however, Pooks getting scared from the sound of the engine revving that high. So as I'm trying to rock myself out, I'm also trying to calm her down by saying, "It's okay, honey, Mommy's here, Mommy loves you, look there's our house!"
So...To the dick fucking douche nugget asshole in the older red SUV who damn near killed me: Thanks, ass wipe. There's nothing quite like the fear that your infant daughter will be harmed. I hope you come home to your wife getting fucked up the ass by your bosses wife wearing a strap on, your 15 year old daughter proclaiming that she's pregnant and her biker boyfriend are getting married, and the PD knocking at the door informing you that your son was caught whoring himself out to other men in Riverfront Park. You deserve it.
Lots of families have Christmas traditions. My family was no different, but Boyds being Boyds we had to do things differently. Here's some of the traditions in my house:
H1 and I would get up at 4 AM to compare stocking loot. We'd grab Dad's Maglite flashlight and rifle through it all, stuff it back in, and sleep for another hour or so. Then we'd race into Mom & Dads room and screech, "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP! SANTA CAME, GET UP!" To which they'd mumble, "Yes, we know. Now get the coffee going."
Another iron-clad tradition was the food. Every major holiday we had olives & deviled eggs. Food played a big role in my house growing up. H1 always got 2 cans of olives in her stocking, and I got a can of Frenches French Fried Onions. Weird, maybe. Delicious, yes.
Most kids lay out cookies and milk for Santa. Oh no, not us! We lived up to our Arkansas & Idaho roots! We left directions to the microwave, a can of soup, apple juice, deer jerky, Chapstick, a toothpick, and baby carrots for Rudolph. (Though one time H1 and I were debating as to whether or not we should lay out apple or grape juice and the Old Wolf muttered, "I think Santa would like a cold beer.")
How did we find out Santa wasn't real? Well, for starters, the Old Wolf wrote a letter from Santa to us every year. We started to wonder why Santas handwriting was a spot-on-spot match for his. The coup de grace came when we caught Mom on the phone, arguing with "Santa" over the Visa bill for H1's guitar and my porcelain doll. When I questioned her on it, she replied, "Santa's interest rates are damn near usery!" Later on that night, the Old Wolf made me see the light. As it turns out, the Easter Bunny & Tooth Fairy aren't real, either. Who knew?
One rule my mother enforced: Thank You cards. You couldn't play with it, wear it, or spend it until you wrote and sent Thank you cards. H1 & I learned real quick to get those sent right after gifts were opened. And hey, nothing wrong with some manners, right?
Anyway, that's all she wrote for Christmas 2008. Merry Christmas, y'all! Love you!
Ever opened up a Christmas gift and wanted to bawl? C'mon, we've all been there. Whether it was Aunt Edna giving you yet another ass-ugly Christmas sweater that Mom will make you wear for "just one picture" or opening up a gift that practically screams "I was bought at midnight last night at 7-11!". Here's my list of the top 10 All-Time Worst Christmas Gifts:
1) Chia Pet
The old stand-by. Nobody likes watching Scooby-Doo grow a head of alfalfa. Seriously, what better way to tell the recipient you totally forgot about them than with a Chia Pet?
2) Socks
Again, all you're doing here is telling me how much you totally forgot.
3) Birth Control
Yes, you read that right. Planned Parenthood is giving out gift certificates, and of course, they're the perfect gift. Thanks, but I'll keep my sexual health and birth control preferences to myself thanks, Mom. Awk-ward!
4) Holiday Sweaters
Look, if we wear them it's because Mom forced us to. Other than that, they're going in the backs of our closets never to see the light of day again.
5) Exercise Equipment
Exactly what are you trying to tell me here, dickshit?
6) Cooking or Cleaning Supplies
I don't care if you absolutley love my meatloaf or the way the glass sparkles after I'm done brings tears to your eyes. Now is not the time to say it.
7) Anything used
The ONLY exception here is jewelry. And even that comes with a few caveats (for example, don't give wife #2 a bracelet that wife #1 wore, unless you like getting divorced.) But if the DVD is missing the celophane, has a few scratches, or that 'gourmet' popcorn tin is missing some kernels....Tacky.
8) Clothing
My parents used to buy me clothing they wanted to see my wear, not stuff I'd actually wear. Look folks, chances are you're going to get the wrong size, wrong color, or wrong style in general. Stick to gift cards.
9) Anything living
Such as, oh say, a puppy? (If you do, tell Mom first. The only reason I wasn't killed was because Jesus frowns upon murdering your young on Christmas Eve.)
10) Fruitcake
Then again, if your intention is to quietly & underhandedly tell the person how much you loathe & despise them, go for it. As a matter of fact, there are a few people on my Scrooge list getting fruitcake this year.
* * *
Every parent has rules for their child(ren). I'm no different. Now, even though the Old Wolf may slightly disagree, I was a complete angel growing up. However, occasionaly I would misbehave. I assure you, these were few and far between. (If your definition of few is 5 times daily.) So, in light of personal experience, here's the rules I've concocted for Pook.
1) No dating until you're 18.
No, seriously. I know exactly what boys want, and they're not getting it from you. Besides, I'm not letting some prick break your heart. I'd have to kill the little bastard, and apparently the law frowns upon it.
2) No shaving your legs.
Nobodies going to be touching them, so why do they need to be smooth? If God wanted your legs hairless, He would've made them that way.
3) No tank-tops, shorts, or short skirts.
Showing skin reminds boys of being naked. Being naked reminds them of sex. See rules number one.
4) You may nothing stronger than coffee to drink.
I know exactly what happens when people drink alcohol. (How do you think half the world population came into existence?) If you want to know what happens if you smoke cigarettes, ask Grandpa what he did when he caught Mommy with them.
5) God gave you a certain number of holes.
Keep it that way. No piercings of any kind. This goes for tatoos, too. If God had wanted you to be inked or with more holes than you already have...That's right, He would've given them to you.
6) When you do finally date, make sure the guy turns in the completed packet.
He needs to turn in the application, credit history, job history, 3 letters of reccomendation (1 must be from a religious figure), dating history, criminal history, social security number, and polygraph analysis. Packets turned in without any of the aforementioned means you're staying home and Douchebag Boy has 3 seconds to leave my property before I load the 12 gauge.
Well, now that we got that cleared up! You go and have a fun time, sweetheart.
No doubt about it, this has been a rollercoaster year for me. There's never been a dull moment, especially with a new baby in the house. Here's my best & worst moments of 2008, in no particular order.
BEST:
1) Not ignoring what my body is trying to tell me. In the past, I used to pretty much ignore my body. I would simply go about my day, ignoring whatever was bothering me. But since I spent half of 2008 with child and the other half worrying about her, I've changed. Of course when you're pregnant, you're incredibly in tune with your body. That saved my life when I woke up in April unable to breathe, and doctors discovered I had a huge blood clot in my left lung. Had they not caught it in time, it could've broke loose & killed not only me but my (then) unborn child. Also, I finally learned that I can't be a good Mama if I don't take care of myself. If I feel like I'm at risk for having a seizure, I now have no problems letting someone know so I don't put myself or others in danger.
2) Putting Pook before myself. Not trying to sound like a martyr, but my selfishness level has plummeted since I had Pook. And trust me, I used to be one of the most selfish women you could ever hope not to meet. The weird thing is, I don't mind putting her before me. I actually like it. The smile on her face, her magical laugh is a drug, and I am addicted. Try to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no! People tried to warn me that I would do anything, go anywhere, and sacrifice more than I could imagine for my child. But really, until you become a parent, you don't know how true that is. I've never before in my life felt such an overwhelming, overpowering love, devotion, fear, and protectiveness towards anybody. Ask the Old Wolf, ask Bryan, hell ask Joe: I will die for Pook, if need be. When my OB told me that labor could very well turn into a life or death situation, without even thinking I told him, "Save the baby. Take her. I don't care, I've had a good life, just save my baby." I never thought I would say that- and mean it.
3) Realizing the importance of me time. Again, if Mama's losin' her damn mind, it's hard to be a Mama. And before I had Pook, since I had an over-abundance of me time, I didn't realize how important it would be. And I also didn't realize how much the simple things would be sooo refreshing. A long, hot bath with a good book. A drive with the radio turned up. A long walk by myself. When Mamahood gets a little too much for me, I tell Bryan to watch the kidlette while I take an hour for myself. One hour of me time= two weeks of uninterupted Pook time. It also stopped the cycle of Mama-martyrdom that I learned so well from my own Mother. I didn't want Pook to feel like she was a burden, or a chore to me; a feeling I got from my Mother growing up. Me time ensures that I don't do that.
4) Taking better care of my mental health. I've suffered from depression all my life. I've battled it daily. Part of it is a genetic predisposition to it. It runs rampant in my Mothers family. Part of it was getting conflicting messages growing up: the Old Wolf trying to instill a sense of self-worth in me while my Mother was telling me that I wasn't good enough. That battle with depression turned into an all-out war when I got pregnant. The hormones wreaked havoc with me. I lashed out at anyone & everyone, and screamed more than I talked. And once I had Pook, I was a complete mess. I had horrible post-partum depression. Now, this isn't something I would normally broadcast on the internet but what the hell? Ever since I moved out on my own and met my exhusband, I have been slicing different body parts to ribbons. For years, no one knew. I cut in places nobody but me could see. But once post-partum depression set in, I set about making my scars more visible. It was a desperate plea for someone to notice and force me to get help. Finally, someone did. Bryan caught me doing it, and placed a frantic phone call to my Father. He and my stepmom raced up here to get me through the darkest hour of my life. Ever since that intervention, I have gotten help and I take care of my mental health. Again: I do NOT Pook to remember Mama was a depressed person.
5) Focusing on the bigger picture. This, too, shall pass. That little nugget of wisdom has gotten me through a lot. When Pook would not stop crying, or would not go to sleep, "This, too, shall pass" became my mantra. Eventually, I will have this baby. Eventually, she will stop crying. Eventually, she will sleep through the night. Eventually, she'll be able to play by herself. Eventually, she'll be potty trained. Eventually, she won't have to eat special foods. I won't always be this broke. I will one day have the car I really want. Eventually, my parents divorce will be finalized. Nothing lasts forever. Sometimes, that's bad news. I know that one day she won't want me to hug and kiss her and blow raspberries at her. One day everything I say and do will embarass the shit out of her. Nothing lasts forever. But, for right now, her favorite place is in my lap making silly faces at each other. It's then that "This, too, shall pass" breaks my heart.
WORST:
1) Being in labor...Yeah, not my finest 17 hours. While the Old Wolf was telling me, "Heidi, breathe. Like in class, I know you can do it." I was screeching "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" And when my longsuffering OB told me, "Push!" I technically did push. For all of 3 seconds. The look he gave me was priceless. He told me "Don't half-ass it, Heidi. You don't half-ass anything, now push!" I also decided then and there that even though I was in labor, I wasn't going to half-ass the sarcasm: NO! KEEP HER IN THERE! THIS SHIT HURTS! Yeah, because that's sooo an option when you're in labor. My Mother also pretty much bumped Bryan and the Old Wolf out of her way and took over, much to my fury. Those were the two people I wanted most, and she didn't like that. I wish I would've told her to fuck off and step aside. (Because, truly, when else can you tell either parent to fuck off and get away with it?)
2) Causing my family unneccesary pain. Part of me still wishes my Father would never have found out that I cut myself. He's been through so much in the last few years, and more than his fair shair of pain. He didn't need my problems added onto it. But I also wish I would've gotten help sooner to nip it in the bud. I could've saved myself, and my family so much heartache and crying. And besides, who the fuck wants to hang onto pain? Not me. (They said giving birht would raise my pain tolerance. They lied. I'm still a total pussy when it comes to pain.) (Any kind of pain.)
3) Telling Bryan he would never see is daughter again. Again, post-partum depression at work. I remember that fight like it was yesterday: Pook was 6 weeks old. I had been trying to be Super-Mom all day. Watch the baby, clean the house, work out, and look fabulous by the time he got home. I was running on empty. Bryan came home (he was working 2 jobs at the time) and he plopped down on the couch, rightfully exhausted. I snapped. I called him several names, mostly running in the you-lazy-good-for-nothing-bastard vein. He told me that he put up with Angel's moody craziness for 8 years, and if I didn't get help, we would be history. He wasn't going to put himself or his kids through that again. I took that to mean he didn't care about me or our daughter and screamed at the top of my lungs, "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I'M LEAVING RIGHT NOW AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE HER AGAIN!" We both knew I didn't mean it, but just seeing that I had that kind of venom readily available scared us both. I knew that I wouldn't do that to Pooker or him, but I do what my Mother taught me to do: when you're arguing, go for the jugular right away. Do the most damage you can, hurt as much as you can. You can always apologize later. While yes, you can apologize later...The damage is already done, and you can't unspeak the words.
4) Letting the little things bother me for far too long. Okay, so the dishes are still in the sink and that laundry aint gonna fold itself. That used to bug the ever-loving shit out of me. Everything had to be just so, everything had to be in place and perfect. Because God knows when you reach the pearly Gates, it won't matter what kind of life you tried to lead, it will matter if you organized the closet. And honestly, ladies, if you've been running nonstop all damn day and you're on your lips tired and you've got the choice between cuddling up on the couch with your sweety or doing the dishes....You know the answer.
5) Trying to be Super Mom. "But mothers in the past have done it, so can I!" No, you can't. Just admit it. Mothers today have wayyy much more on their plates and more responsibility than they ever did. We're expected to lose the baby weight in 3 fucking weeks, keep a spotless house, look fabulous, have perfect angels for children, have a booming career, homecook delicious, nutritious meals, and have a picture perfect marriage. Anything less than that and you're somehow failing. But honestly, if you're giving it your best shot, then you're succeeding. I tried to be Super Mom and lemme tell ya, I damn near killed myself. (Literally, I had seizure after seizure after seizure.) I finally realized, almost too late, that there's only 24 hours in a day. And if at the end of those 24 hours, some things get left undone, that that's just fine. The baby weight will never permanently leave. My hips are permenently wider, my tummy has a bit of a permanent pooch, but you know what? I can still look H-O-T! My house never will be spotless. Sorry, but that ain't happenin' with 3 small children and a dog. And I don't look fabulous all the time. (Shocker, I know. Breathe, it's okay.) Unless I'm leaving the house, I'm in sweats and a tank top. And while Bryans kids aren't demons, NO CHILD is perfect all the time. My career? Eh. I have a job. Maybe once the economy looks up I'll switch, but for right now I'm holding onto this job for dear life. As for the cooking, I've never liked to cook and I probably never will. So if I have to do the cooking, chances are it's coming out of a box or a can. And is my relationship with Bryan picture perfect? HELL NO! I wouldn't want a perfect relationship, anyway.
Here's to a bitchin' 2009!
Like my style? Like how I write? Like how I view the world around me?
Pshaw, that's nothing. You should hear my Father, the Old Wolf! As my lovely friend Adam put it, "Heidi, you are your father in the female form." So, if you like me, you'll looooove the Old Wolf.
I'm trying to convince him to guest blog on here. But I need all y'alls help! (Yes, you read that right. I did just say all y'all.) Leave your comments and help me convince the greatest mortal that ever lived to blog!
Okay, I'm done now. For reals this time.
Part of me really loves Christmas. I love the lights. I love the food. People are nicer, even me. (Yes, snarky, sarcastic me is nicer. Kinda.) I love the Peace On Earth, Goodwill to men feeling. Everything seems just a little magical.
Then there's the Mrs. Hyde part of me that wishes Christmas would go screw itself. (My Father will kill me for that one, I just know it.) Before I get the e-Mails about how unChristian I am and such, hear me out. Most of my problem revolves around society, retailers, and the media. Society: since when did celebrating Christmas mean giving your spoiled little demons every little thing they vented a desire for? Does little Damien (bonus points if you know what movie I refer to) need another video game he'll never play? Case in point: first Christmas with Bryan and I. I had just started a new job and I was B-R-O-K-E. But I still wanted to get the kiddos something. I got them each their own individual towel sets and a small toy. They opened them up and said, "Eh, towels. NEXT!" and promptly tossed them aside. I was heartbroken. Bryan grabbed both kids and remedied that little issue. Now, retailers: is there a particular reason why you have Christmas stuff out when it's not even Halloween yet? If you wanna start the day after Thanksgiving, fine with me. But otherwise, KNOCK IT OFF! You're cheapening it! It's better to have it for a month, it makes it more specail! Now, media. I hate you the most. I am sick-to-damn-death of the ads proclaiming "If you don't get him/her this, you SUCK!" If you don't get her this eleventy-gajillion dollar diamond ring, you don't love her! And another thing, Christmas means everything is "the perfect gift!" Newsflash: Chia pets aren't the perfect gift, nor is the Ped-Egg. Matter of fact, if I opened up a Chia pet Christmas morning I would wonder what I did to piss the gift giver off that bad. But again, I'm tired of the media trying to make me feel like hell because I'm not going $10k into debt over gifts. As a matter of fact, I used the gift card I won at the office Christmas party for Bryans gift, and I made the gifts for the Old Wolf and Cindy this year!
I just wish we would focus more on being together with the ones we love, and on celebrating the Christ Child's birth than presents. Don't get me wrong, presents are nice. But isn't a more special when you get one or two things you really, really wanted than 50 things you're lukewarm about?
Oh, yeah and it's snowing today and we're supposed to get 7 inches. Bah Humbug and such.
Dear Mommy Guilt,
Hello there again. It's always nice when you drop in. I've been meaning to say this for some time now, so I guess now is as good a time as ever. Whew, here I go: KISS MY ASS. I've never liked you to begin with, and tonight just sealed the deal for our break up. You read me correct, I told you to kiss off. Permanently, you bitch. That is all.
Sincerely,
Heidi
So tonight was my office party. As everyone knows, Pook has had a cold for the last week or so. But, Bryans parents offered to take her overnight, and we all too happily accepted. After all, Bryan and I haven't been out without the kids since Pook was born. And I haven't had the chance to dress up in over a year, either. And by dress up, I mean I got my nails done, my hair done, my makeup done, bought a new dress, and shaved my legs. Ever since I bought my $20 dress, I've been fighting off waves of Mommy guilt. My nails cost another $15. Part of me knows that spending $20 on a dress and $15 on a brand new set of nails is dirt cheap. But the Mommy guilt part of me knows that that's $35 that could've gone towards some for Pook. At any rate, we went to my office party. And I had a drink! And I had fun! And I didn't worry about Pook! (Granted, the inlaws have roughly 50 years combined nursing experience under their belts, raised Bry and his sister and Bubs and T.) At any rate, the conversation didn't revolve around her cold, eating habits, or bowel movements! (Why am I online instead of enjoying my night alone? I digress.)
But tonight I actually let myself enjoy myself. For the first time since she was born. And tonight, I've officially decided that the Mommy Guilt I've been carrying around over this party can KISS MY ASS. I deserve some me time every now and then, dammit.
 Afterwards, exhausted but happy.
 Isn't it bad when the next morning you look better than you did the night before?
So after 4 hours of trying to unsuccesfully slurp coffee and talk coherently, I begged Bryan to pick me up for lunch. Our destination? The store. We's a-gonna get us somma that there oral anesthetic.
And boy did we. We picked up the strongest stuff you can buy, Kanka. And thank GOD for Kanka! I can talk now! I can eat! I can drink beverages! Bless you, Kanka makers.
Sure it tastes like crap and smells like my Grandma Baird (its bad, trust me), but who cares? As Bryan put it "If you're not in pain, its worth it." That's another thing- when the boy gets it right, he gets it right. He doesn't want to see me in pain, (or maybe he just wants me to shut up. Hell, I don't care), and he's willing to pay $6.59 to get me well again!
Guess what else we're buying tonight? A humidifier! Why? Because Pook would only sleep if she was on my chest and since the hot water tank is miniscule in my house, that only worked for about 20 minutes. And yeah, I know kids get colds. I know they have to, it builds up their immune system. I still feel like hell. I know that it's not my fault, it's not like I paraded her outside with a wet head. But still. No parent likes their kid being sick and miserable and I'm no different.
Well, it's official. Pook has a cold. The first cold of her life. Fuck me sideways, this blows. She won't eat, won't sleep, and has the tiniest little cough I've ever heard. Oh, and lets not forgot the fact that she cries. Nonstop. Nothing makes her happy. The last 24 hours in my house have been rife with crying, as well as Bryan and I mumbling sleepily, "Your turn."
Aaaand what sick family would be complete without an under the weather Mama? Yes, thanks to my stupid brain relocating the pain from my tongue, I have a killer earache.
Now before people start saying "You should try..." please keep in mind that until Bryan gets paid tomorrow we're dead broke. How broke is dead broke? Dead broke as in if the car ran out of gas right now, we wouldn't be going anywhere. Dead broke as in Vicks VapoRub is $4 and it's out of the question. So, until he gets paid there is no buying Vicks, or the humidifier that we so badly need.
And we still have to pay for her daycare, (where she got the cold in the first place), get groceries, and try to have Christmas. Oh yeah, and I'm supposed to be saving money so I can fucking have fun in California.
Aaaaaand, screw you too!
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