Japan Is A NO GO
Well, the Japan assignment has been canceled. We are officially rejects. Our lease is up in about two weeks and we have no idea where we’re going, if anywhere. Where the heck is my Magic 8 Ball when I need it?? I am trying to stay calm. The Lord has always taken care of us and put us where we need to be. This is totally in His hands. But when your life is built around being a control freak, it’s soooo hard to let go.
Inferiority Complex
Visiting one of my favorite blogs, Dada Drummer, I noticed a pretty cool feature she has there. It’s a link to a site where you can type in your blog address and find out what reading level your page requires. Hers is flagged as a “Genius” site. I consider myself pretty sharp, so I expected to be told that only one or two people in the US had the reading ability for my blog. Unfortunately, the results told me otherwise.
ELEMENTARY SCHOOL?! What?! You’re telling me a second or third grader could grasp my meaty monologues? Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants. I’m tempted to just put a bunch of nonsensical or foreign words so that it skews high. But I’m above that. (Not really, I’m totally beneath that but figure this is a challenge.)
So if you see me desperately trying to put in words from my “Word a Day Calendar” or things you’d only see on Jeopardy, you’ll know what my ultimate goal is—GENIUS.
Will You Be My Kid’s Friend?
I know none of you will believe this, but my kids have grown up to be totally sarcastic. Shocking, isn’t it? So I’m used to their little bon mots entertaining me. But the boys had a friend over recently and he caught me off-guard.
He brought a little silver briefcase thingie with him. He opened it and all his Gameboy stuff was in there. I joked with him that I thought that was his case for carrying his poker chips. He responded, “I’m not allowed to carry my poker chips to sleepovers any more. Ever since I came home with more money than I went with.”
I couldn’t help laughing. And immediately turning to my boys and saying, “Remember, NEVER play cards with Tommy for money, OK?” My big kids just turned 12 and I guess this is when they start to really understand humor. Beyond butts and poops and farts. I love being around my kids already. I can only imagine how much fun they’ll be as their senses of humor develop into even more sarcastic adults.
OK, Maybe Not So Sane
I’ve always known that the Air Force doesn’t give a rat’s tushie about my feelings, but I’m beginning to think they are actually out to contribute to the worsening of my mental issues. I can see a bunch of old guys in uniforms sitting around a table: “OK, what’s our plan of action? How can we freak her shit out today?” I know, this is terribly self-centered. People have so many thing to worry about that don’t include tormenting me. But some days I just want to believe it’s all about me.
We’ve been planning our move to Japan for six months now. Getting the cat microchipped and up on her rabies shots (after leaving my hand bleeding the first visit, she is now flagged as “muzzle required” at the vet.) Researching housing and schools (what do you mean the Japanese don’t build houses for families with five kids??) We even bought a van there for heaven’s sake! We’ve got the packers scheduled and our flights out of town are in just two and a half weeks. Two days ago, we received a phone call that they don’t have the facilities to take care of our family’s medical needs there. (I won’t go into details, but they are very minor.) They are telling us that the only way we’d go to Okinawa is if we sign something acknowledging that these services aren’t available. Uh, a doctor has said they’re NECESSARY. Hellooooo?
So now, it seems like the move to Japan might be canceled. If so, we’ve got to find another assignment in the next two weeks and figure out what the heck we’re gonna do. There’s a chance we could stay where we are, which would be cool for the most part. The sucky part is that I’ve already found new renters for this house and they are moving in as soon as we move out. Wasn’t that nice and thoughtful of me??
Sigh. It’s now just hurry-up-and-wait and stress in the meantime. I pity the next telemarketer who calls to sell me a car warranty. They will catch the full force of my frustration and wrath. I have a feeling the wine we were trying to finish up before the move is going to go rather quickly over the next week.
Update–They’ve decided that it’s best to leave us hanging over this cliff for the weekend. The people in Japan are 13 hours ahead, so we can’t even call to yell at them since it’s already Saturday there. I know a good Christian would pray for them, but I’m struggling with that concept.
No, Seriously, I’m Totally Sane
Now that the Baghdaddy is back, I guess he should be called something else. Maybe Sugar Daddy? I am a kept woman and he is the man keeping me. Since he’s in the military, I’ve cycled through a few rank-themed nicknames for him. The first was Lieutenant Dan. My personal fave was Cap’n Crunch. Currently, I call him Major Pain. With his next promotion, I’m leaning towards Colonel Klink or Colonel Flagg (MASH fans will relate to that one.) Or should I come up with something connected to Lt Col Oliver North?
So, the Sugar Daddy and I were entertaining a few friends last night. Some nice people we’ve met in the Air Force over the last few years. A good time was had by all, with multiple bottles of wine, prosecco, cremant, and beer consumed. (We brought over 200 bottles of wine/booze back from Germany three years ago and are trying to finish up the dregs before our move next month. Mostly bubbly stuff that we don’t normally drink on a nightly basis.)
The Sugar Daddy left early for a work thing today. It’s our first week of no school, and I was so excited to NOT have to set an alarm. We got to sleep in a little and BabyGirl woke me up around 8:40. I brought her downstairs and then called my psychiatrist. I am usually really particular about putting appointments on the calendar, but had not written this one down. I knew I had a “happy pill refill” meeting with her, but couldn’t remember when. Turns out I was supposed to be there at 9 am. Oops.
Two conflicting thoughts started wrestling in my head at this point. Throw on some clothes, a hat, gargle and go. This was my chance to get the refills I needed for my move to Japan. However, I also know that the doctor evaluates my appearance, making sure I’m all put together. (“Is she dressed like a sane person, or more like a hobo who’s worn the same clothes for the past week?”) I didn’t have time to worry. I grabbed the clothes that were on the floor closest to my side of the bed, ran wet hands through my hair, and made the effort to brush my teeth. I ran into the doc’s office dressed in wrinkled clothes, with unwashed hair, and, if I’m honest with myself here, a wee bit hung over. This is not the way I’d like for this woman to see me. If there are any competency hearings, she will be front and center.
But there was no need to worry. She ticked all the correct boxes about me being dressed normally and acting appropriately. I was not escorted to the padded room. Just given my “mother’s little helper” and sent on my way. To act irresponsibly for yet another day.
