I need very little help procrastinating, but sometimes people send me interesting articles like this one: http://youarenotsosmart.com/2010/10/27/procrastination/ When I read how predictable I am, I start to think that it's time to try to subvert the system. I will now write in lieu of my usual method of procrastination-- reading the DC Urban Moms (and Dads) forum. That forum has taught me two things-- first, that as much as I think I need advice from random people I've never met, I don't, and second, people are downright mean when their identity is not exposed.
Here are the things from the last few days that have gotten in the way of my Destination Dissertation, to steal the title of one of the many self-help books out there designed to guide aimless students through the process:
1. Jack started stumbling around like a drunken sailor. Granted, he's not a fantastic walker yet anyway, but last weekend made him look like a CUA student after too many nights at Hawk-n-Dove. Didn't seem really alarming, but then it came with a 104 degree fever. Time for a trip to the pediatrician. Ear infection! Oh joy.
2. Oh right, health insurance. David started a new job recently- and it turns out that said new job has a difficult time providing insurance cards in a timely manner. David quickly sent over a PDF of some kind of "proof of coverage," but literally that was all it said- that we are currently covered by some form of health insurance. No ID #, no help to the doctor's office. I expect a bill in the mail.
3. From the doctor's office we went straight to Target Pharmacy. Again, no health insurance, so thankfully Amoxicillin has been around since the dawn of time and is relatively inexpensive. Went down to the parking garage where an older woman was struggling to pay for her parking in the automated machine. I helped her, then could not for the life of me find my own parking ticket. Jack was stumbling around trying to hit the elevator buttons and wreak general havoc in the parking garage. The attendant charged me the full rate of $20.
4. So the next day he was still rather miserable, and by rather miserable I mean he spent pretty much every moment screaming his head off. It was time for a drive in the car with some soothing music. 20 minutes into the drive my phone rings-- it's the alarm company. Someone has opened our front door. Perhaps you haven't seen our front door. There is no way anyone could break into that thing. Did I leave it unlocked? Had I told David I'd lock it behind him and then just forgot? Nope. A real estate agent arrived unannounced and just opened the door. The house was a catastrophic disaster. Sippy cups everywhere, medicine droppers and bottles of baby Tylenol on every surface, Jack's breakfast try with decaying banana on the counter, his pajamas from the night before in the middle of the rug. (Thankfully I had had the good sense to put the soiled diaper in the diaper pail.) I rushed home to disarm the alarm and quickly clean up. Jack remained in the car whimpering. I called our agent to voice my "displeasure." He had just come out of the pediatrician's office with his daughter who, like Jack, was miserable with an ear infection.
There was more, but enough said. Whoever has the voodoo doll, please remove the pins.
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