Nine to Five

I've slept the sleep of a thousand camels. Or however it is that saying is supposed to go. I'd search the nearest phrase book or fortune cookie, but I'm not sure it's going to help. Last night, I tucked my five year old, Lanes, to bed by eight thirty and I think I fell asleep before she did. Next thing I knew, it was morning and she was jabbing her possibly germy fingers into my eyes and mouth with glee.

I felt rather refreshed and decided to be proactive. I busted out the vacuum and made several meals for the following week. Or rather, parts of several meals. By 2pm I was feeling tired all over again. Thanks to my furniture store loving spouse, P, Lanes was complaining about flu symptoms on one sofa, P was researching flights on the one opposite her, and I was curled up on the third and thus far final couch.

Before I knew it, I was snoring with my mouth wide open, with all the grace of an angry giraffe that's toppled over. Not that I've ever seen one. The next thing I know, it's 6pm and Lanes was hovering over me wondering why no dinner was produced before her.

Why have I been auditioning for the role of narcoleptic of the year? I had an unexpected change in my lifestyle. After feeding my résumé to cyber oblivion only to get no response, I was feeling rather like the girl that no one asked to dance. Ok, I only sent out about three résumés recently, but still, to get my groove back, I realized I should give my cover letter and CV a makeover.

There is a government sponsored five week course that helps people who have been out of work get back out there. I applied for one, got in the next day, and the day after that, I was reporting for 'work' bright and early. I felt like Solomon Grundy.

The classes are 9-4 every day. Lanes and I have to wake up earlier as a result, and trust me, she is not a morning person. Her only consolation is that she is enjoying having her beloved Daddy take over the school runs from me, and thus she only looks like angry dandelion for two minutes of each morning.

While jealous at the adoration falling like rose petals for royalty at P’s feet, I was relieved that Lanes took the sudden change well. Since everything was last minute, I had no chance to give her some warning about it all. The only hint that she missed me was that she made me a bracelet and earrings at school.

I dutifully wore them, faux pearls and all and she was delighted. The earrings, green on one side and pink on the other, nicely offset the miserable homeopathy Band-Aids I had on my left ear.  I guess it’s a good thing folks are not falling over to interview me. I must be looking quite the sight.

Lanes did have to make one sacrifice though. Her class was going for skating lessons and she had to give that up because I was not there to micromanage her gear changes and then to hyperventilate at the side of the rink every time she falls down and channels a sea lion. I think I might have to promise her a pony or at last a very cute donkey to make up for it, but I'll deal with that when the time comes.

In other family news, Lanes went for her very first eye test last weekend. It was not quite brilliantly scheduled for right after her swimming lesson. Because she was tired, I imaged that it would be a long day for the optician or ophthalmologist, or whatever the doctor is called. Surprisingly, Lanes was a real champ and over eager to oblige.

I was wondering if she was drinking the water from the pool or something. The doctor was delighted with her and she kept commenting on what a delightful and intelligent child Lanes was. I decided to plead the fifth and just smiled like a jackass.

Turns out, Lanes wanted to 'win' a pair of glasses by passing the test. She was rather disappointed to find out it didn't work that way.  She was packed off with P to do grocery shopping while I took my test, and to make up for the glasses she made out like a bandit and came home with marshmallows, sun chips, and a variety of cheeses.

Back at the ranch, the optician at the front desk immediately pointed at me and said 'oh are you the one who threw her husband's contacts down the drain? We heard all about you!'. I was mortified--because it was true.

P had got brand new yearly contact lenses. He insisted on keeping them in a case identical to mine, against my warnings. On New Year’s Eve, I was exhausted and I absentmindedly emptied the contents of his case down the drain.

I was completely oblivious to it until he was frantically searching for them the next day.  For some reason, it dawned on me what would have happened, and I debated staying very quiet about it, but I felt sorry for him and admitted my wrong doing. He was surprisingly calm  and said he was ok because he got a spare. Big surprise.

Again, P is the type of guy who is ever prepared and on the ball. In high school, he would have been the butt of every dirty look by the class clown, chief procrastinators and those voted most likely not to succeed in the Yearbook.

He had failed to mention he went to get a new pair at the same place I was taking the exam. The two opticians were sharing some horrified laughter over the story, and I realized once again that brown people can turn bright red.

Meanwhile, P is determined to plan a trip to the motherland, but like anything he sets his mind to, several man hours of research and note taking would go into this process.  For the sake of maintaining my sanity, I tune it all out until a final decision is made. I hold veto power and that’s all that matters. 

Last I heard we were going to fly via the North Pole, Frankfurt, or Addis Ababa.  If we got a good rate, I’m sure P wouldn’t stop short of labeling us and sending us all cargo on a FedEx flight. Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t just give him an idea.

With that I must sign off. I am still recovering from my full week.  P and Lanes are putting up some pictures in the living room that no doubt require my two cents. More musings from BC next week…