Aug 10

Last days of work…

Tuesday ended up being my last day of work thanks to a management (ahem) decision wherein I was told that I didn’t need to stick around the rest of the week. (I had given a full two weeks notice, so that my last day would be August 11.) After the initial shock (and anger and disappointment etc) wore off, I found I really wasn’t surprised. This department has a very poor track record of allowing people to finish out their notices, a habit that will someday bite them in the ass when a dismissed person goes back and files for unemployment after being terminated early. (Actually, my mistake was probably in finishing up the last of my reports last week. I should have hung onto one of them and not turned it in until Thursday. [g])

But it all ends up being for the best, even though it gives me a break in my income that I had not wanted. This way I have several free days to finish up my preparations for the Writers of the Future workshop. Not to mention I get to enjoy some free time, since with a new job it will be a while before I can take any kind of extended leave. Also, as my dear husband told me the evening after I was told to cut my time short, that action definitely erases any doubts or regrets that I might have had about leaving the Sheriff’s Office. Just seems a shame that seven years of commended service had to end that way, but then again, that’s part of why I am leaving in the first place.

Okay, I could go on and on about THAT whole issue, but I won’t.

So, no less than three people called me this morning to tell me about the new issues with flight travel that have arisen in the past day. I’ve been following it as much as possible and it seems to me that so far it primarily affects international travelers, especially those flights coming in from the UK. However, I must say that I am extremely glad that I managed to change my departure flight. I had originally been booked on a flight that left at 5:30pm on Sunday, arriving in San Diego at 11pm. Unfortunately, I had not looked closely at my itinerary until just a few weeks ago which is when I realized that I was booked on the very last flight of the night–something that always makes me quite nervous, especially when it for travel to an event that is just a little important to me. When I first tried to rebook the flight to something earlier, I was told that it would cost me over $500 to change it, since fares had gone up in the intervening time. Therefore, I spent the next week haunting, and finally chanced on a fairly cheap fare out of Baton Rouge which only ended up costing me about $100 to change to. This one leaves at 7am, which should give me MORE than enough time to deal with any flight cancellation disasters that might strike.

I am beginning my packing today, and slowly checking items off of my various lists of Things To Do, and Things To Clean, and Things To Buy, and Things To Pack. I’m also having to pack a suitcase for Anna since she is going to spend the week with her “TeeTah” (AKA her Aunt Sherry), which includes various legal forms such as power of attorney for my sister in the event she needs to obtain medical care for the kid, or travel with her (if a hurricane or some other diaster comes along), or if she just gets sick of her and decides to sell her into white slavery.

I’m also getting my various Girlie Things done this week. Yesterday I got my hair cut and recolored, got my eyebrows waxed, and got my toes prettified. (2006 marked the beginning of my addiction to pedicures and brow waxes. I’m almost 40 years old and I’m just now discovering these joys of girl-hood. Why oh why did I ever wait so long??) I’ve spent a healthy sum of money on clothing, which was actually kinda cool since the reason for most of the purchases was the fact that I have lost a considerable amount of weight since the beginning of the year and am now fitting quite nicely into a size 8. However, it was very easy to justify the clothing purchases, since I am about to start a job that requires me to wear “real” clothing instead of a uniform.

And, fortunately, the tropics have been nice and quiet, for the most part, which means that there should be no risk of a hurricane to threaten my departure. (I don’t really care if one comes along to delay my return!)

I’m hoping to maintain this blog during the workshop, so if you navigated to this site looking for WOTF info and insights I hope you end up satisfied. If you came here looking for info and insights into powerlifting, you’re going to have to wait a week and a half until I get back.

Aug 5

Her mother’s daughter!

Anna makes muscles.

Aug 1

This timeout crap is for the birds. Give me a taser.

Sunday I was playing with Anna, the game where she says, “Go to sleep!!” and I put my head down on the couch and pretend to snore for a couple of seconds until she shrieks, “Wake up!!” Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseum. Finally, after about 376 rounds of the Go To Sleep Wake Up game she got really close to me, put her face a couple of inches from mine and said with a grin, “Look at me!”

I obliged and looked at her. She then continued, lifting both hands in front of her for emphasis, “Don’t hit Miles!” (Miles is one of the kids in her daycare class.)

I busted out laughing, since it was painfully obvious that she has been told this far too many times.

She is, alas, at that age where she expresses discontent, frustration, hunger, love, thirst, boredom, joy, and every other emotional state by taking a hefty swat at whatever/whomever is closest to her. She swatted me (hard! Jeez, that kid has a mean right hook!) the other day and I put her in timeout. (I’m really trying hard to not hit her back since I don’t’ want to reinforce the action of hitting.) It used to be that I could stick her in the corner for timeout and she’d wail for the two minutes and then I’d go pick her up and she’d be all sorry and she’d be reformed and she’d behave herself for a whole six minutes. But now I think she’s become far too used to the whole timeout scam, and now just sits there, banging her feet on the floor, and after about a minute starts calling, “MOMMYYYYY… WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”

So after her two minutes were up, I went over to her and crouched down in front of her and quietly explained that hitting was bad and it hurt me when she hit me and I didn’t like it at all. All during this she nodded sagely, saying, “Yeah. Yeah.” But I know she was thinking, “Yes, you weak pitiful creature, I hear what you are saying, and I’ll put up with this pacifist crap for now but in just a few years I’ll be bigger than you and I’ll lay you right out.”

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