MFA Mama

the smuggest e-mail I ever did send

On Mar 7, 2014, at High Noon, Mfamama@thegmail.com wrote:

I don't even know what you mean by the gibberish I'm replying to, but Hotter and I just got back from dropping Little Child at school; Dr. PedEndo has discharged Little Child from his care. Little Child's growth velocity is normal, as are his hormone levels relating to growth. The only abnormal finding is a delayed bone maturity, which like the delayed dentition is due to Pseudonymous Syndrome. From a growth standpoint that is actually advantageous, as it gives Little Child longer to catch up growth-wise from his rough start in life. Little Child's updated predicted adult height is 5'8. 

Sent from The Precious

On Mar 7, 2014, at 8:31 AM, XY@thehotplace.com wrote:

Why are you going my other email. Regarding Little Child doctors appointment today?

day-off dullness and a valet vignette

   I finally had an entire day off! Hotter and I slept in, and then ran around all over town buying things. I bought myself a new pair of Danskos for work (it took me less than seven months to destroy my first pair utterly; considering that I worked an average of sixty hours per week during those eight months I figure it's not really Dansko's fault), and a nice pair of slip-resistant black New Balance crosstrainers for when I work Valet, and thirty-four dollars worth of tea (DAMN YOU, TEAVANA, WHAT THE HELL?). We had lunch at P.F. Chang's, where we had a comically awful waiter (and I'm not just saying that because working in hospitality has ruined me for eating out--he SUCKED! By the time we'd been there ten minutes he'd barely greeted us, we didn't have drinks  yet, and I'd already answered a menu question from a neighboring table that stumped the poor bastard). We went to Trader Joe's and stocked up on the things that we get from Trader Joe's, and went to the pet store to buy Poppy a new food bowl (she finally, after months of effort, broke her ceramic one so we got her a stainless steel replacement). We stopped at Target where I bought a new, darker shade of hair color, then we came home and I chopped three inches off my hair and dyed it.

   It was a good day, and makes for a boring blog post, and for that I am sorry. To make up for that, I give you the following vignette, which amused me greatly:

MFA Mama, after walking up to a vehicle in the front drive of The Ritz: Welcome to The Ritz! Would you like to valet-park your vehicle today?
Nonplussed Rich White Dude: Ummm...I'm not sure. What are my parking options?
MFA Mama: You can valet-park, for $XX per day, self-park in our garage for $X/hr, park in the garage across the street for $XX, or street-park, although you'd need to read the signs carefully to avoid a ticket.
Mrs. Nonplussed Rich White Dude: Get ON with it, dear!
Nonplussed Rich White Dude: So uh...YOU would be parking my vehicle?
MFA Mama: Yes sir.
Nonplussed Rich White Dude: Can you drive a stick?
MFA Mama: Yes sir, although your vehicle is automatic.
Mrs. Nonplussed Rich White Dude: *titters*
Nonplussed Rich White Dude: I uh, I suppose we'll valet-park.
Mrs. Nonplussed Rich White Dude: Well Henry,* I guess a woman CAN drive your new Range Rover, HAHAHAHAHA!

   I have a feeling Mrs. Nonplussed Rich White Dude rubbed his face in THAT one for the duration of their stay. Good for her!

* Not his real name, obviously. 

80-hour Workweek Bullets

* Cars, y'all. Cars are so cool these days! In the past week I've driven cars with holographic speedometers that appear all ghostly-like hovering over the hood, hybrids that make no noise at all (with the first one I thought it just wouldn't start and was wondering how I'd break it to the owner of the brand-new Lexus that it had died in our garage! Then I realized it was electric, haha), and great big trucks with stick-shifts, to the glee of their great big male owners. I drove a BMW that had a "tight squeeze parking feature" where the car pulls in its mirrors, and Escalades that lower their running boards for you like obedient camels kneeling to be mounted. I didn't get to drive a Tesla yet, but I saw one, and did you know they only have external door-handles when the keyholder is near?!? Otherwise they retract them, all aloof.

* I had a sit-down with The Big Boss of The Ritz to go over some concerns of mine, primarily relating to food safety. Guess who's got two thumbs and got roped into putting together a fifteen-minute presentation on Protecting The Gluten-free Diner? Yeeeeah.

* For reasons I obviously cannot go into, we recently had the Secret Service in-house, complete with bomb-sniffing dogs, and now I want a Dutch Shepherd. Gorgeous dogs! Like an Alsatian but more compact, and many of them are a lovely brindle.

* I miss my kids, and Hotter, and sleep. But the bills are all caught up from Carmageddon '14, and when I get my next paycheck I'll be able to start saving up for legal fees in the event The XY actually does sue me for real with non-imaginary lawyers. Sigh.

* The chickens are laying again, but the rabbits have gone through menopause and I think Bravo Hive is dead :(

* I'm kind of tired, and sad, and sore (Valet this morning was six hours of solid running). Tell me something good.

Sent from The Precious

mobile

When I'm working this many doubles, a quick note from The Precious is probably the best you'll get. Here are some assorted updates!

* The two older MFA Children made the honor roll again.

* The XY tried to kidnap Little Child from school today and I had to leave work and call 911 and go to the school and say that no, he did NOT have my permission to do that! This was for an endocrinology appointment I learned about three days ago and told the XY we'd have to reschedule. He said "no, Monday works for me so I'm taking him without you and you can't stop me!" Except I did, and rescheduled the appointment for a day when I'll be off work and able to be there, and more importantly, Little Child won't miss a class party he was looking forward to. I just wish I could've managed it without leaving work for an hour and a half...

* Speaking of work, and hours, I am now working in three different departments, none of which contain The Bastard. That part is GLORIOUS! The eighty-hour weeks, not so much. I miss my kids. Unfortunately, the XY seems determined to go back to court, and I have to raise a retainer. "But MFA Mama," you say, "wouldn't it be better for the boys to have you home more? Or if you spent that money on a family vacation?" Yes, of course it would! But this is not about them, it's about The XY and his feeeeelings.

* The new MFA Minivan is growing on me, mostly because van naps between doubles are a thing again.

* One of the new departments I've been working in rhymes with "chalet" and involves things that go vroom. I mentioned to Hotter the other day that I'm the only non-dude in the department, and he said he wasn't surprised. I asked why that was and he said "even if they DID know how to drive a stick, how many women do you know who haven't had a moving violation in the last thirty-six months?" I took a breath to bawl him out and then realized none of my brick-and-mortar female friends would qualify. So I need better friends, or else a better husband, or possibly both.

* Man, cars have just gotten RIDICULOUS. Why didn't y'all tell me they don't have keys anymore? Or Park, on the gear shift (it's a button on most new high-end vehicles now). Hell, the other day I went to retrieve someone's new BMW and sat there for a good thirty seconds trying to find a gear-shift of some kind. There wasn't a clutch, so I knew it was automatic, but how to shift gears? There was nothing sticking out of the steering column except the turn signal/wiper thingy. Finally I spotted a goddamn LED wheel on the dash with D, 1, 2, and R on it; it looked like it ought to belong to the stereo but was, in fact, what one used to switch gears. THE FUCK. Oh, rich people, you so crazy!

* How are all of you?

Sent from The Precious

in which the MFAmily collectively does Little Child's homework and talks about love

Little Child: scowling at paper with pencil in his fist: What is philosophy?

MFA Mama: The study of knowledge. The discussion of things like right and wrong. Lots of deep thoughts.

Little Child: So then what would you draw to describe philosophy?

MFA Mama: I'd probably do a guy chin-shelfing with a thought bubble over his head and a question mark in it or something.

Big Child: from his room, not a part in conversation THAT'S PROBABLY WHAT I'D DRAW TO INDICATE BUMPUS! HE IS A HIGHLY INTELLIGENT HOUND!

Hotter: Except then the thought-bubble would be EMPTY!

MFA Mama: stomps out into the snow to feed chickens, returns

Hotter: --don't know, dude, those are all the words I'd use to describe love. Ask your mother.

Little Child: with an evil glint in his eyes Hotter only knows three words to describe love!

MFA Mama: icily Patient, kind, and forgiving. 

Hotter: Well so-O-or-ry! I'm not romantic.

MFA Mama: I KNOW.

fin

 

what happens in an ice storm

   I don't mean to neglect y'all, it's just that life here is very grim and busy overall, with the odd splash of ridiculous hilarity thrown in.

   I've clocked over sixty hours in four different departments at The Ritz since the new pay period began on Saturday, even with having quit one extraneous department due to chaos and lawlessness as a result of lax management there. A friend of nearly twenty years, someone I would absolutely Be There For Until The End, has let me know that the end is nigh, and seems to be dying rather suddenly of the same thing that killed Dead Friend 1.0, which is also a chronic condition of Hotter's (cue the feelings). And The XY has run amok, voiced his intention to thoroughly violate the custody order by taking a child out of school to go to an elective medical appointment for an issue The XY and I disagree on that is less a matter of anyone's wellbeing and more a cosmetic matter of personal preference, and stated that he will document my interference and relitigate custody if I interfere, which I absolutely plan to do. FUN!

   All of that is to say that I hesitated on whether to share the following slice-of-my-life vignette, because hostile attorneys could be reading, but this used to be a funny blog, and funny things still happen, even in 2014, and I have a strong and loving marriage which, as those do, occasionally includes some sex with my spouse, and so here in no particular order are the top ten questions and comments Big Child called through the bedroom door as Hotter and I, overcome by my being both home and awake, attempted to have a quickie this morning:

1. You said to pour Little Child some cereal, but Middly wants some too. What do I do?* 

2. There aren't very many mini-wheats left.**

3. We're out of regular milk. There's chocolate milk and almond milk. Which one should I use on my cereal?***

4. I'd kind of like to try the almond milk. Is that okay?

5. In a glass, not on my cereal. Is that still okay?

6. Are the glasses in the dishwasher clean?

7. What about the spoons?

8. What's a briGANd? 

9. Is that how it's pronounced? Well, what's a brigand?

10. POPPY IS THROWING UP!

   If The XY's attorneys ARE reading this, could you please ask your client to stop canceling his visitation? Because breakfast would go much more smoothly over here on snow days if I could properly fuck my husband for more than ten minutes at a go and while the children are NOT home. Thanks!

 

* Bless his cotton socks, Big Child is not very self-directing, even at nearly thirteen.

** There were three other varieties of healthy breakfast cereal available, but Big Child is an informer by nature.

*** Something about snow and ice make people crave milk, evidently, because there was no organic milk to be had except the chocolate kind.

RIP MFA Birdie, 2004-2014

   Apparently The Winter of Our Discontent was not satisfied with taking my dog, my best human friend, my car, and my sanity, because I came home from a shittastic double-shift day at work to find my cockatiel enshrined in a cardboard casket. She'd grown cranky over the past few months, and was puffed up looking especially dour yesterday. Since Carmageddon 2014 had taken all of our money an avian vet was out of the question (and really I think she'd been drifting toward a natural death anyway--trying to transport her might've just hastened things, especially in this weather), so all I could do was pet her a lot, crank the heat up, and warn Hotter that she looked like she was about done.

   MFA Birdie was with me before Little Child was conceived, and survived The XY (who is terrified of birds) failing to feed her while I was in the hospital with Little Child numerous times during his infancy, four moves, and the loss of her tail at one point to The XY while I was out of town (she got him back, too, biting his finger and drawing blood for the only time in her life). She loved her food dish (and humped it daily), scritches on the nape of her neck, honey seed sticks, and, eventually, Hotter (I thought she hated all men but it turns out she just hated the XY; we had that in common). Her brain may have been the size of a lentil, but she had more heart than most people I know.

Figure One: She was incredibly hard to catch in-focus.

   RIP, MFA Birdie. You were a good little friend.

   2014 can pretty much go to hell as far as I'm concerned. 

oh, Skeeter!

   Yesterday Skeeter, resident hairless cat and EXTREMELY SLOW LEARNER, got out AGAIN! It wasn't as cold and he wasn't outside for as long, but I am not liking this new "thing" of his where he dashes for the door every time it's opened. After he was back inside I snatched him up, bathed him, cleaned his ears, clipped his claws and re-applied his Soft Paws, and gave him his antibiotic. Afterward he was like this:

Figure One: This completes me.

  Does anyone have any tips for teaching an indoor cat that it is NOT okay to go outside?

a not-so-funny thing happened on the way to The Ritz

   So I was driving down the road on the way to an extra shift in the new department I'm moonlighting in at The Ritz today, feeling pretty good about life and how I'm on the path to saving up for a new vehicle, when BANG! The clutch went out on the Beater with a sound like a gunshot. I think maybe a cable snapped or something? 

   It turns out you can learn to slip-shift in a matter of seconds if you're on the freeway and facing the prospect of being late to work.

   The good and bad news of the day is that New Department was slow and therefore grossly overstaffed, and I was able to leave after just an hour, having called MFA Mechanic and ascertained that he had something for sale that was...well, not in my price-range, exactly, as the current budget for a new vehicle was zero, but within robbing-Peter-to-pay-Paul range, at least. So I slip-shifted my way there, had a look, slip-shifted my way home to clean out the Beater and fetch the title, and slip-shifted back to take possession of...the new MFA Minivan! It's old, it's American, it has an automatic transmission, and I therefore love nothing about it except that it will (presumably) get me to work tomorrow. The MFA Children, at least, are happy, because they did not love squeezing three-abreast into the back seat of the Beater (yes, there were three seatbelts back there, but very little elbow room and someone had to sit in the middle and not have leg-room).

   I have a headache, am terrified of how the next month or so will go financially, and picked a horrible time to stop drinking alcohol (my thirty-fifth birthday--I don't think I have A Problem, exactly, but I'd started having a beverage when I was stressed and didn't want it to become a coping mechanism, so I decided to quit drinking for...a while. Not sure how long, exactly). And how are all of YOU?

celebrity

   A few days ago, during the tail-end of the second Polar Vortex, Skeeter somehow slipped outside when Hotter or Big Child was walking a dog (I was at work). They estimate that he was outside for about two hours; the next time Big Child took Bumpus out, Bumpus tracked something under the porch that turned out to be a very cold hairless cat. On Saturday Skeeter started to sneeze, yesterday he began to cough and have the eye-boogies, and this morning Hotter and I took him to our new, non-Banfield vet to have them check him out (he has been eating and drinking and playing all along or I would've taken him to an emergency vet over the weekend, but fortunately he was able to wait).

   When I called to make the appointment, the receptionist asked what breed of cat Skeeter was. I said he was a Sphynx, and she said "ooooooh!" and couldn't find that in the computer. There also wasn't a way to tell the computer a cat was pink and grey, and she eventually put him in as a grey and white domestic shorthair and said she'd have someone add "Sphynx" and "pink and grey" to the computer.

   An hour later, when we arrived at the clinic and told them who we were, the receptionist shouted "THEY'RE HERE!" and the entire office staff came running. Apparently half of them had never seen a Sphynx cat in person and the other half just looooooved Sphynxes. We let Skeet out of the cat carrier, and he hopped up onto Hotter's shoulder and greeted everyone with a wagging tail (Skeet wags his tail when he's happy or excited; apparently it's a Sphynx thing--he also fetches, is friendly to strangers, and generally acts more like a dog than a cat). Eventually Skeeter had a coughing fit, reminding everyone that he hadn't come there just to be adored by the office cat-ladies, and we were ushered into an exam room. The official diagnosis was "upper respiratory infection," and the vet said his lungs sounded nice and clear so we caught it before it turned into pneumonia or anything nasty like that and ten days of Clavamox should sort him out. I asked whether we should have Skeet on heartworm prevention, since there was a poster up advertising that for cats (I haven't had a cat in ages and heartworm prevention for cats wasn't really A Thing back then), and the vet said yes but that we should wait until he's better before giving him the first dose to make sure we know what he's reacting to if he takes a turn for the worse. "It comes in chewables and topical, and I usually tell people to go with the topical for cats since they can be kind of finicky, but I don't know how well that would work without fur to soak it up...it might just dribble off without absorbing...I think maybe you should try the chewable with this guy," the vet said, laughing.

   Eighty-nine dollars and two free cat toys later, we collected a tiny bottle of antibiotic drops and took our seven-pound celebrity home to recover.