For the second night/early morning in a row, I have woken up, due to not feeling well. If I was a person who admitted such a thing, I would say I am having anxiety attacks. Instead, however, I am a person who will lie to even herself, deny being stressed, and chalk it up to "whatever is going around." (I am so good at lying about this that I can often CONVINCE myself that I am down with a virus.) Nevertheless, I woke up this morning with what I am going to call "a cold."
Knowing that I did not feel well, I made the decision to take it easy. I attempted to do things that would be calming and unstressful. (Again, not saying I am stressed.) This grand plan was successful for approximately 30 minutes...until Charleston woke up.
It was not technically Baby Charlie's fault. It was mine. Spending two restless nights in a row equals exhaustion. I was tired. It was 5a. I was not thinking straight. I quickly made her a bottle and started to feed her. I was amazed, when she downed half of it in under two minutes. While telling her how impressed I was, it hit me like a ton of bricks! (I filled the bottle with only HALF the amount of water needed per scoopfuls of formula. She appeared to have downed half the bottle quickly, as the ounces consumed were merely a FOURTH of what the bottle should have been.) Realizing my stupidity, I immediately removed the bottle from her mouth and started to calculate the amount of formula she had eaten and how I was going to mathematically correct it with the new bottle I was about to make. (This should have been a breeze. Not only am I great at math, this particular mathematical concept is parallel to what I do for a living. I am a pharmacist. I have to calculate stuff like this all the time.) HOWEVER (here is something you non-parents may not know), taking a bottle from a baby is (apparently) a matter of life and death. A newborn's reaction to having a bottle abruptly pulled from her mouth is exactly what I imagine my reaction would be, if someone were to yank a chocolate chip cookie from mine. (I would freaking lose my $#*%, too!!) So, there I was, trying to talk her down, while doing mental math, as she summoned her innermost demons. (It was straight up a scene out of the Exorcist.) Eventually, I solved my problem, which solved hers.
After feeding Charlie and putting her back in her crib, I decided to get on the computer and catch up on Facebook and emails. No more than 15-20 minutes into this typically tranquil activity, the Internet connection started to do weird things.
Frustrated to discover that several of the messages I THOUGHT had successfully sent had in fact never "left the station" (and all drafts seems to have VANISHED), I slammed my laptop shut and walked away. (I knew I could not afford to have something ridiculous send me over the edge. Not today.) So, I moved on.
While I do NOT enjoy laundry, I love how I feel once it is completed. Ergo, I left my office, walked into the laundry room, folded the clothes that were in the dryer, transferred the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer, and then put another load in the washing machine. I carried the folded clothes, which happened to be the girls' load (effin' Elsa nightgown**), and walked into Riley's room.
**Yesterday's Facebook status: THIS CONVO LITERALLY JUST HAPPENED! Warren, shouting from the living room: "Randi, where are you?!" Me: "I am in the laundry room!" Warren, absolutely cracking up: "Did you hear what Riley just asked?" Me, stepping out of the laundry room: "No. What is it, Mac?" Riley, standing stark naked in the hallway, fresh out of the shower: "Why do you *never* do laundry?!" Warren, in near tears, knowing how I DAILY voice my disdain for having to wash three loads of laundry EVERY DAMN DAY: "Yes, Mommy? Why do you NEVER do laundry?" Me, jaw on floor, staring at Riley: "Come again?" Riley: "My Elsa nightgown is STILL dirty!" Me, still stunned and trying not to strangle her: "You mean the one you wore LAST NIGHT?!" Riley, dead serious: "Yes!" Me, pointing to her bedroom: "Get your tail in there and pick out one of the TEN nightgowns you have clean and folded in your armoire, before I make YOU do the laundry!!" Me, muttering to myself, while walking back into the laundry room: "'NEVER' do laundry?!?! Are you KIDDING me?!" Warren, laughing, shouting from the living room: "We LOOOOOOOVE you!" Me, shouting back: "I cannot say what I would like to say with our girls within earshot, but I think you know where you ALL can *SHOVE* your laundry!!!" #MothersAreGrosslyUnderappreciated #IDoSoMuchLaundryThatIFoldClothesInMyDreams #MissMacIsLuckyILoveHerAndThatSheIsOnlyFiveYearsOld
Seeing as my arms were full of clothes, I decided to set the clothes down on the bed, so that I had a free hand to open her armoire. The moment I even considered moving to put down the clothes, two-thirds of the load went crashing to the floor. (I am not a tall person. I really do NOT understand how clothes can magically and COMPLETELY UNFOLD, within less than three feet!) Utterly baffled at how it appeared said clothes just JUMPED out of my arms (while I was barely moving no less), I looked down at where the pile had separated. (EFF YOU, ELSA!! EFFFFF YOU!!) THAT motherf#@$%*^' nightgown that just HAAAAD to be washed! THAT Disney nightDRESS that is three times the price of their regular cotton nightgowns! THAT super fancy nightdress that is made out of slick satin and chiffon materials that Disney INSISTS upon using! (You hate it, but you CANNOT tell your little girl "No," because it looks like it was literally made for a princess to wear, in addition to having an actual Disney princess emblazoned across the front in shimmer and glitter. You would have ZERO shot at this year's "Mother of the Year Award," if you said, "No." Not that you had a shot in hell at even being nominated, much less winning.) THAT article of clothing was the culprit! In all its watery, continuously flowing ways, it caused the majority of the neatly folded pile of laundry to pour out onto the floor! Taking a few forced, deep breaths in and out, I maintained my composure, refolded the laundry, and set it on the bed.
Around this same time, Charleston was waking up and starting to get hungry. I thought, "Yes! Holding and feeding Baby Charlie, while catching up on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, will definitely make me feel better!" So, I left the laundry on the bed, sent the big girls to their rooms to play, made Charlie a bottle (I checked the water:formula ratio TWICE!), and sat down on the couch. (I wish this next part was a joke.)
I turned the TV on to discover some sort of cryptic message displayed across the entire screen. (I would tell you what it said, but like all impatient people, I did not actually read it. I merely clicked the Enter button.) Upon clearing the message, I clicked the Live button and waited...and waaaited.
Nothing. Live button. Cryptic message, again. (I did not read it, again.) Enter button. Gray screen. Live button. Picture. Distorted picture. Live button. Nothing.
Irritated, I presumed maybe the TiVo was on the fritz and did what I know how to do best, in this type of situation - "unplug and plug back in." Seven minutes later, the TiVo completed rebooting. (If you have ever had to reset a TiVo, you know I am not exaggerating the time.)
Live button. Picture. Nothing.
Yeeeeeep. In addition to the Internet screeching to a halt, our cable went out. (I am - officially - counting my breaths, as I take them.) I picked up the cordless phone to call Warren, in order to ask him to call whomever one calls, when THE WORLD ENDS AND ALL TECHNOLOGY CEASES TO EXIST!!
Talk button. Nothing. Message on the phone's screen. (I did not read it.) Talk button. Talk button. TALK BUTTON. Place back on charger. Pick back up. Talk button. Message on the phone's screen: "No line."
ARE.YOU.EFFIN'.KIDDING.ME?!?! WHAT IS HAPPENING??? DID THE APOCALYPSE OCCUR LAST NIGHT? THE RAPTURE? AM I DEAD? *GASP* OH, NOOOO!! WAS IT THE RAPTURE, AND I AM STILL **HERE**?! (I HAVE TOTALLY LOST TRACK OF MY BREATHING!!!) I CANNOT MENTALLY COMPUTE! **ROOM SPINNING** **FACE ON FLOOR** GET UP, RANDi! GET UP! **ARMY CRAWL TO CELL PHONE LAYING ON COUCH** DO I HEAR THE GIRLS GIGGLING??
Yep. I heard the girls giggling.
Take quick snapshot. Upload to Facebook. Call Warren. Explain that the Aliens have landed. Save yourself. Warren stupid enough to ask me a question I have previously answered THREE times this weekend! Try my best not to scream that my opinion has NOT changed. Connection starts to go bad. (Legitimately. Not me pretending, due to my mood.) Hang up. Feed Charlie.
Per usual, while feeding Charlie, I checked Facebook on my phone. Before she finished the bottle, my cell phone STOPPED connecting to the Internet. (May the Lord strike me dead, if this story is not true!) At this point, I started to laugh in one of those hysterical, maniacal ways. I tried so hard to push everything out of my mind and stay in the present. I tried so hard not to lose it. I sat on the couch and told myself, "WE are going to be okay." (I know I have, now, mentally separated into two versions of myself - "normal" and "crazed.")
I put Charlie in her swing and walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Two seconds later, I heard Charlie crying, and I instantly became aware that I could no longer hear her swing. I shouted to the big girls, asking why Charlie's swing music was off. No one answered. (Naturally.) I walked back into the living room to find the swing's cord detached from the base of the swing. I interrogated both girls, asking who ACCIDENTALLY ran across the cord or PURPOSELY unplugged it. (Nothing, but blank stares.) I started to get upset. I, again, stressed the words ACCIDENTALLY and PURPOSELY. "No one will get into trouble. I just want the TRUTH." *crickets* Having sent both girls to sit on the couch, until someone REMEMBERED what happened, I plugged the swing back in.
Nothing. Unplug and plug back in. Nothing. Unplug and plug back in. Nothing. UNPLUG AND PLUG BACK IN. NOTHING!
I traced the cord from the swing's base to the outlet in the wall, realizing the outlet was behind the girls' play kitchen. So, I slid the kitchen out from the wall, only to discover that the outlet was no longer securely attached to its wall pocket. (FOR TWO GIRLS WHO CANNOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED, SOMEONE HAD TO HAVE ONE HELL OF A TRIP OVER THE CORD!!!)
What the? Why does my shirt feel damp? What? NOOOO! NO EFFIN' WAY! MY LEFT BREAST IS LEAKING! (I AM NOT F*CKIN' JOKING!!) I DO NOT EVEN BREASTFEED! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?! (I SWEAR THIS IS ACTUALLY OCCURRING - RIGHT NOW! THIS EXACT MOMENT, AS I TYPE!!) THIS DAY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATES ME!!!!!!!
Oh, goodie! *sarcasm* Warren just walked in from work and announced that there is a hornet's nest above the girls' playhouse. (I cannot make this stuff up, People!) He, then, told the girls to stay inside, for he was heading out to handle it. Knowing exactly how that would turn out, I shouted for him to call Michael, our pest guy. "Hornets are no joke, Warren. Call Michael." No, no. Warren thinks he can handle it on his own. He will just stand BENEATH the nest, spray it, and run like hell! (While most of me does not want him to die, a small, bitter part of me hopes the jackass gets stung and has to go to the hospital. Diagnosis: BEING A MORON!)
Throughout the madness of the day, Campbell has asked me EVERY 45 MINUTES, if we can go visit our friends' new kitten. "Mommy, can we go see the baby cat?" "Mommy, when are we going to go?" "Mommy, can we get a baby cat?" "Is it time to see the cat, Mommy?" (MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY!!) Amidst the chaos, and while composing a blog that I will probably NEVER be able to post (due to the Aliens landing and jacking up all circuitry), I completely forgot and only remembered a moment ago. So, I sent a text to my friend requesting a visit. As luck would have it, they are not at home. Tears are, now, trickling down my face.
We are on Hour Four of no contact with the outside world. I predict within the next 13 that I will have been abducted.
