Skipping spring

While most people eagerly await spring, I despair at the sight of the first robin that lands in my yard. Spring is the harbinger of trips to the doctor, investment in various nostrums and sleepless nights listening to barking coughs.

My family suffers from spring allergies--grass and trees are the culprits. The outward and visible sign that spring has sprung is a cough. Spring begins innocently with a polite cough that seems to signify nothing but a minor throat tickle. At that first cough, however, my tensions rise. I know what comes next. There will be several weeks of more and then more coughing until either one or both kids can't go more than 30 seconds without coughing. I will end up at urgent care with them where we will sit with other hacking patients until we are seen by a harried doctor who will administer a nebulizer albuterol breathing treatment that will do no good whatsoever. The doctor will also prescribe a codeine cough medicine that will help us all sleep and finally an antibiotic that will fix us up in less than 2 days.

Each year I say I'm going to get on top of their allergies before the season starts. I vow to start their allergy meds ahead of the invisible irritants that advance on my kids' lungs. But that first robin of spring somehow lands unnoticed and unwanted in my yard and the siege is on. And each year when I'm in the midst of the siege, I swear that I'm going to take the kids to a pulmonary specialist (the allergist was worse than nothing) to help properly defend them against the attack. But then the siege relents and the house is peaceful. I begin to believe that I've discovered the antidote, the perfect combination of drugs that will prevent the next spring's advance. But each spring proves me wrong. Spring sucks.

And no bears, please

Claire is away at science camp this week. I was trying to explain to Mark how I felt about her absence. I said I felt like a part of me was walking around out there somewhere and I couldn't feel it or hold it. There's a feeling of suspense or anxiety that is only calmed when my children are at home under the same roof with me. I love Thursday nights because no one has any meetings or sports practices that night. All my little chicks are at home with Mommy and Daddy and the weekend is one day away. (Plus I don't have to make lunches on Thursday nights because that's the kids' job.)

But I'm sure she's having a good time with her friends. As long as she stays dry in all this rain....

Not happy in her work

There must be something about the FedEx on El Camino in Sunnyvale. Earlier an employee didn't know where Philadelphia was. And now this morning I dropped off a parcel to be overnighted to Canada. The two employees chatted on the phone for awhile as I stood at the counter. Then the woman employee assisted a customer at another counter who had come in after me. Then she filed some papers and put away some packages before she came over to me. She never looked at me but took the waybill and started entering the information. She never looked at me and never spoke except to say, "That's it." Her customer service skills were nonexistent. I so much wanted to say, "Sweetheart, please find another line of work, because you are obviously very unhappy here." But then, it's none of my business and all I wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as I could. This scenario happens all too often, however. Many supposed "customer service" employees act as if they are doing you a great favor by waiting on you. Maybe not enough jobs are being outsourced.

A blog is a diary without a key

A blog is a place where you're supposed to write about things you're thinking about or experiencing. But do some people have both private and public blogs? There are a lot of things I think about but I wouldn't want out there so public. Maybe you could read it, but not you. Get it? I've read a lot of blogs and sometimes I'm amazed at the private stuff that is shared. Don't the writers realize that anybody could read their thoughts? Or is that the point? Is blogging just another form of exhibitionism? Exhibition of the soul? That's probably more intimate than any other kind.

more stuff today

It's been raining on and off all day--my favorite kind of day to stay in bed. I napped in the morning then surfed most of the rest of the day on my laptop. Surfing the web is sort of like when I was a teenager and would watch MTV--"maybe the next video will be a good one." But now it's, "Maybe the next website will be a good one, one that entertains and fulfills." I'm left usually feeling like I've just eaten a chocolate kiss. That is, it's fleetingly delicious, but lastingly empty. If lastingly is not a word, it should be.

Anyway, at the end of the day, I've read a lot of blogs, looked at a lot of news, listened to a lot of rain, but not accomplished much, which only feeds the guilt/shame monster that is always hungry. I know I'll try to justify today's slothiness by saying I deserve it once in a while or my sinuses did bother me a lot and rest was good or I'll work twice as hard tomorrow, but we all know it's just talk.

So the phone just rang and I committed to subbing for a kindergarten teacher for 8 consecutive Fridays. Aargh. Kindergarten! But after whining for a paragraph about how slothy I am, I couldn't very well turn down paid work, could I?

This post took a completely different direction than I had intended. I had intended to write about how much I learn about my husband and son by reading their blogs and how I hold my nose and check my son's history on Safari to see where he's been surfing to make sure he's not being brainwashed by cult sites or at the very least porn. However, it all took a turn to me, me, me. We'll see how tomorrow shapes up.

experiment

Can I add a picture to this post? This picture was taken August 2005 in Monterey. We rented bikes and went riding along the bike path that stretches from Fisherman's Wharf to Lover's Point. We had a great time.

another post

I was 5 for 6 in Oscar predictions this year. I missed Crash as Best Picture. But I did win Oscar Bingo. We all had Bingo cards with various usual Oscar happenings like "Winner says 'Wow!'" or "Winner trips on stairs." We also ate every bit of food before George Clooney finished his acceptance speech. I seriously under-ordered food from Chili's. I thought four appetizers would be plenty but I was as wrong as Charlize Theron's dress choice.

I thought Jon Stewart was great. It is the Academy Awards, not the Jon Stewart Show. He kept things moving and didn't make the show about himself.

Mark kept pointing out winners who thanked their mothers. I complained a long time ago that winners never thanked their mothers, only their agents etc. "See, Mom, they DO thank their mothers." Just as long as he or Claire does.