What was I thinking?!

This post is worthy of an interrobang.

I've been out of "the workforce" for just about a year and as the Baby starts to walk and act more human, I felt like taking on a small part-time job was feasible, and would allow me to justify - to myself - spending time working on my non-money earning writing craft for a half-hour to an hour a day.

A newspaper route!

For some reason that I cannot at this moment fathom, this sounded somewhat exotic. (?!) Perhaps this is a sign that I have been living in what I once heard referred to as "the baby cave" for too long, or perhaps I have just lost my mind.

The reality is that I got up this morning at 2 AM, having barely slept from being so nervous about this new venture, my stomach in knots, got in my car without showering, and drove to the newspaper place to pick up 119 papers.

I sat in the parking lot stuffing the papers into the plastic bags, while several other cars arrived, picked up papers, and then left. So, I thought, I must be doing something wrong... they told me I could sit in the parking lot and stuff them in bags, but clearly I am the only one doing so.

So I left, and started the route. It was okay for about five minutes. I mean, I pretty much expected it to be hard. Despite the street lights, people's house numbers don't exactly glow in the dark (they totally should) and I had a headlamp to help me see. But the houses are far enough apart that it's unrealistic to walk the route, so I had to keep getting in and out of my running car, walking up to houses to try to see what number they wore (and guessing wrong a lot).

I started out carefully setting the papers on the doorsteps. This lasted from about 3:30 to 5:30 AM, at which point I started freaking out a little because I was only about half done and I am supposed to be done by 6:00. It was at this point that the Husband texted to let me know that the Baby had been screaming since I left three and a half hours ago. He was not pleased. (this is a gross understatement)

Not seeing any way out other than to deliver the papers, I began hurling them a little more haphazardly. It was just about 5:45 when some other car delivering Wall Street Journals basically lapped me. While I sat in my car about to cry, he delivered three papers in about a minute and vanished into the dawn.

He was a shining example of speedy paper delivery. I don't know what I was thinking. (Did I say that? I've still barely slept) I had to finish the stupid paper route, though, so I sadly/angrily bagged the rest of my papers - I had about 30 left - and stormed out of my car to find the next house number.

Suddenly, though, the sun started to clear the horizon, and I could read the house numbers from my car. It was like magic. I flew around the last section of the neighborhood, tossing newspapers with relative abandon (in the driveway! No steps, sorry... after all, my newspaper hero did not bother with that precision) and found - almost too easily - the houses I'd spent precious minutes searching for in the dark without luck. And then it was 6:45, and I was headed home.

I DID IT.

Was it worth it? Totally not. If this does not get easier FAST, I am quitting. That's if the Husband even lets me continue after Baby's lack of sleeping abilities.

I'm not cut out to deliver newspapers. I'm just

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore

A Mixed Bag

So much of life feels like treading water. You're trying to keep your head above water but you aren't really getting anywhere. Then suddenly a helpful current comes along and - whee! I'm swimming somewhere! - and then the current stops and it's back to treading water. Or a big wave comes along and you get saltwater in your mouth.

It's been like that here.

Wave 1: Wallpaper

I decided it would be a good idea to remove this wallpaper border in the bathroom that's been driving me insane since we moved in almost 5 years ago. But then, as I'm removing it, I realize that the walls are covered in wallpaper. And the main wallpaper is coming off much easier than the border, leaving this exciting mess:

According to my mother, we have replaced the seashell border
with a squid or a whale

So, like so many of my renovation projects, I put this on pause to call in a plumber.

(No, I do not expect the plumber to weigh in on wallpapering. We were talking about renovating the bathroom in its entirety, and I need to know what's happening on the walls plumbing-wise before I spend time stripping and painting them. Thing 1 did ask the plumber about the wallpaper, though. And Thing 2 wanted to show the plumber his bedroom. I don't think they understand what plumbers do).

Wave 2: So Many Bags, So Little Time

Tuesday is our gymnastics/shopping extravaganza day (Drop Thing 1 off at gymnastics, run to grocery store with Thing 2 and Baby, race through the aisles, run back to gymnastics). This Tuesday it was raining, which makes everything worse.

I got the groceries in time, but then we get to checkout and the guy doing the bagging was awful. Awful. As the groceries start getting rung through, he is loading up stacks of plastic bags on that metal frame they have and going, "It's reloading time! Time to reload. Reloading happening now." So I said, "Actually, I'd like paper, please, after you fill the cloth bags I brought." To which he was like, "Okay! Still reloading time!"

At which point I got distracted by the Baby, who was insisting on playing the I-Throw-Things-Onto-The-Floor game, punctuated by screaming every time I didn't hand him something else to throw onto the floor.

So while I'm stuck in an endless loop of handing Baby my credit card, then retrieving it from the floor to hand it back to Baby to be thrown on the floor again, Bagger actually says to the cashier, "Are you gonna help me out? I can't do this all by myself."

At which point I look at the bagging situation to see:
-half-filled cloth bags (like, four items, when they normally hold ten to fifteen)
-paper bags inside plastic bags (no!! We don't need more plastic bags in our house!)
-a huge and growing pile of scanned items that are not bagged

Just general bagging chaos. The cashier kind of stared at Bagger like, "Are you kidding me?" which is what I wanted to say, but didn't. Then he did start helping, bless his soul. But the damage was already done.

Basically, I don't know what Bagger was doing, but the cashier wound up doing 75% of the bagging, which meant it took an extra five minutes to check out, and we were late returning to gymnastics.

We get home, Baby is screaming that he wants to be fed, the bags are in chaos all over the floor, everything is wet because of the rain, and the Husband calls to ask what's for dinner and did I get ferret litter today. So we got in a fight and had Five Guys for dinner.

(Five Guys Burgers and Fries, not like, random male visitors)

Wednesday was supposed to be better.

I had planned a vegetarian Irish Bean Stew and some delicious Irish Soda Buns (I've made them before, so I KNOW they're delicious).

Baby takes a good nap, I'm chopping veggies, following a recipe, everything is going great. The plumber comes to check out my bathroom situation, he's going to give me an estimate, all's well. The stew is simmering away fabulously.

Looks amazing, right?

Our dinner guest comes over; I make the soda buns; the Husband comes home and we sit down to eat the stew.

And it is awful. Why? I do not know. It looks so good. But it tastes so wrong. Thing 2, bless his little heart, ate most of his, as did I, and our guest ate hers, but Thing 1 and Husband merely poked at it with a spoon. So... we ordered pizza.

And then the cat - who was recently diagnosed with diabetes - eats two and a half soda buns, which is neither good for him nor for me.

The rest of the stew went in the compost. At least that's better than the trash, but still very sad.

It's Friday now; several chores to finish up today as we swim onward to the weekend, and I'm hoping for some good currents.

I hope you get some, too.

-A Real Housewife of the North Shore