Giving In: The New Computer And Why I Am Already Baffled

   My last computer rant was a while ago, but to recap, I basically ranted on about the taped-together wreck that was functioning as my laptop. But money is tight, and I didn't want to dip into my vacation funds to replace what was a very expensive computer that I just feel should have lasted longer, although I have been told that for a laptop, my taped together mess of circuits and wires actually lasted longer than normal. Why the hell to they cost so damn much then, is what I want to know, but I digress.
   The real purpose of the new post is to rant about the new computer that I bought. This laptop, although I guess technically the thing is considered a notebook, whatever the hell difference that is, was a lot cheaper than my last laptop, yet it still cost more than my PS3 did. Go figure. (I like my PS3 better, by the way.) The damn thing is a lot smaller, however, so I started calling it the baby laptop, and it has no disk drive. But I can handle that because there are slots for flashdrives, so  I can save my work. Whatever the size, the baby computer is a lot faster that my wreck-of-a-laptop-that-let-me-down. But my real complaint is not the computer, I actually think it's a good little baby computer; my real complaint is this Windows 8 shit.
   Oh. My. God. Have you ever worked with that system? I don't even understand the way things work anymore.  For starters(<---haha!), I don't have a start button anymore, which was one of the main ways that I accessed programs that  I didn't have shortcuts to. How do I access them now?
   Well, there are these little squares all over my screen called tiles, which is not the shortcuts on the desktop, which has to be accessed from the tile screen by the desktop tile, and they link to all my stuff. Except that for some reason, they keep opening randomly on their own when I am trying to blog or scroll down on facebook. I can't understand why, but all of the sudden, I am off of the internet and I am staring, dumbfounded, at some blue screen with the image of a picture in lighter blue on it while a load sign wheels around and around. And then somehow I am in my pictures, except I didn't want to be here in the first damn place.
   So I have to push my arrow into the corner of the screen, and since I haven't been able to figure out how to pin my Google Chrome shortcut to the (wait for it ---->) Charm menu, I have to go all the way back to the tile page and then I can hit the Chrome tile and get back to where I never wanted to leave.
   Don't even get me started on Charms.... Too late; I'm going there. Lets talk charms. As in charms should only be spells cast in D & D type games when you are playing a spell caster, which I usually never do. True to character, I like to play beserkers. In other words, I don't care for charms, and I certainly don't like things on my computer being named after them, and they are as much a pain in the ass to use on Windows 8 as they are to cast in an RPG. They keep popping up all over the damn place and they don't work right half the time. Sorry, your cast failed.
   All I can say about Windows 8 is that the navigation is not intuitive; I keep ending up in strange and unknown places, and often, I can't figure out how to get back to that place once I have managed to escape. So if I end up looking at something that looks neat, I better mess with it while I am there, because there is a good chance I'll never see it again.
   Maybe this system is really great for some brilliant computer wiz, but for me, this system is a fail. But now I'm stuck with it, and like my former travesty of a computer, I am going to make this one last until the screen is popping off and parts are taped on with duct tape. I hate putting money out on computers; on the other hand, however, the new PS4 is coming out soon. I would dearly love to put some money down on that. Happy thoughts, Marie, happy thoughts. 

Mailbox Woes

   Last weekend, someone busted open some of the mail boxes at our apartments. People can be wonderful at times. And even more wonderful is the limited action that the complex took on the matter. I guess there was a sign posted on the mail boxes, but by the time I got around to checking my mail, the sign was gone. This was all that they did, so  I was baffled as to why the mail boxes were left open on one side (these are old-style apartment boxes, with one end for the mail person to open and put mail in, and then on the other side, the many little doors for the individual boxes, and it was the mail person's side that was broken.)
   Of course, by the time I got out there, the office was closed, so my inquiries had to wait for the next day, and after I called them up, a Tuesday,  I was informed of the break-in. Call me crazy here, but I think a note stuck on the door of the affected apartments would not have been out of line in this circumstance, especially since we all needed to be aware of the fact that our mail was being held at the post office until the boxes could be replaced. That is what I call critical information. But we weren't notified, and what's done is done.
   My next stress was trying to figure out what packages had been delivered and if anything was missing. You see, I have started my Christmas shopping. This may seem early, but I like to be finished by December 1st if at all possible. Now, rarely am I actually finished by that time, but usually I do have the bulk of the shopping done. And because my daughter tends to go with me every time I go to a store, I do a lot of shopping online. Amazon is a wonderful site; I spend a lot of money there. This online shopping has the bonus of my daughter having no clue what I have bought (I mean, c'mon, how many of you think telling your kid not to peek in the cart actually works? Do you remember being a kid? I would have peeked.) Then there is the fact that I do not have to leave the house. Great perks. I love shopping in my pjs. But I had some gifts in the mail, and I needed to find out whether or not they had been stolen.
   That's not to mention any additional personal information that might have been jacked for identity theft use. Not too happy about that one. I have had my identity stolen, and having to call the bank because you've been alerted that someone is trying to use your card to book a hotel in England, when you are stuck in Washington and have to go to work the next day, puts you in a really bad mood. Trust me; I know from experience.
   Questions towards the office ladies procure the knowledge that they don't know when the mail boxes will be replaced, which means all my mail is on hold until further notice. The silver lining in all of this is that I have confirmed that all of my daughter's Christmas is safe and sound, and is currently stacked in my closet, which is a huge relief. The boxes are not yet fixed, but although taking that hike up to the post office is annoying, at least the rest of my mail is safe.
   All I can really add to all this is that not being able to get my mail has been really stressful for me.  I never knew how much  I took all of that for granted. I will never, ever take the mail person for granted again, I swear! Just deliver my mail again! (That being said, if they took anything at all, they sure didn't take the bills. Hmmmm. Why didn't they want to pay my student loans for me, I wonder???)

Something For The Football Fans (To Mock Me With)

   I have never been into sports. Maybe it's just because I can't understand why a bunch of people want to spend a significant amount of valuable time chasing a ball around, or maybe all my interest is eaten up by my kid, books, and video games. Whatever the reason, that doesn't change the fact that almost every friend I have is a huge football fan, nor does the fact change that every Sunday during football season, my news feed on Facebook fills with football chatter. Not that I am complaining, so don't think that at all, but some of the chatter is stuff that I just don't always understand right away, and that is what this post is going to be about, so don't go away thinking this is a football hating post. This is a Marie-mocking post.

Do they live next to Whoville?

   First, we are going to talk about some Southern friends and their fave team of all time. For a while, I really didn't understand all this Who Dat, randomly posted on my news feed. Of course they sometimes posted Who Dat with a symbol, but honestly, I didn't recognize the symbol. I don't even know the names of most of the teams. And all I could help thinking was that the Who Dat's sounded like something from Dr. Seuss, maybe a town next to Whoville. A sign of all that book reading I do, I am sure. Now that some time has passed, and I've seen the phrase in context,  I understand that this is a phrase for the Saints, but at first, this really was what  I was thinking. I was baffled.
  Then we have the 'dirty birds.' Don't even know who that is, even now, but what I think of is all those crows and seagulls fighting over the trash in our complex dumpster. Have you ever seen a crow attacking the trash? They can get  really creative; they grab a bag of trash, fly up into the air, and let it go. Which often breaks the bag open and trash flies out all over the road. Then the seagulls swoop in and start picking over people's thrown out food, fighting the crows for moldy bread and pizza crusts. I have actually seen them do this, and the garbage looks worse than if a dog had gotten into the dump, especially when the bag snags a tree on the way down, and then you have trash on the ground and up in the freaking tree. So that's my thoughts on dirty birds: trash diving crows and seagulls. I still think of that when  I see dirty bird posts; I can't seem to stop myself.
  Finally, a more recent one was the recent Seahawks game, that happened weekend before last, and everyone was on my news feed praising the '12th Man'. Yeah, I thought that was actually a position, like a quarterback or something. Then I find out that it's something about fans being really loud. Okay. You all like loud people? Come hang out with my sister; she breaks the sound barrier on a regular basis. Loud, louder, LOUDEST.
   I'm sure that football is great; so many people like the game that I have to just be missing something. But I just continually miss whatever that something is. We all know my brain is wired on video games and books, so maybe I just missed the football fan gene. But continue posting your football stats, and I'll continue to post my dorky book and video game stats, and we'll all get along great and laugh at each other. 

You Let Your Kid Read WHAT???

   If you have been reading this blog at all, or if you just plain know me in real life, then you know that I am deadly passionate about books. Some people just think of books as fantasy, as something that is merely an escape from real life, but I also see books as a way to get to know the world, in a completely safe environment. Of course, books are also great entertainment, but that leads to another really important function: the expansion of the imagination. On a scholarly level, building vocabulary, learning new things, and so much more. Books are great, so as you can imagine, I highly encourage my daughter to read.
   Not many people have a problem with that. What some people have gotten all shocked and shaken about is what I let my daughter read. There is not much on my banned book list. In fact, the only thing that comes to mind is the 50 Shades of Gray trilogy. She is NOT reading that. I have, but she isn't. However, I have gotten some stares over the things that I do allow her to read.
  One of the lectures that I got was when I let her read The Golden Compass. A coworker (who is no longer even there) was all over me when he learned that she was reading this series. That book, according to him, encouraged devil worship. And my jaw dropped so low that it hit the floor. Criticism from someone who has obviously never even read the book they are complaining about is a pet peeve of mine, so instead of keeping my big mouth shut, I picked my jaw up off of the floor and fired back. As I have said before, I do believe in God, but I keep an open mind and try my best not to judge other's beliefs. However, devil worship (which I do not equate with Wiccan or Pagan, or other like beliefs, so cool your jets) in and of itself, is evil. The Devil, as in Lucifer, is a Christian belief, and the Devil is the evil side of our beliefs, so that is one thing I will not accept. I don't feel that I am being closed-minded in that regard, because someone who claims to be a true devil worshiper would understand what the Christian belief system was, and would follow my belief system, but on the dark side, so-to-say, and as such would be a person who practiced truly evil, immoral things. (Again, I do not equate alternative, non-Christian beliefs to this, so don't start firing at me.) And this book has absolutely nothing to do with devil worship what-so-ever. Only a person who has not read the book themselves would come up with such straight out-and-out bullshit. And furthermore, let me spell something out for everyone: M.Y. C. H. I. L. D. Now what does that spell? Hmmm.
   Recently, another issue has been Ellen Hopkins. Now, I don't get absurd accusations about that author, but what I do get is: is she old enough to read that book? Ellen Hopkins is a pretty well-known author, but in case you are not familiar with her, she is a poet, but not your average poet. She writes whole stories in poem, and these stories are about things like drug abuse, teen suicide, teen's discovering they are gay, teenage prostitution, and pretty much every hot, don't-talk-about it topic that is out there. So I can actually kind of understand why the question is asked: these stories are brutally honest. But this is were learning about the world in a safe environment comes into play. My daughter can read these stories, and get a better picture than I could describe, having never done hard drugs, about the consequences of becoming addicted. Nothing is sugar coated.
   The lasted Ellen Hopkins book she has read is Tricks, and having read it first, I was unsure of what her reaction would be to the book, because this book is about teenage prostitution. But long ago, we established guidelines for any book. If she ever needed to put a book down, because it was scaring her or upsetting her, or she just couldn't deal with it, she would do so. And she has: a long time ago, we tried The Secret Life of Bees, and the fact that the main character probably accidentally shot her mother, and the abuse that she suffered from her father upset my daughter too much, and she put it down and we talked about what upset her and that was that. This is how we deal with books that my daughter decides she can't handle, so while I appreciate the concern, we have a working system in place.
   Typically, I do read everything that my daughter reads (I am not reading Diary of the Wimpy Kid and that is final). Most books I read first, not because I do not trust her, but because I read so much that I am often the one suggesting the books to her. I am the one that put the first Ellen Hopkins book in her hands; that author is truly talented and I thought my daughter would enjoy the unusual format of the book. My daughter got The Golden Compass from her school library, but the only reason I did not put that book in her hands is because I was unsure of whether or not she would be able to follow it. I do like that book, but I thought it was a difficult read to follow. She read the series, and that was the last time I refrained from suggesting a book because I thought she might not be ready for it, for whatever reason. She has proven that she will stop reading a story if it disturbs her too much, and honestly, sometimes I wonder -- if we were both tested, I think there is a possibility that she might be on a higher reading level than I am, and I am no lightweight when it comes to reading. So my system is, if the books are not just plain porn (50 Shades!!!!) then she can make up her own mind. And as she is my kid, that is my choice to make. I don't get in other parent's faces and tell them what their kids can and can't read, and I expect the courtesy returned.

A Wandering Ramble From Marie

   Adjusting to my new sleep schedule has been difficult, to say the least. I guess that some  people don't have a lot of trouble, but I have never slept well in the first place. Getting to sleep can be extremely difficult for me, and once I wake up, even if I just wake up two hours later, getting back to sleep can be impossible. I actually woke up the other night at 10 pm, and couldn't get back to sleep all that night, and at 5 am, I had to give up the quest for those longed for zzzzz's and get my daughter ready for school. Then I had to go to work. That day sucked. So much that I have decided that I need some help regulating my sleeping patterns so that I can stop feeling like a zombie and start feeling like myself again (I won't say normal here, because we all know that I am not going to act normal.)
   Other than that, not much else has been going on. My daughter is getting adjusted to her new school schedule, and as usual, my worrywart fears were not founded. She has not been picked on in her new school, we had no problems with the bus, and she is happy and excited. She is eagerly awaiting the club sign-up sheets because she would like to join some after school clubs, something made possible by the school's willingness to provide an activity bus that takes all the kids home after the day's activities. How awesome is that?
    I can't really understand why my daughter wants to stay at school LONGER however. Of course, I am not going to discourage this, because joining these clubs is something that is going to look nice on a college application one day. Never too early to start planning for that. But her reasoning is a) she likes to learn and b) she is a really social kid. How in the hell did someone as antisocial as I am end up with a social butterfly of a kid is something that I will never understand, but that is what happened. Not really complaining, because I have to deal with things like crippling stage fright and an extreme dislike towards being the center of attention in a crowd of strangers and she does things like willingly join choir and sing in front of said strangers. Not for the faint of heart, I can tell you that.
   As for the rest of life, well, work is work. I'm grateful to have a job, but nothing worth blogging about has happened. I just float along in a sleepless, zombie-like daze, which hopefully these melatonin supplements will help eradicate some of that. Why melatonin and not an over-the-counter sleep aid? Well, when I was talking to a friend about that very issue, she mentioned that sleep aids could sometimes show up as a false positive on a drug test. In the very first month that I started writing blogs, I wrote a little piece about my company's love of incessantly drawing my name for drug tests, which makes the possibility of a false positive a big no-no. Just a little information for you, because  I googled this info, and found numerous websites that confirmed the fact that yes, some over-the-counter sleep aids can cause false positives on drug tests. And we all know that everything that we read on the internet is true.
    While I have you believing that, I also want to tell you that when cats get older, they turn into walruses, and that is why they have pointy teeth; those teeth turn into tusks. Believe it or not, when we were very young, I did convince my little sister that this was truth, and she was afraid of cats for a while. But I digress, and back to the sleeping aid issue, whether this is truth or not, I don't think the risk is worth it. And  I am not going to a doctor to find out, because I avoid doctors the same way most people avoid rabid dogs.
   Also, I recently turned 32. However, while I hope that I will age gracefully and never become some bitter, youth-chasing crone, neither do I actually enjoy aging. So I don't age; I level up. Happy level-up day to me; happy day to all of ya'll as well. May you all manage to sleep well tonight, because that's what I am sure hoping for. 

Being A Mom Does Not Mean Changing Who I Am

   I love being a mom; I love my daughter more than anything, and I would do anything for her, but there is one thing she does not require of me: for me to morph into society's image of a 'good mom'. Anyone who is a mom knows that society in general expects certain things from moms. The individual may not, but as a whole, there is an image you are supposed to fit yourself into for society to view you as the good mom. You have to be the PTA mom, you have to be polished, you aren't supposed to have a potty mouth, you have to be a good cook and keep up with the house work. You aren't supposed to stand out; you are supposed to fit into this image, whether you work or stay at home. Slowly, these stereotypical images are changing, but they are still out there and if you don't fit them, you still have to deal with some backlash.
   The problem for me is that I don't fit into any of these images. For one, I have the biggest potty mouth. I really try not to on this blog because my mom doesn't like hearing the f-bomb every other word, which is often about how I talk, but for her, I tried to leave out the extensive potty mouth. I also don't like to cook; I can cook, and I do cook, but I don't get any enjoyment of it. When I am cooking or cleaning (something else I detest) I like to listen to loud and angry music, because I feel like being loud and angry too. I don't like the PTA. When my daughter first started school, I did consider joining the PTA, but I just didn't have the time between work and school and taking care of the home and mom stuff, and to be honest, I don't really fit that crowd and it's not something I would enjoy.
   There are other things as well. I mean, you might think this is a horrible confession, but I don't really like to be around strange kids, especially when there is no parent involved. I really don't appreciate that. I don't want other people's kids in my home unless those kids come with parents attached, and those parents have been invited. And I DO NOT invite people to my house if I do not know and like them. And if you are reading this and thinking, "Well, I know her and she doesn't invite me" just remember that I am the closest thing to a hermit that you can get without actually being a hermit. In fact, the only things that keep me from running away into the woods and living like a caveman is my daughter, my need for the internet, books, and video games, and my need for indoor plumbing. Those things alone prevent my hermit tranformation, so if you haven't been to my house, that doesn't mean that I don't like you. But society's image of a good mom doesn't include the antisocial introvert, so does that mean that I should change? In my opinion, the answer is a resounding NO.
   Another thing that society expects is the befriending of the 'right' people. But my question is who decides who the right people are? And how do they judge this? Because I have to tell you, this might seem strange after proclaiming that I am an antisocial introvert, but remember, I am only borderline hermit. I love to be alone; I am good at being alone, but I also like to have friends. I like to get to know people, and yes, there are times I just really need to be alone, but since I am not going to be living in the woods like a wild person, then I want to talk to people on occasion. And I am gonna talk to whoever I want to talk to. Which means that if I am talking to someone, and I like them, but then I find out that this person is a transgender woman who strips for a living, I am going to continue to talk to that person. I am not going to flinch away because that person might be a 'bad influence' on my daughter. If this person ever meets my daughter, as many of my friends do, I am going to expect them to not talk about the joys of stripping to my tween daughter, but other than that, my daughter needs to know how to get alone and respect ALL people and ALL walks of life. So while I am never going to be introducing her to known serial killers, she needs to know that there is more types of people out there, and she needs to be able to respect them. Since I believe that this is vitally important, I don't feel that I am doing my daughter harm by displaying this ability to get along and respect all walks of life in my own life. Plus, I tend to not get along with people who are only interested in fitting into society's cookie-cutter mold. And I don't want to teach my daughter that she has to fit herself into an image just to be accepted.
   But often these views are views that people try to attack me for having, and many times the basis of attack is that I am a mother, and I need to give my daughter a role model and good example. But in fact, I do think I am giving her a good example and a role model. Never in my life have I felt the need to give a shit what society thinks of me. What I care about is being a good person on the terms that I believe are the most moral and following the path that I believe God wants me to walk (because yes, I do believe in God; what I do not believe in is organized religion, which is another post altogether). And that path includes treating my neighbor the way I would want to be treated, which means with respect. And I believe that a woman can detest things like cooking and cleaning and being on the PTA, but still be a good mom. I can be the gamer/book nerd/introvert that I am and still be a good mother to my daughter. I don't have to fit the mold that society tries to force on parents.
   To be a good mom (or parent, if you are a daddy reading this) what you need to do is to provide an environment where your child feels safe and nurtured, where they can learn and grow. I provide that. I also provide unconditional love and I provide boundaries and rules, and I did not have to alter the core of who I am to do that.
   Am I the same person who I was eleven years ago when I gave birth to her? Of course not; there would be something seriously wrong with me if I had not grown as a person since then, but that does not mean that my personality went out the window. Being a mom does not negate my being Marie; I am both. 

Just Don't Call Me Mrs. Clean -- I Hate Housework

   I have looked at a million crazy, smiley, I-love-to-clean posts and articles, and if you are anything like me, these articles produce only one logical reaction -- the need to shudder in horror. Of course, as a single mother, that lets out the Stepford Wife identity, but even when I did play the role of stay-at-home mom, I made it clear to everyone that I was staying home to take care of my child, not to play maid. I think people who claim that cleaning relieves stress and makes them happy are the most batshit crazy of us all. Cleaning is a surefire way to experience me in my most stressed, pissy attitude possible.
  I detest cleaning. Of course, I do clean. My apartment has no strange and unidentifiable smells. You aren't going to find pizza embedded in the carpet. The dishes will be done (God bless whoever invented the dishwasher) and there aren't new and unexplained life forms growing in the fridge. That is about the only claim I can make. There is dust because that is a never-ending battle and long ago I surrendered and admitted my defeat. Laundry is my worst nightmare, and although sometimes I try to be good and sort and wash by color and all that good shit, inevitably I revert to shoving everything into the washer in a load as big as possible so that I can be done with the stupid mess. And don't expect me to fold. Just don't even go there.

 
   And then there is some clutter. My apartment is NOT the sea of decay that my bedroom was when I was a teenager. As a teenager, in my room you had to dig through a foot of crap just to see the carpet, and looking back, even I don't know how I managed to tolerate that mess. I couldn't now. But that being said, my daughter's backpack is laying on the floor as we speak and I have kicked it out of my way no less than three times today. My shoes are piled in front of the door instead of on the shoe rack, and I have a stack of books and magazines on the floor next to my bed.
    No, my house could never be confused with the home of  a Mr. Clean fanatic, but really, I ask you, what child wants to grow up in a museum? My apartment may not be spotless, layered with plastic to keep dust and dirt away, but dammit, my apartment is lived in and well broken in; my apartment is a home. 

Yellowstone: The Best Vacation Ever

Palette Springs at Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone.

   I'd been so excited for the Yellowstone vacation; I had been saving up to go on this particular vacation for over a year, but this idea of this vacation is an old one. My family had decided that we wanted to make a trip here about six years ago but at that time, my niece was still a baby and my nephew hadn't even been born yet. Then when he was born, we had two small children on our hands. We wanted to go when the kids were old enough to really enjoy the trip, and we wanted them to be able to do the many trails offered by the park. 

   Of course, my nephew is only five, and the older girls are eight and eleven, so we aren't looking at the backpacking, overnighter trails. But there are so many child friendly trails in Yellowstone that even though we went for eleven days -- a time period that had many exclaiming, "What will you do there for so long?!" -- we never ran out of things to do, nor did we find ourselves the victims of bored children. Yellowstone is simply breathtaking, and has charm for all ages. And as I traveled, as usual, there were things that struck my fancy as I went along. So I put together a sort-of picture diary for the purpose of this blog. 

   1. As you travel the trails, you are going to notice a fair amount of scat; after all, this is not a zoo, and the animals roam freely. Now, when I hollered for the kids to not step in whatever animal crap that was sitting in the path, they would go around it; sometimes with theatrical squeals, and sometimes with some eye rolling, because I was reminding them 100 times a day. The boy, however, would only avoid the scat when he was in the mood to. The rest of the time he would shrug and plow through it. 

Anyone up for some buffalo pie?

   2. When you mix a large population of people, and you throw wild animals into the mix, there is no end to the amount of chaos that can be caused, especially when you factor cars and traffic into all of that. People would stop in the middle of the road, and go stand in oncoming traffic just to get a picture of the bison (buffalo), elk, or whatever else was out there. And the animals did not seem to be shy about getting in the road. We were stuck behind bison several times as we drove from one section of the park to another.

Mr. Bison would like a lift, please.

   3. The kids are going to see a lot of things, out there in nature. Things that you might not want them too...

They're just giving each other piggy-back rides, kids, I swear. 

   4. The park is full of "Do not die, you dumb-ass tourist" signs. They are plastered everywhere. All. Over.

This one is even illustrated, just in case you need the visual. 

   5. Pay attention to the details. You don't want to miss anything, and little things can give you a great big chuckle.

Somebody got happy with the nail gun on this boardwalk path :)

   All jokes aside, this vacation really was the best vacation. Eleven days came and went, and truthfully, I could have spent eleven more. The atmosphere was very tranquil and relaxing and the many views were breathtaking. And catching glimpses of the animals was so much fun! This is one trip that I highly recommend to anyone, of any age. This trip went above and beyond all expectations.

The Chromatic Pool. 

 

The Grand Geyser.

 

An elk in the Firehole River. 

 

Lower Falls at the Yellowstone Canyon. 

 

A pronghorn on the Blacktail Plateau Drive. 

 

And am I the only one who thinks Liberty Cap looks like a penis? 

5 AM In The Freaking Morning

   Vacation came and went, and I still plan to do some blogs about that, but I came back from vacation with an unwelcome addition: the mega-cold of despair. So I have been fighting that, as well as working some extremely busy Labor Day shifts, and getting ready for the first day of school. Which happened to be scheduled for three days after I got back, meaning that time was running out for me to have everything ready. So I have been losing my mind due to illness, work, and lack of time; a feeling that every parent will be familiar with, I am sure.
   And the first day of school was today for my daughter, because school in this area starts in September and not in August, like so many places. My daughter loves school, and anxiously awaited this day, mad for this day to be here. She had 'plans'. Friends to reunite with, clubs to join, honor choir, teachers to meet, she was excited about all of everything that comes with school.
   I, however, have dreaded this day. Not because I am not mentally prepared to have a child in Middle School, or Junior High, whatever you want to call it, although, I am NOT mentally prepared for this, but because her bus comes at 6:30. What is wrong with that, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. That means I have to be up at 5 AM in the freaking morning!!! 
   If you are an early bird, and I know some of you are, that is no problem, I suppose. But I have never claimed to be an early bird; in fact, I am the total opposite of an early bird. I am a night owl. I hate the ass-crack of dawn. That is an God-awful time to be awake, and you early birds can have that damn worm; I'd rather have my pillow. I hate sunrise; I hate the sun. Do you begin to see my problem here?
   When she went to elementary school, I had to get up at seven, and I thought that was bad enough. I thought that was a sacrifice. Before she was born, I worked only night shifts. Now I am a damned day shifter, and who the hell ever saw that coming??? Not me, I can assure you.
   I have been dreading this day with all my soul, and before me, I see a vast expanse of 5 am wake-up calls. But what can a mother do? We all make sacrifices. But all I can say is this: the first time she gets all teenage angst-y, and goes all drama queen on me, and starts screaming at me that "I have ruined her life forever!" like all teenage girls do at some point or another, I am bringing this 5 am shit up. 5 am might be natural for some people, but for me, this is a decidedly unnatural time, and I don't enjoy changing my feathers.