Sick Days

I'm at home with a sick kid. Just after 8 and we've already thrown up green twice. Awww, the joys of motherhood.

Actually, it is a joy. Not the throw up part but all the other stuff. And even staying home today, which was the worst day for me to stay home. Seriously, can we not coordinate this sick stuff so it's a little more convenient?  Thursday would work so much better for me.

I started to tell hubby I couldn't stay home that I had this, and this, and this to do but most importantly, the president was hosting the All Staff Breakfast and giving her annual address. And as a Director, I was expected to be there. Expected to be seen.

But then I thought about my little girl. Pawning her off so I could make a good impression. For what? So some people that I won't even know in 5 years (and who probably won't even remember me in 10) can see what a good professional I am? Is that really my priority?

No. It isn't.

It won't ever be.

Was it a great move professionally? No but I've got to treat the things that mean the most to me like they actually mean the most. And honestly, those two girls are the greatest treasures of my life.

And make that three times.

Treasures, I tell ya, treasures.

One Too Many

So I'm on the treadmill at work. That kinda sounds impressive - I've always wanted to be one of those people who could begin a story with 'I was on the treadmill...'. Well, technically, I think what I've really wanted was to be one of those people who say it and it be believable. I had just finished my run (it was more of a sloppy jog but I was out of breath and sweaty so I'm rounding up) when an email alert flashed across my phone. I don't normally open them while I'm at the gym but I was closing out my run program and just hit the tab - almost out of instinct. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen.

It was from my college president and it had one of those high priority red exclamation marks so I opened it immediately. It was one sentence long. "This is not our Student Support Services program, correct?" I'm confused. And immediately concerned.

I open the attachment to find a letter from the Department of Education informing us that our grant application did not score high enough to receive funding. I look to make sure it's supposed to come to us. And it is. It's addressed to our president and has our college name on the letter.

I'm confused and filled with panic. Did the Department make a mistake? Were we not supposed to be funded?

I have another 10 minutes of walking on the treadmill but I literally jump off that instant and run to my office. The first thing I do is pull up the notification slate. And call a friend at the same time. I'm in such a frenzy that I can't think straight - I need someone to bring me down. I get that way when I'm panicked. I'm like this little wind up toy that won't stop spinning on it's own. It reminds me of this funny scene in Clue (hilarious movie, by the way).

Yep, I am totally Mrs. Peacock.

But she doesn't answer so I continue in my frenzy.

But look. We're on the list. Right there. We're on the slate. What the hell is going on? I feel better but I'm still confused and still a little panicked. I call my program officer.

She asks me to check the award numbers. Of course, why didn't I think of that? Because I'm still spinning, that's why. They are different numbers but only by the last digit. One is 106, the other 109. When I read them to her she says "Hum, it's not good that they're so close.".

In my mind, in that instant, I wonder if they accidentally submitted my grant twice and it got two different scores. I'm not sure that's even possible. And the awarded grant scored 105/106 (Yes, I only lost ONE point! How cool is that?) and this one was 87/106.  That's a huge difference. Could there be a discrepancy that big?

As I tell her no, we only submitted one I skim the reader comments again and this time the word Veteran jumps out at me. And it suddenly dawns on me. Our grant writer (the one that viciously said to me when he discovered I was writing the grant "Well, when you don't get refunded I'll say to them, you should have had me write it.") has submitted a grant application for a Veterans program without telling anyone.

Not only did he not even bother to ask for input, the arrogant SOB didn't even notify the president! I mean, who does that?

The saddest part is that I would have collaborated. I would have shared everything I know in order to make that grant successful. And not for any type of credit, but simply because I wanted it.

What a wasted opportunity.

Thankfully our grant was not impacted and I can rest easy that we do, in fact, have another 5 years of funding.

And it must have been a bonding moment because the next day my program officer sent me a fb friend request...Yes, really. And how do you handle that?  But that's another story for a different day...

Lice & Love

I work up Friday and decided I would have to take M to the doctor. Nothing serious, an eye thing. Not pink eye but some weird random thing right under her eye that they can't explain. She gets it every year around this time. She'll get these tiny little bumps, they crust over and she gets a black eye.  It's really bizarre.

Apparently, weird eye things are hereditary.

I should have taken her sooner because I saw it coming but I was kinda wishing it away. Surprisingly, that didn't work. 

I was scheduled for a short day anyway so I just took the entire day off. I thought I would run her to the doctor in the morning, get us packed for our weekend trip to Texas and finish up a few things before our showing.

I had it all planned out.

Then the plan bitch-slapped me. 

I was sitting in the doctors office waiting for our release paperwork with M2 across my lap.  I was mindlessly playing with her hair when I look down and see...something. OH. MY. GOD. Is that...lice? 

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod that's lice. 

And it shouldn't have shocked me because M2 has been itching her head for weeks. Weeks. But it did shock me because I've been checking, religiously. I even talked to the daycare and her teacher had been checking too. Both of us noticed the itching. Both of us checked. Both of us checked multiple times a day. Neither of us saw anything. 

I don't know why, but in my mind I thought we would be able to escape ever having it. I thought we would be able to be one of those lucky families who say nope, my kids never got it. We managed to avoid it for 9 years (with daycare babies!) so I had this inflated sense of security. Inflated sense of false security. 

And I don't care what you know and what you understand about it - there is nothing in this world that will make you feel as gross as seeing bugs crawling around in your kid's hair. Nothing that will make you as paranoid either because my head started itching exactly .08 seconds after I realized.

So beyond the normal humiliation of having to tell the doctor's office (thanks for squeezing us in today and oh, by the way - we brought lice!) and the daycare and just about everybody I know (I mentioned that she's been itching for weeks, right?) I also have to figure out a way to strip all the bedding, treat M, M2, myself and the hubs (we are NOT chancing this), spray down the beds, couches, car and anything else any of us has touched (or maybe even just looked at because we are NOT chancing this) AND get my house put back together and looking pretty because we have a showing that night.

I've only treated the girls (do you have any idea what a tedious thing that it?) when I have to stop and put the house back together. I get the girls cleaned up, put away all the treatment stuff and start throwing comforters back on the beds.  Pillows and sheets aren't done washing yet but it's good enough. It will have to be good enough. I grab the huge pile of laundry and stuff it in dirty hampers. 

I've just finished getting everything done when I get the call.

They're not coming, they need to reschedule.

Are you kidding me?

I did manage to get us all treated, everything washed, everything sprayed (twice) and get the entire family packed for a wedding in Dallas. 

Which ended up being a great diversion. Besides the fact that I was paranoid and didn't want to hug anyone. 

The wedding was absolutely beautiful. They had a great ceremony and a fun reception - everything was perfect.  

We spent the next day playing at Dave & Busters and walking the mall. I got really lucky because we met up with another friend of ours that lives in the area and he distracted hubby while I cruised the mall. My husband hates the mall so we rarely go. And when we do I get a lot of "Can we go now?" "Are you done?" But this time I got to make it through the entire mall. Unrushed. It was so much fun. 

One funny story from the weekend trip:  I'm a Sooner girl and any good Sooner fan understands that when you enter into rival territory, you have to represent. So every time I go to Texas I wear an OU shirt. This has always worked out amazingly well for me and I've always been proud to declare my Sooner love. 

After the wedding and dinner, I had changed back into my travel clothes to go sit out on the hotel patio to visit and have a few drinks. The entire wall leading out to the patio/pool was glass with a gazillion weird doors with the tiniest little handles I have ever seen. I tried one but couldn't get it to open. I slightly more aggressively tried another. No luck. Then a hotel staff member rushes over and directs me to the normal looking glass door that is standing wide open. I realize then that what I've been trying to open aren't doors at all but rather a huge constructed glass wall.  

As he's leading me to the door (because someone that dumb requires a guide to walk 10 feet) he looks at my shirt and says "Oklahoma, huh?" 

It was so funny I couldn't even be embarrassed. Way to represent, Amber.

What's up Texas?

Ssshhhhh, Don't Tell Anyone We Live Here

I've only sold two houses in my life, so I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that living in a house while it's on the market sucks.

Excuse me while a whine a little:  
Not only do I have to constantly keep the house clean (which just totally sucks by itself because who wants to spend all their time doing that?) but we're also supposed to pretend we don't live here. No toothbrushes out on the sink, no visible shoes or hats, no hairdryers/straighteners in view and no laundry baskets anywhere. That last one is a doozy for me - there is always a laundry basket full of clothes sitting around at my house. 

Oh, and we're supposed to leave the house each morning ready for a showing. 

Great. Because I needed 6 more things to do each morning. You know, with all that extra time I have. 

So our house went live last Thursday (meaning it hit MLSgateway and all the other online listing sites) and the very next day we got a request for a showing. Yes! And I know you don't usually get an offer the first showing but deep in my heart, I was hopeful. 

They were scheduled for 12:15 Saturday.  I woke up just as the hubby was leaving and the scramble began. Since I'm out of shape, almost as soon as I started to move I broke a sweat. When I went to turn down the air, I noticed the thermostat screen was blank. Huh. 

My next step is to do what any independent, educated woman would do - I called my husband.

Because he's mechanically inclined and very knowledgeable about electrical stuff,  he suggested changing the batteries. It worked. 

Sort of.

It had power but the air wouldn't kick on. It's not blowing air. Nothing. Another phone call and me flipping breakers and still no luck.

Are you kidding? The day we're showing our house? NO!

I crank the upstairs unit down to 60 and get a fan to blow all that cold air downstairs and continued on my mad cleaning crusade. Praying the AC repair guys could make it out before noon.

At 10:00 I call the repair guy to remind him to come before noon. At 11:00 I call our realtor, explain the situation and develop a plan. The house, because the second unit, is not hot. We're sitting at about 72-74. Completely doable. So right before they're supposed to arrive, I'm gonna turn off and put away the fan and leave all the blinds closed to keep it as cool as possible. I call the repair guy again - change of plans, DO NOT COME until after 12:30. 

Now my house is pretty much perfect, as perfect as I can make it, and I'm on the last leg of chores - carrying bags to the car to take to storage. Because that's another thing too - no cluttered (i.e. full) closets. You can't let potential buyers actually think you might store stuff in your closets because that would just be weird, right?

The girls have a very deep closet that actually stored a baby mattress. I'm not a hoarder, our baby furniture was a set - crib and two dressers. The girls are using the dressers until we move and buy them new furniture so I'm storing the crib until we can sell it as a set. The crib slates are stored under M's bed but I've got to find a new home for the mattress. Because I have the girls with me (along with a trillion bags of clothes and shoes that are going to storage) I can't fit the mattress in my car. My plan was to put it in the bed of my husband's truck on our way out. 

About 15 minutes before noon I go out to put the pool vacuum in - it's the last thing I've got to do. But when I look at the pool,  I notice a lot of little bugs floating around. That's not a good sign.

I stick my hand in the pool and the filter isn't working. WHAT?!

Another call to the husband. This time he's confident that it's the breaker. The pool and the air conditioner are on the same line. Or the same wire. Or whatever it is... I flip everything again and check the pool again - the filter is working!  Walk into the house and the air is blowing! YES - maybe we can sale this crappy old house!

Now it's almost noon. Call the repair guy AGAIN - never mind, false alarm.  I do a final sweep through the house opening all the blinds and curtains. As I go to pull the office curtains open, the rod comes crashing down. Almost simultaneously, the girls begin to yell "They're here!  They're here!"  WHAT? HERE? THEY'RE 15 MINUTES EARLY!

Let me just say that's a pet peeve of mine. I think being early is just as rude as being late. If I tell you to come at 2, don't come at 2:20 and don't come at 1:45. Come at 2, LIKE I ASKED.

Pandemonium breaks out - I grab the curtain rod, find the screw and other pieces that flew across the room when it fell, and make a mad dash to find a place to hide it. It's a solid rod, not a collapsible one so I can't make it any shorter - where can I stick this thing?  THE MATTRESS! The baby mattress! I can't carry it out now-they're sitting right in front of my house! And they're here - waiting! 

I'm so frazzled I can't think. I throw both the mattress and the curtain in the laundry room, hurriedly grab the broom and sweep up all the little sheetrock dust that has resulted from the fall and grab my purse to go when the girls start screaming again - "They're leaving!  They're leaving!"

I call my husband, way more hysterical than I should be, and cry into the phone "WE LOST THE SHOWING!" and some other hysterical-woman nonsense. He wasn't worried or sympathetic, mainly just annoyed that I was so emotional. But I felt like I had just ruined everything. Like if I had been out of the house already, they wouldn't have left. And I had spent all morning working so hard to make sure everything was perfect - it was just so disappointing. 

Our realtor said they left because they decided the driveway was a bit small. A load of crap since our driveway runs all the way to the backyard. They really just didn't like the look of the house and she was trying to be nice. 

In the end it was a good lesson because I realized it really doesn't matter if the salt & pepper shakers are perfectly aligned, or if the hand towels are folded in a specific way, or if the curtain tie-backs are exactly even - they're either going to like the house or they aren't. 

We have another showing tonight. I did spend last night cleaning but I was not nearly as neurotic about it as last time. And who knows, by the time the house actually sells, I may be barely wiping things down...

We Got It: Part II

So about the refunding:

It's weird. I kinda knew that morning that it would be a big day.

When I was getting dressed I thought to myself "wear something cute, you need to look good today." Did I wear something cute? No. Not that I didn't want to; I just couldn't fit my fat behind into anything. But that's a discussion for another time...but dang, I wish I had been able to fit into a cute dress.

Not that it's hugely surprising I felt some anticipation - we've known since last week that we would find out any day this week.  But yesterday just felt...heavy.  I know that sounds weird. But it did. Usually I'm all high-strung happy energy but it was just...different. In fact, I walked into work with a colleague and after exchanging pleasantries, he flipped his sunglasses up and asked if I was okay. It was that obvious.

And I'm not kidding when I tell you I'm lucky.  I got a text right before going to a meeting that the slate was out. But there was no buzz on our listserv and I hadn't heard anything. So immediately after our meeting I decide to call the congressional office myself, just to see. And voila - I got the slate emailed to me. That happened to me the last SSS grant competition I was in too - first call and I get the slate. You probably can't understand the miraculous nature of something like that happening unless you get DC politics but trust me folks, it was lucky.

The problem, though, is that once you have the slate you also have people who call/text/email you wanting to know who got funded and who didn't. My phone was blowing up. It was mass chaos. Most people had legitimate reasons for wanting the information but some did not. And if you aren't a Director of the program, I'm not sending it to you. Feel free to get it on your own but I'm not helping you undermine your supervisor.

And then there's the responsibility of knowing who didn't get funded. Let me just say that even though our programs are funded through a competitive grant process, there's nothing competitive about what we do, at least not to me.  The mission of our programs is the same - we all seek to serve the same population and have the same goal: provide access to education in the hopes of changing lives. It's that simple.

So it isn't a "me against them" thing.  It's all of us, together. And when we lose a program - it's a bad thing. For everyone. For the students, for the staff, for the institution and for everybody that believes that education is a pathway to a better life. It's heartbreaking. Especially when it happens to people you love.

So I'm thrilled that we were refunded. Couldn't have felt any better than when I saw our name on that list. But it was immediately followed by a great sadness for the names that were missing. Being one of the first to know - knowing that as excited as I was, these people would very shortly be feeling devastated - the reality of that is not something you can just ignore.

As I was walking out I got a call from a Director not on that list. I answered the phone with my heart in my throat. When she said my name, she sounded so solemn that I thought she knew. I simply said "Hi X" in a way that was meant to express my love and comfort. But her response was immediately bubbly and upbeat. Oh dear God. She doesn't know.

Word had gotten out that I had the slate, could I send it to her?  Yes, I could. Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. Thanks, where you guys on the list? Yes, we were. Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. Congratulations! That's so exciting, isn't it? Yes, it is. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.

I absolutely could not tell her. Not that I was afraid to deliver bad news, I just strongly felt it wasn't my place. And I wanted so badly to put something in the email - something to soften the blow. But I couldn't let that be the first thing she saw.

I gave her a few minutes then called. I had to acknowledge her loss. Have you ever talked to someone after they've just discovered something horrible? She was in a state of shock and my little "I'm so sorry. Maybe you'll be in the funding band. I'm praying for you." all seemed so trite.

Then immediately after I got a call from staff that our grant writer had been in, demanding a copy of the slate. He didn't even have the decency to say congratulations. He did have the audacity to then email the President, Executive Vice President, his supervisor and ME to inform us that the program had been renewed. What a prick!

And in case you don't understand why that makes him a prick, let me elaborate.

I just typed about four paragraphs of back story on this guy. But then I decided he's not worth it. He doesn't deserve any more acknowledgement than I've already given him. So just trust me - he's a prick.

I went from this euphoric high, to guilt-ridden and sad to pissed off and angry.  All within a 30 minute time span. It was emotion overload.

I'm still ecstatic that we made. Still in disbelief. And in shock that now I'm talking about writing two more grants.

I get one little tiny victory and I feel like I can take on the entire world...

We Got It!

I am emotionally drained.

We got great news today - our program was refunded!

I cannot express to you the enormous relief and thankfulness I feel. It's beyond words. I'm just so grateful.

God is so, so good!

It's been an exhausting day so I will have to fill you on on the details tomorrow. But let me share this before I close - today as I was driving, Jeremiah 29:11 popped in my head (more on that later too) and as I head to bed, I am thanking God and trusting in His plan.

Cracked Up

**Contains mature content. Not responsible for any repulsion caused by reading the post below.**

There comes a point in every relationships when you get to the "secure" spot. This is the point where you have the level of security and confidence in the feelings of the other person that you begin to feel comfortable, even in the most uncomfortable situations.

That's one of the nice things about being married - you're way past that awkwardness hump. So you wouldn't expect any of those embarrassing sex things to happen, right?

Yeah. I didn't either.

Our realtor is coming Wednesday to take pictures of our house so I decided I wanted to deep clean. And by deep clean, I mean do all things that should be done on a regular basis but that I spend a large quantity of time avoiding. 

We have a ginormous (and really cool) pocket door between our living room and study - it's one of my favorite things about this house.  It's about 8 feet tall and about 4 feet wide and I'm pretty certain it's authentic to the house. Our former neighbor told us that the couple that owned the house before us had knocked out the wall to put in a french door when they found it hidden behind the sheetrock. 

We usually keep the door open and since it sits in the wall it gets really dusty. Well, that and the fact that I don't ever dust it. So I'm in the office, dusting and looking particularly unattractive  when my hubby comes in. Apparently, I must have been holding that can of Pledge just right because the boy got frisky.  Or maybe it was just the shock of seeing me do something domestic.  Either way, one thing led to another *and this is the part where it gets adult, so escape now! and I go from the ladder to the desk. When suddenly there is a loud and unmistakable popping sound. I freeze and even though I know, I ask anyway. "Did the glass just break?" 

Yes, the like super thick, tempered glass that covers our desk had cracked. 

Nothing better than having the fact that you're fat highlighted during a moment of intimacy. Nope, that's not awkward at all.

Normally, I don't think it would have even been that big of a deal but I know it only cracked because I am super heavy right now. No, I really do know that. I've...um... kinda been on that desk before. 

And not that he doesn't know I've gained weight - but breaking a piece of furniture is a first for me.

So diet begins tomorrow!  Seriously have to do something, like now. 

And when I want to cheat or eat something I know I shouldn't, I'm going to close my eyes and remember the night my ass cracked the glass.