Before we go any further, I would like to mention a few little things.

First of all, I’m drinking coffee. I know. I * know *. I said I never drink coffee in the middle of the day. But I’m an adult, goddammit! If I want a jot of caffeine mid day then so be it!

Second, I am not yet finished feeling relieved. And grateful. And overwhelmed.

He’s alive.

Now on with the show!

I had the kind of day that is just perfect for blogging. Oh, you know the kind. The kind of day that seems full of possible blog post ideas and the whole time you’re living them, you hatching out an article in your little head and then you realize that you’re actually pretty sad and pathetic because you can pretty much not even wait to get home and get onto the computer to yak away about the crazy shit that happened. What do you mean that never happens to you?

Oh. Shit.

I might need more coffee.

First of all, Monday the buses were cancelled because of snow. Lots and lots of snow. That meant that I had all three rug rats home with me. It was actually a lot better than I thought it would be. The girls played outside a lot which helped to take the edge off. And Emma has reached another level of strange maturity so she was helpful with the other two demons. And we wrapped Christmas gifts (what is it with kids and tape, anyway?) and started their advent calendars and made lots and lots of Christmas cards for everyone they love.

Every now and then I have a moment where I realize that I have pretty damn good kids.

But still. It was snow day.

And then yesterday, Kate wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home from school. It dawned on her at the end of the day that she had actually missed a day with her friends. And she was a real little shit, believe me. Drove me fucking bat shit. But by mid day, she was feeling better and good enough to actually go out for milk and apple juice and CLR and other necessities.

But then it happened…

Just as I was feeling pretty good about being able to roll with the fact that the school week was quickly being peppered with little holes in attendance by my two school aged beasties, I realized that Friday is a PA day. No school. For anyone. And it’s my weekend coming up to boot.

Gr-eat.

Guess this is what I get for missing the little freaks while they were at their Dad’s, eh?

Never one to be discouraged, however, I headed out today after the littlest of the little beasties (Michael) decided that morning naps were the devil’s handiwork and refused, for pretty much the first time in his short life, that he was NOT going to sleep. I think he might be outgrowing the morning nap. I remember quite clearly when it happened to my girls. I believe I cried.

I had a bunch of little errands to run after cutting yesterday’s trip short due to Kate’s mystery earache and Michael’s, well, due to Michael. The kid hates carts, okay? HATES them. He acts like someone lit him on fire after sitting in one for about ten minutes or so. And he’s not shy about telling the whole world (or at least Walmart) that his ass is burning. He’s also been known to grab onto other people’s carts, perhaps in a half assed attempt to escape his birth family (who could blame him, really?) and then shout at the old lady pushing the blasted thing just in case she didn’t notice the pint sized almost-stowaway. So anyway, we headed downtown today. I put Michael in his stroller. He liked it. Thank Dog almighty, he liked it.

Now, this brings me to my little rant.

If you have a small (or large) business and especially if that business has you driving around in a company vehicle with your business’s name printed on the side, TAKE NOTE.

Be very, very, very aware of how you’re driving. Because if you cut me off. Go over the lines of the parking spot and make me squeezed and scrunched putting kids in the back or getting into the driver’s side. Almost run over one of my kids because you won’t wait for us to cross at the crosswalk (pedestrians have the right of way, asshole!) OR ride my ass on the high way, I NOTICE. And furthermore, I make note of the name of the business stretched out along the side of your van or car or whatever.

And I make note to never use your business.

Yes, I’m bitter and spiteful.

If you’re driving a vehicle with advertisements on it, you’re on duty, even if you’re not on the clock. It’s just the way it goes. You are representing your business the entire time you’re out and about and that includes your time spent behind the wheel. I’ve been in customer service and retail long enough to not only know this to be true but to also have stopped giving a shit whether or not it’s fair.

It’s just one of the laws of customer service. Get over it. And stop driving like a fucking asshole.

And now this brings me to my second rant.

If you have a business, only advertise the services you * actually * are capable of offering. That seems simple enough, doesn’t it? I mean, if you can’t do it, you shouldn’t pretend that you can. Especially if the door to your business is up a couple of steps and your possible client is pushing a baby stroller. That just gave you a big ol’ janetk X next to your name.

Amazing how inaccessible many of the businesses downtown are. Amazing and very, very disappointing.

Despite my fuming and grumbling while we were out and about, Kate and Michael and I had a really good time. Kate was in a great mood (I bribed her with a donut) and walked and walked and walked without complaint. She held the basket at GT for me and shopped around and didn’t ask for anything and didn’t whine once, although she did find a few things to add to her Santa list. A life sized cardboard cut out of that blasted Hannah Montana, for starters that is NOT going to happen. I don’t need to piddle myself in the middle of the night because a fake pop star is staring at me from the living room.

I finished up my shopping for Don.

I finished up my shopping for my sister and (almost) brother in law.

With Rock gone, my list of people to buy for has shortened dramatically. This means that the people I love are getting a better haul this year than Christmases past. Which doesn’t actually mean that much since I’m still pretty cheap. And poor. But whatever.

Our last stop was this funky little coffee shop on main street. I had promised Kate a hot chocolate for the road and I try to keep it local whenever I can. Yes, I shop at Walmart. And Zellers. I am a single mother of three. I have to stretch my dollar and if Walmart’s diapers are cheaper than anywhere else, my hands are tied. But whenever I can, I make a point of trying to keep it local and trying to spend as much of my money at small businesses.

Which is why I do so much of my Christmas shopping downtown. It’s the one time of year when I can really spread it around and feel good about where my merchandise came from and where my money is going.

But I digress.

We went into the coffee shop for a hot chocolate and a wrap for me since nobody had bribed me with a donut.

First off, there was a step. I’m continually disgusted by the number of places without a fucking ramp.

Shit. I’m digressing again.

Right. A step and two doors that needed to be held open to get through (no handicapped button, in other words). I had a stroller loaded down with shopping bags and a five year old in tow. A gentleman was going into the coffee shop ahead of us and when he held the first door open he sighed! An annoyed sigh! I couldn’t believe it! I thanked him for the help and he rolled his fucking eyes! And then he let the second door slam in my face and almost took Kate’s little fingers off as she was trying to catch the door to be helpful!

What the fuck happened to goodwill toward man or whatever the fuck they’re singing in that carol they play all over the fucking place?!

So, you know what I did?

Bashed him in the back of his leg with the stroller accidentally on purpose.

And it felt g-o-o-d.

Now this coffee shop used to be happenin’. She used to have homemade soups and stews and wraps and baked goods. And the coffee kicks ass. So does the atmosphere.

The operative words here are, “used to be”.

Only one kind of wrap. And they were pre-made. Not fresh. Obviously store bought desserts brought in. One kind of shitty looking soup. And pricey. Very, very pricey. No wonder people are choosing Tim Horton’s instead.

I got the tired looking wrap (it used to have cheese but she’s started skimping out on that, too) and small hot chocolate for Kate. It was seven dollars altogether, which seemed a little excessive, considering. The hot chocolate was super, super hot and burned Kate’s little tongue. She cried. I don’t blame her. I wanted to cry after being out seven bucks, too!

This brings me to my final rant (I swear!).

I want to keep it local.

But you have to keep me coming back.

We drove home, Veruca Salt blasting on the speakers (there is something about driving my big ass SUV with a loud bass that gets my adrenaline pumping) all in a good mood, considering the rant worthy happenings of the day.

I dumped Michael in the living room to burn some energy.

Kate settled on the couch for some TV time (she walked a lot so I didn’t fight her on this).

And I brought the gifts and stuff I had purchased into my bedroom.

That’s when I saw it peeking at me from under the bed.

A penis.

A pink penis.

It’s rounded head was what caught my eye at first and then the thick veins along the side.

What the fuck?!

I reached down, my hear all a flutter because, well, shit! There was a penis winking at me! What rational girl wouldn’t be flushing?!

I pulled it out and immediately recognized it as a refugee from my goodie box. Seems Don and I got a little too vigorous over the weekend and we lost a sailor in the process.

And then two things dawned on me:

One…I remembered tossing said penis (which is of the delightfully vibrating variety) over my shoulder when it refused to work in the heat of the moment. Those heated moments are NOT the time to be searching for replacement batteries. I just selected another soldier from the box and moved on with my orgasm.

And two…That fucking thing has been sitting there, in almost plain view since Friday night!

Now I’m going to have nightmares about the nightmares the kids are surely having after spotting a pink penis under their mother’s bed.

There goes the mother of the year award.

Dammit.