I should have known.
The moment on Sunday morning, when my husband laid next to me in bed and said “I’ll have to see if the fridge is cold”, that it was going to be that kind of week. At first I looked over at him and lowered my glasses…thinking his statement was similar to “I’ll have to see if a rock is hard”. But then…realization kicked in. My eyes widened, my mouth opened. “The fridge is broken?!? Oh NOOOO!”
Look. I’m not a monster, but I’m a (relatively) healthy woman with curves. I like food. To be honest, I didn’t realize how much time the fridge and I spent together in a day until it died. I make dinners, snacks (husband does school lunches), but I go in the fridge a lot. Suddenly, there was a freezer that worked, but strangely, no fridge.
We spent Sunday going form store to store looking for a fridge. Do we get a cheapo fridge to tied us over for a while until we eventually got something we loved? Do we get what we love? Do we get that sweet ass fridge that was wicked expensive but you could knock twice on the window and it would light up a drinks compartment? Our budget set the tone. We ended up with a great fridge that had what we wanted, lots of space, and no water dispenser. Why? Because we didn’t want the hassle of getting someone to hook it up. Do you know how hard it can be to find a fridge without a water dispenser? No easy feat. The only issue? It won’t be delivered until Saturday, so I’m using a bar fridge for a few days. I feel like I am back in college but there is no tapioca pudding in there.
To add insult to injury, I also got sick. Effectively, when I breath, it CRACKLES. If you need to imagine yourself by a roaring, crackling fire, just have me come stand there and breath. The crackling is no joke. My voice is wrecked too, which means I fluctuate between Herman Munster and some high pitched squeaky baby voice. Interesting, considering that I teach classes online. Every day is a surprise! I never know what sound will emit from my head.
Something else I wasn’t expecting to emit from my head was blood. I was sitting in my office when I realized I got my first nosebleed. I ran to the bathroom, leaving a blood trail. Then, I coughed. I coughed so violently, blood went EVERYWHERE. Now I look like I got punched in the face, there is crime scene looking blood splatter, and I don’t really know what to do, so I start wiping it up, while i’m bleeding. Then I hear my daughter so I shove paper in my nose and frantically start cleaning before she sees it. She comes down just as I am getting up a big plop of blood on the counter, and seems amazed I have never had a nosebleed (She gets them somewhat often). I start to feel the cough coming, so I jam my face in a wad of toilet paper to catch the spray of blood while I hack and wretch violently. Of course once one of these coughs starts, it just won’t stop.
“You should probably sleep with an ice pack and a bucket” she says, kisses my shoulder, and heads up to bed.
I just cleaned up the blood trail in my office.
I hate blood, by the way. Hork.
Nosebleeds can be kind of scary but mostly are kind of funny. What makes the body just go…”ok, bleed through one of those front smeller holes!” And one size of your nose just becomes a disaster?
But again, I digress.
Our school district is under complete chaos. I’ll write more about it probably tomorrow, after I’ve rested and mulled it over. Tonight, however, I am left with decisions.
Y’all, they asked me to consider being one of the PTA moms.
You know that scene from Bad Moms when Mila Kunis is trying to get the kids to school, and the dog ends up having to go to the vet, coffee is spilling, life is chaos, etc? That’s my life. Only I’m chubbier, drive an SUV, can’t walk in heels anymore and need more coffee to survive. In other words…I’m the antithesis of the stereotypical PTA ladies. Hell, I’m not even a lady. I’m the mom who accidentally drops an F bomb without realizing it (and then honestly not caring that much). I am the mom who makes it to the functions, just in time, screeching in to the parking lot and running in the door while rubbing lipstick off my tooth with my finger (because I’m British and have a snaggletooth…the struggle is real, y’all). That being said, I make it. I’m calmer now, and I’ve got this two kids deal in control much more of the time. I’m a full time working mom, with two kids, a husband with an opposite schedule, and I do what I can. I do my BEST. Sometimes my best sure doesn’t add up the way I want it to, but my best is what I’ve got.
The PTA moms find me to be ok. I’m that mom they warn their friends about before meeting me, but they seem to like me. I’m the mom that took on coaching the boys soccer team when nobody else wanted to step up. I make it work in my own way. My kids are polite, well behaved, so they know I must be doing something decent. I think I have a reputation for being direct and honest. I say what I think, but I look at both sides of things.
But PTA? With my already having no time self? I dunno. Part of me wants to be a part of something great for the school, especially during a tough time the district is going through. I want to show my daughter and son I can do it. Maybe I want something warm and fuzzy to melt my cold little heart. Plus, I’m kind of honored they want me to consider it.
I have some things to mull over.
Right after I clean up those blood spatters I just noticed on my floor.