I am concerned that my child may have a hollow leg. Because where else would she be stuffing all the food she has been constantly eating, non-stop for the past two weeks?
It started innocently enough, after a nasty bout with bronchitis, on roughly day three of antibiotics, her appetite--which had gone missing for days and days--came back with a vengeance. She spent the afternoon at my sister's house, and Alisa reported that she ate from 11:30 in the morning straight through the day until she walked out the door munching on a handful of crackers.
So, for a few days, I was willing to concede that she was just making up for lost time.
But OH MY GOD. Here we are, two weeks later, and people? I CAN'T FILL HER UP. I got off work early yesterday, and when we walked through the door at 3:45 p.m. her first comment was "I'm hungry...is it dinner time yet?" Licking the beaters after we baked cookies and snacking on yogurt did little to tide her over, and she scarfed down two helpings of broccoli and a huge plate of spaghetti when I finally decided to dine like an 80 year old at the early hour of 5:00 p.m. She ate a sizable bowl of popcorn while watching her Maisy DVD before bed...then, after tucking her in, I thought she'd be so full perhaps the weight of all her food would prevent her from getting out of bed again. Ha! When Bryan came home and went to kiss her goodnight, he came out to the livingroom and told me "Zoey says Mommy didn't feed her enough food tonight, and could she get up and have a snack?"
Two bowls of cereal and another plate of spaghetti and broccoli later, she was finally down for the night.
And then there are the late night cravings. (Seriously, is she pregnant? About to start her period? I can't tell.) She wakes me up at 4:00 in the morning to ask if it's breakfast time yet. When I tell her, um, NO...she asks if she can have a snack to last her until breakfast time. I have yet to cave on this request. But then, at 6:30, my child who has never been a breakfast eater is suddenly popping out of bed, anxious to eat her cereal and anything else that happens to be on Mommy's plate. (This could be the diet plan I've always waited for.)
I am assuming this all points to an impending growth spurt. And, with her height already being off the charts, we can also assume she'll be as tall as her mother before entering kindergarten. I thought I had a few more years before I could start saying "she's eating me out of house and home!"
I guess not.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Conference time
We have our first parent-teacher conference scheduled on February 1 at Zoey's preschool. Conferences for preschoolers? Overkill? Perhaps. Especially when I got the following report from one of Zoey's teachers when I picked her up last week:
Scene: standing around in the gym, waiting for Zoey to finish showing me (for the fifth time) how she can hang upside down on the miniature monkey bars.
Ms. Mynoon: Zoey was so funny today. She wanted to organize the kitchen...she took everything off the shelves, laid it out on the circle rug, then very carefully put it back in some kind of order that made sense to her.
Me: (dying with pride inside but trying not to show it) Really?!? That's so funny...I wonder where she learned that.
Ms. Mynoon: Yes. And Zoey? She does not want to dance. Ever! Can you believe that? Our class, we dance every day, and Zoey looks at us like we are crazy!
Me: Hmmm. That's strange.
(Actually, what I didn't want to tell her is that Zoey will only ever dance to the song Poker Face, by Lady GaGa. Otherwise, if I invite her to dance with me, she also gives me the I-don't-want-to-associate-with-you face, and leaves the room. And--this is just a guess--I'm pretty sure they're not playing Lady GaGa at the nice Christian preschool, so Zoey's no-dancing policy didn't come as much of a surprise.)
Not sure what other material might be covered at preschool parent-teacher conferences. It appears we have a happy, healthy, no-dancing, organizational-freak on our hands, so what else is left to talk about?
Scene: standing around in the gym, waiting for Zoey to finish showing me (for the fifth time) how she can hang upside down on the miniature monkey bars.
Ms. Mynoon: Zoey was so funny today. She wanted to organize the kitchen...she took everything off the shelves, laid it out on the circle rug, then very carefully put it back in some kind of order that made sense to her.
Me: (dying with pride inside but trying not to show it) Really?!? That's so funny...I wonder where she learned that.
Ms. Mynoon: Yes. And Zoey? She does not want to dance. Ever! Can you believe that? Our class, we dance every day, and Zoey looks at us like we are crazy!
Me: Hmmm. That's strange.
(Actually, what I didn't want to tell her is that Zoey will only ever dance to the song Poker Face, by Lady GaGa. Otherwise, if I invite her to dance with me, she also gives me the I-don't-want-to-associate-with-you face, and leaves the room. And--this is just a guess--I'm pretty sure they're not playing Lady GaGa at the nice Christian preschool, so Zoey's no-dancing policy didn't come as much of a surprise.)
Not sure what other material might be covered at preschool parent-teacher conferences. It appears we have a happy, healthy, no-dancing, organizational-freak on our hands, so what else is left to talk about?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Puzzle pile
Puzzles are all the rage in this house lately. In the post-birthday-and-Christmas madness, I think we have close to a dozen 25-piece puzzles floating around, seven or eight of which are upstairs on my reading shelf next to the couch. Zoey typically likes to start off her day with a puzzle or two, so this morning, as I was waiting for my caffeine to kick in, I made the insane suggestion that we put together ALL her puzzles today.
Which was my first mistake.
After each puzzle was complete, we'd move it aside and start in on another one.
Mistake number two.
The intact puzzles remained scattered all over the living room floor for most of the day. At one point I even thought of snapping a picture, to post on the blog and be all 'look how great my kid is, and how smart she is for putting together all these puzzles'.
Ha. Number three.
So, there I was in the kitchen, fixing dinner, thinking Zoey was keeping herself entertained in the living room with yet another puzzle, and some strange song she seems to have invented on her own, sung to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat and possibly containing the word 'shit'. (Further questioning on the lyrics always warrants an innocent "I don't know!" response. Interesting.)
Anyway, we eat dinner, I do the dishes, Bryan finishes up with changing the oil in my car, and I start Zoey's bath. We're all pumped to watch the new Maisy DVD and eat popcorn before bed. (Okay, full disclosure. Bryan and I are not pumped at all for a Maisy DVD. Maisy is annoying, if you want the truth.) And, as I'm heading for the bathroom to wash my child's greasy hair, I happen to glance in the living room.
And see all the puzzle pieces in one pile. On the floor. One big heap. We're talking eight puzzle's worth of pieces.
Needless to say, I am totally annoyed by this finding and lecture Zoey through her entire bath about how not cool it is to pile every puzzle piece you own in a big stack in the living room. After bath time, Bryan and I start putting each puzzle back together (20 minutes of our life that we'll never get back) and Zoey repeats over and over "I'm so sorry I did this. Can we still watch Maisy? What about popcorn?" We make her put each puzzle back in it's respective box and, as HER FATHER AND I FINISH DOING ALL THE REAL WORK, Zoey sighs and says "Phew. I'll never do that again."
So, I was going to brag today about how cool my kid is, doing these 25-piece puzzles with one hand tied behind her back and all. Good thing it turns out she can be a total pain in the neck sometimes. Because braggy parents are sooo annoying.
Which was my first mistake.
After each puzzle was complete, we'd move it aside and start in on another one.
Mistake number two.
The intact puzzles remained scattered all over the living room floor for most of the day. At one point I even thought of snapping a picture, to post on the blog and be all 'look how great my kid is, and how smart she is for putting together all these puzzles'.
Ha. Number three.
So, there I was in the kitchen, fixing dinner, thinking Zoey was keeping herself entertained in the living room with yet another puzzle, and some strange song she seems to have invented on her own, sung to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat and possibly containing the word 'shit'. (Further questioning on the lyrics always warrants an innocent "I don't know!" response. Interesting.)
Anyway, we eat dinner, I do the dishes, Bryan finishes up with changing the oil in my car, and I start Zoey's bath. We're all pumped to watch the new Maisy DVD and eat popcorn before bed. (Okay, full disclosure. Bryan and I are not pumped at all for a Maisy DVD. Maisy is annoying, if you want the truth.) And, as I'm heading for the bathroom to wash my child's greasy hair, I happen to glance in the living room.
And see all the puzzle pieces in one pile. On the floor. One big heap. We're talking eight puzzle's worth of pieces.
Needless to say, I am totally annoyed by this finding and lecture Zoey through her entire bath about how not cool it is to pile every puzzle piece you own in a big stack in the living room. After bath time, Bryan and I start putting each puzzle back together (20 minutes of our life that we'll never get back) and Zoey repeats over and over "I'm so sorry I did this. Can we still watch Maisy? What about popcorn?" We make her put each puzzle back in it's respective box and, as HER FATHER AND I FINISH DOING ALL THE REAL WORK, Zoey sighs and says "Phew. I'll never do that again."
So, I was going to brag today about how cool my kid is, doing these 25-piece puzzles with one hand tied behind her back and all. Good thing it turns out she can be a total pain in the neck sometimes. Because braggy parents are sooo annoying.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Special Treat
On Thursday night, as I was tucking Zoey in, I told her "tomorrow is Friday! Mommy loves Fridays!" I told her I might get off work early, and pick her up from school early (I try to warn her when there's a chance she might miss her afternoon snack), and WHAT would we do with our time then?? To which she replied "can we go to Starbucks and get an apple juice?"
So yesterday at work, as things were winding down around 3 pm, I was scrounging through my purse to see if I had any residual Starbucks gift cards from the holidays. As luck would have it, I had one with a whole 52 cents remaining, AND a brand new one with 15 whole dollars! Score!
And there we were at 4 pm, dashing through the pouring down rain to choose our treat at Starbucks...split a cookie? Or try those cute new "sparkly" mini donuts? Donuts, of course. "But not chocolate, Mommy! The white one!" And just for safety's sake, in case I hadn't heard her shrill little voice, she marched right up to the counter (which she could barely see over) and announced to the lady helping us that she would like a WHITE donut with sparkles, please.
(This is a part of Zoey's personality that I absolutely adore--her total lack of shyness. Or maybe it's just confidence? If she's looking for a particular Clifford book at the library, she'll just head straight to the librarian's desk and ask for it. She's not afraid to ask--politely, at my prompting--for what she wants. Especially when it comes to books or donuts.)
So anyway, it seemed like a perfect way to wind down a week. Sitting at Starbucks with my daughter, who's feet were swinging from her chair, sipping hot chocolate and listening to her tell me all about her friends at school. (But only after I had told her about my friends at work.)
Me: So, who did you play with today?
Zoey: Destini. And Kelly. Aaannndddd.....Blake. And Junior.
Me: Was Xavier there?
(Xavier is the problem child of the class, you can just tell. A sweet little boy with far too much energy, he seems to have a problem with listening and never, as Zoey reports, gets a sticker for cooperating. Also, by her report, he spends a lot of time in time-out. Zoey has come home plenty of times crying about Xavier and his escapades, usually involving pushing her down or grabbing her dolls and running off. The trials of the three-year-old classroom, right?)
Zoey: Yup. And Mommy! He was nice!
Me: He WAS? Wow! He had a good day?
Zoey: Yeah. No time-outs. And he sat down at circle time. And...he had to take his medicine. But I don't think he's sick.
Me: Oh. Well. Hmmmm. (Assuming the concept of ADD meds will be lost on my preschooler, I'm going to let that one slide.) I'm happy that he had a good day!
Zoey: Yeah. Me too. And Ms. Nicole, she was happy too.
Life can be unpleasant sometimes. Or, if you live in this house, lots of times. Finances are tight, Bryan is job-hunting (again), and there never seems to be enough time in my day to accomplish what I want. There are setbacks everywhere you look around here. Which is why getting that apple juice at Starbucks with my daughter is crucial to my sanity.
So yesterday at work, as things were winding down around 3 pm, I was scrounging through my purse to see if I had any residual Starbucks gift cards from the holidays. As luck would have it, I had one with a whole 52 cents remaining, AND a brand new one with 15 whole dollars! Score!
And there we were at 4 pm, dashing through the pouring down rain to choose our treat at Starbucks...split a cookie? Or try those cute new "sparkly" mini donuts? Donuts, of course. "But not chocolate, Mommy! The white one!" And just for safety's sake, in case I hadn't heard her shrill little voice, she marched right up to the counter (which she could barely see over) and announced to the lady helping us that she would like a WHITE donut with sparkles, please.
(This is a part of Zoey's personality that I absolutely adore--her total lack of shyness. Or maybe it's just confidence? If she's looking for a particular Clifford book at the library, she'll just head straight to the librarian's desk and ask for it. She's not afraid to ask--politely, at my prompting--for what she wants. Especially when it comes to books or donuts.)
So anyway, it seemed like a perfect way to wind down a week. Sitting at Starbucks with my daughter, who's feet were swinging from her chair, sipping hot chocolate and listening to her tell me all about her friends at school. (But only after I had told her about my friends at work.)
Me: So, who did you play with today?
Zoey: Destini. And Kelly. Aaannndddd.....Blake. And Junior.
Me: Was Xavier there?
(Xavier is the problem child of the class, you can just tell. A sweet little boy with far too much energy, he seems to have a problem with listening and never, as Zoey reports, gets a sticker for cooperating. Also, by her report, he spends a lot of time in time-out. Zoey has come home plenty of times crying about Xavier and his escapades, usually involving pushing her down or grabbing her dolls and running off. The trials of the three-year-old classroom, right?)
Zoey: Yup. And Mommy! He was nice!
Me: He WAS? Wow! He had a good day?
Zoey: Yeah. No time-outs. And he sat down at circle time. And...he had to take his medicine. But I don't think he's sick.
Me: Oh. Well. Hmmmm. (Assuming the concept of ADD meds will be lost on my preschooler, I'm going to let that one slide.) I'm happy that he had a good day!
Zoey: Yeah. Me too. And Ms. Nicole, she was happy too.
Life can be unpleasant sometimes. Or, if you live in this house, lots of times. Finances are tight, Bryan is job-hunting (again), and there never seems to be enough time in my day to accomplish what I want. There are setbacks everywhere you look around here. Which is why getting that apple juice at Starbucks with my daughter is crucial to my sanity.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Teeny tiny little adult
This week, more than ever, Zoey is insistent upon the fact that she is (really!) grown up. I am noticing this in several ways.
First of all, in her manner of speaking. Long gone are the days of calling for Mommy or Daddy...Mom and Dad just sound way more mature, don't you think? Also, she's working like crazy to copy anything she thinks is an adult mannerism. Case in point: I asked her last night if she wanted to read Belinda Ballerina before bed. She told me no, she doesn't like Belinda. I told her that was crazy talk. She looked at me and, I swear to God, snorted and said "whatever". Except it came out "whatebboh". Which is the part that breaks my heart in to a million pieces and makes me love her three-year-oldness all the more.
And then we have the fact that accepting help from Mom or Dad with anything is, I don't know, sacrilege at this age. Do you know how many cars lined up and patiently waited for me to pull out of my coveted front-row parking space at Safeway last night, as I not-so-patiently explained to my daughter that no, you actually can NOT buckle your own seat belt, all by yourself? (She made up for this by insisting after dinner that she could wash her own dishes, all by herself. Which I am totally all for, since she doesn't eat off anything that isn't plastic.) Then, shortly before bed, she was hell-bent on fixing her OWN hot milk. Convincing her that she couldn't pour milk from the half-full gallon jug on her own was time-consuming, to say the least. However, I did bite my tongue and let her finish the process on her own...putting the glass in the microwave (I can do it myself, Mom!), shutting the door and pressing the right numbers in the correct order before turning it on (No, Mom, I can do it myself!), then taking it out and pouring it in to a plastic cup. (I can do it myself!)
Then there's watching her while she's playing. Her imagination has taken off in the past several months...and nearly all her creative play centers around day-to-day activities. Like lining all her dolls up on the floor, covering them (from head to toe, so it looks like a tiny morgue, which is a little off-putting) with blankets, and marching up and down commanding "stop talking!" and "it's nap time! I said be quiet!". Another favorite is tea party...her incomplete, hand-me-down plastic tea set provides hours of entertainment as she doles out fishy crackers and water to everyone in the family. (Dad's serving sat on the table last night, untouched, until he had returned from work hours after Zoey was in bed.) So, you'll be sitting at the table, patiently waiting for your serving of stale crackers, when suddenly the sugar bowl morphs in to a pot of Vaseline and you have a three year old way up in your face, saying "hold still, Mom. Make *this* face. (Scrunched up, fishy/kissy face.) You are all chapped..." Then, with all the care and concern a preschooler can muster, you will find yourself slathered in make believe petroleum product.
Watching Zoey go through this phase is split nearly 50/50 in to two camps...one part totally exasperating, the other part a complete joy. She can bridge from traffic tyrant (did you know she mastered all the rules of the road already, and isn't afraid to point them out?) to unfailingly polite in the blink of an eye. And there are still the moments when she wants to curl up next to me on the couch, or I catch her sound asleep with her little bottom stuck up in the air, and I am reminded that she is not, after all, quite as grown up as she thinks.
But don't tell her I said that.
First of all, in her manner of speaking. Long gone are the days of calling for Mommy or Daddy...Mom and Dad just sound way more mature, don't you think? Also, she's working like crazy to copy anything she thinks is an adult mannerism. Case in point: I asked her last night if she wanted to read Belinda Ballerina before bed. She told me no, she doesn't like Belinda. I told her that was crazy talk. She looked at me and, I swear to God, snorted and said "whatever". Except it came out "whatebboh". Which is the part that breaks my heart in to a million pieces and makes me love her three-year-oldness all the more.
And then we have the fact that accepting help from Mom or Dad with anything is, I don't know, sacrilege at this age. Do you know how many cars lined up and patiently waited for me to pull out of my coveted front-row parking space at Safeway last night, as I not-so-patiently explained to my daughter that no, you actually can NOT buckle your own seat belt, all by yourself? (She made up for this by insisting after dinner that she could wash her own dishes, all by herself. Which I am totally all for, since she doesn't eat off anything that isn't plastic.) Then, shortly before bed, she was hell-bent on fixing her OWN hot milk. Convincing her that she couldn't pour milk from the half-full gallon jug on her own was time-consuming, to say the least. However, I did bite my tongue and let her finish the process on her own...putting the glass in the microwave (I can do it myself, Mom!), shutting the door and pressing the right numbers in the correct order before turning it on (No, Mom, I can do it myself!), then taking it out and pouring it in to a plastic cup. (I can do it myself!)
Then there's watching her while she's playing. Her imagination has taken off in the past several months...and nearly all her creative play centers around day-to-day activities. Like lining all her dolls up on the floor, covering them (from head to toe, so it looks like a tiny morgue, which is a little off-putting) with blankets, and marching up and down commanding "stop talking!" and "it's nap time! I said be quiet!". Another favorite is tea party...her incomplete, hand-me-down plastic tea set provides hours of entertainment as she doles out fishy crackers and water to everyone in the family. (Dad's serving sat on the table last night, untouched, until he had returned from work hours after Zoey was in bed.) So, you'll be sitting at the table, patiently waiting for your serving of stale crackers, when suddenly the sugar bowl morphs in to a pot of Vaseline and you have a three year old way up in your face, saying "hold still, Mom. Make *this* face. (Scrunched up, fishy/kissy face.) You are all chapped..." Then, with all the care and concern a preschooler can muster, you will find yourself slathered in make believe petroleum product.
Watching Zoey go through this phase is split nearly 50/50 in to two camps...one part totally exasperating, the other part a complete joy. She can bridge from traffic tyrant (did you know she mastered all the rules of the road already, and isn't afraid to point them out?) to unfailingly polite in the blink of an eye. And there are still the moments when she wants to curl up next to me on the couch, or I catch her sound asleep with her little bottom stuck up in the air, and I am reminded that she is not, after all, quite as grown up as she thinks.
But don't tell her I said that.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sneaking a solitary spin around Candy Land...or catching up on Facebook.
Scene: Zoey's room. About 20 minutes ago. I'm tucking her in.
Zoey: Mom? (Because "Mommy" and "Daddy" are soooo last year.) What are you doing now?
Me: Hmmmm.... (contemplating possibilites) I don't know. What do you think I'm going to be doing, now that you're in bed?
Zoey: (heavy sigh) Probably playing Candy Land.
Me: (Almost managing not to snicker) Um, no. I think I'll wait for you to wake up before I play Candy Land.
Zoey: Promise?
Me: Believe me. Big promise.
Zoey: Mom? (Because "Mommy" and "Daddy" are soooo last year.) What are you doing now?
Me: Hmmmm.... (contemplating possibilites) I don't know. What do you think I'm going to be doing, now that you're in bed?
Zoey: (heavy sigh) Probably playing Candy Land.
Me: (Almost managing not to snicker) Um, no. I think I'll wait for you to wake up before I play Candy Land.
Zoey: Promise?
Me: Believe me. Big promise.
Paying the bills
Zoey got an owl-shaped piggy bank from Oma and Grandpa Paul for Christmas. I may have mentioned this previously. It is perched on her dresser and for the first several days she owned it, Zoey tried shoving any and all money-shaped items (instructions to board games, torn bits of paper, SMALL ROCKS) in the slot. It was all very exciting.
Last night, I gave her five pennies from my change purse (I personally HATE pennies), and asked her if she wanted to put them in her piggy bank. She gave me a very grave, serious brown-eyed stare and replied "No. I need to pay my bills."
She then retrieved her beloved cash register from downstairs and proceeded to enact the most elaborate game of "bill paying" I have ever seen. And I totally want in on the type of bill paying that includes putting your money in a drawer ("paying" the bill), only to retrieve it seconds later and use the very same money to pay the next "bill".
Watching a three year old make believe about the grown-up world she sees around her is the most fascinating show to watch.
Last night, I gave her five pennies from my change purse (I personally HATE pennies), and asked her if she wanted to put them in her piggy bank. She gave me a very grave, serious brown-eyed stare and replied "No. I need to pay my bills."
She then retrieved her beloved cash register from downstairs and proceeded to enact the most elaborate game of "bill paying" I have ever seen. And I totally want in on the type of bill paying that includes putting your money in a drawer ("paying" the bill), only to retrieve it seconds later and use the very same money to pay the next "bill".
Watching a three year old make believe about the grown-up world she sees around her is the most fascinating show to watch.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Because 2009 wasn't going down without a fight
I've enjoyed everyone's blog entries and status updates on Facebook regarding how happy and joyous their New Years celebrations have been. Really. Unfortunately, I spent my entire long weekend trying not to expel my lungs through my mouth, and so did my child.
I knew that 2009 wasn't going to let me off that easy.
I felt myself getting sick on Thursday, while at work. On December 31st. Thinking oh, 2009, how I do hate you oh so much.
Rang in the new year holding a child who was alternately coughing so hard she could barely catch her breath, then SCREAMING that her ear hurt. Mommy can only be so comforting when she, too, is hacking like a chain smoker.
Spent all day Friday trying to convince myself that if we just laid low, we'd be better by Saturday.
Ha.
Saturday was Zoey's trip to urgent care, to diagnose her ear infection and bronchitis. $32 worth of antibiotics later, she was on the mend.
Sunday was my day to shine as the patient, after spending all night Saturday coughing so hard I literally wet my pants. Several times. And no, I am not ashamed to admit that this was one of the driving forces that convinced me to go to the doctor. Because I only have so many pairs of underwear, you know? Oh, and talking to my mom helped convince me, too. Because apparently not only did I look like death, I sounded like it as well.
Back at the Target pharmacy, I found out my antibiotic prescription was going to cost $92.
As in, NINETY TWO DOLLARS.
Pilita, the angel of mercy who is the Target pharmacist, managed to wrangle a cheaper prescription from the doctor's office after sitting on hold for close to an hour while I sat on the bench nearby and tried not to die.
And on my way home? My check-engine light popped on in my car.
So, it would appear that 2010 is NOT the year we will be getting ahead financially.
Lucky for me, it's now Monday morning, and I'm feeling better...just in time to go back to work.
Happy New Year, everyone.
I knew that 2009 wasn't going to let me off that easy.
I felt myself getting sick on Thursday, while at work. On December 31st. Thinking oh, 2009, how I do hate you oh so much.
Rang in the new year holding a child who was alternately coughing so hard she could barely catch her breath, then SCREAMING that her ear hurt. Mommy can only be so comforting when she, too, is hacking like a chain smoker.
Spent all day Friday trying to convince myself that if we just laid low, we'd be better by Saturday.
Ha.
Saturday was Zoey's trip to urgent care, to diagnose her ear infection and bronchitis. $32 worth of antibiotics later, she was on the mend.
Sunday was my day to shine as the patient, after spending all night Saturday coughing so hard I literally wet my pants. Several times. And no, I am not ashamed to admit that this was one of the driving forces that convinced me to go to the doctor. Because I only have so many pairs of underwear, you know? Oh, and talking to my mom helped convince me, too. Because apparently not only did I look like death, I sounded like it as well.
Back at the Target pharmacy, I found out my antibiotic prescription was going to cost $92.
As in, NINETY TWO DOLLARS.
Pilita, the angel of mercy who is the Target pharmacist, managed to wrangle a cheaper prescription from the doctor's office after sitting on hold for close to an hour while I sat on the bench nearby and tried not to die.
And on my way home? My check-engine light popped on in my car.
So, it would appear that 2010 is NOT the year we will be getting ahead financially.
Lucky for me, it's now Monday morning, and I'm feeling better...just in time to go back to work.
Happy New Year, everyone.
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