I do not refer to this, nor this.
I refer to this.
Yes, the emotional roller coaster that this week has been.
Down: Monday of last week, I was let go from my job. This was unexpected, but as Washington is an at-will state, they can let me go (or I can quit) at any time, for any reason (or for none at all). The reason they gave was "not the right fit" and it was at my 90-day review. They were very kind, and somewhat regretful, but it is what it is, and there's not a lot to be done about it but buckle down into the job hunt again. Since I now have an associate's degree under my belt, this should be easier. Wish me luck.
Up: Also on Monday, we put a down payment on the manufactured home we're buying (don't worry; the check has cleared, and the combined mortgage and lot rental will be just over half our current rent. As soon as we move in, and it won't be ready until November. Dang it.) In any case, it will All Work Out In The End. Yay!
Down: So today, the plan is to take the girls on their annual trek to Grandma's Condo. We have to stop at the store first; we need a hoodie for Lizzy and some batteries for Abby's camera. Normally under these circumstances we go to Fred Meyer; it is nearby and is like a localized Target - food and everything else. But there's not one on the way tot he ferry dock that leads to Grandma's Condo, so we decide to go to Target.
We should have gone to Fred Meyer, driven the extra few blocks.
On the freeway, on the way to Target, there's stop-and-go traffic due to a collision - a bad one - up ahead. And... distracted by a car on the shoulder, I goed when I should've stopped. More precisely, I didn't stop soon enough, and rear-ended someone. Not very hard, nobody is hurt, both cars had minor damage - panels popped free and a bent license plate. But still, I rear-ended her, and therefore we exchange information.
And I can't find my bloody insurance card.
Sigh. Okay. Call the police; there are a gazillion State Patrol cars out here anyhow, because of the collision up the way. We get all that taken care of, I get a citation for driving "too fast for conditions" and another for "driving without proof of insurance" the latter of which can be waived down to a $35 fee when I find the card, or get a new one. So we continue on our way. We make it safely to Target, buy what we need, and head for the ferry.
Only to get stuck in another backup, and this time, the other driver's insurance agent calls me while I'm in it. It's fine, I have hands-free, so I'm trying to talk to him and find the right lane for the ferry and one would think the freaking insurance agent would let you go when you say, "I'm still driving," but no. So I finally get him off the phone, find the correct lane to be in. I'm frustrated and annoyed (mostly with myself; leave it to me to hit someone else when I'm just driving, not even on the phone or yelling at the kids), and I'm worried we won't make the ferry on time and that will throw everyone off, when Lizzy pokes me in the back of the neck and shrieks, "Slug Bug, no returns!" at the top of her shrill little lungs in my ear.
Now I am yelling - dare we say screaming - at the kids. At least one of them. And those big baby blues fill with tears because I "scawed" her and crap, I must really have done, because she's reverted to Fudd-speak. So I calmly suggest a little game of silence until we all calm down some, and we park the car.
After that I'm not able to speak, because - well - that's why they call it a rescue inhaler. I'm not in any kind of shape (except round) and I have exercise-induced asthma besides. By the time we make it onto the ferry - running up the long gangplank, natch - I'm wheezing up a storm. I collapse in a seat and motion the girls to sit next to me and take a couple hits off the rescue inhaler.
Breathing is good. I send Abby off to the galley (I can see it from my seat) to get some drinks.
Then my mom calls to tell me that they probably won't be at the other ferry dock, because traffic on their side sucks.
At this point I'm in very much of a "whatever" mood. Seriously?
Lizzy asks me with all seriousness what number sea we're on.
Yeah, Puget Sound is sort of a sea, but it isn't one of the seven seas.
"Well, mommy, then there should be eight."
And everything is okay again.
Scarlett O'Hara and all that. Tomorrow is another day. And I will spend it talking to insurance companies, looking for a job, and doing the most fun paper ever for school (I have to watch Like Water for Chocolate and write a paper about culture clash therein), plus cooking and laundry. I can handle this.