Crashing

This has been an extremely crappy week regarding all things technology.

Logging into my computer, I noticed my background was different.  Then a pop-up announces - "Welcome to your new Dell!"

Beg pardon?

My computer thinks it is new.  I'm confused.  Apparently, so was my computer.

I ignore all this and head straight into my documents to get started on a draft column I've been writing.  Except my computer says This Folder Is Empty.

Excuse me?  This is not possible, I was working on it yesterday.  I have hundreds of documents.

Now curious, and ever-so slightly panicked, I click on Pictures. The computer says this folder is equally empty.

This is not good.   

Music? Gone.  Videos? Gone.  iTunes? Kaput. QuickBooks? Vanished.

Time to reboot, the computer's gone crazy.

After rebooting, which usually makes everything alright, I get a "Welcome To Your New Dell!" screen again.

It may not have been the Blue Screen of Death that I experienced when my laptop died a slow and painful death, but it was pretty close. 

Restore point! I'll go back in time and create my restore point to yesterday when I knew it worked.

Fail.  It won't let me.

My computer is possessed. 

I am not a happy camper.

Fortunately, I have everything backed up on my external hard drive.  Or at least I think I do.  But now that's a little wiggy too. 

Damn.

I am not a computer savvy person.  Everything computer related is by the seat of my pants and if I hit enough buttons I can make it work.  So I click on the C drive and notice it has the same amount of memory space used as usual, even though so much appears to be missing.  After clicking on lots of folders within that, I locate documents, pictures, music - miraculously - in a strange User folder.  I have no idea how I found it.  But it's there.  So I painstakingly save each and every individual document and picture folder as well as music.  It takes me the better part of the day but have to at least try before the Blue Screen of Death really does show up.

My poor computer is at the doctor now, hopefully getting debugged from all manner of Ebola-like infections. 

This isn't going to be cheap, I fear.

Then there's the other techno issue that I'm really cheesed about:  Older Boy's iPod touch went missing in the school locker room after track practice where he left it sitting on the bench.  In the twelve minutes it took for him to realize he'd left it and for me to drive back to school, it had vanished. I assumed it was picked up by a coach or a friend to give back to him.

Didn't happen.

To whomever took it: I hope you get a very itchy, oozing, leprosy-like, dermatological condition that causes severe disfigurement.  I also hope is not covered by insurance and it will take you years, if ever, to get over.  Don't forget about the laws of karma while you are listening to my kid's iPod.  You have just set in motion some very, very bad juju for yourself.  I hope you get everything that's coming to you which I personally hope includes jail time.  I used to be a prosecutor, my friend, so I'm big on jail time for those who steal other people's stuff.  And like Tom Petty, I Won't Back Down.  Oh yeah, good luck with that leprosy. 

Let's Hear It For The Moms

Today is that special day to honor women who are livin’ in the ‘hood.  Motherhood, that is.  And for those of you who plan to pay tribute to a special mother you should know this: if you haven’t been shopping yet all the good Mother’s Day cards are gone.  But if the founder of this holiday, Anna Jarvis, had her way, we’d all be sitting down with a quill, ink and parchment to pen our ode to mother because a pre-printed ditty means you’re just too lazy to show the love.

Lighten up Annie, it’s the thought that counts.

I found it odd that the first official Mother’s Day was celebrated in 1914.  This is true despite the fact that women have been having babies since, well, the beginning of time.  It took that long for someone to say “I really should do something to acknowledge the woman who carried me around for nine months, endured twenty-seven hours of labor, changed my stinky diapers, chauffeured me to soccer practice and raffled off a kidney to pay for my dream wedding. What can I possibly do to express my profound love to the woman who has given everything to me? I know, I’ll give her a three dollar card from Hallmark.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

If you look at what a mom is really worth, you might reconsider that meager token of love.  According to salary.com, a stay-at-home mom would receive $122,732 a year for all the duties she performs which includes being the Domestic CEO, housekeeper, chef, van driver, and psychologist.  I don’t know about you, but in fourteen years I’ve never seen a dime.  Clearly we’re not in it for the money.  Because I’ve got a collection of hand prints with glitter, macaroni glued in the shape of hearts and crayon declarations of love that are worth more to me than any paycheck.  And that’s just fine because glued and glittered love tokens are priceless.

Until I became a mom, I had no idea what my mother went through.  The waiting started when she was pregnant and I was three weeks late. The waiting, as I’ve learned, never stops except you add worrying to the equation. She waited and worried when I got the Hong Kong Flu in 1968.  She waited (and waited) while I took piano lessons and went to softball practice. Once I started driving, she waited up (and worried) when I was out too late at a Fleetwood Mac concert.  She waited (and waited,  but did not worry) when I had to try on every Gunne Sax dress in the store.  Twice.  She did not sell her spleen to finance my nuptials.  But I pretty sure if I’d wanted a Cinderella-style gown, a horse drawn carriage and a pair of size nine glass slippers, she would have.  Because that’s just what mothers do.

Mom, I get it now.

So to all women in the sorority of motherhood, whether you had natural child birth, an epidural, a c-section or boarded a long-haul flight to bring your baby home, you totally rock.  You give it up unselfishly for those young ‘uns every day (don’t worry daddies, you do too, but your day’s in June).  Today is your day, moms.  Enjoy it.

And I’m not worried if all the good cards are gone when I go shopping for my mom. Because I’m pretty sure a Thank You card really says it all.

Sometimes It's Just a Sandwich

Had you going there, didn't I?

It was only a craving.  It was just a sandwich.  Couldn't happen.  I asked for double knots and I got them.  Because if I'd waited for The Husband to take care of business, I'd have been knocked up again.  Men are so touchy about that sort of thing.

But that recent craving, which was very real, got me thinking about being pregnant what seems like so long ago.  About how endless those days of two in diapers seemed at the time.  About how fast they really do fly by if you're not paying attention.  And it made me kind of wistful.

Now I face the reality of mid-life signaling that phase of life is really over.  And life moves on. As it should.  Now it's closer to the empty nest than the full house. 

I often think if I'd started this motherhood gig a little earlier in life, I'd probably have a brood of five.  Maybe it's being an only child that made me want more than one.  Or maybe it was just one too many margaritas.

Perhaps it's the hormones of perimenopause that make me oh-so sentimental about motherhood right now (Am I the only one who tears up during Hallmark commercials?).  There are times, like now, that I wonder what it would have been like to have a little pink wrapped bundle in my life. 

But then I count my blessings when the boys start bickering over stupid things.  And on those days, an empty nest doesn't sound half bad.

Showin' the Love Because The Pen Works Both Ways

Just so you don't think that I'm the Wicked Witch of the West because of my flying monkey threats and all, today I want to say as much as I like to write nastygrams, my pen has another side.  When someone goes out of their way to do something nice, I like to show the love. 

Today I'd like to give a shout out to my friends over at Montana Parent Magazine who are kind enough to feature my blog on their home page.  Check out their current issue online, the archives and their great book reviews.  If you're a local, their calendar has everything parents need to know.  And you need to know. 

So head over and show 'em some love.  Tell them mom, interrupted sent you.

See, I can be nice.

Getting in Line

Yes, I've been offline for the week.  But rest assured I have been IN line.  Because I have been to Disney World. 

Apparently, the entire nation was on spring break this week.  And everyone took a secret vote to meet in Orlando. 

The funny thing was, even with the throngs of humanity descending on the parks, everyone I encountered was pleasant and friendly despite the wait to do just about EVERYTHING. (the only adult snapping I witnessed was of the parental kind and directed at whining children to the tune of - "Do you know how much it cost to bring you here? Now get in line, quit your crying or I will GIVE you something to cry about.")  You waited in line to get your bag searched to enter the park.  You waited in line to enter the park.  You waited in line to ride even the minor attractions.  You waited in line to order food.  You waited in line to pee.  You waited in line to catch the bus back to the hotel at the end of the day. And everyone seemed happy about it.

I am impatient.  I hate to wait.  But for some reason this week, I didn't care.  I was on Disney's Happy Hookah.

But to me, that is part of the sheer brilliance of Disney marketing - an oversized mouse lures you to a place where you are a captive audience in the name of providing zippity do dah family fun to your children (which they do), you whip out your wallet to pay $7 for a hot dog and $3 for a Coke (and you do), and make you rationalize waiting in line for a 120 minutes for a 3 minute ride.  And you enjoy every minute of it. 

I still think there's something in the water. But I'll keep drinking it anyway.