Viruses, Texting & Partying

So, yesterday was a pretty big day for me.  No, it wasn't my birthday, nor was it time for me to "grow up" and get my own auto insurance.  Nope, none of that.  But, I did manage to get a virus, be placed under citizens arrest and realize my husband thinks he's a college frat boy - and all of this before my day concluded by Cole saying, "I left my shoes at Grandma's."

I'm sure you're all wondering how I was able to pack so much excitement into the 12 hours I was awake yesterday.  Well, it all started with my morning internet browsing.  Instead of spending mornings bonding over Frosted Flakes with Cole, he makes his own breakfast while I make sure nothing that would otherwise stop the world from turning happened on Facebook during my slumber.  Okay, not every morning, but on the morning in question, yes, that's what happened.  While surfing, I thought I'd check out something on MySpace.  You know, the site that started all social networking but then got kicked in the groin by Facebook?  Well, apparently it's become the preschool of the internet - a cesspool for viruses!  Without even clicking anything, I managed to snag myself a good, 'ol fashioned trojan.  This just doesn't happen to people who've worked in the technology field.  So, it was with much embarrassment that I shut the lid to my precious pink laptop, wrapped up the cord and walked, head down, into my former place of employment to have it repaired.  (See, the upside to all of this is that my father-in-law owns a high speed internet company with a really fabulous PC repair department.)  Now, I get to use the half-broken, slow-as-could-be, boring black and gray HP that is my husbands until Pinky (my computer) comes home from the hospital.

My next task for the day (well besides the laundry and Christmas decorating - neither of which got done), was to take my mother to the bank in Huntley.  Now, as most people know, my mother is going to be eligible for sainthood upon death, as she has survived almost a quarter century of having me for a daughter.  I often wondered as a child, why I didn't have a brother or sister.  It wasn't until later in life that I realized half the problem was that I slept with my parents until I was ten, the other half of the problem was that I was as much work as sextuplets.  So, I'm sure she was dreading the drive to Huntley as much as I was anticipating it.  Namely because I knew it would make for a fascinating blog entry.

Most of the ride was uneventful.  However, I have the really bad habit of texting/Facebooking and driving and it requires my mother to wear her Depends upon traveling with my any great distance (including to the end of the driveway).  Knowing this, paired with the fact that I had Hunter in the car, I did really well at avoiding the keyboard of my phone.  However, at one point, I did read a text message I was sent.  "You know, that's against the law.  Texting and driving," said my mother, as if she had written the law herself and as if there wasn't some multi-million dollar ad campaign already informing me of this.  Not to mention, the fact that she reminds me every. single. day.  "I know, mother, I'm just seeing what she said."  It wasn't about twenty minutes later when I simply looked at the time on my phone that my mother proudly announced, "I'm performing a citizens arrest."  Instantly, as if being held up by true law enforcement, I raised both hands and turned my grin into a look of defeat.  "Ya got me, big hoss."  My mother, proud of her first successful citizens arrest, or at least content that my hands were off the phone (and the steering wheel), blew the "smoke" from her finger gun and holstered that bad boy.  She quickly changed the subject to "The Middle".  It's one of our favorite TV shows, mainly because Brick, one of the characters, repeats much of what he says in a whisper.  She hasn't informed me of my trial date, but I'm sure she'll be gathering a jury of my peers that will convict me.  My punishment?  Perhaps she'll attempt to ground me.  I'll keep you updated.

As if that wasn't enough excitement, I got to join Doug on his intake appointment at Rockford Memorial.  You see, my husband can't breathe.  Upon visiting an ENT, he found that his adenoids are swollen and his septum is deviated.  The doctor, therefore, recommended an adenoidectomy, tonsillectomy and rhinoplasty to fix these problems and on December 16th, my husband should be able to breathe again...though, his ability to swallow will be compromised for many days.  While at RMH, he was asked a series of questions.  One of which was, "Do you drink?"  Now, I personally have issues with this question...I always never know how to answer it for myself and the person asking never accepts, "It depends on the week" as a valid answer.  So, I've learned to simply say, "Socially".  It sounds much more responsible than, "When my kids drive my crazy or my husband's PMS-ing."  The latter answer makes me seem dependent on alcohol to deal with my day to day life and the looks of judgment when admitting that only make me want to drink more.  "Nope, I wasn't going to drink today, but after that look...do you have a wine opener?"  (I kid, I really drink very rarely.  No, really...)  Anyway, my husband says, "I party on the weekends."  I'm not sure if I was more concerned with his statement, or the fact that until I erupted with laughter, he managed to say it with a straight face.  After we returned to the privacy of the waiting room, I asked, "Are you serious right now?!?!"  He looked confused.  "You do not party on the weekends.  You don't party ever.  You sound like you're in college."  I'm not sure if he was trying to impress the middle aged intake coordinator, or if he was vocalizing his inner most wishes.  Maybe it just sounded more appealing than, "I have a beer or two a couple nights a week."  In this moment, I realized I'm married to a college frat boy in a working man's body.  I think he realized how boring his existence since high school has become.  Either way, I'm glad my husband doesn't "party on the weekends" and instead is home with his wife and children on the weekends.  This boring life we lead was only further confirmed when we went to Hooters and he ordered a Sierra Mist.  This bad boy even held back on the caffeine...I was almost concerned he might ask the waitress for "mild" wing sauce.  She, however, must've sensed my chaotic day, as I was given a complimentary mud slide.  "No, intake coordinator, I can't drink, one parent has to stay sober and it's certainly not going to be Suzy Homemaker over here!"

So, in a nut shell, that was my day.  Or, I thought it was.  Until, as we walked in the house, Cole informed me that he left his street shoes at Grandma's.  "Great, Cole.  Now you get to wear your snow boots all day tomorrow and further confirm any suspicion your teacher may have had about my inability to keep it together.  Thanks for that."  Just wait until today's over and I get to post about how all my kid had for lunch today was milk.  Don't worry, I have a bottle of wine hidden for when she calls DCFS on us...