Call me crazy
but guess who’s going to Thailand?
That’s right. This single girl, her three-year old son and eleven month old daughter. Let’s call it my birthday/”sorry my career didn’t work out the way I expected it to” present to myself. I figure that if I were in a relationship I’d get a gift for both of those (and in my circle it’s also customary to give a gift on the arrival of a new child, so hey, let’s add that in, too), so why don’t I treat myself to it? I was going to take the kids on a beach vacation, and two weeks in Thailand is actually cheaper than one in Hawaii (sort of), so I pulled the trigger and bought the tickets today.
Am I insane? Probably, but I’m doing it anyway.
I’ve been in a total funk for the past month. Working for an absolute terror on a deal that is hideous at best. . . finding out (unofficially) that my career is going to top out right about where I am . . . waiting for the official word that that really is the case (which will happen at 1:00 PM Thursday) and getting the details (like whether I’ll still be employed) . . . watching my daughter bond with/attach to the nanny (yes, I saved the best for last) . . . all have lent themselves to making this The BEST Summer EVER.
In response to all this, I found myself spending hours online looking for decent airfare to – anywhere. Anywhere I had not been, anywhere interesting, anywhere else. I actually booked a trip to see my family in Oklahoma. That did not fix the itch, so here we are. I considered taking the kids to Vietnam, but now that I have two kids born in foreign countries, I didn’t want to go that route. I’m rethinking the whole travel to the birth country concept. I don’t want to favor one country over another, so for the time being, we’re going to travel to countries other than those particular two.
So, that’s that, then. I need to get started getting a visa for a little Ethiopian and a more presentable beach body for me.
When the going gets tough
I know, I know . . . I’m a total cliche. My career pretty much ends and how do I cope? Shopping. Lots and lots of shopping.
I wish I could tell you that I faced the fact of my derailed career with a maturity befitting my years, but instead, I first hit the chocolate and followed up with retail therapy that would make your head spin. Because of my over-indulgence with my new best friend Miss Carb O’Hydrate, I wasn’t inclined to shop for summer fashions for myself. Instead, I outfitted my kids at the G@p and Mini B0den sales and then turned my sites to the main course. P0ttery Barn Kids.
I’m not sure what I was really thinking, but armed with a 10% off coupon (seriously, 10% – the same amount as our state sales tax), I deluded myself into believing that the kids would be utilizing a “shared space” (those of you who get the PBK catalog know what I’m talking about) and sort of lost my mind for a little bit. First, I decided that Oscar was going to actually sleep in his own bed before he hits puberty. Whatever. At least the bed and nightstand were on sale:
So, then, of course, I needed bedding. All of a sudden, I decided we needed a theme. This, by the way, is where the whole thing breaks down. A bed and table? Fine. The kid is going to need these, but . . .
Do Etta and Oscar need coordinating quilts, shams and sheets?
Does Oscar really need this wall hanging?
Does Etta really need a Hawaiian hibiscus mobile?
or a bath mat shaped like a surf board?
or an octopus?
See? I told you it was bad, and you know there was more, including custom surfboard growth charts personalized with their names:
Seriously, I bought these. I think they’re four feet long. Each.
I think that’s the worst of it – oh, if you ignore the custom artwork I had done for the kids by a woman on etsy and the frames, of course, for the art. Looking back, I tell myself it could have been worse. There were a few hours there when I seriously contemplated buying the bunk beds Oscar kept pulling me towards in the store. Thankfully the vision of the E.R. visits that would have been inevitable resulted in clearer heads prevailing. At least for the time being.
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Etta’s Hats
Where I’ve Been
