Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll be 29. I considered having a crisis about it, but decided I was too tired for all that. Instead, I chose to make myself La Bete Noir, let the Ogre make steaks for dinner, and be cheerful in spite of the fact that it’s supposed to be cloudy and rainy all day. I was feeling pretty mature about that, too, until last night.
Last night, a power surge somehow defeated our surge protector and, like Zeus with his lightning bolt, vanquished our computer.
We have lots of writing saved on there. Lots and lots. But since the Ogre had the foresight to buy me my Jesus laptop and he has a laptop provided by AMU, this won’t be a total catastrophe if our hard drive can be saved.
Except, we’re one of those families that doesn’t own a TV because the Ogre has ideals about our kids being able to read or think or something, and I acquiesce because I find it a handy evasive rebuttal to pediatricians who ask me how many hours of TV my kids watch per day. “We don’t have a TV.” Boom. Shuts the pediatricians down and wins me brownie points, and I don’t have to go to confession afterward.
Obviously, I solve the dilemma of “how to parent without a
babysitter TV” by using our computer as a TV. But now, the computer hath eaten it.
Oh, did I mention that Charlotte and Liam are sick? Not just a little sick, but full-on fever, croupy hacking coughs, misery slathered in Vicks wrapped in blankets sucking down clear liquids sick? Also, I’m sick too, with a recurring case of bronchitis which my asthma is making super fun.
Here’s how the Ogre responded when I asked him that:
He doesn’t seem to think this is a serious problem. But this is what I’ve been doing since he left for work:
Note to the weather gods: this is the worst birthday present ever. This is like the inversion of a gift. It’s a negative gift. You have literally detracted happiness, Mad Men, and Doctor Who from my life.
Maybe I will have a crisis, after all.