Every morning I get dressed for work while feeling sorry for myself for having to wake up at the crack of dawn.  I usually walk past Babboo’s bedroom on my way out of the house to make sure he’s still sleeping.  My gut starts to hurt at this point it the day.  This is the time of day when I’m reminded that I won’t see my kid for another nine hours.   I’m always tempted to wake him up, just so I can get a hug or a “bye Mommy” from him.  But It’s too early for him to wake up.  I know he needs to stay asleep.

Every other morning I walk to the bus stop and dream about what it would be like if we could afford for me to stay home.  I think about all my lady friends from my church congregation and about the fun things they have planned that I’ll be missing while slaving away at the office.  I missed their trip to the pumpkin patch last week.  I’ve never been able to go to their Thursday morning playgroups.  I can’t join their 9am book club.  I’ve yet to attend one of their Ladies Luncheons.  I am left out of their little club 100% of the time.  All because I work and they don’t.

Most of them don’t know my kid’s name and they really have no idea who I am.

And most morning, I feel sorry for myself about this. I feel left out.  I feel like the world is working against me, all because I have a career and they don’t.  I know it’s wrong, but I’m typically jealous of them.  I know The King and I don’t have a lot of money and that’s why I work.  I know it’s the best thing for our family right now.  And yet, why do these SAHM have nicer clothes then I do?  Why do they all drive better cars?  How is it that their kids dress so nice?  And dude, really, how do you afford those new DVD players in your van?  How can they afford to go to the museums and the zoo every week?  Why do they get to put their kids down for their naps everyday and potty train their own toddlers?

And why am I so darn jealous?

Until last night.

Today is the first day, in a very long time, that I was happy about being a full time working mom.

I hung out with some of the SAHM’s from church last night.  It was their monthly Girls Night out.  I hadn’t even planned on going.  You see, I only get a few hours a night with Babboo and The King so to give up my one chance to see them is a hard choice to make. But this night out was scheduled late in the evening, so I would still have a little bit of time with Babboo. And so I decided to join the ladies.

And dude, was it a mistake.

I had no idea that these SAHM could be so catty. And over dramatic. And just plain mean to each other. In the first thirty seconds of the evening out unnecessary drama was introduced to the party. I’m talking about scathing e-mails, mean words about people’s kids, family secrets of (those not in attendance) shared, and tears. Actual tears.

These women are all adults. They are married and have kids and families and they were acting like we were all back in high school junior high. Apparently this type of drama is uber common in their SAHM group.

And I felt like an outsider. But this time I was okay with being the outsider.

I didn’t want any part of this drama. I didn’t want to know why they all hate Rebecca’s son. I didn’t want to know why Ginny’s family all hate each other. I didn’t want to read the e-mail Samantha sent Amy before the party. I felt like all eyes were on me and that I needed to choose sides and make alliances right that second. But I don’t want to make any alliances. I don’t want to be on one side and not the other.

I just wanted to go home.

But I couldn’t. I was stuck there for the rest of the evening until my ride was ready to go home.

I finally got out of there and returned to my house. I started to recount my unbelievable evening to The King. I told him I didn’t know what to do  or how I was going to keep peace with all of these ladies. I mean, I have to serve with them at church. And I like them. I do. I just don’t want to be around this negativity.

So today, I’m thankful to be sitting in my quiet cubicle busily working on my tasks while listening to my iPod. There aren’t any sides to choose and nobody is talking bad about me or my kid or my husband. Nobody is judging my outfit or my kid’s clothes.  And I don’t have to prove that my husband is the most romantic husband in the world.

And so what if I can’t go with them to see High School Musical III today because I’m at work. And who cares that I’m missing the luncheon.

This is where I’d rather be today.

So tell me, you SAHM’s out there, is this what it’s like for you? And if so, then I’m sorry.

Yesterday, while having a conversation with my coworker, he began to describe a new apartment he was hoping to move in to. He’s quite a bit younger then I am, and far more into having fun then I ever was. Mostly he’s just very likable.

“The best part is that this apartment building has this awesome outdoor patio. And a pool! My apartment would be right above the pool. You know I’m going to be getting my money worth with that.”

Being as we’ve lived in an apartment with a pool, I felt the need to tell my coworker how, sometimes, living above the pool wasn’t such a good thing. I shared stories of drunken neighbors who decided to go swimming at 2am on a Tuesday morning.

He laughed at me as I shared my wisdom. I felt like an old fuddy-dud.

“No really, 2 am is not a good time to be awakened by your neighbors out by the pool!”

“I think I’ll be fine!”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re young and love to be the center of any party. But really, sometimes we all just need our sleep.”

“No really, it will be fine.”

“Just don’t come crying to me when you were up all night listening to someone getting it on in the pool.”

“No really. I’ll manage.”

And that’s when he pointed to his hearing aids to remind me that he’s totally and completely deaf.

“Oh right. Sorry about that.”

Dude, sometimes it hard to be reminded what an idiot you are.

So tell me, please, I’m not the only one to have done something like this. Right?

A guy in my office came into my cubicle yesterday and asked if I had a mirror he could borrow.

Being the good girl that I am, I have no less then three compact sized mirrors located in different places throughout my cubicle. But also being the suspicious girl that I am, I was quite confident I didn’t want this guy taking any of my mirrors with him into the bathroom to get a closer look at any of his hard to reach places.

And so I lied.

“No, I don’t have a mirror. Sorry about that.”

I turned back to face my computer screen and tried to get the mental images of this old guy and his hard to reach places out of my mind.

I heard him making his way down the hall to all the other cubicle dwellers, asking them if they had a mirror he could borrow. I was relieved that nobody did. I mean, come on, wait until you get home and use your own mirror and your own bathroom.

It wasn’t until later that day when he told me he needed the mirror to get a better look at the outlet under his desk.

On right, that makes more sense.

What’s wrong with me that I automatically assumed he would be using my mirror inappropriately?

I blame my childhood.

Did you remember to set your VCR/DVR/TiVo to record “The Tonight Show” tomorrow night?* The Old 97’s will be preforming to promote their new album “Blame it on Gravity”, which is coming out on my birthday. You won’t want to miss this!

*I’m recording both the regular episode and the HD one. Dude, you know Rhett Miller’s going to look extra hott in High Def.

In my younger days I worked at a convenient store. We had matching uniforms for the different days of the week. We served 32 oz. Pepsi’s through a drive-up window. We got paid crap.

I know this sounds very glamorous and exciting.

It wasn’t.

While I met a lot of good friends (and even my ex-husband) while working there, I was also forced to work with some old ladies that drove me batty. Seriously, there is nothing worse then being stuck in a corner, making sodas all day with a mom that only got out of the house two times a week to go and work at the local convenient store.

(Okay, having your toenails pulled out might be worse. But not much worse. Trust me.)

(Just to clarify, this is not a picture of the woman in this story.)

There was this one specific lady that worked there that drove me especially batty. We worked together on Wednesday mornings. We called her B00bjob Betty. (You see, Betty had recently had a b00bjob. Oh yes, I’ve always been clever with the coming up of nicknames.) B00bjob Betty was on her second marriage and things were hott between the two of them.

You might wonder how I knew things were so hott. It’s simple.

She told us.

She told us when Mr. B00bjob bought her a battery powered play-thing for their anniversary. She made it a point to buy her replacement batteries from our store. She told us about their weekends away from The Kids. She bragged about the flowers he bought her.

Hearing about Betty’s love life got old. And it got old fast. It wasn’t just because I was stuck in the middle of my own loveless marriage. I truly felt like what went on between Betty and her man was private and sacred. And definitely not to be shared with young girls her daughter’s age.

One a Wednesday, Valentines Day to be exact, I found myself working alone in the morning with B00bjob Betty. I always hated working there on Valentines Day. I just hated the way the woman who I worked with tried to outdo each other by showing off their Valentine gifts. I knew this day was going to be like that. I knew it the second Betty walked in carrying her dozen roses and the card from her husband.

She couldn’t have just left them at home? She had to bring them into work?

Berry placed her roses on the counter, for all the world to see, and bragged up a storm about the awesome morning (if you know what I mean) she had with her husband before work.

The icing on the cake was when she threw her Valentines Day card in my face and told me how romantic it was and how I just had to read what her husband had written.

I, ever so politely, explained to her that I wasn’t comfortable reading a private message from her husband and handed the card back to her.

“But I’m giving you permission to read it. I want you to read it.”

“I know you’re okay with me reading it, but I’m not comfortable with it. I imagine your husband wrote it just for you. I’m really just not comfortable with reading it.”

“Fine then!”

And then she proceeded to huff and puff for the rest of the day and tell anyone that would listen how much of a prude I was.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was a prude. If being a prude wrong meant not reading personal love letters, then I didn’t want to be right. (Or something like that. I can’t remember how that saying goes.)

Looking back on this Valentines Day with B00bjob Betty, I find my hardcore stance on not wanting to read Betty’s note to be odd, since I can’t get enough of blog reading (and other personal letters).

But really, it was just too damn early in the morning for me to be reading about her husband’s love for her new b00bies. I would have lost my breakfast.

So tell me, in what way are you considered a prude?

**Dude, my “submit” button on my comments page is lost. It just disappeared. Have no fear, Carrisa is working on it. For now, you just can’t comment. CRAP!**

Being as I and work in downtown Seattle, The City Which is All About Coffee, my company has it’s own special Starbucks coffee machine in the kitchen. This thing will make you a cup of joe. Or a half caf cup of joe. It will even make you a huge pot of joe if say, you were having a meeting and needed a huge pot of joe.

Not only does this machine do all this, it will also, and here’s the best part, make you a frothy cup of steaming hot cocoa. All you’ve got to do is push a couple of buttons and stuck your mug under the dispenser.

If there was an award given to the master of making frothy cups of steaming hot cocoa, I’d have the Gold Medal.

One of The King’s favorite things to do in the winter evenings is walk around downtown Seattle with a stop at my office to take part in the free and delicious hot cocoa while looking out the window at the view of the Puget Sound and the Space Needle. While doing this a few months ago he came to the conclusion that he would also like to enjoy a cup of hot cocoa every morning on his way to his office.

And thus he decided that that was exactly what he needed.

The next morning I got a call at my desk. It was The King. He had just left our apartment. He and Babboo would be outside my office building in a few minutes. And he would like me to meet him with a frothy cup of steaming hot cocoa.

Oh, and he would need a lid. You know, so he won’t spill any on Babboo.

Knowing how much I love and appreciate my own frothy cup of steaming hot cocoa every morning, I obliged. I made up a cup. Put on my coat and scarf. Grabbed my access card. And took the elevator down to meet them.

I’m a good wife.

After a few days, I grew tired of this little routine.

Hey, I’m not that good of a wife.

The King stopped calling me and requesting a cup. I quit reminding him how good it tastes.

Yesterday morning, my desk phone rang. The King needed me to meet him in front of my office to give him some stamps for a few bills he was paying.

I decided to meet him with a frothy cup of steaming hot cocoa and the requested stamps. I down played it though. I didn’t want him getting any ideas and thinking I’d do this for him everyday.

So tell me, what little things does your significant other appreciate? More importantly, what little things do you appreciate?

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Today is Wednesday Thursday (dude, I can’t believe I as a DAY OFF!). Which means I posted over at SeattleMomBlogs. This week’s topic; is on-site daycare a thing of the 80’s? Come on over and discuss. Really, I’m curious.

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Remember how my baby sister was trying to win a free trip to South America from her company? The winner was announced yesterday, and since I promised to keep you updated, I’m here to tell you that she did not win the trip to South America. (Which is probably for the best. Being as there is an active volcano in the town they are going to right now!) Instead of winning the trip, she won $500 cash and a paid day off.

She was quite happy with her winnings.

I don’t blame her. It sounds good to me.

Since Babboo was born almost twenty months ago, The King and I have only seen two movies in a real live movie theater. Two. Which is especially crappy since we live across the street from two huge multi screen theaters.

(In case you are dying to know what movies we’ve seen, let me tell you: Oceans 13 and The Bourne Ultimatum. Are we seeing a trend here?)

What I’m saying is that it takes a movie we are really excited about to get The King and I out of the apartment and into a theater. (Plus a little begging of the grandparents to venture into the city to watch Babboo.)

Enter the movie Juno.

If you’ve not heard about this movie, I suggest you go and watch the trailers. And then get your butt to the theater. Oh yes, it’s just that good. And funny. And sweet.

(For crying out loud, it has both Micheal and George Michael Bluth in it. So you know it’s got to be good.)

I admit to not being any sort of movie critic, heck I don’t even watch rated R movies, but dude I know what I like and I liked Juno. The topic was interesting (I like babies and I’ve been pregnant a time or two). The characters were likable (I love me some George Michael). The music was awesome (Kimya Dawson, I’m talking to you and am also downloading your music like mad). It was all just awesome.

So awesome, in fact, that I’m forcing my coworkers to go and see the movie with me again today at lunch. It’s the perfect way to start our Holiday break.  I’m bringing the candy.
So tell me, what do you think the perfect way to start off the break is?

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Congratulations, tears of joy and big fat hugs are in order. I just got a phone call from the husband of May, my best friend who deserted me moved to Reno. Apparently May just had her baby girl. He called me so soon after that he didn’t even know the babies weight. Or her name.

May was able to have a healthy VBAC sans an epidural. Apparently it just went “too fast”. Dude, I can’t wait to talk to her and get the whole story. And you know, find out the baby’s name.

So yeah, congrats to May and her little family!