Hot Cross Buns and 3G

The bun I am about to eat looks WAY better than the ones pictured here.

I love hot cross bun season. Unfortunately, my favorite bakery has been lacking them as of late.

The nice counter boy explained that people aren't buying them and they end up being thrown out. "You could have fucking called me!" I exclaimed in exasperation.

Of course I didn't say that. But I learned that in order for me to get some, I'd need to order half a dozen. So I did.

I gave a few away. I am now sitting down to my second bun of the day. Along with some extra strong coffee, so I don't pass out from the inevitable blood sugar spike and drop.

But I also had a big omelette a few minutes ago too, so I think I'm Ok. I may puke, but I won't pass out.

I got to thinking about my days. I am incredibly lucky.

Long ago, B and I decided that we wanted to raise our children ourselves and not send them to daycare all day, so we worked opposite shifts in order to make that happen.

Now that the kids are in school, I could go and get a day job, but I don't want the stress of worrying about sick days, snow days and holidays that I would have to take off.

So second shift is where I stay.

On most days, like today, I sometimes got to the gym, do some housework, make myself awesome breakfasts or sometimes meet a friend for coffee or breakfast. I also write as much as my rotten, procrastinating self will allow.

As I write this, I am actually procrastinating. I should be working on that really long story instead of writing here. I say to myself that this is my warm up to get limber for the big stuff.

Yeah right.

I think that the run down of my leisurely day to B as I dropped him off this morning put him in a crappy mood. (He forgets that I work tonight)

It's understandable. Most of the year, I have a lot of time to myself. He doesn't get it nearly as often.

But I pay for it in the end. I fucking pay.

I am with the kids non-stop all summer, on-call for any sickness. I hold the bowl all night for whomever is puking. I also do all the bills, banking, doctor visits and coordination of all activities, not to mention I trim everyone's nails.

I am also mostly responsible for Horst. You got to keep an eye on him. If you read this, you know that he has some spectacularly bad ideas.

All the time. Some you can stop, some you can't.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions they say.

My favorite recent bad idea was right after my sister in law's beloved dog passed away. I went to the basement to discuss plans for a package for her coming birthday.

I was thinking along the lines of some Alex and Ani bracelets with charms on them that have to do with dogs or the first letter of her dog's name. That sort of thing.

My father was going to put money in an envelope and also enclose a note telling her to buy herself another dog.

I just kept saying, "No" repeatedly until it sunk in that doing something like that is an incredibly bad idea. We went with the bracelets.

He got a new phone when he got his tax money back. It has wireless and a touch screen and he keeps saying it has "3G".

He claims that this is why the phone's battery is constantly draining, so when you try to call him, he never picks up because the phone is always dead.

His justification for buying a new phone was so that more people can get in touch with him. You know, the 3G and all..

So far I have called him several times, he never picks up, doesn't have a mailbox set up and it's pretty much the same thing as with his old phone, except that I think he pays more for this one.

The other day, as I was going into the basement to do laundry, he popped up out of nowhere. I think he has figured out when someone is coming down based on the sound of our footsteps above. He then lurks about waiting for you to come down.

I am ashamed to admit that sometimes, I don't acknowledge him right away, especially when it's obvious he's dying to tell me something. I make him sweat.

In my defense, it's usually about a new product he bought or something painful like that.

This Sunday he popped out and declared that I will never ever have to wash my dog's bed again. His new vacuum has a special pet hair attachment.

I didn't immediately go up and fetch my dog's bed to wash it out of spite, but I admit that it was tempting.

The mental drain of poor Horst. If you ever get sick of hearing about him, just tell me. In the meantime, I'm going to drink my coffee, eat my bun and do whatever until it's time to get the kids from school.

I'm going to enjoy my well-earned solitude and quiet.,