His Name Is Robert Paulson

Santa Paws

While budget cuts have hit everyone in this house, each of us managed to get a little bit of money for Christmas. So, we've had some shopping to do.

I'm sure you'll be shocked to know that I used my Christmas money to buy Christmas decorations. There might even be a new tree involved. And for that we can all thank Target and their glorious 70% off clearance sale. I have travelled to all of the best Targets to find all of the best clearance items. It has made me a very happy camper.

Alexis has been drug along for the adventures. She's actually quite the little shopper, eagerly digging through the clearance items in hopes of finding something magical for herself. She uncovered some Barbie ornaments for $0.38, some super-tacky-but-she-loves-it garland for $1.09, and then she found her the most magical of magical things.

I refused to pay for it. I was game for paying for decorations because they indirectly benefit me, but the thing she wanted SO badly wasn't going to benefit me at all.

Alexis had a simple solution. She decided to use her own Christmas money to buy it. It only cost $2.70, but still. She wanted it so badly that she was willing to part with her precious cash.

Alexis bought a Santa suit for Cody.

On purpose.

With her own money.

And then she eagerly took it out of its package and shoved the dog into it.

And he let her.

In fact, he still likes her, even after she made him wear it for three solid days.

He's not the brightest dog in the world, but you have to love that he adores the kid enough to play along with her reindeer games.

Murphy And My Fist Need To Get Together

I think there is a misconception that 99.9% of people spend New Years Eve out partying. It's easy to believe that since that's what our TVs show, but if everybody is out partying, how do we all know that Dick Clark is an uncomfortable shade of orange at this point?

Exactly.

I think 99.9% of people spend New Years Eve parked on their couch watching TV. Or sleeping.

I spent this New Years Eve getting punched in the face by Murphy and his stupid laws while I was parked on my couch watching TV.

One of the many problems with losing my job last month was that our health insurance was provided through my employer. It wasn't the end of the world to switch that over to the husband's employer's plan, but it is a process that requires a bit of work. He did his share of it and when all was said and done, our new insurance was set to go into effect on January 3rd.

Which means there was a three-day lapse. That's what happens when holidays get mixed in with inconvenient things like layoffs.

Do you want to guess what happened at precisely 12:06 am on January 1st?

At precisely 12:06 on January 1st, Murphy plopped his cranky ass down next to me and slapped me with that feeling that I was about to be sick. I'm not kidding--I looked at the clock right after I got that achy-crappy-hazy-little hint of illness in the back of my head.

Here's the thing--I don't get sick. Really. I can type those words and I will not be smited with some sort of horrible affliction. Those few years when Alexis spent her days swimming in the petri dish that is daycare I caught more colds than I have during the rest of my life combined. I have missed five days of school in my entire life (all chicken pox), called off sick from work exactly twice (strep throat--I felt fine but apparently was contagious or something), and generally just don't get sick. Normally when I get that precursor hint of sick, I can chug a glass of water, go to bed, and wake up fine. I get almost sick, not actually sick.

It's my superpower. No, I won't share it with you.

I fully expected to wake up on January 1st with another victory against germs under my belt. But noooooooooo! Murphy has it out for me this year! He slapped me with the best cold he could find.

I immediately deemed it a Man Cold and started whining.

The whining was warranted.

You guys, for two days I felt worse than I've ever felt. My head was so full of snot and congestion and just general misery that it hurt to lay down, blink, breathe, or even think. And sneezing? OMG. Sneezing was more painful than being stabbed in the head with a titanium spork. I've had the spork thing happen (long story), so I WOULD KNOW. MORE PAINFUL. OUCH.

I was sick enough to be all, "I'm going to the doctor's office," which are words that don't come out of my mouth because, again, I DON'T GET SICK.

And as soon as the words came out of mouth, I remembered. No insurance. There was a chance that it wouldn't cost a fortune to go, but it wasn't something I was willing to learn the hard way.

So I suffered. And was miserable. And tried to drag everyone down with me.

The good news, I suppose, is that five minutes (LITERALLY. FIVE MINUTES.) after the husband called me on January 3rd to say that the insurance stuff was all done, the fog started to lift. I'm still sick, but now I'm a manageable-not-completely-miserable level of sick. I'm certainly not sick enough to warrant a trip to see a medical professional or whatever.

Murphy and his stupid laws need to leave me the hell alone.