Panera Promotions

Hello, Dear Reader. It's been almost a month since my last post, and I have much to write about. But today I am going to tell you about how I am literally drowning at work. So I think I've told you I got a promotion and that I was going to start training for my new position soon. Well, I've started training, and I am about halfway through. 

Each day that passes I wonder more and more why my superiors thought it was such a swell idea to move me up the chain of command; because all I really do is avoid any actual work and burn anything I have to bake during the day.

I guess my charming, sarcastic personality and my insatiable appetite for sucking up worked in my favor.

Anyway, it has been a pretty big disaster on the work front. While I can pick something up quickly, I can't seem to retain about half the information I'm being given, so I just walk around saying "I-I-I-I, I just...I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS." Which is basically Alex Code for "Pardon my behavior, I am currently suffering a panic attack." No one seems to notice though. I guess that's because I am in a constant state of caffeine induced panic.

On a serious note, I am beyond thankful for this opportunity. I just hope my bosses don't decide that having to tell me I'm doing just fine 500 times a day isn't worth having an extra set of hands on the management team.

Jolliest Asshole This Side of the Nuthouse.

It's Thanksgiving here in the US, Dear Reader. You know what that means? It means it's almost Christmas, and my mood is steadily declining. Holiday season is super rough for me, mostly because it's freaking cold and I'm actual a reptile wearing a human suit to keep warm. But also because I always feel like I don't have enough arms on my body or hours in my day to get things done and visit with my loved ones.

So I fuel my already anxious and sleep deprived brain with red bull, coffee, and an occasional drag of nicotine.

Okay not so much nicotine. I haven't smoked in about 4 years. But thinking about the impending holiday is making me want to smoke an entire pack of camel crush menthols and drink a case of the cheapest boxed wine. (Mom, if you're reading this, on your way to my house tomorrow, you know what I need for the store now. *insert winky face emoji*)

We all cope in our own ways.

Anyway back to the point of this post. Christmas is coming which means work is getting busier because people NEED 66,000,000 bagel packs and 72 loaves of holiday bread, and I'm about to start training for a new position, and we just opened a drive thru. I am beyond stressed. So I started asking my coworkers how they handle their holiday stress. No one had any good answers. Which makes me wonder, why do we make such a fuss over the holiday season?

I mean, yeah, your buttface brothers come in to town, pin you down, and give you indian burns and pink bellies (this is from personal experience), and maybe you're grandma gets drunk and passes out in the living room floor before anyone has even sat down to eat dinner, but is it worth all the freaking out?

No. No it isn't. So I challenge you, Dear Reader, to relax this holiday season. Don't have any gigantic meltdowns, and don't yell at your coworkers because they're messing with you and your shift ended 2 hours ago and you're ready to leave, and then try to make up for it by bringing candy to work the next day. Just chill out and enjoy all the dysfunction, chaos, and alcohol....errr...I mean cookies. I totally meant cookies.

What Happened In Here?

It's Sunday morning, Dear Reader. Are you gearing up for your impending doom...I mean work week? I'm not. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, drinking cold coffee that I forgot I had made until Robbie came walking over to me drinking it, and procrastinating. Procrastination isn't really something I take part in often *because there are not enough hours in my day* but I'm making an exception for today. Can you guess why? I'll just tell you. 

My house hasn't been thoroughly cleaned in about two weeks. It literally looks like a bomb went off in here. And it smells like the inside of a sweaty wool sock. I have about three weeks worth of laundry to fold, and a week's worth to wash. Also, the bathroom cabinet contents seem to have spontaneously combusted at some point during the madness of last week. 

I should insert a picture of the state of my living room floor right now. But it is cringe worthy. So I'm not going to.

I feel like I'm drowning in responsibilities. I felt like that as a stay at home mom too, but I actually got shit done then. Now I'm getting up at 3 am to be at work by 5 am, and getting home at about 3:30 pm, which means I rush through cooking dinner, paying bills online, and doing a load of laundry so I can have Robbie in bed by 7 pm and I can be asleep by 7:30 pm. It's kind of a recipe for disaster and embarrassment.

If my mother saw the way my house looks right now, she would be forced into an early grave. But not before she yelled at me for being a slob. 

I keep telling myself I am going to get a giant calendar to hang in my kitchen, and on said calendar I will plan my weekly chores. *I aim to be one of those got her shit together Pinterest moms* But it never happens. And even if I did get one, I don't follow my weekly plans on the giant calendar by my bed, and I'm constantly writing things in my planner and forgetting about it. So what's the point in wasting effort and money on another calendar?

Because office supplies and caffeine are my life blood, that's the point.

Anyway, I should probably get up and do something productive with this day. Mostly I just need to get up to change what is streaming on the TV right now, because "Mitkey Kissmass" is playing for the gabillionth time and I've had enough of that crap.

Prayers, Poo, and Coffee.

Today I have a lot on my mind. Which is basically how I am everyday. But today is different. Today I am questioning my choice of going back to work full time. See, at 5 am, Robbie woke up crying. I assume she was cold, despite the mountain of blankets and stuffed animals she keeps in her bed. I can't blame her. I was also under a mountain of blankets and I was cold. Anyway, Cameron put her in our bed and the three of us snoozed peacefully until the alarm clocks started going off an hour later, and then there were demands for "seril, stooms, ohmel, Mitkey, and chocit stawbees mahl" (20 points to Gryffindor if you can translate all of that.) In the midst of the morning demands and the rush to get Cameron out the door for work, I realized at some point Robbie's diaper had leaked all over the place.

*insert mental eye rolls, sighs of exasperation, silent cursing, and a desperate search for the package of diapers*

This is where I started questioning my sanity and my will to provide for my family. My job called to see if I could come in today (Wednesday mornings can get scary over there), and I realized Robbie is almost 2 and a half. Which basically means she should be starting to potty train. And she is. At daycare. Because, I'm.Never.Home.Because.I.Work.ALL.THE.TIME.

I changed Robbie, hung up the phone, and put all of that out of my mind because I was being yelled at for not providing the immediate Mickey Mouse fix my little fiend needed. That is, until shortly before I started writing this, when my sweet little Shugie crouched down, farted so loud the house shook, and dropped the brown note.

Except for she didn't really "drop" anything. It went straight up her back.

I'm going to attribute the upwards motion of the poo to the three or four sips of coffee that were stolen out of my mug while I was fixing breakfast. I assume it was only three or four, but judging by her wild behavior post coffee thievery...it was more. A lot more.

So there I sat, dreading the doom that was contained in my child's pants/shirt. I could only imagine how terrible it would be. I was silently praying to God that he would provide me with magical diaper changing fairies or spontaneous potty training and perfect butt wiping skills for my child. There were thoughts of how I could possibly manage to full potty train my toddler on such little parental availability. There were tears of regret. This was the end.

In my mind, judgement day had arrived. This was my punishment for all of my sins. Eternal damnation and diaper explosions. Hell was real, my friends.

As it turns out, the mess wasn't as bad as I had expected, but the incident has left me with this nagging feeling of failure since I cannot work as diligently on potty training as I'd like (Thank you, workaholic tendencies.) It has also left the foul stench of toddler coffee poo in my living room and I am unsure of how to rid my house of such an atrocious odor.

So there you have it, Dear Reader, the contents of my mind today: Hell, poo explosions, potty training, and why in the world would I choose to return to work before said potty training was over.