My sister left last Thursday. I’ve been recovering. This past weekend was the first time Sparky and I had a chance to rest in over a month. It was lovely. We tried cleaning out our DVR, but we both fell asleep. Like all weekend.
While Mim was here we had a funeral, an ovulation, a meeting with financial advisers, insurance guy and tax man, kid duty and sister entertaining. The ovulation and the funeral took place at the same time. It was rather awkward to be hearing the clock ticking on my ovum as we were burying a very young, 33, and good friend of Sparky’s. Natural causes – his heart just stopped in his sleep. It was awful.
Which brings me to the next topic. People, I hearby propose an addition to the black of typical funeral wear. Sunglasses. I don’t know why I was the only one wearing them, but I shouldn’t have been. Mask your grief, people, mask your grief. Between my very California shades and my black A-line dress, heels and currently blond hair, I stood out like Anna Nicole Smith.
After the funeral, Sparky’s grade school teacher had coffee with Sparky’s mother and our attendance was required. Sitting between the two women, I tried to figure out a way to skedaddle as I had a job to do that required Sparky’s uh, participation. It was tough finding the desire to reproduce as his teacher told stories of a 7-year-old Sparky and his mother patted his ass. Very confusing for the old plumbing. Not to mention my sister waiting at home. That was really nice for all three of us.
Seriously, if I hadn’t just gone through 9 days of hormonal hell at the tune of 1500 euros in fetility drugs, and a previous dud cycle, I would have said screw it. Or not. And it was a perfect follicle. My doctor was so pleased. It was like I brought home an A+paper. I couldn’t just waste it, right? God, the pressure!!
Sparky, having just buried one fo his oldest childhood friends, had his own obstacles. And really, this is his part. He was the one with the pressure. If this one took, it is by the grace of the goddess because it was freakin’ work. Not like our romantic trips to Paris or Treier.
A few days later we met with our financial people. We have people. It’s not how I imagined it. When I thought about having people, I thought it would be a bunch of sycophants telling me I was pretty and a fashion icon in my Lindsay Lohan leggings. But no, that’s not how it works. Our people instructed us and spoke to me as if I were back in 9th grade algebra. Sadly, they needed to.
No, no, our people are not sycophants. They are the Financial Adviser, the Tax Man and the Insurance Guy. I have never felt more adult than that day. We discussed interest rates, life insurance, retirement and mortgages all within a 6 hour period with a tax man meeting the next day. When did I get that old? Seriously. All I wanted to do was skip school or throw a temper tantrum. Anything really to regress to the point of not having those conversations. I needed more wrinkle cream by the end of those two days. I could see myself aging as quickly as our retirement account isn’t growing. I mean, really, it was just yesterday when the only bills I had were rent, utilities and yearly car insurance, right? Apparently not.
So all that is in the past. Mim is back in Cali. The commander is currently doing his duty in the bedroom and I am back to my routine.