Disorderly Conduct

You know that lingering sinking feeling you get at points in your life when you’re like “wow, I was in the top of my class, I went to a good college, I should feel a lot smarter than I do right now?” Well last week was a continuous week of that.

It started early in the week when I screwed up our passports. Here’s where I confess I got married two years ago and never bothered to change my name on my passport. Unlike Scott’s suggestion that perhaps I was trying to keep an alias and flee the country, I didn’t have a good reason for not doing the name change. It just wasn’t a priority (and, incidentally, when we refinanced, my maiden name came up under “known aliases,” so the whole fleeing the country thing wouldn’t have panned out, anyway). So when Scott’s was up for renewal, I figured it was as good a time as any to redo mine. The DMV suggested we mail them in to avoid extra processing fees. Since mailing crap is my domain, I took over.

I did two things I knew were stupid, and they both bit me in the ass. The first? I told him to make the check out for what the DMV dude wrote on my sheet when I went to get the info after we were first married. Two years ago. I mean, really, if STAMPS go up like 40 cents a year, you can guess passport fees may have changed in two years. And that nagging thought occurred to me, but I figured, “hey, it’s written on the sheet.” The second thing I did that I knew was stupid, I stuck it in a mailbox outside the post office. After I dropped it in I saw a sticker that CLEARLY said anything over a certain weight needed to be weighed in the post office, but I figured “hey, I put two stamps on it, we’re cool.” Neither were cool and now Scott’s passport expired.

Exhibit B.
When we returned from a recent trip, I thought to myself “I will be organized this time! I will unpack right away and do laundry right away, and put the suitcases away right away.” And I did. For the first time EVER, I actually did it, you guys! And it blew up STRAIGHT IN MY FACE! Because a few days later I discovered I was charged for Wee ‘Burb’s carseat, which is technically an assistive device. Only I can’t prove it because I THREW OUT the receipts in my desire to be organized and apparently they have no record of it.

It took, oh, 5 phone calls and 2 hours (and one very confused banker who was so nice as I told her “yes, I know you wouldn’t possibly have the baggage receipt number in your records from my debit card but customer service told me you would and I have to make the call) to determine I was boned. Friendly skies my ass.

Exhibit C.
There’s no other way to say this, I am obsessed with coupons. I love them so much I date them. I’m not kidding, I will not cut coupons in a rush or in any atmosphere not conducive to my love for coupons. I light some candles, I settle in with a good TV show, and I tenderly cut at the designated pre-creased spot. I gently place them in my coupon organizer, which coddles them lovingly by expiration date. And said coupon organizer is velcroed everrrr so gently onto the cart so that they are accessible as I check out. In an act of self-sabotage, I did what I always swear I will not do and did the self check-out. Big Mistake. HUGE! I walked out and got into my car a little dazed by how such a quick trip to the store had cost so much more than I anticipated.

Then I realized: I had forgotten to scan my coupons! The entire point of going to this dreaded place instead of Target was double coupon day, and I had failed to use my precious, precious darlings….who were nowhere to be found! And then it hit me, like a horrible punch to the stomach, I had left my coupon holder ON THE CART!! I thought about going back, but I had visions of me frantically searching for the person who DARED abscond with my coupon holder and I felt nothing very flattering or lady-like would come from it. I’m still in mourning. All I can say is thank goodness Wee ‘Burb is almost off formula because I had some awesome coupons in there. I wonder if home insurance covers coupons? Anyone?

Exhibit D.
In an odd way,  it links to both B and C. Scott and I have separate bank accounts, for a lot of reasons that make sense in our relationship. So he had written me a check to cover my ill-fated grocery trip mentioned in Exhibit B, and for the trip I took today to Target to get the rest of the items I hadn’t gone to get on double coupon day.

I lost the check. No idea.

I absolutely know I put it on the edge of the table and my first thought was that Wee ‘Burb had taken off with it. Yeah, because in the midst of my mental meltdown, she thought it’d be a cool idea to learn to crawl. We’ve only been practicing and fretting over this milestone for, oh, 2 months. Since our normally level-headed pediatrician informed us if Little Miss Lazy Pants didn’t get off her fat Huggies and start moving, we’d be forced to take her to a physical therapist. As I mentioned here, we have a high-deductible plan, so while yeah I don’t want to hear my kid is behind, I also don’t want to pay $100 per visit to have them play with her legs and tell me she’s lazy. Is that just me?

Where was I? Right, so I figured she’d made off with the check. Scott was nice and cool about it, but I couldn’t stop beating myself up. Losing coupons is bad enough, losing actual money is just too much.

So I pull into Target today, and to add to my crap mood someone decided after weeks of construction AROUND Target, it’s time to do the entire parking lot, forcing me to park 12 miles from the store on a day where I have a million things to do.

And I pull in and there’s this old dude leaning on the front of a car, his feet halfway in to the spot I want to park and I’m thinking “dude, you BEST not be saving that for someone who’s been circling, because I will run you over” and he just crosses his arms for a second, purses his lips, and then begins DIRECTING me into the spot. WHAH????

As I begin to think about the merits of giving him a piece of my mind (pro: it would release a lot of stress I’ve been building in my week of mental goo; con: I don’t have bail money…there was probably a coupon for that in my lost organizer, now we’ll never know), I pick up my purse and feel something sticky. It’s the tag from one of our suitcases (no, sadly, not the one I needed, wouldn’t that be a happy ending?) and attached to it is the check I thought I lost!

So what’s the diagnosis, Doctor Readers? Am I going insane? Is this the dreaded Mommy Brain I’ve heard so much about and dismissed as myth? Is there coupon insurance??