I AM BEAT

So when I signed up to be the hold room supervisor (which That Man did last year), I was promised the help of lots of burly men.  Last night, a couple of husbands stopped by while their wives shopped.  Today, it was just us girls (and this really freaky guy who didn't seem to understand English except to complain to me how HE would do things if he were in charge, but never did seem to listen to instructions-but he was only there for about an hour).  And you know, as I was saying to my helper extraordinaire, Beth, we totally rocked for not having any guys around.  Furniture, equipment, you name it-they had it, we moved it-from the floor to the hold room to people's cars.

Okay, so I admit, since I was the supervisor, I did a lot of pointing and telling people where to go (and they LISTENED-WAHOO), but I did get out on a couple of runs and also spent much time moving things within the hold room since some of the helpers didn't seem to know their alphabet very well.  Some poor little kids aren't going to learn the right ABC song, that's for sure.

However, can I just say that I am dead tired?  I finally know the meaning of the expression, my dogs are barking, from personal experience.  Last night, from 9 am-10:30 pm, I wore my newest shoes, the ones I got over thanksgiving, that are already falling apart.  I've been too busy to get new ones, so I had to spend the evening on my feet in them.  Bad Idea.  So today, I thought I'd wear my old shoes since I hadn't gotten around to getting rid of them yet.  Another bad idea.  The support in them is shot, so I may as well have worn sandals or something, for all the good they did me.  I got there at 7:30 this morning (which, oh MY-how can people STAND themselves, getting up that early?), and I finally got home at 3:30, only to go back because I'd promised to take the girls shopping.  And for some stupid reason, when we got home, I thought it would be fun to do yard work.

If you don't see me for a while, it's because I died.  I keeled over and died from so much physical labor, waking up too early, and not enough sex (see post from earlier this week).

I also spent less than usual-DH told me of his job demise when I called him to ask if I could buy this expensive thing, so I didn't buy all the stuff I wanted.  However, my kids will have plenty of clothes for the next year.    Shh... I'm going back tomorrow morning for the half price sale on my way to my job... where I will be asking for more hours until D-Day.  Come April 18, I am going into hibernation-preferrably somewhere warm, tropical, and where I can get a 24 hour massage. 

I came home to some mixed news.  I got an email from the build a bear people, and there's no way I can get the pony.  However, they offered me a substitute animal that I didn't know they had, and when I showed it to Bay, she was okay with it.  Actually, I read her the email from the lady, showed her the picture of the substitute animal, and let her decide what she wanted. Not completely happy, because the ensemble she planned for the creature won't go with it, but happy enough she'll survive childhood without any major scars.  I'm not giving up completely-I know I won't get anywhere from the company, but there's still eBay, right?  I will probably end up being one of those idiot parents who spends a fortune for a stupid toy, but the look on her face will be so worth it.  So if you do see the pony, let me know. 

And in sad news, Bethany is broken.  Bethany is a doll I got when I was 4 or 5 years old.  I was going through a box of my baby stuff I'd managed to save from my evil mother who throws everything away, and I found her.  And I thought, oh what a cool legacy to give my children.  I loved Bethany. So I let them have her to play with, telling them to please take care of her.  I came home today, and the little heathens had somehow managed to decapitate her.   Her innards are  now broken, and I'm going to take her to the doll hospital (which I always thought was a stupid thing until now) in hopes that they can repair her.  She was already pretty battered, thanks to my mishandling of her when I was young, down to the haphazard red stitches I gave her on her back when her top started to tear.  She's also got a freaky hair cut from when I was going through that stage of life.

Awe, I just found on the back of her head that she was made in 1977.  Little Bethany is almost 30!

I am so thankful that I haven't given them my great grandma's doll quilt.  It's the only thing I have of her, and I've debated about letting them use it.  Now that I see what they did to poor Bethany, I'm going to wait a few more years. 

Okay, I just nearly threw Bethany's head across the room.  I was looking at her, holding her, and looking into those baby blues, remembering how, when I was a little girl, I used to hold her and pretend she was my real baby (and yes, her name was always Bethany.  I couldn't name a REAL child Bethany, of course, because I already had a Bethany).  What?  Surely some of YOU did that.  Anyway, I remember at one point, prior to being married, but as an adult.  Oh CRAP, I totally remember when this was... I had just broken up with my then-fiance, who was blonde haired and blue-eyed, like Bethany, and I thought it was hideously ironic that I probably would never have a blonde haired, blue eyed child.  I was fairly traumatized at the time and going through a mega cleaning spree.  Anyway, tonight, when I was looking at Bethany, I realized that she seriously looks like Kay.  Isn't amazing how things come full circle like that in really weird and unexpected ways?  Especially considering how, to look at DH and I, you'd never picture a blonde haired, blue eyed child coming out of either one of us.

It's official.  When I die, Kay inherits Bethany. 

Dang, I'm more tired than I thought if I'm sitting here sharing about Bethany.  And talking about her as though she were real.  Hey, she's sort of my velveteen baby... heh heh....