An Hour

Today was a good day. Things were hopping at work, light bulbs were going 'on', and nobody wigged out. In my line of work, you can't ask for much better.

The kidlets are safe at the sitter, taking their naps, I have managed (how?) to escape work on time today, and now I find myself at home. My bookwork is done, the kitchen is reasonably clean (not sparkling, but we won't get salmonella poisoning, either), and I find myself with an entire hour. Alone. To myself.

A whole hour and I can do whatever it is my little heart desires. Hmm...this is difficult. I'm a hyper and naturally high-strung person, and as a result sitting still and just being isn't always an easy task for me. I am much more easily able to obsess about cleaning, organizing, or my all time favorite de-stressor, scrubbing the WHITE grout on my kitchen floor. (You all knew I was a bit neurotic, before, right?) Who on Earth puts WHITE grout on the kitchen/dining room/bathroom floors? WHO? It is the constant harbinger of strife in my life. No matter what I do, I don't seem to be able to keep the grout as clean as I'd like. Sigh. I digress...

So, here I am with my free hour. What do I do? I'm already wasting some time blogging (my dirty little not-so-secret hobby). I have vowed, to all that is mommy, I will NOT clean (grout included). That leaves me with what to do? I'm thinking, that with the remnants of my hour (51 minutes to be exact) I'm going to don a baseball cap, strip down, and hop into my hot tub. Yup. That sounds pretty nice. I'll pretend I'm at some sort of lovely day spa, in a warm and comforting meditation room waiting for my Lomi-lomi (hot rock) massage, and with my orange baseball cap (NOT Beaver, mind you, I am faithful to my Alma Mater) I will ignore the large, cold, October raindrops pelting my skull. Yep. I think that's just what I'll do.

An hour...

NOT HOT tub Rant

Do you see that? Do you? What does that look like?

I'll tell you what it looks like: it looks like a rain sodden cedar box with a brown synthetic leather-looking lid and some crappy plastic steps. It is my un-hot tub.

That's right. NOT HOT hot tub.

See, I wanted to go out and soak in my HOT tub this afternoon while my chickadees were napping, you know, time to unwind, enjoy the lovely Pacific Northwest "sunshine" and de-stress. So, why am I not out in my supposedly HOT tub? Well, the stinking GCFI (or whatever the electrician called it) has fouled--again. The breaker switch has blown 5 times in 10 days. THAT IS A LOT! Too freaking much. So, as a consequence, every time the switch blows, the hot tub shuts off until we reset the breaker. Result: a NOT HOT tub. So, until the electrician can pencil us into his schedule (Monday, if we're lucky) we just have to put up with a NOT HOT hot tub.

Waaa, waa, waa, you say. At least you have a hot tub, you say. Well, I'm just a big, grumpy, pissed off baby. Damn proud of it, too. Today is a rant, after all.