I’ve been feeling perfectly dreadful since I got back, so I’m going to make a dr’s. appt. I’m sure low blood iron is to blame for my fatigue. Who knows, yeah, yeah, I know, the depression thought bubble is floating around the back of my head, but I’m fighting it. In light of reading Women, Food and God, I’ve been trying to stay present when I’m eating. I eat when I’m tired I’ve noticed. I always knew this, but I’m trying to get comfortable around the fact that maybe I should just go to bed early. I hate going to bed early. Always hated it. To me it represents a sign of getting old. I’ve always been a night person and never thought the light at dawn was worth catching. But of course, having an infant means changing this attitude. And it seems the Precious is over his jet lag and is back to waking at 5:30am.
Anyhow, DH took an extra day off work to settle in right after our trip. So he decides we should go for a long walk to go to this more reasonable organic store. (My friend gave me one of those fancy baby cooker/steamer/blender things and I wanted to try it out.) So off we go on our jaunt, making our first stop at a drugstore. Now, I may have mentioned that we’re doing a cash budget including food, so I had an envelope of money for groceries. I took out that envelope to buy some stuff at the drugstore. Then the next stop 25 minutes later was the organic grocery store. You guessed it. Can’t find the envelope of cash. No, don’t worry, I had money left over from Toronto to pay for the organic produce. I call the drugstore, hoping in vain that I had left it at the cashier stand. No luck. I search every cranny of my slingpack. No luck. Tears spring to my eyes. I have just lost 50% of our grocery money for the month.
DH was not angry but not doing a particularly good job of making me feel better. He kept saying well, someone probably stole it from me, but I assured him my slingback was fully zipped and if they had, they would have stolen my wallet – which would have been a feat since it is the size of a brick. Then he said, well, just forget about it, we have more money. I always hope for the best and if weren’t with me, I would have retraced every step in a hurry in hopes that somehow it had fallen out along the way. It is my nature to not just forget about things, but try to find a way to UNDO THE PAST. FIX IT. CORRECT THE MISTAKE. FIGURE IT OUT. SO I DON’T LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT. I still felt reasonably lucky that I hadn’t taken more money with me as DH wanted me to do. I NEVER go out on errands with large amounts of cash on me. You guessed it, I have a fear of LOSING IT or getting it stolen. This I learned from my mother. I take what I think I need and not a penny more. If I run out of money, I go home or an ATM.
Yes, I’m aware that of all the people on the street that day a gajillion people would have probably kept it. It was only about $175 and no, we won’t go hungry over it, but as you know, if I lose something, I practically have to hold myself back from hysteria. Cause it’s just another sign that I’ve got early onset of dementia!!!! For as long as I can remember, I have always lost a bit when I can’t find something and I mentally and physically retrace my steps. And if I can’t actually recall the mental image of putting an object somewhere (hence, why you can’t find things), I ascribe that to ill mental health.
Okay, so moving on from that, we decide to pick up some lunch on the way home cause by now, we’re starving. The kid starts whingeing and crying. He ate before we left, so I know it’s his teeth and I give him some Tylenol. As we wait outside for our order, this homeless guy is lurking about and says, “I don’t know nothing ’bout babies, but would it hurt for you to pick him up?” Well, yes, the thought had occurred to me, as no mother likes to hear their kid cry, but I know I have to put him back in his stroller very shortly and he’s just going to scream even more until the Tylenol kicks in. I’m already doing my best by rocking the stroller back and forth and giving him face time. I thank the gentleman for his assvice and he goes away. DH goes back in to check on our order and guess who comes ambling back to check on me. This time, he’s not so nice and starts demanding I pick him up and I remark that I know what I’m doing and guess what, he starts CURSING at me. Yep, I have failed the motherhood test with the homeless guy.
Just as I start to give him a piece of my mind, DH comes out of the restaurant like a bullet, puts down his backpack and heads for the guy. I know he’s already on edge for being hot, hungry and pissed about the missing money, so I’m thinking that threatening his family was going to push him over the edge. Yep. He, ahem, invites the guy to come over here and share his parenting tips so we can write them down. Not. He actually called him a “goof” which in prison slang, is a really bad thing to call a guy. Apparently he recognized him from his guard days. Needless to say, the man jogged off out of sight with my hubby nipping at his heels.
I point out to DH that I was perfectly capable of telling someone off, I do get particularly heated when it involves my loved ones. I don’t take to perfect strangers verbally assaulting me, but I noticed that such people often make women their targets, rarely men. DH challenges stranger trash talking with physical force. In all the years I’ve known him, this method of dealing with bullies always works. Luckily for him, he can handle himself and I think it’s that look in his eye that worries the bully.
By the way, later that day I went back to the drug store to speak to the cashier personally. No luck and having done my best, I let it go… to whoever needed it more. I had picked up my cheque from my acting gig (see, got more money) and promptly paid a chunk of my VISA bill.
Part II later.