And thus is life...

So our wonderful vacation was canceled because the husband got "sick." He definitely had a cough, but swore up and down that he was dying and could not board the plane that was scheduled to leave the next morning. I keep telling myself that he really was sick, but I also knew that he didn't really want to go and he was magically better the following afternoon. This trip had been planned months in advanced and all the money we got back from the hotel and car rental went to Delta* so we could give my dad's frequent flier miles back to him, so we're still out $350. It seems like we never do anything as a family because something always comes up and this trip was a guaranteed way to do something fun together. But I sucked it up and went with it anyway because I didn't want to fight, but I swore that I wouldn't spend my entire spring break packing and moving.

Well it's Thursday and all we've done is pack and move (and we're not even done.) We were going to go up to Santa Fe today with my parents, but my dad had a conference call this morning and work to do on the townhouse (which is the bane of my existence and I would love to vent about it but I would just piss off certain people because there is no way I can blog about it without giving names and I don't really want to deal with another family feud, especially since the laws of wergild don't apply anymore. Boy, that was a long sentence.) So instead the husband and I were going to go to Fat Squirrel tonight and drink non-Irish beer to celebrate Saint Patty's, but his allergies are acting up and he doesn't feel like going out anymore. Why are men such babies when it comes to illnesses? (but he does sound terrible right now)

Have I mentioned that my poor little monster had four teeth coming in and barely slept last night because of the pain and being in a new, noisy environment?

So to end my enchanting tale, my spring break has been the worse I have ever had and thus is life. I'm glad we're semi-settled and the Monster has been asleep for four continuous hours so far, but I'm exhausted, extremely bitter, and angry that I probably won't be able to take those glorious sleeping pills the rapist is begging me to take every now and then** until we buy and move into a new house. Tomorrow will be better... tomorrow has to be better....

*Dear Delta, you're a bunch of assholes.

** I appear to be suffering from mild insomnia and the happy pills apparently don't work as well when I'm dead tired. I also have a theory that the rapist is just trying to shove as many meds into me as she can, but I'd kill for a good night's rest so I'm not fighting her on this one.