February 16, 2006

I didn’t do it

Leah tagged me, but because I’m a rebel (okay, I’m totally not) I’m going to do half of the meme, and change the rules. Again! Go to Leah’s site if you want to read the original meme (and to ogle her son, who is ADORABLE–my favorite picture is here). Get ready–here are four jobs I’ve never had and four classic movies I’ve never seen. You’re on the edge of your seat, aren’t you?

four jobs I’ve never had
Restaurant employee. I applied for a job at Arby’s once, but the manager said I was ‘overqualified.’ I think he disliked my I’m-home-from-my-expensive-liberal-arts-college-for-the-summer attitude. And, looking back, I can see why! I also seem to recall some sort of nation-wide panic at that time (this would be in the late ’80s) about Arby’s employees having their hands severed in the roast beef slicer. Remember this? Okay, so maybe it was just my mom who was worried, but I wasn’t too heartbroken about not getting the job. I really didn’t want to work in any sort of restaurant, particularly one that required a uniform. With a hat! Do they still wear those hats? The ironic thing about this is that the following fall, when I went back to school, I waited tables in a bar, which really was just one step up from the Arby’s, and had a uniform that consisted of a t-shirt made ENTIRELY of polyester; the bartenders used to joke that in a fire we wouldn’t burn but melt. This was a truly horrible job, but so very lucrative, especially on Monday nights when two of the seven fraternities on campus had their meetings. The meeting, of course, was just an excuse to relive the weekend, plan for the next weekend, and get drunk (again! thus adding one more day to the weekend, which typically kicked off on Wednesday afternoon). Drunk frat boys tip well; a pitcher of beer was like $6.00, but it was apparently so much easier to hand me a $10.00 and yell, ‘KEEP THE CHANGE!’ Which I inevitably did. Of course, this lead to some sense that the tipper was entitled to grab my ass, but a well-placed blow to the head usually put a stop to that. How do I know this? Let’s just say I do and leave it at that.

Personal assistant. Wade and I have an unusual fascination with E! Entertainment Television’s reality lineup, specifically Gastineau Girls and Dr. 90210. We don’t PLAN to watch these shows–we don’t TIVO them or anything (although I will once I get my TIVO, don’t you worry), but we seem to stumble onto them pretty regularly, and as they have that reality TV can’t-look-away-train-wreck quality we all love, there we are. Anyway, this season’s first episode followed Lisa and Brittny Gastineau as they sought to hire a personal assistant to do things like get the phone hooked up! and find clean towels! and locate a specific overnight bag in a closet the size of my house! This got me thinking about what a horrible personal assistant I would be. I only get through my current day (which has a fairly strong element of ‘personal assistant’ to it, if you think about it) by wielding the threat of time-out at every opportunity; I don’t think you can actually PUT the Gastineau Girls in time-out (although they BOTH deserve it). And inevitably I would go berserk and tell Brittny to GET A GRIP FOR GOD’S SAKE IT’S ONLY A SHOE AND YOU HAVE THREE HUNDRED PAIRS IN THE CLOSET and that would be the end of my career as a personal assistant. Plus my propensity for whacking people upside the head when provoked might make me unhireable. Was I going somewhere with this? No. Let’s move on.

Nanny. Didn’t being a nanny always seem like fun? Come on, think about it! Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, THE NANNY! Those girls knew how to live. The children always played together nicely, or better yet left the house for the ENTIRE day, freeing the nanny to hang out in the kitchen watching daytime TV and noshing on whatever the cook was making. And they always got the guy! Okay, not Mary Poppins, although Burt was sweet on her and she seemed to have unlimited access to all sorts of terrific hallucinogenic drugs. And of course Maria got both the Captain and the Nazis, but they got over that, right? But the Nanny! Fran Drescher wore heels! And full makeup! And she got to marry the almost-hot and fabulously wealthy English guy! Okay, yes, I have TERRIBLE taste in television shows. Sorry. (See, you ARE learning something about me!)

Writer. My senior year in high school, I was voted Most Likely to Write the Great American Novel. I think this happened for a couple of reasons: I liked to read and even in high school I had a compulsive need to finish even the worst book, which meant that I ALWAYS had the homework done for English class (unlike some other of my classes, but let’s not get into that here). And, for some reason, I was always in the English class with the football players boys who couldn’t didn’t like to read, so they thought I was some sort of genius when really I just had a good memory for plot. In our senior year, we had our class meeting after lunch, which meant that occasionally some of my classmates were, uh, not entirely themselves by the time these meetings started, if you catch my drift (drunk! or maybe stoned! but not me–I was too busy doing my English homework). And because the dean of the Senior Class, poor Mr. Smith (yes, really! that was his name) took attendance, all my drunk football player friends (I use that world loosely) from fifth period English were there the day that we voted for things like ‘best legs!’ and ‘cutest couple!’ and ‘most likely to run for political office!’ and they loudly egged all their other drunk football player friends to VOTE FOR WAGNER TO WRITE THE NOVEL! It was truly touching. No, not really. Because I never wanted to write a novel (remember what happened when I tried?) and I am skeptical that there has ever been a GREAT American novel. Oh and? WRITING IS HARD. At least in the coherent manner required when you’re being paid to do it. Not like here, where I can just yammer on and on! Thank god for the Internet.

Moving right along . . .

four classic movies I have not seen
E. T. It’s not the same once you know how Drew Barrymore turns out, is it?

The Graduate. I have no excuse. None.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Yes, I know, Pheobe Cates has great boobs! Anything else? I didn’t think so.

Apocalypse Now. But I’ve read Heart of Darkness at least five times, if that makes a difference.

Okay, now I’m tired. It’s a lot of work, not doing things. I think I’ll go not do anything in front of the television. But you! Should feel free to do this! And tomorrow I’ll post some pictures of my hair! Can you stand the excitement?

February 15, 2006

I cannot tell a lie

But I can totally borrow someone else’s truth and attribute it to my husband.

Technically, ALL of the stories I told are true, but one of them is not about Wade. Because while I have no flair for fiction, I’m good at taking things that have really happened and dressing them up a bit. Look at me–I’m James Frey! Although like James Frey I was tripped up by some simple fact checking, thus proving that I learned NOTHING from his mistake.

1. Wade rode on the University of Oklahoma cycling team.
TRUE!
Wade went to grad school at OU in the late 80s/early 90s. And yes, he really WAS hit by a car; he suffered a mild concussion. He likes to tell everyone that the day AFTER the accident, his parents went out of town on vacation, despite the fact that he was languishing in the hospital. But he was fine, really. And he wears a bicycyle helmet all the time now–when he’s riding a bike, I mean, not ALL the time, which would be, well, wierd.

2. Wade runs marathons; he has run 18 in the past ten years.
NOT TRUE!
Actually, this IS a true story–but not about Wade, who wouldn’t run for the phone if it was Heather Locklear calling to ask him out on a date.* Well, okay, MAYBE then. But not for anything else.

Wade’s friend Adam, on the other hand, really IS a runner and is a fairly good marathoner; he has finished in the top ten at the Memorial Marathon for the past two years, and ran a personal best in 2004. Adam also ran the San Francisco Marathon with his brother-in-law, who is some sort of venture capitalist, and the brother-in-law really DID take phone calls during the race. (My brother, on the other hand, is a golfer, not a runner, although he DOES own a business and has been known to take phone calls at odd times. Just not during a marathon, unless it was one he was watching on television. And I can’t really see that happening, now that I think about it.) Adam is also a writer; he did a series of articles about races in Oklahoma, including the run at the nudist colony (which may or may not be near Tulsa–I made that part up. Look at me! with the lying!). I am fairly sure he ran that particular race nekkid, but quite honestly, I don’t want to know. I like this man and his wife a lot and I really want to be able to have dinner with them every once in a while without having to think about . . . well, you know. But apparently, people DO run the race in their birthday suits, and then they all hop in the hot tub together when it’s over. Adam runs his race, collects his trophy, and leaves–no hot tub. You’re all relieved to know THAT, aren’t you?

3. Wade once shared a bottle of Southern Comfort with David Lee Roth, in the stairwell of a local hotel.
TRUE!
I still don’t know what else to say about this, except that it was a long LONG time ago and I was not there.

4. Wade spent a summer working in an oil field.
TRUE!
Apparently this was the Most Boring Summer Job ever, and the trailer was horrible. More horrible than the Motel 6, which is saying quite a bit.

5. Wade will go on a five-day camping trip where he will hike twenty miles while carrying a fifty pound pack, fly fish in icewater up to his thighs, sleep on the ground at night, and eat freeze-dried camp food while sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain (or snow!), but he will NOT eat a decent, freshly-prepared meal outside.
TRUE!
The one exception to this is when we visit my parents in Albuquerque, where there are no bugs and no humidity. But for the most part, Wade would sooner be drawn and quartered than have to eat outside. I, of course, would eat EVERY meal outside, weather permitting, but wouldn’t go camping on a dare. And yet we are somehow able to coexist peacefully. Because we love each other. Or something.

A big congratulations to Mama Christy, Crayonz, and M&Co, all of whom actually looked up the race results for the Memorial Marathon, which is a clear sign that they have WAAAAY too much time on their hands. And so to fill that time, I suggest that THEY do this meme (follow the link for the ACTUAL instructions–or play my way!). See? No good deed goes unpunished. The rest of you–particularly those of you who guessed correctly–should feel free to tag yourselves and let us know you’re playing. I want to see what kind of liars you all are.

So now you know a few more things about my husband. And remember–if you find yourselves in line at Starbucks one morning behind a really REALLY tall guy with glasses, say ‘I KNOW YOU!’ and see what happens. I’m sure it will be funny.

*We actually sat around the other night and talked about how now that Heather and Richie Sambora were divorcing, and my pretend boyfriend Ralph Fiennes had been dumped by his long-time girlfriend, we could all go on a big double date. And hoo boy did we think we were funny!

We really need to get out more.

February 14, 2006

the part about how much I love him is completely true

You know who doesn’t get nearly enough attention around here?

My husband.

By ‘here’ I mean this web site, not my house in general, although that’s probably true, too. But as it is Valentine’s Day, I figured I should fix that. After all, other blogger’s husbands get recognized in the grocery store–which reminds me: if you live in OKC and you ever think you recognize Wade, anywhere, for the love of god PLEASE go up to him and say, ‘I READ YOUR WIFE’S BLOG’ because that would TOTALLY freak him out. I will pay you real money to do that.

Anyway, Kathryn (who turns out to have an arrest record in Texas, go figure) wants to see what kind of lies I am capable of telling. You all know what a big fan I am of the truth, but I agreed to play anyway, because–well, because she’s got that ARREST RECORD and all and you never know what those Canadians are capable of.

But, because I’m a rebel (stop laughing), I’m going to break the rules and tell you five things about Wade, four of which are true. You will need to decide, based solely on what you have read here and your own sense of what seems probable, which of these things is the fiction. And, as with all contests, employees of Friday Playdate and their families are not elegible. Nor are those of you who actually know my husband. You know who you are.

So! Here are five things about Wade, ONE of which is a complete falsehood. Happy Valentine’s Day!

1. Wade rode on the University of Oklahoma cycling team. Shortly before I met him, he was hit head-on by a car outside of Norman, Oklahoma. He flipped over the top of the car, breaking the sunroof, and landed on the ground behind the rear bumper. When the driver got out to see if he was, well, dead, Wade hugged him. Because he was so happy to be alive. Oh, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet (Wade, not the driver, although the driver probably wasn’t wearing a helmet either).

2. Wade runs marathons; he has run 18 in the past ten years. He ran the San Francisco Marathon with my brother last year; my brother took three business calls during the race. Yes! Really! Because when you own your own business, there are no days off. Wade has finished in the top ten in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon three times; he ran a personal best two years ago, and we celebrated for a week (although the first two days of ‘celebrating’ weren’t so much fun for Wade, what with having just run a marathon and all). He also runs shorter races, including a 10K at a nudist colony near Tulsa. He usually wins that one. Apparently running nekkid makes you faster. Or something like that.

3. Wade once shared a bottle of Southern Comfort with David Lee Roth, in the stairwell of a local hotel. I don’t know what else there is to say about that.

4. Wade spent a summer working in an oil field. His job consisted mostly of painting stuff and throwing rocks at cows to keep them from drinking tainted water. He lived in a trailer for one week, and then checked into a Motel 6 for the rest of the summer.

5. Wade will go on a five-day camping trip where he will hike twenty miles while carrying a fifty pound pack, fly fish in icewater up to his thighs, sleep on the ground at night, and eat freeze-dried camp food while sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain (or snow!), but he will NOT eat a decent, freshly-prepared meal outside. We will cook on the grill and then COME IN THE HOUSE to eat. Once a year, usually for my birthday, we will eat out on the deck at our favorite burger place. But that’s it. All meals must be served indoors.

So which of these things is NOT true about my husband? And how do you know?

February 13, 2006

I’m planning to take over the world, but I have a few other things to do first

Hello! Happy Monday! Yahoo hates me. Yes, it’s true! Recently, any time I reply to an e-mail with a yahoo.com address, my e-mail is held in some sort of Anti-Terrorist Protective Custody for up to a week and then either delivered so long after the original e-mail was sent to me that the sender has NO IDEA what I’m blathering about, or returned to me as UNDELIVERABLE, despite the fact that ALL I DID WAS HIT REPLY when the original e-mail came in. Thank you, John Ashcroft, for keeping the world safe from smartasses like me.*

I have no idea what that’s all about. BUT! If you have e-mailed me recently with a yahoo.com address, and haven’t heard back from me, don’t take it personally! I’ve been really good lately about answering all my e-mail in a timely fashion (for once) which is why I’m so irritated by this new development. Plus, some of these errant e-mails were really funny, like my witty reply to Karli, who asked, ‘What’s up with your hair?”** But now they are lost forever, and I apologize. Stupid Yahoo.

Speaking of my hair, I’m thinking of letting it grow. And documenting it here! With pictures, even!*** Doesn’t that sound like fun? And then you can say to yourself each day, ‘I think I’ll go watch Susan’s hair grow!’ or ‘Today was a slow day–all I did was watch that woman’s hair grow.’ I’m only thinking of you and your entertainment in all this, you know.

So it’s almost Valentine’s Day, and we’re already feeling the sugar high love at our house, thanks to Wade’s mother, who plied us with candy and chocolate cake yesterday. Charlie has his party at school today and unlike the last time, I got to bring the donuts! Whoo hoo! Henry’s party (which includes a music program) is tomorrow morning. I will be taking donuts for that party, too, because I’m sure there won’t be nearly enough sweet treats for the kids. And because–let’s be serious–I COULD take something healthy, but no one will eat it. Who wants blueberries when there are cookies? With buttercream frosting, even!

I have totally fallen down on the job with the boys’ Valentines this year. I bought them each a box of Harry Potter valentines (perfect, yes?) to give their school friends, but neither child has any interest in them. When Charlie saw them, he said indignantly, ‘THESE are NOT valentines. Valentines are RED and look like HEARTS.’ I offered to cut some hearts out of red construction paper for him to give his friends, but he wanted nothing to do with that, nor did he like his teachers’ suggestion that he write his own name on each valentine. So he went to school today with donuts and nothing else. Frankly, I don’t think his little friends will care–I’m sure they would rather have the donuts.

Henry likes the Harry Potter Valentines, but he is also completely uninterested in signing his own cards. I’m trying to talk him into writing his name AND each of his classmates’ names (there are only 13, which doesn’t seem like too too many). Henry can name every child in his class and can sound out the spelling of most of their names, but his suggestion has been, ‘I’ll tell you the names and YOU can write them. And then you can write my name, too.’ Leslie got Luke to write everyone’s name, but they started LAST WEEK, while I have waited until the DAY BEFORE. Oh, and Henry is at school until 3:00! So we have like an hour this afternoon when we can do this. I’m sure we’ll get it done! Don’t you think?

Yeah, me either.

*Okay, no, I don’t think my e-mail is being read by the CIA, and if it is, I hope they are entertained. I just like the idea of a whole bunch of Homeland Security computer geeks trying to break the Mommy Blogger code. Are we planning something? You bet we are, buddy. We’re going to take over the world! Right after we change a few diapers and get everyone a snack. And we might try to jump in the shower first, if there’s time. But then! World domination is ours! Fortunately, it will be a domination based on sharing and using our inside voices and peaceful walking feet, which would be a nice change, don’t you think?

**There was context for that, really–we were talking about Kathryn’s mullet, see, and how Karli had packed up some product and a blow dryer and gone to Kathryn’s house to style her and I said that I needed some hair help too, and Karli said, ‘What’s up with your hair?’ and I wrote back about how, instead of my usual product, I had accidentally sprayed SunIn on it that morning, which didn’t give me any significant styling help AND put some funny highlights in the top and . . . and then Yahoo! ate the message. Twice! Because apparently ‘mullet’ and ‘SunIn’ are code for something.

***But not today, as I am having a TERRIBLE hair day. Tomorrow, when I have evened up my roots a little and done some styling and maybe even had a shower! Or not! Who knows! I might be too busy taking over the world to take any pictures. But my hair will still be growing!

February 11, 2006

Adderall I ever wanted was a healthy child

I’ve had several nice e-mails recently from people asking how Henry is doing, particularly how the medication is working for him. The answer, for the most part, is great, really. He is doing well in school; on his field trip last week he was neither the child who cried during the planetarium show nor the child who had to be chased down by the teacher, which was huge (for me at least). He is beginning to work out the nuances of various social interactions; most recently, he’s been interested in the idea that while it’s okay to politely refuse a food he doesn’t like, it is never acceptable to refuse a gift, even if it’s not something he wants. I wrote recently about his very funny pronouncement that the fire he and his buddies were putting out was just a PRETEND fire; my father e-mailed me later to remind me that over Christmas, when he took Henry swimming, they talked about the distinction between a REAL emergency and a PRETEND emergency and about how important it was NOT to insist you were, say, drowning, if you weren’t. Apparently, this boy-who-cried-wolf lesson sank in, and Henry made the connection during the Put Out the Fire game. I find these little glimpses into his brain to be unceasingly fascinating.

Today, though, I’m thinking the most about the medication, because of the news that the FDA is planning to require more specific warning labels on various stimulant drugs typically prescribed for ADHD. Henry takes ten milligrams of Adderall XR, one of the drugs on the FDA list, each morning. We are mostly happy with this drug; it has not been a cure-all, in part because Henry’s ADHD symptoms are so closely tied to his other neurological issues, but it has enabled him to function both at home and at school, with no serious side effects. I don’t have any regrets about our decision to include Adderall in Henry’s treatment program, nor does Wade.

We did not come lightly to this decision. When Henry was first diagnosed, we talked with our psychologist about various medication options. She is a PhD and cannot prescribe, but she was willing, from the beginning, to work with our pediatrician (who is an MD) should we decide to put Henry on some meds. We chose not to do that, opting instead for behavior modification therapy, which worked well through the summer, when I could be with Henry all the time, but not so well once school started. When it became clear to us that Henry was struggling in school, we reevaluated and met with our pediatrician, and started the medication.

And yes, I worried about the side effects. I knew about the possibility that Adderall might affect Henry’s blood pressure; I also knew that he was not at high risk for this–his heart is healthy, his blood pressure is normal, he’s not overweight, and he has no family history of heart problems. And, most importantly, our pediatrician would be monitoring him. My greatest concern was actually that the medication might cause him to become depressed. Henry is a tremendously happy child, and I was certain that any changes in his mood or disposition would be immediately obvious to us. And they were.

Henry started out at five milligrams a day, which had no effect. I don’t mean that it had no adverse effect; I mean it literally didn’t do ANYTHING. Nada. Zip. So the doctor raised the dose to ten milligrams; we could see a clear difference, although he was still more hyper and distractable than his peers. So we talked with the doctor and decided to raise the dose to fifteen milligrams. At this dose, Henry’s teachers were delighted. He was so peaceful! And patient! And calm! Which was exactly what we were hoping for, yes?

Yes–and no. Henry wasn’t himself at this dose. We already worry about how much he seems to live in his own mind, what a struggle it is sometimes for him to interact with the rest of us, and at this dose of the meds, he was in his own world virtually all the time. When we would ask if he wanted to eat something or to play a game, he would say, ‘I guess, if you want me to.’ He was muted; he spoke in a quiet monotone, the polar opposite of his usual cheery chatter. He seemed sad, all the time. I started to worry that this dose was the wrong one, that it was too much medication. We met Wade’s parents for brunch a few days after changing his dose and Henry spent the entire meal staring at his plate, answering only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to whatever we asked him. When he left the table with Wade, my mother-in-law said, ‘What’s wrong with Henry?’ That clinched it. When we got home, I said to Wade, ‘We’re going back to the lower dose. We’ll find another way to help him in school.’ And we did.

But the thing about Adderall is this: it is a highly addictive stimulant, and some percentage of people who take it actually become addicted. And some even smaller percentage become addicted almost immediately. And there are a few who go through withdrawal when the dose is changed, even slightly. Henry, we learned, is one of these kids. After less than a week at the higher dose, it took two days to readjust to the smaller dose. Henry was agitated and cranky. He missed a half day of school because he was unable to pull himself together. And then he was fine.

So yes, I have worry about giving my son this medication. The first few weeks after Henry started taking Adderall, I watched him like a hawk. Was he eating? Sleeping? Acting aggressive? Playing nicely? Did he seem happy? Sad? I started waking up at night and going in to make sure he was still breathing, just like I did when he was a tiny five pound baby just home from the NICU. Now, after a few months, I am less worried about the day-to-day details of eating and sleeping; I am more concerned that this particular medication may not be effectively managing Henry’s symptoms. But I know that my son is healthy and that I have not risked that health for a quick fix.

The other night, I did a Google search for ‘Ritalin deaths.’ The stories featured in these sites are disturbing, to say the least. I was struck by a pervasive sense that these parents were coerced by school personnel and doctors into medicating–sometimes over-medicating–their children as a solution to a problem. The stories are sad, not only because these parents lost children but because they seem to have had so little support or information, both about these drugs in general and about ADHD and other disabilities that may initially present as ADHD. Raising a child with ADHD–or any of the conditions that mimic it–is unbelievably difficult. To do it in the face of schools and doctors who offer medication as a cure-all sounds horrific and my heart goes out to these families. But I also found myself wondering why these parents didn’t push harder for more information or more options.

I don’t think the medications are necessarily the problem. Every medication has potential side effects; that doesn’t mean that the medication itself is bad. But any medication that is prescribed unnecessarily or is poorly monitored is dangerous. And any medication, regardless of the condition for which it is prescribed, that is offered as a stand-alone cure should be suspect. Everything we read and were told about ADHD treatment reaffirmed that medication alone would not solve Henry’s problems. He would need to continue the behavior modification therapy, for example, if the meds were really going to work. The medication wouldn’t take the problem away; it would control the symptoms so that he could learn to function like his peers. And I think that is what too many people fail to understand.

I have started to talk to people about Henry’s diagnosis, but I am still leery about revealing that Henry is on medication because I worry people will think Wade and I are trying to get off the hook by medicating our son. Parenting Henry is tough, and honestly, the meds do help–all of us, not just Henry. For us, the medication is not about sedating our son but about giving him the tools to succeed and learn. And be happy. Adderall has been a good thing for Henry and for our family, but it hasn’t been an easy thing. I worry that this new conversation about ADHD drugs will not help families or doctors make better decisions about how to help kids like Henry; I worry that it will serve only to further stigmatize parents like me, who chose carefully and cautiously, to include stimulant medications in our childrens’ treatment.

mommy love

Things that are going wrong at my house today:

1. At bedtime last night, Henry came out and claimed, very calmly, to have an ear infection. Whatever, kid. Wade gave him some Tylenol and put him back in bed. At 11:00, just as I was dozing off, guess who woke up crying, because HE HAS AN EAR INFECTION? Whoops. So I was awake most of the night with the boy, who kept asking, ‘What time is it NOW? Can we get up and call the doctor? Because my ear REALLY HURTS.’

2. My husband is working today. Yes! On Saturday! My husband who NEVER works on Saturday!

3. It’s cold as hell here today, and windy, too. So we’re stuck in the house. ALL DAY.

4. My wireless router is on strike. I have NO IDEA what’s going on, nor do I know when I will have a minute to fix it. Not to mention that I probably don’t have the expertise to do it myself and will have to call my brother and beg for his help, which he will happily give me. I hope.

There is some good news, however: Mommy Bloggers have kicked off Valentine’s Day with a melange of posts about love, from all across the Interwebs. Including one by me! Which should magically appear sometime this evening. And no, I did not write about the iBook, which is probably good, as I am writing THIS post on the old Dell desktop (no wireless, see). But I do still love my iBook.

Anyway, go see the Mommy Bloggers! I’m off to the pharmacy and McDonald’s (thank god for the drive-thru), and then I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on with my router. Wish me luck.