C-PAP, 2BDH, and oh cr@p [another fundraiser]

In which your intrepid heroine answers a few questions, makes a few observations, and attempts to go back to sleep.

Tinks ~
Re: your response to yesterdy’s post about what to do when the Congestion Fairy pays a visit, my considered answer is “I don’t know yet”. There was something mentioned about congestion and the C-PAP in my owner’s manual, that I vaguely recall from when I was trying to put it together and get it going on Wednesday night. I *think* it said that if you are seriously congested, you might have to do without the C-PAP until the congestion is cleared up. I’ll have a better idea once I (A) finish reading the owner’s manual and (B) get through the coming winter, also known as bronchitis season around here.

Rorek ~
1BDH = Firstborn’s DH or Firstborn’s Dear Husband
2BDH = Secondborn’s DH
3BDH = your hubby. [Or since you prefer “Middlest”, would you also prefer MDH? Although that makes him sound a little like MDF, medium density fiberboard.]
Fiancé or 4BF = the not-yet-official son
I am not allowed to call any of LittleBit’s boyfriends the BDJ [Boy du Jour]. Darn.

Oh cr@p, another fundraiser ~
For some strange reason, every time I type I type the expletive directly into my Blogger window, it formats as hyperlink. But when I type it in Word and paste, it does not.

It is the 5th of October. We have already had two fundraisers for choir, and this week LittleBit brought one home from her metalshop class. Yes, she is taking metalshop this year, and she is the best welder in the class, which irritates the fire out of her male classmates.

I learned when she brought the fundraiser home that metalshop is part of FFA. We live in the largest suburban area in the US that does not have public transportation, and like Wanda and MaryAnn, she is “active in the FFA”. [I guess that’s consistent with our family history of urban farming. Twenty years ago I was gathering eggs and milking goats on 7/10ths of an acre in an old neighborhood of another large suburb.]

I don’t do fundraisers, as a rule. I didn’t do PTA, I loathe “Meet the Teacher” nights. I did buy a Passbook this year [choir fundraiser #1] because there are coupons in there that I will use which will recoup the cost of the book. [I wonder where it is? I hope I find it before it expires.] I did not support the second fundraiser, because I’ve already paid $40 for her uniform rental and another $35 related to All State Choir, and there are the monthly voice lessons, which I am more than happy to pay for because she will be singing all her life.

The choir director says that it’s not a class, it’s a lifestyle. Sorry, I’m not buying that. Or maybe I should say that I’m just cherry-picking the sales bins. I couldn’t do all this for her big sisters; we were too poor. And I feel frustrated and guilty because circumstances have changed, and I’m able to do more for her than I was for them. [This would be a good place for any of my kids who happen to read this blog to say “There, there, Mom, you did your best, and we’re not jealous. Really.” I’d like to get it notarized, and bronzed, and what’s the fancy word for museum-quality framing that will preserve it forever?]

C-PAP Day One ~
Pretty much a disaster in my book. I was OK until about 9:30 [my workday starts at 8:30], and then I had to crack open my bottle of Cherry Coke that I was hoping would remain hermetically sealed throughout the eternities. I think I dozed off half a dozen times throughout the day. Barely made it home. Had to pass on Lark’s choir concert. Skipped dinner, set the alarm on my cell phone, threw my clothes on top of a pile of boxes, and plugged myself in for the night, around 6:30. Woke at 9:30. Woke again at 12:55.

I’ve been up for about and hour and a half, and at the moment I feel the way I wish I’d felt all day yesterday. I finished the bottle of cranberry/apple/raspberry juice that I brought home on Wednesday, and a couple slices of whole grain potato bread with the last of the cream cheese. So I’m no longer starving.

I can’t decide if I want to go back to bed for an hour and a half or stay up and knit and hope that today goes better than yesterday.

What would Rip Van Winkle do?