Hey, so, apparently my post about evilly destroying my son's avant-garde temporary art installation was deemed by the talented authoress of Bub and Pie to be worthy of a Perfect Post award for September.* What can I say? I'm verklempt (and I'm not even Jewish). But I didn't get the button up until today, because, DUDES. I am busy this week.
I have started a new contract project. I am trying to arrange a workable schedule for a (*GASP*) regular part-time babysitter so I can actually finish the parts of said project that require me to spend a couple of hours a week in an office. With grown-ups. Wearing office clothes. And makeup. And heels. All at the same time.
I have to train said babysitter tomorrow in the art of attempting to feed a severely underweight child with SI disorder who hates 95% of food.
I have been trying to work out some sort of crazy insurance issue with Isaac's OT provider. My insurance company is currently claiming the office Isaac's OT works out of is out-of-network, when in fact, the office is in-network, and has the current paperwork and network-provider number to prove it. Hmmm . . . Either way they are claiming they will only cover 20 visits per calendar year.
(Like I am going to let them get away with claiming my underweight child with severe eating issues only needs to see an OT to help with his eating for half an hour once every two-and-a-half weeks? When the OT herself wants to see him at least weekly right now, and his PCP agrees?
I don't think so, insurance bitches. Tiger Mama is now officially on the prowl. Tiger Mama eats deep-fried meaningless medical bureaucracies for breakfast, and often enjoys a refreshing frappe of the strained egos of ineffectual call center lackeys afterward to wash away the annoying aftertaste of red tape. I'm sure all my mothering readers out there have met Tiger Mama, so you know what I'm talking about.)
This week I have also been researching and calling several different financial institutions, because I am trying to find a fantastic deal on a first-time mortgage, preferably with low interest and low closing costs, despite having only average income and only decent credit, without paying tons of money to a broker.
(Stop laughing already.)
As part of this whole trying to get a great mortgage deal process, I have also been trying for weeks now to get one of the three major credit bureaus to admit 1.) that it does not know how to spell my maiden name, and 2.) that I, being an erstwhile bearer of such name, do in fact know the correct way to spell it. I spell my name correctly. Not them. Me.
(I told you to stop laughing, didn't I? Are you going to make me whip out my ruler, class?)
And, oh yes. I am still shopping for my very first honest-to-goodness, no shady landlords cuz I own it and that's that HOUSE.
I am looking for a three-bedroom, two-bath with a full basement, a garage or carport, and a fenced yard, with no major structural defects or health hazards, in a halfway decent neighborhood, for, oh, I don't know, less than $150,000?
Oh, okay, you can laugh at that one.
Or cry, if you live on either coast of this country, because that's actually POSSIBLE here in the Midwest! Ha! So there, you blue state suckers! With your five-star restaurants, and your critically acclaimed theatres, and art galleries, and good schools, and congressional representatives who don't enable child molesters, and . . .
*Okay, so, apparently, she actually liked a post I made back in August better, but, hey.