Feels Like a Monday

This is just one of those days when I hate my life.

I had to make half a dozen phone calls this morning to straighten up other people's mistakes. I'm so tired of having to suffer the consequences when other people screw up.

First I had to call back and forth to our pharmacy and insurance company to straighten out one of Ethan's meds. The pharmacy only filled it for a 3 week supply. I know we got this drug authorized for a the full dose and I'm tired of paying a full copay for less than a month's medicine. But the pharmacy insisited that they tried and the insurance company wouldn't authorize it. So I called the insurance company, who claimed the pharmacy didn't run the claim right, and that it was authorized. So I had to call the pharmacy back, who insisted the insurance company had denied the full claim, but they'll try again, and oh yeah, it worked. Now Jete has to drive back to the pharmacy to get the rest of the dose.

So. Annoying.

Then I had to return a call to an ambulance company who claimed we owed them over $1000 from Ethan's trip home from the hospital in March. I explained that the hospital promised to cover those charges. The ambulance company said they had the same information, but no money had been sent. And if I didn't do something about it, we'd be held responsible for the full amount. So I called the hospital, and they put me on hold for about 10 minutes and came back to explain that they had sent the check, but the ambulance company lost it so they had to reissue it. But that everything was handled and we shouldn't be responsible. Then the ambulance company called back to apologize, and said everything was taken care of. But it isn't really. I'm stressed and tired and didn't want to waste half an hour of my work day dealing with this.

And I'm still putting off making more calls. I've got to call Ethan's doctor to beg him to write 3 different letters explaining that Ethan's Sick and needs Stuff, so that I can send these back to the insurance company and the equipment company and the state so we can try to get back some of this money we're pissing out. And I've got to call the school and the bus company, and figure something out about Ethan going to school. And I've got to call the insurance company and figure out if we've reached the max service dates for Ethan's physical therapy or not.

I just don't feel like it anymore. I'm just so tired of being stuck as the middle man in these big corporations' power games with each other. I want a break from everything. I want a vacation, and someone else can fill in for me for a while.

On top of everything else, I'm tired of reading articles like this. I get it, okay? I'm going to die young. Can you just leave me alone about it for five minutes? It's all I read these days. I'm going to die young because I had preeclampsia. I'm going to die young because I'm overweight. I'm going to die young because I have BORDERLINE (not even technically high yet) blood pressure.

It's a freakin' miracle I've survived this long.

Game, Set, Match

I got to the testing center right on time. It's a small facility that handles all kinds of standardized tests. We had to sign in and write what test we were taking. I was the only one taking an actuarial test. Almost everyone else was there to take the GRE's or the latest NASD test. I got the feeling they don't get many of my kind in there.

I waited for a little while, then an older woman came out of the back room and called me in. We went over the checklist and she verified my ID and legal calculator. She asked which test I was taking. When I told her, she said, "Oh my! Are you one of those brainy people? Good for you!"

Even though we had just met, I started talking openly. She was one of those people who just encourage conversation. I got into more detail than necessary and told her I wasn't completely prepared, and I was pretty sure I'd have to repeat the test. She just smiled and told me to think positive. I repeated my new favorite mantra. "All I can do is my best," I said. She patted my arm and said, "That's right! Just do your best. You'll be fine."

"The truth is, I probably should have taken this test ten years ago," I told her. She looked shocked and said, "Ten years ago? You must have been in diapers!" Ah, the kindness of strangers.

She brought me into the exam room, and I was assigned to lucky computer number 5. (Well, one of my lucky numbers, anyway.) I hoped it was a good sign. She gave me my scratch paper and pencils and left me with a wish of good luck.

I went through the brief tutorial on how to use the computer test, then hit the button to begin. The first problem was something about an exponential distribution, or standard deviation, or covariance. I couldn't even tell you for sure. All I know is I had no clue how to even begin to solve it. I laughed under my breath. First problem, and already I was stumped.

I decided to go all the way through to the end. I'd work on the problems that I could solve and skip the rest. It took about 45 minutes, but I went through all 30 problems. I had solved exactly 4.

The second time through, I gave the questions a closer look. I did figure out how to solve a few more. After another hour, I had now worked out about 10 problems. I honestly had no idea how to solve the rest. It was time to start guessing.

I went through the rest of the test trying to make educated guesses. Most of the time, I couldn't even do that. So instead, I picked answers that I liked. The year I was born. CG's birthday. Our wedding anniversary. Might as well have fun with it.

I finished up in a little over two hours. It would have taken me the full three hours if I knew how to do the rest of the problems. I didn't see the point in going back over my work, since more than half of my answers were guesses anyway. I signed out and told my newfound friend that I'd probably see her again in a few months.

I know I failed the test. It will be six weeks before I get the official results, but I'm already formulating my plan going forward. I'm going to continue studying, even though this test is offically over. I'm going to go back through my old homework assignments and tests and do as many practice problems that I can. Practice really does make perfect, especially in math. And I was really out of practice going into this test.

I still stand by my statement that this endeavor was not a failure. This was an insane year, between Ethan's surgery and CG getting more mobile and several major household renovations. I'm proud of myself for getting this far. I know more about the test and what topics I need to focus on. I have already relearned and mastered a good portion of the material. I've just got to finish the job.

The truth is, I still don't know if I even want to be an actuary. But what I do know is that I want to pass this test. Then I want to move on and pass the second test. By the time I do that, I should have a better idea of what I want to be when I grow up. Even if I don't, it will be always be an asset to have on my resume.

More importantly, I will be living proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks. Or at least old tricks that they haven't used in a decade or so.

Ouch, My Head Hurts

Study, study, study. Think, think, think. Just taking a short break. Honest.

I have a newfound respect for the Me of 10 years ago. She was really smart! She knew all kinds of stuff! She could come up with creative ways at solving problems! She remembered hundreds of theorems and rules and definitions!

The Me of 10 years later? Not so much.

I have had the joy of discovering that - not only did I forget most of the principles of probability - I've also forgotten the fundamentals of calculus. So while I relearn what a Normal Distribution is versus a Poisson Distribution, I've also got to relearn what an integral is, and what a derivative is, and what's so darn special about the letter e anyway.

(And don't be fooled. I have no idea what a Normal or Poisson Distribution is. No. Clue. But I'm starting to get the impression that I'm supposed to.)

The good news is, the test is multiple choice. And, there are no penalties for wrong answers. So even if I don't understand the question, I can guess. There are thirty problems, each with 5 possible answers. I've studyed long enough to know that the probability of me guessing my way to a perfect score is:

(1/5)^30 = 0.000000000000000000001073741824

Which, well, statistically speaking, is ZERO.

The sad thing is that word has apparantly spread that I'm taking this test. People who I hadn't even told are wishing me luck. That makes me failing this test just a liiiiiittle more public than I'd like it to be.

Oh, well. I can only do my best.

Diving back in for more...

Better than the Best

For the second night this week, I found myself trekking out to Satan's Club at 9 PM.

(Please forgive me. I usually try not to shop there, since they're evil and all. But sometimes, I can't help myself. They're only 5 minutes away. And? They're open until 10:00 PM. TEN. PM. That means that even after CG is settled down to sleep, I've still got two whole hours of shopping bliss ahead of me.)

Tonight, I was in search of a calculator for The Big Test. Late this afternoon, I realized that:

1. The Big Test is tomorrow.
2. Only 6 specific models of calculators can be used for the test.
3. I don't have any of these calculators.
4. Did I mention the test is TO.MOR.ROW?

While I love the logic side of math, I'm not so good at the crunching-numbers-in-my-head business. So, being the smart girl that I am, I figured I should probably go buy a calculator.

Based on price and availablility, I settled on the "sounds scarier than it is" TI-30Xa. On closer inspection, I'm pretty sure I owned this exact same calculator before. In another life. Like, oh, high school. But since college was almost 10 years ago, and high school was, um, before that, I don't think it'll be turning up anytime soon.

Walking around the store, I felt peaceful bliss. I can't even explain it. It's the feeling only a true procrastinator knows. Shopping (or blogging, for that matter) when you should be studying. It's that feeling that the 14 hours you have left before The Big Test is forever and a day. Even though 8 of the hours will be spent sleeping, 2 hours peeing, showering, and eating, and 3 hours prying a crying toddler from your leg.

(Quick question for the math lovers in the crowd - how many hours does that leave for studying?
Answer - not long enough.)

I've accepted the fact that I didn't do what I had to do to pass this test. I cut myself a lot of breaks and didn't take the Buckling Down seriously. I waited too long to really focus, and once I did I realized I had forgotten more than I thought I did.

And I'll be honest. I considered cancelling. Paying the 60 dollar "administrative fee" and trying again in a year or so. Unfortunately, I even procrastinated too long for that. Last Friday was the cut-off for cancelling. In a way, it was a relief to know there was no backing out. I have no choice. I might as well go forward, try, and (probably) fail.

The friend who talked me into this catastrophe is one of the funniest women I know. She had terrible year last year. One bad thing after another. She had major surgery and had complications for months afterwards. To finish off the year, her father died, right before the holidays.

As many people do, she had an awakening in the midst of all this tragedy: She can't stop the Bad Things. She can only get up every day and do her best. Do the best at her job. Be the best mother that she can. She's going to screw up. She's going to make mistakes. But none of that matters, so she doesn't let it stress her out. Instead, she says to her boss, her husband, her friends, herself: "I can only do my best." It takes the pressure off.

There was a time when I couldn't stand to fail this test. I'd be stressed out, trying to do anything I could to NOT FAIL. I would have made myself miserable with worry about my score, what everyone would think of me if I didn't get a good score.

I'm beyond all that now. In fact, I don't really care if I pass or fail.

Okay, that's a total lie. Sure, I'd love to pass. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know the difference between getting a failing score and being a failure. I've learned a lot these past few months, about math, my goals, and what my limits are. That alone may have been worth the exam fee.

I read part of the CAS syllabus for the 2005 actuarial exams. I found the following excerpt particularly interesting:

Motivation is the single most important ingredient in learning-and in passing examinations. Motivation suffers when candidates worry about or are preoccupied with personal matters or other problems. This suggests that candidates should keep studying and examination taking at the very top of their lists of priorities...

(Emphasis mine)

This hit on the very reason I had been waffling about the actuarial field in the first place. I don't want a job where I have to put studying or my career at the "top of my list of priorities". My priorities are already set in stone. They are:

1. The boys (and Jete)
2. My family & friends
3. Personal fulfillment

My career is a part of #3. But in reality, it is just a means to an end. I use it to keep #1 happy. To help us keep little things like our house. Our cars. Medical insurance. The internet. Chocolate chip cookies from time to time.

I'm gonna do my best tomorrow. That's all I can do. I may not pass the test. But even if I don't, I have no regrets. I will never wish I spent that extra hour studying instead of playing with CG after dinner. Or that I took the last 15 minutes of the night to do some more practice problems instead of discussing the day with Jete. I'd do the same thing again in a heartbeat.

For now, I'm off to try to review a few more things before I go to sleep. I've taken tomorrow off so that I can spend the morning studying some more. All I know is that by tomorrow night, this test will be behind me one way or another.

After that, I'll be on to more important tasks. I've got to decide what the boys will wear for Halloween. I'm going to take CG pumpkin picking for the first time. I'd like to work on my Ethan scrapbook some more. Jete and I may even schedule dinner - alone! - to celebrate our fifth anniversary next month.

Hey, what can I say. A girl's got to have her priorities.

Spoiled Brat

I hate scary movies, thrillers, any kind of "on the edge of your seat" films. Honestly, I don't get it. Why pay someone to frighten me when I do it so well all by myself?

But I love movie trailers for thrillers. The coming attractions are usually my favorite part of the movie experience. I get intrigued, and by the time the movie is released, I'm desparate to find out what happens. The only problem is, I'm too scared to actually watch the movie.

When The Forgotten came out, I was hooked by the trailers. Every time I saw them, I was dying to know: What happened to Julianne Moore's kid? Why didn't Goose know who she was? It was driving me crazy.

One night, I Googled the film and ended up at the message boards at IMDB. Well, to my surprise, some kind soul was good enough to put up a "SPOILER ALERT!" entry and detail the entire secret behind the movie. (Kind of lame. I was relieved I hadn't paid to see it.) In another message, I found a link this website with even more spoilers.

This was awesome. A nosy person's home land.

Never again will I wonder about plotlines. Never again will I watch a film peeking between my fingers just so I can see how it ended. I'm free.

Honestly, between the kids and work and everything else, I'm not free to go to many movies. Most films go from the big screen to DVD to HBO to TNT before I ever get a chance to see them. I always felt like I was missing something. But now, I feel like I'm in on a few secrets. It's fun.

(Too bad E and I didn't read the spoilers for Just Like Heaven. That's an hour and a half of our lives we'll never get back.)

Foul Balls

I'm tired of talking about my drama. The school department and the bus company and the insurance company and the trip to Boston tomorrow and all the other CRAP I deal with on a daily basis.

So instead, here's a funny story about balls.

Last Thursday, CS made dinner for us with some leftovers she found in the fridge. The main dish was a modified version of Italian rice balls. She's a great cook who can improvise easily, and because of our limited groceries, she had to. Instead of Italian rice, she used sushi rice; instead of mozarella, she used cheddar. Her skill is that, even though she is making substitutions, things still taste good.

I got home after work and she had the rice balls and some other side dishes all prepared for Jete and I to eat. Unfortunately, Jete had to work overtime and we never sat down to a real meal. I was busy with the boys, so I just snacked. I had a couple Italian-style quesadillas that she had made, and I tried one of the rice balls. I thought it was very good, but I was too full to eat any more than one.

Jete got home at 9:00 PM and was too tired to eat much. He just finished the quesadillas I had been snacking on. I wrapped up the rice balls and put them back in the fridge.

Fast forward to Friday. Leaving work, I was already a little hungry. Jete was going out to dinner with Just Plain Mike, so I'd be home alone with the boys again. I was trying to figure out what I could have for dinner, when I remembered the rice balls. I'd have those.

I'm sure you can probably figure out where this is going.

After my half hour commute, I was looking forward to dinner. I walked in the door, and the first thing I noticed was the empty container on the counter. The rice ball dish.

I walked into the living room. Jete was sitting on the couch. I was trying to compose myself. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation.

"Did you eat the rice balls?" I asked.

Jete looked at me, puzzled. "Yeah. Why?"

This is when I lost it a little bit.

"But you're GOING OUT TO DINNER!"

"Not until 7:00. I couldn't wait until then. I was hungry." It was 5:30.

"Why didn't you have a bowl of cereal or something? What am I supposed to eat?"

"I don't know... I just finished them 2 minutes ago. I thought I was doing you a favor by finishing them off. So they wouldn't sit in the fridge forever."

"FOREVER? They were only in there for TWELVE HOURS!"

"I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

Sorry wasn't cutting it with me. "There's no other food in the house. You get to go out. You get to go to a Real Restaurant and have a Real Meal and on top of all that - you go and eat the only food in the house. What about me?"

He was starting to get mad, too. "What do you want me to do. I said I was sorry!"

I tried to lay the guilt trip on."You know, I was really looking forward to them. The whole ride home. All day."

"How was I supposed to know you wanted them?"

"You could have asked me! You could have called me!"

He started to turn it on me. "Well why didn't you tell me you wanted them?!"

"What was I supposed to say? Throw it into daily conversation? Call you up at lunch and say, 'I can't wait to eat those balls tonight?'"

Then. He started to laugh. ARGHH. That just made me more angry.

"Fine, laugh. Whatever. I'll just go eat some CRACKERS or something." I stormed out of the living room.

He followed me into the kitchen, still sort of laughing. He tried being nice to me. I turned my back to him and opened and slammed cabinet doors.

Then he said the thing that pushed me right over the edge:

"If it's any consolation, I didn't even like them."

Oh. My. God. I think there was steam coming out of my ears.

I hate getting mad over food. I worry it's the red flag you are a Pathetic Fat Person when food means this much to you. But I couldn't help it. I was So. Mad.

How would you feel if your spouse/partner/roommate did this to you? Let's recap:

1. He ate the rest of the balls without checking with me first.
2. He did this less than two hours before he was going out to dinner.
3. He did this less than two hours before I was going to be stuck home alone with the boys and no food in the house.
4. He knew that there was no other food in the house.
5. He didn't even like them.
6. That didn't stop him from finishing off the entire dish (at least 6 good size balls).

Now that a week's gone by, I've forgiven him. Pretty much. Even if he did force me to admit I was looking forward to eating balls.

Deadlines

Again, I force myself to focus on all those things I'm ignoring in my life:

• The Actuarial Exam is in 6 days. SIX. DAYS. Or, in complete-math-geek terms, 141 hours. The sign of a true procrastinator: I started studying yesterday. And you know what? This stuff is HARD. I don't remember a damn thing. I thought, "I'm a fast learner. I'll just brush up with some practice problems." Yeah. Two hours, nine practice problems, and six pages of paper later, I had one problem right. And that was by ACCIDENT. You know, I used to know how to do this. It used to be easy for me. But that was ten years ago. And you know what I've realized? Ten years is a really, really, really. Really. Long. Time.



• We got back a response from the Catastrophic Illness in Children Fund. We sent the original application in August and hoped that was the end of it. Of course! They'll just send us a check! Hi. Fantasy world, table for one. They replied last week, and they want everything from pay stubs to tax records to pictures proving we even HAVE a child. Oh, and receipts from every grinder we ate while we were in Boston in March. Well, maybe not. But close. I've moved the form listing the 20+ things to send them about 134 times. To get to something more interesting. Like the newest Eddie Bauer catalog. Of stuff I can't afford to buy. Because I'm paying tons of medical bills. THAT I COULD HAVE REIMBURSED IF I STOP IGNORING THE FORM. Anyone see anything wrong with that? Nah. Me either.



• School started on September 13th. Today is September 21st. And Ethan is still at home. This isn't so much a deadline as it is a task. My task for every day for the Rest Of My Life is to be the bitch from hell. I must nag. Constantly. I must call the school, and the administrators, and anyone who will listen to make sure that my son is going to be taken care of. Sad, but true. The nurse situation is "supposedly" straightened out. They asked a nurse in training to stay on full time. Oh, except she isn't exactly working in the room yet. That will probably be moved along by me constantly calling to ask the school if she's there yet. (Of course, it will probably have the opposite effect. Like a vacation peppered with your child asking "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?", it will drag on and on forever.)



• Also school related: the bus situation is my newest fight. I found out that Ethan will be the first of eight handicapped children picked up every day (and therefore, the last of the eight to be dropped off). This wouldn't be so bad if there was actually a monitor on the bus. Right now, it's just the driver. This one is no contest - I have an IEP that states he will have "door to door service, with a monitor". So boo on you bus company. It's just the minor fact of me calling to lodge my complaint that will make the difference, I suppose. But again, I have to wonder: Am I just a super-nervous, ultra-paranoid parent? Or, do the other parents just not care as much about their kids?



• In the "it's just bothering me, but we can get by anyway" category, CG has not had a professional photograph taken since he was 9 months old. I am a horrible mother! With Ethan, I went every three months (or so) dutifully. And I'm so happy to have them now, you can see how he grew and changed with every picture. CG is going to be 18 months soon, and that is my deadline - to get his picture taken by then. Sure, there will be the gap where I have no framed picture of his 12 month. Or 15 month. But at least I'll have this one! As soon as I make the appointment... Obviously, I have a few other things to take care of first.