And not even in a GOOD way. (Which, hey! Still available, emotionally-aloof millionaires!)

I’ve mentioned how we’re poor, right?  Like, eleventy hundred times or something.

So I was slightly APESHIT when I got a free coupon in an email for a FREE PAIR OF PANTS FROM GAP.  Dude, that’s like the lottery around these parts!  When you have days where you’re seriously balancing food and/or utilities .. and I know MANY of y’all get this .. getting a coupon for a FREE pair of PANTS from a store like THE GAP was seriously a pick-me-up I needed.

It was part of their promotion for their new “fits” of pants .. the Modern Boot, the Curvy, the Perfect Trouser, and the Really Skinny.  Try on a black pair and whichever fits you best .. take home!  (Good August 16-22.)

Our only Gap in town is now 20 minutes away, which is not a big deal in most cities, I know, but .. that’s GAS.  And have I mentioned that we’re poor?  So I planned for Tony to go down for a nap, and I’d abscond to our outdoor shopping extravaganza.

It was approximately A MILLION DEGREES outside.  I wasn’t dressed to the nines; I was wearing denim capris and an Alabama tshirt. Roll Tide.  And flip flops.  I did not give the appearance that I had any money.  Cause .. I don’t.

I couldn’t get ANY employee to give me the time of day to ask about the coupon .. I’m a stickler for expiration dates, “certain exclusions may apply”, all that jazz.  And I hate spending time shopping.  That’s just me.  So no one would talk to me, and that’s cool, so I grabbed a black pair of each fit and let myself into the dressing area.

Well — SURPRISE — the Curvy worked best for me.  I was pretty stoked because 1) FREE PANTS and 2) I really DID like the way they fit.  The material had a touch of stretch, the cut left no gap in my waistband when I bent over, and I could see myself wearing these pants with heels and/or flats.

When I approached the counter, the tall gentleman asked if I was ready to check out.

“Well,” I said, mentally preparing myself for anything, “I just need to make sure that this coupon is still good.  And applies to these pants.”

He looked it over and declared it good.  And on these pants, no less.

He started typing .. look, I worked in retail, and I know what A BITCH coupons can be .. and then he paused.  “Let me try this again,” he said and typed.  He paused and then looked at me.

“This coupon is used,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.  Of all the things I was prepared for, I wasn’t prepared for this.

“This coupon has already been used,” he said.  And he RIPPED IT UP IN FRONT OF ME.

I just sat there.  Dumbfounded is a good word.  Jaw open.  And a little bit EMBARRASSED.

Granted, there were MAYBE two other people in the store.  We’re not talking about massive public humiliation, but still.

I felt that super hot feeling behind your eyes when you know you’re about to lose it, so I thanked him (I THANKED HIM) and left the store.

Sarah of three months ago would’ve soothed herself by buying something else.  But Today Sarah has NO MONEY.  So instead I went into a beauty store and put on the most expensive perfume I could find.  I could at least SMELL wealthy, I thought.

I came home and tried to tell Bryan the story of why I hadn’t come home with any pants (seriously, I had been acting like these free pants were friggin’ magic pants delivered by Santa Claus himself), but I started to tear up and couldn’t get through it.

I .. I worked in retail.  And, frankly, I worked in a higher end retail store than THE FREAKIN’ GAP.  And if a customer came in, presented an EMAIL coupon, and we had an issue with the coupon?  We’d make it work.  Because that’s what customer service IS.  I’m not even demanding free stuff that is uncalled for .. THE COUPON WAS EMAILED TO ME DIRECTLY FOR A FREE PAIR OF PANTS.

But whatever.  I’m more than pleased to not shop there in the foreseeable future.  It helps that I don’t have any money to shop there anyway, but this..?  Will not be soon forgotten.

Y’all,

I owe you a few words.

I left a shitstain on this blog a mile long when I published that last post.  I freaked people out, fearing I was about to stick my head in an oven or something, and that’s uncalled for.  I don’t like it when people do that, and I’m sorry that I did.

In reality, I’m just tired.  It’s the kind of tired that isn’t cured by sleeping.  It’s a kind of tired that is ALMOST first trimester pregnancy tired, but not as rewarding.  It’s a tired that saps everything inside, leaving me with little else except recognition of The Tired.  It sucks me of my humor, my joy, my hope.  It’s a fucking annoying Tired.

It’s a Single Parent Tired.  Again (and always!), I tip my hat to single parents, because DAYUM.

I had The Ugly Cry this weekend.  You know the one.  The Ugly Cry that forces you to look akin to Julia Roberts while having a diabetic episode in Steel Magnolias.

“Honey, it’ll be okay,” Bryan said.

“DON’T TALK ABOUT ME LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE!” I’d snap, wishing M’Lynn would give me some orange juice already.

This week is better, already.  I’ve got lunches with some of my favorite peeps scheduled.  I’ve got tons of work to keep me busy, and it’s the creative, lucrative kind of work that I enjoy. (Cleaning houses, while profitable, does not make my Favorite Things To Do For Fun list.) Aside from Beau bringing in a LIMB FROM A FREAKIN’ TREE and then SHREDDING IT LIKE A WOOD CHIPPER IN MY LIVING ROOM last night, the house is relatively clean.  I washed our sheets and deoderized our house.  In short, I offered to myself what others pay me to do.  And?  I did it for free, because I am my best pimp.

We had Jack this past weekend, which is both easier and harder, but there were moments that were pure joy.  When the stars align and the moon is in the seventh house, everyone’s in a good mood and there is squealing and laughter in every crevice of the house.  The other part of the time, there is a fight for dominance over the remote control and our attention.

The way to fend this off is by centering all family time in the gallery kitchen, where both boys were keenly aware that they were being immortalized on video and receiving our full attention.  It was like Christmas.

THIS WENT ON FOR HOURS.

And, admittedly, it’s pretty hard to hate your life when you can’t hear yourself kvetch for all the laughter and squealing of joy.

That, and a few Advil, will make you a pretty happy camper.

It’s one of those polarizing thing that will either win you friends or drive you to enemies, but there is no denying that there is a strong competition when it comes to birth stories.

And it’s not always among friends.  For some reason, I firmly believe that some women believe themselves to be better or stronger or more capable because of the way they’ve chosen to give birth.

Personally, I believe that any form that produces a healthy baby and momma is a winning method.

Ashley is a friend of mine who is exploring the natural birthing options.  She, herself, is pregnant.  She’s also a part of a movement here in Alabama to allow choices for birthing mothers, choices that include midwives, home births, and other traditional but now non-traditional methods.

She and I have talked quite a bit about birthing.  I had some misconceptions about natural birth and she has actually arranged for Dr. Ina May Gaskin to come talk on our local university campus about the movement.  I plan to attend because I still am just curious.

Now, make no mistake.  I really and truly liked my OB .. and in hindsight, I liked him because he was fairly traditional.  He let me work up until my due date; he would only induce when I had gone past my due date; and he was incredibly reluctant to move to anything beyond vaginal birth.  After 2.5 hours of hard, pushing labor, most doctors would’ve pulled out a scalpal, but he encouraged me to keep at it.  As such, I had a much shorter recovery time and avoided unplanned surgery.

But I’m not sure I should’ve induced.  Looking back, I would’ve done that differently.  I was miserable .. and huge .. and did I mention huge? .. but my body wasn’t ready.  And even two weeks of mild contractions meant nothing when the pitocin started.

So I’m interested on learning more about the options.  I’m pro-choice in almost all areas, so this should follow.

BUT.  I am outraged when women speak of their birthing method .. whatever it may be .. and insinuate that they were better/stronger/harder than I was.  CAN.NOT.STAND.IT.  It’s similar to saying that your car is better than my car, when I clearly chose my car for a reason far different than how you chose yours.

I was reading this article today and Dr. Amy Tuteur, who is a retired OB and blogger, said this and YES OMG YES:

“First it was, ‘I had my baby in a hospital, but I didn’t have an epidural,’ ” said Tuteur, who doesn’t support home births. “Then it was, ‘I had a baby with a midwife at home, not in the hospital.’ The cutting edge is now unassisted birth — ‘I had my baby at home, and I had no one there except for my husband.’ “

Now, whether or not she supports home births is really a moot point; she hit on the head what irritates me about some of the militant birth fanatics.  (Aside: this is why I love talking to Ashley about this; she’s very level-headed and open-minded and clear that some pregnancies NEED to be medically involved.)

We’ve been talking about trying to get pregnant again .. I know everyone’s going to ask “When?” and all I know is WHEN THIS POTTY TRAINING NIGHTMARE IS OVER .. and I’ve been doing my research now about the choices I’d like to make.  I have a crazy high pain tolerance, but I was a fan of the drugs (epidural).  They allowed me to focus on what I was doing.  But pitocin?  Probably not.

And?  I’m scared of saying any of this out loud for fear of being one of THOSE people.  The ones who take a holier-than-thou approach to birth and think that the trophy for their natural water home midwife birth is in the mail.  OR the ones who think that a natural birth means you wear loincloths and live off of granola.  There’s two sides to every debate.

I just wanna be in the middle.  You know, with a healthy child.