Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Just... no.

What a crappy day.

It honestly wasn't a crappy day, just a crappy evening. Josiah decided to bring a bad attitude to the table, some plans I had been depending on fell through, and I didn't get as much of my list done as I planned because I had to deal with Stella's social security card.

Sidebar story: Last week we realized that we have no idea where Stella's social security card is. I can't find it ANYWHERE, and was very worried that I lost it, or someone stole it and is out there buying houses and boats and great shoes with Stella's number. How horrible to steal a 5-month-old's identity. I found a form from the hospital (signed by a nurse and everything) that stated the hospital would be applying for the card and it should be at our house in 5-6 weeks. My child is now 5 months old, and I have no recollection of such a card. I would blame this on my pretty faulty memory, but my husband, whose memory is excellent, does not remember seeing it either. And if he doesn't remember seeing it, it didn't come. So after calling the hospital, who directed me to Frankfort, who put me through the most obnoxious voice-activated menu system EVER, I finally connected with the SS office here in Richmond. That's social security, not secret nazi police. What did the second S stand for? It must have been in German. Anyway. They were very nice and told me to bring her birth certificate and a record of her shots or her bracelet from the hospital. I brought every form the hospital sent me home with, her bracelets and mine. After taking the kids all the way down there, corralling Josiah and keeping him from getting run over in the parking lot, I get a number, make small talk with people in the waiting room (who inform me that I need to make sure he does not hold his toy dinosaur while we're driving, as he could get hurt if I brake too fast - thank you, self-appointed traffic police) I get to the glass partition, start explaining my reason for being here and realize that I forgot her birth certificate. The lady very nicely looks at all my other information to get the ball rolling anyway, and then tells me they need her most current shot records. Luckily, our doctor's office is right across the road from the SS (that's social security) office. So I wrangle the infant carrier and 3-year-old back into the car, drive across the road, haul them in, wait in line, and find out that I can't get the records until tomorrow. I am actually happy to hear that. I now have no reason to go home, get the birth certificate, and do this all over again. Thank you for your help, I'm getting myself some yogurt from McDonald's.

BUT. My husband will be home from work early tonight, so we can hang out together at a decent hour. My kids are finally both in bed asleep, and Josiah hasn't tried to make up excuses to get up. (Some frequent ones include: need to go potty, need juice, need baby Stellabella, need a hug, need a kiss, and need to go potty again.) I'm going to make myself a cup of hot tea and relax now. Deep breath.

1 comment:

John Robinson said...

SS stands for Schutzstaffel, which means "protective squad."