Note To Self:

Dear Sarah,

Don't ever let your prescription get that low again.

Part of the reason why I wrote down all the shit I have to do this week is so I could remember it all. And I'm glad I wrote it all down because I almost forgot about Tito's screening today.

Last night I went to the PSR registration thing. In the interest of full disclosure, the cost was less than I expected. I thought it was $200 per kid because I'd only ever paid for Beebie. It's $170 per family, PLUS $60 per child for supplies or something. So that makes it $350 for three children. Now, I know it's not $600, but it might as well be, because I don't have $350 either.

In my experience - and I have LOADS of it, ya know - it never hurts to tell someone how little money you have, because if you make the right person just a little bit uncomfortable, it could very well work to your benefit. And I'm not going to say I made a Big Fat Scene, but I definitely made a lil bitty scene, and I was prepared to be an asshole if necessary.

If they had insisted that I shell out $350 right then and there, no negotiation, I would have said something to the effect of Fuck You Very Much and I would have walked out of there, never to return. But it didn't come to that.

When it was my turn to hand over my paperwork, I asked if there was any way the $350 could be broken down into two payments (see, I started out willing to compromise). I told her I could do it if I didn't have to pay it all at once, but $350 right now is the difference between eating for a month and not eating for a month.

I want to do it because I know it's important and everything, it just feels like we can't afford to be Catholic.

Notice I didn't necessarily say that it was important TO ME.

I continued talking, my goal being to get her to shut me up by telling me not to worry about it.

And last year I didn't send my son because he was in Kindergarten and I know it's optional to send Kindergarteners, but now I have two more kids and it doesn't make sense to send one son and not the other...

And the lady said she understood. She'd "make a note on [my] application and They'll get in touch with me." Sure, that's fine, I can live with that.

On my way out the door - and I was hoping to get out of there as quickly as possible - I was stopped by a woman that I can't decide if I like or not. Her name is Cold Bird, and the first few times I met her, she really really rubbed me the wrong way. R tried to help me see that she didn't mean to come across as abrasive or rude, it's just how she is, so I've tried to keep an open mind about her because I want to believe that she means well, but Cold Bird just basically intimidates the CRAP outta me.

She came up to me and asked how I was, asked which of my children she'd have in her class (she teaches the Kindergarten PSR class). Tito, I said. You get the baby. My big girl is going to be in Junior High... I can't believe it...

She intimidates me because she looks me right in the eye and just waits for me to stop talking. And I keep talking even after I've got nothing left to say simply because I don't want her to START talking. Then there's a creepy awkward pause. And it's just totally weird.

You could probably guess this about me, but when I'm nervous, I just start babbling. When I don't know what else to do, I'll just fill the air with my voice, like I'm in a comic strip and I'm trying to cover the frame with word balloons so I can hide behind them. It doesn't work in real life.

It's ok, Sarah. Breathe, she said.

The woman told me to BREATHE. Oh, and she also told me if The Church Nazi gives me a hard time about the money, to let her know. See? I can't decide if I like her or not.

Yeah, so anyway, I got my kids into PSR for free, at least for now.

And for today, I'm pretty sure all I had written down was Tito's kindergarten screening, but I wound up having to add a few things to today's list of tasks. I had to take my glasses to the eye doctor so I could get a new lens to replace the scratched one (still under warranty, woo hoo!), then I had to get my prescription.
R also had a prescription for me to pick up.

So when I got there, the girl found R's, no problem, but for some reason mine wasn't where it was supposed to be.

Here's my advice to all you pharmacists out there:

FIND OUT WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO TELL THE PATIENT THEY'RE NOT GOING TO GET BEFORE YOU TELL THEM THEY'RE NOT GOING TO GET IT.

Seriously, for your own safety, don't tell a woman that her prescription isn't there until after you've checked to see what she's there to get. It'll behoove you to prepare yourself. Because MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING SOUL if I come in there and you tell me you don't have my Xanax, sister.

I will jump over the counter and just start stuffing my face with whatever pills I can grab before I'm tazed by Security. I don't care if they're fuckin extra strength Super Colon Blow laxatives and I leave with my Power Panties full of foam, at that point, I came for drugs and fuck if I'm not gonna get some.

She found my Xanax, but not until after I had a lil bitty heart attack and almost had to make a lil bitty scene. And by the way, when you say the words, "lil bitty scene," it helps to use a Deep Southern accent and pretend to fan yourself. Try it. I'll wait.

Anyway, I swung by Blockbuster (y'know, since I hadn't been there in two whole days) and picked up No Country For Old Men because I have been dying to see it for months and Bee Movie because the kids are going to have to be home alone for an hour or so while I'm with Therapenny. It was kinda vital that I get in to see her before we go to Chez Inlaw and subsequently to Texas.

Stay tuned for the next lil bitty scene.