Quiet, but still here

Not much out of the ordinary has happened around here this week. Well, except for the sudden on-set of insomnia, my trip to the Social Security office with the monkey, and my new office assistant. I won't mention the seven stitches on my back that feel as though I have little soft critters doing their best to not sit still. Instead of my fingernails providing relief, they make it feel as though the incision is being revisiting by the scalpel.


Let's start with the insomnia. I love to sleep. You know how the experts say you need 7-8 hours of sleep per night? Not me. I function best on ten (at least).


In my "spare time" I enjoy writing (among other things that I do in an attempt to prove to myself that I can be creative). I've been working on writing a story but have actually been obsessing over it this week. Because of my "responsibilities" I can't work on my "see Amy you are creative" projects until after the animals have gone to bed. The last few nights, by the time midnight rolls around (which is way past my normal bedtime), my mind is flowing with ideas and possibilities for my story. After finally pulling myself away from my computer, making my way through the jungle and into my bed, my mind is too wound up. I've been laying in bed for hours trying to clear it enough to sleep. Next thing I know, there's that bird chirping in Dad's clock and the Hawk standing by my bed asking if he can go downstairs. I have told him time and time again to quit asking. Of course he can go downstairs. I don't care!


So begins the next day.


On Monday I finally did it. I had to. The Monkey needed a social security card in order to start preschool. God willing, she'll be attending a special needs preschool and they'll be tracking the funding through her SSN. I was forced to do it. I do a lot of things throughout the day, however the "have to's" in life, I procrastinate.


My neighbor was happy to watch the Hawk and the Kangaroo while I was gone, but she asked that I take the Monkey with me. I also had to wait until after 3 PM to go because of my work schedule. Anyhow, I hadn't fully thought through what the Social Security office was like. The only time I've been to one was 11 years ago when I went in to get my name changed on mine. With adoption papers piled on my arms, both English and Spanish versions, and Maria at my side, I walked into the office and stopped dead in my tracks. The place was filled with people and there I stood with the Monkey, yes, the Monkey. I was going to have to wait for God knows how long in a room packed with people, a room that smelled like hot, sweaty, two day old bodies, and of course, the Monkey.


I pulled my number and saw that I was 85. I had just heard them call 62. I could handle this. No sense in going back home, it would be the same tomorrow and she has to have a number. Throughout my adoption process, I came to realize the things that a lot of pregnant women take for granted. The things that I had taken for granted. While at that office I discovered another one of those things. When the boys were born all I had to do was sign a paper that the hospital nurses wouldn't let me leave with out doing. Then two weeks later, there it was in my mailbox, a social security number. No effort what so ever did I have to make in order to get those cards. Not so with an adoption, at least not an international adoption. I had to apply for one in person.


We sat down next to another woman that had her small toddler with her. This child was feasting on some delicious looking french fries. Fortunately I hadn't finished my trail mix from the weekend and it was still in my purse. I pulled it out and told the Monkey she could have it. Moments later the security gaurd came by and asked the mother of the toddler to please put the fries away. After all the sign did say no eating allowed. She pleaded with him to let her son keep eating the fries since they were keeping him occupied. The officer replied, "sorry, but no exceptions." I figured I was next, no exceptions, the Monkey was eating trail mix. But to my surprise he walked away without a mention of the Monkey's food. Guilt told me I needed to put them away, however sanity screamed "let her keep them." So Maria sat quietly for some time eating her trails mix. Sanity always trumps guilt.


Our number had been called, then we were placed on another waiting list only to find out that we had been put on the wrong list and then put on another, but in the end I was able to apply for her number and I had all the necessary documents with me.


The Monkey turned out to be well behaved, except for when she was trying to show everyone in a "revealing" way how flexible she was. Then there was the rolling around all over the floor, but all in all, very good. Thank you God. In one week that card should be sitting in my mailbox.


Now there's the issue of my new office assistant. I work for a non-profit political organization and they've allowed me to hire an assistant for the election season. Don't get me wrong, I think it is wonderful and I am very grateful for having her here (I hired my neighbor). However, twice as much work each day is getting accomplished. I'm not used to that. For years I have been working with a heavy load, which helps to motivate me and keep me going. Now my to do list gets cleared each day. I have no idea how to work outside of a high-paced, I must rush to get this done, atmosphere. I hope things start to pick up soon or else I don't know what I'll do. I'll actually have to do some filing.

Other than that, the week has been boring. The Monkey is having an angry day today so check back, you may just get a good story.