First world problems.

First, I hate whiners.  HATE IT. At my house, when my children used to try the whining thing, I would shut them down pronto.

Second, I fully understand that there are people who have it much, much, much worse than I do. There are mothers who go it alone every single day of every single year. There are parents who don't have families around to help out when they need it. I know this.

But still...

I am going to whine a bit.

I am sick. I never get sick. Ever. But I have this cold thing that has persisted for almost a week. I think it's almost gone, but still...I am sick.

Russ has been working nights for two, three, hundred weeks. If you were to ask me point-blank what my husband does around the house, I would tell you, "He takes care of mowing the lawn. He grills on Sundays. He takes care of things I can't take care of."

That means that I do pretty much everything else. I make sure our bills are paid. I plan meals. I cook five nights out of seven (we go out to eat at least once and then there's a scavenger night). I take care of just about all kid things (notable things I do not deal with: loose teeth) -- keeping track of their schedules, making medical and dental appointments, making sure everyone takes whatever medicine they're taking at the time, etc. I do the laundry, and usually fold it (although I had a bright idea on Saturday evening -- while I was cooking supper, I turned on the TV, sat the kids in the floor and gave them each a laundry basket to fold). What little cleaning happens at my house is usually under my watch.

It's not that Russ refuses to do these things; I just don't ask him to do them. It is also worth noting that if there is a catastrophe -- anything involving vomit or lots of blood or math homework -- we double-team it.

Having said all of that, if he doesn't do a whole lot around the house in general (because I don't ask him to), then why am I so exhausted doing it alone? He leaves at 5:30 p.m. and gets home at 5:30-ish a.m. He showers, talks to me for a bit and then goes to bed.

Meanwhile, I'm rushed, harried and totally exhausted by the time 8 p.m. rolls around. At 8 p.m., the kids turn off all electronics and read. I collapse in the recliner and watch TV or read, then go to bed and then get up and do everything all over again.

Allegedly, this work thing will be wrapped up in 2.5 weeks, although I'm not going to hold my breath. I think my problem is that even though I'm doing everything when he's there, I know he's there for back-up. I know that if I totally lose my mind, there will be a responsible adult there to take over.

With him gone, I AM the responsible adult.

I am still running, and that's the only thing that is saving me from self-destructing.

Thank goodness.

The headphones saga.

(Yes, really. It's come to this.)

So back at Christmas, my husband and children got me a set of Motorola Bluetooth headphones. It was love at first sight.

I was going through headphones at a crazy fast pace -- I'd have to buy a new pair every two or three months it seemed. My sweatiness would short them out and that would be it.

These headphones were super-fancy. They were sweatproof.

I was delighted. No cords to worry with, or to distract me by flopping around. Perfection.

I had been warned by my husband that there may be some interference from time to time because of the Bluetooth stuff. In my neighborhood, occasionally there would be a tiny bit of static or silence. At the hike & bike trail, there would be a stretch there they went silent. But otherwise, no problems at all.

Until Tuesday. I dropped Kate off at dance, and Kyle and I went home. I got dressed, got my headphones and everything set up, went outside and...

NOTHING.


I ran a little farther, and...

NOTHING.


I disconnected the headphones and the iPod and reconnected.

NOTHING.


On Tuesdays, I have a limited window in which to run because I have to pick up Katie from dance at a certain time. And I was wasting it. So I went back to the old-school headphones and suffered through my run.

I hate old-school headphones.

I mentioned it to Russ when he got home, and he surmised that my sweat was just 10,000 times more sweaty than the normal person, and the headphones had given up the ghost. I was determined to try one more time.

Wednesday was my off day, so Thursday, I headed out, wireless headphones in hand.

And...NOTHING.


Friday evening, we went to Best Buy where I bought the next generation of Motorola Bluetooth headphones PLUS a two-year extended warranty ("Happy Mother's Day," a relieved Russ said). Given how rough I am on headphones, it made sense.

Saturday, I popped out of bed at 6:30, ready for my 10-miler. Connected the headphones and the iPod and headed out.

NOTHING.

Y'all, I cried. I did. I cried over a pair of stupid headphones. (I know.)

So, it's not my excessive sweatiness. It's not the headphones. It's not the iPod, even though it's a million years old (I can hear just fine through the headphones in the house, our garage and our driveway).

Someone in my neighborhood must have made a recent technology purchase that is interfering with my headphones.

Sigh. How dare they?