After a week of dealing with a sick child, karma has rewarded me. Today I got to do something I haven’t done in a while. Something that I have been wanting to do, something I have been needing to do, and something that isn’t easy to do.

I went shopping, at the mall, sans baby and husband.

About two weeks ago my last work bra (yes, I have only one bra to wear to work) gave me its resignation notice via an exposed underwire poking me in the armpit. While I was hoping for two weeks notice, I found myself needing a new bra right away.

Today I finally got to shop for a new bra. For the past two weeks, I’ve endured the poking. I’ve pushed the wire back in, I’ve put duct tape over the hole in an attempt to hold it in, and sometimes I sat leaning to the left to spare my armpit the viscous jab of the wire. I simply haven’t had the time or the available babysitting to venture out for a new bra.

Bra buying takes time. First, you must try on a bra before buying it. It’s not something that you can pick off the rack and buy. Some aren’t sized properly. On some, the straps are too wide, others have the straps too narrow. Some have the underwire come up too far, some have far too much padding.

Men would never be able to handle wearing bras, because they’d never have the patience to try them all on.

Second, there are a gazillion different styles, all with their quirks, and all fitting just a little different. Demi cup? Full coverage? Padding? Front or back hook? Lace? Satin? Lace and satin? Halter strap? Strapless? Backless? Long line?

It’s not a wait that a toddler, even a patient toddler, can easily endure. And my little strong-willed monster darling certainly wouldn’t have the patience to sit through a marathon visit to the dressing room. I wouldn’t even be able to offer her fun colors – I’m simply looking for a neutral colored bra.

If Aaron came along, Cordy would naturally choose the moment I’m ready to try on bras to have a seismic meltdown with daddy and push him to the point of pressuring me to hurry up so we can leave. Too much stress.

Today the stars aligned, and Aaron found himself with an empty afternoon, so I took my chance and ran to the mall. Even though it’s snotsicle cold outside, I happily parked in the back of the crowded lot and walked into the mall, unburdened by a stroller, a diaper bag, or a tempestuous child.

Victoria’s Secret is my bra shop of choice. I hate how expensive they are, but they do generally last longer and fit better than anything I could find in JC Penney. I haven’t been in Victoria’s Secret in a long time, but at first glance it appeared that little has changed. Lots of pink everywhere. Lingerie I couldn’t even think of squeezing my behind into. Sales girls dressed in black wearing far too much makeup and far too pretty to make me feel comfortable.

However, they have taken a new sales direction since the last time I was in. I’m used to being asked if I need any help at first, telling them no, and continuing on my way in peace. Oh no, now that’s just not allowed. I was pestered all over the damn store: Have you seen our new bra? (Yes, it’s hard to miss here in the front of the store.) Here, take a shopping bag while you look around! (I’m just looking for a bra.) Can I measure you to see what size you are? (No thanks, I really don’t want you touching me there.) You really must try our new bra! (No, you really must leave me alone.) What can I help you find? (The exit? Someplace I won’t be bothered?)

After running the gauntlet of sales girls, I managed to snag four bras and hide in a dressing room. Yes, I did try the new bra, and I wasn’t impressed. I just wanted a bra like my old one. Of course, with the product changing entirely every 6 months, my bra was no longer made.

I found one bra similar to my old one (“It’s the new and improved version!” “What does it do? Wash itself?”) and was content. I considered buying two, but at $45 a bra, I decided I’m going to settle for one and work this one just as hard as the last one. The peppy girl at the register tried to persuade me to purchase something from their “Pink” line in order to get a free stuffed puppy, but I quickly informed her that I am a mommy, and do not want to see another stuffed animal in my house at this time.

Walking out into the mall general area again, I browsed a few stores before leaving. I saw several moms out shopping with their kids, many of whom were asleep in the stroller. I wanted to ask them what they drugged their kids with to make them sleep in the stroller, because Cordelia would never entertain the thought of sleeping while out and about.

In all, it was a successful outing, and one thing off my to-do list. Now if I can only find the time to get out for a facial and a massage. Maybe in another 6 months.

A Mamaku for my daughter’s cold that won’t go away:

After reading Wood’s post at Sweet Juniper, I was inspired to create a log of one day’s events. Here is an idea of a typical day for Cordelia and I on my days off. This was yesterday:

6:45 am – Aaron gets up, I barely notice as I roll over.

7:15 am – Cordy wakes up, starts talking in her crib. I fall back asleep.

7:40 am – Aaron fetches Cordy from her crib once she reaches the complaining stage. I again fall back asleep.

8:25 am – I wake up to a toddler in my face saying “Hi!” in her most cheery voice, as her daddy holds her over me. Get up, get dressed, go downstairs.

8:45am – Aaron leaves for work, as Cordy ignores his pleas for her to say “bye” to him. As soon as he closes the door and is gone, she turns to the door and says “Die die!” and waves.

9:00 am – I eat my morning bagel while sharing a quarter of it with Cordy, who already ate breakfast. Apparently it’s in the baby contract that the child is entitled to one quarter of all of my food. Wiggles are on TV, all is good with the world.

9:15 am – Finish eating, jump up and dance to Wiggle Groove, sending Cordy into waves of laughter.

9:30-10:30 am – Play with Cordy, attempt to pick up the disaster she leaves behind in each area of the living room.

10:30-11:15 am – Cordy plays by herself, I get some internet time. I am amused watching her attempt to jump, and blog about what I’m watching. Call friend Lisa and make plans for later in the day, if her son takes an early nap.

11:15 am – Cordy falls backwards and hits her head. Spend 10 minutes comforting her on her nth head injury of the week. Offer a banana – food serves as the perfect distraction.

11:30 am – Hear a loud chainsaw out back, followed by a loud noise out front. Look out back door and see that a tree is being cut down behind our next door neighbors. Look out front door to see giant chipper machine out front, turning branches into mulch. Say a little prayer that they aren’t here too long.

11:45-11:50 am – Chase the child around the downstairs (it’s a circular floor plan) for 4 laps before catching her to wipe her snotty nose. Decide to go ahead and change diaper while I have her pinned down.

12:00 pm – Pull up information on the internet for the vet to make an appt. for our kitten. Find number, but forget to call because I must jump up to prevent Cordy from grabbing my mostly full can of Diet Coke.

12:30 pm – First nap attempt. 6oz. of warm milk used to entice Cordy to fall asleep. Routine goes off without a hitch. Lay her down, close door, head back downstairs. As I hit the bottom step, I hear her give a big “Aiiii!” over the monitor. She then proceeds to talk happily to herself.

12:45 pm – Happy talk turning to whining. Chipper machine still loud and annoying. Secretly cursing the tree cutters.

12:50 pm – Nap aborted. Bring her back downstairs, make lunch. Play peek-a-boo with dishtowels.

1:10 pm – Cordy eats a PB&J sandwich while watching Wiggles. I eat the crusts of the bread.

1:25 pm – Do another 3 laps around the downstairs before tackling the child for another nose wipe. Tickle match ensues.

1:45 pm – Nap attempt #2. Crying begins right away when placed in crib. Chipper and chainsaws still going strong.

2:00 pm – Nap aborted. Bring her back downstairs.

2:00-2:30 pm – Watch Dora and laugh at the dumb king in the episode. Wonder who writes this stuff.

2:30 pm – After some serious eye-rubbing, put Cordy down for nap attempt #3. Chipper and chainsaw still going. Thoughts of throwing the workers into the chipper go through my mind. Cordy talks in her crib.

2:45 pm – All is quiet in Cordy’s room. Check e-mail, make PB&J for myself and eat it. Look forward to an hour or so relaxing.

3:15 pm – Just as I’m planning a trip to the bathroom, Cordy awakes with loud screaming. I’m certain the chipper woke her up. Now contemplate asking my senator to pass a law preventing loud noise during nap times. Bring Cordy downstairs.

3:20 pm – Use the bathroom with a grumpy toddler audience.

3:30 pm – Call friend Lisa to find out if her son is awake so we can go out together. Find out he took a late nap and just went to sleep. Damn. Guess I’m on my own.

3:40 pm – Change Cordy’s diaper. Begin chase around downstairs to put Cordy’s shoes and coat on. Pack diaper bag.

3:50 pm – Wrestle unwilling toddler into car seat. Leave for north end of Columbus.

4:20-4:45 pm – Stop at my office to take care of an issue for a student. Find out once there that it’s already taken care of. Cordy shows off for coworkers. Attempt to talk to one coworker about a complaint she made against me (to my supervisor without coming to me first), but Cordy melts down before I can begin the conversation. I decide it’ll have to wait for another day and leave.

4:45 pm – Drive to mall to get new shoes for Cordy.

5:00-5:30 pm – Chase Cordy around Stride Rite to try shoes on her. I discover that she is now wearing a size 5.5 double wide. Try not to think of the jokes that could be made of having double wide feet. Out of 8 pairs of shoes, only one pair fits her. (she has tall feet as well)

5:30 pm – Dash to the door to prevent Cordy from going outside with other people. Purchase only pair of shoes that fits her.

5:35-6:00 pm – Drive home, and get KFC on the way home.

6:00 pm – Get home, feed Cordy.

6:15 pm – Aaron arrives home.

6:15-6:45 pm – Aaron and I play with Cordy.

6:45 pm – Dress Cordy for bed, Aaron does nighttime ritual, Cordy goes to sleep with no problems. Chipper is gone, finally.

7:00-8:30 pm – Internet time for both of us. I eat some chocolate from Valentine’s Day.

8:30-11:00 pm – Knit. Aaron plays his online game with friends. Relax. Gather up trash

11:00pm-12:00 am – Watch Smallville.

12:00 am – Aaron and I go to bed, exhausted. We consider having sex, but decide that sleep sounds more appealing at the moment. There’s a storm coming through, and I cross my fingers and hope Cordy doesn’t wake up in the night.

There is nothing quite so funny as watching a toddler learn to jump. Cordelia wants to jump. Really, really, wants to jump. She sees other kids jumping up and down at play areas, on TV, everywhere. Several times a day she puts all of her energy and concentration into practicing this skill.

Here’s the show I get each day (this entire sequence is only a few seconds):

Cordy stands, feet slightly apart. The look of pure concentration is visible.

Crouches down in preparation.

Pops up quickly, with all the power she can muster in her little legs.

Doesn’t get air, but her heels come off the floor.

Now on her toes only, she tips forward.

Loses balance, overcompensates the other way, falls backwards on her butt.

Stands up.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

You’ve got to appreciate her determination. She doesn’t understand why she can’t get off the floor, but that doesn’t stop her from trying.

Who needs TV? I’ve got all the entertainment I can handle.

Driving to work today, I noticed an unusually high number of police cars on the road. Every mile I covered, more and more were showing up, until there was a police car parked about every quarter mile on the highway. Then I noticed all of the overpasses were also being guarded by police officers, and small creeks by the side of the road were being guarded by the watercraft safety division of the police.

What the hell is going on?, I thought. Was there a bomb? Did prisoners escape from jail? Was Congress finally abolished and we were now in a police state?

Then a low-flying plane passed over the highway and over my head (I work very close to the airport). Air Force One. As in, the plane used by the President. Of the United States. Ahhhhh, it makes sense now. The president is in town. Great. So I can blame him for making me late to work.

Around 1:30pm, I had to travel back downtown for a department meeting. I made an offhand joke to a coworker about how the president better not make me late again. Damn karma.

The road to the highway was partially blocked off by the police, and they were forcing everyone to keep moving and travel northbound on the highway only. I, of course, needed to travel southbound. As I merge onto the highway, I see a large group of police cars driving past me in the southbound lanes, followed by the president’s parade of limousines. Bastard. Now I’m late again, and it’s all his fault.

Not that I ever liked the president to begin with, but now I really dislike him. I was late twice today because of his need to lock down half of the city just to travel a few miles.

I found it somewhat amusing, though, that no one stopped on the road to wave at him or honk their horns. Not. one. single. person. No fanfare, no cheering, no waving of flags. Even the police looked pissed off to be watching him drive by.

Back during the election, he came to town a few times, and whenever they would block off part of the road for him to travel, people would stop their cars in the opposite lanes to wave and cheer and witness a political celebrity driving past them as they waved their American flags. Even people who didn’t like him would at least slow down on the road to nod their heads or pay some respect to the office of the president. This is Ohio – people here are patriotic, much to my annoyance sometimes.

Now? No one cared to stop and see him. It was even a beautiful, warm, sunny day, unusual for February in Ohio, but people went on their daily business without a care. The president’s in town? So what.

You know you’re an unpopular president when you come to a Midwestern state that you won during the election, and people don’t give a damn at seeing you drive by.

So Mr. President, do yourself a favor and don’t bother coming back to Columbus. We aren’t that interested in you and frankly? You just make us late for work.