I don’t even know what order to go in, from best moments to worst or from worst to best. It’s just been an odd day. But hell, every day here is nothing like normal, so why was I expecting anything different?

Chronological order? Why the hell not.

I had my English conversation group last night, and as I was feeling like telling the entire world, or specifically my husband, to bugger off, I stayed out afterwards and ate dinner with the sweet innocent little Scottish English Assistant who comes by to help broaden everyone’s horizons with her odd accent. (And yes, TO ME, it’s odd, therefore it IS odd. I am the ruler of the universe, remember?) By the time I got home the Hubz had managed to get everyone fed and changed and tucked into bed. I was admittedly happily surprised. It was nice to walk into a calm, quite house for once. And dinner was really good too—although I’m seriously out of practice speaking in English anymore. It’s frightening. But SEA-Girl and I ate enough ice-cream with whipped cream to soothe the pain of loosing my language.

Ice-cream, then the kids in bed—V-day was off to a good start and it wasn’t even here yet.

This morning I got up bright and early (meaning before the kids woke up) and headed out for the Vampires’ Shack in Joinville. I had to do that wonderful glucose test to find out if the gestational diabetes has struck yet or not. And since I’ve already had it twice (the diabetes, that is), OB-GYN Kenobie had me do the monster test—the one where you get 100 grams of sugar instead of 50, and they stick you every half hour for two-and-a-half hours instead of one.

I usually have beautiful veins, and every time I need to have blood taken or I go in to donate, everyone ohhs and ahhs over how wonderfully easy I am to stick. Actually my left arm is the blood-giving champion. For all vampire purposes it is absolutely gorgeous. But even my perfect blood-letting arms have their limits, and today we found them. I ended up getting stuck eight times by three different people. None of them actually hurt me, including the two times my veins told them to take their needle and stick it where the sun don’t shine, and for that I’m very happy. Still, eight times in two-and-a-half hours is a lot of needles and I’m feeling the love tonight. I have two very colorful bruises on my right arm and a wonderful rash on my left from all the tape they used to hold the cotton on after that arm decided it had been stuck enough and was just going to keep bleeding so they’d leave it the hell alone. In all honesty I actually bled for twenty minutes following the next-to-last needle and for almost forty minutes after the very last one. I’ve never done that before. I was starting to see the headlines—American dies in French countryside after Vampire attack.

So I was a lot later than I’d planned on, and when I got home! My! Husband! Had! Made! Lunch! There was HOT FOOD waiting for me when I walked in the door! AND! The baby had already eaten!!!

OK, so he’d only heated up a can of somethingorother. BUT! He’d taken the initiative and MADE! LUNCH! And it WAS! READY! WHEN! I! GOT! HOME!

Shit, I might actually have to keep him now.

Of course, he disappeared again right after that. But the kids were cooperative this afternoon and I didn’t need to turn into PsychoBitch to get through the afternoon. Pooplette took a good long nap and Muppethead snuggled with me on the couch for most of the afternoon and even let me snooze for a bit.

So I was feeling all inspired and half-way Valentiney and crap, so I made a cake (it stuck to my silicon bake-ware, grrrr!) and decided to do a thing for dinner. Fortunately the Evil MIL came looking for the kids—didn’t even have to ask as the Hubz had done that (another brownie point, canyoubelieveit?)—and I went back out into the cold and rainy night to get provisions.

I made Mr. Wunnerful a big fat filet steak—not a faux filet mind you, a REAL one. And it was so good! And the butcher was so nice to me and gave me a really nice piece of beef AND gave me the filet for the price of the entrecôte because he was almost out of filet anyway and I’d knocked down his supply enough that he could justify taking the end home to his own wife for his own V-Day dinner at whatever discount he gets for being the butcher. Who says customer service doesn’t exist in France? (oh wait, that’d be me)

On my way out of the ol’ grocery store I stopped by the florist so The Hubz could surprise me with my favorite flowers (tulips, in case any of you were wondering). When she asked me if the two bunches I’d chosen were for any special occasion, I explained how they were a surprise for me from the Manthing, and she got to giggling. Of course, instead of just ringing my purchase up and being done with me, she combined the two bunches into one huge bouquet and re-wrapped it so it’d be nice and ready to surprise me. The two men in line behind me remarked how they wished their wives were as resourceful as I was since they were out in the rain and cold five minutes before the store closed assuring they’d sleep in the real house and not in the dog house.

Of course, being pregnant and all means I don’t move as fast as I used to, so I got home later than I expected. BUT! The Hubz had baby #2 out of the bath and was getting her dressed while baby #1 was soaking and playing in the Rubbermade plastic bin thing that serves as a bathtub in our retarded version of a home. (MissChris—I’m so thinking of you right now.) While I did need to stop my dinner preparations to wash baby #1 (he wouldn’t have it any other way), the ManThing tried his best to make things go as smoothly as possible.

I’m beginning to wonder if he’s terminally ill.

Anyway, that was our Black Wednesday. No romance. No hot surprises. We’re depressing. But at least we’re talking.