Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Monday, February 04, 2008
Slow, Slow, Quick-Quick..sorta
Let's get the quick-quick out of the way first, shall we?
I am still sorta slacking. But not really. But I'll explain more after Thursday afternoon. No, I can't explain that statement further right now, but suffice it to say that after Thursday I will be back to blogging with regularity and I will explain everything then.
Ahem.
Second quickie? I am still sick. Yesterday I was feeling better. Today I am feeling worse. Also I think I might have blown my nose hard enough this morning to extrude a small piece of brain tissue. Chomp on THAT visual for a while. And then realize it was about 10 times more disgusting than you imagined it.
On to the slow. And the painful.
I am fairly ambivalent when it comes to football teams in general and the Patriots in particular... But, being married to a rabid Pats fan, I do my wifely duty and cheer them on. Last night we had a few friends over to watch the game and gorge on way too much good food (Hello Puerto Rican Meatballs, and where have you been all my life?).
And so it was that slowly, yet surely, my husband's soul was crushed last night. All his hopes and dreams, the incredible high of this past season, the anticipation of a "Nineteen games! Undefeated!".... these things were smashed to teeny-weeny-smithereeniez.
So, to get to the crux of my dilemma... I can't bring myself to really put more sincerity into it than a wistful "Oh, that's too bad, isn't it." How, then, dear internet, am I possibly supposed to cheer up poor T? What is the accepted protocol for this sort of thing. Is there a hallmark card for this scenario? Or do I just have to ride it out until the start of Soccer season? (When he can put all his hopes on his other team, the one I actually care enough to root for on my own, our beloved D.C. United). (Not that I actually watch all their games with him because.. hello!.. scripted television requires my attention, y'all.)
The only other competition that might be able to cheer him is the Super Tuesday race tomorrow. I usually don't get rabid about politics -- I try to be as measured as possible, keeping my mind open to new information, etc. But in this case, I'm actually getting hopeful, nay, excited at the possibility of the DNC actually getting my candidate on the ticket this year.
It all really came together for me after the South Carolina primary. It was the first time I had actually listened to a full speech by Barack Obama, and by the end of it I was nodding my head with enthusiasm and even occasionally pointing at the television and (okay, if I'm totally honest) also maybe I was yelling "Yes! Exactly!" like a bag lady talking to her cats.
But at that moment, I bought into it. Into the evangelizing, into the stirring words and the impassioned voice. At that moment I believed that my vote might actually count for something in this next election, that maybe this godawful war in Iraq won't really trail endlessly on into the next century, that maybe the economy doesn't have to stay in the crapper. Most importantly, I began to think it possible that the intolerance and the paranoia that have stripped away so many of the sacred civil liberties that should be protected in this country - the very things that give us something worth protecting and defending - could be restored.
In the frantic and rabid race to "go out and get our enemies and crush them where we find them" etc, etc, etc hawkishness of the recent-past, I have done some serious soul-searching. I honestly believe that if the US turns into a place where we justify the use of torture, where we spy on our own citizens without warrant or probable cause, where we detain people for months or years without the benefit of legal protection or counsel... if we continue further down the path that the current administration placed us on... well, in my mind, we become a country and a way of life no longer worth defending.
If you have to destroy it in order to defend it, you've already lost the battle.
And listening to Barack Obama, rereading some of his previous speeches and looking at the people who would be working with him and around him were he to become the next president...
I can't help but begin to hope that all the things I love most about this country - about the way of life we profess to protect, the ideals we hold as our foundation - might be restored and even magnified, after all.
Obama '08.
*Stepping carefully down from soapbox, because I am clumsy and fall down quite easily*
Okay, I promise, no more hot-buttons for a while. Just hot tea and a warm couch. SNIFFLE.
I am still sorta slacking. But not really. But I'll explain more after Thursday afternoon. No, I can't explain that statement further right now, but suffice it to say that after Thursday I will be back to blogging with regularity and I will explain everything then.
Ahem.
Second quickie? I am still sick. Yesterday I was feeling better. Today I am feeling worse. Also I think I might have blown my nose hard enough this morning to extrude a small piece of brain tissue. Chomp on THAT visual for a while. And then realize it was about 10 times more disgusting than you imagined it.
On to the slow. And the painful.
I am fairly ambivalent when it comes to football teams in general and the Patriots in particular... But, being married to a rabid Pats fan, I do my wifely duty and cheer them on. Last night we had a few friends over to watch the game and gorge on way too much good food (Hello Puerto Rican Meatballs, and where have you been all my life?).
And so it was that slowly, yet surely, my husband's soul was crushed last night. All his hopes and dreams, the incredible high of this past season, the anticipation of a "Nineteen games! Undefeated!".... these things were smashed to teeny-weeny-smithereeniez.
So, to get to the crux of my dilemma... I can't bring myself to really put more sincerity into it than a wistful "Oh, that's too bad, isn't it." How, then, dear internet, am I possibly supposed to cheer up poor T? What is the accepted protocol for this sort of thing. Is there a hallmark card for this scenario? Or do I just have to ride it out until the start of Soccer season? (When he can put all his hopes on his other team, the one I actually care enough to root for on my own, our beloved D.C. United). (Not that I actually watch all their games with him because.. hello!.. scripted television requires my attention, y'all.)
The only other competition that might be able to cheer him is the Super Tuesday race tomorrow. I usually don't get rabid about politics -- I try to be as measured as possible, keeping my mind open to new information, etc. But in this case, I'm actually getting hopeful, nay, excited at the possibility of the DNC actually getting my candidate on the ticket this year.
It all really came together for me after the South Carolina primary. It was the first time I had actually listened to a full speech by Barack Obama, and by the end of it I was nodding my head with enthusiasm and even occasionally pointing at the television and (okay, if I'm totally honest) also maybe I was yelling "Yes! Exactly!" like a bag lady talking to her cats.
But at that moment, I bought into it. Into the evangelizing, into the stirring words and the impassioned voice. At that moment I believed that my vote might actually count for something in this next election, that maybe this godawful war in Iraq won't really trail endlessly on into the next century, that maybe the economy doesn't have to stay in the crapper. Most importantly, I began to think it possible that the intolerance and the paranoia that have stripped away so many of the sacred civil liberties that should be protected in this country - the very things that give us something worth protecting and defending - could be restored.
In the frantic and rabid race to "go out and get our enemies and crush them where we find them" etc, etc, etc hawkishness of the recent-past, I have done some serious soul-searching. I honestly believe that if the US turns into a place where we justify the use of torture, where we spy on our own citizens without warrant or probable cause, where we detain people for months or years without the benefit of legal protection or counsel... if we continue further down the path that the current administration placed us on... well, in my mind, we become a country and a way of life no longer worth defending.
If you have to destroy it in order to defend it, you've already lost the battle.
And listening to Barack Obama, rereading some of his previous speeches and looking at the people who would be working with him and around him were he to become the next president...
I can't help but begin to hope that all the things I love most about this country - about the way of life we profess to protect, the ideals we hold as our foundation - might be restored and even magnified, after all.
Obama '08.
*Stepping carefully down from soapbox, because I am clumsy and fall down quite easily*
Okay, I promise, no more hot-buttons for a while. Just hot tea and a warm couch. SNIFFLE.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Still.. Yet... Living.
I have been inexcusably absent of late. I realize. I will explain later, but mostly it involves lots of running around, doing chores, preparing to do our taxes, and even - GASP! - a bit of social interaction not centered around my children. I know! It's like living in some sort of parallel universe, one where I actually feel like a regular person sometimes!
So, then, lacking in any wisdom of my own to share today beyond "don't eat yellow snow" (which is not as useful as you might think, since we have had 2 days of rain and a sadly obvious lack of snow...) I submit instead....
The Zen Parenting Wisdom of Oh The Joys. She rather brilliantly does something that I think many parents struggle to do -- which is to effectively apply acquired life wisdom to the raising of children. Because keeping our cool, actively choosing how to interact and respond to our children: these are things that require conscious choice on our part as parents.
My sister and I had a conversation recently wherein I finally managed to articulate my major Zen Life Philosophy. It's been brewing for a long time, but I was able to put it into words for the first time.
My ultimate goal is to Live Life On Purpose. The most important thing I DON'T want to do is to go with the flow, take the path of least resistance, or live my life according to habit or my emotional responses. Everything in our lives that we are dissatisfied with can only be changed by active decision on our part. It's not going to magically happen -- whether "it" is raising our children to be the best people they can be, achieving the personal or professional success we desire, or even just getting ahead of the housework or getting physically healthier.
My goal for this year is to attack these things one at a time, prioritize which are the most important to me, and actively improve each one. I think that OTJ has hit the nail on the head -- finding the Zen in the Parenting Zoo requires making a decision to bring as much of the Zen to the table as we possibly can.
So how about delurking and weighing in? What are your tricks for keeping your cool and keeping Zen in raising your kids?
Personally? I find that when I'm stressed to my limit, making time for a bubble bath with a hot cup of chamomile tea after the house is quiet can do wonders for my mental state. Also, getting out in the sunshine and letting the kids run around crazy (until I am inevitably lured into joining them and flying around in the fresh air like a five-year-old, myself) helps me fall in love with my rugrats all over again.
So, then, lacking in any wisdom of my own to share today beyond "don't eat yellow snow" (which is not as useful as you might think, since we have had 2 days of rain and a sadly obvious lack of snow...) I submit instead....
The Zen Parenting Wisdom of Oh The Joys. She rather brilliantly does something that I think many parents struggle to do -- which is to effectively apply acquired life wisdom to the raising of children. Because keeping our cool, actively choosing how to interact and respond to our children: these are things that require conscious choice on our part as parents.
My sister and I had a conversation recently wherein I finally managed to articulate my major Zen Life Philosophy. It's been brewing for a long time, but I was able to put it into words for the first time.
My ultimate goal is to Live Life On Purpose. The most important thing I DON'T want to do is to go with the flow, take the path of least resistance, or live my life according to habit or my emotional responses. Everything in our lives that we are dissatisfied with can only be changed by active decision on our part. It's not going to magically happen -- whether "it" is raising our children to be the best people they can be, achieving the personal or professional success we desire, or even just getting ahead of the housework or getting physically healthier.
My goal for this year is to attack these things one at a time, prioritize which are the most important to me, and actively improve each one. I think that OTJ has hit the nail on the head -- finding the Zen in the Parenting Zoo requires making a decision to bring as much of the Zen to the table as we possibly can.
So how about delurking and weighing in? What are your tricks for keeping your cool and keeping Zen in raising your kids?
Personally? I find that when I'm stressed to my limit, making time for a bubble bath with a hot cup of chamomile tea after the house is quiet can do wonders for my mental state. Also, getting out in the sunshine and letting the kids run around crazy (until I am inevitably lured into joining them and flying around in the fresh air like a five-year-old, myself) helps me fall in love with my rugrats all over again.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Alive and Kicking.. and Maybe Biting.
I swear I'm still here. Just very, very tired and attempting to keep up with the pace that these men in my life are setting for me. It's not easy.
Especially when two of them are running circles around me most of the day, attempting either to strangle each other or pile on the dog.
Fear not, however, for I shall return. Soon. With more brilliant and fascinating parenting tales. Like how Jack is learning to wipe his own behind after making magic in the potty.
And yes - I really did marry a man who refers to that particular activity as "Making Magic". And I still consent to sleep with him on occasion. Even though he is passing this mystifying colloquialism on to our children.
But he also washes dishes, so really... like so many things in life... it's a trade-off.
Like how you, dear internets, wait to see what else I will come up with or what catastrophe will yet strike our little family. It's like watching a train wreck, isn't it? You want to look away, but you're captivated against your will.
Also probably a fair description of what is must be like to be married to me... the woman who shares your personal scatalogical vernacular with the world.
In truth? I'm fairly cartain that, beyond the oft-mentioned impressive rack, he only puts up with me because I will play video games with him and because we both like our steaks a bit bloody in the center.
I'm a catch, y'all.
Especially when two of them are running circles around me most of the day, attempting either to strangle each other or pile on the dog.
Fear not, however, for I shall return. Soon. With more brilliant and fascinating parenting tales. Like how Jack is learning to wipe his own behind after making magic in the potty.
And yes - I really did marry a man who refers to that particular activity as "Making Magic". And I still consent to sleep with him on occasion. Even though he is passing this mystifying colloquialism on to our children.
But he also washes dishes, so really... like so many things in life... it's a trade-off.
Like how you, dear internets, wait to see what else I will come up with or what catastrophe will yet strike our little family. It's like watching a train wreck, isn't it? You want to look away, but you're captivated against your will.
Also probably a fair description of what is must be like to be married to me... the woman who shares your personal scatalogical vernacular with the world.
In truth? I'm fairly cartain that, beyond the oft-mentioned impressive rack, he only puts up with me because I will play video games with him and because we both like our steaks a bit bloody in the center.
I'm a catch, y'all.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
My Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Yard
Now that I'm married, babied, and hedging on 30, the only (mostly) sane man who would believe I'm a 10 is dependent on me for hot meals and marital favors. Apparently, though, my breasts have taken on a spectacular life of their own. (for photographic evidence, check out my sister's blog here for a photo of us at my other sister's wedding. Fifth photo down, that's me in the red. And yes, I would be the younger sister - by 10 years - even though you would never guess that from the photo.)
So this morning, in the middle of the business meeting for our mother's club, Jack walked up to me and stared thoughtfully at my chest for a moment.
"Mommy? Your boobies look like buns."
(*pause*)
"Do they, then. What sort of buns? Bread buns? Butt buns?"
"BREAD buns!" he giggled. "Why do they look like that?"
"I dunno...."
"I know! Because they're squished next to each other!"
Yup. Still got it.
So this morning, in the middle of the business meeting for our mother's club, Jack walked up to me and stared thoughtfully at my chest for a moment.
"Mommy? Your boobies look like buns."
(*pause*)
"Do they, then. What sort of buns? Bread buns? Butt buns?"
"BREAD buns!" he giggled. "Why do they look like that?"
"I dunno...."
"I know! Because they're squished next to each other!"
Yup. Still got it.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Tiny Fist of Iron
Jack's bedtime routine has evolved recently, and he now demands that his evening ends with a story followed by the songs "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Silent Night" (which he refers to as "the commercial song", thanks to a Christmas ad from pampers that showed sleeping babies while a woman's voice sang the carol).
Silent Night is my song, and apparently I am the only one qualified to sing it to him properly.
Itsy Spider, on the other hand, is subject to the whims of a moody four-year-old exploring the rules of command and control. I am expected - nay, commanded - to perform the hand motions, but whether or not I sing along depends on the particular evening.
Tonight, as Jack lay snuggled next to me in his bed, I put my hands into the Official Spider Position and sang the opening bars of the ditty.
"NO, Mom! You're not allowed to sing except on Mondays...."
(pause)
"Mom? What day is it today?"
"It's Monday."
"Oh. I said you're only allowed to sing Itsy Spider on Fridays. You just do the hands part. And then you can sing the commercial song."
"Uh... Huh. Okay."
He's lucky he's cute, y'all. That's all I'm saying.
Silent Night is my song, and apparently I am the only one qualified to sing it to him properly.
Itsy Spider, on the other hand, is subject to the whims of a moody four-year-old exploring the rules of command and control. I am expected - nay, commanded - to perform the hand motions, but whether or not I sing along depends on the particular evening.
Tonight, as Jack lay snuggled next to me in his bed, I put my hands into the Official Spider Position and sang the opening bars of the ditty.
"NO, Mom! You're not allowed to sing except on Mondays...."
(pause)
"Mom? What day is it today?"
"It's Monday."
"Oh. I said you're only allowed to sing Itsy Spider on Fridays. You just do the hands part. And then you can sing the commercial song."
"Uh... Huh. Okay."
He's lucky he's cute, y'all. That's all I'm saying.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Parental Advisory: Contains Irrational Levels of Cheer
My voice may be cracking like a pubescent teenager (thanks to The Cold That Will Not Die), but I soldiered on and gamely attempted to sing Jack's bedtime song. Sure enough, it was as painful to hear as it was to sing. Like listening to a CD after it's been put through a garbage disposal.
Finally, Jack tilted his head to the side, looked at my quizically, and said:
"Mommy? How did your voice get scratched?"
I so love the way his little mind works. Four-year-olds are awesome.
-------
Days passed, and my voice is now returning to my normal timbre. (If "normal" translates to "roughly the tone and pitch of a sixteen-year-old girl").
My body is still in open revolt - and it is, indeed, revolting at present. I really need to find a home for the rest of the Christmas fudge before the weight I lost creeps back up on me... in the form of dimpled, fudgy thighs. Despite this, though, the last week has been something of a honeymoon period. I find myself enjoying activities I usually dread: doing laundry, washing dishes, consciously breathing before 8am.
I think that my week away was some sort of watershed event -- though, for the life of me, I can't figure out exactly what epiphany I had. Maybe it was being around my family without being paralytically self-conscious for the first time in a decade or more. Maybe it was the reminder of some of the dysfunctional relationships that rampage through my kin. Maybe it was just the opportunity for breathing room and the chance to gain a little perspective.
Whatever the cause may be, this unexpected wave of Joie De Vivre is coming in past the swells and heading for the breakers. Tonight I actually took down the exterior Christmas decorations - and it's not even February, y'all! I may have to stop myself before I put an end to world hunger or single-handedly resolve conflict in the Middle East. Or clean out our basement storage. (That last one, by the way? Easily the most difficult. I would post photographic proof, but then you would all be privy to my dark, dark shame, and then I'd have to avoid your calls and screen all my evites to make sure we don't accidentally attend the same party because ...awkward!!!)
But suffice it to say I am doing my best to accomplish as much as I can before whatever Happy Hoodoo this is wears off and I'm back to glaring menacingly at the breakfast dishes and cursing the heavens when Toby manages to remove his diaper and use his crib as a urinal. At least for now, though, it really is All Good.
Finally, Jack tilted his head to the side, looked at my quizically, and said:
"Mommy? How did your voice get scratched?"
I so love the way his little mind works. Four-year-olds are awesome.
-------
Days passed, and my voice is now returning to my normal timbre. (If "normal" translates to "roughly the tone and pitch of a sixteen-year-old girl").
My body is still in open revolt - and it is, indeed, revolting at present. I really need to find a home for the rest of the Christmas fudge before the weight I lost creeps back up on me... in the form of dimpled, fudgy thighs. Despite this, though, the last week has been something of a honeymoon period. I find myself enjoying activities I usually dread: doing laundry, washing dishes, consciously breathing before 8am.
I think that my week away was some sort of watershed event -- though, for the life of me, I can't figure out exactly what epiphany I had. Maybe it was being around my family without being paralytically self-conscious for the first time in a decade or more. Maybe it was the reminder of some of the dysfunctional relationships that rampage through my kin. Maybe it was just the opportunity for breathing room and the chance to gain a little perspective.
Whatever the cause may be, this unexpected wave of Joie De Vivre is coming in past the swells and heading for the breakers. Tonight I actually took down the exterior Christmas decorations - and it's not even February, y'all! I may have to stop myself before I put an end to world hunger or single-handedly resolve conflict in the Middle East. Or clean out our basement storage. (That last one, by the way? Easily the most difficult. I would post photographic proof, but then you would all be privy to my dark, dark shame, and then I'd have to avoid your calls and screen all my evites to make sure we don't accidentally attend the same party because ...awkward!!!)
But suffice it to say I am doing my best to accomplish as much as I can before whatever Happy Hoodoo this is wears off and I'm back to glaring menacingly at the breakfast dishes and cursing the heavens when Toby manages to remove his diaper and use his crib as a urinal. At least for now, though, it really is All Good.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Suburban Serenity.
I woke briefly this morning as T climbed into the shower. Snuggled on either side of me were the boys. Two warm little bodies, quiet and still, wrapped around me from both sides. It lasted about a minute and a half before the maniacs arose and the day began.
Fed the dog our leftover scrambled eggs. Because I was feeling generous.
Decided to leave the Christmas tree up... just one more day. It cheers up the living room. I need to hang more pictures in there or something.
No appointments, commitments, or catastrophes to handle today. Just have to get Jack to preschool, grab a few things at the grocery store, and get Toby home for a nap while I settle in to catch up on the new (unscripted!) episodes of The Daily Show and Colbert Report on the TiVO and fold a little laundry.
Every day should begin this way.
Fed the dog our leftover scrambled eggs. Because I was feeling generous.
Decided to leave the Christmas tree up... just one more day. It cheers up the living room. I need to hang more pictures in there or something.
No appointments, commitments, or catastrophes to handle today. Just have to get Jack to preschool, grab a few things at the grocery store, and get Toby home for a nap while I settle in to catch up on the new (unscripted!) episodes of The Daily Show and Colbert Report on the TiVO and fold a little laundry.
Every day should begin this way.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Geeks R Us.
Each of the boys is in front of a separate television.
Toby is in the play room playing Lego Star Wars on the GameCube.
Jack is in the family room playing Lego Star Wars: The Original Trilogy on the new xBox 360.
If anyone requires a handbook on The Care and Feeding of Small Nerds? We've got you covered. Just ask T. He is currently hunched over the stove making Hamburger Helper Double Cheeseburger Macaroni (with ground turkey, 'natch) for dinner.
And now he's blaming me for the sad culinary state of our household.
In my defense? I blame him. After all, how am I supposed to do things like.. grocery shop.... and find recipes... when I'm in it up to my eyeballs in Puzzle Quest?
Toby is in the play room playing Lego Star Wars on the GameCube.
Jack is in the family room playing Lego Star Wars: The Original Trilogy on the new xBox 360.
If anyone requires a handbook on The Care and Feeding of Small Nerds? We've got you covered. Just ask T. He is currently hunched over the stove making Hamburger Helper Double Cheeseburger Macaroni (with ground turkey, 'natch) for dinner.
And now he's blaming me for the sad culinary state of our household.
In my defense? I blame him. After all, how am I supposed to do things like.. grocery shop.... and find recipes... when I'm in it up to my eyeballs in Puzzle Quest?
Friday, January 04, 2008
And then it went KA-BOOM!
Christmas happened, and there was much gift-giving and shameless materialism and even a few expressions of sincere affection at our house.
Big Daddy T got his xbox 360 and immediately claimed it as his saucy mistress. Which is only a little awkward, since I end up chatting with his friend Chris over the headsets as often as he does while we play Halo 3. Also while I blast the effing aych-ee-double-hockey-sticks out of the alien scum. Because I'm a lady.
I didn't really ask for anything this year except the Amy Winehouse album, which T neglected to get because (as he pointed out) I can just as easily get it off of iTunes. Instead, he got me something totally unexpected and completely awesome. In lieu of a photo of the actual item (which I somehow neglected to photograph) I will share this radical shot of the scrumptious packaging...
Yes, a Coach purse. My husband is attempting to upgrade me from the ground level up, and it seems that my $10 canvas mommy bag from Walmart was as good a place as any to start. So, now I carry my fabulous (still big enough to hold a diaper and small spare wipes) purse with me everywhere I go, and try not to think about the fact that it cost as much as I would spend on clothes in a year. Okay, so for a year that number may be pitifully low. Which, incidentally, is the other part of my directive: Buy Nice Clothes. Which I will totally start working on... as soon as I lose the last 15 pounds.
The boys got too many toys to enumerate, sadly. The highlight, I think, was the kitchen set I got from JC Penney for $35. Of course, at that price, I knew there would be a catch. I just didn't know there would be 175 or so of them. You see, the kitchen came totally unassembled. I wish I had taken photos to share, but I was apparently so stricken at the realization that every. single. piece. was unconnected, I sorta blacked out for a few hours and somehow got it put together just before dinner.
Of course, after their recent introduction to Toy Story, they had to get matching Buzz Lightyear action figures.
And then their heads exploded.
After Christmas, of course, I headed to parts west for my sister's New Years Eve wedding in Salt Lake City. I have all sorts of anecdotes I am sure I could share - and still yet may - but for the moment, let's just stick to the highlights of the trip.
- The Kaboom. In the first 48 hours that I was gone, T and the boys all came down with fever and chest cough. The cat got trapped in our bedroom overnight with T and peed on our bed. The boys got into the Christmas stockings and ate, between them, an entire package of chewing gum. The boys also left the stockings laying out which brings us to the part where the dog ate 3 entire Tobleronne bars. The dog, by the way, is fine. I, on the other hand, and still somewhat grief-stricken at the loss of the chocolate. But I'll be okay. Time heals all wounds, and all that. Eventually.
- Saw "I Am Legend" with my sister Shannon and her teenage son. Their family is so fan-freaking-tastic I hardly know where to begin. Theirs is one of the few places I can walk into and feel immediately at home. We had good conversation and some lively debate, and even added a little icing to an already sweet relationship. Also, she makes me brave in my style choices and reminds me that, in all ways, just being myself is quite good enough. Even though her 11-year-old daughter can play circles around me on the violin. Hey, at least my teenage nephew (who has the most wickedly awesome hair, by the way) was willing to sit with us at the movie. So at least I haven't reached "sit three rows back and pretend not to know the adult" status. Yet, anyway.
- Got to have Sushi with Dr. Allie and another old acquaintance. The sushi was awesome, the Saki was hot, and the chance to catch up and let our hair down was priceless.
- Sat next to my last surviving Grandma at the wedding. She had one of her more lucid moments, and we had a nice chat. And she didn't comment on the pierced nose or the wild hair, just laughed at my jokes and let me put my arm around her during the ceremony and generally acted grandmotherly.
- At our wedding five years ago T and I gave the DJ explicit instructions about the type of music to play for the first few hours of the reception. With T's dad being retired military and currently in government, there were a fair few military and government-dignitary-types present. My sister, of course, did a little flirting and convinced the DJ to play Nelly's "It's getting hot in here (so take off all your clothes)" in the first 10 minutes.
It took five years, but I finally served up the payback. I had a little chat with the DJ, agreed to take any and all blame, and finally served my sis a dose of her own medicine. Being Utah, of course, she got the benefit of the DJ dubbing out the more offensive parts of the song (not so at our wedding, for the record) but still. Payback was sweet, baby.
- Watched fireworks at eye level on the 23rd floor of the Wells Fargo building in Salt Lake City at midnight. It was a weird moment - no T to kiss or snuggle up to. Just me, standing in a room of family and strangers, a little island unto myself. I was exhausted, oddly serene, and fiercely homesick. I think maybe it took being so far away from my home and our own little family to realize how much those things are the center of my life. Extended family is lovely, and it's nice to catch up once in a while, but if I had to make a choice... I'd choose T and the boys over anyone or anywhere else in the world every time.
---
All in all, more has happened in the last few weeks than I can properly record. I'm ready to move on into 2008. I'm sure I'll probably look back here and there, and toss in a thing or two I forgot, but for the most part... I have already moved on. I'm ready for something good - no - GREAT to happen. I'm ready for a new year.
As soon as I get over this gnarly chest cold, that is.
Big Daddy T got his xbox 360 and immediately claimed it as his saucy mistress. Which is only a little awkward, since I end up chatting with his friend Chris over the headsets as often as he does while we play Halo 3. Also while I blast the effing aych-ee-double-hockey-sticks out of the alien scum. Because I'm a lady.
I didn't really ask for anything this year except the Amy Winehouse album, which T neglected to get because (as he pointed out) I can just as easily get it off of iTunes. Instead, he got me something totally unexpected and completely awesome. In lieu of a photo of the actual item (which I somehow neglected to photograph) I will share this radical shot of the scrumptious packaging...
Yes, a Coach purse. My husband is attempting to upgrade me from the ground level up, and it seems that my $10 canvas mommy bag from Walmart was as good a place as any to start. So, now I carry my fabulous (still big enough to hold a diaper and small spare wipes) purse with me everywhere I go, and try not to think about the fact that it cost as much as I would spend on clothes in a year. Okay, so for a year that number may be pitifully low. Which, incidentally, is the other part of my directive: Buy Nice Clothes. Which I will totally start working on... as soon as I lose the last 15 pounds.
The boys got too many toys to enumerate, sadly. The highlight, I think, was the kitchen set I got from JC Penney for $35. Of course, at that price, I knew there would be a catch. I just didn't know there would be 175 or so of them. You see, the kitchen came totally unassembled. I wish I had taken photos to share, but I was apparently so stricken at the realization that every. single. piece. was unconnected, I sorta blacked out for a few hours and somehow got it put together just before dinner.
Of course, after their recent introduction to Toy Story, they had to get matching Buzz Lightyear action figures.
And then their heads exploded.
After Christmas, of course, I headed to parts west for my sister's New Years Eve wedding in Salt Lake City. I have all sorts of anecdotes I am sure I could share - and still yet may - but for the moment, let's just stick to the highlights of the trip.
- The Kaboom. In the first 48 hours that I was gone, T and the boys all came down with fever and chest cough. The cat got trapped in our bedroom overnight with T and peed on our bed. The boys got into the Christmas stockings and ate, between them, an entire package of chewing gum. The boys also left the stockings laying out which brings us to the part where the dog ate 3 entire Tobleronne bars. The dog, by the way, is fine. I, on the other hand, and still somewhat grief-stricken at the loss of the chocolate. But I'll be okay. Time heals all wounds, and all that. Eventually.
- Saw "I Am Legend" with my sister Shannon and her teenage son. Their family is so fan-freaking-tastic I hardly know where to begin. Theirs is one of the few places I can walk into and feel immediately at home. We had good conversation and some lively debate, and even added a little icing to an already sweet relationship. Also, she makes me brave in my style choices and reminds me that, in all ways, just being myself is quite good enough. Even though her 11-year-old daughter can play circles around me on the violin. Hey, at least my teenage nephew (who has the most wickedly awesome hair, by the way) was willing to sit with us at the movie. So at least I haven't reached "sit three rows back and pretend not to know the adult" status. Yet, anyway.
- Got to have Sushi with Dr. Allie and another old acquaintance. The sushi was awesome, the Saki was hot, and the chance to catch up and let our hair down was priceless.
- Sat next to my last surviving Grandma at the wedding. She had one of her more lucid moments, and we had a nice chat. And she didn't comment on the pierced nose or the wild hair, just laughed at my jokes and let me put my arm around her during the ceremony and generally acted grandmotherly.
- At our wedding five years ago T and I gave the DJ explicit instructions about the type of music to play for the first few hours of the reception. With T's dad being retired military and currently in government, there were a fair few military and government-dignitary-types present. My sister, of course, did a little flirting and convinced the DJ to play Nelly's "It's getting hot in here (so take off all your clothes)" in the first 10 minutes.
It took five years, but I finally served up the payback. I had a little chat with the DJ, agreed to take any and all blame, and finally served my sis a dose of her own medicine. Being Utah, of course, she got the benefit of the DJ dubbing out the more offensive parts of the song (not so at our wedding, for the record) but still. Payback was sweet, baby.
- Watched fireworks at eye level on the 23rd floor of the Wells Fargo building in Salt Lake City at midnight. It was a weird moment - no T to kiss or snuggle up to. Just me, standing in a room of family and strangers, a little island unto myself. I was exhausted, oddly serene, and fiercely homesick. I think maybe it took being so far away from my home and our own little family to realize how much those things are the center of my life. Extended family is lovely, and it's nice to catch up once in a while, but if I had to make a choice... I'd choose T and the boys over anyone or anywhere else in the world every time.
---
All in all, more has happened in the last few weeks than I can properly record. I'm ready to move on into 2008. I'm sure I'll probably look back here and there, and toss in a thing or two I forgot, but for the most part... I have already moved on. I'm ready for something good - no - GREAT to happen. I'm ready for a new year.
As soon as I get over this gnarly chest cold, that is.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Mousey Christmas To All.
So last night we're engaging in some holiday chicanery - you know: baking, talking, watching socio-politically aware movies (Blood Diamond was very good, if not very Cheer-inducing).
Not a creature was stirring....
When what to our wondering eyes should appear? But a mouse, which we noticed just as he scurried under the oven.
Chloe the cat noticed, too. She took up a post in the nearest corner of the room and waited. And waited. And then, being a cat, was distracted by something shiny - perhaps a puff of tinsel, or perhaps the sushi we were eating for dinner.
Whatever the reason, be it tinsel or fish, I believe we all wished the same holiday wish: for that little grey mouse to be gone.
But holidays are crazy, there's just so much to do, so we all shrugged our shoulders with nary a clue how to handle this unwelcome guest.
Until this morning, you see, when I was preparing to roll out the dough we mixed up before bed. I opened the drawer that's under the oven, where we keep all the pans for cookies and muffins, just in time to see the top of his head.
Our mouse had taken up residence in the drawer.
At the first sight of me, of course, he disappeared beneath the pans. I was left wondering what I was going to do about a mouse in the drawer. Also, I wondered how I would remove the pan I needed without crushing the little vermin. Because the last thing you want to remember when you are baking is that this is the drawer where you had to sterilize out the smashed remains of a possibly diseased rodent.
I removed the pans, one at a time, and found the mouse - stunned into a lifeless lump - at the bottom. I covered him with a tupperware and scooped him up. Then I stared at him. Did I accidentally crush him with one of the pans after all? He seemed to be breathing. Was that a twitch of the whiskers? I stared at him, wondering what to do, until several minutes had passed.
I puzzled puzz'd (yes, till my puzzler was sore) when something happened I hadn't expected before. The little mouse sat up, revived. So I thought a bit more, then opened the door, and behind the fence set him free, still alive.
It must be that Christmas is practically here. I can think of no reason except "time of year" that I felt such concern for a mouse. Especially one that caused such great stress (not to mention a big heap ofpoop, er, I mean "mess") in venturing into our house...
So Merry Christmas to all, the tall and the small, and be sure to show how much you care....
Share smiles with abandon, show kindness at random, and from further terrible mouse poetry may you be spared.
Not a creature was stirring....
When what to our wondering eyes should appear? But a mouse, which we noticed just as he scurried under the oven.
Chloe the cat noticed, too. She took up a post in the nearest corner of the room and waited. And waited. And then, being a cat, was distracted by something shiny - perhaps a puff of tinsel, or perhaps the sushi we were eating for dinner.
Whatever the reason, be it tinsel or fish, I believe we all wished the same holiday wish: for that little grey mouse to be gone.
But holidays are crazy, there's just so much to do, so we all shrugged our shoulders with nary a clue how to handle this unwelcome guest.
Until this morning, you see, when I was preparing to roll out the dough we mixed up before bed. I opened the drawer that's under the oven, where we keep all the pans for cookies and muffins, just in time to see the top of his head.
Our mouse had taken up residence in the drawer.
At the first sight of me, of course, he disappeared beneath the pans. I was left wondering what I was going to do about a mouse in the drawer. Also, I wondered how I would remove the pan I needed without crushing the little vermin. Because the last thing you want to remember when you are baking is that this is the drawer where you had to sterilize out the smashed remains of a possibly diseased rodent.
I removed the pans, one at a time, and found the mouse - stunned into a lifeless lump - at the bottom. I covered him with a tupperware and scooped him up. Then I stared at him. Did I accidentally crush him with one of the pans after all? He seemed to be breathing. Was that a twitch of the whiskers? I stared at him, wondering what to do, until several minutes had passed.
I puzzled puzz'd (yes, till my puzzler was sore) when something happened I hadn't expected before. The little mouse sat up, revived. So I thought a bit more, then opened the door, and behind the fence set him free, still alive.
It must be that Christmas is practically here. I can think of no reason except "time of year" that I felt such concern for a mouse. Especially one that caused such great stress (not to mention a big heap of
So Merry Christmas to all, the tall and the small, and be sure to show how much you care....
Share smiles with abandon, show kindness at random, and from further terrible mouse poetry may you be spared.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Rest, Relaxation, and Return to Reality
The Inn was everything we hoped and more. Today, I actually feel almost human. Also, I am no longer experiencing one giant anxiety attack in regard to Christmas and everything that still needs to be finished before Tuesday morning.
Here are a few of the high points of the evening and morning at our B&B retreat. WARNING: I may wax romantic and poetic and whatnot. Old houses and unbridled pampering will do that to a girl.
The Inn opens with a tavern, complete with incredible antique furniture, paneled walls and a grand piano beckoning for a passer-by to make themselves at home and coax the music from its aging ivories.
The passageways in the main house are impossibly tiny, built to suit smaller bodies of a bygone era. Exposed beams along the high ceilings had the delicious, velvety patina that comes with the aging of hard wood under rich lacquer.
Dinner in front of the fireplace served on antique tableware. Seven courses of pure bliss. A filet mignon so tender, she wasn't kidding when she handed me the butter knife and said "you really won't need this."
The "Winter Cottage" welcomed us with a giant, antique bed perched on Tuscan-tile floors. The jacuzzi tub was deep enough for the swirling bubbles to reach my chin. The gas fireplace cast dancing lights on the hand-painted walls and vaulted ceiling. The crisp, embroidered linens felt clean and cool on the skin.
Morning brought a cascade of heavenly, scalding water in the giant, tiled shower. Coffee and muffins by the fire, Pellegrino and fresh fruit. A view of the Manor house and the stream, emerging like spectres from the fog as the hazy clouds lifted in the warmth of the morning sun.
Returning home was surreal. Waving goodbye to T as he drove off, alone, into the rest of the day. Wandering from the cold and the quiet into the bustling warmth of our chaotic life. My taste of luxury was traded back in for our modest home, with its messy kitchen, the piles of dirty laundry waiting to be washed and clean laundry to be folded.
Then two tiny pairs of arms grabbed hold of my legs, sticky kisses were planted on my cheeks, and I found that - though I enjoyed every minute of our brief getaway- when it comes to my messy, chaotic life... I am already spoiled beyond what I deserve. The rest is just icing.
Here are a few of the high points of the evening and morning at our B&B retreat. WARNING: I may wax romantic and poetic and whatnot. Old houses and unbridled pampering will do that to a girl.
The Inn opens with a tavern, complete with incredible antique furniture, paneled walls and a grand piano beckoning for a passer-by to make themselves at home and coax the music from its aging ivories.
The passageways in the main house are impossibly tiny, built to suit smaller bodies of a bygone era. Exposed beams along the high ceilings had the delicious, velvety patina that comes with the aging of hard wood under rich lacquer.
Dinner in front of the fireplace served on antique tableware. Seven courses of pure bliss. A filet mignon so tender, she wasn't kidding when she handed me the butter knife and said "you really won't need this."
The "Winter Cottage" welcomed us with a giant, antique bed perched on Tuscan-tile floors. The jacuzzi tub was deep enough for the swirling bubbles to reach my chin. The gas fireplace cast dancing lights on the hand-painted walls and vaulted ceiling. The crisp, embroidered linens felt clean and cool on the skin.
Morning brought a cascade of heavenly, scalding water in the giant, tiled shower. Coffee and muffins by the fire, Pellegrino and fresh fruit. A view of the Manor house and the stream, emerging like spectres from the fog as the hazy clouds lifted in the warmth of the morning sun.
Returning home was surreal. Waving goodbye to T as he drove off, alone, into the rest of the day. Wandering from the cold and the quiet into the bustling warmth of our chaotic life. My taste of luxury was traded back in for our modest home, with its messy kitchen, the piles of dirty laundry waiting to be washed and clean laundry to be folded.
Then two tiny pairs of arms grabbed hold of my legs, sticky kisses were planted on my cheeks, and I found that - though I enjoyed every minute of our brief getaway- when it comes to my messy, chaotic life... I am already spoiled beyond what I deserve. The rest is just icing.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Of Sisters and (Not-So) Secrets.
My sister has a blog! Did I mention that before?
Well, I mention it now because the buyer who was supposed to close on their Utah house just lost financing. SO they are still stuck with 2 houses, and she's having a bad day. Also? Apparently someone in our faux-prudish family busted her for telling the story of how the Angel came to sit atop the Christmas tree. (Personally, I laughed the first time I read it a few years ago... and again when she posted it.)
SO I felt the urge to write her a poem. Because I am just the sort of sister who is helpful that way. I mean, really, what ills exist in life that a silly poem cannot cure? Well, a poem or a bazillion dollars. Since spiders are now nesting in my empty wallet and the bank card audibly whimpered when I paid for gas yesterday (Thank You Christmas) I opted to go the poem route.
For your reading pleasure:
A Poem.
So sorry to hear that your buyer fell through
That sucks more than a Christmas tree up the wazoo
It may be that your humor's a little askew,
But I'm your sister, and mine is, too.
When it comes to warped humor there's one thing that's true
It's not far from the oak tree that we acorns grew.
*******************************************
And now for something completely different!
For weeks I have been planning a surprise getaway with T for tonight. Before the Spinal Injections of Doom, before the Great Appendix Crisis of 2007. I have been telling him I am taking him out to dinner at a surprise location.
In truth, I arranged with the owner of a local B&B (who also happens to be another mom from Jack's preschool class) to get a room at the Inn for an incredible price, as well as have a lovely dinner and breakfast for the 2 of us there.
Now, given that he is my most avid reader, you may be saying "But how is it a surprise if you're writing about it here?" And to that, my friend, I say "Exactly."
You see for the last several months T has always worked from home on Fridays. Like clockwork. Without deviation. But, due to the aforementioned Appendix Crisis and yesterday's Christmas program at Jack's school, he has been working from home a lot lately. And so, yesterday, he announced he would be going into the office tomorrow.
I argued with as much feigned disinterest as possible. I attempted to dissuade him, to cajole him, to be insistent to the point of obnoxious -- all without divulging the secret reason for my objection.
Finally, after losing the argument and starting to panic, I spilled the beans. For which, incidentally, T is very happy. Now he can look forward to our getaway all day today, and has also made arrangements to make his schedule fit for tomorrow. So, while I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to totally blindside him (this time) (2 surprise birthday parties and 1 very arduously-attained signed copy of his favorite childhood novel having been sprung on him without a hitch) I am glad that it doesn't change the fact that we have an entire evening to look forward to. Alone. Together. With our Scrabble board.
That's not a euphemism, by the way. We always play scrabble when we have a night alone. Also, we put together puzzles. Of course we also engage in activities befitting two consenting adults with a king-size bed and a jacuzzi at our disposal, but seriously - we can do that at home. Me? I'm looking forward to the Scrabble and the trash talk over a bottle of Cabernet. That, my friends, is something much more difficult to accomplish with any peace and success at home.
May you all have a romantical-type evening (or at least a relaxing one). 'Tis the season to lose your mind in the whirlwind, after all, and we all deserve a little R&R at a B&B once in a while - or at least a reasonable facsimile.
I mean, you haven't really lived until you've played Strip Scrabble, baby.
Well, I mention it now because the buyer who was supposed to close on their Utah house just lost financing. SO they are still stuck with 2 houses, and she's having a bad day. Also? Apparently someone in our faux-prudish family busted her for telling the story of how the Angel came to sit atop the Christmas tree. (Personally, I laughed the first time I read it a few years ago... and again when she posted it.)
SO I felt the urge to write her a poem. Because I am just the sort of sister who is helpful that way. I mean, really, what ills exist in life that a silly poem cannot cure? Well, a poem or a bazillion dollars. Since spiders are now nesting in my empty wallet and the bank card audibly whimpered when I paid for gas yesterday (Thank You Christmas) I opted to go the poem route.
For your reading pleasure:
A Poem.
So sorry to hear that your buyer fell through
That sucks more than a Christmas tree up the wazoo
It may be that your humor's a little askew,
But I'm your sister, and mine is, too.
When it comes to warped humor there's one thing that's true
It's not far from the oak tree that we acorns grew.
*******************************************
And now for something completely different!
For weeks I have been planning a surprise getaway with T for tonight. Before the Spinal Injections of Doom, before the Great Appendix Crisis of 2007. I have been telling him I am taking him out to dinner at a surprise location.
In truth, I arranged with the owner of a local B&B (who also happens to be another mom from Jack's preschool class) to get a room at the Inn for an incredible price, as well as have a lovely dinner and breakfast for the 2 of us there.
Now, given that he is my most avid reader, you may be saying "But how is it a surprise if you're writing about it here?" And to that, my friend, I say "Exactly."
You see for the last several months T has always worked from home on Fridays. Like clockwork. Without deviation. But, due to the aforementioned Appendix Crisis and yesterday's Christmas program at Jack's school, he has been working from home a lot lately. And so, yesterday, he announced he would be going into the office tomorrow.
I argued with as much feigned disinterest as possible. I attempted to dissuade him, to cajole him, to be insistent to the point of obnoxious -- all without divulging the secret reason for my objection.
Finally, after losing the argument and starting to panic, I spilled the beans. For which, incidentally, T is very happy. Now he can look forward to our getaway all day today, and has also made arrangements to make his schedule fit for tomorrow. So, while I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to totally blindside him (this time) (2 surprise birthday parties and 1 very arduously-attained signed copy of his favorite childhood novel having been sprung on him without a hitch) I am glad that it doesn't change the fact that we have an entire evening to look forward to. Alone. Together. With our Scrabble board.
That's not a euphemism, by the way. We always play scrabble when we have a night alone. Also, we put together puzzles. Of course we also engage in activities befitting two consenting adults with a king-size bed and a jacuzzi at our disposal, but seriously - we can do that at home. Me? I'm looking forward to the Scrabble and the trash talk over a bottle of Cabernet. That, my friends, is something much more difficult to accomplish with any peace and success at home.
May you all have a romantical-type evening (or at least a relaxing one). 'Tis the season to lose your mind in the whirlwind, after all, and we all deserve a little R&R at a B&B once in a while - or at least a reasonable facsimile.
I mean, you haven't really lived until you've played Strip Scrabble, baby.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Jingle with Joy for Jesus
You know, Mormons in general are pretty sedate about religion. What I mean is, they generally speak about all things religious in relatively hushed, reverent tones. I didn't get a lot of exposure to the "Jesus Rocks!" brand of religion that's so popular these days with Evangelicals. Now that Jack attends a Methodist preschool, though, I'm finally getting a first-hand look at exuberant religion.
The school does have the best curriculum in town. For the time being we don't address the religion issue and simply let him enjoy being part of the class and belting out "My God Is So Big" with the other kids.
There are times, though, when the sedate nature of our own household's non-religious-ness (unless you count the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Jack's getting a "Pastafarian" t-shirt in his stocking.) gets a little shaken up by this situation. I was reminded of this today, when the above title was pasted in 2-foot lettering on the message board in the hallway today.
Jingle With Joy For Jesus, indeed.
Then there's Jack's habit of praying before bed each night. It started as a desire to tell me about his school closing prayer one night at bedtime, and turned into a nightly ritual. After a few nights, I realized that - while I don't actually pray myself anymore - the prayer itself could just as easily be considered a humanist mantra of sorts.
"Dear God. Help us to do the things we should: To always be kind and good. To do and work and play. To grow more loving every day. Amen"
Given that these are all noble aspirations that we are trying to teach him, it seems good enough to let him be self-directed in this little ritual for as long as he chooses. T and I were both taken aback at first, but we are both determined to allow him to just learn as he goes for now and, as the questions start to come, answer them as best we can. For now, it's just fun for him to be part of the class.
As a kid who never quite felt like I belonged, myself, I have to admit that it does my heart good to see how easily Jack navigates his way through the class. Everyone is his friend, and he is friends with everyone. I hope that stays at least mostly true his whole life -- I want him to be able to appreciate and get along with all kinds of people. Evangelicals are everywhere, so I guess it's as good a place as any to start.
Plus, once they got past the tattoo and the nose piercing, the other parents have been pretty cool to me, too. So maybe Jack's not the only one learning to play well with others....
The school does have the best curriculum in town. For the time being we don't address the religion issue and simply let him enjoy being part of the class and belting out "My God Is So Big" with the other kids.
There are times, though, when the sedate nature of our own household's non-religious-ness (unless you count the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Jack's getting a "Pastafarian" t-shirt in his stocking.) gets a little shaken up by this situation. I was reminded of this today, when the above title was pasted in 2-foot lettering on the message board in the hallway today.
Jingle With Joy For Jesus, indeed.
Then there's Jack's habit of praying before bed each night. It started as a desire to tell me about his school closing prayer one night at bedtime, and turned into a nightly ritual. After a few nights, I realized that - while I don't actually pray myself anymore - the prayer itself could just as easily be considered a humanist mantra of sorts.
"Dear God. Help us to do the things we should: To always be kind and good. To do and work and play. To grow more loving every day. Amen"
Given that these are all noble aspirations that we are trying to teach him, it seems good enough to let him be self-directed in this little ritual for as long as he chooses. T and I were both taken aback at first, but we are both determined to allow him to just learn as he goes for now and, as the questions start to come, answer them as best we can. For now, it's just fun for him to be part of the class.
As a kid who never quite felt like I belonged, myself, I have to admit that it does my heart good to see how easily Jack navigates his way through the class. Everyone is his friend, and he is friends with everyone. I hope that stays at least mostly true his whole life -- I want him to be able to appreciate and get along with all kinds of people. Evangelicals are everywhere, so I guess it's as good a place as any to start.
Plus, once they got past the tattoo and the nose piercing, the other parents have been pretty cool to me, too. So maybe Jack's not the only one learning to play well with others....
Monday, December 17, 2007
Good Morning To You.
I wake to the touch of a pair of small, damp lips on my cheek.
"Good morning, Mommy."
"Good morning to you, Jack."
He climbs half over me to lean down and give his father the same treatment, then retreats back to the side of our bed.
"You want to get in the middle and snuggle, Buddy?"
"No thank you. I just wanted to come kiss you good morning. I'm going back to bed now."
"Good morning, Mommy."
"Good morning to you, Jack."
He climbs half over me to lean down and give his father the same treatment, then retreats back to the side of our bed.
"You want to get in the middle and snuggle, Buddy?"
"No thank you. I just wanted to come kiss you good morning. I'm going back to bed now."
Friday, December 14, 2007
Luck Is All Perspective.
Since we're leaving tomorrow for a early Fun Family Christmas Weekend with T's family in Virginia, I thought I ought to at least check in before we head out. You know - give you the Reader's Digest version of How Crazy My Life Is Today.
Case in point: It is becoming distressingly evident that I react to personal crises in a very particular way: Baked Goods. The Moms from my Moms Club group brought dinner in for 4 days, and it was all I could do to sit down and enjoy a lovely meal (okay, so it's possible I was curled up in the recliner in front of the television and howling for another percocet while enjoying my dinner) and not simply shove my face directly into the containers of Desserts!
Chocolate cake. White cake with chocolate AND vanilla icing. Christmas cookies. And the evil, evil chocolate cookies with peppermint hershey kisses in the center.
But was this enough, you ask, to satiate my craving for comfort sweets? Oh, No, my friends.
So it was that I found myself in the kitchen this morning.... up to my armpits in 3 different varieties of fudge (chocolate, butterscotch rum, and peppermint with little bits of soft candy cane), spiced sugar cookies, and the last batch of fresh pumpkin pies from this year's pumpkin baking frenzy.
I'll be lucky to fit in my seat when I fly to Utah in a few weeks.
Of course, I thought our days of dining in on meals not made from creatively altered macaroni and cheese were over... And then came The Box. A large, white, styrofoam box from Omaha Steaks arrived on our porch with enough food to keep us dining like royalty for days. Turns out T's friend and his wife were worried about us, what with me being poked and prodded and surgically repaired, and wanted to make sure we didn't revert to a diet of Ramen Noodles.
Soon thereafter I also received a lovely bouqet of flowers from T's office. I think it might have made them feel a little guilty, him having to jump a plane from Singapore and arriving home 24 hours too late to hold my hand while the hospital people cut me open to remove body parts. But they did hustle him home, to be fair, and let him work from home this entire week so that he could cater to my every whim.
Mostly he listened to me whine and brought me my pain meds. Well, "mostly" meaning "in between doing work-work, school-work, and caring entirely for the children and animals".
Have I mentioned I married a fairly saintly fellow? Because honestly... Why he ever thought he was getting the good end of this deal when we got married is beyond me. (He is currently assuring me it was something to do with the sex. Also possibly the Christmas cookies, but mosty it was the pumpkin pies.)
At the end of the day, I am adding up my good fortune. In the past 10 days I have had my appendix nearly rupture and be surgically removed and had needles stuck into my back to alleviate a six-month battle with a herniated spinal disc and nerve damage to my right leg... But I didn't have to focus on anything but the healing process. The boys were constantly cared for, first by an incredibly awesome neighbor and then by their incredibly awesome Dad. T's Mom made sure I didn't have to be alone in the hospital through that terrifying ordeal, and even held it together when I was writhing in agony, puking up stomach acid and CT scan contrast. T kept the house from falling down around our ears and kept me comfortably medicated and swaddled in blankets.
And so it is that, today, I got to spend the day cutting out cookies with the boys, stirring cauldrons of candy until the "soft ball" stage, and rolling out pie crusts to fill with fresh-baked goodness. The Christmas shopping is done, the house is decorated, the goodies are baked, and there's nothing left to do but settle in to enjoy all the festivities and wait for that magic day to come. I get to end this day exhausted, mostly pain-free, and coated in sweat and flour.
My friends, I lead a charmed life. Mostly.
Case in point: It is becoming distressingly evident that I react to personal crises in a very particular way: Baked Goods. The Moms from my Moms Club group brought dinner in for 4 days, and it was all I could do to sit down and enjoy a lovely meal (okay, so it's possible I was curled up in the recliner in front of the television and howling for another percocet while enjoying my dinner) and not simply shove my face directly into the containers of Desserts!
Chocolate cake. White cake with chocolate AND vanilla icing. Christmas cookies. And the evil, evil chocolate cookies with peppermint hershey kisses in the center.
But was this enough, you ask, to satiate my craving for comfort sweets? Oh, No, my friends.
So it was that I found myself in the kitchen this morning.... up to my armpits in 3 different varieties of fudge (chocolate, butterscotch rum, and peppermint with little bits of soft candy cane), spiced sugar cookies, and the last batch of fresh pumpkin pies from this year's pumpkin baking frenzy.
I'll be lucky to fit in my seat when I fly to Utah in a few weeks.
Of course, I thought our days of dining in on meals not made from creatively altered macaroni and cheese were over... And then came The Box. A large, white, styrofoam box from Omaha Steaks arrived on our porch with enough food to keep us dining like royalty for days. Turns out T's friend and his wife were worried about us, what with me being poked and prodded and surgically repaired, and wanted to make sure we didn't revert to a diet of Ramen Noodles.
Soon thereafter I also received a lovely bouqet of flowers from T's office. I think it might have made them feel a little guilty, him having to jump a plane from Singapore and arriving home 24 hours too late to hold my hand while the hospital people cut me open to remove body parts. But they did hustle him home, to be fair, and let him work from home this entire week so that he could cater to my every whim.
Mostly he listened to me whine and brought me my pain meds. Well, "mostly" meaning "in between doing work-work, school-work, and caring entirely for the children and animals".
Have I mentioned I married a fairly saintly fellow? Because honestly... Why he ever thought he was getting the good end of this deal when we got married is beyond me. (He is currently assuring me it was something to do with the sex. Also possibly the Christmas cookies, but mosty it was the pumpkin pies.)
At the end of the day, I am adding up my good fortune. In the past 10 days I have had my appendix nearly rupture and be surgically removed and had needles stuck into my back to alleviate a six-month battle with a herniated spinal disc and nerve damage to my right leg... But I didn't have to focus on anything but the healing process. The boys were constantly cared for, first by an incredibly awesome neighbor and then by their incredibly awesome Dad. T's Mom made sure I didn't have to be alone in the hospital through that terrifying ordeal, and even held it together when I was writhing in agony, puking up stomach acid and CT scan contrast. T kept the house from falling down around our ears and kept me comfortably medicated and swaddled in blankets.
And so it is that, today, I got to spend the day cutting out cookies with the boys, stirring cauldrons of candy until the "soft ball" stage, and rolling out pie crusts to fill with fresh-baked goodness. The Christmas shopping is done, the house is decorated, the goodies are baked, and there's nothing left to do but settle in to enjoy all the festivities and wait for that magic day to come. I get to end this day exhausted, mostly pain-free, and coated in sweat and flour.
My friends, I lead a charmed life. Mostly.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Christmas Survey
Still convalescing, in case you were wondering. But I am at least eating now, mostly cake. Moms have brought us lots of cake. Which is why moms are awesome, and also why my sweat smells vaguely of sugar and crisco. And you're welcome.
Dr. Allie sent me this meme in an email, and because I am still blaming the percocet for my stifled creativity you are now the benefactors of my inability to navigate my email client while heavily medicated. And you're welcome, again. The stitches come out Saturday. My back gets injected on Thursday. If I'm lucky, I might get to poop by Friday.
Once more, with feeling now.... You're Welcome!
I'm too tired to figure out who to tag with this sucker so, if you're reading this, you may officially consider yourself tagged. Ready, steady, GO!
Dr. Allie sent me this meme in an email, and because I am still blaming the percocet for my stifled creativity you are now the benefactors of my inability to navigate my email client while heavily medicated. And you're welcome, again. The stitches come out Saturday. My back gets injected on Thursday. If I'm lucky, I might get to poop by Friday.
Once more, with feeling now.... You're Welcome!
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper. Typically with ridiculously anal-retentive creases and coordinating bows. Everyone has a talent, y'all.
2. REAL OR FAKE TREE?
Love the smell of real trees, but hate the whole care and feeding portion of the activity. We have a fake one for now; I figure it will tide us over until the boys are old enough to demand authenticity. It's also pre-lit, because I am incapable of correctly wrapping lights.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Typically the weekend after Thanksgiving. There was a brief delay this year, because of my Gram passing over Thanksgiving weekend. I just wasn't up for it when we got back from Ohio, but a few days of respite and I was ready to gear up for some holiday spirit.4. When do you take the tree down?
The weekend after New Years.
5. Do you like eggnog?
My left butt cheek is entirely attributed to egg nog. In recent years I began cutting it with milk, because the hard stuff was noticeably hardening my arteries.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
Cabbage Patch Doll. I wanted that sucker for so many months, I think I actually had a small apoplexy when I opened it.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes, but I don't think we remembered to put it up this year. I should probably dig it out before I pack the rest of the boxes away in the basement...
8. Hardest person to buy for?
Honestly? Myself. I never know what I want for Christmas, and T always gets me something creative, but I never really have any good ideas for him. In recent years, though, I think I've gotten easier. A gift card for clothes or lingerie, and anything from Bath and Body Works pretty much fills in the cracks.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
T. Because he tells me what he wants starting in about March, and wages a campaign from there until December. This year was easiest, though, because he's not getting what he asked for until later in the spring, so I got him exactly what he needed instead of what he pined for. He'll still love it.
10. Worst Christmas gift you ever got?
No idea. Maybe the year that "Santa's Little Helper" gave everyone gag gifts from the Goodwill store? I think I got an oven mitt. I was 12.
11. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Mail! We've only got one so far this year (Thanks to Dr. Allie and the Amazing Wonder Steve!). Then again, I have not yet mailed OUR cards out. I'm still working on getting a decent photo of the boys to include with our Christmas letter. We'll try again this week, I guess.
12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
It's a Wonderful Life. I try to watch it every Christmas Eve, though I am forced to compete with T's everlasting worship of Bill Murray and Scrooged. I admit, Scrooged is a great movie... but when it gets down to true holiday spirit, nothing compares with Zuzu and her petals, baby.
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Typically in November. I would lie and say earlier, but the truth is I keep ahead of things about 10 minutes at a time. I keep trying to get on the ball, but I think it's a losing battle at this point in my life. I'll try again when I have grandkids. Maybe.
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Honestly, No.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Fudge, cookies... and of course Christmas Dinner - Standing rib roast, Yorkshire pudding, red cabbage....
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Clear.
17. Favorite Christmas song?
The Christmas Song.
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
Stay at home for Christmas Eve/Morning. It's all good to go to family for Christmas Dinner, though. Makes the day feel like 2 days of celebrating.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Sadly, yes. Don't forget Rudolph.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Star.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
Morning! Though I like the idea of everyone getting a new pair of PJ's and opening just that gift on Christmas Eve. Might have to start that tradition this year.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
People who absolutely miss out on the holiday spirit and can't even, at this time of year, just for a few weeks, put on a smile and be a little bit kinder to the world. Seriously, some old guy in a car full of family and kids cursed me out the other day because he didn't like T's parking job and I happened to be waiting in the passenger seat of the car. What is that about?
23. What I love most about Christmas?
Every. Single. Thing. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes. Being together with family and friends, wrapping carefully selected gifts, getting covered in flour and chocolate while making cookies and fudge. It's all so good, I can hardly hold it in.
I'm too tired to figure out who to tag with this sucker so, if you're reading this, you may officially consider yourself tagged. Ready, steady, GO!
Sunday, December 09, 2007
The Better Part Of Valor, Part Deux
Sometimes you have to laugh at life. Which I would, but the laughing causes pain beyond what the percocet can control.
That stomach pain that crashed in on me on Thursday? It got worse... before it got MUCH worse. Finally, I dropped the boys off with a friend and drove myself over to ye olde small towne Emergency Room.
Approximately 6 hours later I was strapped to an operating table with my abdomen laid open.
Needless to say, I missed my appointment with the spine center for my injection. I was too busy having my appendix removed.
It wasn't all doom and gloom, though. T's Mom came to the hospital and looked after me while I did my best not to scream obscenities in several different languages in response to the incredible pain. The boys were incredibly well cared for, had their first sleep-over at a friend's, and made me the cutest Get Well cards ever.
Big Daddy T, himself, hopped the next plane home from Singapore and arrived late yesterday to take over the care and feeding of one groggy and whimpering Me. My Moms Club is bringing in dinner for the next few days.
So, I'm loopy from the pain meds and generally feeling like I've been put through the spin cycle a few times. But! I'm alive and mostly none the worse for wear. We got the appendix out in time (the surgeon says another 12 hours and it would have burst, which I've been told is Really Not Good) and I'm settling in to take a nap in front of a movie with T and the boys.
All in all, after a scary and painful couple of days, it's quiet now and all is just about right with the world.
More later - though probably not until after I am done with pain meds. This attempting to think and put together sentences through the fuzzy cloud is making me nauseous.
That stomach pain that crashed in on me on Thursday? It got worse... before it got MUCH worse. Finally, I dropped the boys off with a friend and drove myself over to ye olde small towne Emergency Room.
Approximately 6 hours later I was strapped to an operating table with my abdomen laid open.
Needless to say, I missed my appointment with the spine center for my injection. I was too busy having my appendix removed.
It wasn't all doom and gloom, though. T's Mom came to the hospital and looked after me while I did my best not to scream obscenities in several different languages in response to the incredible pain. The boys were incredibly well cared for, had their first sleep-over at a friend's, and made me the cutest Get Well cards ever.
Big Daddy T, himself, hopped the next plane home from Singapore and arrived late yesterday to take over the care and feeding of one groggy and whimpering Me. My Moms Club is bringing in dinner for the next few days.
So, I'm loopy from the pain meds and generally feeling like I've been put through the spin cycle a few times. But! I'm alive and mostly none the worse for wear. We got the appendix out in time (the surgeon says another 12 hours and it would have burst, which I've been told is Really Not Good) and I'm settling in to take a nap in front of a movie with T and the boys.
All in all, after a scary and painful couple of days, it's quiet now and all is just about right with the world.
More later - though probably not until after I am done with pain meds. This attempting to think and put together sentences through the fuzzy cloud is making me nauseous.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
The Better Part of Valor...
I fully expected to be spending this afternoon curled into the fetal position and cursing humanity, but I expected it to be because I had just had a rather large needle inserted into my back, rather than because I can't take ibuprofen for another 48 hours prior to the procedure, which has been rescheduled to Friday afternoon due to snow.
That was a really awesome run-on sentennce, by the way.
So the snow?? We have several inches of it. The dog is ecstatic, at least. He runs outside and hurtles his body around the yard in apoplectic leaps and bounds, smashing into the fence as he attempts to navigate the corners on slick paws. It reminds me of the last time I mopped the kitchen floor, when Toby discovered the slick wetness made for perfect kitchen-slalom conditions. I swear that kid's gonna be an X-Games contender some day.
But really, who wants to talk about that when we can laugh at my Lucy-esque pratfalls?
Let's take, for example, my brilliant idea to decorate the house with exterior holiday lights. Oh, it all started out innocently enough -- light nets on the bushes, lights and garlands on a garden arch across the porch. Add a few plastic candy cane lights, some multi-functional blinking snowflakes. I even hung icicle lights along the lower portion of the front roof.
Then came the grand misunderestimation... Conveniently forgetting (or ignoring if you prefer) my well-documented Fear of the Heights and the Death By Falling, I decided I could make it up onto the top of the roof to attach the plastic clips along the edge of the (incredibly high) shingles and hang the rest of the icicles.
I made it exactly two paces onto the roof before the panic attack set in, and I was flat on my belly, drenched in sweat, and cursing fate that my children would be left motherless when the neighbors found me face down in the azaleas. After a few moments of pondering my circumstances, with Toby asleep in his crib and Jack parked in front of The Polar Express, I started the excrutiating process of talking myself down. Mostly this involved a lot of self-flagellation ("You are an exceptionally gifted moron. You do realize you have to get down from here? So c'mon, genius. Baby steps. You can't stay up here all day, you pansy!")
After several excrutiating minutes (spent hugging the roof for dear life and praying to several deities) my foot found the top rung of the ladder and I shimmied my way down. Then, I hung the rest of the icicles on the bottom of the bump out under the upper level of the house... about 4 feet off the ground.
Today it appears that the stress of the recent past has finally caught up with me. I think I might be ready to die. Please send chocolate and morphine. On top of the unmedicated back pain, my stomach finally joined my body's open rebellion with gusto. Either that, or a few of Santa's elves have gone rogue and are making gift bows OUT OF MY INTESTINES.
Did I mention we are also out of diapers? And that Toby is wearing pull-ups that are 2 sizes too big? Because that is going to be completely fantastic when he decides to transact some business.
In summary, my friends, I think it is a very good day to put the Christmas movies on repeat and snuggle with the children between trips to the bathroom and occasional breaks to moan pitifully while rocking in the fetal position.
Happy Thursday!
That was a really awesome run-on sentennce, by the way.
So the snow?? We have several inches of it. The dog is ecstatic, at least. He runs outside and hurtles his body around the yard in apoplectic leaps and bounds, smashing into the fence as he attempts to navigate the corners on slick paws. It reminds me of the last time I mopped the kitchen floor, when Toby discovered the slick wetness made for perfect kitchen-slalom conditions. I swear that kid's gonna be an X-Games contender some day.
But really, who wants to talk about that when we can laugh at my Lucy-esque pratfalls?
Let's take, for example, my brilliant idea to decorate the house with exterior holiday lights. Oh, it all started out innocently enough -- light nets on the bushes, lights and garlands on a garden arch across the porch. Add a few plastic candy cane lights, some multi-functional blinking snowflakes. I even hung icicle lights along the lower portion of the front roof.
Then came the grand misunderestimation... Conveniently forgetting (or ignoring if you prefer) my well-documented Fear of the Heights and the Death By Falling, I decided I could make it up onto the top of the roof to attach the plastic clips along the edge of the (incredibly high) shingles and hang the rest of the icicles.
I made it exactly two paces onto the roof before the panic attack set in, and I was flat on my belly, drenched in sweat, and cursing fate that my children would be left motherless when the neighbors found me face down in the azaleas. After a few moments of pondering my circumstances, with Toby asleep in his crib and Jack parked in front of The Polar Express, I started the excrutiating process of talking myself down. Mostly this involved a lot of self-flagellation ("You are an exceptionally gifted moron. You do realize you have to get down from here? So c'mon, genius. Baby steps. You can't stay up here all day, you pansy!")
After several excrutiating minutes (spent hugging the roof for dear life and praying to several deities) my foot found the top rung of the ladder and I shimmied my way down. Then, I hung the rest of the icicles on the bottom of the bump out under the upper level of the house... about 4 feet off the ground.
Today it appears that the stress of the recent past has finally caught up with me. I think I might be ready to die. Please send chocolate and morphine. On top of the unmedicated back pain, my stomach finally joined my body's open rebellion with gusto. Either that, or a few of Santa's elves have gone rogue and are making gift bows OUT OF MY INTESTINES.
Did I mention we are also out of diapers? And that Toby is wearing pull-ups that are 2 sizes too big? Because that is going to be completely fantastic when he decides to transact some business.
In summary, my friends, I think it is a very good day to put the Christmas movies on repeat and snuggle with the children between trips to the bathroom and occasional breaks to moan pitifully while rocking in the fetal position.
Happy Thursday!
Monday, December 03, 2007
Tie-eye-eym... Why you punish me?
I'm just checking in, really. Mostly because it will kill 10 minutes that I should actually be spending on household chores.
We were gone all day while I ran around, picking up and dropping off kids and attending various doctor appointments. The short version of the recap is that I am going in on Wednesday morning to have a needle inserted into my spine. I will be injected with steroids - thereby putting the final nail in the coffin of my hopes for a career as a professional athlete. No?
Okay, well that and my total lack of coordination or ability. And the boobs. The boobs pretty much rule out any sort of for-pay contact sport unless we move to Nevada and I change my name to "Ginger" or "Peaches". Also there would probably need to be some sort of traumatic brain injury involved to convince me to go along with that plan. But now this is sounding suspiciously like a Lindsey Lohan movie, and that's just wrong on so many levels.
What were we talking about again?
Oh. Yes. The Big Sharp Thing that will be puncturing my spinal column on Wednesday. Well, the good news is that this has a good chance of alleviating the pain within a short time. It might take more than one injection - which would suck, but would suck substantially less than surgery... which is the next option if this doesn't work.
Also, we won't be able to start trying again for baby #3 for at least 3 months after I am pain free, during which time I am supposed to, like, tone muscles and stuff. To support the weight I will undoubtedly gain with another pregnancy. Also this might just be the very nice Pain Specialist's roundabout way of saying "Lose some baggage Fatso" but I like to think he'd say it to a thinner woman, too. Especially if she also tended to gain upwards of 50 pounds with each pregnancy and give birth to ten pound babies. Then again, if she does all that and is still somehow svelte afterwards I really need to find her and kick her. (If my sister is reading this, I'll give her a reprieve. Because she DOES gain all the weight, AND have huge babies, AND still manages to be a size 3. But I love her anyway, because she is my sister, and also I hope she remembers this when she makes her first million.) (Unlike my other sister, who has probably already made her first million and totally reneged on her promise to buy me a pony.)
So, yeah, stream-of-consciousness rantings aside, finally there is hope in my future. I'm terrified of having the shot, but it's so preferable to the other options at this point that I'm almost disappointed it's not happening tomorrow. At least T's Mama will be there for moral support - as well as to watch the boys and give me a ride home afterwards. But mostly to hold my hand, because T is in Singapore and I'm terrified something bad will happen to me and he'll be on the other side of the planet. Literally - other side of the planet. Sure they have great shopping but what if I suddenly burst into flames?
SO that totally killed about 20 minutes, and now I can go watch Chuck with the delay on the TiVO to skip over the commercials. Let's recap : Shots - bad. Stoppage of the pain - good. Possible paralysis if things go wrong - bad. Possibility that I won't need a metric butt-load of prescription narcotics just to survive the 5-hour flight to Salt Lake City in a few weeks - good.
It's a dead heat, methinks. Hopefully I'll let you know the final verdict after Wednesday.
(Or I'll blink my eyes to dictate the message in Morse Code after it all goes horribly wrong and I end up in a persistent vegetative state.)
(In which case: someone please prop me up in front of the TV and let me watch the rest of my fall television line-up before pulling the plug. You know, just in case.)
Happy Monday!
We were gone all day while I ran around, picking up and dropping off kids and attending various doctor appointments. The short version of the recap is that I am going in on Wednesday morning to have a needle inserted into my spine. I will be injected with steroids - thereby putting the final nail in the coffin of my hopes for a career as a professional athlete. No?
Okay, well that and my total lack of coordination or ability. And the boobs. The boobs pretty much rule out any sort of for-pay contact sport unless we move to Nevada and I change my name to "Ginger" or "Peaches". Also there would probably need to be some sort of traumatic brain injury involved to convince me to go along with that plan. But now this is sounding suspiciously like a Lindsey Lohan movie, and that's just wrong on so many levels.
What were we talking about again?
Oh. Yes. The Big Sharp Thing that will be puncturing my spinal column on Wednesday. Well, the good news is that this has a good chance of alleviating the pain within a short time. It might take more than one injection - which would suck, but would suck substantially less than surgery... which is the next option if this doesn't work.
Also, we won't be able to start trying again for baby #3 for at least 3 months after I am pain free, during which time I am supposed to, like, tone muscles and stuff. To support the weight I will undoubtedly gain with another pregnancy. Also this might just be the very nice Pain Specialist's roundabout way of saying "Lose some baggage Fatso" but I like to think he'd say it to a thinner woman, too. Especially if she also tended to gain upwards of 50 pounds with each pregnancy and give birth to ten pound babies. Then again, if she does all that and is still somehow svelte afterwards I really need to find her and kick her. (If my sister is reading this, I'll give her a reprieve. Because she DOES gain all the weight, AND have huge babies, AND still manages to be a size 3. But I love her anyway, because she is my sister, and also I hope she remembers this when she makes her first million.) (Unlike my other sister, who has probably already made her first million and totally reneged on her promise to buy me a pony.)
So, yeah, stream-of-consciousness rantings aside, finally there is hope in my future. I'm terrified of having the shot, but it's so preferable to the other options at this point that I'm almost disappointed it's not happening tomorrow. At least T's Mama will be there for moral support - as well as to watch the boys and give me a ride home afterwards. But mostly to hold my hand, because T is in Singapore and I'm terrified something bad will happen to me and he'll be on the other side of the planet. Literally - other side of the planet. Sure they have great shopping but what if I suddenly burst into flames?
SO that totally killed about 20 minutes, and now I can go watch Chuck with the delay on the TiVO to skip over the commercials. Let's recap : Shots - bad. Stoppage of the pain - good. Possible paralysis if things go wrong - bad. Possibility that I won't need a metric butt-load of prescription narcotics just to survive the 5-hour flight to Salt Lake City in a few weeks - good.
It's a dead heat, methinks. Hopefully I'll let you know the final verdict after Wednesday.
(Or I'll blink my eyes to dictate the message in Morse Code after it all goes horribly wrong and I end up in a persistent vegetative state.)
(In which case: someone please prop me up in front of the TV and let me watch the rest of my fall television line-up before pulling the plug. You know, just in case.)
Happy Monday!
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