I gots nuthin'

so you gets LOLcats.




My ass is being kicked by a 20 pound, grey-eyed cutie. She only wants to sleep with me. If she can't sleep with me, she'll fall asleep but then wake up and realize, hey, no mama. I must shriek my head off now. She's been sleeping in our bed. Which thrills TCBIM no end. She can't be moved into Boo's room just yet though, because...

...my in-laws are arriving in a week, which means I will mainly be spending the Labour Day weekend cleaning my stupid house. It's not filthy, it's just cluttered. It's amazing how much paper accumulates. Where the hell does it come from? I open the mail over the trash so that all that crappe goes right into the bin. And yet I'm inundated with papers. And books. I've been trying to weed them out, but it's a chore and a half because I constantly think "I might want to read that again some day." And then the book sits there, taking up space, or worse, I do re-read them and then that pile of books, which, really, is less of a pile and more like an entire book case, starts glaring at me and muttering, "Oh sure, she reads that again, but what about us? What are we, chopped fucking liver? I swear, we should all just fall on her one of these days, that'd show her who's boss." Shaddup, books. I have a two year-old. I know who's boss.

One reassuring thing: I watched a couple of episodes of How Clean Is Your House today on BBCAmerica and doods, my house is fucking immaculate compared to those places. They were downright scary.

Also. I was thrilled to find that Cash In The Attic is still on - at 5:30 in the morning. Thank god for TiFaux. I have a thing for Alistair Appleton. I know he's gay, but damn, the man is lovely.

*sigh* And his name is Alistair. I love that name.

Iowa just became my second-favourite state.

Finding Jesus

I'm probably going to piss off a bunch of people by posting this, but it's been bugging me for ages. Why is it when someone does something wrong and gets caught (getting caught being operative here) they suddenly find Jesus?

Michael Vick, after pleading guilty, gave a speech to the press outside the courthouse. In it, he admitted his wrong-doing, took responsibility for what he'd done, yadda yadda yadda. And suddenly he says, "Thru this situation, I found Jesus and I aks (sic) him for forgiveness."

Where has Jesus been before this? He only found Jesus now?

It never ceases to amaze me, people who find God when they're about to be hung out to dry.

WTF?

Boo's readings have all clocked in at a nice, steady 90 - 98 range today.

So, good, yeah?

Except I'm going to continue checking her because I'm a freak like that. I have to keep it to a few a day because I'm stealing test strips from O's stash. I figure a pre-breakfast, pre-lunch and a two-hour post dinner reading should give me a good idea of what, if anything, is going on.

Gushing With Dignity

I ventured down the Mass Pike to a leafy suburb of Boston today. What made me brave the assholes courteous drivers of our illustrious toll road? These ladies. They were all lovely. Ok, some of them could have been psychopathic mass murderers and I wouldn't have known because I had two little imps hanging off me, distracting me with demands for cups and food and crayons and then there was the taking off of shoes and the throwing of toys. But they all looked lovely. And very non-psychopathic mass murderer-ish.

We ate at an organic pizza restaurant. It was excellent and I, of course, wore a white shirt and promptly spilled red sauce right on my boob. I just personify grace and dignity. The conversation was interesting and these are definitely women I would like to hang out with again. Without the imps. Or the spillage.

(New post up on the NE Mamas page.)

208

Highest reading so far. Four hours post-prandial. Fanfuckingtastic.

You may say I'm a dreamer....

INFP

Get me, I'm in elite company - only 2% of the population falls in this category. For whatever that's worth....

Maximum Ride: Saving The World And Other Extreme Sports

This is a Mother-talk.com book review. Check out their site for more information or if you'd like to sign up to be a reviewer.

I should be right upfront about things and state that I am not a James Patterson fan. I find his books to be poorly written with pointless plot twists and bad writing. Sadly, I wasn't disappointed with this latest Patterson oeuvre either.

To continue reading this review, click here.

Inconclusive

So I took Boo to the pediatrician. He said "196 doesn't meet the 200 cut off that indicates diabetes." Excuse me? It's FOUR FUCKING POINTS. Four.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I said (calmly - I was so impressed with myself) that I know she wasn't 200, but that a 196 2 hours after eating was too high and that meters have a 10% +/- error rating. And that I thought something needed to be done. He agreed and checked her blood sugar again - three hours after her lunch, she was 116. Four fucking points away, again, from an abnormal fasting reading. What is up with the four points?

He called the local endo group and spoke to one of the doctors there. The upshot is that for the next two to three weeks, I'm to check and log Boo's blood sugar before every meal as well as two hours and three hours after every meal. She's used to grazing all the time, so I'm going to have to get more disciplined about meal and snack times.

I'm also going to have to get used to poking those tiny, tender little fingers. Again.

196

That was Boo's blood sugar, 2 hours after eating a meal.

Combine that with a week's work of her waking up, drenched in pee - armpits to knees drenched, soaking thru a diaper AND a pull-up, blankets, pillow and sheet - and I am about ready to puke with worry. Now that I think of it, she's been sleeping a lot more than usual, too, and she's even more whiny and clingy than normal. I'm taking her to the pediatrician at 2:15 today. I've already had one meltdown and will probably have another before we leave.

Toddler Picture Dictionary

Carrot

Shampoo

Cocklick

Aaaaaaand we're back

Whew. It was so. fucking. annoying. I'd be able to get online to my homepage, but it would take 10, 12, 20 tries to get anything else to load. Constant server busy or page timed out messages. I was about ready to smash the computers - every last one, because? we have three. Why, you ask? One is TCBIM's work laptop, one is the stoopid Mac and the other is a nice HP that my sister gave me when she moved into her commune. And there's a fourth in O's room, which is my ancient Gateway from 1999, although that one isn't hooked up to The Internets. Because internet + 12 year-old girl = way too much time on the computer.

After that epic digression....

We needed a new modem. Pain in the butt, but I'm going to see if it can be used on our taxes - TCBIM works out of the house and needs the internet for work. It's worth a shot, I suppose.

After all that, I don't have much to talk about. I went to IKEA with my friend T (not the crazy T from the previous post). I bought stuff. One of these, in red, one of these, two of these, also in red, because they look handy. I got a stacking toy for The Bug, some hanging mesh basket things for Boo's toys and a few other doo dads. Nothing too exciting, but it seemed like a lot for $28.

I can only speak for myself, but I had a fantastic time. I think I may have talked too much, though. It's been so long since I've had hours uninterrupted with another adult that it was like someone opened a dam and whoosh! it all came pouring out. She said she wanted to do it again some time, so I guess I wasn't too awful. I have a longer post brewing about some of the trip.


I thought I'd leave you with a few pictures, some from The Bug's birthday party and some from another friend's garden.

Where's my cake, Mama?

CAKE!!!!!

Hmmm, do I detect a touch of Madagascar vanilla in the frosting?

Bzzzzz.

Pussy willows in the pond they dug in their back yard. It's ridiculous how gorgeous their back garden is - it could be on a garden tour. It's stunning.

Swallow tail on a butterfly bush, missing half its tail.

Your moment of Zen. Ohm.

Waterlily.

Stoopid Computer

Something is fried - either my modem from a power surge or the line into the house. Pages time out more often than not and it's extremely frustrating. Posting shall be sporadic to non-existent until I get this sorted out. Pain in my arse....

The Bonds Of Motherhood

I was talking to a friend of mine last night on the phone - we'll call her T. T has a 6 year-old daughter and is divorced. She was telling me how very depressed she was because her daughter had gone away for the week with her father. T was bemoaning this, saying how she hates it every year, that she dreads her daughter being gone, saying how desperately she misses her. Then she said what, to me, borders on obsessive behaviour - while her daughter is away, T watches (not records, just watches) all her daughter's favourite shows "in order to feel closer to her."

Um, what? I didn't really know what to say to that. I laughed a little bit. T said that I probably thought she was nuts (ya think?) and then we changed subjects.

I've always thought that T was a bit unhinged about her daughter, with an unhealthy attachment towards her that only got worse when she got divorced. I remember soon after her daughter was born, T and I were talking and she told me she was afraid to take a shower if she was home alone because she was afraid that someone would come in and steal the baby while she was in there. After the divorce, T would sleep with her daughter, saying that the child wouldn't go to sleep on her own, but I know most of it was T and her neuroses.

T's been in and out of therapy for depression, but this seems way beyond depression. I suffer from depression and I'm not like this. I honestly don't think T sees anything wrong with this behaviour, that she's not that different from most mothers. I certainly don't get that way about my kids. I love them to bits and worry about them, probably more than some at times, but I do like to have a break from them now and then. And I would never watch Blue's Clues or Hannah freakin' Montana while they were gone. I'm too busy getting caught up on back episodes of Top Chef and House. (Plus? I'm really, really sick of Blue's Clues and Hannah freakin' Montana.)

I worry, in a resigned way, about what T is doing to her daughter. I haven't seen them in a while (it, apparently, being too far a drive from Boston to the Pioneer Valley), but the last time I was out there, when Boo was a baby, the girl suggested that T bash Boo's head on the floor while T was holding her. Freaked me out.

I know that T is this way with her child because she had such a horrific upbringing herself. She's overcompensating. But in the meantime, I think she's causing other, equally damaging problems for her daughter. It's sad, it's unhealthy and I don't think there's anything I can say that would change her behaviour.

Hope Is In A Cure

I don't often talk about O and our life with diabetes. It has become so incorporated in our day-to-day existence that most of the time, I don't really think of it. Every so often, though, I'll see something like this video and it hits me like a ton of bricks - this isn't normal, all this poking and changing of pump sets and getting excited over cool medical id bracelets. It's our normal. And our normal sucks.

Follow up post

Things are a little better here. TCBIM did read that blog entry but waited until I brought it up before discussing it. It went better than I thought it would. I didn't cry, which is always good. We talked. He said there's nothing going on but that he understands why I get concerned. He didn't really address the whole falling asleep thing - I don't know, maybe he's just like that. I honestly don't understand how you can sit down and fall asleep in 30 seconds, but he can.

We still need to have a real talk, I think (he's probably thinking "Jesus, another one??"). I don't particularly enjoy these State Of The Union things, but I think they're important. Every few months, maybe twice a year, things seem to come to a head, at least with me. It builds up until I can't stand it anymore. I'm sure TCBIM doesn't really notice these things - the talks always seem to take him by surprise. Are all men really this blind to internal turmoil?

I'm still worried sick about the house situation. I check the apartment listings on Craigslist almost every day. To be honest, most days I'd rather move back into a flat anyway. Things suddenly become Not My Problem. Leaky roof? Not My Problem. Wet cellar? Not My Problem. Mildew in the walls? Not My Problem. That seems a lot more attractive all of a sudden.

I just hope we can patch this place together so that if - not if, when - we do have to sell it, we'll at least not lose too much money. The previous owners managed to pull all this over on us. I'm hoping we can do the same for the next schmuck homeowner.

Here, There and Everywhere

I have a post up over at New England Mamas.

We're looking for more people (mums and dads) from NH and ME, so if you're interested, drop Mrs. Chicky a line. Her email is on the blog.

Inflammatory Breast Cancer

I feel like I'm arriving really late to this party, but I saw these posts about Inflammatory Breast Cancer, linking back to Toddler Planet and I kept meaning to go read her blog. Finally, over the last two days, I've read thru her archives. She's asked people to copy and paste this on their blogs, in an effort to get the information out to as many women as possible. So here it is.

I also urge you to go read this woman's blog. She writes with such candor and bittersweet humour and most of all, love, that it's breathtaking. But bring tissues. You're going to need them.

We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer?

I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams, and found no lump, I’d be fine.

Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN because my breast felt funny. It was red, hot, inflamed, and the skin looked…funny. But there was no lump, so I wasn’t worried. I should have been. After a round of antibiotics didn’t clear up the inflammation, my doctor sent me to a breast specialist and did a skin punch biopsy. That test showed that I have inflammatory breast cancer, a very aggressive cancer that can be deadly.

Inflammatory breast cancer is often misdiagnosed as mastitis because many doctors have never seen it before and consider it rare. “Rare” or not, there are over 100,000 women in the U.S. with this cancer right now; only half will survive five years. Please call your OB/GYN if you experience several of the following symptoms in your breast, or any unusual changes: redness, rapid increase in size of one breast, persistent itching of breast or nipple, thickening of breast tissue, stabbing pain, soreness, swelling under the arm, dimpling or ridging (for example, when you take your bra off, the bra marks stay – for a while), flattening or retracting of the nipple, or a texture that looks or feels like an orange (called peau d’orange). Ask if your GYN is familiar with inflammatory breast cancer, and tell her that you’re concerned and want to come in to rule it out.

There is more than one kind of breast cancer. Inflammatory breast cancer is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there, and early detection is critical. It’s not usually detected by mammogram. It does not usually present with a lump. It may be overlooked with all of the changes that our breasts undergo during the years when we’re pregnant and/or nursing our little ones. It’s important not to miss this one.

Inflammatory breast cancer is detected by women and their doctors who notice a change in one of their breasts. If you notice a change, call your doctor today. Tell her about it. Tell her that you have a friend with this disease, and it’s trying to kill her. Now you know what I wish I had known before six weeks ago.

You don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer.

This Post Has No Title

Whenever I get down, I listen to R.E.M.. I've been listening to a lot of them lately.



The baby didn't sleep last night. At all. She won't sleep now. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with her. She doesn't have a fever, she doesn't seem to be sick, she's just not sleeping.

I'm sick and tired of being the only person who takes care of these children. It's not like I sprung them on my husband. We both wanted to have kids. But now? He'd rather play poker or hockey or golf than spend any time with them what so ever. If he's left alone with them for more than an hour, he's constantly calling me on the phone, wondering when I'm going to be home.

The ONLY way I can get him to do ANYTHING with the kids is to leave the house. Yesterday I had to run a couple of errands and go to the market. He called, of course, about 45 minutes into the trip, to tell me The Bug was up and when was I going to be home. When I got home, he had her in her highchair and he was playing a game on the computer. She was crying and he wasn't even looking at her, he was just saying "Hush, hush, you're fine, you're fine." She so patently was NOT fine that I wanted to hit him, hard.

This whole avoidance thing that he's doing, with the poker, the hockey, the golf, the falling asleep immediately after dinner on the nights that he is home make me wonder if he's found someone else. He did it once before. It was an online thing, but it was serious enough that they were sending dirty pictures of each other back and forth. She lived in Detroit and he, conveniently enough, suddenly had a business trip out there, which mysteriously got canceled when I discovered what was going on. I haven't come across anything like that this time, but there are a lot of phone calls that are taken outside, text messages that get immediately erased from his phone. And yeah, I check. Once burned, etc., etc..

Add all this shit to the fact that, because the bottom fell out of the housing market and because we stupidly got an adjustable rate mortgage, we're most likely going to lose our house and I am a very unhappy person right now.

TCBIM reads this blog sometimes, so this post may come down later on.

The Kid Is Alright

Last night, while we were driving to my mother's, I was listening to All Things Considered. I enjoy that show but rarely get to hear it because I'm usually at home when it's on, wrangling babies. If there's one thing I know, it's that trying to listen to NPR while small children are around is a Very Bad Idea.

Last night, though, the kids were quiet for an entire five minutes and I got to listen to the story on Congress and the Senate's approval of the FISA bill. The host was talking about the bill a bit. Uncharacteristically for me, I wasn't swearing or throwing things at the radio. I just listened. Apparently, so did O. The report ended and she said, "Pfft. And here I thought America was a free country. Now they're going to be able to read emails and listen to phone conversations whenever they want."

I love my kid. I love that she got it, that I didn't have to explain anything to her, that she listened and drew her own conclusion on the report.

Today...

Today is The Bug's first birthday.

Today she has three whole teeth.

Today she can cruise around the furniture like Speed Racer.

Today she can yell Mama, Dada, Sadie (the dog), LaLa, Hi, Uh-Oh and See it? At the top of her voice. Repeatedly.

Today she can give me kisses. Sloppy, wet, open-mouthed baby kisses.

Today she can put her head on my shoulder and pat me on the back in reciprocation. It's absolutely adorable.

This was The Bug a year ago.
I love this expression.
As if to say "What the FUCK, man?
It's loud, it's bright and people keep kissing me."

This is The Bug today.
(actually, a few weeks ago - the cable to my camera is broken. You'll get new pictures anon.)

YouTube To The Rescue!

Tommy Makem died this past week. That doesn't have anything to do with this post, except for the fact that he was Irish and this...well, this is The Muppets. Sort of being Irish. Anyway, it made me guffaw and that's quite an accomplishment around here today.

Complaints Department

It's hot as hell. I'm cranky. And I'm going to have a good old bitch-fest now. You've been warned. If you don't want to read it, click away now.

The Bug's birthday party is tomorrow. I have so much to do to get ready for it. And what is TCBIM doing to help with the whole getting ready thing? Playing in a three day golf tournament. Started this morning. Nice, huh? I am furious. He only told me about the tournament on Tuesday. TUESDAY.

So, today and tomorrow, I will be:

• Getting the doohickeys that go into the weed whacker because TCBIM never seems to have time to go to Home Depot (I know, what kind of man doesn't have time for that?) and pick them up.
• Whack said weeds.
• Mow front and back yard.
• Put away the eighty-gajillion plastic toys that are in the back yard
• Clean out pool.
  
• Get propane for grill.
• Buy food for party.
• Wash kitchen and dining room floors.
• Clean bathroom.
• Clean living room.
• Make potato salad.
• Buy beer/wine for party.
• Do all this while wrangling a 2-3/4 year-old and a one year-old.

It's hot. Did I mention that? It's, like, 95 degrees hot. And humid. And I'm a delicate, fragile flower who does not do well in this hothouse environment.

I need to go away for a weekend. Just leave and let TCBIM deal with the kids and the house. I know if I do that, I'll come home to a pig sty, though. It's almost not worth it to leave.