She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous

(Name that tune)


Go read this post about benign neglect. She said it way better than I ever could have. It's definitely how I parent.



The movie? It was excellent fun. Some quotes, you ask? Why, certainly.

Elizabeth: There will come a moment when you have the chance to do the right thing.
Jack: I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.

Jack: You know, these clothes do not fancy you at all. It should be a dress or nothing. I happen to have nothing in my cabin.

Jack: I was nothing more than an almost innocent bystander.

Now, that said, it was really long. 150 minutes. And the plot was convoluted and at times, a bit confusing. I enjoyed it, but not as much as the first one. It was definitely scarier - in places, I jumped out of my seat - and the bad guys really looked awful. Fun awful, though. There wasn't as much humour as in the first episode, but it did have some laugh-out-loud funny bits. I'm giving it an 8 out of 10. See it on the big screen, definitely. And, as someone commented, what's not to like about a 20 foot tall, eye-linered Johnny Depp? Hmm? Yes, that's right, nothing.

*drooooooooool*



O is at soccer camp this week. It's just a day camp, from 9 - 3, but I'm nervous as hell about her going. She's extremely self-sufficient but she gets caught up in what she's doing and forgets to check. I can't put alarms on the pump because we're untethered this week. So I'm relying on her to be responsible. I'm hoping I don't get any phone calls. Blah, I'm a wreck. And I can't even go anywhere to take my mind off things because I don't have a cell phone right now. I'm getting mine turned on, on the way home from this camp, but at least for today, I'm stuck here. Freaking.


We're still trying to decide what to name this baby. First we thought Ava would be nice, but now I'm sort of meh on that. Then we came up with Aurelia, which means golden. It's pretty, but it verges on really odd. And TCBIM and I cannot agree on names at all. I like classic names - Elizabeth, Caroline, Eleanor, Anne, Jane, that sort of thing. He doesn't seem to have a preference, but every name I suggest, he shoots down. It's getting old. The baby will be here in four weeks (good grief!) and so far, she's just Baby. I don't think I could have another child even if I wanted to - I'd NEVER come up with a name.


Did anyone watch the entire Red Sox game yesterday? I watched for an hour, then took the kids to the park, went to the warehouse store, went to Staples and then came home, started dinner, ate dinner and it was still going. Nineteen innings. 569 pitches, sixteen pitchers. It took six hours and nineteen minutes. It started at 2:07 p.m. and ended at 8:26 p.m. By the end of it, I was feeling bad for them. They looked exhausted. They were just throwing the bats at the pitches, hoping to god to get a hit, a run, something. Anything. If it had gone on any longer, Francona was going to have to use Kapler or Mirabelli to pitch - they were the only two players he had left. He'd run through the entire bullpen. And poor Varitek must have some aching quads and knees this morning. He caught all 19 innings. It's a shame that we lost, after all that, but I could almost feel the gust from the sigh of relief that came off the field. Ortiz is in the Home Run Derby tonight - I wonder how he'll do after that marathon.


I really ramble when I'm nervous. Aren't you glad you're not sitting in my living room right now? I'd talk both your ears off.

Mmmmmmmmyummy

I am going to see the new Pirates of the Carribean movie this afternoon and I'm so excited, I can hardly sit still. I don't think I've been this excited about seeing a movie ever.

Two hours of drooling over Johnny Depp. Bliss. I think he may have eclipsed Mr. Cusack on my "Men Who Could Eat Cookies In My Bed Whenever They Wanted" list. I luuuuuuurrrve him.

Now It's Turkish Delight On A Moonlit Night

(Name that tune)

Yesterday, O and I made the 2 hour drive in to Boston to see the endocrinologist. We both kind of enjoy these trips - we get to chat on the way in, we go out to lunch and we get all of our questions answered by people who never get tired of discussing diabetes management. It's fanTABulous.

I knew downloading her meter and pump was going to be scary, given all the highs she's had over the last few weeks. The scatter plot was a mess. Her numbers ranged from 41 (her lowest low) to 591 (her highest high). And there was absolutely no pattern, no rhyme or reason for any of the numbers. However. She's grown a whopping inch and three-quarters since her last appointment three months ago, so that explains a lot of those shitty numbers. She's almost 5'2" now. No wonder she's always tired.

Our first appointment was with a researcher there. She helped us get O hooked up to a CGMS, so O's wearing that for the next three days. I'm hoping it will help us get a handle on her overnight numbers - those are the suckiest ones. I hate that I can't see the numbers as they're being read, but if the printout they get at the end of this will help, then I'll deal. I also had them flag O's name to participate in a DexCom study they're doing in January. How fucking COOL would THAT be??! I hope it's, like, a year long...maybe by the time she's done with the study, insurance will have gotten off their asses and approved these devices for use in children. Oh, and pay for them, since they are very expensive. The DexCom is less than the Minimed 522/722, which is what I really want. That's the integrated pump/CGMS and that's $6,000. Way beyond my budget.

Then we had a horrible lunch at Rebecca's Cafe. Really horrible. I've never had a veggie wrap that had absolutely no flavour, but they managed it.

Back to Joslin for the appointment with the CDE. We discussed O's blood sugars and decided to have her go untethered for her soccer camp next week. So she's on Levemir and boluses thru her infusion site. It's a bit of a pain overnight, sitting there waiting for the pump to do its thing, but it's only for a week. She does seem to be running a bit high, but I'm going to give it a few days. Besides, she may run lower while she's at camp next week. And if the CGMS helps us kick these overnight spikes, then maybe she won't need to be bolused overnight. Wouldn't that be nice?

I was so freaking organized this time, too. I brought all of her log sheets from the last month, I remembered to ask for her school orders and her camp physical form and remembered to ask about going untethered. I can't believe I remembered it all. My brain's so seive-like these days, it's a wonder I remember to put on underwear in the morning.

We're also participating in a study about family management of diabetes. It's for kids 10 - 15 years old and O's loving it because every time they talk to us, they give her $5. She also got a new backpack from them yesterday. So we scored - I got four, count 'em, FOUR boxes of Precision Extra Ketone Strips (which are scarcer than hen's teeth) and a vial of Levemir and O got $5 and a backpack. Plus, we get free parking while we participate in this study. Two years of free parking? Have you seen the prices in that stupid garage? $18 for four hours. Sign me up for the study, man.

Born On The Fourth Of July

Today is my son's 18th birthday.

I'm finding it hard to believe that I have a child that old. I'm finding it hard to believe I have a child that old AND I'm about to have a baby. Can I lie and say I was, like, 8 when I had him? No, medical imposibility, right?

We're going to his birthday party today, where he will tell me that he's getting a tattoo. He's expecting me to flip out over this, but since I'm planning on getting a tattoo, I won't. In fact, I will give him money towards said tattoo.

There will be water balloon fights and volleyball games and lots and lots of food. Some people will have too much to drink (not me). Some people will get sunburned (again, not me). There will probably be an argument between some members of his dad's side of the family (it's an annual tradition). And later, the drunk people will set off fireworks. I plan to be long gone by then. I like my fingers and toes and hearing intact.

It's strange when I think about the last 18 years. Before he was born, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to keep him. I was talking with a counsellor about giving him up for adoption. But then he came into the world and I just couldn't do it.

He was a cute baby and he's a handsome kid today. I think I made the right decision. I hope I did. Sometimes I wonder - we don't seem to get along that well these days, but I don't know how much of that is difficulties between us and how much is that he's a typical, self-centered 18 year-old. I think it's mainly the latter - he's all wrapped up in his friends and his job. Plus he lives with his dad, about an hour away from here. It's a little weird. I miss him a lot.

Happy Birthday, Alex.

Martha's got nothing to worry about

Because tomorrow is the 4th of July as well as my son's 18th (Jesus H. Christ, how did THAT happen??!) birthday, I needed to make something to bring to the party. Since I had two dozen eggs in the fridge, I thought "Aha! Deviled eggs."

Have you ever made deviled eggs? Do you know how many kinds of a pain in the ass it is?

Boil the eggs. Ok, I did that, without cracking one.

Then, let the eggs cool and peel them. Yeah. My eggs look like they have leprosy. There are chunks missing and there are splits in the whites. I have no clue how people get those lovely, glistening orbs, but I sure as hell can't do it.

I really think I'm missing some essential house-keeping/Harriet Homemaker gene. I have no idea how to do many of these basic tasks. Get mildew off the bathroom ceiling? I don't know - bleach? Ammonia? I know you can't mix the two, but that's about all I know. Get ink out of a shirt? No idea. I'd just go buy a new shirt. Mop? Honest to god, I'd never mopped a floor in my life until we bought this house four months ago. I'm not very good at it. In fact, I kind of suck.

I can tell you all about Henry VIII. I know a lot about words, grammar and spelling. I know more than I ever wanted to know about having a child with Type 1 diabetes. I have a wealth of pop culture knowledge stuck inside my head. I will kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble.

But I can't mop. And making beds is anathema to me. As I've just discovered, I'm pretty bad at deviled eggs.

I just don't have it together that way. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. If I want to take part in the competitive mommy thing, then I suppose not knowing these things is very, very bad. The thing is, I don't care that I can't do these things. Yes, the deviled eggs is frustrating, but I'll just make egg salad finger sandwiches. And my floors are generally kind of yucky. But I don't want to be a slave to my house. I want to blow bubbles with Boo. I want to go outside and inspect bugs in the grass. I want to have tickle fights and blow raspberries and listen to my kids laugh. I want to curl up with a good book at the end of the day, not go scrub the bath tub. I want to listen to NPR so I can stay informed; I don't want to watch Oprah and Judge Whoever and soap operas. I don't want to feel that, because I've chosen to stay at home, I should automatically shut off my brain.

And I don't want to learn how to mop.

Old friends

I was reading a few different blogs about books and had to chime in on the subject. (It's books. Of course I'm going to chime in.)

When I was young, the library in my town would sponsor a summer reading contest. I can't remember what the prize was - probably a book - but I do remember inhaling library books at an incredible rate. I'd ride my little blue Schwinn down the hill and get a shiver of anticipation as I walked thru the doors into the cooled hush of the place. I'd carefully peruse the shelves, making sure I didn't take something I'd read already. While I had no problems re-reading a book, you didn't get credit for it for the contest.

Nancy Drews were always a favourite. Easy to read and fun, although I was always waiting for Ned to kiss her and he never did. Hmph. I think I whipped thru the Little House books in a week and a half - I blame Laura Ingalls Wilder for my historical fiction penchant.

These were the books I tucked into the little wicker basket on the front of my bike, keeping a hand protectively on them on the ride home. The ones I'd race outside with, to crawl under my neighbour's grape arbour with a cup of grape Zarex and an apple, brushing away the odd earwig or inch worm that would drop from the leaves, getting completely lost in the words on the page.

I begged for books for my birthday and Christmas and would always get several. I've kept them all these years, in the hopes that one of my kids will want to read them, but now that they're old enough, I find I can't part with them. I did buy them their own copies - I'm not heartless - although they both tend to prefer newer authors. Hopefully O will be as enchanted by some of these as I was, though.




I don't know anyone else who's ever read this, so if you have, speak up. I loved this book. Short sci-fi-ish stories. Not too technical, but endlessly fascinating. The story that stuck in my mind the most was the one about the guy who goes to an All-You-Can-Eat buffet in order to supply his starving planet with food.





I loved this one. I loved any book that dealt with hidden doors, magical wardrobes or being transported back in time. This one fit the bill perfectly. And I still love the name Sarah.




My poor, battered copy of Harriet The Spy. Ever since reading this book, I've wanted to try a chocolate egg cream and have yet to do so. I LOVED this book (as evidenced by the missing front cover and torn off back). I still re-read this book.



I always felt a bit sorry for Pippi Longstocking. I loved her adventures and laughed along with her tales, but she always seemed a bit sad and lonely to me. And I still have no idea what those cookies were that she was always eating. Pfefferneusen?



This one made me want to run away to the Met, too. Desperately. Another one I re-read to this day.



I know it's kind of cliched to like Alice, but I do. The situations were so absurd and funny or just plain weird and kind of creepy that it continuously appealed to me. I liked this one better than Thru The Looking Glass.



It's a little embarassing to admit that I barely remember what this was about, but I remember loving it. Hmmm. Maybe it's time to re-read this one, too.


It's even more embarassing to admit that I stole this from the church library. I was raised a Quaker and we had our Sunday Meetings in an old Victorian house. On the second floor was a library full of donated books. I loved this one so much that I swiped it. I completely identified with Jo, as much as I would have liked to be the saintly Beth or the pretty Amy (who snagged Laurie, the lucky thing), I was much more Jo-like than anything. Meg just got on my nerves.




And finally, the book that started my whole Tudor/Plantagenet obsession. I first read this when I was 12 years old and I still love it. I love the gumshoe detective and I love that they solved (well, depending on your theories about Richard III) the mystery about the Princes in the Tower.

There are so many other books that I loved...Misty of Chincoteague, Rebecca's War, the Dragonriders of Pern series by Anne McCaffrey...the list is almost endless.

Hey, here's one for you. I remember reading a book about a girl who would look into one of those reflecting balls people have in their gardens and she'd get transported back in time. I can't remember if she had epilepsy or the girl she became when transported had epilepsy. Is this ringing a bell with anyone? I'd love to know what it was called - I read it several times, but seem to have lost it over the years.

The baby is sleeping and I can feel Betsy calling my name....

Mold, mildew and mushrooms.

Fucking rain, man. I don't think we've had more than 5 days of sunshine for the entire month of June. May sucked ass, too. It poured yesterday. It's going to pour again today. It may be sunny tomorrow and Saturday, but Sunday will bring thunderstorms again.

I have mushrooms in my back yard - more mushrooms than grass at this point. My tomato plants are going to rot in the garden because it's not a garden so much as it is a mud patch. My cellar, which stinks of mildew, has become a breeding ground for frogs and mosquitoes. The sump pump and dehumidifier are going non-stop, to little avail.

The kids are going nuts. I try to take them out when it's not really raining too hard, but the problem is that is will vomit rain in a matter of seconds. Poor Boo stands there with her arms out by her side and her head down, sputtering and looking pathetic. O gets pissed - plus her pump isn't supposed to get wet. And this isn't normal rain, this is like being in a car wash. Not so great for electronic devices, especially $6,000 electronic devices.

So we're staying in. My floors, as noted in the previous post, are vile. The mop doesn't do shit. It all looks like hell.

And to make things even better, my father and the step-monster are deigning to visit today, which means I have to clean the place because they have one of those houses where you can eat off the floors. My house? Yeah, not such a good idea.

Just what I want to be doing on a humid, rainy morning. Hoovering and mopping and cleaning the house.



Somewhere along the way, I lost a week. I thought I was 33 weeks pregnant as of Tuesday, but I'm 34 weeks. Six weeks. I only have six weeks. Son of a bitch. I'm not ready for this.

Stripping

That ought to drive up my hit counter.



Does anyone out there know if you can strip linoleum (or vinyl) floors yourself? My kitchen and dining room have these awful vinyl tiles. They're white. Who in their right mind puts down WHITE lino in a kitchen?? They're disgusting. I mop and as soon as the water dries, they look filthy again. My mother suggested I have someone come strip and re-wax them, but I doubt I can afford that. I'm wondering if anyone has done it themselves and if so, how big of a pain in the ass it is. And is it something I can even do while pregnant?


God, I need a rich uncle to kick the bucket and leave me some money. I'm so sick of being broke. I should have been born a Rockefeller....

Bitching About Bloodsugars

O's blood sugars have been thru the fucking ROOF these last few days. It's driving both of us absolutely nuts.



6/25
8 a.m. - 196
12 noon - 320
1:30 p.m. - 219
2:45 p.m. - 201
3:30 p.m. - 231
5:45 p.m. - 241
7 p.m. - 224
10:30 p.m. - 321
6/26
1 a.m. - 418 (WHAT the FUUUUUUCK?)
2:30 a.m. - 356
6:30 a.m. - 218
8:30 a.m. - 176
9 a.m. - 115 - first in range number in days


This is pretty typical of the last week or so. I'd chalked it up to her getting her period but that's done with and the highs are still hanging around. I upped her 8 - midnight and midnight - 6 a.m. basal rates but I haven't touched her daytime rates yet. Last time I changed basal rates, I was pissed off about highs and did a Rage Basal Change across the board, which sent her blood sugars down the tubes. I swear, she drank about 2 cases of Juicey Juice in four days.

I've injected, changed her site, opened new insulin, done all the things you're supposed to do and none of it is helping. She feels like dried out ass from the highs and I feel like dried out ass from the all night checking.

Last summer, her insulin needs dropped a bit because of all the outdoor playing. This year, it hasn't stopped raining in weeks, so maybe that has something to do with it, but still. She wasn't like this when school was in and she's doing things around the house (she cleaned up the kitchen. Without being asked. I almost fell over.), so it's not like she's sitting on her butt watching tv all day long. I just don't get it. Maybe it's a growth spurt? Maybe the moon is in the wrong phase or the wind isn't blowing just so or I've held my mouth the wrong fucking way. Something's pissing off the diabetes gods. Which, in turn, is pissing me off.

I fucking HATE this disease.



Also, did anyone else in the OC get this? It came yesterday.

We have including a connection to your blog Major Bedhead in our section of connections: PERSONALES, of our blog Diabetes Monitor ( in spanish)

Is possible to have in your blog a connection of courtesy to our blog about diabetes ?

Our link is: http://diabetesmonitor.info
The recognition beyond the sea to our importance you found it in people as

David Mendosa (http://www.mendosa.com/nonengl.htm)
Amy Tenderich of 'Diabetes Mine' ( http://www.diabetesmine.com/ )
Kathleen Weaver of of 'Living With Diabetes' (http://www.kweaver.org/)
Janis Roszler of 'Dear Janis' (http://www.dearjanis.com/index.html)
Dr. Alan Flores of 'Diabesidad' ( http://diabesidad.com/ )
la Dtra. Isabel Echeverry of 'Nutricion Hoy' ( http://echeverry82.blogspot.com )
Kerri Morrone of 'Six until me' (http://www.sixuntilme.com) ... etc.

. , who even talks back directly contents and holders of our news

We counted on your collaboration?

T.I.A.

(sorry, errors due to a clumsy automated translation of necessary Google due to my minimum dominion of the English! )

--

<-_

Recibe un afectuoso saludo, ... y el deseo de que tengas un feliz dia

*
*
A L E S * (desde Zaragoza, Spain)
* http://diabetesmonitor.info
*
email: diabetesmonitor@gmail.com

Rainy day pity party

It didn't take long for me to remember why I don't like staying home all the time. It's the never-ending-ness of it. It's not like work, where you clock in at 8 and leave at 5 and get an hour for lunch.

I'm having a hard time explaining this to TCBIM. He wants to come home from work, maybe putter around the house a bit, fixing this or that, maybe (big maybe) load the dishwasher and then he wants to just veg. He can always find something else to do when it's time to feed Boo or give her a bath or put her to bed. I need to figure out a way to say that I need help. Not much help - I don't want him to do everything every night (well, I do, but even I'm not that delusional), but I would like it if he could just give Boo a bath. It's gotten to the point that she doesn't like him to put her to bed, she just wants me. I don't want to be the only parent, the only one she'll let do things. TCBIM has to be able to do those things, too. It hasn't become too bad yet, but toddlers are stubborn little buggers and it doesn't take much to get them set in their ways.

I can understand that when he comes home, he wants to relax. I get that. He's a plumber. It's hot and muggy and it's hard work. However, I've been working all day, too, chasing around a very active toddler and trying to amuse her and her older sister. I've been doing laundry and dishes and sweeping and vacuuming and making meals and running errands. Then, when he comes home and putters, I make dinner for Boo, give her a bath, put her to bed and then make our dinner. I clean up after dinner. Meanwhile, he's been sitting in front of the tv for an hour or more. There's always so much that needs to be done. O helps, a lot, which is great. But I'd like him to take the initiative and just do things. I don't want to have to ask every single time I need some help. He can see that the rug needs vacuuming or the kitchen needs sweeping - why should I have to point it out to him and ask him to do it? I'm not his mother. I keep saying that to him, but he doesn't get it. He just keeps saying "All you have to do is ask." Thing is, I shouldn't have to ask. Not for simple things like that. Not for mundane, day-to-day chores. And I'll be damned if I'm making up a chore chart. Then I really would feel like his mother.

What I'd really like is a break. Problem is, I don't know where to go or what to do to get that break. I don't want to start volunteering for anything because I'm due in 7 weeks (ack!). I keep thinking about joining the library book group, but can't seem to get organized enough to get down there, get the book, read it and then show up for the meeting. I was thinking about learning how to knit, but again, it's the time to do it. I feel like I don't have time. The days are flying by - it's almost July and I have nothing to show for it.

To his credit, TCBIM keeps telling me to get out and do something. Thing is, I want to do things with him, without the kids, and that never happens. I think we've gone out alone twice in the last 12 months. We have no money anyway, but still. We used to go out all the time. We used to have fun together. And now it seems like we have to have our fun separately because of the kids. It's depressing.

Head's all empty and I don't care

Name that tune.



It is so fucking hot and I am so fucking miserable. It keeps thundering and threatening to rain, but does it? Like fuck it does. *whine*



Right at this very moment, I am letting Boo colour in her book. Me. Someone who holds books sacred. But you know what? It's keeping her quiet. She's not shrieking the house down. She's scribbling all over a Disney Winnie The Pooh book and I'm just FINE with that.

I firmly believe that space aliens have kidnapped my daughter and replaced her with a screaming, shrieking, hellacious termagent. If I didn't believe that then I'd have to accept that my sweet little snuggly baby has become a hellion. And that's what she is - pure, unadulterated hellion. It's unbelievable. I picked a hell of a time to stay home from work.



And now, the dog. We are going to pay for her treatment. TCBIM and I went up there yesterday to discuss all this with them. Because I signed this thing when I went there initially and when I re-read it, it said that I authorized the treatment. So, even though she said she'd call me, I gave the ok for her to treat. It's my own fault for not reading the blurb I signed. But they're letting us pay $25 a month and not charging us interest on that, so it's something. It's not much, but it's better than pay it all up now.

The dog has her back leg strapped up to her body. It's going to be like that for three weeks and it may not work. If it doesn't work, we can either leave it or spend in excess, I'm now being told, of $2000 to get her fixed. Guess I'll have a gimpy dog.



I'm off to melt.

Fuming

The damned dog saga continues. I took her to a vet that someone recommended. I had explained our financial dilemma to the woman at the desk and again to the vet when we got there. The vet was very nice and seemed very understanding of the situation. The upshot was that we'd pay for the x-rays and then go from there. We couldn't really tell anything without those, so TCBIM and I talked about it and agreed to the x-rays as a first step.

The vet said she was going to do the x-rays and she would call me and let me know. Well, she DIDN'T call me, she just went ahead and put the dog's leg back in its socket. It took her an hour and the dog was under general anesthesia the whole time. I'd given her $300 because that was going to be roughly the charges for the x-rays. Well, because she went ahead and treated the dog, without my permission, I now have to cough up another $400! Today. And the kicker is that the fucking procedure probably won't work! There's a very high chance that the leg will come out of socket again and then the dog will have to have surgery. We had discussed this before the dog even had one x-ray! That's why I just wanted the x-ray done, so I could decide what we were going to do next. Now I'm out $700 to this damned vet and it's most likely a big waste of money. I don't understand why she did the procedure without calling me first. TCBIM came home and called them, but the vet was already gone. He explained the situation to the woman at the desk, who seemed concerned that the vet hadn't called to ok the procedure. He's going to talk to the office manager this morning.

I'm so angry. It's not that I didn't want the dog treated, it's that I didn't want to PAY for a procedure that multiple vets have told me most likely wouldn't work. Including THIS vet that did the stupid procedure in the first place.

And can I just say? SEVEN fucking HUNDRED dollars? For four x-rays and a manipulation of a socket back into joint? I understand that I'm paying for her expertise and time, but for fuck's sake. Seven hundred dollars? I should have been a fucking vet, like I wanted to back when I was ten.

The Errant Dog Part III

First of all, Scott, thank you so much for the offer to donate funds for Sadie. It's very kind and generous of you, but I'm going to say no.

Second of all, I'm calling the MSPCA tomorrow to find out if we qualify for assistance to help with her bills. I'm really hoping that we do. I hate to take assistance, but I'll do it if it means I won't have to put the dog down. I thought I really didn't like this dog, but now that the choice is put her down or...nothing, then I'll suck up my pride and take the assistance.

I've been a mess all afternoon, having a major meltdown over this. Not just because it's the dog, but everything. Money problems really suck and we have more than our share right now. I started crying while I was giving Boo her bath and she looked so puzzled. And then she leaned over and wiped my face. So sweet. So heartbreaking.

The Errant Dog Part II

So, the dog has a dislocated hip. At least that's what Skanky Vet Clinic thinks is wrong with her. The vet at Skanky Clinic also said "I do not recommend that you have this taken care of here." Ok then. I'll just be taking my dog elsewhere.

I then called Nice, Clean, Highly Recommended Clinic and they will see her tomorrow. It will cost $300 for x-rays and then they'll tell me how much more it will cost to fix the dislocation. It could be $500, it could be $1200.

The problem is we don't have the money. We barely have the money to get the x-rays done. TCBIM wants to have the dog either put down or give her to a shelter. Both of these ideas make me sick to my stomach, and I honestly don't think a shelter is going to take an injured dog.

I'm taking her NCHR Clinic tomorrow to get the x-rays and then we'll see.

This fucking sucks.

The Errant Dog

This? Is Sadie. Sadie is a Border Collie mixed with Stupid. Lovely dog, pretty, friendly, great with the kids and as dumb as a box of rocks.

Saturday we had a housewarming party. Sadie, of course, got out and bolted, running thru the yard and down the road with a shit-eating grin. A friend of ours showed up on his motorcycle at this point and she started chasing him. He kept going past the house and Sadie ran right out in front of him and he clipped her back leg. He stopped, but she took off. He said she was limping but seemed ok.

We figured she'd come back that night, after everyone had left. That's what she usually does. We called her and walked around the neighbourhood, but we couldn't find her. Sunday morning, when she still hadn't shown up, I drove around looking for her and didn't find her. I didn't find a body either, but that doesn't always mean anything. I called the police and the dog catcher, but they hadn't picked her up.

Yesterday I started calling all the shelters and vets around. No one had seen her. I was starting to think she'd either been taken by someone or had crawled off to die somewhere, that she'd been hurt worse than we thought. Today, I was going to make up posters to put around town, but when I got home from the doctor's, she was waiting by the back door.

She's banged up. I'm taking her in to the vet because I think her back leg may be broken. She's not putting any weight on it and she yelps in pain when she sits or moves funny. This will probably set us back a few hundred dollars. Next time TCBIM says "Oh, just let her run, she'll be fine, she'll come back," I'll wave the vet bill under his nose.


This is why I like cats. Cats don't chase motorcycles. Oscar wouldn't chase anything if his life depended on it. It would be an affront to his dignity. Oscar would starve before chasing down his next meal. I like that in an animal.

The Black Dogs

“I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am so tired. - Elizabeth Wurtzel



So, Saturday was our anniversary. TCBIM didn't remember it. I gave him a card, since we can't really afford presents. He hasn't done anything about it - said he was sorry on Sunday, but never even said Happy Anniversary. This goes hand in hand with not getting me anything for Mother's Day or my birthday, which was in November. I think the only reason he remembers Christmas is because of the incessant advertising, otherwise, he'd forget that, too. And it's not that I want lavish gifts, I just want to be acknowledged. I just want him to remember I exist, that I'm alive. I feel, sometimes, like I'm in a soundproof room, screaming and screaming but no one can hear me.

I'm getting very frustrated with him. He's taken procrastination to new heights, heights I never even dreamed of. I do the things that he says he's going to do - whenever he says he'll clean the kitchen, I know it won't happen. When he says he'll do laundry, I know I'll wind up doing it. Stuff like that I can handle. But when he says he'll move the stove into the cellar or haul a bed out of the attic because we promised to give it to someone, well, I can't physically do that right now. And it's pissing me off that he's making ME look like an irresponsible ditz when it's him that can't get his shit together. And then I wonder if it's just me, if I'm the only one feeling this way, if it's because I'm depressed again. Or if he really is being that annoying. I don't enjoy all this second-guessing myself.

I'm just exhausted and he doesn't seem to get it. He rolls his eyes at me when I ask him to do something. I'm 8 months pregnant. I'm pushing 40 years old. I'm fucking TIRED. Physically and mentally tired. And when he rolls his eyes at me, I want to rip his fucking head right off and then boil his skull and use it as a drinking vessel. The amount of rage I feel sometimes is scary.

I'm just really starting to feel like I'm in over my head, in so many ways. I started taking anti-depressants again, but they take a while to kick in and I'm really afraid I'm going to spend the next few weeks snapping at my kids and wanting to just curl into a ball and cry. So far, this staying home lark is sucking ass. I'm trying so hard to hold it together and I'm so afraid I'm going to fail spectacularly.

Blogging In The Moonlight

I have so much to do tomorrow and I should be sleeping, but I can't. I'm too pissed off.


It was supposed to be the ex's weekend with O. She called him because she hadn't heard from him all week and needed to know when he was picking her up. He wanted me to bring her to him. I said no. I had a lawyer draw up a letter when we moved out here (an hour west of him) saying that he would collect her on Fridays and I would pick her up on Sundays. Because I've had to go to his part of the state frequently, he's only had to pick her up here once, in the three plus months we've been here. He went a bit nutty on me when I refused to drive her out there tomorrow, but I said I wasn't going to, that I had too much to do tomorrow to take two hours to get her to him. I said he could get her Saturday morning if that was easier, but I wasn't making the trip out there just for his convenience. He then asked to talk to O.

While on the phone with her, he tried to convince her to skip school tomorrow so he could get her in the morning. She said no. It's her last day of school and she wants to say goodbye to her friends and collect her stuff and all that. He tried to make her feel guilty, but she was adamant about going to school. She then mentioned that she had a soccer game on Saturday morning and if she missed it, she'd get kicked off the team. He got very angry with her because, apparently, they were all going to Maine on Saturday morning. This is the first O and I had heard about this trip.

I got on the phone with him to see if he was going to get her after the game or just wait until Sunday or what he wanted to do. He said "What, she doesn't want to come to Maine?" I said, no, that she never said that, but that if he wasn't going to get her, she was going to invite a friend to the party we're having on Saturday and she needed to ask the girl tomorrow, so we needed to know. When I asked when they were coming back from Maine, he refused to tell me. He said I didn't need to know that. Um, what? You're taking my daughter out of the state, you weren't going to tell me about it and you aren't going to tell me when you'll be back? I don't fucking think so. I don't mind if he takes her to Maine, but I do mind very much not knowing about it and not knowing when he'll have her back. He tried to get me going, tried to throw all kinds of things in my face, but I somehow managed to keep calm and didn't blow up at him. When he wasn't getting anywhere with me, he tried it on O again, trying to browbeat her into skipping school and soccer. Then he told her to forget it, he'd go to Maine alone and that was that. I think she actually hung up on him.

It just infuriates me. She said "Dad, you KNOW how much soccer means to me! I don't want to get kicked off the team," and all he could do was lay a guilt trip on her. She kept trying to say that she wanted to go with him to Maine, but she wanted him to wait until after the game. The game's at 9 a.m., so it's not like it would hold them up that much. And they're going to his sister-in-law's - they don't have reservations anywhere, they don't have plane, train or ferry tickets, they're just going up for a visit. But he refused to listen to her. Said he'd go without her, expecting, I'm sure, for her to call him up, crying and begging him to come get her. I don't think he understands what he's doing to her when he does these things. She cares that she doesn't see him - I'm not going to lie and say she doesn't care - but she gets so mad that she's just as glad not to, at that point. Plus, she has such a bad relationship with her stepmother that it's almost a relief to her when he doesn't get her. She hasn't seen him in 4 weeks and it doesn't seem to be phasing her at all. She doesn't call him, she doesn't talk about him much, I really think he's driven her away.

And part of me is selfishly glad.

In Which I Go From Topic To Topic

Megan put up a lovely tribute to parents of CWD. Made me get all teary-eyed. Thanks again, Megan.



Today is the first day of my non-working life. Hah. By 8:45, I'd showered, fed and dressed the Boo, changed O's site because it was hurting her, dropped off O at school, dropped off the Boo at daycare (she's almost done with that) and gone to CVS to get prescriptions filled and Tums for me - I am living on Tums these days. Heartburn sucks, man. The only reason I'm home now is because O was supposed to have had a field trip but when I got there to chaperone, she was pale, clammy and feeling pukey, so I brought her home.

The field trip was to see the movie Cars. Now, I want to see this movie and I didn't mind going as chaperone to eleventy-squillion 5th graders (hey, free movie, I'll deal). But the pisser? The thing that's making me shake my fist at the weather gods? It's 70 fucking degrees and SUNNY outside. Slight breeze, not a cloud in the sky, a gorgeous, gorgeous day. Where the fuck was this weather last week, when I was drenched to the armpits, slogging thru the mud at the Granary Burying Ground and being blown down the streets of Boston? Huh? No, gotta save it for the day we're all going to sit inside. Fuckers.



I have to interview someone for an article I'm writing. I've never interviewed anyone in my life. I'm nervous as hell as, as usual, procrastinating like mad about getting it done. It will get done (don't panic, editor-person), but I will be terrified the entire time, just so you know. Terri. Fied.



We are having a housewarming party on Saturday (wanna come?) and I need to clean. I hate cleaning. I wonder what Merry Maids would charge me to come in here and sandblast the place. My sister offered to come over and help, and didn't say she'd charge me for it, either. I know, I had to sit down, too. But she has a bad back, so I don't think she'd be much use. Nice of her, though. Wonder what she wants.


People have been asking about blog templates and where to get them. I got mine from www.lunastemplates.blogspot.com and she was fantastic. I paid and got the template within minutes. When I had problems, she fixed them immediately. I have nothing but good things to say about her. Her designs are cool - she does custom and off-the-rack stuff. Prices vary, of course. Mine was off-the-rack and was $25, which I thought was a good deal. Here's some links to other sites I checked out. So go, browse, be daring. Change is good for you.

Free Sites:


http://www.diaphaneity.com/layouts/page1.php
http://blogspottemplates.blogspot.com/
http://blogtemplates.noipo.org/
http://www.maystardesigns.com/hiddentemplates/templates.html
http://freeskins.blogspot.com/
http://www.pannasmontata-templates.net/templates/
http://blogger-templates.blogspot.com/
http://www.blogfashions.com/



Blog Designers:

http://trollbabygraphics.blogspot.com/
http://gemmakdesigns.blogspot.com/
http://babyjaneblogs.com/
http://www.templates.sincope.net/
http://www.blogstudios.com/
http://www.moodswingcreations.com/PreMade_Templates.html
http://www.delitedesigns.blogspot.com/
http://www.girliebits.blogspot.com/
http://lunastemplates.blogspot.com/
http://www.kinkyblogs.com/designs/portfolio.php
http://design.darkestfaeriedoll.net/
http://www.mystickalincense.com/blog
http://nellodesign.com/
http://elegantwebscapes.com/
http://gussyup.blogspot.com/

Some serious navel-gazing

I'vw had this snippet of lyric stuck in my head for a few weeks. The post under them explains why.


Times when the day is like a play by Sartre,
when it seems a bookburning's in perfect order....

Afternoons will be measured out,
measured out, measured with
Coffeespoons and T.S. Eliot





I rarely expect to think up anything really new or revolutionary, especially when it comes to motherhood/housewife type stuff. I was reading Diary of a Reluctant Housewife tonight and her post pretty much echoes a lot of what I feel.

I’m going to be finishing up work on Wednesday and will be staying at home with the girls from now on. I’ve been trying to find work from home, but haven’t had any luck finding a paying gig. I got a sweet non-paying gig, which could, down the road, turn into something that brings in a bit of money, but for now, I’m gainfully unemployed.

For months, I’ve been saying how much I’m looking forward to this; to spending more time with my girls, to getting things done around the house, to gardening and going for walks and drawing with sidewalk chalk in the driveway and eating popsicles. But now that it’s almost upon me, I’m starting to freak out.

I’m worried that I won’t have the patience or the energy to deal with a very energetic toddler and a often-times moody 11 year-old. I’m worried that I’ll be left staring at 8, 10, 12 hours of day and wondering what the hell I’m going to do with them. I’m worried that I’ll plop them in front of the tv while I go have a meltdown about what I’ve done. I’m REALLY worried that when the new baby gets here, it will only get worse, because then it will be a newborn, a toddler and an often-times moody 11 year-old.

I’m worried that my life will be defined by poopy pants and temper tantrums, by loads of laundry and dirty dishes. That I will cease to be anything more than a stay at home mother, someone to be pitied because she’s let her kids take away her identity.

I’m worried that TCBIM will start to say things like “Well, you’re home all day, doing nothing, why don’t you....” and I will lose it. I’m worried that he’ll start to resent me for not bringing in a paycheck. I’m worried that I’ll start to feel like a whore, wondering if I have to have sex with him tonight so that I can get some grocery money in the morning - all of this happened with my ex-husband, so it’s not like I’m pulling this out of my ass.

The rational part of my brain knows that TCBIM is nothing like my ex-husband, that I am not in the horrible state of mind I was in back then and that I will have a car and friends and a normal town to live in. I won’t be worried about getting evicted - something that happened FIVE times while I was married to my ex.

But the irrational part of my brain has that 1,000 yard stare and is starting to panic and scramble and freak right the fuck out.

The baby is crying...and so it begins.

Hallo. My name is Inigo Montoya

Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti



Ok. That's it for quizzes for now. Promise. This was too good to pass up, though.

It's a Tiki Monkey

So, whaddaya think?

I like it. It has a cool retro-colour, it's different and it has a monkey going nuts on a tiki head. Plus, it makes me think of Eddie Izzard. All in all, a good thing, I think.


Only thing is, I can't figure out how to get the title on top. I hate to play too much because I've already managed to screw it up once. Go, me.

You can call me Anne

Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?
this quiz was made by Lori Fury



Anna of Cleves got the royal shaft. She came all the way to England to become the fourth wife of Henry VIII. Once married to Anna, he refused to consummate the marriage, and called her the "Flanders Mare". Talk about a burn, considering that by this time, Henry was the fattest man in England and had a rotting syphilis sore on his leg.

Anna was miffed, but she was too sensible to let it ruin her fun. She was given an annulment and a fat yearly allowance, and she threw extravagant parties and dined on delicacies for the rest of her life.

Saturday stuff

Wheyhey, it's raining again. It's only the eleventy-third day in a row. Just LOOK at the mushrooms in my backyard. O was out there last night, catching tiny little frogs. And the mosquitos could carry away a small child. My garden has pretty much rotted in the ground.
















I had to chaperone a field trip again. On Wednesday. During a nor'easter. My mind has not fully recovered enough to post about it. It involved mud, rain, hail, gale-force winds and the Freedom Trail. It wasn't pretty. I don't know how I get suckered into these things (oh wait, yes I do, I have a kid with a medical issue) but let me tell you, I do NOT enjoy it. I do it and I'll continue to do it, but I reserve the right to bitch mightily about it.


So, TCBIM started a blog. And I came up with the title. And now I'm pissed because I'm going to start writing something and I want that for my title. So. Do I ask for the title back? Do I use it anyway? Blogs aren't copyrighted, are they? And if I came up with the name in the first place, shouldn't it be mine to use? Listen to me, like my husband is going to sue me for taking the title of his blog.


I want to get a new blog template. I'm sick of the ones available on the site but I don't want to shell out a lot of money for one. However, I know what I want and the freebie/low cost ones just aren't cutting it - at least, not the ones I've seen. So, if anyone has any links to template sites, I'd appreciate it. Also, does anyone know how difficult it is to learn to design templates? Keeping in mind I know nothing about programming/code or any of that. I'm willing to learn, to a degree.


My last day of work is Wednesday. I cannot wait. The commute is kicking my ass - 120 miles a day is not fun. Ever. To celebrate, on Thursday, I'm going to get my hair highlighted. It desperately needs it. I should get a facial or something, too, because everyone keeps telling me I look tired, which, as we all know, is a euphemism for OLD. And I do look old. Or tired. My face is dry, I have huge circles under my eyes and my skin just looks meh. Lotions and potions tend to make it freak out (since I am a delicate, fragile flower. Shut UP.) so I'm a little nervous about it. As well, I probably shouldn't be spending the money, what with not having a paycheck after next Friday.


This is a very random post. I'm feeling more scatterbrained than usual today. And in a few hours, I have to go stand in a soggy soccer field to watch O play. Oh frabjous day.

God help me

TCBIM started a blog.

Bread and Butter notes

Dear Chick In The Tan Acura,

Merging is good. Merging is something that is often overlooked in this, the land of bad drivers. However, when you merge, kindly turn your head to make sure there isn’t someone already in the lane you want to merge into. It doesn’t take much effort, really, and I would really appreciate not getting hit while going 70 mph down the Mass Pike with a dump truck on my ass.

Thank you.



Dear Theo Epstein,

So, how’s that Bronson Arroyo trade looking today, huh? Beckett lasted, what? An inning and a third last night? Nine baserunners and eight runs scored in that time. It was 12 – 1 by the bottom of the third and who was that guy you brought in to replace Beckett? One of the Bad News Bears? This while the Yankees had three of their best hitters on the DL. You maybe want to work on getting Arroyo back now?

Thank you.



Dear Middle Daughter’s Middle School,

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity, once again, to chaperone a field trip. The Freedom Trail Death March is exactly what I wanted to do tomorrow – I don’t know how you knew. And to do it with a busload of screaming 5th graders? Well, that’s just icing on the cake, isn’t it? I’m sure that tomorrow afternoon, my feet and my ears will also want to write thank you notes.

Thank you.



Dear Youngest Daughter’s Incisors,

Just break thru the gums already. Please. Anything to stop the incessant shrieking and whining and carrying on All. Fucking. Day.

Thank you.



Dear TCBIM,

We have two children at home. They both like to be fed every day, multiple times a day. So, yes, we really DO need 20 yoghurts and 2 loaves of bread and, as you put it, “enough paper towels for a small army.” Your constant complaining over every fucking article I put in the trolley is getting old. It’s only been this way for the last six years. You should probably figure it’s going to be like this for the next 20. m’kay? And if you get to buy a 12-pack of beer once or twice a week, then I get to buy Fudgesicles. So Shut. Up.

Thank you.

Panagram

A pangram is a sentence that contains all letters of the alphabet. One of the most famous one being “The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.” Here is more info about pangrams, but the object of this meme is just to see your handwriting.
http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
Get a piece of paper, then write the sentence “The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.”

Sign it with your first name or your handle (not your signature) and take a picture. Then post this and your picture on your blog!

It is that simple… (Leave a comment here or a trackback once you have posted.) Link back, don’t be shy!




D'oh. I forgot to link back to the person I got this from. Just The Six of Us. My apologies.

How not to be woken up

There are plenty of lovely, easy ways to be woken. Your spouse/partner/person you share your bed and heart with could nibble on your ear and drop kisses down your cheek until you woke up. You could be brought breakfast in bed and allow the tantalizing aroma of coffee and pancakes rouse you from your slumber. If you have a child, you could be woken by them crawling into bed with you for a bit of a snuggle. All of these methods, and more, allow you to be woken gently, easily and with a serious lack of shock to the system.

There are, however, ways of being woken up that should be outlawed. Here is one:
One cat.
On your pillow.
Hoiking up a hair ball.
On your hair.
At 5 a.m.




Kerri? I think I found your new alarm clock. I'll even sell it to you, cheap.

Edit to add:






This is what he looks like now, so gerroff my back about the haircut. If you had that much hair and it was 95F for weeks at a time in the summer, you'd probably be HAPPY to walk around looking like a mutant poodle, too.

I see dead people

In my dreams. In smell-o-vision.


I usually hate posts that start with "Last night I had the strangest dream...." (And do you have Matthew whatsit stuck in your head now? Good. My work here is done.) But I'm going to tell you anyway and I'm blaming it on my ceiling fan, which rattles like a summbitch and kept waking me up. Well, that and the baby doing the friggin' merengue in my uterus all. night. long.

I had walled up two very dead Mexicans, to be disposed of later. I'm not sure why I was diposing of them, or how they got dead, but there they were, in my rock wall, stinking. I don't have a rock wall, mind, but in my dream, I did and it was lovely, covered in lichen and moss and, y'know, apparently a dead Mexican repository. On the other side of my lovely rock wall was a beautiful green field, the kind you'd see on a postcard from England. Emerald green grass, sheep grazing off in the distance, a copse of trees off to one side; it was gorgeous. In the green field was daysgoby. She had this navy blue pram, one of those old English jobs, the kind nannies push around manicured parks.




In it was her dead mother. Only every so often, the dead mother would get up out of the pram and do a little jig. She bore a scary resemblance to

Cruella DeVille




and Gloria Vanderbilt.













After doing her dance, she'd turn into a three-legged black pig, complete with Cruella hair, and start hunting for truffles. As you do.



That's the last time I have Doritos before going to bed.

That would be an ecumenical matter.

I was reading an email from someone on a diabetes email list I belong to and something she said just made me want to explode. Since theological discussions are frowned on on this list, I'm posting it here (and besides, I've threatened to do it often enough, I should follow thru on the threat).

She said that she thinks that God gave her epilipesy. This blows my mind. What kind of God GIVES you a disease? If God is a god of mercy and goodness, then why would he give you something like epilepsy? Or, as David Attenborough said "My response is that when Creationists talk about God creating every individual species as a separate act, they always instance hummingbirds, or orchids, sunflowers and beautiful things. But I tend to think instead of a parasitic worm that is boring through the eye of a boy sitting on the bank of a river in West Africa, [a worm] that's going to make him blind. And [I ask them], 'Are you telling me that the God you believe in, who you also say is an all-merciful God, who cares for each one of us individually, are you saying that God created this worm that can live in no other way than in an innocent child's eyeball? Because that doesn't seem to me to coincide with a God who's full of mercy."

That right there pretty much sums up why I don't think there is such a thing as God. I don't know how to explain it any better. I was going to try to get all rational and Darwinic and give long examples of why (including Sister Joanne, who told me, when I was six, mind, that I was going to hell because I wasn't a Catholic - yeah, way to convert someone, there, Sister.) , but that's pretty much it. I don't believe in God. I don't even feel the need to justify it. If you do, great. I don't think less of people who do, I just don't understand it. Kind of like I don't understand homophobia. I understand the meaning of the words, but I don't understand the action.

So there you have it. I can't even muster up a long dissertation on the subject. I just. don't. believe. End of story.

Not that I'm complaining, mind...

...but I came home from picking up the haul I got off Freecycle and O had Hoovered the rug AND picked up the books the Boo had left out. Without being asked. I think aliens have replaced my daughter with a cyborg. As long as it's a cyborg that does the hoovering, I will be content.




Now, the Freecycle haul. I'd posted that I was looking for a toddler bed for the Boo and a guy said he had one. I went over there tonight and he also gave me a fairly new car seat, a little tricycle and a high chair seat that straps to a chair. Score! Psych.

I'm gonna go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow because this is the second bit of good luck I've had recently and since things come in threes, I figure, it can't hurt.

Major Bedhead Presents, For Your Edification:

Grammar Rules for the Unenlightened; Or, How to Write Good

Don't use a big word where a diminutive one will suffice.

Don't use no double negatives. Don't never use no triple negatives.

No sentence fragments.
Corollary: Complete sentences: important.

Stamp out and eliminate redundancy.

Avoid cliches like the plague.

All generalizations are bad.

Take care that your verb and subject is in agreement.

A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with.

Avoid those run-on sentences that just go on, and on, and on, they never stop, they just keep rambling, and you really wish the person would just shut up, but no, they just keep going, they're worse than the Energizer Bunny, they babble incessantly, and these sentences, they just never stop, they go on forever...if you get my drift...

You should never use the second person.

The passive voice should never be used.

Never go off on tangents, which are lines that intersect a curve at only one point and were discovered by Euclid, who lived in the sixth century, which was an era dominated by the Goths, who lived in what we now know as Poland...

As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "I hate quotations."

Excessive use of exclamation points can be disastrous!!!!!

Don't use question marks inappropriately?

Don't obfuscate your theses with extraneous verbiage.

Never use that totally cool, radically groovy out-of-date slang.

Avoid tumbling off the cliff of triteness into the black abyss of overused metaphors.

Keep your ear to the grindstone, your nose to the ground, take the bull by the horns of dilemma, and stop mixing your metaphors.

Avoid those abysmally horrible, outrageously repellent exaggerations.

Avoid any awful anachronistic aggravating antediluvian alliterations.

This sentence no verb.

A short update

I got a phone call last night from my endocrinologist. From her, not her nurse or some office flunky, which was very fantastic. She was calling to tell me my thyroid test was fine, but she wanted it checked again in a couple of weeks, and then she asked about my glucose test. I told her the results (117, which is good) and then told her that I'd been checking all day yesterday and gave her those numbers. She was concerned with the high readings and wants me to ask for the three hour test (oh fun) and wants me to track my numbers today, too. So I'm going to do that. I'm going to have to ask for a prescription for test strips, though, since I'm almost out of the One Touch extras I had, and I can't use O's meter since she brings it to school with her each day. But how cool that the doctor is concerned! And called me back! Amazing.


In other news, I got a new temp in here on Monday. She's MUCH better. Nice, friendly without being ooky, chatty without having diarreah of the mouth, and she doesn't require much in the way of hand-holding. I think she'll fit in just fine around here. Roll on June 14th.

FanTABulous

O is going to be thrilled.

I think I have gestational diabetes.

Last night, I had a lemon square - my friend T made them over the weekend and they were yummy. I checked my bg an hour later and it was 133. Just a tiny bit high. This morning, fasting, I was 99. I had my usual bagel and cream cheese for breakfast, checked an hour later and was 144. Hmm. I just did a 2 hour check and was 166. Fuck. That's too high.

I brought a fairly low-carb lunch today - chicken and veggies and a salad - so I will do one and two hour post prandials and see what that does to my blood sugar. I had my glucose tolerance test on Friday, but forgot to take a meter with me to see what I was after an hour.

I suppose this could explain the massive headaches, the nearly 8 lbs I've gained and the complete and utter lethargy I've been feeling for the last month or so.


Update:
The one hour test came in at 117, which is fine, they say. My hemoglobin was kind of low, so they're sending me a lis of iron-rich foods to eat.

Just for the heck of it, I'm going to do the gestational diabetes diet for the next couple of days, see if I feel any better. Because right now, I feel like shit. Scary, falling-asleep-while-driving shit. It sucks.

...and last, but not least, karataaaaaaaaaay!

Hiiiieeeeeee-ya!

Well, it's still a girl. I'm measuring right on target now, which is good, since I was measuring way ahead a few weeks ago.

At the last ultrasound I had, they couldn't see the baby's heart. It was there, beating away, but she's so low in my pelvis (and as the tech put it, "You're a bit fluffy, dear." No shit, Sherlock.) that they couldn't see it. So I had to have a fetal echocardiogram today, which freaked me out a little bit. The technician is doing the ultrasound, clicking away, then says "Hmm", grabs my folder, asks "Do you have any history of heart defects in your family?" and leaves to go get a doctor. Meanwhile, I'm in the room for 15 minutes, alone, trying not to hyperventilate. Jesus, lady, way to give me heart failure. But everything's fine, no problems at all.

My friend T is coming out tonght, for the weekend. We both love to cook; he loves it so much that he's going to culinary school in Cambridge. I'm really looking forward to it. He found this kitchen supply shop in the funky college town I live near and wants to go. I don't know how I managed to miss this place, but I did. Not after tomorrow, though. There will be Henckels and Wustof-Tridents and lots of other fancy-schmancy knives to drool over, gadgets to fondle, appliances to covet. It's gonna be fan-freakin'-tastic. And then tomorrow night, we'll cook a feast together, like we always do. Mmmmm. I can't wait. And? He's as rabid a Red Sox fan as I am. I picked a good friend.

There shall be a dearth of torpid bovines

Well, I called the agency and got rid of Dozy Cow. She'll finish the week and we'll get someone new on Monday. *whew*

She never shuts up. Never. I just want to hit her. And she keeps interrupting me when I do get a nanosecond to leap in with some training. Listen, lady, SHUT UP already and listen to me when I'm talking to you. See my lips moving? That means yours shouldn't. I don't care if Maytag has licensed the Magic Chef name to some company, it has nothing to do with what we're doing here, so stop gabbing about it.

She's complained so many times about how grubby it is here that I'm tempted to just hand her the bottle of 409 and have her go to town on the place. Maybe I'd slip into unconciousness from the fumes. It's either that or she'll bore me to death. If you're working in a manufacturing facility, it is ridiculous to expect the place to be immaculate. Especially when the company won't spend a dime to update the place and the commodities we ship out of here are sticky and icky and gooey. Makes for kind of a messy place. The office is not dirty, it's just old. And yes, I suppose they could paint it, but to waltz in here on your first day and ask me when they're planning on painting is just a tad presumptuous. So, buh-bye now.

People do my head in

Since I'm leaving my job in mid-June, I took it upon myself to hire a temp to replace me. She is unbelievable. She started yesterday and we had a few down minutes, so I checked my email. She was READING my email over my shoulder. Um, lady? CUT IT OUT!

She looks to be about 55 and holy crap, is she opinionated! She walked into the place and started complaining about the condition of the office, it was too cold, then it was too hot, then there wasn't enough to do while I was out, someone left the toilet seat up, she can't believe we only have a cleaning lady once a week (only she called her a maid :roll eyes: ), when was she going to get set up on the computer and meanwhile, I'm explaining to her how to do things and she DIDN'T TAKE A SINGLE NOTE! If she doesn't improve today, I'm calling the agency and requesting someone else to start on Monday. She told me her whole life story, too - son is a recovering heroin addict, she's going thru a bad divorce, she was married before, blah blah blah blah blah. Shut UP, lady, and learn how to do my job so I can leave!! Aaagh! And stop reading my fucking email! Dozy cow.


It has FINALLY stopped raining. The state flooded. They got something ridiculous like 12" of rain around Boston. It's been unbelievable. Today is sunny, though, so hopefully things will dry out. I really need to get my garden tilled - I may wind up just doing it all in pots this year, since it's so late in the season. Maybe I should do that anyway. It's less work, less bending and stopping with this big ol' belly. No weeding when you plant in pots, either. Hmm. The more I think about it, the more I like this idea. Wonder if you can grow carrots in pots.... Anyone know? I may just give it a try anyway. Home Depot has huge pots and the garden center in the next town has lots of lovely organic potting soils and composted manure (it's called Moo Doo. This cracked me up.)


Anyway. The temp should be here soon, so I'd better send this before she tries to read it. Mother of god. People are just amazing.

Slowly Collapsing, Like a Flan in a Cupboard

That, apparently, what my uterus is doing. It's not a bad thing, it's just what happens when you've been pregnant five times.

So everything is fine. The baby is fine, she's just very low in my pelvis (this would be the flan-y uterus, I guess) and not easily felt.

Anyway. All's fine. More later. Thanks for the good wishes, everyone.

Worried

I haven't felt the baby move much at all since last night, so I'm heading to the midwive's office to make sure everything is ok. Cross whatever you can cross, pray, if that's your thing, rub a lucky rabbit's foot, whatever. I think I will lose my mind if something is wrong.


More to come....

Answering Kerri's Meme

1. How has diabetes changed the way you communicate with your daughter?

Well, considering she was diagnosed before her third birthday, it really hasn't. It's always been there. I think, when I compare it to how I communicate (or fail to) with her older brother, it's helped. We have to talk in order to make decisions in her care and that keeps things more open between us, not just regarding the diabetes, but pretty much regarding everything. Except recently. Recently she's been a pre-teen pain in my butt, roll her eyes, heave big sighs, "oh GAWD, mum" mode. It's fanTABulous. Oy. And vey.

2. If you went ex-pat on the United States, where instead would you chose to live?

Probably England. I'm familiar with it, having lived there before, and I love it there. I love the history of the place, I love the landscape, I even love the weather. Plus, y'know, all the beer and fish 'n' chips I can stand. Never a bad thing.

3. If you had to sell all of your material belongings and could only keep three things, what would you choose to keep and why?

My computer, because it has all my photos on it.
The Victorian sofa that's been in my family since shortly after the Great Fire of Chicago. My great-great grandfather came here from Germany, to be a carpenter after the fire, and someone paid him with that sofa. It's beat to hell, but it's pretty and it's got history.
My purse, because it has all the family's stuff in it - insurance cards, SS cards, the sort of thing that's a bitch to replace. I'm so practical.

4. The World’s Foxiest Man has just sat down next to you on the subway. How do you think you would embarrass yourself?

I'd probably spill something down my front and then stammer and laugh too loudly and just generally be one of those people who make you cringe on their behalf.

5. Why do you blog?

To inflict my snark on the rest of the world.

Grump Girl

This is my 100th post. I 'd put off writing it because I was going to try to do something profound or deep or really funny (ok, that usually fails, but at least I try) or something. And you know what? I just can't be arsed. I'm tired, it's been raining for fucking DAYS and I've been home alone all week, with two rather cranky children, because TCBIM is in Ohio. So, I'm grumpy and you, lovely internets, get the benefit of my grump.

The Boo has discovered temper tantrums. She wakes up (at what-the-fuck o'clock, I might add) and starts in with the grizzling and grouching and doesn't let up until I drop her off at daycare. I pick her up at 4 and she has about 20 minutes of "Oh yay, mummy's here, LaLa's here, I'm so happy," before she starts in again. It's getting really old. Really old. She's not hurt, she's not sick, she's just pissed off because I won't let her eat rocks or the plants or drag the cat around by his tail or rip all the books off the bookshelves. And if I put her in the playpen, forget it. She'd scream less if I were sticking bamboo shoots under her fingernails. It's Driving. Me. Nuts. I'm blaming it on the rain.


We have mice in the house. I found their nasty little mousey poops all over my silverware drawer, which is totally grossing me out. Like, totally, man. So I bought some snap traps, trying to be environmentally-, and more to the point, pet- and kid-friendly, but what did the little fuckers do? Figured out how to get the peanut butter out of the trap without springing it. So, D-Con it is. Your days are numbered. You ate my butter and that is a sin I just can't forgive.


Oscar the Cat, has a cold. I know I shouldn't laugh at my pets, but there really isn't much that's funnier to see than a Persian cat with the sneezes. I can laugh at him with abandon, however, since he isn't catching the damned mice. He also puked up a huge hairball onto my brand new futon cover. His fragile ego will just have to deal.


My 18 month-old G5 shit the bed the other day. I turned it on, it did its start-up thing and I went to check my email, whereupon it went *pop* and went dead. Dead, dead, deadski. No blown fuses, no shut off power cord, nada. So, I have a $2,000 paperweight. Again. This damned thing has given us a ton of problems since we bought it. Everyone raves about Apples, but honestly, I've had fewer problems with my 8 year-old Gateway.


It really has been raining for days. It's supposed to rain right thru the weekend and all of next week. Today, it's raining under the doors here at work. Lovely. There's a puddle outside my office. Not outdoors, just outside my office.


And now, for your viewing pleasure, me. The Whale. I'm only 27 weeks right now. I dread to think what I'm going to look like at 40 weeks. The word gi-normous springs to mind. Oy.

Getting to know youuuuuuu, getting to know all about youuuuuuuuuu

I'm not as efficient and organized as Allison, so you're all getting the same questions to answer. Feel free to tag whomever you want - rules are in the previous post to this one.


1. Pretend you're stranded on a desert island. You already have shelter, water, batteries, an abundant food supply that doesn't revolve around coconuts and even a cabana boy/girl to minster to your, erm, needs. However, you need some intellectual entertainment. Give me your top five desert island:
Books
Movies
Albums (NOT compilations of your own making)
and tell me why these make the cut.

2. Now, pretend you won the lottery. It's a huge amount, although not sickeningly huge. After you've given away your chunk to charity, paid off all your bills, set up savings/trust funds for kids and self and given money to deserving family and friends, you're left with $5 million, which you must use to build a house. Where would it be? What would it look like? Tell me how you'd furnish it and then describe your first party there.

3. If you could have dinner with five people from history, living or dead, who would they be? What about five fictional characters? What would you serve at each dinner?

4. Describe your least favourite and best characteristics.

5. And finally, answer James Lipton's Ten Questions:
(And I don't want to hear that this is cheating. It's MY interview, I'll ask what I want. So there.)
What is your favorite word?
What is your least favorite word?
What turns you on?
What turns you off?
What is your favorite curse word?
What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
What profession would you not like to do?
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

Interview Meme

This interview meme is making the rounds. I asked Allison to interview me and here are my answers. Instructions at the bottom of the page, if you want to play along.


1. How did you and TCBIM meet? From what I've gathered in my investigatory research, he was 20 when you met. There has to be a good story there.

I don't know why it's embarassing, but it is, a bit. We met in a chat room called the Virtual Irish Pub (I don't think it exists any more). We started talking in there and both lied about our ages - he went higher, I went lower - and then started emailing and finally, talking on the phone. It wasn't until I invited him for a visit four or five months later that I discovered he wasn't even of drinking age yet. But he showed up and we had a fantastic time, got all googly-eyed and stupid about each other and three months later, he moved down here permanently. Three months after that, we got married. I don't really recommend moving that quickly - it's been a long getting-to-know-each-other process and we've had a lot of ups and downs, but for the most part, it's been good.


2. As a soon-to-be-graduate of college, what advice would you give me about living in the Real World?

Learn how to manage your money. Learn how to budget and how to live within your means. Don't fritter away your extra money on silly things - try to save some. And never, ever, EVER rely on ANYONE else to provide for you. Make sure you can always support yourself, and you children, should you have any.

3. If you could be any character in any book, who would you be and why? (You can even be a guy, if that helps.)

Hmmm. I'm not sure. There's quite a few characters that I admire, but none of them that I'd want to be all the time. Scarlett O'Hara, for her green eyes and strength. Ruth Jamison, from Fried Green Tomatoes, for her serenity and quiet strength. Mostly, though, Jo March from Little Women. She's so real, so passionate about her writing but struggles thru a lot of things, from being a tomboy to the death of her sister, that she's always been one of the most honest book characters I've ever read. She's never a victim, but she's not a saint either.

4. What do you like most about being a mom?

Honestly, I don't know. There's so many things. And sometimes I can't stand it, to be honest - althought that's more the monotony of laundry, dinner, baths, homework and driving hither and yon than anything. But most of the time, it's just the feeling of contentedness I get when we're together. I love watching them grow and learn things, I love seeing them branch out and getting passionate about things and wanting to share those passions with me. Most of all, I love watching them forge their own identities. It's amazing and awe-inspiring to see them become these little people, to watch their personalities emerge and grow and to get glimpses of the adults they'll be.

5. Who is your inspiration?

Lots of people. People with strength of character, people who stand up for what they believe in without trampling others, people who are living their lives, not just existing. Normal, every day people, mainly.


Here are the instructions:
Leave me a comment saying “interview me.” The first five commenters will be the participants.I will respond by asking you five questions.You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Random Witterings

Yesterday I helped chaperone my dauhter's 5th grade class on a trip to Plimouth Plantation. I spent most of the day with Eddie Izzard running around in my head. "Plymouth? Is this Plymouth? Right, lads, back on the boat, we've gone in a big circle." The alternative was to sit down in a puddle and cry. Because yesterday? Yesterday SUCKED.

It was 40 degrees F with 20mph winds and? It was raining. Sideways. Fanfuckingtastic. Of course, everything was outside. And the Pilgrims? They didn't have paved roads. Mud. Muck. Wet thru and thru, jeans, hoodie, squelching sneakers and socks, hell, even my underwear was wet. There were houses to go into, but again, Pilgrims? Not so much with the central heating. Major suckage. It was a real Chamber of Commerce day.

My face looks like someone's been at it with a Brillo pad. My neck aches and my nose is all stuffed up because I probably got germs from one of those maggoty little fifth-graders. Ugh.

And, joy of joys, I have to go on ANOTHER field trip in June. To do the Freedom Trail, in Boston. *whimper*

Tea and sympathy, people. Tea and sympathy.

_________________________________________________________

I'm debating doing a "Why I don't believe in God" post, but I'm a little afraid of the reactions I might get. As if it wasn't painfully obvious, given my prediclection for swearing like a drunken sailor, I'm not a religious person. I don't care if other people are, I just don't want it shoved down my throat. Or even talked about that much. Thus, my hesitation about posting what I've been working on.

__________________________________________________________

TCBIM is going to Ohio next week, for work. I'm trying not to freak out. Ever since the Thing With The Hoochie, I'm mistrusful. I haven't, of course, brought this up with him because a.) I'm an idiot and b.) I'm a chicken. He's going to sigh and roll his eyes and that just pisses me off. I would really like to shake him, hard, sometimes. Better yet, I'd like it if he could get inside my head and really understand why I feel the way I feel. Why can't we do that? It would make life a hell of a lot easier sometimes.

___________________________________________________________

How do you do those cool strike out things? I see it a lot, people type something really snarky and sarcastic and then strike thru it and type something more PC. This appeals to my snarky, bitchy side immensely.

___________________________________________________________

I'm huge. I look at least 7.5 months pregnant and I'm just 6. A month ago, I was measuring at 28 weeks and as of Tuesday, I'm only 26. I lie in bed on my back and stare in amazement at my stomach. What is this? Is it just my body doing its thing early? It's weird and a little disturbing and it's a good thing I don't gain weight when I get pregnant (I have enough weight to nourish quadruplets), otherwise I'd have outgrown my maternity clothes.

____________________________________________________________

And finally, for Bethany and Nicole and whoever else was waiting: Olivia did a thigh site on Monday! Yay!! It bugged her, mainly because she wears her jeans so snug (pre-teens - holy fashionista, Batman!), but she did it. I'm very proud of her.

Only In Boston...

See, now, I think this is perfectly reasonable.

"The timing couldn't be better for the Red Sox. Tim Wakefield is pitching for the Red Sox in Monday's clash against the Yankees at Fenway Park and Bard had well-chronicled struggles (10 passed balls) handling Wakefield's knuckleball.

The Red Sox are hoping that Mirabelli will arrive from the West Coast -- the Padres are in San Francisco to play the Giants -- in time to start Monday's game. Manager Terry Francona has written out two lineup cards to choose from: one with Mirabelli batting eighth, another with regular catcher Jason Varitek slated to start.

Red Sox GM Theo Epstein said that Mirabelli's flight is scheduled to land in Boston shortly after 6 p.m., after which he will receive a police escort to Fenway Park." (emphasis mine)

I can't WAIT to hear how the Fenway Faithful recieve that rat-bastid traitor, Johnny Damon.

In the It's About Fucking Time department:

Johnny Damon won't be the only player making his return to Fenway tonight. According to a major league source, the Red Sox have re-acquired Doug Mirabelli from the Padres in exchange for catcher Josh Bard, minor-league pitcher Cla Meredith, and cash (in the six-figure range). The Yankees were also trying to acquire Mirabelli.
To read more, visit http://www.boston.com



Well, isn't that just about the best news ever? That Josh Bard sucked ass, man. He had, like, 4 passed balls in ONE game. I never could understand why they traded Mirabelli, but I hope they're paying him a LOT more than they were.

Welcome home, Doug.

No longer a hermit crab...or crabby hermit

I always say I don't like people much, but yesterday I met several really lovely specimens of the species.

First, we had a couple and their daughter over for a little cookout. The daughter is close to O's age and also has diabetes. It was great to chat with the parents - they're both very friendly and the husband plays golf, so TCBIM was very happy. The girls seemed to get along well, which is good. I'm hoping we can continue to get together with them.

Then *drum roll* I got to meet Art-Sweet. She's really nice and she brought me a Gerbera Daisy. I fed her tacos for dinner and she didn't keel over, which is always a plus. I don't like to poison my guests. She and O talked about diabetes and rotten kids who tease and camp. She didn't mind my crazy dog or my sneezy cat either. And she's cute! A mop of wavy hair, funky glasses and some way cool shoes. AND, she thought I was in my very early thirties, so she's more than welcome to come back. Any time. :D I'm hoping she got home ok, since she still had quite a drive in front of her.

Maybe I'm not quite as curmudgeonly as I thought...I'm starting to develop quite a list of friends and acquaintances. It's kind of cool.


And I thought I'd share this, since it cracked me up....




My thoughts exactly.