I was minding my own business watching Julia do her thing down on the floor at Gymnastics when I realized the older gentleman near me was talking to me.
We sat and chatted, about kids - he was there with his granddaughter. We talked about sports for kids and how important they can be and about the time he moved over closer to talk I realized - HE WAS CHATTING ME UP.
I'm notoriously blind to these sorts of overtures, often times my husband points them out and then teases me that I didn't notice. I guess I just never assumed TALKING to someone had to be MOTIVATED.
So there I am chatting with this old dude. He's nice enough, but he's also being cautiously flirty, and I'm amused as the conversation drifts towards hints of his physical prowess, he still rides skateboards he informs me."Good for you, old dude," I think, as he talks about how he travels for work and always takes his skateboard if he goes to Florida because he can ride it there so easily.
"You wouldn't remember but skateboards were a huge craze in the 70s too, the boards were different -smaller- that's when I got my first board and fell in love with it back when I was a kid," he tells me.
I laughed and told him I did in fact remember the skateboard craze of the 70s, I had a board back then.
"Well how is that possible. When were you born?" he asked incredulously.
"1968," I answered.
That's when it got weird.
When was the old dude born?
1969.
Crap.
Either I am quite out of touch with my appearance or this guy needs to learn about STAYING OUT OF THE SUN because I'd have pegged him in his 60s. A HEALTHY 60s but still, 60s.
Now where is my face cream...
Showing posts with label The Downward Spiral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Downward Spiral. Show all posts
Friday, July 22, 2016
Flirting With Grandpa
I was minding my own business watching Julia do her thing down on the floor at Gymnastics when I realized the older gentleman near me was talking to me.
We sat and chatted, about kids - he was there with his granddaughter. We talked about sports for kids and how important they can be and about the time he moved over closer to talk I realized - HE WAS CHATTING ME UP.
I'm notoriously blind to these sorts of overtures, often times my husband points them out and then teases me that I didn't notice. I guess I just never assumed TALKING to someone had to be MOTIVATED.
So there I am chatting with this old dude. He's nice enough, but he's also being cautiously flirty, and I'm amused as the conversation drifts towards hints of his physical prowess, he still rides skateboards he informs me."Good for you, old dude," I think, as he talks about how he travels for work and always takes his skateboard if he goes to Florida because he can ride it there so easily.
"You wouldn't remember but skateboards were a huge craze in the 70s too, the boards were different -smaller- that's when I got my first board and fell in love with it back when I was a kid," he tells me.
I laughed and told him I did in fact remember the skateboard craze of the 70s, I had a board back then.
"Well how is that possible. When were you born?" he asked incredulously.
"1968," I answered.
That's when it got weird.
When was the old dude born?
1969.
Crap.
Either I am quite out of touch with my appearance or this guy needs to learn about STAYING OUT OF THE SUN because I'd have pegged him in his 60s. A HEALTHY 60s but still, 60s.
Now where is my face cream...
We sat and chatted, about kids - he was there with his granddaughter. We talked about sports for kids and how important they can be and about the time he moved over closer to talk I realized - HE WAS CHATTING ME UP.
I'm notoriously blind to these sorts of overtures, often times my husband points them out and then teases me that I didn't notice. I guess I just never assumed TALKING to someone had to be MOTIVATED.
So there I am chatting with this old dude. He's nice enough, but he's also being cautiously flirty, and I'm amused as the conversation drifts towards hints of his physical prowess, he still rides skateboards he informs me."Good for you, old dude," I think, as he talks about how he travels for work and always takes his skateboard if he goes to Florida because he can ride it there so easily.
"You wouldn't remember but skateboards were a huge craze in the 70s too, the boards were different -smaller- that's when I got my first board and fell in love with it back when I was a kid," he tells me.
I laughed and told him I did in fact remember the skateboard craze of the 70s, I had a board back then.
"Well how is that possible. When were you born?" he asked incredulously.
"1968," I answered.
That's when it got weird.
When was the old dude born?
1969.
Crap.
Either I am quite out of touch with my appearance or this guy needs to learn about STAYING OUT OF THE SUN because I'd have pegged him in his 60s. A HEALTHY 60s but still, 60s.
Now where is my face cream...
Tuesday, May 03, 2016
Medical Science Is Great Except When It sucks
Several years ago I had a surgical procedure that was an alternative to hysterectomy. When I did it, I was experiencing chaos in my innards in frequency greater than every 28 days and it was terrible. I liked the idea of not having to worry about it monthly, or ever again.
I've written about the fact that it does get a bit frustrating to still have the PMS swings and whatnot but let's face it, there is nothing bad about NOT having your period to trouble you (unless it's something you want hey I'm not here to judge live and let live etc).
It's a pain. Literally. I've always felt like it should have an on and off switch. "I'd like to be able to reproduce now, CLICK - ON." Something like that. Alas no, and since the age of 10 I had cripping horrible monthly cycles. They promised me it was 100% effective, and that it was a perfect alternative to hysterectomy which had it's appeal BIG time.
However, over the past few years I've had this issue - suddenly I'll be just doubled over with this intense pain. Not to be too graphic, it feels like you're about to have the worlds worst butt explosion. But nothing would happen and I would be confused by the pain. Then I realized it was happening in a pattern. OH ABOUT EVERY 28-30 days. Now, one instance of crippling pain became a couple of times a day as time went on, and then I'd spot maybe once or twice.
Not what was advertised.
When I was at my OBGYN last time, I told him about it, and he explained to me that two things were probably going on. I had my procedure done when the process was still very new - so they may have over estimated it's longevity - some people (including me) seem to have the power to heal better than anticipated so our uterus HEALED THYSELF and is now once again working itself back to functioning.
The other thing for me as an individual ist that my uterus had all those little nooks and crannies in it because it's deformed and since they were working blind, it's possible that they missed a spot here or there and that's speeding up my "healing" process. Of course I can always have a hysterectomy if it becomes unbearable.
Today I'm having cramps from hell. Nothing else. Just exquisite, soul ripping cramps that make me quite unhappy that I won't be getting handed a baby at the end of it all. Seriously NOT COOL UTERUS.
This is my "I can't with this." Face. That's how the kids talk. I'm trying to stay hip.
Oh no, I said hip. I failed.
Tweet
I've written about the fact that it does get a bit frustrating to still have the PMS swings and whatnot but let's face it, there is nothing bad about NOT having your period to trouble you (unless it's something you want hey I'm not here to judge live and let live etc).
It's a pain. Literally. I've always felt like it should have an on and off switch. "I'd like to be able to reproduce now, CLICK - ON." Something like that. Alas no, and since the age of 10 I had cripping horrible monthly cycles. They promised me it was 100% effective, and that it was a perfect alternative to hysterectomy which had it's appeal BIG time.
However, over the past few years I've had this issue - suddenly I'll be just doubled over with this intense pain. Not to be too graphic, it feels like you're about to have the worlds worst butt explosion. But nothing would happen and I would be confused by the pain. Then I realized it was happening in a pattern. OH ABOUT EVERY 28-30 days. Now, one instance of crippling pain became a couple of times a day as time went on, and then I'd spot maybe once or twice.
Not what was advertised.
When I was at my OBGYN last time, I told him about it, and he explained to me that two things were probably going on. I had my procedure done when the process was still very new - so they may have over estimated it's longevity - some people (including me) seem to have the power to heal better than anticipated so our uterus HEALED THYSELF and is now once again working itself back to functioning.
The other thing for me as an individual ist that my uterus had all those little nooks and crannies in it because it's deformed and since they were working blind, it's possible that they missed a spot here or there and that's speeding up my "healing" process. Of course I can always have a hysterectomy if it becomes unbearable.
Today I'm having cramps from hell. Nothing else. Just exquisite, soul ripping cramps that make me quite unhappy that I won't be getting handed a baby at the end of it all. Seriously NOT COOL UTERUS.
This is my "I can't with this." Face. That's how the kids talk. I'm trying to stay hip.
Oh no, I said hip. I failed.
Tweet
Medical Science Is Great Except When It sucks
Several years ago I had a surgical procedure that was an alternative to hysterectomy. When I did it, I was experiencing chaos in my innards in frequency greater than every 28 days and it was terrible. I liked the idea of not having to worry about it monthly, or ever again.
I've written about the fact that it does get a bit frustrating to still have the PMS swings and whatnot but let's face it, there is nothing bad about NOT having your period to trouble you (unless it's something you want hey I'm not here to judge live and let live etc).
It's a pain. Literally. I've always felt like it should have an on and off switch. "I'd like to be able to reproduce now, CLICK - ON." Something like that. Alas no, and since the age of 10 I had cripping horrible monthly cycles. They promised me it was 100% effective, and that it was a perfect alternative to hysterectomy which had it's appeal BIG time.
However, over the past few years I've had this issue - suddenly I'll be just doubled over with this intense pain. Not to be too graphic, it feels like you're about to have the worlds worst butt explosion. But nothing would happen and I would be confused by the pain. Then I realized it was happening in a pattern. OH ABOUT EVERY 28-30 days. Now, one instance of crippling pain became a couple of times a day as time went on, and then I'd spot maybe once or twice.
Not what was advertised.
When I was at my OBGYN last time, I told him about it, and he explained to me that two things were probably going on. I had my procedure done when the process was still very new - so they may have over estimated it's longevity - some people (including me) seem to have the power to heal better than anticipated so our uterus HEALED THYSELF and is now once again working itself back to functioning.
The other thing for me as an individual ist that my uterus had all those little nooks and crannies in it because it's deformed and since they were working blind, it's possible that they missed a spot here or there and that's speeding up my "healing" process. Of course I can always have a hysterectomy if it becomes unbearable.
Today I'm having cramps from hell. Nothing else. Just exquisite, soul ripping cramps that make me quite unhappy that I won't be getting handed a baby at the end of it all. Seriously NOT COOL UTERUS.
This is my "I can't with this." Face. That's how the kids talk. I'm trying to stay hip.
Oh no, I said hip. I failed.
Tweet
I've written about the fact that it does get a bit frustrating to still have the PMS swings and whatnot but let's face it, there is nothing bad about NOT having your period to trouble you (unless it's something you want hey I'm not here to judge live and let live etc).
It's a pain. Literally. I've always felt like it should have an on and off switch. "I'd like to be able to reproduce now, CLICK - ON." Something like that. Alas no, and since the age of 10 I had cripping horrible monthly cycles. They promised me it was 100% effective, and that it was a perfect alternative to hysterectomy which had it's appeal BIG time.
However, over the past few years I've had this issue - suddenly I'll be just doubled over with this intense pain. Not to be too graphic, it feels like you're about to have the worlds worst butt explosion. But nothing would happen and I would be confused by the pain. Then I realized it was happening in a pattern. OH ABOUT EVERY 28-30 days. Now, one instance of crippling pain became a couple of times a day as time went on, and then I'd spot maybe once or twice.
Not what was advertised.
When I was at my OBGYN last time, I told him about it, and he explained to me that two things were probably going on. I had my procedure done when the process was still very new - so they may have over estimated it's longevity - some people (including me) seem to have the power to heal better than anticipated so our uterus HEALED THYSELF and is now once again working itself back to functioning.
The other thing for me as an individual ist that my uterus had all those little nooks and crannies in it because it's deformed and since they were working blind, it's possible that they missed a spot here or there and that's speeding up my "healing" process. Of course I can always have a hysterectomy if it becomes unbearable.
Today I'm having cramps from hell. Nothing else. Just exquisite, soul ripping cramps that make me quite unhappy that I won't be getting handed a baby at the end of it all. Seriously NOT COOL UTERUS.
This is my "I can't with this." Face. That's how the kids talk. I'm trying to stay hip.
Oh no, I said hip. I failed.
Tweet
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Protest Is Futile
Perhaps the only reason I have children is so that I can get through this time in my life. It's 10:37 am and I haven't cried once despite having twice reached for my phone to call mom. I also processed the thought "Is Mom at the nursing home or at Matt's?" before I remembered.
I would like to have devolved into blubbering, sloppy snotty tears, but you see life was busy with me. Charlie was chewing something. Charlie had not been fed for two hours. Food? What is it you're eating Charlie?
Charlie has become candy obsessed. I've been up since a bit before 8 am and every moment I was "occupied" ie - changing a diaper, in the bathroom, stepping outside to dump coffee grounds on my roses, my Charlie had raced into the kitchen, gotten into the cabinet and then the candy bowl and eaten as much mini candy bar as he possibly could.
My guess is that he's up to 10 today.
Yesterday he not only raided the candy bars, he also seems to have consumed about 4 praline pecans that are so sweet they make my blood sugar soar and I get the shakes. Charlie is an eating machine. I fed him a nice big breakfast and he ate nearly all of it. Plus a chocolate milk.
The quest for sweets is insatiable, however. I'll see him, sitting innocently with puffed out cheeks full of chocolate, and chocolate around his mouth and say "Charlie, are you eating candy?" And omg - he LIES. "NO." I ask again, "Charlie - are you eating candy?" And he admits it. "Yeah." I suppose I should celebrate learning to lie maybe? I'm not sure. That's some kind of development right?
Thus, my desire to devolve into a blubbering mess is thwarted by an actual need to keep my child out of a diabetic coma.
I've hidden the candy. I've warned the oldest child to be on the lookout for random noises from the kitchen, it means we've got a mouse named Charlie. I can't even think about this too hard. We're going to have to get cabinet locks for real - what if it was poison he was running off to eat?
Good grief.
I don't even know. But I know we're going to have to do something.
Well, it's keeping me too busy to cry. That's a plus.
Tweet
I would like to have devolved into blubbering, sloppy snotty tears, but you see life was busy with me. Charlie was chewing something. Charlie had not been fed for two hours. Food? What is it you're eating Charlie?
Charlie has become candy obsessed. I've been up since a bit before 8 am and every moment I was "occupied" ie - changing a diaper, in the bathroom, stepping outside to dump coffee grounds on my roses, my Charlie had raced into the kitchen, gotten into the cabinet and then the candy bowl and eaten as much mini candy bar as he possibly could.
My guess is that he's up to 10 today.
Yesterday he not only raided the candy bars, he also seems to have consumed about 4 praline pecans that are so sweet they make my blood sugar soar and I get the shakes. Charlie is an eating machine. I fed him a nice big breakfast and he ate nearly all of it. Plus a chocolate milk.
The quest for sweets is insatiable, however. I'll see him, sitting innocently with puffed out cheeks full of chocolate, and chocolate around his mouth and say "Charlie, are you eating candy?" And omg - he LIES. "NO." I ask again, "Charlie - are you eating candy?" And he admits it. "Yeah." I suppose I should celebrate learning to lie maybe? I'm not sure. That's some kind of development right?
Thus, my desire to devolve into a blubbering mess is thwarted by an actual need to keep my child out of a diabetic coma.
I've hidden the candy. I've warned the oldest child to be on the lookout for random noises from the kitchen, it means we've got a mouse named Charlie. I can't even think about this too hard. We're going to have to get cabinet locks for real - what if it was poison he was running off to eat?
Good grief.
I don't even know. But I know we're going to have to do something.
Well, it's keeping me too busy to cry. That's a plus.
Tweet
Protest Is Futile
Perhaps the only reason I have children is so that I can get through this time in my life. It's 10:37 am and I haven't cried once despite having twice reached for my phone to call mom. I also processed the thought "Is Mom at the nursing home or at Matt's?" before I remembered.
I would like to have devolved into blubbering, sloppy snotty tears, but you see life was busy with me. Charlie was chewing something. Charlie had not been fed for two hours. Food? What is it you're eating Charlie?
Charlie has become candy obsessed. I've been up since a bit before 8 am and every moment I was "occupied" ie - changing a diaper, in the bathroom, stepping outside to dump coffee grounds on my roses, my Charlie had raced into the kitchen, gotten into the cabinet and then the candy bowl and eaten as much mini candy bar as he possibly could.
My guess is that he's up to 10 today.
Yesterday he not only raided the candy bars, he also seems to have consumed about 4 praline pecans that are so sweet they make my blood sugar soar and I get the shakes. Charlie is an eating machine. I fed him a nice big breakfast and he ate nearly all of it. Plus a chocolate milk.
The quest for sweets is insatiable, however. I'll see him, sitting innocently with puffed out cheeks full of chocolate, and chocolate around his mouth and say "Charlie, are you eating candy?" And omg - he LIES. "NO." I ask again, "Charlie - are you eating candy?" And he admits it. "Yeah." I suppose I should celebrate learning to lie maybe? I'm not sure. That's some kind of development right?
Thus, my desire to devolve into a blubbering mess is thwarted by an actual need to keep my child out of a diabetic coma.
I've hidden the candy. I've warned the oldest child to be on the lookout for random noises from the kitchen, it means we've got a mouse named Charlie. I can't even think about this too hard. We're going to have to get cabinet locks for real - what if it was poison he was running off to eat?
Good grief.
I don't even know. But I know we're going to have to do something.
Well, it's keeping me too busy to cry. That's a plus.
Tweet
I would like to have devolved into blubbering, sloppy snotty tears, but you see life was busy with me. Charlie was chewing something. Charlie had not been fed for two hours. Food? What is it you're eating Charlie?
Charlie has become candy obsessed. I've been up since a bit before 8 am and every moment I was "occupied" ie - changing a diaper, in the bathroom, stepping outside to dump coffee grounds on my roses, my Charlie had raced into the kitchen, gotten into the cabinet and then the candy bowl and eaten as much mini candy bar as he possibly could.
My guess is that he's up to 10 today.
Yesterday he not only raided the candy bars, he also seems to have consumed about 4 praline pecans that are so sweet they make my blood sugar soar and I get the shakes. Charlie is an eating machine. I fed him a nice big breakfast and he ate nearly all of it. Plus a chocolate milk.
The quest for sweets is insatiable, however. I'll see him, sitting innocently with puffed out cheeks full of chocolate, and chocolate around his mouth and say "Charlie, are you eating candy?" And omg - he LIES. "NO." I ask again, "Charlie - are you eating candy?" And he admits it. "Yeah." I suppose I should celebrate learning to lie maybe? I'm not sure. That's some kind of development right?
Thus, my desire to devolve into a blubbering mess is thwarted by an actual need to keep my child out of a diabetic coma.
I've hidden the candy. I've warned the oldest child to be on the lookout for random noises from the kitchen, it means we've got a mouse named Charlie. I can't even think about this too hard. We're going to have to get cabinet locks for real - what if it was poison he was running off to eat?
Good grief.
I don't even know. But I know we're going to have to do something.
Well, it's keeping me too busy to cry. That's a plus.
Tweet
Thursday, February 12, 2015
The Ups And Downs of Being The Adult
The other night, in the early AM I woke up to the sound of my husband sniffing the air. He was milling around upstairs, sniffing and sniffing. He opened the attic as I watched from my warm, cozy bed, sniffed up there and then closed it again. I knew right then I didn't want to know what was amiss but I also realized I was awake and had to ask.
He told me he smelled a fire, but couldn't find anything ON fire. We felt the walls. We felt the side attic. It was stronger here vs. there. But it was strongest OUTSIDE. We went outside and looked around. Before I awoke he had checked the sides of the house and looked up, nothing. There wasn't really SMOKE outside but maybe it could've been said to be foggy. It was also 5 am, a time when Atlanta CAN be foggy so that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything.
Back inside we looked out back toward the forest, nothing. There was the definitive smell of burning wood, quite strong. If you've ever smelled a house burning, wood burning is only part of the smell. Because of paints and chemicals it's an insanely BAD smell when a house is burning. This smell reminded me of the time I woke up in Kentucky wondering what was all this smoke outside, and it turned out that the forest, 100 miles away was burning. It smelled like an amazing fire in your fireplace.
At this point we were baffled, what do you do? We don't see a fire. Nothing in our house seems to be burning. There's no smoke outside.
Right about then we wondered when the adults were going to arrive with the answers.
I think that's the rub. While it's great being able to stay up till 4 am and eat whatever you want, the downside is that being an actual adult means that both of those things have consequences way worse than getting grounded. I WISH THE CONSEQUENCES OF ANYTHING WERE GETTING GROUNDED.
Being the adult means my little brother and I have to have real conversations about my dad, the what if's that I at least had hoped we had a few more conversations. His heart is better. But he's confused in ways that are troubling. I know everyone ends up taking care of their parents in one way or another, and that's the circle and I am totally embracing it but I also want to scream because I wasn't ready and I'm sure he wasn't either.
The other thing that happens when you suddenly realize you can never leave the adults table again is that you start to realize who is there with you, and for me it's nice to have my brother there. He and my SIL are faced with the day to day of the work where my dad's recovering is concerned and I know I feel better knowing that while we might not have experience on this path, being on it with the people you trust is better than being there alone.
So the natural order of things is in place, my husband and I made the decision that we know nothing is on fire, but someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and so I go to bed (but he stays up just in case). My brother or SIL and I talk daily or at least text, discussing our dad's progress and how things are going and what are the next steps. We ask questions, lots of questions.
We're the adults, nobody is going can ground us. And that's too damn bad.
Tweet
He told me he smelled a fire, but couldn't find anything ON fire. We felt the walls. We felt the side attic. It was stronger here vs. there. But it was strongest OUTSIDE. We went outside and looked around. Before I awoke he had checked the sides of the house and looked up, nothing. There wasn't really SMOKE outside but maybe it could've been said to be foggy. It was also 5 am, a time when Atlanta CAN be foggy so that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything.
Back inside we looked out back toward the forest, nothing. There was the definitive smell of burning wood, quite strong. If you've ever smelled a house burning, wood burning is only part of the smell. Because of paints and chemicals it's an insanely BAD smell when a house is burning. This smell reminded me of the time I woke up in Kentucky wondering what was all this smoke outside, and it turned out that the forest, 100 miles away was burning. It smelled like an amazing fire in your fireplace.
At this point we were baffled, what do you do? We don't see a fire. Nothing in our house seems to be burning. There's no smoke outside.
Right about then we wondered when the adults were going to arrive with the answers.
I think that's the rub. While it's great being able to stay up till 4 am and eat whatever you want, the downside is that being an actual adult means that both of those things have consequences way worse than getting grounded. I WISH THE CONSEQUENCES OF ANYTHING WERE GETTING GROUNDED.
Being the adult means my little brother and I have to have real conversations about my dad, the what if's that I at least had hoped we had a few more conversations. His heart is better. But he's confused in ways that are troubling. I know everyone ends up taking care of their parents in one way or another, and that's the circle and I am totally embracing it but I also want to scream because I wasn't ready and I'm sure he wasn't either.
The other thing that happens when you suddenly realize you can never leave the adults table again is that you start to realize who is there with you, and for me it's nice to have my brother there. He and my SIL are faced with the day to day of the work where my dad's recovering is concerned and I know I feel better knowing that while we might not have experience on this path, being on it with the people you trust is better than being there alone.
So the natural order of things is in place, my husband and I made the decision that we know nothing is on fire, but someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and so I go to bed (but he stays up just in case). My brother or SIL and I talk daily or at least text, discussing our dad's progress and how things are going and what are the next steps. We ask questions, lots of questions.
We're the adults, nobody is going can ground us. And that's too damn bad.
Tweet
The Ups And Downs of Being The Adult
The other night, in the early AM I woke up to the sound of my husband sniffing the air. He was milling around upstairs, sniffing and sniffing. He opened the attic as I watched from my warm, cozy bed, sniffed up there and then closed it again. I knew right then I didn't want to know what was amiss but I also realized I was awake and had to ask.
He told me he smelled a fire, but couldn't find anything ON fire. We felt the walls. We felt the side attic. It was stronger here vs. there. But it was strongest OUTSIDE. We went outside and looked around. Before I awoke he had checked the sides of the house and looked up, nothing. There wasn't really SMOKE outside but maybe it could've been said to be foggy. It was also 5 am, a time when Atlanta CAN be foggy so that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything.
Back inside we looked out back toward the forest, nothing. There was the definitive smell of burning wood, quite strong. If you've ever smelled a house burning, wood burning is only part of the smell. Because of paints and chemicals it's an insanely BAD smell when a house is burning. This smell reminded me of the time I woke up in Kentucky wondering what was all this smoke outside, and it turned out that the forest, 100 miles away was burning. It smelled like an amazing fire in your fireplace.
At this point we were baffled, what do you do? We don't see a fire. Nothing in our house seems to be burning. There's no smoke outside.
Right about then we wondered when the adults were going to arrive with the answers.
I think that's the rub. While it's great being able to stay up till 4 am and eat whatever you want, the downside is that being an actual adult means that both of those things have consequences way worse than getting grounded. I WISH THE CONSEQUENCES OF ANYTHING WERE GETTING GROUNDED.
Being the adult means my little brother and I have to have real conversations about my dad, the what if's that I at least had hoped we had a few more conversations. His heart is better. But he's confused in ways that are troubling. I know everyone ends up taking care of their parents in one way or another, and that's the circle and I am totally embracing it but I also want to scream because I wasn't ready and I'm sure he wasn't either.
The other thing that happens when you suddenly realize you can never leave the adults table again is that you start to realize who is there with you, and for me it's nice to have my brother there. He and my SIL are faced with the day to day of the work where my dad's recovering is concerned and I know I feel better knowing that while we might not have experience on this path, being on it with the people you trust is better than being there alone.
So the natural order of things is in place, my husband and I made the decision that we know nothing is on fire, but someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and so I go to bed (but he stays up just in case). My brother or SIL and I talk daily or at least text, discussing our dad's progress and how things are going and what are the next steps. We ask questions, lots of questions.
We're the adults, nobody is going can ground us. And that's too damn bad.
Tweet
He told me he smelled a fire, but couldn't find anything ON fire. We felt the walls. We felt the side attic. It was stronger here vs. there. But it was strongest OUTSIDE. We went outside and looked around. Before I awoke he had checked the sides of the house and looked up, nothing. There wasn't really SMOKE outside but maybe it could've been said to be foggy. It was also 5 am, a time when Atlanta CAN be foggy so that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything.
Back inside we looked out back toward the forest, nothing. There was the definitive smell of burning wood, quite strong. If you've ever smelled a house burning, wood burning is only part of the smell. Because of paints and chemicals it's an insanely BAD smell when a house is burning. This smell reminded me of the time I woke up in Kentucky wondering what was all this smoke outside, and it turned out that the forest, 100 miles away was burning. It smelled like an amazing fire in your fireplace.
At this point we were baffled, what do you do? We don't see a fire. Nothing in our house seems to be burning. There's no smoke outside.
Right about then we wondered when the adults were going to arrive with the answers.
I think that's the rub. While it's great being able to stay up till 4 am and eat whatever you want, the downside is that being an actual adult means that both of those things have consequences way worse than getting grounded. I WISH THE CONSEQUENCES OF ANYTHING WERE GETTING GROUNDED.
Being the adult means my little brother and I have to have real conversations about my dad, the what if's that I at least had hoped we had a few more conversations. His heart is better. But he's confused in ways that are troubling. I know everyone ends up taking care of their parents in one way or another, and that's the circle and I am totally embracing it but I also want to scream because I wasn't ready and I'm sure he wasn't either.
The other thing that happens when you suddenly realize you can never leave the adults table again is that you start to realize who is there with you, and for me it's nice to have my brother there. He and my SIL are faced with the day to day of the work where my dad's recovering is concerned and I know I feel better knowing that while we might not have experience on this path, being on it with the people you trust is better than being there alone.
So the natural order of things is in place, my husband and I made the decision that we know nothing is on fire, but someone has a fire in their fireplace nearby and so I go to bed (but he stays up just in case). My brother or SIL and I talk daily or at least text, discussing our dad's progress and how things are going and what are the next steps. We ask questions, lots of questions.
We're the adults, nobody is going can ground us. And that's too damn bad.
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Tuesday, December 30, 2014
A BS Way to Start The Day
There are a lot of really crappy ways to start the day, but I feel like outside of death & dismemberment sort of events, having a massive leg cramp AS your alarm goes up is top of my list.
I set the alarm early for a couple of reasons, yesterday was a family time festival and I love them BUT I NEED SOME TIME BY MYSELF, and I wanted a nice long slow shower that I wasn't busting a move to get ready. I'm going in late to work because Charlie has a dentist appt so this entire scenario was set up as a perfect Mom morning.
You already see the flaw in my plan don't you?
BEEP BEEP BEEP and as I reach across the four year old who got into my bed because she was scared from the Monster Mansion I apparently extended my leg in some magical fashion to cause me to cry out "OH FUCK".
This wakes no one in my house. Not the husband beside me, not the four year old on the other side of me. Not the three boys asleep in the next room. NO ONE STIRS when Mom yells an expletive at 630 am. This is probably more of a statement about me than them, isn't it?
I get up and hobble to the bathroom, because having had four kids plus one massive charlie horse in your leg is a recipe for wetting your pants if you aren't swift, and I make it so crisis averted there. The cramp is moving around to the front of my leg to add a shin splint sort of effect which I don't quite appreciate, honestly I'd rather it didn't bother.
I slather on some icy hot generic product and as I sit here now, the fire of 1000 suns is ordering my muscles to relax and CHILL OUT FOOL. I can now flex my foot and stretch my leg without screaming for mercy. I still need that shower so apparently can look forward to a steamy Mentholatum scented event which should be lovely, right?
I had to take this picture because, Foghorn Leghorn. Seriously. Now if only my kid had not MOVED while shooting. Little nerd. Lol.
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I set the alarm early for a couple of reasons, yesterday was a family time festival and I love them BUT I NEED SOME TIME BY MYSELF, and I wanted a nice long slow shower that I wasn't busting a move to get ready. I'm going in late to work because Charlie has a dentist appt so this entire scenario was set up as a perfect Mom morning.
You already see the flaw in my plan don't you?
BEEP BEEP BEEP and as I reach across the four year old who got into my bed because she was scared from the Monster Mansion I apparently extended my leg in some magical fashion to cause me to cry out "OH FUCK".
This wakes no one in my house. Not the husband beside me, not the four year old on the other side of me. Not the three boys asleep in the next room. NO ONE STIRS when Mom yells an expletive at 630 am. This is probably more of a statement about me than them, isn't it?
I get up and hobble to the bathroom, because having had four kids plus one massive charlie horse in your leg is a recipe for wetting your pants if you aren't swift, and I make it so crisis averted there. The cramp is moving around to the front of my leg to add a shin splint sort of effect which I don't quite appreciate, honestly I'd rather it didn't bother.
I slather on some icy hot generic product and as I sit here now, the fire of 1000 suns is ordering my muscles to relax and CHILL OUT FOOL. I can now flex my foot and stretch my leg without screaming for mercy. I still need that shower so apparently can look forward to a steamy Mentholatum scented event which should be lovely, right?
Tweet
A BS Way to Start The Day
There are a lot of really crappy ways to start the day, but I feel like outside of death & dismemberment sort of events, having a massive leg cramp AS your alarm goes up is top of my list.
I set the alarm early for a couple of reasons, yesterday was a family time festival and I love them BUT I NEED SOME TIME BY MYSELF, and I wanted a nice long slow shower that I wasn't busting a move to get ready. I'm going in late to work because Charlie has a dentist appt so this entire scenario was set up as a perfect Mom morning.
You already see the flaw in my plan don't you?
BEEP BEEP BEEP and as I reach across the four year old who got into my bed because she was scared from the Monster Mansion I apparently extended my leg in some magical fashion to cause me to cry out "OH FUCK".
This wakes no one in my house. Not the husband beside me, not the four year old on the other side of me. Not the three boys asleep in the next room. NO ONE STIRS when Mom yells an expletive at 630 am. This is probably more of a statement about me than them, isn't it?
I get up and hobble to the bathroom, because having had four kids plus one massive charlie horse in your leg is a recipe for wetting your pants if you aren't swift, and I make it so crisis averted there. The cramp is moving around to the front of my leg to add a shin splint sort of effect which I don't quite appreciate, honestly I'd rather it didn't bother.
I slather on some icy hot generic product and as I sit here now, the fire of 1000 suns is ordering my muscles to relax and CHILL OUT FOOL. I can now flex my foot and stretch my leg without screaming for mercy. I still need that shower so apparently can look forward to a steamy Mentholatum scented event which should be lovely, right?
I had to take this picture because, Foghorn Leghorn. Seriously. Now if only my kid had not MOVED while shooting. Little nerd. Lol.
Tweet
I set the alarm early for a couple of reasons, yesterday was a family time festival and I love them BUT I NEED SOME TIME BY MYSELF, and I wanted a nice long slow shower that I wasn't busting a move to get ready. I'm going in late to work because Charlie has a dentist appt so this entire scenario was set up as a perfect Mom morning.
You already see the flaw in my plan don't you?
BEEP BEEP BEEP and as I reach across the four year old who got into my bed because she was scared from the Monster Mansion I apparently extended my leg in some magical fashion to cause me to cry out "OH FUCK".
This wakes no one in my house. Not the husband beside me, not the four year old on the other side of me. Not the three boys asleep in the next room. NO ONE STIRS when Mom yells an expletive at 630 am. This is probably more of a statement about me than them, isn't it?
I get up and hobble to the bathroom, because having had four kids plus one massive charlie horse in your leg is a recipe for wetting your pants if you aren't swift, and I make it so crisis averted there. The cramp is moving around to the front of my leg to add a shin splint sort of effect which I don't quite appreciate, honestly I'd rather it didn't bother.
I slather on some icy hot generic product and as I sit here now, the fire of 1000 suns is ordering my muscles to relax and CHILL OUT FOOL. I can now flex my foot and stretch my leg without screaming for mercy. I still need that shower so apparently can look forward to a steamy Mentholatum scented event which should be lovely, right?
Tweet
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
First World Problems Defined
There are those moments, usually moments of great need, when you turn on your coffee pot only to learn that it's planned obsolescence chip has activated and once again you must give Walmart or Target some of your money, IMMEDIATELY, to acquire a new one.
Since buying a Keurig I hadn't thought much about that being a possibility. I spent a third world country's GNP to aquire it, and the damn thing had better work as far as I'm concerned.
So you can imagine my delight when the other morning, I pushed the button and walked away - returning to find THIS.
OMG SCREW YOU KEURIG REALLY ?
Well it seems that our Keurig has gotten clogged by us making hot chocolate and other kinds of milky drinks in it. THEN WHY DO YOU MAKE THEM KEURIG? Grrrr.
So I ran hot water threw it a couple of times and got a better cup. My awesome husband seems to have sorted out he can put vinegar through it and we'll do that.
Seriously, I have an expensive, fancy coffee pot that doesn't like to make some of the drinks that make it fancy. NICE.
This is officially a first world problem. I think I should be ashamed to have it but I'm not. At least I don't have to live in a world where my phone doesn't fit in my skinny jeans.
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Since buying a Keurig I hadn't thought much about that being a possibility. I spent a third world country's GNP to aquire it, and the damn thing had better work as far as I'm concerned.
So you can imagine my delight when the other morning, I pushed the button and walked away - returning to find THIS.
Well it seems that our Keurig has gotten clogged by us making hot chocolate and other kinds of milky drinks in it. THEN WHY DO YOU MAKE THEM KEURIG? Grrrr.
So I ran hot water threw it a couple of times and got a better cup. My awesome husband seems to have sorted out he can put vinegar through it and we'll do that.
Seriously, I have an expensive, fancy coffee pot that doesn't like to make some of the drinks that make it fancy. NICE.
This is officially a first world problem. I think I should be ashamed to have it but I'm not. At least I don't have to live in a world where my phone doesn't fit in my skinny jeans.
Tweet
First World Problems Defined
There are those moments, usually moments of great need, when you turn on your coffee pot only to learn that it's planned obsolescence chip has activated and once again you must give Walmart or Target some of your money, IMMEDIATELY, to acquire a new one.
Since buying a Keurig I hadn't thought much about that being a possibility. I spent a third world country's GNP to aquire it, and the damn thing had better work as far as I'm concerned.
So you can imagine my delight when the other morning, I pushed the button and walked away - returning to find THIS.
OMG SCREW YOU KEURIG REALLY ?
Well it seems that our Keurig has gotten clogged by us making hot chocolate and other kinds of milky drinks in it. THEN WHY DO YOU MAKE THEM KEURIG? Grrrr.
So I ran hot water threw it a couple of times and got a better cup. My awesome husband seems to have sorted out he can put vinegar through it and we'll do that.
Seriously, I have an expensive, fancy coffee pot that doesn't like to make some of the drinks that make it fancy. NICE.
This is officially a first world problem. I think I should be ashamed to have it but I'm not. At least I don't have to live in a world where my phone doesn't fit in my skinny jeans.
Tweet
Since buying a Keurig I hadn't thought much about that being a possibility. I spent a third world country's GNP to aquire it, and the damn thing had better work as far as I'm concerned.
So you can imagine my delight when the other morning, I pushed the button and walked away - returning to find THIS.
Well it seems that our Keurig has gotten clogged by us making hot chocolate and other kinds of milky drinks in it. THEN WHY DO YOU MAKE THEM KEURIG? Grrrr.
So I ran hot water threw it a couple of times and got a better cup. My awesome husband seems to have sorted out he can put vinegar through it and we'll do that.
Seriously, I have an expensive, fancy coffee pot that doesn't like to make some of the drinks that make it fancy. NICE.
Tweet
Saturday, May 10, 2014
What You Can Do Without
As you can probably imagine, a family of six requires a lot of food to function. It requires more when three of the six are growing boys who eat like hogs. So when my fridge started acting up last weekend, I thought we had solved it. But by early in the week, it was apparent that the reprieve was temporary.
What we have now is a cabinet of two doors that keeps things mildly cool.
We are now a family of six living out of a cooler.
You can pare your life down to very little, when you have to.
Eggs don't have to be refrigerated. Neither does butter. So some cheese, some milk, some lunch meat, sausage for breakfast, almond milk for mom and a couple other things and you're set. You buy everything else daily and try to buy only enough not to have leftovers. After all, you can't save it.
That's a weird wrinkle for a big family. Leftovers are not just the norm, they are a staple. Leftovers are lunch for mom, leftovers are the building blocks of future meals. Leftovers are the stuff Restaurant Night supper is made of. It's an economy that we can't use now, because we can't save anything.
It's not a hardship, really. Or maybe it's a suburban hardship. But we have a big cooler for food and a smaller cooler for ice for drinks. It's a bit like camping out, in your own house. It's an adventure, and weird and inconvenient.
The new fridge will be here later this next week.
Until then, may I interest you in a cheese sandwich?
Tweet
What we have now is a cabinet of two doors that keeps things mildly cool.
We are now a family of six living out of a cooler.
You can pare your life down to very little, when you have to.
Eggs don't have to be refrigerated. Neither does butter. So some cheese, some milk, some lunch meat, sausage for breakfast, almond milk for mom and a couple other things and you're set. You buy everything else daily and try to buy only enough not to have leftovers. After all, you can't save it.
That's a weird wrinkle for a big family. Leftovers are not just the norm, they are a staple. Leftovers are lunch for mom, leftovers are the building blocks of future meals. Leftovers are the stuff Restaurant Night supper is made of. It's an economy that we can't use now, because we can't save anything.
It's not a hardship, really. Or maybe it's a suburban hardship. But we have a big cooler for food and a smaller cooler for ice for drinks. It's a bit like camping out, in your own house. It's an adventure, and weird and inconvenient.
The new fridge will be here later this next week.
Until then, may I interest you in a cheese sandwich?
Tweet
What You Can Do Without
As you can probably imagine, a family of six requires a lot of food to function. It requires more when three of the six are growing boys who eat like hogs. So when my fridge started acting up last weekend, I thought we had solved it. But by early in the week, it was apparent that the reprieve was temporary.
What we have now is a cabinet of two doors that keeps things mildly cool.
We are now a family of six living out of a cooler.
You can pare your life down to very little, when you have to.
Eggs don't have to be refrigerated. Neither does butter. So some cheese, some milk, some lunch meat, sausage for breakfast, almond milk for mom and a couple other things and you're set. You buy everything else daily and try to buy only enough not to have leftovers. After all, you can't save it.
That's a weird wrinkle for a big family. Leftovers are not just the norm, they are a staple. Leftovers are lunch for mom, leftovers are the building blocks of future meals. Leftovers are the stuff Restaurant Night supper is made of. It's an economy that we can't use now, because we can't save anything.
It's not a hardship, really. Or maybe it's a suburban hardship. But we have a big cooler for food and a smaller cooler for ice for drinks. It's a bit like camping out, in your own house. It's an adventure, and weird and inconvenient.
The new fridge will be here later this next week.
Until then, may I interest you in a cheese sandwich?
Tweet
What we have now is a cabinet of two doors that keeps things mildly cool.
We are now a family of six living out of a cooler.
You can pare your life down to very little, when you have to.
Eggs don't have to be refrigerated. Neither does butter. So some cheese, some milk, some lunch meat, sausage for breakfast, almond milk for mom and a couple other things and you're set. You buy everything else daily and try to buy only enough not to have leftovers. After all, you can't save it.
That's a weird wrinkle for a big family. Leftovers are not just the norm, they are a staple. Leftovers are lunch for mom, leftovers are the building blocks of future meals. Leftovers are the stuff Restaurant Night supper is made of. It's an economy that we can't use now, because we can't save anything.
It's not a hardship, really. Or maybe it's a suburban hardship. But we have a big cooler for food and a smaller cooler for ice for drinks. It's a bit like camping out, in your own house. It's an adventure, and weird and inconvenient.
The new fridge will be here later this next week.
Until then, may I interest you in a cheese sandwich?
Tweet
Saturday, May 03, 2014
On Duty
My husband and oldest son have disappeared into the north Georgia mountains. Not in a bad way. They are Boy Scout camping. It's been my son's dream for the past few years of scouts to make this trip, and every year something went wrong and it didn't work out. THIS year it happened.
As they were heading out the door, my husband said "OH NO THE ICE CREAM IS SOFT!!" and we had a mutual panic moment. He suggest I vacuum the intake and coils and whatever on the back to make sure the air flow was good and I smiled confidently and said SURE I WILL DO THAT.
Then he left and I panicked. The freezer just WASN'T cold enough. I cleared off the top, realized it was so dirty that I should probably be ashamed and pulled that sucker out. OH MY GOD HOW DOES SO MUCH DUST EXIST IN ONE PLACE? And how does dust GET to places? These are the questions I was asking as I put together the wand attachment and went to work.It wasn't that bad to do, other than the ick factor and after having cleaned the top (because seriously I am so lazy but I can't be so lazy I don't clean off the top no really I can't) I rearranged the cookbooks and odds & ends and put it all back.
The freezer was still too warm.
I went about my evening, worrying, playing with the kids - this involved loud guns that I hate but they like, and chasing. I checked on the fridge. It was -5 C. Or so it said. The ice wasn't melting - but I felt panicked. THAT SEEMED WRONG. I had a brilliant idea and got the meat thermometer and put it on the shelf inside.
An hour later it said 40 degrees. This would be the part where panic set in. I began running through the "what to do", buy a cooler, ice down everything...I wasn't sure. I texted my husband casually to see if he had signal. He didn't answer. MORE PANIC.
After dinner, the temperature had gone down 2 degrees. I resolved to STAY OUT of the freezer to see if there was improvement.
My kids went to bed, and with the evening in front of me, and dreading my morning, I went too.
At 7 am they all three bounced awake and I made the walk of doom down to the freezer. I expected a flood, or worse. I don't know WHAT would have been worse I just knew not to underestimate the horror show that was about to occur and I was alone and going to have to sort it out like an adult.
There was no flood. The thermometer said 30 degrees fahrenheit.
AT THAT POINT THERE WAS GREAT REJOICING.
It's not 9 am yet, and I've fed my kids and done my dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, PLUS run the vacuum.
This being the adult stuff is for the birds.
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As they were heading out the door, my husband said "OH NO THE ICE CREAM IS SOFT!!" and we had a mutual panic moment. He suggest I vacuum the intake and coils and whatever on the back to make sure the air flow was good and I smiled confidently and said SURE I WILL DO THAT.
Then he left and I panicked. The freezer just WASN'T cold enough. I cleared off the top, realized it was so dirty that I should probably be ashamed and pulled that sucker out. OH MY GOD HOW DOES SO MUCH DUST EXIST IN ONE PLACE? And how does dust GET to places? These are the questions I was asking as I put together the wand attachment and went to work.It wasn't that bad to do, other than the ick factor and after having cleaned the top (because seriously I am so lazy but I can't be so lazy I don't clean off the top no really I can't) I rearranged the cookbooks and odds & ends and put it all back.
The freezer was still too warm.
I went about my evening, worrying, playing with the kids - this involved loud guns that I hate but they like, and chasing. I checked on the fridge. It was -5 C. Or so it said. The ice wasn't melting - but I felt panicked. THAT SEEMED WRONG. I had a brilliant idea and got the meat thermometer and put it on the shelf inside.
An hour later it said 40 degrees. This would be the part where panic set in. I began running through the "what to do", buy a cooler, ice down everything...I wasn't sure. I texted my husband casually to see if he had signal. He didn't answer. MORE PANIC.
After dinner, the temperature had gone down 2 degrees. I resolved to STAY OUT of the freezer to see if there was improvement.
My kids went to bed, and with the evening in front of me, and dreading my morning, I went too.
At 7 am they all three bounced awake and I made the walk of doom down to the freezer. I expected a flood, or worse. I don't know WHAT would have been worse I just knew not to underestimate the horror show that was about to occur and I was alone and going to have to sort it out like an adult.
There was no flood. The thermometer said 30 degrees fahrenheit.
AT THAT POINT THERE WAS GREAT REJOICING.
It's not 9 am yet, and I've fed my kids and done my dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, PLUS run the vacuum.
This being the adult stuff is for the birds.
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On Duty
My husband and oldest son have disappeared into the north Georgia mountains. Not in a bad way. They are Boy Scout camping. It's been my son's dream for the past few years of scouts to make this trip, and every year something went wrong and it didn't work out. THIS year it happened.
As they were heading out the door, my husband said "OH NO THE ICE CREAM IS SOFT!!" and we had a mutual panic moment. He suggest I vacuum the intake and coils and whatever on the back to make sure the air flow was good and I smiled confidently and said SURE I WILL DO THAT.
Then he left and I panicked. The freezer just WASN'T cold enough. I cleared off the top, realized it was so dirty that I should probably be ashamed and pulled that sucker out. OH MY GOD HOW DOES SO MUCH DUST EXIST IN ONE PLACE? And how does dust GET to places? These are the questions I was asking as I put together the wand attachment and went to work.It wasn't that bad to do, other than the ick factor and after having cleaned the top (because seriously I am so lazy but I can't be so lazy I don't clean off the top no really I can't) I rearranged the cookbooks and odds & ends and put it all back.
The freezer was still too warm.
I went about my evening, worrying, playing with the kids - this involved loud guns that I hate but they like, and chasing. I checked on the fridge. It was -5 C. Or so it said. The ice wasn't melting - but I felt panicked. THAT SEEMED WRONG. I had a brilliant idea and got the meat thermometer and put it on the shelf inside.
An hour later it said 40 degrees. This would be the part where panic set in. I began running through the "what to do", buy a cooler, ice down everything...I wasn't sure. I texted my husband casually to see if he had signal. He didn't answer. MORE PANIC.
After dinner, the temperature had gone down 2 degrees. I resolved to STAY OUT of the freezer to see if there was improvement.
My kids went to bed, and with the evening in front of me, and dreading my morning, I went too.
At 7 am they all three bounced awake and I made the walk of doom down to the freezer. I expected a flood, or worse. I don't know WHAT would have been worse I just knew not to underestimate the horror show that was about to occur and I was alone and going to have to sort it out like an adult.
There was no flood. The thermometer said 30 degrees fahrenheit.
AT THAT POINT THERE WAS GREAT REJOICING.
It's not 9 am yet, and I've fed my kids and done my dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, PLUS run the vacuum.
This being the adult stuff is for the birds.
Tweet
As they were heading out the door, my husband said "OH NO THE ICE CREAM IS SOFT!!" and we had a mutual panic moment. He suggest I vacuum the intake and coils and whatever on the back to make sure the air flow was good and I smiled confidently and said SURE I WILL DO THAT.
Then he left and I panicked. The freezer just WASN'T cold enough. I cleared off the top, realized it was so dirty that I should probably be ashamed and pulled that sucker out. OH MY GOD HOW DOES SO MUCH DUST EXIST IN ONE PLACE? And how does dust GET to places? These are the questions I was asking as I put together the wand attachment and went to work.It wasn't that bad to do, other than the ick factor and after having cleaned the top (because seriously I am so lazy but I can't be so lazy I don't clean off the top no really I can't) I rearranged the cookbooks and odds & ends and put it all back.
The freezer was still too warm.
I went about my evening, worrying, playing with the kids - this involved loud guns that I hate but they like, and chasing. I checked on the fridge. It was -5 C. Or so it said. The ice wasn't melting - but I felt panicked. THAT SEEMED WRONG. I had a brilliant idea and got the meat thermometer and put it on the shelf inside.
An hour later it said 40 degrees. This would be the part where panic set in. I began running through the "what to do", buy a cooler, ice down everything...I wasn't sure. I texted my husband casually to see if he had signal. He didn't answer. MORE PANIC.
After dinner, the temperature had gone down 2 degrees. I resolved to STAY OUT of the freezer to see if there was improvement.
My kids went to bed, and with the evening in front of me, and dreading my morning, I went too.
At 7 am they all three bounced awake and I made the walk of doom down to the freezer. I expected a flood, or worse. I don't know WHAT would have been worse I just knew not to underestimate the horror show that was about to occur and I was alone and going to have to sort it out like an adult.
There was no flood. The thermometer said 30 degrees fahrenheit.
AT THAT POINT THERE WAS GREAT REJOICING.
It's not 9 am yet, and I've fed my kids and done my dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, PLUS run the vacuum.
This being the adult stuff is for the birds.
Tweet
Friday, April 18, 2014
Terror From The Top Bunk
My only solace in the last 48 hours of death's grip has been that no one else had it. A week or so ago, they all had it but me. That sucked. It's far better for one soldier to fall than five, and so I figured it was just my turn. Somehow, the virus had lingered around and just chosen to hit me alone a week later.
I should have known that this was wrong in every way.
Shortly before 3 am I heard my husband say " Oh GOD I SMELL POOP" as he came down the hall. I sat up groggily, and wondered briefly had I crapped the bed. I had not. This was the good news. It was the end of the good news.
What had actually happened was that at some point Miles had thrown up in the night. Miles, who sleeps on the top bunk had rained down vomit all over his brothers below him and the room, and neither of them had so much as stirred. It was everywhere. Did I mention they had lasagna for lunch? Kids only puke when you have served them some sort of red sauce, that's a fact.
Kids came my way for wipe down with soap and water and changing of diapers and new pajamas. My husband, the ever able puke warrior went into the room and came out with the bedding and all casualties for washing. We rounded up extra sheets, pillows and blankets and sent Louis and Charlie back to their room, their somewhat puke + Lysol scented room. Miles we made a pallet on the floor next to us using the princess fold out sofa and blankets, plus a trash can nearby.
I would like to say I'm glad to report that he's moved on to the horrible gripping diarrhea, while it is true he has (I've changed 3 diapers in 10 minutes) I'm not glad to report it because I know the misery that's ahead for him.
As for me, I'm up. I'm so exhausted. I just drank a large glass of ice water in an absurd amount of time, hello dehydration. I may go get another.
I made myself a latte, but didn't bother with but half of it.
I'm weak and wobbly and sweaty. I am out of sorts on all counts. We have a birthday and two soccer games tomorrow, plus Easter Egg coloring, plus EASTER on Sunday which is always a special day too.
We are at DEFCON 1 with handwashing and Lysol up in here. There isn't anything else we can do but hope.
Please go away virus. We have a special day tomorrow. We can't be sick.
Tweet
I should have known that this was wrong in every way.
Shortly before 3 am I heard my husband say " Oh GOD I SMELL POOP" as he came down the hall. I sat up groggily, and wondered briefly had I crapped the bed. I had not. This was the good news. It was the end of the good news.
What had actually happened was that at some point Miles had thrown up in the night. Miles, who sleeps on the top bunk had rained down vomit all over his brothers below him and the room, and neither of them had so much as stirred. It was everywhere. Did I mention they had lasagna for lunch? Kids only puke when you have served them some sort of red sauce, that's a fact.
Kids came my way for wipe down with soap and water and changing of diapers and new pajamas. My husband, the ever able puke warrior went into the room and came out with the bedding and all casualties for washing. We rounded up extra sheets, pillows and blankets and sent Louis and Charlie back to their room, their somewhat puke + Lysol scented room. Miles we made a pallet on the floor next to us using the princess fold out sofa and blankets, plus a trash can nearby.
I would like to say I'm glad to report that he's moved on to the horrible gripping diarrhea, while it is true he has (I've changed 3 diapers in 10 minutes) I'm not glad to report it because I know the misery that's ahead for him.
As for me, I'm up. I'm so exhausted. I just drank a large glass of ice water in an absurd amount of time, hello dehydration. I may go get another.
I made myself a latte, but didn't bother with but half of it.
I'm weak and wobbly and sweaty. I am out of sorts on all counts. We have a birthday and two soccer games tomorrow, plus Easter Egg coloring, plus EASTER on Sunday which is always a special day too.
We are at DEFCON 1 with handwashing and Lysol up in here. There isn't anything else we can do but hope.
Please go away virus. We have a special day tomorrow. We can't be sick.
Tweet
Terror From The Top Bunk
My only solace in the last 48 hours of death's grip has been that no one else had it. A week or so ago, they all had it but me. That sucked. It's far better for one soldier to fall than five, and so I figured it was just my turn. Somehow, the virus had lingered around and just chosen to hit me alone a week later.
I should have known that this was wrong in every way.
Shortly before 3 am I heard my husband say " Oh GOD I SMELL POOP" as he came down the hall. I sat up groggily, and wondered briefly had I crapped the bed. I had not. This was the good news. It was the end of the good news.
What had actually happened was that at some point Miles had thrown up in the night. Miles, who sleeps on the top bunk had rained down vomit all over his brothers below him and the room, and neither of them had so much as stirred. It was everywhere. Did I mention they had lasagna for lunch? Kids only puke when you have served them some sort of red sauce, that's a fact.
Kids came my way for wipe down with soap and water and changing of diapers and new pajamas. My husband, the ever able puke warrior went into the room and came out with the bedding and all casualties for washing. We rounded up extra sheets, pillows and blankets and sent Louis and Charlie back to their room, their somewhat puke + Lysol scented room. Miles we made a pallet on the floor next to us using the princess fold out sofa and blankets, plus a trash can nearby.
I would like to say I'm glad to report that he's moved on to the horrible gripping diarrhea, while it is true he has (I've changed 3 diapers in 10 minutes) I'm not glad to report it because I know the misery that's ahead for him.
As for me, I'm up. I'm so exhausted. I just drank a large glass of ice water in an absurd amount of time, hello dehydration. I may go get another.
I made myself a latte, but didn't bother with but half of it.
I'm weak and wobbly and sweaty. I am out of sorts on all counts. We have a birthday and two soccer games tomorrow, plus Easter Egg coloring, plus EASTER on Sunday which is always a special day too.
We are at DEFCON 1 with handwashing and Lysol up in here. There isn't anything else we can do but hope.
Please go away virus. We have a special day tomorrow. We can't be sick.
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I should have known that this was wrong in every way.
Shortly before 3 am I heard my husband say " Oh GOD I SMELL POOP" as he came down the hall. I sat up groggily, and wondered briefly had I crapped the bed. I had not. This was the good news. It was the end of the good news.
What had actually happened was that at some point Miles had thrown up in the night. Miles, who sleeps on the top bunk had rained down vomit all over his brothers below him and the room, and neither of them had so much as stirred. It was everywhere. Did I mention they had lasagna for lunch? Kids only puke when you have served them some sort of red sauce, that's a fact.
Kids came my way for wipe down with soap and water and changing of diapers and new pajamas. My husband, the ever able puke warrior went into the room and came out with the bedding and all casualties for washing. We rounded up extra sheets, pillows and blankets and sent Louis and Charlie back to their room, their somewhat puke + Lysol scented room. Miles we made a pallet on the floor next to us using the princess fold out sofa and blankets, plus a trash can nearby.
I would like to say I'm glad to report that he's moved on to the horrible gripping diarrhea, while it is true he has (I've changed 3 diapers in 10 minutes) I'm not glad to report it because I know the misery that's ahead for him.
As for me, I'm up. I'm so exhausted. I just drank a large glass of ice water in an absurd amount of time, hello dehydration. I may go get another.
I made myself a latte, but didn't bother with but half of it.
I'm weak and wobbly and sweaty. I am out of sorts on all counts. We have a birthday and two soccer games tomorrow, plus Easter Egg coloring, plus EASTER on Sunday which is always a special day too.
We are at DEFCON 1 with handwashing and Lysol up in here. There isn't anything else we can do but hope.
Please go away virus. We have a special day tomorrow. We can't be sick.
Tweet
Friday, April 11, 2014
It's My FRIDAY!!!!
It's MY FRIDAY is the battle call of workmates that plan not to do any work that day. I used to work at a place that had rotating weekend coverage so when your turn came up, you ended up with a Thursday as your Friday afterward. OR rather, Thursday was the last day you worked that week.
We made rules for "Our Friday". We could wear jeans. Even though it was Thursday, we'd pound our chest and say "IT'S MY FRIDAY". We'd leave early, shrugging because WHO CARES? IT'S MY FRIDAY!
It's my Friday covers up a world of work sin.
Today is my Friday.
It feels weird because I took yesterday off so the husband could do another round of medical tests, and then Louis and I went to the movies for something fun to do.
I woke up this morning feeling like I should still be snoozing.
Then I remembered "IT'S MY FRIDAY!"
I wonder if I go to work in my pajamas they would accept that excuse?
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We made rules for "Our Friday". We could wear jeans. Even though it was Thursday, we'd pound our chest and say "IT'S MY FRIDAY". We'd leave early, shrugging because WHO CARES? IT'S MY FRIDAY!
It's my Friday covers up a world of work sin.
Today is my Friday.
It feels weird because I took yesterday off so the husband could do another round of medical tests, and then Louis and I went to the movies for something fun to do.
I woke up this morning feeling like I should still be snoozing.
Then I remembered "IT'S MY FRIDAY!"
I wonder if I go to work in my pajamas they would accept that excuse?
It's My FRIDAY!!!!
It's MY FRIDAY is the battle call of workmates that plan not to do any work that day. I used to work at a place that had rotating weekend coverage so when your turn came up, you ended up with a Thursday as your Friday afterward. OR rather, Thursday was the last day you worked that week.
We made rules for "Our Friday". We could wear jeans. Even though it was Thursday, we'd pound our chest and say "IT'S MY FRIDAY". We'd leave early, shrugging because WHO CARES? IT'S MY FRIDAY!
It's my Friday covers up a world of work sin.
Today is my Friday.
It feels weird because I took yesterday off so the husband could do another round of medical tests, and then Louis and I went to the movies for something fun to do.
I woke up this morning feeling like I should still be snoozing.
Then I remembered "IT'S MY FRIDAY!"
I wonder if I go to work in my pajamas they would accept that excuse?
Tweet
We made rules for "Our Friday". We could wear jeans. Even though it was Thursday, we'd pound our chest and say "IT'S MY FRIDAY". We'd leave early, shrugging because WHO CARES? IT'S MY FRIDAY!
It's my Friday covers up a world of work sin.
Today is my Friday.
It feels weird because I took yesterday off so the husband could do another round of medical tests, and then Louis and I went to the movies for something fun to do.
I woke up this morning feeling like I should still be snoozing.
Then I remembered "IT'S MY FRIDAY!"
I wonder if I go to work in my pajamas they would accept that excuse?
