Further proof that kalki is, like, so totally awesome!

I started smiling as soon as I saw the return address on the box waiting for me outside my front door this afternoon. It was something special from kalki!

Do you see how she actually color-coordinated the tissue paper to match the Post-Its? The girl is just. that. GOOD.

kalki sent Post-It pads for all my list-making, a fun (and yummy-smelling!) bath set, and an oh-so-cute pad of Target sticky notes! I’ll think of her every. single. time. I use one of them. (There are 500!!!)

Thank you so much, kalki. You totally made my day. I blove you, girl.

File this one under: Things You Folks Without Kids May Not ‘Get’

Do you know

how long

it takes

for

a

first-grader

to read

one

chapter

of

Junie B. JonesandThe Stupid Smelly Bus?

About

three

eternities.*

*For the record, Miss Attitude reads exceptionally well for her age. Chapter books just take for.ev.er. to get through.

File this one under: Things You Folks Without Kids May Not ‘Get’

Do you know

how long

it takes

for

a

first-grader

to read

one

chapter

of

Junie B. Jones

and

The Stupid Smelly Bus?

About

three

eternities.*

*For the record, Miss Attitude reads exceptionally well for her age. Chapter books just take for.ev.er. to get through.

Did you know…

…spending the day with 60 (give or take) first graders is like running a marathon with two hyenas strapped to your head, one screaming in each ear?

…suggesting to your first grade daughter that you “stop back by the bat place for a souvenir” on your way home from the field trip is a bad idea, a VERY BAD IDEA, indeed, because the ‘bat place’ is open by reservation only, which means they will be CLOSED when you get there, which means your first grade daughter, heretofore perfectly content just to have gone on the field trip, will now sob heaving, sobbing SOBS because she can’t get a souvenir she didn’t even know existed fifteen minutes ago?

…when you call your doctor (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) to tell her that you can’t sleep since she increased the dosage on your antidepressants, and that the meds she prescribed to help you sleep actually KEPT YOU AWAKE, only dozing at intervals, and then dreaming that you couldn’t sleep, totally messing with your mind to the point where, at about 3:00 AM, you actually asked your husband whether or not you were dreaming, she will tell you to ‘cut it back to 150 mg’; and when you say, “Okay, but I was taking 300 mg, and then you increased it to 450…so do I cut back to the 300 or the 150?”, she will say, in utter disbelief, “You’re taking 450 mg?!?”

…as you tell your doctor (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop), through gritted teeth, “That’s. what. you. put. me. on.”, you will suddenly find yourself simultaneously wishing you could reach through the phone and pull your doctor’s (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) head off, and thankful that you can’t do that, because, hello, the woman could literally have you committed?

…when your doctor (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) adds another antidepressant to your current meds, and when that prescription says, “Side effects may include diarrhea,” what it really means is, “For your own safety, and the safety of those around you, do not get further than 15 feet from a bathroom”?

…how thankful you will be that that little ’side effect’ didn’t kick in yesterday, in the middle of the field trip?

…when you’ve had headaches all your life, you actually become accustomed to them, and really only take notice when (a) you go more than a few days without a headache, because it’s such a rarity; or (b) the headaches become especially intense and/or last for days and days, with little or no relief?

…sitting in front of the computer screen can morph a throbbing, pounding headache into an icepicks-stabbing-you-in-the-eyeballs, mind-numbing, brain-frying, please-God-just-make-it-stop headache?

…listening to your toddler’s giggle is addictive, and you will do almost anything, up to and including standing on your head and singing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” to get another ‘hit’?

…watching your children playing and laughing together can make you so happy, so proud, so content in that moment, that you forget all the problems that are suffocating you, and – just in that one moment – breathe a little freer?

…a toddler’s hand stroking your hair can make your heart swell with love, until you think it just might burst under the pressure?

…when it’s bedtime, and you’re rocking him and singing his lullaby, and it’s just the two of you, and he’s stroking your hair, and you’re nuzzling his head while you sing, you will want to stay in that moment forever?

Brief Update

First grade field trip today.

Headache. Exhausted.

I’ll reply to comments and emails as soon as I can.

I’ll be SWAMPED at work tomorrow (Friday), so if you see me anywhere in Blogworld, you have my permission to tell me to get my ass back to work.

More tomorrow evening, if my head stops throbbing and the pain stops shooting through my eyeballs.

Mother of the Year Award

Is it just really, really wrong that my young daughters and I have lately been enjoying driving down the highway while belting out a song about a high-priced hooker?

Yes, I thought so.

Her Mother’s Daughter

Deputy Dad (teasing): You wanna knuckle sandwich?

Miss Attitude (grinning slyly): No, I’m not hungry for a knuckle sandwich.

Big Boy 16-Month Newsletter

Dear Big Boy:

Yesterday you turned sixteen months old. This month has been so busy, such a whirlwind of milestones and discoveries, that I hardly know where to begin.

You’ve been walking for a couple months now, which means you’re practically a professional. You’ve not only mastered walking forward, but also walking backward, standing without pulling up on anything, bending and squatting waaaay down without falling, and – the most dangerous and worrisome of all – running. The problem with the running? Your brakes are still developing, it seems, because when you’re traveling at full speed, a fall is almost inevitable. Your bottom half seems to be traveling faster than your top half, or vice versa – we’re not sure, really, – but you almost always fall when you start going too fast. If I seem to be going on and on about this particular subject, it’s only to document your most important discovery this month: Table Corners and Other Hard Surfaces. A couple weekends ago you managed to whack your head four times on four different surfaces, all within about 20 minutes’ time. You ended up looking like you’d lost a round with a prizefighter. Your poor, poor little forehead. And brow bone. And, um, cheek. Oh, and also your eyelid. Geez, son, you’re gonna have to get a handle on this whole gravity thing. I’m enrolling you in a Physics course next week.

We’ve really seen your personality develop this month, especially your sense of humor. And no one is funnier – in your opinion – than YOU. Sometimes you just lay in the floor on your back, pushing yourself backwards with your heels, and giggling like that is just the absolute funniest thing you’ve ever done. (I’ll have to admit, it makes me giggle, too.) You’ve learned that we laugh when you do something funny, so you’ll do it over and over again, just to get the same reaction.

I’ve been impressed with your recent ability – and willingness – to follow simple instructions, such as “put the book in the basket” or “kick the ball.” However, you seem to have selective hearing (just like your Daddy and every other man in the universe), because you don’t seem to hear the word “No” at all. You LOVE to turn the TV on and off, push the buttons on the VCR, and pull and tug the string that opens and closes the curtains over the sliding glass door, even though you KNOW you’re not supposed be playing with any of those things. And when I tell you NO you suddenly and conveniently become hearing impaired. I’ve finally learned to say, “Big Boy, look at Mama,” and then tell you NO when you look at me. This way, I know that you hear me, and – more importantly – you know that I know. It seems to be working – for the moment, anyway, because, just this morning, as you, Daddy and I were playing in the floor, a videotape that had been playing in the VCR rewound and ejected. You heard it, then went to check it out; you almost reached to push it back in, then you stopped, shook your head no, and turned back to play with Daddy. The funniest part, though, was that you kept going back to the VCR over and over…walking up to it, looking at it longingly, then shaking your head no and turning away. It was one of the funniest things Daddy and I have seen you do. You were SO torn, bless your little heart; you wanted so badly to push that videotape back in; but you didn’t touch it. And, after a few minutes of watching you torture yourself, I took the tape out and put it away, so the temptation would be gone.

Besides playing with the TV, VCR, and curtains, the activities you’ve most enjoyed this month are carrying around and playing with anything and everything you can pull out of the kitchen utensil drawer, emptying the cabinet where we keep all the plastic bowls and pitchers, playing with and chasing your sisters, and touching Mama’s hair. You also discovered your stuffed animals this month, and have had lots of fun toting them around, hugging them, and then…shoving them in your laundry hamper.

 

You can say, “Mama”, “Dada”, “Boo” (Nanny and Poppy’s dog’s name), “Nnda” ([Miss Attitude's name], but pronounced nn-DUH), and “Unno” (“I don’t know”). Last night, as we were reading “Big and Little,” your latest favorite book, I told you that bears say “growrrr”, and you responded with the cutest little bear growl I’ve ever heard. I got you to do it again a couple of times last night, then once this morning, but you refused to cooperate after that, so Daddy still hasn’t heard it. You will, however, answer the question, “What does the puppy dog say?” with a low, guttural, Labrador-retriever-sounding, “woof, woof.” Except it’s not pronounced “woof, woof”, so much as “uh, uh.” You’ll respond almost every time, except of course for last weekend, when I was trying to capture your cute little puppy dog bark on video, and you WOULD. NOT. do it, so basically, we now have a tape with 15 minutes of me saying, “Big Boy, what does the puppy dog say?”

You’ve really started expressing your opinions and trying to become more independent. You often refuse to eat unless you feed yourself (which can of course be VERY messy, and is especially fun when we’re eating out), and you even tried to put your tennis shoes on by yourself today, yet another reminder of how fast you’re growing up and becoming a big boy.

When I say you’ve started “expressing your opinions” what I really mean is Hello, Big Boy’s Temper. You’ve already begun throwing toddler tantrums, wherein your entire body becomes either (a) limp as a wet noodle or (b) completely stiff and rigid; and you collapse to the floor in a fit of rage. It’s really quite entertaining, in a holy-crap-what-will-he-be-like-when-he’s-two sort of way.

Occasional tantrums aside, you really have been an absolute joy. You are generally happy and charming, friendly and smiling, such a delight. If you’d just stop getting up at 6:00 every morning, life would be almost perfect.

I love you, Big Boy.

Love,
Mama

Got no feel, I got no rhythm/I just keep losin’ my beat

Whew, what a rough evening. I almost totally and completely lost it. I almost collapsed into a fit of tears. At least twice. But I didn’t…much.

It was just one of those evenings….Deputy Dad’s working, the girls wouldn’t mind/wouldn’t stop fighting/wouldn’t behave, Big Boy was tired and cranky (and so, might I add, was I). The joyride that was our evening reached its pinnacle when, as I was simultaneously herding a nudie-tootie Big Boy to the bathtub and yelling at the girls to “STOP PLAYING AND CLEAN UP YOUR ROOM,” Big Boy somehow managed to make two HUGE puddles of piddle, just centimeters apart, ON THE CARPET, with one wave of his wee willie winkie. And boy oh boy, Mom, is that just the funniest thing you’ve ever seen or what? Good grief, he was giddy and giggly, he was so damned proud of himself. Ah yes, MEN. (*insert dramatic rolling of the eyes here*)

Oh, and did I mention that we ate supper out tonight, and in very close proximity to a child molester? Yeah, so THAT was fun. Especially the part where I pulled the girls close to my face and did the Don’t look right now, but…no, don’t stare, just look over there in a minute…no, not now, okay, stop staring thing with them, explaining to them that if they ever saw that man anywhere, they were to turn the other way, and never allow themselves to be anywhere near him or (for the love of all that is holy) alone with him. And, can I just say? It pisses me right the frick off that I had to do that. I mean, hot-stinging-tears-of-rage pissed. It’s so freakin’ unfair that the world is in such a state that I have to say things like, “He touches kids in places they’re not supposed to be touched” to my little girls. (They asked why they needed to stay away from him, and weren’t satisfied with my “He does bad stuff to kids” answer. How else do you quickly and discreetly (we were in a restaurant, remember?) answer the question, “What kind of bad stuff?”)

Anyway. I think I came home already upset and ticked off after that little incident, and things kind of went downhill from there. Ordinarily, on a Friday night, bathtimes and bedtimes are all but disregarded, since all the other nights are so tightly scheduled and inflexible. But we have to get up early tomorrow and drive an hour to the pediatrician’s office to get all the kids’ flu shots (oh JOY! *insert another dramatic rolling of the eyes here*). Yeah, remember that appointment I’d forgotten? Well, tomorrow we pay the fiddler in the form of not getting to sleep in on the ONE FREAKING DAY we usually get to sleep in. BLARGH.

And holy hell, is this not just THE most boring post EVER? I’m boring myself, I think, which means it must be time to just shut the heck up already.

Oh! P.S. Thank you all for your kind and supportive comments on the last post. I went ahead and put the PayPal button up this morning (left sidebar, under the calendar), being careful to copy and paste the Hateful, Terrible, Machine Language exactly as it appeared on the Paypal site (except for the slight modification to include the Bartles and Jaymes reference when you mouse over it), but I must’ve done something wrong, because RazDreams can’t see it…? I see it on my screen, though. What’s the deal? Can you see it? Is it just a figment of my imagination? Is Tripod playing a trick on me? Anyone?….Anyone?….

Momentarily out of action/Temporarily out of gas

When thoughts will not flow coherently into one another, it’s time for a list:

1. Last Wednesday I went ahead and called the doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) to let her know that I felt like the meds weren’t working. She was out (well, of course she was¹) until noon Thursday, so I left a message and was told I’d hear from her Thursday afternoon. I didn’t. (of course I didn’t¹) I called back Friday afternoon (thinking I might hear from her Friday morning, but of course I did not), and was told, oh hey, everyone’s in a meeting, and oh, gee, we just don’t know when they’ll be out, but maybe someone can get back to you on Monday. I said, “Forget it, Fuckers. No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait ’til my appointment next Wednesday.”

2. So I went for my regularly-scheduled meds check yesterday and saw the doctor (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop). Knowing that I had called and said I was feeling worse instead of better last week, she had already decided what she wanted to do (increase my meds) before I even started talking. I watched her write it down before I had five words out of my mouth. She didn’t really listen to me, since she’d already made up her mind what the next step was. She was patronizing and condescending, and I was getting angrier and bitchier by the moment. She said she felt like my body had grown accustomed to the meds, so we should try increasing the dosage.

Me: Okay, so…I’ve been on this for about 8 weeks. You guys TOLD me it would take 4-5 weeks to completely kick in, right?

Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Yes, that’s right.

Me: Okay, so it took 4-5 weeks to kick in completely, and then a couple weeks later, my body’s already accustomed to it, and it’s ineffective? And now, you want to increase the dosage…does that mean, in another 3 or 4 weeks, I’ll be accustomed to it again, and it’ll stop working again?

Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, hopefully, that won’t be the case. Hopefully, the higher dosage will work. But it’s easier² to just increase this one, than to start over with a different antidepressant. And if you feel like it’s not working, you can always call.

Me: Well, I TRIED that. I called LAST WEEK, and you never called me back.

Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, when I got your message Friday, I just figured we’d go ahead and just keep your appointment for today.

Me: I called LAST WEDNESDAY.

Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, I just got the message Friday.

Me: Yeah, RIGHT, bitch. Plus, you’re leaving³, and I really don’t want to get lost in the shuffle.

The rational side of me knows that it probably does make more sense to try the increased dosage before making a change to a different antidepressant (and a chat with kalki last night reinforced that theory). I think I had just prematurely resigned myself to having to switch my meds, and was surprised when the doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) didn’t go with the course of action my online friends and I had decided upon. (I mean, really, aren’t we all far more qualified to diagnose and treat me? Yes, I thought so, too.)

3. (Geez, am I really only on number three? This is already too long, I think.) Deputy Dad’s schedule changed this week, which means he’s back on night shift for the next twelve weeks, which means it’s just the kids and me five evenings a week, with homework, supper, baths and bedtime staring us down each night. Pray for us…PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN, YA’LL.

4. I’m thinking about slapping a Paypal button on my blog. Mainly because, hey, whaddya know, we’re FLAT BROKE. But then, there’s the whole issue of how I just never will ask for help, and how I never will accept help when it’s offered. But of course there’s that whole FLAT BROKE issue. I don’t know why I feel so weird about the Paypal button. I read several bloggers who have them on their sites, and it doesn’t make me think any less of them. What say you, Internet? (Now, be honest, here. Don’t patronize me, mmkay? I want raw, brutal, honesty. Okay, maybe not so much brutal, because well, hello? Bitchy.¹)
UPDATE 10/14/05: The deed is done. Thank you, everyone, for all your supportive comments.

5. Okay, I can’t remember number five. But it was important!, I’m sure. Also, extremely clever! and witty! So, just think of the most important, clever, and witty thing you can come up with, and insert it here. Or hey!, leave it in the comments, even. Maybe your number five will help me remember my number five, and I’ll come back with an update! (Hey, it could happen. Or, you know, NOT.)

UPDATE, just moments after posting: Yes, because this is how my mind works (or doesn’t work) these days, I remembered number five within about 30 seconds of clicking “Post.” Sigh. So, an updated number five:

5. The winner of the unofficial “name that disease” contest in the last post is Closet Metro, whose unofficial entry – “My brain has messed itself” – almost made me, um, mess myself. Hee. Thanks for the giggle, Metro.

¹I might possibly still be ready to kill just about anyone who dares cross my path a wee bit bitchy these days. Maybe.

²I think she was trying to tell me it would be easier on me, as in, easier on my mind and body; but I couldn’t help thinking it was probably easier on HER, too, since it was probably less paperwork, and since she’d already made her mind up that that’s what she wanted to do.¹

³Yeah, that’s the one piece of GOOD news. Apparently, the fact that she didn’t call me back LAST THURSDAY is somehow related to the fact that she’s turned in her resignation (she’s moving), and will be leaving AT THE END OF THE MONTH. So, for those of you keeping track:
Leaving in 3 1/2 weeks = No time to return calls from stressed-out, depressed, mentally-drained clients.