Two days. Two significant blows to the ego.

January 6, 2007


The Drama Queen:  Mom, when you were a little girl, did people think no one would ever go to the moon?

LadyBug:  [Drama Queen]!  Man landed on the moon before I was even born!

DQ:  Oooookaaaaayyyy!  Geez, sorry, I didn’t know!

~ ~ ~

Today, in the car, Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog” comes on the radio:

DQ:  Mom, when was Elvis around?

LB:  A long time ago, baby.  I think he died the year I was born.*

DQ:  Oh, so it was, like, the 1700s??

LB:  ! ! !

~ ~ ~

*Note:  I was wrong on that fact.  Elvis died in 1977, three years after I was born.  But, still.  The freaking 1700s??


On days like this one…

January 4, 2007

Sometimes, all a mother can do is count down the minutes until bedtime…

In the past three months…

November 28, 2006

…we’ve made four trips to the E.R. – one in September for Miss Attitude’s sprained ankle, and three in this month alone: two visits – two weeks apart – to the local E.R. for Deputy Dad’s kidney stone troubles (documented here and here), and one to the E.R. in [larger town an hour away, where we go for shopping and doctor visits] for Miss Attitude’s chest x-ray, which confirmed her pneumonia diagnosis.

In the last two months, we’ve made seven trips to the pediatrician’s office (in [larger town]) and one trip (this afternoon) to Miss Attitude’s pediatric pulmonologist.

Also in the last two months, we’ve filled seventeen prescriptions for the kids (2 for The Drama Queen, 3 for SuperBoy, 12 for Miss Attitude (a.k.a. Princess Asthma)) and six prescriptions for Deputy Dad and his stoned kidneys.

At this point, I’m about as drained as my bank account is.

And yet…

Standing in the pulmonologist’s office this afternoon, I perused the pictures of pediatric patients filling the bulletin board behind the front desk.  At first glance, it was a collage of smiling children.  As I studied it closer, though, I noticed several children with obvious signs of Down’s Syndrome.  Some of those children – and a few others – were also living with tracheotomies, drawing each breath through a tube in their necks.  I saw other children whose growth had been adversely affected from a lifetime of respiratory steroid use.

As we were waiting our turn to see the pulmonologist, two children (from two different families) came out of the exam rooms in wheelchairs; both had tracheotomies, both were severely handicapped.

One more inspection of the bulletin board, and I noticed a newspaper clipping.  Oh, I thought, one of the patients must have made the news, participating in a school or community function.  I was instantly nauseated when I realized the clipping was an obituary notice.  A young girl – fourteen years old – had lost a battle with cancer.  I thought about that girl, about her parents, her family.

It’s so easy to feel so discouraged, so burdened, so…overwhelmed when the kids have been sick and the husband’s been sick and things just aren’t going well at all.  But…my GOSH, how very blessed I am.

Yes, Miss Attitude has asthma.  But it’s treatable.  And she’s never been hospitalized for it (knock on wood).  And her pediatrician and pulmonologist work together (with us) to take excellent care of her.

Yes, SuperBoy has a speech delay.  But we’re getting help for that NOW, rather than waiting until he’s in school.  And yes, the progress is so. very. slow.  But, still.  It’s progress.  And even though he doesn’t say a lot of words, he communicates very well, and his comprehension is excellent.  And he’s smart as a whip, that little guy.

And Deputy Dad’s kidney stones are treatable.  And we’re dealing with The Drama Queen’s Issues (which I don’t blog about, but still.  They are there.  The Issues.).  And even though we’re flat broke, we have so much more than so many others.

It occurs to me now that this entry may not be making much sense, so I’ll try to sum it up…

What I really mean to say is this:  Suddenly, today, I remember how very lucky – how very blessed – I am.  And I just wanted to share that with you.

I’m down with OCD, yeah you know me

October 30, 2006

Maybe it’s the depression, threatening to capsize my little lifeboat as it roars and swells in angry waves.

Maybe it’s the stress, recently reaching near-record levels and jeopardizing the precarious state of my anxious mind.

Whatever the cause, the effects are cropping up in some rather unconventional ways.

You remember I told you about my odd need for physical even-ness? (If you’re just tuning in, please see #90 on my 140 Things About Me page. As if that weren’t idiosyncratic enough in and of itself, I’ve recently developed a few other peculiarities…

I am, apparently, physically incapable of taking the top cup off of a stack of disposable cups. Each workday morning, I arrive at the office and get a cup of coffee. I reach for a styrofoam cup, and…

I pick up at least four or five cups off the top of the stack, so that I can take a cup from the middle. I do this at fast-food joints and convenience stores, too. I think it stems from being neurotically worried about putting my mouth on a cup someone else has touched. Because I know that not everyone washes their hands as obsessively as I do. Which brings me to the next manifestation of my mental meltdown…

I am constantly aware of everything I touch, who might have touched it before me, and what germs I might be unknowingly acquiring. So I wash my hands eleventy thousand times a day, until they’re dry and chapped and raw. (But hey, I don’t use a new bar of soap for each hand-washing, like Jack Nicholson’s OCD character in As Good As It Gets. I’m not that bad … … yet.)

I think I had more to post about, but as I was perusing that IMDB link (that movie’s one of my favorites), I came across this quote:

Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.

And on that note, I think I’ll go curl up in the corner and cry.

Make fun of my age, and I will beat you about the head and shoulders with my cane!

October 26, 2006

Last night I finally got around to unpacking some of my Coca-Cola collection and listing it on eBay. I’ve only listed a handful of items so far; I’ve still got much, much more to wade through.

A couple of things caught me by surprise:

1. I didn’t even remember owning most of the stuff I found last night. I mean, yeah, it’s been in storage for several years; but still, you’d think I’d at least remember it. Nope. Not a bit. Not even a flicker of recognition. Nothing. Nada.

2. In my exhaustive 20 seconds of research, I was shocked to discover that the Coca-Cola items I’d had since high school are now considered (gasp!) vintage. VINTAGE! Like…like…old.
Excusez-moi? OLD? I don’t THINK so. Why, I just graduated from high school. That was only…umm… …oh. Wait. Shit. That was fourteen years ago. Oh, good Lord, I’m practically ANCIENT.

Lessons Learned

October 23, 2006

I couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Walt Disney’s marketing already had a firm grasp on my heart, and my Lady and the Tramp coloring book was my very favorite coloring book, ever ever ever in the whole wide world, Amen.

That afternoon I spent hours – well, what seemed like hours to my six-or-seven-year-old-mind, anyway – coloring a single page. I carefully colored each dog a different color, utilizing my favorite shades – one violet-red, one purple, one blue…taking my time, concentrating on staying in the lines. I meticulously outlined each one in black crayon, a coloring technique I had learned from a friend and adopted as my own; I loved the way the black outlines made the colors seem more vivid.

I slowly – careful, now! – tore the page from the coloring book and presented my masterpiece to my mother. Beaming with pride, I waited breathlessly for the praise that was sure to come.

“Now, [LadyBug], you KNOW that dogs aren’t really purple and blue and pink, so why would you color them that way?”

Lesson Learned: No matter how hard I tried, no matter how diligently I worked, nothing I could do would ever be good enough for my mother.

Open Letters

September 25, 2006

Dear Complaint Department:

So…yeah…umm…about today… It…umm…totally did NOT work for me. In fact, it really, really sucked. I hereby request a do-over. With…umm…a stand-in Mom? A stunt double? Maybe? Because, geez, I am abso-fucking-lutely exhausted.

Sincerely yours,


Dear Guy In the White Truck Who Ran the Fucking Stop Sign and Almost Ran Me Over:

I was not waving at you. I was trying my damndest not to flip you off.

Up yours,


Dear September:

You suck. I mean, you really fucking suck. You suck so much that you’ve actually got me using the F-word. Me! The freaking F-Word! I cannot fucking wait until October shows up to kick your sorry ass to the curb.

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,