On the eve of this last weekend before school starts, we should be doing a lot of things.
We should be cleaning something.
We should be washing uniforms.
We should be labeling school supplies and new backpacks.
We should be stocking the pantry with healthy snacks in lunchbox sizes.
We should be going to bed early to get used to the new schedule.
We should be doing a lot of things.
But this is also the last weekend that we don't have any have-to's. And I have a feeling that it will be a quite while before we can declare that again.
So we're bagging all of the shoulds and spending the poolside relaxing together just because we can.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Can I have some lingonberries with that rug?
Tonight I shed a little of my sub- and got urban when I visted IKEA for the first time.
It was so...so...unassembled.
Which is cool, and fun, and so very eat your chinese straight out of a box with chopsticks-esque. I bought a little couch thing for Stevie's room and some colored pencils, a cutting board and Swedish meatballs. I probably could have picked up a lot more, but it was so overwhelming and I felt so naively unprepared for the experience that is IKEA..
And I realized as I was going up and down the eleventy hundred aisles of mattresses 3centimeters (remember, it's a European store) from the floor, that I like box springs and prefer my egg foo young on a plate with matching flatware.
It was so...so...unassembled.
Which is cool, and fun, and so very eat your chinese straight out of a box with chopsticks-esque. I bought a little couch thing for Stevie's room and some colored pencils, a cutting board and Swedish meatballs. I probably could have picked up a lot more, but it was so overwhelming and I felt so naively unprepared for the experience that is IKEA..
And I realized as I was going up and down the eleventy hundred aisles of mattresses 3centimeters (remember, it's a European store) from the floor, that I like box springs and prefer my egg foo young on a plate with matching flatware.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The beginning of the end
Well that was fun. Celebrated a friend's birthday last night by mopping up the dance floor with some little 20-somethings' bad hair extensions. Apparently, this particular group of shebeasts were as immature as their livers and credit scores and thought they could take over our parquet. Ha! Don't mess with us on a milestone birthday celebration in which babysitters are being paid and there is cake involved. We will eat you alive, beyotches.
*I needed to get that lame attempt at being a hipster out of the way, because this is the week I fall back into full-throttle Mommy mode as the last full week before school starts. There are supplies and uniforms to procure. There are lunchboxes to get. There are doctors and dentists and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. We haven't worn shoes or socks since May.
And it is also the week that I turn into the raving Nighttime witch as I try and fail to get them all regulated on some sort of bedtime/wake up ritual which is just so hard to do in the middle of August when it's 96 degrees outside and all summer long I've allowed them to go to sleep when it's dark and wake up when it's light.
How are we doing so far? It's 11:40 and we're having a sleepover and everyone is still awake. I'd better go cackle them a lullaby.
*I needed to get that lame attempt at being a hipster out of the way, because this is the week I fall back into full-throttle Mommy mode as the last full week before school starts. There are supplies and uniforms to procure. There are lunchboxes to get. There are doctors and dentists and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. We haven't worn shoes or socks since May.
And it is also the week that I turn into the raving Nighttime witch as I try and fail to get them all regulated on some sort of bedtime/wake up ritual which is just so hard to do in the middle of August when it's 96 degrees outside and all summer long I've allowed them to go to sleep when it's dark and wake up when it's light.
How are we doing so far? It's 11:40 and we're having a sleepover and everyone is still awake. I'd better go cackle them a lullaby.
Friday, August 14, 2009
We put our names on the straws...
Everyone should have friends that define "having a cocktail together" as this:
Especially when the cocktail is served at 12:30 on a Thursday afternoon.
Especially when the cocktail is served at 12:30 on a Thursday afternoon.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Day 17
There wasn’t supposed to be a Day 17, but we’re still 600 miles from home so there may just be 18, 19, and 20.
But at least I have time to reflect.
If I had an anti-bucket list--those things in my life I’ve done but wouldn’t repeat on a dare--several items would be from this trip. For instance, I don’t think you could pay me to take a 31’ camper on the Cross Bronx Expressway again. Some of my sense of humor flew off from a massive pothole and was hit by oncoming traffic and then unceremoniously flipped off while other angry drivers urinated on it from the Throgs Neck Bridge.
I also will never believe that “clean, modern shower facilities” are defined universally. After one “shower” upon a 50 year old peeling linoleum basin with a faucet pulled on by a rotting tow rope that trickled cold run-off from the dumping station, I told my husband not only not to bother bathing there, but please don’t even go near the bathrooms because if he saw what I had just done he’d think less of me as a person.
And while I know you’re expecting the next item on the list to read “Never step foot into an R.V. again,” well, it’s not. Despite all of our mechanical foibles, I still would love to take this trip again someday. When things were working properly, we really had a great time.
Sure, I’d do some things differently--probably pack more clothes, extra road flares and brush up on the inner workings of fuel pumps--but it wasn’t a total loss. The food poisoning went away after 18 hours and the rental company reimbursed us for all the lost days and hotel rooms without too much protest.
But camping along the Long Island Sound and star-gazing with my kids was something not to be missed. The playing with fireflies and nightly campfire talks were precious. And even watching my kids remain calm and flexible during adversity was surprisingly meaningful. It turns out, they are pretty wonderful people who never complain and can make me laugh even in the most unfunny moments. And while I’m sorry that more of those funny moments didn’t occur at scenic campsites in the wilderness instead of various Fairfield Inns across the south, well, there are many worse things.
And so while it certainly won’t be in this particular make and model (one that I think should be put out of its misery and ours) I will bet that our family will opt for the Holiday Rambler over the Holiday Inn next time.
I leave you with some vacation photos:
"Hey kids! Welcome to your first night of camping! You're all up to date on your tentus shots, right?"
This was the shot I was sure I was going to have to turn over to the police as evidence when they asked where was the last time we saw Stevie...
Why is there no pre-printed page for Baby's First Junkyard Day in the babybook?
But at least I have time to reflect.
If I had an anti-bucket list--those things in my life I’ve done but wouldn’t repeat on a dare--several items would be from this trip. For instance, I don’t think you could pay me to take a 31’ camper on the Cross Bronx Expressway again. Some of my sense of humor flew off from a massive pothole and was hit by oncoming traffic and then unceremoniously flipped off while other angry drivers urinated on it from the Throgs Neck Bridge.
I also will never believe that “clean, modern shower facilities” are defined universally. After one “shower” upon a 50 year old peeling linoleum basin with a faucet pulled on by a rotting tow rope that trickled cold run-off from the dumping station, I told my husband not only not to bother bathing there, but please don’t even go near the bathrooms because if he saw what I had just done he’d think less of me as a person.
And while I know you’re expecting the next item on the list to read “Never step foot into an R.V. again,” well, it’s not. Despite all of our mechanical foibles, I still would love to take this trip again someday. When things were working properly, we really had a great time.
Sure, I’d do some things differently--probably pack more clothes, extra road flares and brush up on the inner workings of fuel pumps--but it wasn’t a total loss. The food poisoning went away after 18 hours and the rental company reimbursed us for all the lost days and hotel rooms without too much protest.
But camping along the Long Island Sound and star-gazing with my kids was something not to be missed. The playing with fireflies and nightly campfire talks were precious. And even watching my kids remain calm and flexible during adversity was surprisingly meaningful. It turns out, they are pretty wonderful people who never complain and can make me laugh even in the most unfunny moments. And while I’m sorry that more of those funny moments didn’t occur at scenic campsites in the wilderness instead of various Fairfield Inns across the south, well, there are many worse things.
And so while it certainly won’t be in this particular make and model (one that I think should be put out of its misery and ours) I will bet that our family will opt for the Holiday Rambler over the Holiday Inn next time.
I leave you with some vacation photos:
"Hey kids! Welcome to your first night of camping! You're all up to date on your tentus shots, right?"
This was the shot I was sure I was going to have to turn over to the police as evidence when they asked where was the last time we saw Stevie...
Why is there no pre-printed page for Baby's First Junkyard Day in the babybook?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Send wine
The complete wrap-up post is coming--just as soon as I get over my considerable state of WTF-ness.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Day 314 or something
I’m not exactly sure what day this is, but I’m pretty sure it’s the one that I have stopped making sense and have lost all perspective. In the “I shiz you not” category, we have broken down once again.
This time, we are outside Charlotte, North Carolina and I’ve grown weary of this particular routine. This mechanic’s name is Hal, and he has had many past experiences with RV’s. In fact, he told my husband that he doesn’t go into the actual camper anymore because so many of them “are just rolling brothels.”
Really?
Actually, that makes a lot of sense because I feel like I’m getting screwed every time I get into this one.
This time, we are outside Charlotte, North Carolina and I’ve grown weary of this particular routine. This mechanic’s name is Hal, and he has had many past experiences with RV’s. In fact, he told my husband that he doesn’t go into the actual camper anymore because so many of them “are just rolling brothels.”
Really?
Actually, that makes a lot of sense because I feel like I’m getting screwed every time I get into this one.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Day 7-11
After spending several nights visiting family at a beautiful campsite on Long Island’s north shore, we find ourselves in Hershey, Pennsylvania. This was not on our original itinerary, but not much of this trip has so we’re even. But after telling the kids we were going to spend the day at a chocolate-themed amusement park and not staring at stale vending machine candy bars in a mechanic’s waiting room, the look of sheer joy that returned to their faces was well worth the detour. (Although I still think the greatest thrill rides of the trip were in various tow trucks across the southern United States.)
That is not to say that Hershey doesn’t come with its own set of quirky happenstances that are contributing to my exhaustive camping education.
For instance, I can probably trace back the origin of the Reese’s cup right from this very campground. The campsites are so painfully close together that I bet someone’s chocolate got into a neighbor’s peanut butter during just a stiff wind. (Look for a toasted marshmallow/grilled hot dog confection from Hershey’s very soon.)
I also can assure you first-hand that the cocoa beans in Hershey products are of the freshest variety. I know this because the freight train that carries them passes within 50 feet of our camper several times a night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. It sounds like a freight train coming within 50 feet of our camper several times night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.
That is not to say that Hershey doesn’t come with its own set of quirky happenstances that are contributing to my exhaustive camping education.
For instance, I can probably trace back the origin of the Reese’s cup right from this very campground. The campsites are so painfully close together that I bet someone’s chocolate got into a neighbor’s peanut butter during just a stiff wind. (Look for a toasted marshmallow/grilled hot dog confection from Hershey’s very soon.)
I also can assure you first-hand that the cocoa beans in Hershey products are of the freshest variety. I know this because the freight train that carries them passes within 50 feet of our camper several times a night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. It sounds like a freight train coming within 50 feet of our camper several times night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Day 6ish
Day 6:
We have meandered our way across Ohio and New York by way of Cooperstown--or as I like to refer to it, YouCan’tParkThatBigPooperstowninCooperstown. And now that our home is actually mobile, I have to say that traveling this way with four kids has its advantages.
A road trip of this magnitude in a mere sedan wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable nor as much fun. While the miles fly by outside, we can eat, play games, watch movies and even change diapers without several stops and ecoli exposure in gas station restrooms. Naps need not be vertical, and meals can come from a kitchen rather than a grease-stained paper bag. It’s kind of nice to make a peanut butter sandwich and a plate of fruit for lunch rather than trying to clear a McDonald’s drive thru.
In fact, dining on this trip has been one of the highlights. We have eaten like kings (monarchs with a penchant for marshmallows) and it’s been delicious. We’ve grilled outside most nights, and whenever possible we’ve stopped at local farm stands so everything is fresh and tasty. I found some interesting recipes on camprecipes.com which for the most part worked out well. The refrigerator and freezer are surprisingly generous, so we were able to plan and shop for a lot of meals in advance.
so with the exceptions of a particularly charred pot roast in the maiden voyage of a cast iron dutch oven and the Aldosta-vay Ouper-gray, meals on the road have been relatively happy.
We have meandered our way across Ohio and New York by way of Cooperstown--or as I like to refer to it, YouCan’tParkThatBigPooperstowninCooperstown. And now that our home is actually mobile, I have to say that traveling this way with four kids has its advantages.
A road trip of this magnitude in a mere sedan wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable nor as much fun. While the miles fly by outside, we can eat, play games, watch movies and even change diapers without several stops and ecoli exposure in gas station restrooms. Naps need not be vertical, and meals can come from a kitchen rather than a grease-stained paper bag. It’s kind of nice to make a peanut butter sandwich and a plate of fruit for lunch rather than trying to clear a McDonald’s drive thru.
In fact, dining on this trip has been one of the highlights. We have eaten like kings (monarchs with a penchant for marshmallows) and it’s been delicious. We’ve grilled outside most nights, and whenever possible we’ve stopped at local farm stands so everything is fresh and tasty. I found some interesting recipes on camprecipes.com which for the most part worked out well. The refrigerator and freezer are surprisingly generous, so we were able to plan and shop for a lot of meals in advance.
so with the exceptions of a particularly charred pot roast in the maiden voyage of a cast iron dutch oven and the Aldosta-vay Ouper-gray, meals on the road have been relatively happy.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Oh yeah, I remember now, this is supposed to be camping
On the fifth day of our camping vacation, we camp.
After five days on the road, we have finally made it to our first campground in central Ohio, and I am pretty overjoyed at this accomplishment. I am so ecstatic not to be spending another night in an unscheduled roadside motel that I will overlook the rather subpar accommodations.
In fact, I will refrain from pointing out that this particular park looks nothing like their scenic website--I will instead assume that they were just overly-generous or completely blind.
Because right at this very moment, it doesn’t matter. There is a campfire burning, and the kids are chasing fireflies. We have feasted on grilled chicken and hot dogs. The air is cool and faintly smoky--and not from the hood of the R.V. I am surrounded by family and not mechanics with nicknames that refer not to their mechanical prowess, but their acting abilities.
Pass me a marshmallow.
After five days on the road, we have finally made it to our first campground in central Ohio, and I am pretty overjoyed at this accomplishment. I am so ecstatic not to be spending another night in an unscheduled roadside motel that I will overlook the rather subpar accommodations.
In fact, I will refrain from pointing out that this particular park looks nothing like their scenic website--I will instead assume that they were just overly-generous or completely blind.
Because right at this very moment, it doesn’t matter. There is a campfire burning, and the kids are chasing fireflies. We have feasted on grilled chicken and hot dogs. The air is cool and faintly smoky--and not from the hood of the R.V. I am surrounded by family and not mechanics with nicknames that refer not to their mechanical prowess, but their acting abilities.
Pass me a marshmallow.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
And it gets even better
For Days 3 and 4, please re-read Day 2, only replace “Corbin, Kentucky” with all Valdosta references, add a second tow truck, a harrowing all-night wait for said tow truck off the side of the road, and another couple of hundred bucks in lost campground deposits.
And please allow me to re-introduce a new recurring character on our show: the Valdosta Holiday Inn Grouper. He will now play the part of the bane of my existence--a role previously played by a cantankerous Ford fuel pump.
And please allow me to re-introduce a new recurring character on our show: the Valdosta Holiday Inn Grouper. He will now play the part of the bane of my existence--a role previously played by a cantankerous Ford fuel pump.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Day 2 of our "vacation"
I can’t describe Day 2 to you for the following reasons:
1.) You wouldn’t be able to understand a single word. I would have to write nonsensical phrases like, “This car has fleas,” “Watch the baby while she plays in the junkyard,” and who can forget the classic, “I hope the D.O.T. don’t [sic] have a roadblock set up or your son might have to spend the night in a rural Georgia jail.”
2.) It would be an illogical ordering of random words that would frustrate and confound you and leave you wondering just what in the hell happened on that desolate South Georgia interstate that caused this once semi-normal family to die a little inside.
3.) It would be littered with cursing. Really bad words you shouldn’t repeat without an air horn censor nearby.
4.) There were many, many laws broken--not only a myriad of state, Federal and local, but also physical. And while we escaped “dem smokies,” I don’t know the statute of limitations for any of those violations, or whether pleading “Guilty by reason of R.V.ing” is a legal defense recognized in a court of law. (Although no jury would convict us under the circumstances.)
5.) You would have to spit at least 6 or seven times. Why? I have no idea, but all day everyone expectorated liberally around me, and frankly, it was disgusting and I’d rather not go through that again.
No, it is best if we put Day 2 to bed in that same Valdosta Holiday Inn where we started after a nice steak dinner and a trip to Wal-Mart in a 1981 Buick LaSabre with no interior upholstery, a gnat infestation, no working headlights and that vaguely smells of a cocktail of motor oil, feet, and broken dreams.
Cross-posted on Whoa Momma
1.) You wouldn’t be able to understand a single word. I would have to write nonsensical phrases like, “This car has fleas,” “Watch the baby while she plays in the junkyard,” and who can forget the classic, “I hope the D.O.T. don’t [sic] have a roadblock set up or your son might have to spend the night in a rural Georgia jail.”
2.) It would be an illogical ordering of random words that would frustrate and confound you and leave you wondering just what in the hell happened on that desolate South Georgia interstate that caused this once semi-normal family to die a little inside.
3.) It would be littered with cursing. Really bad words you shouldn’t repeat without an air horn censor nearby.
4.) There were many, many laws broken--not only a myriad of state, Federal and local, but also physical. And while we escaped “dem smokies,” I don’t know the statute of limitations for any of those violations, or whether pleading “Guilty by reason of R.V.ing” is a legal defense recognized in a court of law. (Although no jury would convict us under the circumstances.)
5.) You would have to spit at least 6 or seven times. Why? I have no idea, but all day everyone expectorated liberally around me, and frankly, it was disgusting and I’d rather not go through that again.
No, it is best if we put Day 2 to bed in that same Valdosta Holiday Inn where we started after a nice steak dinner and a trip to Wal-Mart in a 1981 Buick LaSabre with no interior upholstery, a gnat infestation, no working headlights and that vaguely smells of a cocktail of motor oil, feet, and broken dreams.
Cross-posted on Whoa Momma
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Vacation?
I apologize for the delay, but I do believe forgiveness will be forthcoming when you read of our adventures over the next several days...
The first night of our “camping” trip ends at a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia, not at the beautiful and scenic Stone Mountain campground under the watchful eyes of rebel soldiers etched in stone as according to our original plan.
Why this horrendous detour?
Well, it seems in all of my meticulous planning of clothing, equipment, meals, campgrounds and mosquito repellent for this two week, 3000 mile road trip for 6, I failed to factor in a broken fuel pump and 2 flat tires 250 miles in.
We rented this recreational vehicle--which so far has proven to be more miscreational than anything else--and so I left certain maintenance issues up to that particular firm which collected the fee. I did not expect to do much else than fill the tank up with gas, and empty other tanks of, well, gas, of which we have already done several times. So first day tune-ups were not on our travel agenda.
Our mechanic, “Hollywood,” lives here in Valdosta, but is originally from Portland, Oregon. Ironically, his illogical nickname is quite appropriate since I feel as though we are stuck in some 2000 and late version of a Michael J. Fox movie and the only way we are escaping this fresh hell is to perform medical feats on the residents of this southern town before they fix our motorhome and allow us to continue on our journey.
But our first medical miracle may be reserved for one of our own, as my son just ordered a blackened grouper sandwich from a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia.
Cross-posted at Whoa Momma.
The first night of our “camping” trip ends at a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia, not at the beautiful and scenic Stone Mountain campground under the watchful eyes of rebel soldiers etched in stone as according to our original plan.
Why this horrendous detour?
Well, it seems in all of my meticulous planning of clothing, equipment, meals, campgrounds and mosquito repellent for this two week, 3000 mile road trip for 6, I failed to factor in a broken fuel pump and 2 flat tires 250 miles in.
We rented this recreational vehicle--which so far has proven to be more miscreational than anything else--and so I left certain maintenance issues up to that particular firm which collected the fee. I did not expect to do much else than fill the tank up with gas, and empty other tanks of, well, gas, of which we have already done several times. So first day tune-ups were not on our travel agenda.
Our mechanic, “Hollywood,” lives here in Valdosta, but is originally from Portland, Oregon. Ironically, his illogical nickname is quite appropriate since I feel as though we are stuck in some 2000 and late version of a Michael J. Fox movie and the only way we are escaping this fresh hell is to perform medical feats on the residents of this southern town before they fix our motorhome and allow us to continue on our journey.
But our first medical miracle may be reserved for one of our own, as my son just ordered a blackened grouper sandwich from a Holiday Inn in Valdosta, Georgia.
Cross-posted at Whoa Momma.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Not exactly sticking to the itinerary
No, I haven't forgotten you, nor have we fallen from the planet--although we are orbiting around aliens at the moment here in South Georgia.
No, every detail of this is being recorded and will be chronicled beginning Monday here and over on Whoa Momma.
It promises to be just exactly how you'd expect this vacation to be, only with more screenplay opportunities.
No, every detail of this is being recorded and will be chronicled beginning Monday here and over on Whoa Momma.
It promises to be just exactly how you'd expect this vacation to be, only with more screenplay opportunities.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Maybe BlogHer '10 can be in Clearwater?
Well, tomorrow every female in the blogoverse heads to Chicago for BlogHer, and I will be heading, well, not to Chicago for BlogHer.
So I'm thinking while everyone else is partying like blog stars, the three of us left on the Interweb should do fun things while they're all not looking. I don't exactly know what that is yet, but you can bet it's gonna use a whole lot bandwidth just because we can.
In other news, Cousin Eddie fixed the A/C problem in the R.V. so "camping" can commence soon.
So stay tuned--both of you.
So I'm thinking while everyone else is partying like blog stars, the three of us left on the Interweb should do fun things while they're all not looking. I don't exactly know what that is yet, but you can bet it's gonna use a whole lot bandwidth just because we can.
In other news, Cousin Eddie fixed the A/C problem in the R.V. so "camping" can commence soon.
So stay tuned--both of you.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Blog school 101
On the first day of blog school they teach you a lesson in blog physics: if you write about avoiding the ER one day, you have exactly 3.2 hours before you will return to it in some form or kid or another. It's punishment for not observing some sort of knocking on wood or passing on a chain email ritual.
And so yesterday, it was Stevie who made a visit to our familiar ER docs with a foot injury that occurred on the beach.
Yes, that is quite a familiar refrain around my house. Stevie limped in with Sean and the insurance card limping behind him, and then had three rocks extracted from his big toe and his considerable wound cleaned, treated and bandaged. It was pretty bad. They gave him some heavy antibiotics too since he cut it on a paddleboat in some gross resort water. Ew.
He's resting it and we're watching it while we continue trip preparations.
And as soon as I finish the laundry I'm sending you all an ancient Irish angel prayer and re-enrolling in blog school.
And so yesterday, it was Stevie who made a visit to our familiar ER docs with a foot injury that occurred on the beach.
Yes, that is quite a familiar refrain around my house. Stevie limped in with Sean and the insurance card limping behind him, and then had three rocks extracted from his big toe and his considerable wound cleaned, treated and bandaged. It was pretty bad. They gave him some heavy antibiotics too since he cut it on a paddleboat in some gross resort water. Ew.
He's resting it and we're watching it while we continue trip preparations.
And as soon as I finish the laundry I'm sending you all an ancient Irish angel prayer and re-enrolling in blog school.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
You can, in fact, pick your daughter's nose
You were no doubt thinking that things were a little too quiet around here, medically speaking.
Well, you probably weren't, but now that I brought it up it has occurred to you that no one has made a trip to the ER in a while.
We almost set the "25 days accident-free" calendar back yesterday when Jesso decided to spice things up a bit.
Taking a cue from her older sister who stuck a red hot up her nose a couple of years ago and sneezed cinnamon for a few days afterward, Jess stuck a plastic bead up there.
Running over a little teary, she said, "Ma, Ma...nose." I couldn't see anything at first, but with a shine of the flashlight saw the little white bead perched high up into her nasal cavity. (And if that didn't clue me in, the evidence was in a craft bag opened up on my desk where she was sitting.)
I tried to work it out, yes, that way, but her nostrils are too small and my fingers too big. I thought maybe I could grab it with a pair of tweezers, but she was thrashing around too much and I thought I might pluck her cerebellum. So I let out a huge heaving sigh, and packed everyone up to go to the ER.
Actually, I had to pick up a couple from down the road so that they could watch the other 2 while I went holding just one crying baby instead of four. I made the exchange and carried on the way.
At the traffic light, I was considering ER, pediatrician's office or StatMed--each of which have their own appeal--when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a little band of white perched close to the end of her nostril. I calmly pulled over to a parking lot (proud that I didn't just turn backwards while holding my foot on the brake like I normally do, aren't you?) and worked my mommy magic on that bead, so it came out in a rather disgustingly-coated nugget in my trembling hand.
And you know what that little cherub said?
"Tanks Ma for helping my nose."
No, thank you Jess, for saving me a $50 co-pay and another entry in the bad mommy file.
Well, you probably weren't, but now that I brought it up it has occurred to you that no one has made a trip to the ER in a while.
We almost set the "25 days accident-free" calendar back yesterday when Jesso decided to spice things up a bit.
Taking a cue from her older sister who stuck a red hot up her nose a couple of years ago and sneezed cinnamon for a few days afterward, Jess stuck a plastic bead up there.
Running over a little teary, she said, "Ma, Ma...nose." I couldn't see anything at first, but with a shine of the flashlight saw the little white bead perched high up into her nasal cavity. (And if that didn't clue me in, the evidence was in a craft bag opened up on my desk where she was sitting.)
I tried to work it out, yes, that way, but her nostrils are too small and my fingers too big. I thought maybe I could grab it with a pair of tweezers, but she was thrashing around too much and I thought I might pluck her cerebellum. So I let out a huge heaving sigh, and packed everyone up to go to the ER.
Actually, I had to pick up a couple from down the road so that they could watch the other 2 while I went holding just one crying baby instead of four. I made the exchange and carried on the way.
At the traffic light, I was considering ER, pediatrician's office or StatMed--each of which have their own appeal--when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a little band of white perched close to the end of her nostril. I calmly pulled over to a parking lot (proud that I didn't just turn backwards while holding my foot on the brake like I normally do, aren't you?) and worked my mommy magic on that bead, so it came out in a rather disgustingly-coated nugget in my trembling hand.
And you know what that little cherub said?
"Tanks Ma for helping my nose."
No, thank you Jess, for saving me a $50 co-pay and another entry in the bad mommy file.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I want my money and my split ends back
Sean just walked outside and said, "What smells like old lady?"
Then he said, "Oh, your hair looks nice, did you just get back from the salon?"
At least that's what I thought he said before I ran inside and stopped payment on the salon check and ran the water in the bathtub to drown myself in a shampoo cocktail of Finesse and Fabreeze.
Then he said, "Oh, your hair looks nice, did you just get back from the salon?"
At least that's what I thought he said before I ran inside and stopped payment on the salon check and ran the water in the bathtub to drown myself in a shampoo cocktail of Finesse and Fabreeze.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I use the terms, "Date" and "Night" loosely here
Man, do I hate nights like yesterday's.
I don't normally have a problem sleeping--I have trouble staying awake. But last night I was up until 4:45 tossing and turning and watching horrible movies on HBO. (Casino, Michael and Smokey and the Bandit, which the baffling combination of the those three titles alone are enough to give anyone nightmares) and so today I am suffering from one of those lack of sleep headaches that makes my entire head pull to the left--presumably in search of a pillow--but I'm no doctor.
But there's work to be done, so I fight through the haze to take A-Dog to speech and then write pathetic prose before the last errand/date night before the trip. But I'm dragging.
I hope my sleeplessness has nothing to do with the fact that tonight's date night will be the first in over a year that we'll get a table for two since the Intern has quasi-officially moved out.
Luckily, much of his crap is still here to keep me company, though.
Love you, D.
I don't normally have a problem sleeping--I have trouble staying awake. But last night I was up until 4:45 tossing and turning and watching horrible movies on HBO. (Casino, Michael and Smokey and the Bandit, which the baffling combination of the those three titles alone are enough to give anyone nightmares) and so today I am suffering from one of those lack of sleep headaches that makes my entire head pull to the left--presumably in search of a pillow--but I'm no doctor.
But there's work to be done, so I fight through the haze to take A-Dog to speech and then write pathetic prose before the last errand/date night before the trip. But I'm dragging.
I hope my sleeplessness has nothing to do with the fact that tonight's date night will be the first in over a year that we'll get a table for two since the Intern has quasi-officially moved out.
Luckily, much of his crap is still here to keep me company, though.
Love you, D.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
If you've seenchapters 18-23, please send
I've spent the better part of the last 24 hours re-mourning my lost chapters.
Yesterday afternoon the Apple store called well ahead of their repair deadline to tell me that the MacBook had been freed of its Gatorade death shroud and was now working at 100%. They had restored the restorable and I could pick up my new, old, dry computer. I was very excited because not only was I finally getting back, but back well in time to take on the trip.
Yay, right?
Almost. It seems everything was restored EXCEPT the actual new document I was working on when the spillage occurred. Which just happened to be all of the new chapters. The rest of novel had been restored--but I had all of that backed-up and stored in like thirty different places. The new stuff inspired by my Palm Island sun? Nope. That is gone. Forevah.
So I've started recreating that part of the book with lackluster passion. I guess it's good that the hard part of actually coming up with the story parts is done, but trying to piece it all back together from memory just plain sucks and makes me grouchy. But I will finish this this summer if it kills me.
Which judging from our fated progress so far, just might.
Yesterday afternoon the Apple store called well ahead of their repair deadline to tell me that the MacBook had been freed of its Gatorade death shroud and was now working at 100%. They had restored the restorable and I could pick up my new, old, dry computer. I was very excited because not only was I finally getting back, but back well in time to take on the trip.
Yay, right?
Almost. It seems everything was restored EXCEPT the actual new document I was working on when the spillage occurred. Which just happened to be all of the new chapters. The rest of novel had been restored--but I had all of that backed-up and stored in like thirty different places. The new stuff inspired by my Palm Island sun? Nope. That is gone. Forevah.
So I've started recreating that part of the book with lackluster passion. I guess it's good that the hard part of actually coming up with the story parts is done, but trying to piece it all back together from memory just plain sucks and makes me grouchy. But I will finish this this summer if it kills me.
Which judging from our fated progress so far, just might.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
