Thursday, February 19, 2009

Your help getting the disbursement we require

I was thinking of getting a little part time job. If I could work from home that would be even better, so I'm thinking about seeing how much I could make off of Nigerian scammers. I don't know why, exactly, but all of a sudden I'm getting A TON of emails from the little twerps. So. I'm thinking that I reply to each one of them, and tell them that I need, oh, say, $10, to be wired TO ME, to prove to me that they really are Toyota, or the United Nations, or a Nigerian Banker and not some skeevey scum bucket. I'm sure most of them wouldn't bite, but if one percent bit I would have enough extra money to buy some toys for the girls, or pizza a couple of times a month.

Speaking of what I'd buy with a $100 a month, I told Simon what I wanted for my birthday, namely chocolate, a new fuzzy bathrobe, chocolate and chocolate. And then I thought for a minute, and I pointed out to him how lucky he is that I'm into expensive chocolate and not shoes or clothes or hair or makeup. I mean, when I splurge I buy a $4 bar of chocolate, not a $400 pair of Jimmy Choo's. He scored when he married me.

Just needing your name, birthdate, job title and sex*,

*I always laugh when the Nigerians ask me that. Sex? No thanks, I'm good, man.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

That good.

Simon spent some time yesterday diddling his beloved stereo system, and when he was done he visited some of his music. Wellll, I say music. At one point he put on "Winter was hard" by the Kronos Quartet. After listening to a few tracks, I said "Winter was hard. It was soooo fucking hard we had to sell our music and play this shit." When the baby started to cry, Simon gave in and turned it down a bit. To be fair, I'm sure that if I were in the mood, and the children were in bed, and I had a really, really large glass of wine, I could get into it.

Do you read Whoopee? I love reading her because my mental picture of her house resembles the actual view of my house. Usually when I read a blog I picture the author's living space as much spiffier than my own. Like, if the internet is a zoo, and each blog is an exhibit, than most of the blogs I read remind me of the Lion cage, maybe, with big beautiful cats lounging around a tasteful arrangement of grasses and rocks. My household would be the monkey cage, complete with random toys strewn around and primates scratching their nethers. All I can say in our defense is that we usually wear pants and never fling poo. Boogers, wet dishrags, and used diapers, yes. Poo, no.

I'm still trying to get caught up on the mess we made whilst we were ill, without getting behind on the mess we're making now. I've said it before and I'll say it again- staying on top of the housework is like staying on top of a big ball. Once you start to lose it, the whole thing goes sideways like THAT and it's completely gone. And when you're trying to get back up you have to pull it all together at once. At least, that's the way it feels to me.

Leaving you with the mental picture of herself as a monkey in a tutu balancing on a large ball whilst holding a dirty diaper and scratching her ass,

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Much better now.

When Myfarmer gifted us with a loft bed for Boy, I wondered to myself what the mess would be like if he puked up there. I had also wondered, when I got pregnant for the Bug, what it would be like when a family of five got the stomach flu, especially if Simon and I got sick at the same time.

Poor Boy was feeling sort of icky, but I thought he had a cold, so I gave him a Benadryl and we all went to bed. Benadryl puts him out in a serious way though, and even when he started barfing he slept through it. Of course, this meant he was puking in his loft. The result was spectacular. I couldn't help but giggle a little when I got my first look at him.

The Bean got it first and gave it to us all, but she really wasn't very sick. The Bug was sick all night long, but never cried. In fact, she slept in her puke for half the night because I didn't figure out what was going on until 3:30 in the morning. Simon, Boy and I all came down with it on the same night, meaning the next day there was no one in shape to take care of the two perfectly happy girls. I opened their closet door (where I store the toys that are out of rotation) and lay down in the Bean's bed. The novelty of the situation kept them busy all morning. Then there was nap, and after that the grown ups were feeling better enough to move downstairs. We survived, and it was awful, but it wasn't as bad as I had imagined.

In other news, the Boy's birthday is coming up. We're giving him presents along two lines- one is the usual Gift of Entertainment, i.e. books, comics, movies, and the other is Gifts that You Give Grownups, because he's never gotten these before and he actually appreciates them. So Simon and I were looking at pens, and we couldn't decide if he'd like a cheery orange one, or a bad ass orange-gray-black one (can't tell which one I like, huh?), and finally I brought the Boy down for a hypothetical. We asked him if he'd rather have a cheery orange coat, or a orange/gray/black coat. O/G/B. But Simon says, no, that's not the same, so I say, what about shoes? And the Boy waffles. So I say what about a bike, and he says Orange, definitely, so then I'm like, what if we painted this wall ... and then Simon comes out and says, "That that's not like a pen at all" and I'm all like, "Shit!". At which point we just show him the pens, and he picked orange. Sadly, I have always held the policy that if you figure out what you're getting before the gift giving time it goes back to the store, which means that Simon blew it and now we have to figure out something else. Sigh. To top it off, Simon is all proud that he picked the right color.

The Boy was looking through a Oriental Trading Company catalog, and he started figuring out how much he could make at school selling the candy. At which point he decided he wanted to go into business. He's got all sorts of schemes worked up in his little brain. I'm really hoping he'll have a go at some sort of money making effort, although canday at school is right out. He's already learned a lot about basic business principles just by thinking things through- for example, it takes money to make money, so how could he go about getting the initial investment? This right here is how learning happens. It's exciting to watch.

Alright. Gotta go, feeding time for the monkeys.

Wondering why February isn't National Puke Month,

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Twice in one week

People with pen1ses have held up a diaper full of poop and asked "What do I do with this?", as if we are saving the turds up for a set of dishes, or storing them until they ripen, or reusing them as skin creme, perhaps.

For the record?

Poop goes in the potty,

Saturday, February 07, 2009


Sometimes I don't know what to do with this blog. I started it because I read my Grandmother's journals and it gave me a whole new understanding of her. I wanted to leave something like that for my family. Also? My mother and I have issues with memory. We can forget the things that did happen and remember things that didn't. It's a gift. I try to leave written accounts of things so that I have a record of the life I actually lived, as opposed to the fun house mirror version I remember. Lastly, I have found that reading about other people's lives on the internet comforts me. I feel less singular. Most of my day is spent without the company of other adults, so this is not trivial. Writing in my blog is my way of paying it back. Maybe some other mother sees herself mirrored here and finds her way to having some compassion for herself. I hope so.

The problem I find myself having is that I don't blog as much of my daily living as I'd like, because I've wanted this to be a blog I wouldn't have to be ashamed of my family finding. I don't want them to stumble across this, recognize my life, then be hurt by the things I've said. I have a lot to say, however, and I don't see how I can serve the purpose of this blog by not saying them. This is the problem inherent in putting your diary on the internet, and I haven't solved it yet. Ideas and suggestions from the peanut gallery are most welcome:)


In the interest of having this blog adhere to its purpose, I will fill you in on what's been up this winter. I've been sick. I get these spells where my legs don't work too good, I'm tingly in spots and unbelievably tired. It comes and goes, now and then. Right now my Doctor says that since my lab results are normal it must be in my head, and has written me up a script for SSRIs. I know they won't work, because I've done this several times around. However, I do think he is a good Doctor, and I will try anything, because if it worked I would be very very glad. Also? Whatever it is isn't going to kill me. It's just life alteringly annoying. And another also? I want to be the willing patient so that he will work with me to figure this out. And the last also? I have been depressed this winter. Not the teenage kind of depression, where being alive=anguish. More of a middle-aged depression, where everything fucking annoys the piss out of me, it's all a bit too much, and really, why even bother anyway. So. SSRIs it is.

My Mom is in the states for a while and is staying with my Aunt. My mom is attempting to finish my Aunt's basement. Mom has the time to do this, and no one else does. It is good for all concerned. Auntie M saved up some time off and they came out here for a visit, also good for all concerned. They got to stay for a week and play with babies. The first day they were here they played with the Bean so much she pooped out and went to bed two hours early. Her favorite game was to get somebody, usually Auntie M, to walk around the house on a loop from the kitchen through the foyer through the living room through the dining room and back to the kitchen. If the Bug could be convinced to join, all the better. And for an extra special touch, all the girls would put on their snow boots and march and yell on their way around the circuit. This came to be known as the "Pink Boot Parade". Other options including singing various songs, counting steps and jumping on ten, and occasionally playing chase. By the time the visit was over, the Bean was finally saying "Four" after "three", instead of "nine", or perhaps "two" again.

My Mothers also bought me a cabinet and some table legs so I could put up a counter in my kitchen. The kitchen here is good sized, but strangely lacking in cabinetry. MyFarmer had given me a butcher block when she moved, and with the stuff they bought me we had all the parts necessary to remedy the situation.

It was interesting putting it all together. My woodworking skill set is weak. Simon's job entails many of the skills needed, and when he came home to find me working on the legs and things he let me know how he would have done things differently. I had spent all day working on the damn things, and was feeling pretty proud that I had managed to get them attached, seeing as how my past wood working projects had ended up in pieces or flames before I finished them. Simon was looking at the legs and feeling pretty certain they wouldn't hold up, although I still think he was doing the mental calculations based on whether what I'd done would keep an airplane together at 20000 feet.* I let Simon know that he had hurt my feelings, and he said sorry, and I believe there were some physical apologies all around. The next day I took the legs off and had another go. This time things went much better.** Even he was impressed. Then we proceeded to throw a new set of hissy fits at each other over getting the counter on the cabinets. It's deuced awkward to land a two ton counter and its holes smack onto the screws sticking up from the cabinet. And no, we couldn't just screw the screws up into the counter because it's made of maple and maple is HARD. In the end, Simon came up with the genius idea of using the kid's building blocks as shims, which we put under the legs and on top of the cabinet, which let us see what we were doing, and then we smacked the shims out and tada! We did it! The end result may not be aesthetically pleasing, but it is much better than the three legged card table I had been using. Srsly.

Let's see. What else. The Bean's birthday means that her therapies are going to be provided by the school district instead of the county. There was a round of testing, followed by the recommendation that she see a speech therapist 3 times a week, a physical therapist 2 times a week, and a special education teacher two hours a week. Currently she sees a speech therapist twice a week, and physical therapist once a month. Since her test scores were the same for the school district as they had been for the county, Simon and I are left wondering whether she hasn't needed more services all along. The therapists themselves are of differing opinions.

I think it's a matter of who typically receives services. The county usually sees kids who were born with a syndrome or illness that is so severe they don't have to be tested in order to get put into the system, or the Doctor decides that something is wrong and asks for an evaluation. Given that the Doctor usually spends 10 minutes with a kid, said kid has to be pretty off for the typical Doctor to notice. I suspect that there is a large group of kids who would qualify for services if they were tested, but they don't get tested because their parents either don't know enough about child development or don't know that services are available. The upshot of all this is that the county spends most of its time with very, very messed up kids. The school district, on the other hand, sees all the kids in the district once they start school. This means they see all the kids that slipped through the cracks and didn't get seen as toddlers. They end up providing services to many kids who have issues but mostly function. It's a matter of degree. The county's speech therapist is teaching kids to swallow, the school district's speech therapist is teaching kids to pronounce their "l"s. So when the county looks at the Bean they say "She's getting along fine", and the school district says "This girl needs a lot of catching up.". Of course, this is just my theory. She's getting more services now, so it doesn't matter why, I guess.

She's still being served by the county, but based on the school district's recommendations they're sending out a special ed teacher, upping her physical therapy to once a week and sending her to a play group with other special needs kids. For my part, I've signed her up for story time at the library and am getting together with a couple of moms who have 3/4 yos. Last week she went to story time on Weds, playgroup on Thurs, our friend's on Fri, and came down with a bad cold on Sat. Since then we've missed two therapy sessions, one playgroup and story time. Oh, and lots of sleep. Now the Bug is coming down with it, so more fun will be had by all, I'm sure.

On a happier note, the house is clean right now. It was clean yesterday too. Yay us! We're celebrating Simon's birthday tonight with a good dinner and presents, which will be fun. Yay again!

Suppose I better go get working on that, because I sure loves me some Simon.
I'll be back soon,

*His day job is airplane mechanic. Since you can't pull an airplane over to the side of the sky, the mechanics are making things very tight and strong. Can't fault them for that.
**Can I hear it for JB Weld?