clickmom

silver lining!

Grandma was moved out of the hospital today and now she is in the rehab again. Even though the last time she was in this rehab (I'd link back if I had a brain cell left to remember when this was, but I don't) I cried every single moment of her incarceration there because I thought it was the most dreadful place in the world, today my heart is singing because grandma is out of the hospital and this means she is healing right on schedule. The rehab seems like a smurf cartoon compared to the hospital.

What originally lifted my tired shriveled cold black heart out of despair (such a tiny little exaggeration) was showing up at the hospital today and finding grandma to be about 90% herself. She was talking and connecting like she hadn't been since the third day of this 12 day hospitalization. I was so happy that when Boops suggested grandma could get a 10% discount on pedicures for the rest of her life I thought it was pretty near the funniest thing I had heard since lil sis texted me mean things about the scumcle last Tuesday in the family surgical waiting room.

Grandma still couldn't hear a damn thing and she is so used to hearing only me that she doesn't try so hard with other people. When the ambulance guy and gal came to transfer grandma they pulled the stretcher right up next to grandma's hospital bed and loosened all of grandma's sheets to lift her in a sort of bedding hammock onto the stretcher. The guy ambulance driver, who was clearly the older and more experienced of the two asked grandma to wrap her arms around herself to prepare for the move/slide/transfer. She didn't hear or understand. She just sat there with a big "Look at all the attention I am getting" smile of wonderment on her face. Then he asked her a little bit louder to GIVE YOURSELF A BIG HUG. Grandma shrugged like "Well, all right, if you say so..." leaned over to the guy gave him a big bear hug and a big wet sloppy kiss on the cheek. We were all dumbfounded there for a second. It was pure grandma.

They finally moved and transferred grandma, I went and found her there at the rehab later, and she was mentally herself again. I floated out of the place on a cloud. I couldn't have been happier about it all.

Then I am relaxing at home around 9 o'clock tonight and the rehab calls. My heart is in my throat as I take the receiver and physically brace myself for some kind of horrible disastrous news. It is the nursing supervisor and she assures me that grandma is fine but there was an incident. (Oh shit! She better not be biting the nurses again! I warned them, I actually did!) It seems that grandma, after I had left her alone in her wheelchair in her room, decided it was time to get out of the wheelchair and was found sometime later sitting calmly on the floor. Grandma was not hurt. They just called me because that is policy and they asked me not to leave her alone in her wheelchair in her room again. I said I would not leave grandma alone in her room again. And when I hung up the phone I cried exactly two tears of relief before the excitement began to build. Do you know what this means? It means that my spirited little grandma, my spunky little (so what if the nurses used the term combative) 96 year old grandma will not be held down. She is going to fight her way back to independence and back onto her feet and hopefully back into the OFH for a stretch of good health and some happier times. I'm pretty sure grandma is going to be just fine.

grateful

Yesterday I ran into an old mom friend. This woman is the mother of a kid Evan used to hang out with in preschool. Her son, the oldest of three, was very intense even at age four. His needs were mostly eclipsed by the kid in the class he called Mean Evan (my Evan was Nice Evan) and then he went to public school the next year things really began to fall apart for him. I haven't seen this mom in probably over 5 years. She asked me first "How is everything?" and I answered "My kids are great... however..." and I gave her the reader's digest version of all the horrible things that are happening to my family and me right now. When I asked her back she told me this tale where all three of her kids are facing some serious to profound learning difficulties and behavior disorders. She had just spent the price of a decent used car on lawyer fees to not have one of her kids labeled "emotionally disturbed" by the school and she also had a miscarriage the week before.

We talked for a while and then we parted ways and I thought to myself that I wouldn't trade my problems for hers. I can handle mine.

And I did feel like my mountain was not the biggest mountain.

Then I woke up today and I was not in the fetal position with my hand between my legs. I was flat on my stomach straight. As in with both legs straight. As in with THE SPOT all stretched out straight. And when I sat up from the bed I did it without wincing. And I did not need to consciously limit my stride on my way to the bathroom and I stood up tall too. So today promised to be a good day because as we all know, everything is an omen to me, and what better omen than to wake up not in pain for the first time in three days.

So, with a lump in my throat, because I was scared to do this, I went to see grandma. I was pretty freaked out yesterday when grandma was not really communicative and would barely look at me, and would shout out things that didn't make sense to people that weren't there. Today I found grandma more herself and less in some other world. Only it seemed like she couldn't hear a thing. So she wasn't answering me or anyone. She could hear me enough, because I know how to shout deep and slow and make sure she can see my lips at the same time for lip reading, but understanding the nurses was not going to happen. Grandma just looked up and gave them all a big dumb smile. She was so cute about it that they just smiled back and walked right out happy. At least she wasn't being "combative" like it was noted in her charts.

After I left the hospital the scumcle arrived for his own visit. I am not going to go on and on about how annoying he is when he pretends to know to know what is going on, but to make a long story funny, while he was there grandma started to pant, which she does when she gets a pain. She has always done this and has been doing it a lot lately, you can imagine. The scumcle, who does not know the ways of the grandma due to lack of exposure, thinks she is hyperventilating and having a heart attack so he makes the nurse get a doctor by telling the nurse grandma has chest pains. By the time the young resident doctor comes grandma is resting peacefully. The young resident doctor asks her "Where is the pain?" grandma just shrugs. The doctor leans in and shouts "Don't you have chest pain?" and grandma gets all wide eyed and offended and says "Sex with YOU? No!!"

rock on

So, last week I called the good doc and asked him if the blood tests I had taken the week before because I just didn't feel right were back yet. He said they were not complete yet. And he said once they were all in he would call me and we could sit down and go over every detail with my fine toothed OCD hypochondriac comb until I was all as smart as a doctor satisfied, okay? And then he said he remembered one thing and could I hold on a second and then he came back on the line he said that there was one result that he wanted to tell me RIGHT AWAY because it was so serious that I could not be more allergic to this food. He said "You could not get a higher score in your allergy to this food, you have to stop eating it now."

"Okay," I am thinking to myself, imagining jumping off a roof somewhere because how I am going to restrict even more, I don't know, "I knew this was coming, because being allergic to gluten and corn and tomatoes and cinna-fricking-mon and even the lowest of all low vegetables turnips(!) for goodness sake isn't enough, there has to be more allergies, WTF was I thinking opting for the allergy part of this test? I am on my knees from all the allergies already!" But what comes out of my mouth is a sunny "What is it?" and then he says one of the worst answers he could have uttered. Did he say veggie burgers? Nope. Tofu? nah. papaya? too easy, leafy greens? I wish. No my dear friends, the good doc said that I am allergic to casein, which for those you blessed with an allergy free life, is the main protein found in cow's milk. Yup, that would mean there is no more cow's milk for me. No more milk in my coffee (can you hear me crying? LAAAaaaAAAATTE!!), no cheese, no more cereal with milk, cheese, yogurt, cheese, creamy soups, cheese, good salad dressings, organic imitation cheetos (for those special times when I decide snacking is worth the corn headache which ensues), and if I really want to be true to the casein free lifestyle nothing prepared on machinery which is used for milk. And worst of all NO MORE CHEESE. No more blue, no more brie, no more cheddar, feta, gouda, swiss, goat, cow, sheep. Waaaahh.

So, like you knew I would, I officially pulled myself up by the bootstraps (but not before sucking down a whole can of whipped cream and a farewell carmel frappacino, like didn't you think I would?) and went casein free on Monday. (Doesn't everything terrible have to start on a Monday?) Monday was my choice because it was the day after my own birthday and it was, well, it was Monday. Since Mondays already suck why not just add another bad association, right? And you know what happens when you stop something that has most likely (it seems) been dulling your senses for just about your whole entire life?

OMG people, the world just comes alive. It's like going from black and white over the air tv to high def. It's shocking man, and I am not even fully casein detoxed yet! But my already sharp as a hound dog sense of smell? Through the roof people. Here is an example. Putting Josh tonight I was going crazy trying to figure out why he smelled so outrageously perfumy. And then I did figure it out. Josh had pulled out a t-shirt that I had sent off to be laundered at the laundromat last September to wear to bed. At the laundromat they use regular old detergent and dryer sheets and at home I use eco-friendly lightly herb scented ridiculously priced biodegradable and pretty bad at getting out stains, but environmentally conscientious and I drive that big old truck I have to make up for it, laundry soap from Whole Foods which departs very little detectable scent onto our clothes. And 5 months later that laundromat washed shirt still reeked like crazy to my on the way to being casein free nose scent detectors.

If I didn't open the fridge door and stare longingly at all the dairy every day since Monday this new sensory awareness seems like it could be as fun and as some ..... well..... maybe ...... hmmmm. Okay, fun might not be the word for it, but it's going to be an interesting process. I can tell that already.

Oh, and the other tests? I got a peek at some of the results. Guess which one of your favorite bloggers has an unusually high level of mercury in her blood? (fuck me now, seriously?) I am telling you, the fun never ends! WOO HOO! It is so good to be me!

life sucks today I want a refund

Grandma came through her amputation like a champ. I believe she knew what was going on and that her increased confusion of the last few days is her way of withdrawing. She hasn't spoken really, only whispered. Except she whispered "Not my foot" right before they wheeled her away, because I think she is imagining herself helpless after the little toe amputation. I was the only one who heard her say that and man, if somethign had gone worng during that surgery I 'm not sure how I would have lived with the guilt, but she came through cause she is one tough old bird. The really good news is that when the doctor made the cut there was bleeding from that area, which means blood supply, which means healing, which means less chance of post surgical complications. Pray for my nine toed grandma. I am hoping that she'll have maybe 4 or 5 more days in the hospital and then can go to rehab, baby.

Mom had her first dialysis and it wasn't as bad as she was anticipating. Except she is convinced that now she can never leave Florida again. And also she needed several naps the day after instead of feeling invigorated. I have no idea. I just hope it works.

On to me and my sore (new word thanks to Boops) yoni. Basically, it hurts like a mother fucker. I had myself a good long cry this morning when I removed the pressure bandage and looked into the mirror. I was prepared for the scar line and the stitches that will no doubt leave little scar dots along the scar line, but I was not prepared for the big dent in what used to be my symmetrical nether regions. Now I am deformed and scarred, and I took that kind of hard. Now I'll never have a career as a strip dancer. My dreams are crushed. The stitches are pulling and pinching and poking. I can't stand perfectly straight and sitting is worse. The only way to stand is with my right leg bent like I am about to step on something in a most lady like fashion. The only way to sit is with my butt all slid forward in the seat and practically hanging off the seat so that I am neither straight nor bent. Driving hurts and so does passengering. I have to walk with my knees pressed together. My back is killing me now too.

I spent the last couple of hours at the wake of Kitten's father in law.

So, pretty much today sucked and if lil sis had not had come down to be with me during grandma's surgery and had she not kept sending me funny/mean girl text messages when the scumcle showed up and went and sat between us in the waiting room, then it might have been more than I could handle, but lil sis came through and her humor and charm made the day much more tolerable. Also, I still haven't shown you guys a photo of the disposable underwear they tried to make me wear yesterday so I do have something else to look forward to.

despotted part deux

So, me and THE SPOT have now officially parted ways. Young doctor, looks like I could be his mother/oh doctor what nice bulging biceps you have, took it all (cross for your fingers) and now I am stitched up and SPOTless and hopefully cancerless.

When the phone nurse from the dermatologist said they wouldn't prescribe the one single pill for me to take before the surgery I decided (completely convinced myself) that the only way I was going to get through such a surgery was going to be with the power of my own music, which these days is on my do and be everything iphone. Naturally there are NO CELL PHONE signs up all over the place, but I completely disregarded these because if they wouldn't dope me up, I neeeeeded my own muzak. Also I thought everyone I knew knew where I was going to be this morning. And didn't think anyone would call. That was kind of dumb. You know, after the fact. 20/20 and all.

So, Nurse Ratchet leads me and my iphone (which I didn't take off even to talk to her) to a tiny little closet where she tells me I have to remove everything I have on (including the carefully chosen sweater and wool socks which were supposed to keep me nice and cozy during the DESPOTTING) and replace it all with a hospital gown, disposable undergarment, paper booties, and a big 'ol blue hair snood just so young doctor hottie could have no possible aesthetic reason (like my last bastion of youth, my pretty shiny hair) to go easy on me. Anyway, Ratchet left me in the closet with the paper replacement clothes and as soon as I make myself look like Carol Burnett doing the janitor skit, I quickly dash off a panicked text message to the husband who is hopefully sitting there somewhat worried and concerned in the waiting room and then my iphone starts ringing and it's one of grandma's doctors. So I answer, and as soon as I answer the door slides open and Ratchet glares at me all casual and papery and chatting on the phone but I show her the name of grandma's hospital on the caller ID and say I HAVE TO take this call. It is obvious that I am speaking to a doctor about my elderly hospitalized grandmother, so I don't feel all that bad. Until I am lying flat on the table half way through the surgery singing along in my head to the Commodores when the iphone suddenly buzzes not once but twice. A dear friend called me and then she called me again. Ooops. I didn't take the calls, but still, doctor too young to be a doc hottie was hovering over my special parts with an exacto blade. Not the guy I want to irritate at that exact moment, you know?

You'll enjoy the closeted text exchange husband and I engaged in (rest assured that is all we will be "engaging" in for quite some time)

me: Miss me yet?

him: What are you doing?

me: About to get undressed

him: It's much better out here. The Price Is Right is on.

me: Now I am extra sad.

him: What do you think luggage and nose spray cost?

I always wanted a demonstrative guy. It's amazing how he puts those feelings into words, no? He's a real poet. It's a big part of the attraction.

Just like 40 minutes later when we arrived safely yet sorely home and I was getting out of his car and I asked him to reach into the back seat for my purse. I told him I thought the tape that Ratchet had (WARNING: POSSIBILITY OF T.M.I. AHEAD) taped down my "pressure bandage" with tape that went right down to the petals of the flower were tugging on me. And what I might have said was something about "tape tugging my twat" and he asked me if I could repeat that only with a lisp next time. If that's not love, well, then.....

Anyway, first surgery of the week down, grandma loses her toe tomorrow. I am going to request that all family members keep this week down to mere two surgeries. Hopefully they will oblige, but never say never. It's been a long spring, summer, fall and winter, and I don't see any light at the end of the tunnel yet. For now I am just focused on breathing. Well, that and the least painful way to get this damned tape off my girlie bits

winners from a loser of a week

I started out the week busier than usual but always looking out for something inspirational to capture. The weight of what is going on hadn't really fully effected me yet. I was excited to see the full moon rise and managed to capture it on my iphone

And then I saw this on the floor in the hall right outside grandma's room. And I recognized it as one of grandma's pills. And I wondered if grandma had thrown her medicine at the nurses that morning. She can be like that. So I didn't ask. But being there with someone who is so difficult makes me feel very small. Like I hope I can be invisible so no one looks at me and tries to see how I am going to be difficult one day too.

And by the end of her first week in the hospital she started to shut down too. She didn't want to hear that her toe might have to come off.

I tried to find something to shoot today, it's my birthday, but I woke up all swollen and puffy eyed, so no self portraits, and nothing outside the window was remarkable, so I pretty much just gave up. Happy birthday to me, I wonder what time I should go to the hospital. Feeling very sorry for myself right now.

Go to sarcasticmom to see more (less depressing) weekly winners.

still dragging

Introduced the idea of amputation to grandma today. Her reaction was rather frightening. She just kind of pulled herself inward and seemed like an empty shell afterwards. She wouldn't speak, only look off into no where in particular. She wouldn't focus on me or even the kids, who I dragged in because nothing usually makes her happier than to see them. The vascular guy said her chances of healing after an amputation were good, not great, just good. He thinks it is the most reasonable least invasive quickest way back to a normal life way to go. I am sick over it.

Josh's birthday party was this afternoon. Despite my pleas for a bowling party Josh wanted his party at home. So some of his school friends came over. They are very nice kids, I only have one thing to say about them as a group.

ADHD.

I didn't insist that Josh invite all the boys in the class since one in particular has been tormenting him (and everyone else) since September. I just didn't want to deal with an unwanted guest. Once the boys were all here and settled into doing a craft they looked around, noticed that one who wasn't invited wasn't here and asked if he was coming. When I said we hadn't invited him each 6 year old simultaneously exhaled. It was the saddest thing ever. They obviously feared this little nightmare.

Speaking of nightmares, Josh's party was a reptile theme party and last night I dreamed there was a big collared snake in my house. I was trying to figure out how to chop it's head off so I could kill it. Did I mention that a nice lady volunteer from the reptile rescue organization was about to bring a variety of reptiles to my house? What fun party entertainment. Luckily none of the scaled critters got excited enough to urinate or worse on my rug, though the volunteer lady did hold a home made paper towel turtle diaper underneath the turtle. I never knew before that the hard shelled crowd were quicker on the trigger with bladder release than most. I know now! And so do you! Never say this blog isn't educational as well as entertaining.

I am drop dead tired, and also getting worked up in advance since there are only 38 more hours until my god awful procedure. Tomorrow is my birthday. I make everyone breakfast in bed on their birthday. I asked the husband what he was making for me and he said he'd be happy to carry up what ever I came down and prepared. I am quite sure I will have a lovely day, the good vibrations are flowing already.

haiku about trying really hard

I am pulled in too
many directions. I want
to care for many.

Young boys need their mom
I want to be there with them
they need me so much.

Days in hospital
wearing on my soul, tired
wondering, pushing.

People come and go
one stroke, one brain infection,
one crazy lady.

Still grandma stays there
hoping for answers to pain
take test upon test

Still wondering where
I need to be the most this
day. Child of room mate

looks at me and says
"you good to your grandma" and
nods her approval.

I hope this counts and
makes my boys better people
they can take care too.

outta my way

Mom is home from the hospital. I would not know that if I did not happen to call dad's cell phone when they were in the car about to pull into their own driveway. It is very odd to be the kid of parents who forget about you. I have been discussing this with boops a lot lately. She also had negligent parents. I think the sting is even worse for me now that I am a parent and choose to be the kind of parent who enjoys her kids and yearns to spend time with them. I know it's their issue, but really, was I that forgettable?

I am right now sitting in grandma's hospital room waiting for the infectious disease doc to come by. I can only be here for another hour and if he doesn't show up soon I will make a scene. It is almost cruel how long grandma has been lying here waiting. Maybe they thought that the antibiotics would have a chance of helping. But it is clear to me that the pain is only getting worse and more frequent. Pretty much every time grandma moves she gets hit with another wave of pain.

My big plans for the afternoon include making those boys I love so much spend some quality time with me picking up six months worth of devil dog poop from the back yard. See what I mean? I just can't wait to be with them and they are surely going to feel the same when I let them in on my plan. I can feel the love already and the kids are still in school.

update:
The surgeon has spoken and the only answer for grandma is the old chop chop. I'm nauseous just thinking about it. Some really delusional (doctor? nurse?) person (who thinks a deaf and confused 96 year old can give a carefully thought answer to anything) at the hospital asked grandma if she wanted an amputation and she said NO. So they think they aren't doing it. Now I am going to have to find out (if) what she thinks. Also, I have to quiz the surgeon, but I suspect that if we don't amputate now it will only get worse. Do you have any idea how dangerous general anesthesia is for an aged person? I'm freaking out.

Evan escaped the poop pick up scheduled for tonight by misunderstanding my directions to ask some friends of they wanted to get together tomorrow and thinking I said today and hopping into his buddy's car and going home with him. In what I thought was a surprising turn of events both Matt and Josh when offered a "get off of poop patrol if you walk the dog while I do it myself" offer of maternal generosity chose to stay with me and de-poop the yard. It wasn't pretty but now I can rest easy tonight knowing that there will not be 20 pounds of dog manure underneath all the snow Evan tries to eat tomorrow night.

Speaking of snow, our school district cancelled school tomorrow in anticipation of the storm. What is this freaking Georgia? I hope we get an inch. (Imagine shockingly filthy joke about the average penis size of school board members here) Normally I'd be down with sleeping in but tomorrow I am supposed to have my (and wildmom's because we share a birthday!) birthday lunch with the babes and also I have to go see grandma and convince her to go for the slice and dice. Bummer.

And as if it didn't all reek already, I have PMS like you are not going to believe. Get out of my way.

cruisin' in the lame lane

It's sweet Josh's birthday today and I am too emotionally depleted to write about such a ray of light as my Joshie right now. I want to tell his birth story because I want to get it down in words but I also want to be alert while writing it. So I am taking a rain check on it. Look for it here soon.

No news on the fate of grandma/sybil's bone infected toe, the infectious disease specialist has to conference with the vascular expert and then they will get back to me on their reccommendation. It's hard to tell if the super strength intravenous antibiotics are working since grandma/sybil doesn't even know her foot has been hurting for more than today. Growing old is scary people! Eat more bacon!

Speaking of grandma/sybil, she didn't want to wake up this morning when I chose to visit and when I tried to wake her up by telling her that the one who loved her was present her head did a 180, she spewed green liquid and screamed "You're a f**king liar! You are all f**king liars!" When she woke up on her own and for real and said in her normal sweet little old lady voice "What are you doing here?" (Despite the two hours of abuse I had just with stood trying to wake her up every half hour) I told her what she said to me when I tried to wake her and she laughed herself silly over it. Hahaha. Hilarious sybil.

Mom had surgery today to enable herself to be on dialysis from now on. (Bad kidneys!!) She came through fine and the good news is that even though the surgery is a two part process they decided to do the whole thing in one step. They are thinking that maybe mom can have her first dialysis on Friday and I am hoping that makes her feel much better.

They called from the dermatologist's to confirm my genital mutilation surgery for Monday. I bought some nice soft sweatpants, some boy shorts underwear for a non irritating post surgery undergarment experience and have been binging for about 5 days now in the sheer terror anticipation of the big day. I wonder who I can bribe to actually give me a general. Or at least some really good drugs to take 30 minutes before and for 30 days afterwards. I am scared shitless about being awake for this people. I think I might really make a call for some kind of pill. Except the truth is that I am so anti-pill that I wouldn't even know what to ask for.

Today I am wondering this: What do my kids think (Do my kids even think?) when I laugh at all the pot jokes we hear on the stand up comedy channel?

hospital thrills

Well, today grandma was interesting to say the least. At first she seemed angry but it was okay with me because she yelled really funny things at the nurses like "You hoight me! Ya big dope!" while swinging away at nothing in particular and I had visions of Popeye cartoons in my head. But then grandma started slinging the F word around and I was like pass me the smelling salts I am going down. So it wasn't funny anymore. And I had to do lots of fast talking to get grandma back into a normal-ish kind of grandmotherly mood and I am thankful that tomorrow the soap opera good nurse will be back on the floor. She was awesome. Today grandma had to endure one intravenous irradiated shot of something -I don't want to know what it was- one doppler picture something to check for blood flow to her feet, one IV change (damned collapsing veins!), a three vial blood sample from each arm and then after I left they were going to dope her up for the test that would show if indeed she does have a bone infection. She needs to lie still for that one and they asked permission to sedate her for it. I was like, "Only if you give me some too!" I could have called late tonight to see if the results had come in, but I am so afraid of the results that I decided to get another fitful night's sleep before I possibly totally freak myself out with more bad news and can't sleep for a week or two. I'll find out in the morning.

But there was some really good news that kind of wiped the torment of the rest of the day away when I heard it. Now- all I knew is that when the scumcle came for grandma's birthday he took the train. I did not offer to pick him up from the station or to drive him back to the station and I did not ask why he was not driving his new car. Well, I found out tonight that what happened was, the scumcle had flown over to Germany to buy a new BMW and have it shipped back to the US. You can save a few pennies that way if your time is worthless and you don't mind spending a couple of days cooped up in the back of a plane breathing other people's BO and eating tv dinners. So, scumcle did just that, he bought a car in Germany, came home, got rid of his old car in anticipation of his new arrival only to find out that the boat that was transporting his brand new BMW tipped, dumping half of it's cargo into the ocean including the scumcle's brand new car. Har de har har. Now he is car-less until a replacement can arrive. I call it bad CARMA! woo hoo hoo!

back in the clink

Guess if I took this photo before or after grandma collared the nurse and they gave her anti-psychotic drugs in her IV to calm her down. The fun never ends here people. Don't you wish you were me? This photo was taken before.

Sunday morning grandma was discovered on the floor of her apartment by one of the nurses. This may or may not be true because we all know Natasha lies like a blanket to cover her skinny ass. According to Natasha the nurse went in to check on grandma and grandma was on the floor unable to move one leg. I really do not believe that part. That last part reeks of ass covering lie, but they sent her off in an ambulance without my consent, so off to the hospital I went too.

Long story short, grandma was physically fine in the ER (nothing broken they couldn't keep her on the stretcher) but more confused than usual (though I suspect not more confused than the typical 96 year old who got sent in an ambulance to the ER in the wee hours of the morning) so the ER doc really wanted to keep her for 24 hour observation. I said it was fine with me if they checked out this extremely painful sore on grandma's pinky toe that wasn't healing despite 3 rounds of different antibiotics and a visiting nurse wound care specialist for the past two weeks. They said they would. Then they looked at it and started using words like REMOVAL and AMPUTATION and OMG. (Okay that last one was my word)

Grandma was M.A.D. about being put into the hospital and this morning when the best nurse ever (I mean like soap opera good, and not the soap opera kind that steals the town slut's baby before the DNA tests can be performed to see which one of her hunky conquests is the father and hobbles off into the night pushing her ugly betty eye glasses back onto her fake nose, I mean the soap opera kind who is frigging adorable, blonde, smart, perky and sweet. And naturally still a virgin. She used to be the high school cheerleader captain and the homecoming queen, but she grew up and they wanted to keep her on the show so they made her a nurse so she could stay in town.) tried to give grandma a sponge bath which grandma did not want to receive when grandma grabbed the nurse's nurse-necklace thingie, pulled her in close and threatened to punch her. snicker. oooh, how scary. Except the best nurse ever had actually been punched in the face once before by a patient who did not want to take his pain meds, so the doctor tried to calm grandma down with a little anti-psychotic drug shot into her IV. Grandma better watch out! They aren't taking any patient abuse!

Anyways, test have been ordered, the vascular guys seem to be disappointed by the lack of severity of grandma's possibly dead or possibly bone infected toe, and when I tried to explain that they had to multiply her issue by 96 cause she was older than god, they just weren't buying it.

Hopefully, someone will wheel her out for some late night tests tonight. But if they don't get cracking tomorrow I am going to be forced to whip some medical butt tomorrow.

photos of the week

Once more, I give you sarcasticmom's weekly winners!

This week I shot wrestling. I completely love shooting wrestling. There is this great mood of shooting wrestling. I find it very zen and very meditative most times. It's a pretty intense sport, there is much strategy and lots of brute strength. When I am shooting for the paper I sit on the side waiting for a chance to catch both wrestler's faces at the same time. Not as easy as you might think. After I sent in my shots for the assignment tonight I sat in front of my computer, reviewing the hundreds of photos I took at this week's tournament and noticing how the boys bodies were all tangled around each other and how they would grab each other. And I started to notice how much those grabs just kind of spoke to me. It was very poetical, in a way. How I could see such strength in some of them or movement and energy in some of the others. So I started to go through the shots again, looking for chance photos of hands and arms that said something. And I pulled some of those photos out and cropped the heck out of them and converted them to black and white. And here they are, freshly edited for your viewing pleasure wrestling photos:

IMS irritable mom syndrome

Man, do I have IMS. Pretty much all sound is irritating to me today. Particularly sounds like people blinking, hair rustling, digestive juices flowing, and skin shedding. So, if you are amongst those who are likely to produce these sounds, then stay away from me if you know what is good for you. Other sensory assaults today are coming from scents (any and all but especially the toupee headed ripe smelling guy in blockbuster-bleah), sights (zits on wrestlers), and sounds. (No, Matt you may not practice your heavy metal singing techniques tonight) This would be the proper time to cue to shot of me with crazed expression on my face clawing at the air and making tiger noises. I'm a losin' it folks! Personally I think it is thyroid related despite the borderline test results. I am cold all the time again and suddenly the feel of any and all cloth against my skin is like wearing a cloak of slow dissolving acid, so my only escape from this frigid gnawed up sensory overloaded skin hell will be sitting in the dark sauna naked and alone all day long. Aaaww, I'll miss you guys! Bring beverages!

dilemma for the day

This morning the unprofessional photographer from my paper sent me this snopes article about all the nasty bacteria and joyous fecal matter etc... found on lemon wedges in drinks. Because that is what us photographers think about when we aren't admiring the quality of light falling through a north facing window or imagining going up in a hot air balloon to get an uninterrupted view of a beautiful sunset and kodak moment stuff like that. Then for lunch I took the boys, who had the day off from school, to the diner because I am tired of making good food that is given a luke warm reception, and I didn't know how to approach to our beverages when they came like this:

bitter valentine's day haiku

roses smell nauseous
and then I get congested
and a headache too.

he spends locally
it's mostly admirable
but sometimes it's not

like when they always
stick those fucking roses in
every damn bouquet

he tells them not to
but they don't listen to him
they still put them in

i have seen their work
hospital gift shops, shoprite,
the corner fruit stand.

not exceptional
bold, exciting or modern
grandma would approve

I am not a fan
he goes back for even more
ev'ry single time

am I such a bitch
or is he fucking clueless
maybe it's a hint

because look, check out
the card he gave me last night
more god damned roses

ahm a playa

I would totally buy Abs of Steel if I thought I could talk the kids into doing it with me. I really want them to get fit. I am thinking of buying a few different cd's (but only 10 or 15 minute ones-short attention span) and making them do it with me every day. I just want them to be physically strong and capable. Sadly, they are couch potatoes.

I have been giving much thought to some of the things the psychic said the other day. Since she called me out on the non-playing with my kids thing I decided to harness the energy of my inner child (hereto referred as "little me") and play a board game with Josh today. At the time my other two kids were occupied with friends. I figured a board game would be the baby step I need towards imaginative play. So I told Josh I wanted to play a game with him, he chose and fetched Operation (Shrek version), the husband walked in from work, and the three of us sat down for a fun filled Operation game playing adventure. Since playing Operation by the rules wasn't the glorious laugh riot fun it somehow seems to be on all of the tv commercials, I once again turned to the power of little me for guidance and she said I had to shake things up. So I started to cheat when ever the husband took his turn. Sometimes I accidentally punched his arm, sometimes I accidentally screamed, or accidentally shook the table, and somehow he didn't do so well. Then Operation started to get fun. And Josh was loving it. Now, big me and little me both happen to like a challenge so we did pretty well, but in the end we also slipped half of our hard won cold hard play money back into the banker's pile making Josh victorious by the thin margin of $100. He was a very good winner, we shook hands, said "Nice Game fa la la la la" and all that kind of stuff. I'm so glad I did it.

I have to bite the bullet now and go figure out what photos to trash in order to download this week's jobs. Can you hear me crying from where you are?

exposed

I suck at photo management and right now I can not down load any more photos because the 21,000 I already have on my big photo editing huge capacity computer iphoto is making my start up disk full. And I did put a whole bunch ones on a disk and then delete them. But then I replaced them in about a week. It's just that photos are like my babies and if they aren't there for the viewing it's like they are away at sleep away camp and I miss them so much my heart is going to break or something. I need them near me. Is that pathetic or what?

I asked Bubbles about her be-butting magic today and this is what she said did the trick- lunges and squats in a veritable rainbow of different painful forms and styles, leg press machine (I do 130 pounds using one leg at a time to keep them balanced) the J.Lo machine, which is merely called GLUTE in real life. (I do 115 pounds on that- 2 sets of 12 each butt cheek) and also this hamstring curl machine. I personally love the adductor and the inductor machines and I use such a high weight on those you'd think I was lying if I told you, so I am not going to tell you what it is. Sometimes I think I might be a man from the hips down. Or maybe I just need to do that hormone test my doctor has been talking about.

Good and bad news about my mom: The bad news is that it looks her kidneys are truly failing and she is going to have to be on dialyses. The good news is that she had a pet scan and it looks like her cancer responded to the chemo and is mostly gone. There is only one small area left and her florida doc thinks that should be easy to take care of with more chemo, but he doesn't know anything about mesothelioma so I am going cross my fingers and not get my hopes until I hear it from the meso specialist.

Evan hasn't tossed his cookies for 24 hours, so technically he could go back to school tomorrow, except he is not devastatingly ill enough to be genuine about it and is once again doing the overacting schtick, and I have to remind myself that he doesn't lie, and I think I'll keep him home anyway since the kids have a four day weekend and I don't want him picking up any new virus from going back to school with his immune system still not 100% in gear. They are just going to have a valentines day party anyway.

I tried out a new psychic (because this is what flaky people like me do for entertainment) and she said somethings that really blew my mind. I always ask myself if 9 out of 10 women could relate to the stuff because that's how I detect a fake, and the answer to this stuff was NO. So, listen to these really me things she said and tell me it wasn't like she knew me. Oh, and it was on the phone so she couldn't see me. All I told her was that I was struggling with my weight and I thought maybe there was some underlying health issue that was preventing me from losing and keeping it off. Among other freakishly accurate (but too personal-if you can believe it- to mention) things she said she also said I was ignoring my feet and needed to do nice things like buy myself some new shoes or maybe give myself a foot massage, she said I was afraid of an abusive family member that I haven't spoken to since I was 18, she described my bottom jelly roll and sway back to the very last minute detail, and she knew I had breathing problems, and she knew I drank Hawaiian Punch as a kid. I thought of all these things today as I pulled on my 5 year old LL Bean boots with the broken zippers, wondered if there was some way to report that family member to the authorities to make sure he isn't hurting anyone in present time, reminded my back to relax and my stomach to suck in, consciously breathed all the way down to my hips, and wondered what ever happened to Hawaiian Punch. There was other stuff too, it was like she had been listening in on my life. Seriously.

But the kicker the "my eyeballs fell out of my head moments" came when she started talking about shakras and she paused for a suspenseful moment and then she asked me "Does your neck hurt? Did you injure your neck? Because your throat shakra is really messed up." I almost fainted. I mean, how many people are walking around with neck injuries right now? You believe now too, don't you? You don't want to, but the neck? I mean, my freaking neck! How could she say that? Also, the one aspect of parenting that I completely suck in (and I know it's true so don't feel like yo need to be gentle with me) is imaginary play. Also, I kind of hate playing board games too. So I don't really do either, but I do marvel how other people can make up stories and pretend that yarn is spaghetti and then pretend to eat it or be in a restaurant or what ever and other creative stuff like that. And the woman said to me, and I really am quoting here "You don't like to play games. I mean you don't do all that kid imaginary play with your kids." And I was like, wow, I am totally busted! Cause I don't ... and I can't ... and if I even try because I am trapped and have no where to run my eyes glaze over and I can't even keep track of what I am supposed to be pretending after 12 seconds. That's gotta mean something. I think she is for real.

Anyway, I forgot that I promised to send in Valentine's paper goods to Josh's class and also, since I have been pretty much home bound either sick or with a sick kid I completely missed the boat on the home made valentines, and now I had to go to the store on the night before valentines to try to get both theme paper goods and boy appropriate valentines to hand out (because the Power Puff Girls cards at the first store were not going to go over well with Josh) and I had to go to 3 stores and beg the Hallmark store guy to let me in 20 minutes after he closed for the night, but in the end he did let me in and mission accomplished. I do not have a romantic bone in my entire body and I dread this lame holiday. (Hmm, who's cranky?) I don't want chocolate and I hate roses. So, I will be very happy to wake up and discover that it is regular old Friday.

Except for one thing. We have two tv's in the house, one is in my bedroom and one is in the living room and the living room one is broken and I am so deliriously happy to be surrounded by quiet. I hate the tv more than valentines day. And I friday the repair guy is coming to fix it. Wah, here comes the drone of tv babble again.

baseboard heater escapes near miss

Evan stayed home from school again yesterday. And once again I had to keep reminding myself that he doesn't fake it he only embellishes. Then the husband came home and gave me the look for keeping Evan home and told him "Evan doesn't fake, it just makes it look worse." But seriously folks, if the husband wouldn't get in trouble by association for caling me in and ratting me out I am certain he would call the truant officer.

At 2:44 this morning I am awakened out of a deep (sleep of the dead) and restful slumber by a few heavy thudding footsteps and the sound of barfing, which thankfully (thank you darling!) are coming from my bathroom. Upon barf wretch sound recognition I pop out of bed and head towards the bathroom. I tentatively whisper "evan?", figuring he was the one who was sick yesterday, as I automatically assume Evan has climbed the stairs to my room to inform me of his nausea which sent him dashing straight to my bathroom rather than to my side.

It is Evan and he is puking in the sink, which isn't as great as puking in the easily cleaned by simply flushing toilet but it is my second choice, and he appears to be a thorough masticator so I am pleased with his in the moment split decision. I do what little comforting one can do for a wretching puker (I suppress my own urge to puke and hand him a towel after he washes his face) as I still try to get my half asleep bearings.

I ask Evan where he puked (imagining the worst, a trail from his room to mine) and he tells me he puked in his room, but that he thoughfully puked only on the hardwood flooring side of his bed and not the rug side of his bed to make it easier to clean up. I tell Evan he can get into my bed while I go and clean it up. And Evan says I don't have to clean it up because the husband has already cleaned it up. And I am confused because I didn't even see the husband during this little event and Evan tells me that he threw up on the hardwood two hours earlier and that when he came up to tell me his father was just curiously standing in the middle in the room scratching himself. Evan says his father told him to get into bed with me and that he went down to take care of things.

And I am so happy that the husband, who I felt earlier int he evening was neglecting my emotional needs since he was not paying rapt attention to my hematoma, ultimately tried to do something thoughtful. And then poor truly very sick Evan asks me for some water, so I give him a glass and before the words "drink it real slow" can escape my mouth Evan has polished off the water. And I figure we are in trouble.

We lie back down and Evan drifts off. I however lie there awake for a long time. When I finally feel myself slipping back into sleep Evan sits up and makes a splashing sound. Yup, that glass of water is splashing all over my bed. I help Evan back to the bathroom and once his stomach calms down I madly start to strip the wet blanket and linens off of my bed. Then the husband, who heard something from the warm dry comfort of the trundle bed in Josh's room, reappears in the doorway and he is mad at Evan for waking me up.

I kick him out of the room, (after asking him to fetch a big puke bowl for Evan) and the scene plays out over and over all night long with Evan now having the dry heaves every hour on the hour for about 5 additional sessions. Poor baby was completely green and exhausted this morning.

The husband thinks it's all a ploy for sympathy. I, on the other hand, am so glad I kept reminding myself that he doesn't fake, he's just destined to act on a soap opera.

blogiversary

I started this blog 3 years ago after an unsettling assignment I did for the paper. Go check out my very first post. so, happy three years to me. Back then I had to cover the funeral of an 18 year old. His story was as tragic as a super nice everybody's friend kid every body loved 18 year old dying of some previously undetected heart defect coud be. And he was an only child. Even worse.

I had just read about mommy bloggers (but I don't we were called that yet) in a NY Times article. Needing an outlet for what I had just experienced at the funeral I fished out the article to figure out what to do/how to do it and started my blog. At the time I thought this funeral was the beginning of more and more sad heart breaking stories for me and I wanted an outlet to write about my life as a full time mom and part time photojournalist. Which is pretty funny if you ever see my paper because besides a whole lot of high school sports it's all pretty much babies and kittens for me to photograph. So my idea of this blog being an outlet for me as a working mom went by the way side and the blog just became my outlet for every day life. I mention work occasionally, but honesty, I love my job, my real editor is like a second mother/friend to me, (no comment on the sports editor who keeps sending me to cancelled games) and the only funeral I shot after that boy's one was an unremarkable older guy that just didn't bother me.

Tonight however, I shot the first meeting of the group that is organizing a local Relay For Life event here. In case you don't know it is a fund raiser for the American Cancer Society. I kept thinking about my parents. I was fine for a while, shooting photos and thinking that people were there mostly in support of old people who had cancer, but as I shot the people and asked them their names and some background for the photo caption I have to submit with my photo, I realized that most of the people there were in fact survivors. And they all looked like they could be me. Or at least they looked like they could be sititng in the next SUV in the pick up line at any of my kids school's. And then I remembered that I still have that procedure scheduled for the 25th.

Now I am not sure where I fit in in this world. Obviously I am a supporter of my parents. But am I a survivor? Or will I be a survivor? It seems like an exageration to say "me too" to cancer. I mean, one more small procedure and I assume I am going to be just fine. No hospital stay, no seriously long and painful recovery, no dreadful chemo, no hair loss. Just a slice and a boo boo and the only after effect of this for me is going to be obsessive mirror looking. Because I am always going to be worried and looking. So even though I had to run out of there crying when the middle school kid started telling about her mother's fight with cancer, I am not sure if I am just the daughter of people with cancer or if I could possibly be or if I really am one of them.

trip into the city

And now for another installment of sarcasticmom's weekly winners!

The first photo here is a tribute to my blogger pal Danelle's husband Mark. Mark is going to be knighted, and I hope he is as excited about being a knight as this knight we met at the Museum of Natural History is about being a knight.

hematoma watch I 2008

It's really very kind of exciting. Last night (about 3 hours after realizing that I had indeed lived through hellacious stomach bug 2008) I had my first work related injury. It's more than exciting, it's pretty amazing, I mean, they actually let me, with all my super powers of spaz-ability and my magnetism for all things accident do shit like stand on football fields during football games (still blows my mishap prone mind every single time) and it has taken almost 5 years for me to actually get injured. Some in the know folks might use the word miracle here. (Because it is, I mean I would have bet against myself people.) And speaking of miracle, here it is: Ta da..... presenting, hematoma I 2008!

Here is what happened. I was shooting a basketball game and white team was trying to shoot when guy from green team slapped the shit out of the ball just to prevent white team guy from shooting even though he was going to slap the ball off the court and guess who was right in the firing line of said ball? Yup, me and my jelly rolls. I was only maybe 6 feet away from the slapper and that ball just shot straight into me, made a gross kind of thwump noise and then because it hit so hard it bounced (or maybe it hit my rock hard 8 pack. pfftt!) right back towards the court. I took it like a woman though, I was majorly tough. I turned, took a few steps toward the side of the court where my sports editor happened to be, took a deep breath and turned right back to doing my job. Green team guy did jog up to me mouthing he was so sorry, and I just said "I'm okay!" and motioned for him to get back to the game. Little hemo burned all night and only began to show his colors when I woke up this morning. I'm thinking that this kind of internal bleeding probably needs another day to really reach it's full potential, so don't be surprised if you meet up with little hemo again! You know what they say: Have iphone, will record injuries!

bruised

through the door I call
"hello I'm here" I tell him
he calls back to me

velvet baritone
I inhale his choc-late voice
rich, smooth, dark blanket

he emerges then
mark on his white satin skin
beneath clear blue eye

flutter heart I gasp
"thermos throwing accident
I know it's cool, right?"

up for a breath of air

So, naturally I was next in line for the stomach bug that slammed both Evan and Josh. I must say "OOWW" this is a nasty one. Tons of tummy pain and less than welcomed waves of nausea. I have spent every free moment of the last two days hiding under my blankie. Most of what I had to do was cancelable, but today I had teaching an art class on my schedule. I was to teach Josh's art class first thing in the morning, and I can not disappoint someone of his cuteness caliber, so my plan was to take him to school, teach and back to bed until I had to teach the last art class of the day and I planned on rising from my bed just in time to teach the last art class, pick up Josh and then Evan and get prone again.

So, that meant I had to shower and look alive today. So I did shower, and I didn't even put on my sick uniform of the ten year old mightily stained costco bargain sweatshirt and wide legged paint splattered sweat pants. I put on my mom clothes (jeans and a sweater) and did my mom thing. As soon as I finished my lesson the next volunteer came in with a panicked look on her face and asked me to start her lesson. Since I was all vertical and the room wasn't swaying I said I would and I ended up doing her entire lesson too. Then I came home as planned (just an hour delayed) and passed out while my house cleaners were actually cleaning in my bathroom. It was kind of pathetic.

But not as pathetic as I felt when I dragged myself out of bed 20 minutes before the afternoon lesson, looked in the mirror before leaving and realizing my sweater was on inside out. That is so me.

Then I showed up for the afternoon lesson, looking awake to the unsuspecting students, but not actually sounding or thinking awake as I consistently combined the words that were separate in my head but came out of my mouth all smooshed up. I was talking about Georgia O'Keeffe and I kept calling her MO'Keefe because I had Monet on my mind. The kids were like "WTF?".

After school I hung out with Boops, so the kids could get together, around whom I will never confidently eat a spinach salad with, because when I left her house an hour later I saw the school's dumb visitors sticker was still attached to my now right side out sweater cleavage. Shouldn't a real friend warn you about those things?

Went to see the chiro too, and he gave me and my neck the once over. I have been telling him how much I think a character on Dexter looks his illegitimate black brother. This drives Evan craaazy and Evan will tell me 50 different ways they do not look alike. But I do it just to tease Evan and every time we catch up on another episode I say "Look! It's black dr. chiro doing ..." and I am waiting for Evan to explode. Matt hasn't seen the show but has witnessed me telling and retelling the story (because what could be more fun than torturing Evan?) and he did the teasing for me when he walked in the other night glanced at the tv and said "Oh look! It is black dr. chiro! I see what you mean mom!" Is he the best or what? So I had to tell the chiro and he thinks it hilarious even though he has never seen the character.

But best of all, I was looking at my butt-less self in the mirror the other day and I am thinking I have to drop that schtick. I just may have moved up into the wonderful world of butted people. Thanks to bubbles, and the fabulous J.Lo machine I can push 105 pounds on I do believe I am now be-butted. Here is the evidence.

a.m. surprise

Here is the (extended for your reading pleasure version) email I sent the husband and Boops on Sunday morning. He was in Vegas at a "conference". Her kids were about to hang with my kids for Superbowl Sunday festivities.

So, I wake up and am so happy because I am quietly alone and no one snored or bed hogged or stole the blanket last night. I take a shower, get dressed, dry my hair, the kids are asleep and it's so delightfully quiet in the house. Not even devil dog is whining.

And I think how perfect it is.
Just what I wished for.

I go to check on the boys and Josh in the bathroom. I help him clean up and we go into his room and there is a smell. I look around and I don't see anything. But I can't get past the smell, it's a food smell, (I am sureof that) and I keep looking around and I don't see anything. I ask Josh if there is food in his room because I think that maybe he went downstairs and got the left over pizza from last night and brought it upstairs because that is what it smells like. There is a tomato sauce smell. Meanwhile, Josh is all casual, lying on his side reading a book and he says there isn't any food in the room, and he's all about relaxing comfortably, he keeps flipping through the book, and I continue to scan the room insearch of the smell until I finally take a deep breath, brace myself, and ask the 64 million dollar question that brings all sorts of dread and yuck to my life I say DID YOU VOMIT?

Josh looks up. He tilts his head in thought. Then recall apears in his expression.

And Josh, cool as a cucumber, says, "Oh, yeah, I vomited last night. I vomited down the crack" And he resumes reading , until I suppressing the kind of panic only a mother of boys can know, I ask which crack (butt crack?) and he proceeds to point to the space between his bed and the wall. The space that has some wiggle room because the baseboard heater is along that wall. The space that is now covered with barely digested pasta in tomato sauce that has been baking in the heat of the baseboard heater for the past 12 hours. The not in the least digested but very finely chewed pasta and sauce are all over the hidden side of his bedding, the wall, the baseboard heater (including inside where the heat coils are), and the floor. That space. That dried on baked on aromatic space.

Not a pretty site. Not an easy clean. Anyone recall college days and leaving a pasta sauce plate like that in the sink for a week or three? Anyone ever recall considering just tossing a plate like that ever?

What a fu..........n morning.

cat devil burglar

When I lived in Manhattan with the husband (pre-kids) we had this adorable (code for really small, mouse infested with low ceilings) garden apartment. Our garden neighbor had an uncharacteristically vicious pug (No, seriously, this pug would chew your pinky toe off in a heart beat! Folks were afraid to wear sandals in the hallway!) who went all psycho through a crack in our fence every (freaking minute of every freaking day) time our dog was in our back yard. Someone once mentioned that tylenol was toxic to dogs so the running shared fantasy in our house was tossing tylenol laced steaks to the pug next door in order to get a good night's sleep. Oh stop, we didn't do it!

So, back to the present, on that fateful day when the chiro told me that the vials indicated cancer of THE SPOT he also tested out some of the supplements he hawks to us believers as a side gig. He declared one such over priced immune boosting supplement would help me in this battle and I figured I was good for a bottle. You know, I figured I'd take a bottle for the cause (which I suspect is a vehicular upgrade for the chiro, but you know, I adore his magic hands, so whatever) Now these excellent supplements that are somehow every allergen free yet are also food based which means that in retrospect it was stupid for me to leave the bottle (cap on and all but still) of supplementation out on the kitchen table where a four legged devil could potentially jump up and thieve them away in the night. Which is exactly what happened, except it happened in the day, but the night has so much more drama to it, no?

So, sometime after the crime occurred I am in the front entry of my home and I spy a chewed up medicine looking bottle on the floor and for a second I'm thinking that maybe, oh maybe, someone with four legs got a big old bottle of tylenol, and she's been pissing me off lately and my first thought was not to do anything, but then my big old conscience set in and I pried the chewed up bottle apart to see what it contained back when no one had chewed the label off of it yet only find 4 of the really expensive chiro cancer fighting vitamins left in the bottom of the bottle. I almost gave the devil a tylenol enhanced steak right there on the spot, but instead (also because I didn't have a steak handy) I just glared at her a lot (and maybe once I tried to get her with the twisted up towel, locker room style, but Evan thought I was aiming at him and made a big to do over it so I stopped) and the devil knows what that stare down means coming from the one who dispenses sustenance so she wisely kept her distance.

I figured the devil wasn't going to die or anything so I did nothing about the vitamins. Then I crated her up for the night and went upstairs to hopefully have a decent night's sleep since the husband is at a conference and I have the whole bed to my blissful non snoring, non bed hogging, non blanket grabbing self. Oh joy! But you know what happens when clickmom fantasizes about a good night's sleep right? I ignored her caged cries when she started whining at midnight and I ignored her again around 4, but when she heard me tip toeing to the bathroom at 6 I knew her cries were serious. I came down stairs and let her out. She dashed to the backyard and proceeded to squat and squat and squat in the first available (and squat) open patch of (squat) green for a good (squat) 15 minutes. And if you happened to hear someone yelling between 6:01 and 6:15 this morning it may or may not have been me shouting "And I hope it burns too! Bwah ha ha ha!"

Don't worry about the devil's feelings she paid us back all morning with farts that made our eyes water from 3 rooms away.

Colin Powell, moles and grandma

Spent a chunk of time today emailing Peanut (she's baaaack) and Bubbles, so I feel like I have done my writing for the day, therefore in a fit of autoplagarism I have cut and pasted what I would just regurgitate and polish up for you guys into today's post.

The one thing I didn't mention to Bubbles and Peanut is that Evan is doing a project on Colin Powell for Black History month and Evan's teacher says COE-lin POW-well and I am considering choking Evan if he doesn't start to say it my (normal person) way. I do not have control issues.

My biopsy came back-
I have dysplastic moles with atypical cells.

I have to have a surgery to completely remove them on 2/25 and won't be able to exercise for two weeks after. Really Bubbles, I do not like this challenge. And while I will certainly, to the best of my ability, deal with this additional bad news I'd like the forces that be to know that I am officially requesting and end to this challenge. Feel free to mention this in your church. Any way the message gets through is fine with me. I don't care to find out just how much I can handle. I am satisfied with my ability to handle as much as has already been dumped on my plate. Portion control right? So, I am good with this amount. Done!

I'm fine.
I'll be fine.
I'm not fine yet.
The biopsy was bad, I knew it would be.
There were atypical cells present in my dysplastic (not the kind you want to have) mole so I am going in the 25th for a little surgery to have the entire mole removed. yeah, ouch.

If they get the whole mole I should be fine. At least once it heals. But I can assure you I will be doing some mighty thorough skin checks for the rest of my life.

Really it is the unfortunate location aspect of this that is making it much worse than it should be. That and now I have this doomed feeling that I can't shake. Like all this testing my higher power has been putting me through isn't finished yet. Seriously, I feel like if we aren't given more than we can handle and I am managing to handle all this then there is more to come. Maybe I should just give in to a little nervous breakdown. Then the rest of this testing of my personal strength can get cancelled.

Grandma's birthday was nice, despite that she fell on Saturday and had a less than lovely black eye and split lip for the party. I was very civil to the scumcle. You would have been proud. So many of the old folks came over to wish her a happy birthday. It was really touching. Especially since grandma isn't very friendly.

But she sat there with a big smile on her face basking in all the great grand kids and tons of old folks came in to wish her happy birthday and have a slice of cake. So all in all it was mostly nice and just a little bit sad.

It's getting to be that I am the only one she really recognizes anymore. She hardly knows my sister and can't even fathom she has her own kids and is suppressing some serious anger towards my uncle and mother. Getting really really old isn't such a bargain either.

And the best thing is that my folks are not here right now. Thank goodness. I wouldn't want to deal with them right now. Truthfully, they would most likely dismiss my feelings and that would be hurtful. They are of the "Pain is only real if I am feeling it" philosophy. I haven't even said anything to them yet. Not sure I am going to.

Way To Go Giants.

time for another installment of Sarcasticmom's

Sometimes I get a bit jealous that Josh's piano teacher can teach him something as completely awesome as making music. I have to teach him to tie his sneakers.

Sometimes I feel like the girl in the back. Like everything is just a tiny bit out of my reach.

And then Josh loses his tooth and needs another note from Evan to the tooth fairy and Evan misunderstands, but it doesn't matter because Josh falls asleep before the note is finished, and Evan writes this kind of totally Evan-esc note and I see that my kids are so fine that they can support and care for each other.

And grandma turned the big 96 today. I got her the biggest cake I could and invited everyone at the OFH to have a piece. It was hard to watch her bruised and confused face, but she was so happy that everyone was there. Well, everyone except my mother, but we don't expect much from her.

shrooms

No, No, that kind.

I got nothing today. Or maybe I just don't have the emotional energy for something today. Yeah, that's more like it. Tomorrow is grandma's big 96th birthday and today grandma fell in her room. She has a black eye , a split lip and I am sure her nose is crookeder than it used to be. She says nothing hurts her. It sure looks painful though. I dread seeing how purple her face is tomorrow. (Hey, what do you know, something is sneaking through!) For now that's all. I'll take photos tomorrow. I'll gather up the energy to share more. For now I'll just leave you with this really old mushroom photo.

shedding

Feeling blue today. I've been noticing the last of the baby-ness dropping off of Josh at a rapid pace lately. Every second with Josh is still such joy that I have not been able to embrace and welcome the changes coming. Instead I find myself looking for hints of the baby I have known all along.

Powerless to keep
baby forever young I
memorize his innocence

His sweet easy smile
his hazel eyes dance, laugh, shine
scented sweet and tart

Big boy coming fast
complicated thoughts, big ideas
reading writing math

searching for baby
in movements of a guy
he resists a kiss

broken hearted mom
watching in from the outside
grasping at tid bits

oh, babe stay pure please
then: "I like to eat swish cheese"
bask in his sweet slip