Today is the day, seven years ago, that B and I got married. I'll never forget the feeling of pure bliss - giddiness - that came over me.
We did not have a traditional wedding. Ours was a spur of the moment, justice of the peace wedding. We had to wait for the judge to come back from lunch (I think) and we excitedly called the few friends and family members who were close by and able to make a mad dash to the courthouse.
Then we were officially married!
But lest you think I am the type who would just run off and get married (because I'm never spontaneous, ever) know that this was the man that I already knew I would be spending the rest of my life with, married or not. This man was the one for me; he was such a good match for me.
We've been through so much in such a short time. If you were to look at that list of things that are huge 'life stressors' you would see that we have been through several of them. Some more than once. And we've come out the other side. Even when we've been on opposite sides of an issue, we've come out just fine. And I give a lot of the credit to B and his ability to know when not to have the last word; to let it go and wait for the cool-down.
B is a successful man. He's a smart man. He's an amazing father, an amazing person, and an amazing husband. (And he's big and strong, and I like that very much.) I'm very lucky to have found him.
I love you, honey. Happy Anniversary.
(And that is as romantic as I get. I'm about as romantic as a - oh, I don't know - something that's not romantic at all. It's a good thing that he knows that. Which is why he's the perfect man for me.)
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
My space on MySpace.
So I joined MySpace.
I talked about joining before, and then decided to go ahead and "just do it" (to quote Nike.) (Can anyone every say that without thinking of Nike?)
I'm glad I did. I've been poking around there, typing in various names of people I knew a long time ago, and also people I've just met. I've been looking at friends of friends and finding folks I hadn't even remembered I knew. (Most of them from high school. I like that I can search people from my high school, and narrow down the ages to see all the people who were there when I was.) I've seen pictures of people that look exactly the same as they did over 10 years ago, and some who look so different that I wouldn't have recognized them if not for their names. I've looked at pictures of their children and spouses (or significant others) and it's all made me smile.
I'm hesitant to ask people to be my 'friends', though, because I'm so afraid that they will not remember me. I don't want to be presumptuous and assume that they knew me as well as I knew them. And believe me, I knew who they were. I've always been a people watcher; filing away names and faces to be recalled at a later date. But I've always felt like I'm not as obvious as they are - not invisible, but just not as noticeable - and my name and face won't ring a bell for them.
(I don't really want to know what that says about my psyche. But rest assured, my self esteem is not nearly as non-existent as that last statement made it sound. In fact, it's very healthy, thank you very much. But I don't think it was very healthy back then.)
Except, well, there's this one girl who is friends with lots of people I used to know, and um... I have no frickin' idea who she is. No clue. Her name doesn't ring a bell. Her picture confuses the hell out of me because she looks nothing like anyone I've ever known. All I can think is that maybe she's undergone major plastic surgery (horrific accident? crows feet?) since then, and nobody recognizes her either. (I probably sat next to her every day for 2 years and I'll feel like an a** when I remember who she is.)
So I'm glad I joined MySpace. But if I haven't asked to be your 'friend', and you see me on there, you better ask me. I'm too afraid you won't know me, and I'm just not prepared for the rejection. Chances are, I know who you are and will be more than happy to make you my 'friend'.
(Unless you're that girl.)
I talked about joining before, and then decided to go ahead and "just do it" (to quote Nike.) (Can anyone every say that without thinking of Nike?)
I'm glad I did. I've been poking around there, typing in various names of people I knew a long time ago, and also people I've just met. I've been looking at friends of friends and finding folks I hadn't even remembered I knew. (Most of them from high school. I like that I can search people from my high school, and narrow down the ages to see all the people who were there when I was.) I've seen pictures of people that look exactly the same as they did over 10 years ago, and some who look so different that I wouldn't have recognized them if not for their names. I've looked at pictures of their children and spouses (or significant others) and it's all made me smile.
I'm hesitant to ask people to be my 'friends', though, because I'm so afraid that they will not remember me. I don't want to be presumptuous and assume that they knew me as well as I knew them. And believe me, I knew who they were. I've always been a people watcher; filing away names and faces to be recalled at a later date. But I've always felt like I'm not as obvious as they are - not invisible, but just not as noticeable - and my name and face won't ring a bell for them.
(I don't really want to know what that says about my psyche. But rest assured, my self esteem is not nearly as non-existent as that last statement made it sound. In fact, it's very healthy, thank you very much. But I don't think it was very healthy back then.)
Except, well, there's this one girl who is friends with lots of people I used to know, and um... I have no frickin' idea who she is. No clue. Her name doesn't ring a bell. Her picture confuses the hell out of me because she looks nothing like anyone I've ever known. All I can think is that maybe she's undergone major plastic surgery (horrific accident? crows feet?) since then, and nobody recognizes her either. (I probably sat next to her every day for 2 years and I'll feel like an a** when I remember who she is.)
So I'm glad I joined MySpace. But if I haven't asked to be your 'friend', and you see me on there, you better ask me. I'm too afraid you won't know me, and I'm just not prepared for the rejection. Chances are, I know who you are and will be more than happy to make you my 'friend'.
(Unless you're that girl.)
For the rest of you.
I wanted to do Primus, Rage Against the Machine, Fugazi, Temple of the Dog, Soundgarden (I'm in love with Chris Cornell,) Nine Inch Nails, Fishbone, Dinosaur Jr., L7, Jane's Addiction, The Jesus and Mary Chain, REM, Alice in Chains, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Helmet, Tool... oh what the heck, let's enjoy a little Tool - Sober...
and there are so many more good songs I would love to hear again. But I think this'll conclude my little tour down memory lane.
Gosh, now I'm all nostalgic and stuff. *sniff*
and there are so many more good songs I would love to hear again. But I think this'll conclude my little tour down memory lane.
Gosh, now I'm all nostalgic and stuff. *sniff*
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
For a friend I missed very much.
U2 - One
I had Joshua Tree on vinyl. That was my first exposure to U2. And it was love at first listen. I listened to them so much, you would have thought I would grow tired of it all. But I never did. In high school, I went to see them in concert (along with Stereo MC's) in England. It was my first concert ever. And the music was so good.
I love U2. My husband, however, hates them. It's hard for me to believe I married a man who can't listen to this song, or any of their others, without cringing. But that's okay, I love him anyway. (And I hate Faster Pussycat, so we're even.) (Although you don't really hear Faster Pussycat on the radio much, so maybe we're not so even after all.)
This song reminds me of a time in my life when I felt very lonely. I was missing someone who had moved away, and I spent an excessive amount of time alone in my dorm room playing this song over and over again. (Thank goodness I'm not in high school anymore, and I no longer have such a dramatic side. Although I suspect my daughter may be even worse than I was, as she already has such a flair for the dramatics. And that frightens me very, very much.)
Monday, August 28, 2006
Not a music post.
I don't know if you're tiring of my music posts or not. If you are, I've got some bad news for you - I've got 2 more of them waiting in the wings. If you're not, well, good news - I've got 2 more of them waiting in the wings!
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Tonight I'm wearing a Crest Whitestrip. (And clothes too. Because some smart-aleck will make a comment about blogging in only a Whitestrip, and I thought I'd stop the email before it came.) Anyway, I'm assuming you know what it is I'm talking about. Unless you've lived under a rock. If that's the case, you (and your yellow teeth) can go ahead and skip this post.
I've seen the commercials that touted the Whitestrip and it's invisibility. Women were wearing them while at work; while talking on the phone; while going about their everyday routines and no one was privy to the fact that all the while they were whitening their teeth. You've seen those commercials too, right?
Well, those darn advertisers have gotten the best of me, again. Because I'm wearing one right now, and if you were here in the room with me, you sure as hell would know it. It's not invisible. It's very obvious. And it gives me a lisp.
I read the kids their bedtime story while wearing it, and they kept staring at my mouth as if something very awful was happening to it. Like my teeth would fall out at any minute, and they dare not look away lest they miss the spectacle. And, my friends, I was trying very hard to enunciate while speaking, but I swear I sounded worse than a twelve year old wearing a retainer. You should have heard the bedtime song - Thwinkle, thwinkle litthle ssssthar.
Those Crest people - they lure me in with their promises of getting whiter teeth whilst I go about my everyday life, and instead I'm reduced to sitting at my computer and typing while I anxiously await my thirty minutes to be up.
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Tonight I'm wearing a Crest Whitestrip. (And clothes too. Because some smart-aleck will make a comment about blogging in only a Whitestrip, and I thought I'd stop the email before it came.) Anyway, I'm assuming you know what it is I'm talking about. Unless you've lived under a rock. If that's the case, you (and your yellow teeth) can go ahead and skip this post.
I've seen the commercials that touted the Whitestrip and it's invisibility. Women were wearing them while at work; while talking on the phone; while going about their everyday routines and no one was privy to the fact that all the while they were whitening their teeth. You've seen those commercials too, right?
Well, those darn advertisers have gotten the best of me, again. Because I'm wearing one right now, and if you were here in the room with me, you sure as hell would know it. It's not invisible. It's very obvious. And it gives me a lisp.
I read the kids their bedtime story while wearing it, and they kept staring at my mouth as if something very awful was happening to it. Like my teeth would fall out at any minute, and they dare not look away lest they miss the spectacle. And, my friends, I was trying very hard to enunciate while speaking, but I swear I sounded worse than a twelve year old wearing a retainer. You should have heard the bedtime song - Thwinkle, thwinkle litthle ssssthar.
Those Crest people - they lure me in with their promises of getting whiter teeth whilst I go about my everyday life, and instead I'm reduced to sitting at my computer and typing while I anxiously await my thirty minutes to be up.
For all of you that hung out at the AYA.
Beastie Boys - Pass The Mic
Oh, the Beastie Boys *sigh* mean so much to me. I loved them back when I was in 6th grade and had Licensed to Ill and learned all the words to all the songs and thought myself such a rebel for singing along with them. And I had a huge crush on Ad Rock (don't laugh, I was young.) I loved them all the way into my high school and college years, although they kind of lost me when they started appearing on MTV spouting all that political stuff. And I wanted to be a big fan of their newest CD, but it just wasn't there for me anymore. Check Your Head, however, will always be one of my favorites because it not only had this song and So Watcha Want, but because it reminds me of all my friends down at the AYA.
(And I still have a little crush on Ad Rock.)
Sunday, August 27, 2006
This is for Sara.
Ned's Atomic Dustbin - Kill Your Television
(Notice it's on VH1 Classics - my god, I'm old.)
(Notice it's on VH1 Classics - my god, I'm old.)
Thank you Sara for reminding me of Ned's. I had forgotten how much I used to listen to them. I remember that they were going to play at the Corn Exchange (Cambridge, England) and we wanted to go see them so darn bad. But the only time I ever set foot into the Corn Exchange was for our graduation. And I remember that we were there on your birthday (for rehearsal?) and that when they called your name they messed up your middle name and said "Ellen". Funny - the big things I forget, and the little things I remember.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
More blast-from-the-past music.
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Taste the Pain
Folks, this song is listed as my song in my high school yearbook. That's how much love I feel for it. I spent more years than I'd like to admit writing the lyrics to this song over and over again. It was also part of the mind numbingly repetetive loop of music I played on my walkman on the plane ride over to England when we moved there in 1989. And, most importantly, it is the song that reminds me of a very good friend of mine - a friend that is no longer a part of my life due to, well, stupidity, I guess. Anyway, enough of my sappy reminiscing - enjoy the song.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Children, all of us.
My husband must work with a bunch of twelve year olds. Or one twelve year old, at least. You see, he fired - oh sorry, "let go" - someone today. And after stomping around and throwing a fit like a child, this guy came back and surprised my husband with a punch in the jaw. And all I can say is, what a stupid move on that man's part. Don't you think?
(Oh, I forget that some of you do not know my husband. Well, let me tell you a little bit about him. He's a big guy. Very big. As in, he used to be a competitive power lifter. Very, very big. When he was training hard, he would bench press well over 500 hundred pounds. Even now that he's not training for competition anymore, he still benches over 400 pounds. He's built like a tank. Oh, and he used to be a bouncer at clubs during his pre-marriage days.)
So anyway, this man comes and lands a punch on my husband's jaw. And my husband picks him up over his head and puts him down on the floor. Then covers him while all the office ladies are a-twitter and someone yells, "Don't hurt him!" To which my husband replies, "If I wanted to hurt him, I wouldn't be holding him down on the floor, I would be wiping blood off of my hands!" (Or something like that. I may have dramatized for effect.) And after the police arrived, everyone calmed down, and then all the twelve year olds left the building.
And now my husband has a sore jaw and he has to go take my daughter to her Kindergarten assessment. Nothing like showing up at the Kindergarten classroom after leaving a brawl.
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My son is now well into his first day of First Grade. He decided he wanted my husband to walk him to his classroom this morning, so that's what my husband did. And he reported back that my son was thrilled to be there and knew right where his classroom was. He even managed to chat up some little girl on his way down the hall (my son did, not my husband.) He's going to be a lady-killer, that boy.
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As you may have noticed, I removed my name (again) from this site. I'm incognito. So SHHHH, don't tell anyone who I am. I try my hardest to not name names and say anything malicious about anyone on here, but I figured that it would be safer if I made it a little harder for just anyone to happen upon this site. Oh, I know, people can still find it. And with my big ol' face up there, it's not hard to know it's me writing this. But, you know, it makes me feel like I'm hidden. And it's all about how I feel, right?
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I must go now. I have lint in my mouth and I have to go scrape my tongue. You see, I had a mint in my pocket and when I found it in there (Surprise! Candy!) I popped it into my mouth. And it was covered in pocket lint. Yes, evidently, I am 8 years old.
(Oh, I forget that some of you do not know my husband. Well, let me tell you a little bit about him. He's a big guy. Very big. As in, he used to be a competitive power lifter. Very, very big. When he was training hard, he would bench press well over 500 hundred pounds. Even now that he's not training for competition anymore, he still benches over 400 pounds. He's built like a tank. Oh, and he used to be a bouncer at clubs during his pre-marriage days.)
So anyway, this man comes and lands a punch on my husband's jaw. And my husband picks him up over his head and puts him down on the floor. Then covers him while all the office ladies are a-twitter and someone yells, "Don't hurt him!" To which my husband replies, "If I wanted to hurt him, I wouldn't be holding him down on the floor, I would be wiping blood off of my hands!" (Or something like that. I may have dramatized for effect.) And after the police arrived, everyone calmed down, and then all the twelve year olds left the building.
And now my husband has a sore jaw and he has to go take my daughter to her Kindergarten assessment. Nothing like showing up at the Kindergarten classroom after leaving a brawl.
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My son is now well into his first day of First Grade. He decided he wanted my husband to walk him to his classroom this morning, so that's what my husband did. And he reported back that my son was thrilled to be there and knew right where his classroom was. He even managed to chat up some little girl on his way down the hall (my son did, not my husband.) He's going to be a lady-killer, that boy.
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As you may have noticed, I removed my name (again) from this site. I'm incognito. So SHHHH, don't tell anyone who I am. I try my hardest to not name names and say anything malicious about anyone on here, but I figured that it would be safer if I made it a little harder for just anyone to happen upon this site. Oh, I know, people can still find it. And with my big ol' face up there, it's not hard to know it's me writing this. But, you know, it makes me feel like I'm hidden. And it's all about how I feel, right?
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I must go now. I have lint in my mouth and I have to go scrape my tongue. You see, I had a mint in my pocket and when I found it in there (Surprise! Candy!) I popped it into my mouth. And it was covered in pocket lint. Yes, evidently, I am 8 years old.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Musical Interlude.
Here's a little music for your listening pleasure. The Pixies* -
Here Comes Your Man.
*I had a love affair with the Pixies when I was in high school that lasted for several years. (No, not a real one - did you actually get a look at those guys!? Man, what kind of girl do you think I am?) This song still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside just from the memories.
Don't remember this song? Well, that's okay. I'll forgive you just this once. But it really is a classic and I highly recommend the CD (or tape, which is what I had back in the day.)
Not-Really-Anything (the whole bunch of it version)
And now, a whole bunch of not-really-anything for your day!
(are you excited? even just a little? oh c'mon, humor me.)
My son's doctor's appointment went well yesterday. He followed all instructions (stand on one foot, hop up and down, push against me, etc...) and then had to give a urine sample. He didn't understand why they needed a urine sample. "You want to see my pee-pee? It's yellow! It's fine!" And after a hilarious series of events in the little boys room, some of which included my husband yelling, "That's enough! Stop! Stop! Stop!" they returned the sample cup to the doctor triumphantly. And my son said, "See? Like I told you, it's yellow."
(And for those of you interested, (mainly family members, I'm sure,) the doctor gave us a stronger cream for his eczema and told us to give him an allergy pill every day. Even if the airborne allergens aren't bothering him per se, the allergy pill will help stop his itching. And also, we have to use all fragrance free detergents and soaps for him. Which I should have been doing anyway, really, but I just love the smell of freshly laundered clothes - preferably in Clean Breeze. But now I've emptied his dresser and am doing load after load of laundry in the stinky fragrance-free detergent. (My clothes, however, are still being washed in the old stuff because I can only sacrifice so much.))
(oooh, I used double parentheses there - and bad grammar. doesn't it make you kind of twitch, how I butcher the English language repeatedly?)
We went to orientation last night for my son's first grade class. We met his teacher, who is teaching for the first time this year. Oh, she's volunteered in schools and been a teacher's assistant before, but to have my son (and therefore, me) for her first year as a teacher is really unfortunate for her. You might want to send some good vibes her way. She might need them tomorrow on the first day of school.
That's right, tomorrow, I send my son back to school. He's going to be a big kid now. At least, that's what he's told me. He even gets to use the computer lab. He's excited. I haven't told him yet that all the computer work will not include Star Wars Battlefront or anything nearly as fun. I figure I'll just let him find out on his own. I hope it doesn't crush his spirit.
And my daughter - the one who I really would like to send to school tomorrow because she is driving me crazy - isn't starting until after Labor Day. Yeah, they'll attend the same school, but the kindergarteners start later. Sucks for her. She wants to go so badly, and has to watch her brother go and hear all about his day when he gets home. I keep telling her that patience is a virtue. She thinks I'm full of crap.
So today will be spent labeling various school supplies, and washing and folding mountains of clothes and towels and washcloths. Good times.
(are you excited? even just a little? oh c'mon, humor me.)
My son's doctor's appointment went well yesterday. He followed all instructions (stand on one foot, hop up and down, push against me, etc...) and then had to give a urine sample. He didn't understand why they needed a urine sample. "You want to see my pee-pee? It's yellow! It's fine!" And after a hilarious series of events in the little boys room, some of which included my husband yelling, "That's enough! Stop! Stop! Stop!" they returned the sample cup to the doctor triumphantly. And my son said, "See? Like I told you, it's yellow."
(And for those of you interested, (mainly family members, I'm sure,) the doctor gave us a stronger cream for his eczema and told us to give him an allergy pill every day. Even if the airborne allergens aren't bothering him per se, the allergy pill will help stop his itching. And also, we have to use all fragrance free detergents and soaps for him. Which I should have been doing anyway, really, but I just love the smell of freshly laundered clothes - preferably in Clean Breeze. But now I've emptied his dresser and am doing load after load of laundry in the stinky fragrance-free detergent. (My clothes, however, are still being washed in the old stuff because I can only sacrifice so much.))
(oooh, I used double parentheses there - and bad grammar. doesn't it make you kind of twitch, how I butcher the English language repeatedly?)
We went to orientation last night for my son's first grade class. We met his teacher, who is teaching for the first time this year. Oh, she's volunteered in schools and been a teacher's assistant before, but to have my son (and therefore, me) for her first year as a teacher is really unfortunate for her. You might want to send some good vibes her way. She might need them tomorrow on the first day of school.
That's right, tomorrow, I send my son back to school. He's going to be a big kid now. At least, that's what he's told me. He even gets to use the computer lab. He's excited. I haven't told him yet that all the computer work will not include Star Wars Battlefront or anything nearly as fun. I figure I'll just let him find out on his own. I hope it doesn't crush his spirit.
And my daughter - the one who I really would like to send to school tomorrow because she is driving me crazy - isn't starting until after Labor Day. Yeah, they'll attend the same school, but the kindergarteners start later. Sucks for her. She wants to go so badly, and has to watch her brother go and hear all about his day when he gets home. I keep telling her that patience is a virtue. She thinks I'm full of crap.
So today will be spent labeling various school supplies, and washing and folding mountains of clothes and towels and washcloths. Good times.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I'm not bitter and he's going to the doctor.
Apparently yesterday, when I posted, I came off as a little bitter. I don't know where in the world that idea came from (I plead the Fifth.) But no worries, I'm not really bitter. Nor am I really that jealous. I just feel it was a little bit unfair, and I felt like a good complaining was in order. No need to fear for my husband's well being. (Except for what all that restaurant food will do to his arteries. That you should fear.)
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Today my son is going to the doctor. He's going to get his skin checked out. He has eczema (thanks to my lovely genes) and he has it bad on his face and fingers. Which, really, if you're going to have something that looks like a communicable disease (which, it is not cummunicable, people, just looks like it,) is it really necessary to have it on the most visible parts of your body? I mean, really. The boy deserves a break, if you ask me. Oh wait, was I talking about the injustice of my son's skin condition? Um, no... oh yeah, I was talking about him going to the doctor. Anyway, my husband is going to take him to the doctor. This'll be a first, ya'll.
I've compiled a note card - cliff's notes, if you will - of the different lotions and medications my son is using. I've listed the questions I would ask if I were there. And I'm sending the boys off with a prayer.
Actually, I think it'll be better that my husband is the one taking my son. When I go I have a tendency to tell the doctor what is wrong, instead of vice versa. I have a tendency to be a little bit pushy. A teensy bit pushy. Oh, okay, a lot pushy. And the doctor barely gets a word in edgewise. Then I'm sure they mark my children's chart with a notation or some sort of color code they have adopted just for people like me. You know, something that says, This woman is a pushy lady and is a know-it-all who will not listen to you. And as a result my children do not receive the quality of care they deserve. But with my husband going, they will just mark the kids' chart with a code that says, This is a big motherf*cker who will break us into tiny pieces if we mess up his children's care, so make sure you do well.
And I think that's much more effective, don't you?
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Today my son is going to the doctor. He's going to get his skin checked out. He has eczema (thanks to my lovely genes) and he has it bad on his face and fingers. Which, really, if you're going to have something that looks like a communicable disease (which, it is not cummunicable, people, just looks like it,) is it really necessary to have it on the most visible parts of your body? I mean, really. The boy deserves a break, if you ask me. Oh wait, was I talking about the injustice of my son's skin condition? Um, no... oh yeah, I was talking about him going to the doctor. Anyway, my husband is going to take him to the doctor. This'll be a first, ya'll.
I've compiled a note card - cliff's notes, if you will - of the different lotions and medications my son is using. I've listed the questions I would ask if I were there. And I'm sending the boys off with a prayer.
Actually, I think it'll be better that my husband is the one taking my son. When I go I have a tendency to tell the doctor what is wrong, instead of vice versa. I have a tendency to be a little bit pushy. A teensy bit pushy. Oh, okay, a lot pushy. And the doctor barely gets a word in edgewise. Then I'm sure they mark my children's chart with a notation or some sort of color code they have adopted just for people like me. You know, something that says, This woman is a pushy lady and is a know-it-all who will not listen to you. And as a result my children do not receive the quality of care they deserve. But with my husband going, they will just mark the kids' chart with a code that says, This is a big motherf*cker who will break us into tiny pieces if we mess up his children's care, so make sure you do well.
And I think that's much more effective, don't you?
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Wanting some cheese to go with my whine.
I have a wonderful husband. He's a good man and a great father. He's also hilarious and fun to be around. He thinks I'm beautiful and gives me compliments all the time. Also, he's smart and a hard worker.
But...
(And you knew that there would be a but, didn't you?)
I have one thing that I would like to complain about today: It's that he is all for our new thrifty lifestyle, and says with great conviction that he's tired of eating out and is happy to be eating at home more when in fact he eats at various yummy restaurants for lunch often. Yummy restaurants! Lunch! Often! While I sit at home and eat whatever the kids don't finish. (And this happens more than I'd like to admit.)
I think to myself, sure, you don't mind eating at home for supper because you went out for Chinese food for lunch. Or Mexican. Or Mongolian barbecue. And then I become very bitter.
But...
(And you knew that there would be a but, didn't you?)
I have one thing that I would like to complain about today: It's that he is all for our new thrifty lifestyle, and says with great conviction that he's tired of eating out and is happy to be eating at home more when in fact he eats at various yummy restaurants for lunch often. Yummy restaurants! Lunch! Often! While I sit at home and eat whatever the kids don't finish. (And this happens more than I'd like to admit.)
I think to myself, sure, you don't mind eating at home for supper because you went out for Chinese food for lunch. Or Mexican. Or Mongolian barbecue. And then I become very bitter.
Now, before you think he's a very bad man and spending all of our food budget on lunches out, let me say that most of the time he's not buying these lunches. Yesterday, for instance, he was taken to a Chinese restaurant by a sales rep. (He's lucky like that - people want him to do business with them and court him by feeding him good food and giving him mugs at Christmas time.)
But still, I'm bitter. And I'm rambling. Because I'm bitter. And now I'm going into the kitchen to heat up a box of Crab Rangoon that I bought at WalMart last night and I'm going to enjoy it, dammit, because it's all I have. All my bitter little heart has. Dammit.
(Love you Honey!)
Edited to add: My husband called me this afternoon after reading this - he asked if he needed to take me out to eat tonight. But that would totally defeat the purpose. We are not eating out as much to try and keep from spending money. And if we went out to eat, what would I have to complain about on here?!? (Except for spending the money, of course.)
Monday, August 21, 2006
Spending way too much time obsessing.
It's the time of year that makes me drool. Drool longingly for things. Things I want to buy, and never end up buying.
No, I'm not talking about wanting cars or houses or fabulously expensive jewelry. I'm talking about clothes.
I should tell you that I'm not the clothes horse type. I don't have a closet full of clothes for every day of the year. In fact, I have a closet that consists mainly of t-shirts. I'm definitely not a fashion plate. But once the fall clothes start appearing in the stores and catalogs, I become a woman obsessed.
I am obsessed with the feel of long pants, and sumptuous sweaters. Crisp white shirts and soft denim. I page through catalogs repeatedly and read descriptions of clothes I would never wear in every day life. I go online and view the newest additions, gazing longingly at black wool trousers with an amazing drape. I check on inseam lengths (my legs are impossibly short) and find my size. I imagine what shoes I would buy with what pants, and even imagine myself at the perfect "event" for each outfit. I long for the donegal wool blazer in a moss green color (which brings out the red in my hair) and the perfect khaki pants. I have made it my mission to find the best fitting pair of jeans among the hundreds of pairs in existence (maybe not hundreds, but thousands, millions even.)
When I do find the perfect clothes, do I buy them? No. I mentally compile a list of "must-haves" and then I move on. I think the thrill is in the hunt for me. Whenever I find something I absolutely, positively must have and I buy it, it is never as wonderful in reality as it is in my head. So I go with the jeans that fit pretty well and the t-shirt that is comfortable. I stick with the casual button down shirt and khakis in size extra short. Because while I'm in love with the classic clothes at Ann Taylor, I'm much more of an Eddie Bauer kind of girl.
And I anxiously await the end of summer the next year, when they roll out the newest fall clothing and I can begin to drool all over again.
No, I'm not talking about wanting cars or houses or fabulously expensive jewelry. I'm talking about clothes.
I should tell you that I'm not the clothes horse type. I don't have a closet full of clothes for every day of the year. In fact, I have a closet that consists mainly of t-shirts. I'm definitely not a fashion plate. But once the fall clothes start appearing in the stores and catalogs, I become a woman obsessed.
I am obsessed with the feel of long pants, and sumptuous sweaters. Crisp white shirts and soft denim. I page through catalogs repeatedly and read descriptions of clothes I would never wear in every day life. I go online and view the newest additions, gazing longingly at black wool trousers with an amazing drape. I check on inseam lengths (my legs are impossibly short) and find my size. I imagine what shoes I would buy with what pants, and even imagine myself at the perfect "event" for each outfit. I long for the donegal wool blazer in a moss green color (which brings out the red in my hair) and the perfect khaki pants. I have made it my mission to find the best fitting pair of jeans among the hundreds of pairs in existence (maybe not hundreds, but thousands, millions even.)
When I do find the perfect clothes, do I buy them? No. I mentally compile a list of "must-haves" and then I move on. I think the thrill is in the hunt for me. Whenever I find something I absolutely, positively must have and I buy it, it is never as wonderful in reality as it is in my head. So I go with the jeans that fit pretty well and the t-shirt that is comfortable. I stick with the casual button down shirt and khakis in size extra short. Because while I'm in love with the classic clothes at Ann Taylor, I'm much more of an Eddie Bauer kind of girl.
And I anxiously await the end of summer the next year, when they roll out the newest fall clothing and I can begin to drool all over again.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
A little nervous laughter for your day.
Recently, ha ha, we became a little, ha ha ha ha, overdrawn on our checking account. Ha ha ha ha ha... *ahem*
Okay, so that was nervous laughter, not the Ha! kind of laughter I'd like it to be. Because it's true. We were overdrawn.
We used our debit card to pay for everything. Groceries, bill payments, gas, meals at McDonald's, stops at the Quick Stop for Gatorade... everything. And due to a serious math error, we kept on using the debit card even when there was no more money in our bank account. And thankfully, our bank kept on honoring our overdrawn purchases. So we didn't end up on anybody's Must Pay Cash list. Thanks for that, BB&T.
And no thanks, BB&T*, for charging us $35 a pop every time you honored our debits. You see, some of those debits were for, like, $1.50 and less. So my husband drank a $36.50 bottle of Gatorade. And the kids ate McDonald's Happy Meals that cost us well over $40.00.
In the end, we were actually overdrawn for very little. I mean, our actual purchases were not that much, and I could have put a little bit of cash into the account to cover the amount. But, but, the bank had charged us so much, there was no way my paycheck could cover the amount that our account was now in the negative. I mean, we had charges that would make you weep. (They may have made me weep just a little.)
But don't worry, this is not a plea for financial help. Once my husband's paycheck was direct deposited to the account, everything was back in the black. And we learned a very serious lesson. We learned not to overdraw our account, ever again. We also learned that we must ditch the debit cards and begin carrying cash. (Very little cash, for you would be robbers out there. Very little cash.)
The whole debacle did cost us a fortune, though. And during a time when we have lots of medical bills, and school supplies that cost me over $60.00 to get (not including backpacks and clothes and shoes, just actual supplies,) the fortune it cost us could not come at a worse time. But we're on a strict cash budget, and we're doing well with it.
Paying cash for everything leaves me with a very satisfied feeling. It means I don't have to check the checking account online, obsessively, until everything has cleared and breathe a sigh of relief when it finally does clear. It has a finality to it. It's done, paid for, and now we can move on. (Although it is very unsatisfying when I only have two bills left, and they are not bills of large denominations.)
Oh, somewhere along the way I had a point to this whole post. I'm not exactly sure what it was, though. So, um, I think I just shared too much information with you for no real reason at all. Except to tell you that I am not BB&T's biggest fan, and I am very satisfied when I pay with cash. But that's reason enough, isn't it?
*BB&T is a large bank here in the South. I'm sure they have lots of people who love banking with them, but we are not some of those people. They didn't tell us about their overdraft protection coverage that could have saved us a ton of money until after we had already paid them a ton of money. Also, they have a weird way of doing their online banking that does not let you see pending transactions, and posts the cleared transactions 2 days after they have cleared. So it makes it impossible to keep up with your checking account online. But please don't get mad at me, BB&T, because if you sue me for slander, I will not have any money to give you. You already have the equivalent of my car payment. And maybe even my mortgage payment too.
Okay, so that was nervous laughter, not the Ha! kind of laughter I'd like it to be. Because it's true. We were overdrawn.
We used our debit card to pay for everything. Groceries, bill payments, gas, meals at McDonald's, stops at the Quick Stop for Gatorade... everything. And due to a serious math error, we kept on using the debit card even when there was no more money in our bank account. And thankfully, our bank kept on honoring our overdrawn purchases. So we didn't end up on anybody's Must Pay Cash list. Thanks for that, BB&T.
And no thanks, BB&T*, for charging us $35 a pop every time you honored our debits. You see, some of those debits were for, like, $1.50 and less. So my husband drank a $36.50 bottle of Gatorade. And the kids ate McDonald's Happy Meals that cost us well over $40.00.
In the end, we were actually overdrawn for very little. I mean, our actual purchases were not that much, and I could have put a little bit of cash into the account to cover the amount. But, but, the bank had charged us so much, there was no way my paycheck could cover the amount that our account was now in the negative. I mean, we had charges that would make you weep. (They may have made me weep just a little.)
But don't worry, this is not a plea for financial help. Once my husband's paycheck was direct deposited to the account, everything was back in the black. And we learned a very serious lesson. We learned not to overdraw our account, ever again. We also learned that we must ditch the debit cards and begin carrying cash. (Very little cash, for you would be robbers out there. Very little cash.)
The whole debacle did cost us a fortune, though. And during a time when we have lots of medical bills, and school supplies that cost me over $60.00 to get (not including backpacks and clothes and shoes, just actual supplies,) the fortune it cost us could not come at a worse time. But we're on a strict cash budget, and we're doing well with it.
Paying cash for everything leaves me with a very satisfied feeling. It means I don't have to check the checking account online, obsessively, until everything has cleared and breathe a sigh of relief when it finally does clear. It has a finality to it. It's done, paid for, and now we can move on. (Although it is very unsatisfying when I only have two bills left, and they are not bills of large denominations.)
Oh, somewhere along the way I had a point to this whole post. I'm not exactly sure what it was, though. So, um, I think I just shared too much information with you for no real reason at all. Except to tell you that I am not BB&T's biggest fan, and I am very satisfied when I pay with cash. But that's reason enough, isn't it?
*BB&T is a large bank here in the South. I'm sure they have lots of people who love banking with them, but we are not some of those people. They didn't tell us about their overdraft protection coverage that could have saved us a ton of money until after we had already paid them a ton of money. Also, they have a weird way of doing their online banking that does not let you see pending transactions, and posts the cleared transactions 2 days after they have cleared. So it makes it impossible to keep up with your checking account online. But please don't get mad at me, BB&T, because if you sue me for slander, I will not have any money to give you. You already have the equivalent of my car payment. And maybe even my mortgage payment too.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Eating well.
I've been asked how my 'healthy eating' is going. And it's, well, going, um, okay, I guess. I feel like I need to clarify the 'healthy eating' thing. I'm not really eating nuts and berries, or non-fat, preservative-free fare. More like, I'm trying to eat a little better and not eat as much junk. (Notice I said as much junk, not no junk at all.)
And that part is going well. I still have quite a sweet tooth, but I've managed to keep from eating sweets morning, noon and night. Also, we've cut back on our trips to McDonalds and other fast food establishments. Instead, we stocked up on hotdogs and ramen noodles for those night we don't have enough time to cook. And while that's not healthy food by any means, it certainly is a little better for you than a Big Mac and large fries. I also baked two chickens on Monday, and we're heating up chicken as needed.
On a totally unrelated side note, anyone want a chicken sandwich? I've got a little bit of extra chicken here and I'm getting a little sick of eating chicken for lunch and chicken for dinner and chicken in between. (How many times can I work the word chicken into a sentence? A lot, apparantly.)
But I have lost 5 pounds and that makes me happy, especially since I haven't been to the gym in like 2 weeks and I'm not trying to lose weight. (My husband has lost more, but I'm not holding that against him.)
So, you know, that's how the healthy eating is going.
Now I must go because the three year old bit my son. And left big old teeth marks. And I'm writing about it after I've put an ice pack on my son's arm and the offender is in time-out (which is really pissing him off and made him try to bite me.) We're having some fun now!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The influence of planets.
The planets must be out of alignment today. That's the only reason I can think of for all of the kids here today to be this whiney.
The three year old I babysit has just started to wear underwear during the day. And he's been doing wonderfully. But today... today he pooped in his pants. And then he peed in his pants. And I'm remembering how much I hated cleaning poop out of children's underwear. (Lucky me, I just flush what I can and then put the soiled clothes into a plastic bag for his parents. Not so lucky for his parents.)
The soon-to-be one year old I babysit has discovered that the best way to rid his highchair tray of food is to throw it overboard. Sometimes he just lets the little pieces of food drop over the side. Sometimes he practices his fastball, and pitches the food across the room. And I'm remembering how much I loved having a dog around to clean up the floor. (Too bad the dog isn't here anymore.)
My son speaks in a constant whine. And if I didn't know any better I'd say he has a hearing problem because he speaks so loudly and ignores me. But I know better. He's just a loud boy.
My daughter is a know-it-all today. And, really, that's not unlike most days. Except for today she's an extra-annoying know-it-all. (That particular breed of know-it-all makes semi-regular appearances around here.)
And, well, it seems that I'm whiney today too.
Must be the planets.
The three year old I babysit has just started to wear underwear during the day. And he's been doing wonderfully. But today... today he pooped in his pants. And then he peed in his pants. And I'm remembering how much I hated cleaning poop out of children's underwear. (Lucky me, I just flush what I can and then put the soiled clothes into a plastic bag for his parents. Not so lucky for his parents.)
The soon-to-be one year old I babysit has discovered that the best way to rid his highchair tray of food is to throw it overboard. Sometimes he just lets the little pieces of food drop over the side. Sometimes he practices his fastball, and pitches the food across the room. And I'm remembering how much I loved having a dog around to clean up the floor. (Too bad the dog isn't here anymore.)
My son speaks in a constant whine. And if I didn't know any better I'd say he has a hearing problem because he speaks so loudly and ignores me. But I know better. He's just a loud boy.
My daughter is a know-it-all today. And, really, that's not unlike most days. Except for today she's an extra-annoying know-it-all. (That particular breed of know-it-all makes semi-regular appearances around here.)
And, well, it seems that I'm whiney today too.
Must be the planets.
Monday, August 14, 2006
School supplies.
Yesterday we went shopping for some new school clothes.
Before we set out on our mad dash through various children's clothing stores to fight the throngs of people, I had a mental list of items I wanted to get for the kids. Jacket for my son, jeans and pants for both of them (enough to make it through a week, at least) and athletic shoes for both too. The rest, I figured, we could get as needed. They are growing so fast, I'm afraid to get too many things ahead of time. By the time they need the long sleeve shirts and coats, they may just be a full size larger.
Anyway, off we went to the store. And off my son went to whining. His head hurt; he couldn't walk. And my daughter, she wanted to stay with dad outside the store; she didn't want to try on the jacket for her brother. (It's wonderful that they wear the same size. I just have to bring one child along and have him/her try on the clothes. Of course, neither of them is too crazy about trying on clothes for the opposite sex. But I'll pay for their therapy bills later, so they can just hush.)
And what did we get on our trip? A Jacket. And a pair of pants for my son. (Just one pair.) And athletic shoes for my son too. My daughter? She didn't find anything that she needed, except for these:
Before we set out on our mad dash through various children's clothing stores to fight the throngs of people, I had a mental list of items I wanted to get for the kids. Jacket for my son, jeans and pants for both of them (enough to make it through a week, at least) and athletic shoes for both too. The rest, I figured, we could get as needed. They are growing so fast, I'm afraid to get too many things ahead of time. By the time they need the long sleeve shirts and coats, they may just be a full size larger.
Anyway, off we went to the store. And off my son went to whining. His head hurt; he couldn't walk. And my daughter, she wanted to stay with dad outside the store; she didn't want to try on the jacket for her brother. (It's wonderful that they wear the same size. I just have to bring one child along and have him/her try on the clothes. Of course, neither of them is too crazy about trying on clothes for the opposite sex. But I'll pay for their therapy bills later, so they can just hush.)
And what did we get on our trip? A Jacket. And a pair of pants for my son. (Just one pair.) And athletic shoes for my son too. My daughter? She didn't find anything that she needed, except for these:
And everyone knows a little girl absolutely needs a pair of pink cowboy boots. As for all those other things she needs for school, they pale in comparison. (And I guess I need to go back to the store.)
Saturday, August 12, 2006
On top of my lap.
Guess where I'm typing this from!
My kitchen table! Via a laptop. Laptop. Yippee!
It was a freebie. An old laptop that is missing the R button. (But it still works, as you can plainly see.) And it makes me oh so happy.
Oh, but also... The screen is messed up a little so that you can't read the type if it's normal sized. So I've got it set up so the type is at 150%. Which, if you've ever done that to you computer, you know is really f*cking big. I've got to scroll all over the place just to read the weather. But did I mention that it was free?!?
(Dear Santa, I'd like to add New Laptop to the list of things I want but don't really need. You can put it right below Maid Service, and immediately above Sleep Number Bed. Thank you.)
So, I'm off to the store to buy a laptop bag and several matching outfits that say, 'I need to carry this laptop with me at all times because I'm a very important person.'
(Not really, but a girl can dream, can't she?) *sigh*
Friday, August 11, 2006
Picture pages, picture pages, lots of fun with picture pages...
Yesterday's post was such a long, drawn out post - sorry for that. So for today, I give you some pictures (woo-hoo!). They're old, but they're two of my favorites.
(And that's my boy, he's a sweetie pie. He looks so young in this picture.)
(You can almost hear her do that little clicking sound with her mouth to go along with that wink.)
(And that's my boy, he's a sweetie pie. He looks so young in this picture.)
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The update you've been waiting for (if you were one of the people who emailed me and asked me to tell you what the heck happened.)
I've been trying to find the motivation to sit down here and write about our adventure at the hospital. I know that I left some people hanging on my last post, never even saying whether or not my husband was home, safe and sound. Well, I apologize. I've been out of my routine, and I'm still trying to get the details from the past few days straight in my head. He is home. (Actually, he's at work right now.) So don't worry, all's well.
I think it's all best described in a timeline - otherwise, my paragraphs would be full of 'and then this happened, and then this, then this...'
Monday, August 7
4:30 am - We get up and get a shower. Hubby's up before the alarm clock because he couldn't sleep at all the night before.
5:30 am - Leave the house and start the drive to the hospital. I have a cup of coffee in a travel mug and some peanut butter crackers in my purse. But I don't eat them because hubby is not allowed to eat anything before the surgery. I do, however, drink the coffee because it still feels like the middle of the damn night!
6:15 am - Arrive at hospital and check in at the required time on the dot. I'm proud that we're actually on time for once. I think it has to do with the fact that we didn't have the kids with us. (They are at home with Gran - Hubby's mom.) We go from one waiting room to another, and hubby fills out various forms and such. I think about the peanut butter crackers in my purse, and my mouth waters. But I resist. (I'm strong like that.)
7:00 am - The nurse that is going to prep him for surgery comes for him and brings us to a 'prep' area (I have no idea what's it's actually called back there.) She brings us to a room (more like a curtained area) and gives him a gown to change into. (This room is also where all of your dignity is stripped from you, not just your clothes.) She then leaves and tells us she'll be right back. Which, in hospital terms, means she'll be back eventually. The anesthesiologist comes in to check hubby. Hubby tells the man he has Sleep Apnea (important detail, here) and the guy does not say that will be a problem in any way. The nurse comes back and starts hubby on an IV (which is enough to start a panic attack for him, but he was strong, and resists.) She also gives him a shot to 'take the edge off of any anxiety' and he reports back that it does not seem to be taking any edge off at all. He's still anxious.
8:00 am - I'm told they are going to 'take him on back', and shown on a map how to get to the waiting room. I have to consult the map several times on my way to finding the waiting room. Evidently, it's supposed to be easy to get there. It's not for me. Once there, I find a seat and take out the book I brought (for the procedure that's supposed to last about an hour or so) and break out my peanut butter crackers. It's then that I notice a sign that tells people not to eat in the waiting room. I eat 2 crackers anyway. But then I put them away, because I'm afraid I'll get thrown out of the waiting room for excessive cracker eating.
8:25 am - The doctor comes into the waiting room looking for me. I'm nervous. Then I wonder if it's over already, and I get happy. Then he looks at me with serious eyes. I'm nervous again. He says they are going to have to keep hubby overnight. He says it has to do with his sleep apnea and that he'll need his CPAP machine. Which means I'll need to go home and get it. All I can think is, 'Man, hubby's not going to like this. He hates the hospital.' So I ask the doctor is hubby knows he's going to have to stay. Doctor says, "Yes, he knows, and he's not happy." Doctor kindly offers to take my cell phone number and call me when the procedure is over, because now I'll be in the car heading home for his CPAP machine instead of waiting in the waiting room for any news. Man, I think, this sucks.
9:00 am - I am lost. I am driving around the beltline, and I do not recognize anything. I am silently thanking my dear hubby for filling up my gas tank right before we arrived at the hospital that morning because I surely would have run out of gas otherwise. I call my mother-in-law at home and ask her if she knows where in the heck I am. Luckily, she knows that I am heading in the wrong direction. So I turn around.
9:45 am - I am now almost home. And the doctor calls to tell me they got the kidney stone. Hubby is in recovery. The stone was 8mm big, and they had to laser it to break it up and then remove all the pieces. And he tells me a few other details that I will not share with you to spare hubby's dignity. But let's just say, um, they didn't cut into him, they went into him in a very invasive way, and there were special instructions.
10:00 am - I am back on the road after stopping at home and packing a few things and kissing my kids (who are having fun with Gran.) I am hurrying because I think they'll need his CPAP machine for him in recovery. I want him to be able to breathe!
10:35 am - I arrive at the hospital and verify the fact that I cannot park in parking garages. It takes me two tries to park in a choice spot before I just say to heck with it and decide to park way up at the top where there are lots of empty spaces.
10:40 am - I curse the fact that I parked so far away and now have to lug the heavy bag I packed down three flights of stairs. Darn parking garage and it's tiny little parking spaces!
10:50 am - Arrive back at waiting room and hurriedly tell volunteer that I have the CPAP machine my hubby so desperately needed. She calls recovery and says he doesn't need it right now, and that I can wait until he's given a room. I think some very bad words, and park myself right next to her desk so she doesn't forget about me. And I wait, and wait, and wait.
12:45 pm - The doctor comes in to give a report to another family and sees me waiting there. He asks if I have hubby's machine. The he goes and calls Recovery himself to make sure hubby doesn't need the machine. Hubby doesn't, and I wait, again.
1:00 pm - I'm told I can go back to his room. I'm told he's in ICU. As in, Intensive Care Unit. I didn't know he was there. I thought he was going to be put into a regular old room. Now I'm worried. I go into his room, which really isn't much of a room. It's got three walls, and a curtain forms the other wall. The nurses desk faces the bed. Hubby's in the bed hooked up to all kinds of machines. He's got oxygen going into his nose. And if he hadn't been awake and talking, I would have been scared to death to see him in there like that. But he is awake, and talking, and mad as hell about having to be kept overnight.
(This is the part of the story I was not privy to until later: when they wheeled him back into the operating room, the anesthesiologist told him they would do a spinal (epidural) instead of putting him under. Because of his sleep apnea, he said. But what they didn't know was that my dear hubby was nervous as heck about them operating on him. So hubby told them if they were going to be doing what they were going to be doing to him, they would have to put him under. There was no way he would let them otherwise. So they put him under. And they had trouble with a breathing tube - his throat had such a tiny airway, they couldn't get the breathing tube into it. So they brought in a special tube. It didn't go in easily either. Which meant they had to shove. And for a while they had to keep him alive by manually giving him oxygen with one of those bags you squeeze (I have no idea what they're called.) Which is why he ended up in ICU. They were worried the effects of the anesthesia would cause his airways to relax to the point that no air would be able to get in at all. Which is what happened while he was on the operating table.)
1:00 - 6:30 pm - We watch way too much A&E on TV - including Dog the Bounty Hunter and Flip This House. (None or which I would recommend to anyone.) Hubby has a severe sore throat (from them shoving a tube down it) and he is sore. But mostly, he's mad that he has to be there hooked up to so many machines when he was supposed to just go in for an hour or so and them go home. He's unable to walk around because of the pulse/oxygen monitor, oxygen tube, IV and EKG. He finally talks the nurse into removing the oxygen. And she's such a champion for him, she calls around to all the doctors to see if they can remove some of the other tubes too. She's successful in getting the IV tube taken off, but he has to keep the needle in his hand, just in case. Hubby argues (nicely, not belligerently) with various doctors to try and get himself discharged, but to no avail. One doctor even sends in reinforcements to argue her case. I head to the little cafe down the hall to get food and drink. I find muffins and coffee. Which is much better that nothing, but still not much sustenance. I bring them back to ICU and notice a sign on the door that says no food or drink allowed. I go in anyway. Heck, I've only had 2 peanut butter crackers all day, and at this point I really don't care if I'm breaking any rules. So I savor my muffin (which is dry) and my latte (which I should have gotten in a bigger size.) And then, after sitting in the world's most uncomfortable chair for a very long time, I have to go. In ICU they are only allowed visitors for 15 - 20 minutes. I've obviously been there for much longer (and brought in contraband food, bad me) but now my time is up. It's shift change time and they won't allow anyone to be there. Also, I'm exhausted, and there are kids and Gran waiting for me at home. So I kiss hubby goodbye, and go. And I cry. Because he seems fine, but he's still in ICU and that means they think something bad could happen at any time, otherwise they would have put him in a regular old room. I hope nothing bad happens while I'm not there.
7:00 pm - I arrive home without getting lost. The kids and Gran are out at the store, and it feels so lonely in the house. I go get a shower and realize that that was the longest I have ever been away from my children. And I miss them so. I get them to bed and all tucked in. Hubby calls from the hospital (illegally using a phone that's only supposed to be used for him to order food, but his nurses have told him they'll look the other way) and he sings Itsy Bitsy Spider and tells the kids goodnight. I tell him that instead of being there when visiting hours start in the morning, I plan on coming early. So if they release him early, I'll be there, waiting in the waiting room and he doesn't have to be there any longer than necessary. I want him home. He wants to be home.
8:30 pm - I fall exhaustedly into bed, and sleep pretty soundly, considering.
Tuesday, August 8th
I'll spare you the timeline now, because, really, it's uneventful from here. I went to the hospital early, and he was released early. He didn't sleep but for 3 hours the previous night, and is exhausted. He refuses to be wheeled out in a wheelchair, and his nurse (who I love, by the way) finally gives in and compromises with him. He can walk out if only if a staff member walks him out. So that's what happens. And he arrives home, finally, a day late from his outpatient surgery which turned into a near death experience, and a lot sore.
I think it's all best described in a timeline - otherwise, my paragraphs would be full of 'and then this happened, and then this, then this...'
Monday, August 7
4:30 am - We get up and get a shower. Hubby's up before the alarm clock because he couldn't sleep at all the night before.
5:30 am - Leave the house and start the drive to the hospital. I have a cup of coffee in a travel mug and some peanut butter crackers in my purse. But I don't eat them because hubby is not allowed to eat anything before the surgery. I do, however, drink the coffee because it still feels like the middle of the damn night!
6:15 am - Arrive at hospital and check in at the required time on the dot. I'm proud that we're actually on time for once. I think it has to do with the fact that we didn't have the kids with us. (They are at home with Gran - Hubby's mom.) We go from one waiting room to another, and hubby fills out various forms and such. I think about the peanut butter crackers in my purse, and my mouth waters. But I resist. (I'm strong like that.)
7:00 am - The nurse that is going to prep him for surgery comes for him and brings us to a 'prep' area (I have no idea what's it's actually called back there.) She brings us to a room (more like a curtained area) and gives him a gown to change into. (This room is also where all of your dignity is stripped from you, not just your clothes.) She then leaves and tells us she'll be right back. Which, in hospital terms, means she'll be back eventually. The anesthesiologist comes in to check hubby. Hubby tells the man he has Sleep Apnea (important detail, here) and the guy does not say that will be a problem in any way. The nurse comes back and starts hubby on an IV (which is enough to start a panic attack for him, but he was strong, and resists.) She also gives him a shot to 'take the edge off of any anxiety' and he reports back that it does not seem to be taking any edge off at all. He's still anxious.
8:00 am - I'm told they are going to 'take him on back', and shown on a map how to get to the waiting room. I have to consult the map several times on my way to finding the waiting room. Evidently, it's supposed to be easy to get there. It's not for me. Once there, I find a seat and take out the book I brought (for the procedure that's supposed to last about an hour or so) and break out my peanut butter crackers. It's then that I notice a sign that tells people not to eat in the waiting room. I eat 2 crackers anyway. But then I put them away, because I'm afraid I'll get thrown out of the waiting room for excessive cracker eating.
8:25 am - The doctor comes into the waiting room looking for me. I'm nervous. Then I wonder if it's over already, and I get happy. Then he looks at me with serious eyes. I'm nervous again. He says they are going to have to keep hubby overnight. He says it has to do with his sleep apnea and that he'll need his CPAP machine. Which means I'll need to go home and get it. All I can think is, 'Man, hubby's not going to like this. He hates the hospital.' So I ask the doctor is hubby knows he's going to have to stay. Doctor says, "Yes, he knows, and he's not happy." Doctor kindly offers to take my cell phone number and call me when the procedure is over, because now I'll be in the car heading home for his CPAP machine instead of waiting in the waiting room for any news. Man, I think, this sucks.
9:00 am - I am lost. I am driving around the beltline, and I do not recognize anything. I am silently thanking my dear hubby for filling up my gas tank right before we arrived at the hospital that morning because I surely would have run out of gas otherwise. I call my mother-in-law at home and ask her if she knows where in the heck I am. Luckily, she knows that I am heading in the wrong direction. So I turn around.
9:45 am - I am now almost home. And the doctor calls to tell me they got the kidney stone. Hubby is in recovery. The stone was 8mm big, and they had to laser it to break it up and then remove all the pieces. And he tells me a few other details that I will not share with you to spare hubby's dignity. But let's just say, um, they didn't cut into him, they went into him in a very invasive way, and there were special instructions.
10:00 am - I am back on the road after stopping at home and packing a few things and kissing my kids (who are having fun with Gran.) I am hurrying because I think they'll need his CPAP machine for him in recovery. I want him to be able to breathe!
10:35 am - I arrive at the hospital and verify the fact that I cannot park in parking garages. It takes me two tries to park in a choice spot before I just say to heck with it and decide to park way up at the top where there are lots of empty spaces.
10:40 am - I curse the fact that I parked so far away and now have to lug the heavy bag I packed down three flights of stairs. Darn parking garage and it's tiny little parking spaces!
10:50 am - Arrive back at waiting room and hurriedly tell volunteer that I have the CPAP machine my hubby so desperately needed. She calls recovery and says he doesn't need it right now, and that I can wait until he's given a room. I think some very bad words, and park myself right next to her desk so she doesn't forget about me. And I wait, and wait, and wait.
12:45 pm - The doctor comes in to give a report to another family and sees me waiting there. He asks if I have hubby's machine. The he goes and calls Recovery himself to make sure hubby doesn't need the machine. Hubby doesn't, and I wait, again.
1:00 pm - I'm told I can go back to his room. I'm told he's in ICU. As in, Intensive Care Unit. I didn't know he was there. I thought he was going to be put into a regular old room. Now I'm worried. I go into his room, which really isn't much of a room. It's got three walls, and a curtain forms the other wall. The nurses desk faces the bed. Hubby's in the bed hooked up to all kinds of machines. He's got oxygen going into his nose. And if he hadn't been awake and talking, I would have been scared to death to see him in there like that. But he is awake, and talking, and mad as hell about having to be kept overnight.
(This is the part of the story I was not privy to until later: when they wheeled him back into the operating room, the anesthesiologist told him they would do a spinal (epidural) instead of putting him under. Because of his sleep apnea, he said. But what they didn't know was that my dear hubby was nervous as heck about them operating on him. So hubby told them if they were going to be doing what they were going to be doing to him, they would have to put him under. There was no way he would let them otherwise. So they put him under. And they had trouble with a breathing tube - his throat had such a tiny airway, they couldn't get the breathing tube into it. So they brought in a special tube. It didn't go in easily either. Which meant they had to shove. And for a while they had to keep him alive by manually giving him oxygen with one of those bags you squeeze (I have no idea what they're called.) Which is why he ended up in ICU. They were worried the effects of the anesthesia would cause his airways to relax to the point that no air would be able to get in at all. Which is what happened while he was on the operating table.)
1:00 - 6:30 pm - We watch way too much A&E on TV - including Dog the Bounty Hunter and Flip This House. (None or which I would recommend to anyone.) Hubby has a severe sore throat (from them shoving a tube down it) and he is sore. But mostly, he's mad that he has to be there hooked up to so many machines when he was supposed to just go in for an hour or so and them go home. He's unable to walk around because of the pulse/oxygen monitor, oxygen tube, IV and EKG. He finally talks the nurse into removing the oxygen. And she's such a champion for him, she calls around to all the doctors to see if they can remove some of the other tubes too. She's successful in getting the IV tube taken off, but he has to keep the needle in his hand, just in case. Hubby argues (nicely, not belligerently) with various doctors to try and get himself discharged, but to no avail. One doctor even sends in reinforcements to argue her case. I head to the little cafe down the hall to get food and drink. I find muffins and coffee. Which is much better that nothing, but still not much sustenance. I bring them back to ICU and notice a sign on the door that says no food or drink allowed. I go in anyway. Heck, I've only had 2 peanut butter crackers all day, and at this point I really don't care if I'm breaking any rules. So I savor my muffin (which is dry) and my latte (which I should have gotten in a bigger size.) And then, after sitting in the world's most uncomfortable chair for a very long time, I have to go. In ICU they are only allowed visitors for 15 - 20 minutes. I've obviously been there for much longer (and brought in contraband food, bad me) but now my time is up. It's shift change time and they won't allow anyone to be there. Also, I'm exhausted, and there are kids and Gran waiting for me at home. So I kiss hubby goodbye, and go. And I cry. Because he seems fine, but he's still in ICU and that means they think something bad could happen at any time, otherwise they would have put him in a regular old room. I hope nothing bad happens while I'm not there.
7:00 pm - I arrive home without getting lost. The kids and Gran are out at the store, and it feels so lonely in the house. I go get a shower and realize that that was the longest I have ever been away from my children. And I miss them so. I get them to bed and all tucked in. Hubby calls from the hospital (illegally using a phone that's only supposed to be used for him to order food, but his nurses have told him they'll look the other way) and he sings Itsy Bitsy Spider and tells the kids goodnight. I tell him that instead of being there when visiting hours start in the morning, I plan on coming early. So if they release him early, I'll be there, waiting in the waiting room and he doesn't have to be there any longer than necessary. I want him home. He wants to be home.
8:30 pm - I fall exhaustedly into bed, and sleep pretty soundly, considering.
Tuesday, August 8th
I'll spare you the timeline now, because, really, it's uneventful from here. I went to the hospital early, and he was released early. He didn't sleep but for 3 hours the previous night, and is exhausted. He refuses to be wheeled out in a wheelchair, and his nurse (who I love, by the way) finally gives in and compromises with him. He can walk out if only if a staff member walks him out. So that's what happens. And he arrives home, finally, a day late from his outpatient surgery which turned into a near death experience, and a lot sore.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Homecoming (?)
Well... where do I start?
The routine outpatient surgery that my husband went in for yesterday ended up being a night in the ICU.
As far as I know, everything went fine last night, and he can be released this morning. So I'm headed up there to camp out in the horrible, cramped waiting room and bring him home as soon as they say he can go.
The good news is, he is kidney stone-less at the moment. (We're going to try our hardest to keep him that way, but sometimes nature has a different idea.)
Keep your fingers crossed for a speedy return home for him - and hope I don't get myself turned around (or just darn lost) in the city on my way home (like I did yesterday.)
The routine outpatient surgery that my husband went in for yesterday ended up being a night in the ICU.
As far as I know, everything went fine last night, and he can be released this morning. So I'm headed up there to camp out in the horrible, cramped waiting room and bring him home as soon as they say he can go.
The good news is, he is kidney stone-less at the moment. (We're going to try our hardest to keep him that way, but sometimes nature has a different idea.)
Keep your fingers crossed for a speedy return home for him - and hope I don't get myself turned around (or just darn lost) in the city on my way home (like I did yesterday.)
Friday, August 04, 2006
Because all the self pity embarasses me.
I just deleted a post that went a little like this: whine, whine, whine, and a little more whine.
So if you read it, well, sorry. That was written by a woman who just needed to be hit upside the head and told to get over herself. (And that's what I did.)
If you didn't read it, good for you. It was enough to make you throw up a little bit in your mouth because of all the silly self pity and whining.
Enjoy your weekend.
So if you read it, well, sorry. That was written by a woman who just needed to be hit upside the head and told to get over herself. (And that's what I did.)
If you didn't read it, good for you. It was enough to make you throw up a little bit in your mouth because of all the silly self pity and whining.
Enjoy your weekend.
She's friendly.
My daughter has been working on writing sentences this summer. She tells me the sentence she wants to write, and I write the words in no particular order. Then she pieces them together to form sentences. These are the words I wrote for her the other night:
loves
even
me
if
I
everybody
them
like
don't
Guess what sentence she wanted to make.
"Everybody loves me even if I don't like them."
I think that tells you a lot about my daughter. She's humble. And kind.
loves
even
me
if
I
everybody
them
like
don't
Guess what sentence she wanted to make."Everybody loves me even if I don't like them."
I think that tells you a lot about my daughter. She's humble. And kind.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Out of the loop.
So... I just found out some news. School here doesn't start the 6th of September, like I thought. Instead, it starts the 25th of August. I'm just sitting here thinking, huh, how did I not know that?
But in my defense, let me back up a minute and tell you why I thought it would be September before I gleefully sent my precious little ones out of my house! Oh, I mean, back to school. When I registered my daughter for Kindergarten, they told me her fist day would be either September 6th or 7th. (Half went one day, the other half went the next.) So being the queen of assumptions that I am, (and, no, you don't have to tell me the ass before u and me thing, thank you) I just assumed the first day of school is the 6th. Wouldn't you?
Well, what they didn't tell me was that the kindergarteners start later than everyone else. Huh.
Also, what they did not tell me when they gave out all the information regarding the early pick up on the last day of school was, wait for it... the date of the first day of school in the fall. It would seem to me that a simple, "Have a great summer and we'll see you again on the 25th of August!" would have been in order here. It would seem...
So, am I the only one who didn't know? Also, am I the only one who feels so out of the loop? I have no idea what the protocols are for starting school, registering, and getting supplies. I do not know when we find out which teacher my kids have and what supplies to send them with on the first day. I just seem to have no idea, period.
I guess I'll have to break down and call the school. Then, I'll sound like a woman who is totally unfit to be a mother when I ask things like, oh, for instance, where do I drop them off at and when's the latest I can pick them up.
But in my defense, let me back up a minute and tell you why I thought it would be September before I gleefully sent my precious little ones out of my house! Oh, I mean, back to school. When I registered my daughter for Kindergarten, they told me her fist day would be either September 6th or 7th. (Half went one day, the other half went the next.) So being the queen of assumptions that I am, (and, no, you don't have to tell me the ass before u and me thing, thank you) I just assumed the first day of school is the 6th. Wouldn't you?
Well, what they didn't tell me was that the kindergarteners start later than everyone else. Huh.
Also, what they did not tell me when they gave out all the information regarding the early pick up on the last day of school was, wait for it... the date of the first day of school in the fall. It would seem to me that a simple, "Have a great summer and we'll see you again on the 25th of August!" would have been in order here. It would seem...
So, am I the only one who didn't know? Also, am I the only one who feels so out of the loop? I have no idea what the protocols are for starting school, registering, and getting supplies. I do not know when we find out which teacher my kids have and what supplies to send them with on the first day. I just seem to have no idea, period.
I guess I'll have to break down and call the school. Then, I'll sound like a woman who is totally unfit to be a mother when I ask things like, oh, for instance, where do I drop them off at and when's the latest I can pick them up.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
TMI
Somewhere along the way, my husband and I decided that we would make an effort to not have our children worry about money. As in, we would not ever let them be a part of the 'we don't have enough money for this or that so that's why you can't have that/go there, etc...'
Now, we are not dirt poor (although it feels that way sometimes) and we are not filthy rich either. We live a comfortable life in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and have a nice car. Nothing too big, nor too extravagant, but just, well, nice.
But in this world there comes the dreaded 'unexpected expenses' and we don't have a wad of money lying around to use for such things. We just live life with the 'hope it doesn't get too bad' attitude. And so far, although it has been bad at times, it's never been 'too bad'. We've made it through all sorts of situations that could have been financially and emotionally devistating, yet through some weird twist of fate (and a lot of wishing and hoping,) it never ruined us (financially or emotionally.)
This is one of those times when we are hit with a few 'unexpected expenses'. And because of said expenses, I have had to stop letting the kids go with a babysitter twice a week. (And I know some of you are going, no big deal!) To me, however, it is a big deal. The kids Loved (with a capital L) going with Little T and his mom. They went to the movies, the library, the pool, and to great playgrounds. They looked forward to time away from the little ones I babysit, and time to do big kid stuff.
I had to dissapoint them, and it makes me sad.
(Because I like to spoil them and make them happy. That makes me happy.)
My daughter asked me today why they weren't going with Little T and his mom. I gave her some fluff answer about it being close to the end of the summer and we had to work on reading and other pre-school kind of things. I could tell by the look she gave me that she really didn't buy my answer. Thank goodness she didn't ask any more questions, though, because the next words out of my mouth would have been, "Because we can't afford it right now!"
And that, that, my friends, would have gone against everything my husband and I agreed upon.
(And my husband is of the firm belief that talking about this is sharing too much information, so, um, let's not talk about it anymore. Okay? Okay.)
Now, we are not dirt poor (although it feels that way sometimes) and we are not filthy rich either. We live a comfortable life in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and have a nice car. Nothing too big, nor too extravagant, but just, well, nice.
But in this world there comes the dreaded 'unexpected expenses' and we don't have a wad of money lying around to use for such things. We just live life with the 'hope it doesn't get too bad' attitude. And so far, although it has been bad at times, it's never been 'too bad'. We've made it through all sorts of situations that could have been financially and emotionally devistating, yet through some weird twist of fate (and a lot of wishing and hoping,) it never ruined us (financially or emotionally.)
This is one of those times when we are hit with a few 'unexpected expenses'. And because of said expenses, I have had to stop letting the kids go with a babysitter twice a week. (And I know some of you are going, no big deal!) To me, however, it is a big deal. The kids Loved (with a capital L) going with Little T and his mom. They went to the movies, the library, the pool, and to great playgrounds. They looked forward to time away from the little ones I babysit, and time to do big kid stuff.
I had to dissapoint them, and it makes me sad.
(Because I like to spoil them and make them happy. That makes me happy.)
My daughter asked me today why they weren't going with Little T and his mom. I gave her some fluff answer about it being close to the end of the summer and we had to work on reading and other pre-school kind of things. I could tell by the look she gave me that she really didn't buy my answer. Thank goodness she didn't ask any more questions, though, because the next words out of my mouth would have been, "Because we can't afford it right now!"
And that, that, my friends, would have gone against everything my husband and I agreed upon.
(And my husband is of the firm belief that talking about this is sharing too much information, so, um, let's not talk about it anymore. Okay? Okay.)
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
I just thought I'd share.
This is what is on my mind:
- My husband has to go in for surgery on Monday. Outpatient, but surgery all the same.
- The temperature outside is hitting well above 100 degrees (literally, and also in 'real feel') and will be doing so for the next week or so, causing my air conditioner to run constantly.
- Although it is August, school still doesn't start here for over a month. The kids are getting bored and I am getting tired.
- The heat. Did I mention the heat?
- The kids will need school supplies, clothes, etc...
- Surgery. Have I mentioned surgery?
- The cost of all of the above is enough to make my head pop right off of my body, and go spinning into outer space.
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