Blog Title: A Smeddling Kiss

What Thanksgiving Means to my Daughter, Apparently.

Turkey = Mute, dead food that tastes rockingly delicioso.

Come For the Snot, Stay for the Kvetching!

I'm 90% better, still a little sniffly but back to normalish. There is, unfortunately, still snot. You know, in case you were wondering about the state of my sinuses.

I actually had a productive weekend, tackling one of those home projects I've been putting off for years. Yes, years, like 3 years since we moved into this house. I'll admit it - we've been really bad about cleaning out old toys ever since we moved into a nice roomy house with lots of closet space.

Every now and then I'd get a burst of energy, usually after watching a "Clean House" marathon or something, and start organizing the toy closet. My little bursts of good intention were usually foiled when I'd show the kids a bin full of toys I thought they would be happy to give away. You know how that goes, right? You show them a mish-mash of random fast food toys and they immediately start gushing about how you've "found" all their "lost" toys and begin losing their minds at the thought of parting with such precious objects.

I persevered, however, and the kids were actually a great help. We spent hours and hours cleaning and organizing, and although I'm still not done with it, we already managed to fill 6 or 7 big Rubbermaid storage bins with stuff to get rid of. Of course, "stuff to get rid of" is a euphemism for "stuff that will sit in the basement for another year until we need the space down there," but I can live with that if I don't have to see it everyday.
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Change of subject: Dr. V. is getting on my nerves with his continued conviction that he can actually bend time and shift space in order to cram as many commitments into each day of his life.

Q: If you know you have to work on Sunday to make up the day so everyone in the department can have the Friday after Thanksgiving off, what should you do with your Saturday, your one day off in 10 days? (Remember, you have kids!)

A: You should totally volunteer to be one of the alumnae to help out at your fraternity's initiation of new members. Saturday, Schmaturday - if you get up at 6:30 a.m., you can be there at 8 a.m.! And you can stay until... whoops! You were supposed to be at a dinner party back on Cape Cod! And you can rush there to meet your lovely wife, and then you can go home at 9 p.m. and kiss your children goodnight! And your wife will totally not stew about your habit of overcommiting yourself!

(Pop Quiz: Which part of the above ridiculous scenario do you think is not true?)
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OK, enough snot and kvetching. I spent lunchtime today at Peanut's school, helping his kindergarten class with a Thanksgiving "feast." Half the kids were Pilgrims, half were "Indi...I-mean-Native-Americans." (I swear to God, I heard at least a dozen little kids say that phrase over the course of the meal.)

They looked adorable, and sang us their little Thanksgiving song, and it was cute, and I tried really hard to appreciate it and not be all, "Second-kid-yada-yada-let's-move-this-thing-along-I-got-errands-to-run-PEOPLE!"

I did, however, try my first turkey-stuffing-cranberry sauced sandwich, and it was surprisingly good. I don't know why I never try stuff like that, some weird "stuffing on a roll is just wrong" puritanical food streak in me, I guess. I already like my carbs waaaaaaaayyyy too much, and now I'm afraid a whole new carb-on-carb tasty world has opened up to me. Yikes!
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Fin.

It's All About Me

Slowly, sloooowwwwwlly, I am implementing my big plans for this blog. I'm setting up a separate review blog. I'm re-styling the blog and trying to figure out how to wrangle Blogger into doing what I want to do in lieu of switching the site over to a self-hosted account.

Unfortunately, this week has been so miserable that all I've managed is a couple posts about snot and an expanded "About Me" page, which was written on a cold medicine buzz in about 5 minutes.

Sigh. Baby steps, right?

Still Full of Snot!

Maybe it didn't happen to you until pregnancy, or the first few months of caring for an infant. You don't have kids, huh? Well, perhaps it was that shared bathroom in that roach-filled place you lived in college? Or maybe you had a friend or relative you helped out, or a particularly interesting job, or a really bad night out. Whatever it was, at some point we've all felt it: the fascination with bodily fluids.

I'm still sick, but I've reached the point where the speed and quantity of my nasal secretions has ebbed. No, we are into the quality stage now. You know exactly what I mean, don't you? I no longer have to reach for a tissue every couple of minutes, but my chapped philtrum is still smeared with vaseline.

No, I'm now up to the game show stage: "What's In My Tissue?"

The colors! Hmmmm, what would you call that shade of green? The texture! Ooooooh, gooey... with crunchy bits!

Yeah, I know. Totally gross. Sorry. I'd blame the cold meds, but today is the first day I haven't taken any. I guess I'm just giddy with all the pressure changes going on in my sinuses.

(But I KNOW you look sometimes, too.)

Surrounded By Snot-Filled Kleenex

I think the title pretty much sums up what I've been up to for the last week or so.

I'm starting to emerge from the blanket of exhaustion I've been curled up under since Sunday, but my head is still filled with so much mucus that I can't hear very well. If there was ever any doubt that I am overly sensitive to noise, the peaceful feeling I've had over the last few days of muffled whining and blissfully ignored televised sports commentary has proven it. I'm going to miss that cotton-stuffed feeling when my ears finally pop and all the normal household annoyances are back at full volume.

I know this is a poor excuse for a post, but since I am a poor excuse for a functioning human today it will have to do.

Nice, Dude. Classy.

I can't remember if I ever posted this one, before, but I'm cleaning everything off my old cell phone before I donate it, so here you go.

Yeah, I'd totally want this skeevy guy working on my house. Wouldn't you?

6 Years Old

Make a Smilebox slideshow

That's All I Have to Say About That

I found this scrap of paper on the kitchen counter. Pepper's class is learning to write in cursive. Isn't this the most perfect summary of the 3rd grade experience in 2008?

Random Bits

I'm catching up on a lot of stuff today. I had to leave at the butt-crack of dawn on Saturday morning to attend training for the Big Secret Activity I Can't Blog About. I decided that yes, I would be involved in this activity again this year, and while it looks to be a ton of work, I also think it will be a lot of fun as well. It was very informative, but I didn't get home until late afternoon, so that kind of shot our Saturday down.

Sunday wasn't too much better, since Dr. V. had to go treat a patient at 8 a.m. and then drive up to Boston to check on his dad, who is now home from the hospital. It will still be a while before he is up and around again, but so far so good. We have other drama going on in the family, as usual, but speaking of things I can't blog about... look! Over there! Something shiny!

Anyway, he didn't get home until dinner time last night, so that was our exciting weekend. Since the temperature cooled down, I have begun a new tradition of baking on Sunday with the kids. One week it was muffins, another week banana bread. We decided to make 2 types of muffins yesterday, apple/carrot and corn. 24 hours later, the dozen apple/carrot ones are gone, because you know how this family feels about our apples. Even Peanut ate a couple of them - which is HUGE, by the way, since he barely eats any "combination food."

I might have to whip up some more this afternoon, since Pepper is very concerned about eating healthily after the whole Halloween hoopla. In fact, she's worried that she's becoming diabetic... because she was thirsty at one point yesterday. Sigh. No, the hypochondria and anxiety haven't gone away, but thanks for asking.

Speaking of Pepper, here's a totally random photo for you:



I call it, "Table for One." On my birthday, Pepper made this little vignette for me and left it for me to find on the kitchen counter, next to phone.

No election talk from me today, except to say that I'm baffled by people who say they are still undecided. Anyone who is still undecided probably shouldn't be voting tomorrow. I mean, really - if you haven't been able to find anything to sway you one way or the other, then you just haven't bothered to think about it. Stay home and make the lines a little less crowded for those of us (from both parties) who actually care about our future. Yeesh.

My Husband is a Halloweenie

Peanut's peanut allergy means that Halloween is always a little problematic around here. Trick or treating is non-existent in our neighborhood of retirees and part-time residents, so we've always done the "safe trick or treat" put on by the merchants on the local Main Street. We meet up with friends of ours, spend an hour strolling down the street, end up at the carousel, get some cotton candy, and head home. We are usually home by 6, swapping out the peanut candy for safe treats and gloating over stomachaches yet to come.

This year, Peanut decided to be Harry Potter and Pepper was a Half Devil/Half Angel, which is soooooo appropriate these days. Cute, huh?



Usually, Dr. V.'s department at the hospital dresses up for the day. The last few years, they've gone with a theme - one year it was "Grease," for example. This year, he told me everyone was going as Elvis, but then denied having the time to go get a costume. He told me Thursday night that he didn't have a costume but that he would try to get out of the office in time to meet us on Main Street for the end of trick or treating.

I should have known something was up when he was so insistent on meeting us...



The best part? Right as I came up against the harsh reality that my husband had been flashing inappropriate amounts of chest hair at people all day, I heard hysterical snickering from some people on the sidewalk behind us. Yeah - it was two of the dental technicians from the kids' dental office, who looked at me and said, "Does he belong to you?"

Yes, unfortunately. He's all mine - one big hunka hunka burnin' love.

iBoy

Subtle, She Ain't.

I was reading some of the posts from this weekend's Parent Bloggers Network Blog Blast about pets. Pets are a sensitive subject around my house these days. Pepper is relentless in her requests for a pet, specifically a dog. Unfortunately, both her father and her brother are allergic to dogs. A conundrum, yes?

I grew up in a house with a typical cat (cuddly when it felt like it) and two poorly chosen canine companions. The first was a husky/poodle mix named "Dasher," who lasted about 5 months before "dashing" under a car. This happened while I was on my 9th grade French Club trip to France. I learned a lot on that trip, mostly about how much boys liked my friends and thought I was "really easy to talk to." Sigh. I arrived home after a week away to find my future nemesis curled up in a ball of fluff in the corner of the kitchen.

For reasons known only to themselves, my parents had decided to assuage my 6 yr. old brother's grief by buying another dog immediately. I can only assume that having had such bad luck with an active, high energy dog, they decided that a dog with the intelligence of a lima bean would be a better fit.

Thus began the tyranny of The Stupidest Dog in the World. We used to talk about booking him on Letterman for "Stupid Pet Tricks," because the only trick he knew was a behavioral conditioning routine that never, ever failed. Long story short: the dog got so used to one of us kids yelling, "Hey, Mom! Call the dog!" that it expected my mom to be waiting in the kitchen with a treat every time one of us yelled out that particular phrase.

You could be sitting there, alone in the house, watching a movie with the dog whining and begging for treats, and if you called out, "Hey Mom, call the dog!" the dog would race out of the room and go looking for the magical treat dispensing lady. Then his little pea brain would get distracted and he'd go do something else, and eventually he'd find his way back to the family room. Then you'd yell, "Hey Mom! Call the dog!" and he'd race away again.

Ah, memories. Which brings us to Pepper, and the desire of parents to provide their children with the typical childhood experiences. Here are the facts: The girl wants a dog. She has wanted a dog for years. Her father and brother are allergic to dogs. I am not ready for a dog. Yet, the girl is persistent. Persistent and not at all shy about expressing her desires. You may notice a theme, beginning with her Christmas list:



Here, she is presenting her case for a family dog:



I feel awful saying "no, no, noooooooooo, maybe someday, nope, nyet, NO ALREADY" about something as wholesome as a pet.

But I'm sure as hell not ready to say "Yes."

Go Read This, If You Haven't Already.

Wow. I'm always blown away by what Jenn Mattern writes, be it about subjects small or large. However, this is by far one of the most outstanding, inspirational things I've ever read about blogging.

Call it a blogging manifesto, call it a brilliant piece of writing or a bolt from the blue, but go read it, please.

Birthday Girl

Last year, Dr. V. and the kids gave me something really nice for my birthday. This year, they gave me something even nicer:



I love it so much, I am considering running away with it to Argentina. The two of us will spend the next few months tangoing together while I watch the entire 1st season of "30 Rock" on my new love's little screen.

I agonized whether I needed such an extravagant gift, but after talking about it, Dr. V. said, "I never have any free time during the day, so I forget how much of your time is spent waiting to pick up and drive and attend the kids' activities. We should get you one." 3 days I've had this thing, and already I have checked my e-mail while waiting for school pick-up, caught up on a few blogs killing time in a parking lot, taken a few impromptu photos, and starting listening to podcasts and watching shows on the damn thing. I took it as a sign that both our car and the remainder of Dr. V.'s student loans have been paid off in the last 2 months to agree to the splurge, and I'm a happy camper.

In other, non-material news, there is a lot of stuff going on. My FIL is in the hospital as I type this, being prepped for surgery. My own father is home from the hospital with his post-surgical infection under control. Peanut has been sick for almost a week, and his behavior is - how do I put this delicately? "Not what one would hope for?"

Of course, amidst all the tantrums are nuggets of hilarity. He has decided that the way to get what he wants is to end each request (or demand) with the phrase, "I rest my case!" I have to work very hard to maintain my "Patient Parent" voice when faced with a rude "I want more ice cream for dessert! I want more! I rest my case!"

Anyway. To celebrate my birthday I will be taking a shower and doing a mundane day's worth of errands. However, after I'm done picking up the dry cleaning and buying milk, I'm going to treat myself (and the family) to cupcakes from the fancy cupcake store I've been meaning to check out. This is 43, and I'm pretty happy with it so far.

I'm an Audrey.

Saw this over on Chicky Chicky Baby, and honestly? I'm not sure how a 2 question quiz nailed my personality so directly. It's a little freaky.



You are an Audrey -- "I am at peace"

Audreys are receptive, good-natured, and supportive. They seek union with others and the world around them.

How to Get Along with Me

* * If you want me to do something, how you ask is important. I especially don't like expectations or pressure
* * I like to listen and to be of service, but don't take advantage of this
* * Listen until I finish speaking, even though I meander a bit
* * Give me time to finish things and make decisions. It's OK to nudge me gently and nonjudgmentally
* * Ask me questions to help me get clear
* * Tell me when you like how I look. I'm not averse to flattery
* * Hug me, show physical affection. It opens me up to my feelings
* * I like a good discussion but not a confrontation
* * Let me know you like what I've done or said
* * Laugh with me and share in my enjoyment of life


What I Like About Being an Audrey

* * being nonjudgmental and accepting
* * caring for and being concerned about others
* * being able to relax and have a good time
* * knowing that most people enjoy my company; I'm easy to be around
* * my ability to see many different sides of an issue and to be a good mediator and facilitator
* * my heightened awareness of sensations, aesthetics, and the here and now
* * being able to go with the flow and feel one with the universe


What's Hard About Being an Audrey

* * being judged and misunderstood for being placid and/or indecisive
* * being critical of myself for lacking initiative and discipline
* * being too sensitive to criticism; taking every raised eyebrow and twitch of the mouth personally
* * being confused about what I really want
* * caring too much about what others will think of me
* * not being listened to or taken seriously


Audreys as Children Often

* * feel ignored and that their wants, opinions, and feelings are unimportant
* * tune out a lot, especially when others argue
* * are "good" children: deny anger or keep it to themselves


Audreys as Parents

* * are supportive, kind, and warm
* * are sometimes overly permissive or nondirective

"We Have a Situation."

This morning got thrown all out of whack when I received a phone call from the school bus dispatcher. She said, "Uhm. We have a situation on Peanut's bus. The bus driver just called me to say that they found one of the kids eating a granola bar and the wrapper says it may contain peanuts."

I'm being completely honest here: my first reaction was, "So what?" There was a part of me that badly wanted to say, "Eh. It won't hurt him. He's never reacted from being in proximity to peanuts, only from ingesting them. Don't you have a dustbuster or something they can use? I gotta get my other kid to the bus stop in 4 minutes and I'm not even dressed!"

But of course I didn't say that. I reacted like I should, said I'd drive him to school and could they make sure they cleaned the bus thoroughly? Then I slapped on a bra, swiped on some lip gloss, called that "getting dressed," and drove the kids to their schools.

Thinking about my initial reaction after the fact, I realized that I really need to fight the complacence that has slipped in after so many years without an allergic reaction. The hard-won vigilance about anything in his environment has shifted. He no longer sticks anything that fits into his mouth, and his entire school is now peanut free, and those two things have lifted the burden from me and made me forget how quickly it could all go wrong.

Say It With Me: "Barack Obama"

I overheard the kids discussing the election the other night:

"If I had a chance to vote, I'd pick Barack Obama."
"What's vote?"
"When you pick the leaders of a place, like the mayor or the president."
"Who is mayor of Cape Cod?"
"I don't know. But I want Barack Obama to be president."
"Parock Odemba."
"No - Barack Obama."
"Bearact Edema."
"No, Peanut - Bar. Awck. Oh. Bama!"
"Oooooohhhh - Picnic Aroma!"

At which point we all cracked up. Hopefully, the kid will have at least 4 years to get it right, 'cause "President Picnic Aroma" doesn't sound very dignified.

BlogHer Boston

I had the pleasure of attending the BlogHer Boston conference this weekend. I almost didn't go, because I woke up on Friday and started combing through my in-box for my registration confirmation and... huh! That's so weird! Because I KNOW I registered. I have a totally clear memory of registering for the Boston conference, so maybe I used a different e-mail? Hmmmmm. Nope - nothing in other e-mail accounts, and no debit from our bank account, so... HUH! I totally didn't register after all.

The rest of Friday was spent waffling. Should I go or not? Should I spent the money? I finally called Dr. V. at work and moaned about how I didn't have any clean clothes and how the thought of going out and meeting people I don't know was making me feel queasy, and he (wonderful albeit boneheaded man that he is) said, "You should go. You need to pursue these things that are important to you and that don't revolve around me and the kids."

Later, to top off his "Husband of the Year" act, he encouraged me to book a hotel room and enjoy a night out with the ladies I was bound to meet. After a hellacious bedtime with the kids, I did just that. Whee!

The conference was great. As with most conferences of this sort, I don't think the experience can be everything to everyone. I don't look for every session to speak to me in a deeply personal way, and am pleasantly surprised when I learn something I can go home and implement immediately. Let's face it - I'm there to meet the other attendees and laugh and make friendships and have a cocktail or five.

The session that ended up being the most helpful to me was the one about Managing Information Overload. Yes, I picked up tips and tricks from the other sessions, but the idea of disciplining myself more about my on-line time really took root. I've spent much of today clearing out my in-boxes, organizing my feed reader, and making detailed lists of what I'd like to change or add to this blog. It feels good.

What felt even better, though, was spending time with the other bloggers who were there. Some I'd had the pleasure of meeting in July at BlogHer '08, and others were on-line pals and Twitter buddies and bloggers whose feeds I read religiously that I finally got to meet in person. Still others were brand new to me, and many were bloggers I intend to start following but don't have time to link to right now, and I enjoyed spending time with all of them. Like, REALLY enjoyed myself, so much so that I left thinking, "Why can't any of my real life friends be into blogging like these funny and smart and cool women?"

Attitude Adjustment

Today started out poorly.

It was the kind of morning you wake up in the gloom thinking you have time to go back to sleep, but when you blearily look towards the window you realize it's rainy outside and you have no time to laze in bed after all. Trudging out into the messy kitchen, you are fumbling around looking for a clear space to prepare breakfast for your children* when you discover that you failed to put the dairy products you bought at the store the night before into the refrigerator. The kids are cranky, because you've all been struggling with bedtime lately. The lack of sunlight is telling their bodies to go back to sleep, but the promise of breakfast finally winches them out of bed**.

The day goes by. You sit in a salon chair with blackish-purple goop on your head, wondering if you are slowly poisoning yourself for vanity. You curse your prematurely grey genes as you watch a man's car break down in the street. You watch him wait in the rain for help, wonder out loud with the salon stylists what he is going to do, and then realize a short time later that he is gone. Did his car start back up? Did you miss a friend coming to join him and pushing the car away in the rain? Did a tow truck come while you were preoccupied discussing the revolutionary idea of growing out your bangs for a few seconds?

You leave the salon with your bangs slightly too long for comfort, annoyed that the humidity is making them stick to the bridge of your nose. You drive through the drizzle, first to one party store and then another on a search for the Halloween costumes your children have requested. You swoop into the toy store and nod hello to the familiar faces behind the registers, asking about recent deliveries of Bakugan toys. (Everybody wants Bakugan toys this fall. They are the rage right now, the must-have toy for boy children - or more truthfully their parents, who not so long ago were frantically searching for a "Tickle Me Elmo" at Christmas.)

The sun comes out, though. It ends up being a gorgeous afternoon here in a gorgeous part of the world, and you arrive home thrilled that you've postponed the cleaners for a day so you could tackle the filth alone for a while. You've also arrived home hungry, and you make yourself some lunch and settle down with a schedule - lunch and internet for 20 minutes, then super-duper cleaning madness for an hour or two.

And then the doorbell rings, and it is the pest control guy congratulating himself on finding you home while he was in the neighborhood. You cringe at the idea of letting him in the house, but you do it and make embarrassed stupid jokes about how amazing it is that you don't have any ants HAHAHAHA given the sink full of dirty dishes HAHA!

Then the kids come home crabby and tired and you take advantage of having a babysitter-slash-friend come over and lock yourself in your room to catch up on those e-mails. In fact, you end up napping for 45 minutes. Now it is time to head out to a child-free activity planning meeting that you bring your daughter to because she begged to come. It is hard to pay attention to the substance of the meeting, because your darling child keeps hanging her tongue out of her mouth and fanning herself at the heat in the room, then raising her hand to comment on the proceedings, and then moaning and draping herself across your lap again.

(Oh - wait! Did I mention the fungal infection on Thing Two's leg? Be very appreciative that the camera memory card was full so I can't inflict photos upon you.)

Bedtime is the usual dragged out craziness. Peanut has some very pertinent questions as we read his new "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" book - he is confused about when he will meet the characters Obi-Two and Obi-Three.

Despite it all, I have ended up the day with a remarkably better attitude than I started out with. I don't know if it is the slight ego-boost that comes with having your hair styled, or if it is the fact that BlogHer Boston is on Saturday and I know I am getting away from my mundane life for at least a day. I suspect it has something to do with the conversation I had with a new acquaintance yesterday, in which she detailed how her marriage had fallen apart over the last week.

Or maybe it's just as simple as the sun coming out again.

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* PopTarts. On a plate, though - surely that counts as preparation?

** CHOCOLATE PopTarts.

Word Games

I have a super quick bitch to get off my chest: if you are trolling for game partners on Facebook's Wordscraper, and you specify "no pervs or word generators," and I then take you up on your game... do you really expect me to believe that the words, "ganef," "aortas," "doux," and "satara" (which isn't even in the dictionary and yet is apparently a valid word) are coming from your own under-1000 ranking brain?!?

/word snob bitch.

Bitch Fest

Yeargh. So much to bitch about, so little space. A far-flung relative who we have only met once arrived with his 3 yr old. in tow on rather short notice, and frankly - he's kind of a jerk. I have nothing but sympathy for his soon-to-be ex-wife after spending a scant 24 hours with him. Then again, she married him, so maybe I don't have any sympathy for her.

My brain is overloaded with countless points of contention stewing around after listening to this guy pontificate on the subject of, oh - everything. Normally, I could go on and on about this annoyance, but guess what? I have something even better to bitch about!

You know that whole anxiety disorder thing we've been working through with Pepper? One of the things she is currently worried about is death, specifically MY death. Halloween is proving tricky this year, since everything freaks her out and makes her think about DEATH. We're working on it.

So. My idiot husband came one night recently with a cardboard box.

He said, "Hey! Kids! Want to see something cool?"

He then proceeded to pull a fucking human skull out of the box.

Let me repeat - not a replica, a real human skull that someone had passed along to him that day. I don't even know the whole story - something like he went to make a house call on a patient and the patient was a retired professor of something biology related and gave him the skull - but seriously? Eeeeeewwwww!

Luckily, I was able to use my mad skillz at non-verbal communication to indicate to him that this was a bad idea. Imagine me glaring at him from behind the kids, giving him my best "WHATTHEHELLYOUDUMBASS?!?" glare and frantically waving my hands as he gives me his best "Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel" look.

The second I saw that thing in his hands, my acute parental intuition kicked in, giving me a glimpse of the head-on freak out I knew would happen if Pepper realized it was a REAL SKULL. That once WAS A PERSON who is now DEAD. I began proclaiming that the skull was just a replica they use for teaching and Daddy needed to get it back to the hospital, so they should say goodbye to the cool PRETEND skull!

Honest to God, I'm still boggled by the cluelessness. And the skull is neatly packaged up in Dr. V.'s car, awaiting transport to a more appropriate location.

Like anywhere that is NOT my fucking kitchen counter.

GERBILS IN THE ROAD!

Ah, fall - how I love you! I get to bring out my sweaters, my birthday is approaching, and the kids are back in school so I can think clearly again. It's my favorite time of the year, and not just because I get presents.

This morning, I totally overslept. I woke the kids up 45 minutes late, which would have left exactly 11 minutes to get Pepper to the bus stop. The kids were all turned around by the extra sleep. I ran upstairs and woke Pepper, breaking the news that she was going to be tardy, and she grinned at me instead of bursting into tears. When I hustled in to wake up Peanut, instead of his usual sleepy grin, he yelled at me: "NO! I told you Biohazard was going to wake me up!"

Last night at bedtime, he had carefully arranged one of his Bakugan toys to keep watch over him during the night and told me that Biohazard was going to wake him up instead of me. So we had to re-do the morning wake-up, me leaving the room and coming in a few minutes later to find him happily chatting away to his toy.

(Have you seen these things? They are actually kind of cool, and they are hotter than Tickle Me Elmo this year. In fact, I've been keeping an eye out for them and they are completely sold out. Target, K-Mart, Toys R Us, Kay Bee Toys... nada. But I hit the motherload at Wal-Mart yesterday, and since we all know how I feel about Wal-Mart, now I hate myself.)

Anyway, despite all the distractions, we rushed through the morning routine. Peanut's bus came to get him, and I drove Pepper to her school, and on my way back I was enjoying the sun and the crisp air coming through the car window, and suddenly I thought I saw a gerbil scuttling across the road.

Here's the thing: as far back as I can remember, when a lone dessicated leaf blows across the road in front of my car, my brain reacts with: "GERBIL! DON'T HIT THE GERBIL! Oh, it's just a leaf."

What the hell, brain? This has been going on for at least 20 years, every fall. The leaves start to drop, the wind picks up, and sure as shit, there go my wacky synapses: "GERBIL! GERBIL IN THE ROAD! Oh, a leaf." I know I can't be the only one who has these kind of repetitive brain farts, but honestly - gerbils in the road?

There is all sorts of craziness going on in our lives this week, but I can't share all the gory details right now because I have to get off the computer and go buy a shower curtain rod and install it. We are having more unexpected guests this evening, and they are staying the night. I'm bummed that I have to play hostess, because after all the drama that I don't have time to fill you in on, I want nothing more than to sit around with Dr. V. drinking beer and eating pizza with my bra off while we watch the "Iron Man" dvd.

Instead, I will have to keep my bra on and we will probably be looking at photo albums of this relative's house in Romania that he has built with his own two hands. And I will probably be thinking about accidentally squishing gerbils with my car.

Papaginos, Papaginos, Papaginooooosss!

The title of this post is what I heard in the car all the way in to the dentist's office this morning. Peanut only had to get through a cleaning today, but since the Valium has worked so well for all the tough stuff, the dentist and I agreed that we should just keep him dopey and happy for this visit as well. As we've learned, when he gets a little loopy he turns into a total chatterbox.

On the drive into town, we passed a Papa Gino's and I guess it just felt fun for him to say... kind of how I feel about words like "squelchy" and "lipopolysaccharide." It has been funny today, because although the medication has worn off, I am still hearing a few "papaginos" being muttered under his breath as he plays.

Things have been a little off balance the past week, exacerbated by my monthly withdrawal into my hormone cave. I napped on both days this weekend, and I never nap. My dad was re-admitted to the hospital for a post-surgical infection, but he is doing great and should be discharged tomorrow. Luckily, he'd gone out and bought an iPhone before his fever spiked, so at least he had a new toy to play with while he was there, but still - worrisome.

Pepper has been doing pretty well. I am seeing more and more of her humor and normal behavior and spending less and less time reassuring her that she does not have (a) serious food allergies that will kill her; (b) epilespy that might possibly kill her; (c) asthma, which some people DIE from; or (d) some other serious and potentially fatal health problem.

After the 6th ridiculous question on this topic, I find it very hard not to stare straight into her face and solemnly tell her that yes, whatever she has will likely prove fatal in 80 friggin' years. I would never do that, since I am a good non-sadistic parent. But I do *think* about it, and I have more sympathy than ever with Calvin's father in "Calvin and Hobbes." Remember how he would just make shit up? I am sooooo tempted some days.

Now it is time to go collect children and start the early evening routine. i'm thinking this might be an evening when wine o'clock comes a little earlier than usual. Cheers!

Pssssst! I'm Over Here Today...

In my funk of last week, I was twittering away and Christine of Young Mommy tweeted that she was looking for guest posters for this week. I knew immediately that I should volunteer, if only to get out of my own headspace for a bit. And it worked! I wrote a post about all the fun you and your kids can have recycling your uhm, recyclables. I know, that sentence barely computes. Anyway - go here now:

Talk Therapy

Things are a bit better. Pepper and Peanut had a couple great nights, where they both went to sleep right after I put them to bed. No jack-in-the-box popping out of bed over and over again, although I still didn't sleep well because I'm on high-alert these days and kept waking up thinking I heard one of them cry.

Wednesday night was rough, because Peanut had reached psycho-tired mode by the time I got him into bed. When he is tired, he gets even more rigid than usual, and everything about the bedtime routine has to be done just so, down to little scripted discussions of each page of the book. I finally got him tucked into bed, at which point he broke sobbing about gym class. He never wants to go to gym class again! And all the jump ropes in the world should be thrown away! And then he moved on to crying about how he would miss me while he was sleeping.

Apparently, he is having jump rope issues in gym class, and mother issues in general. Greeeeeaaaaat.

Sigh.

Pepper had her first solo therapy session yesterday afternoon, and has really clicked with the therapist. I can see that things we have discussed are starting to make sense to her, and give her a little power over the flood of emotions. She went to swimming earlier in the week and worked really, really hard. At one point, I could see her shivering violently at the end of the pool, and her face kind of crumpled like she was starting to cry, but she pulled herself together. Which is not something I've seen much of this last month, and I was so proud of her, and I told her so, repeatedly.

Dr. V. is home after being away at a conference all week. I feel badly because he really missed us, but I've been so sleep deprived and scattered and trying to work so much stuff out in my head that the week just flew by for me. In fact, I was a little miffed at having to share the big bed last night with a large snoring man. Nice wife, huh?

As long as I'm venting - and really,when am I not? - the economy and political scene are totally not cooperating with my personal issues, dammit! I'm pissy with PMS and I have enough to worry about right now, thanks. I wish America would just get its head out of its ass and get focused on real solutions to real issues instead of societal extremists and media-created bullshit. Yaaargh. I've been pissed off for the last 8 years, and I'm still astonished that half the country thinks things are going well enough to continue voting for the same political views that have brought us to this low point.

Whew. Hey, what do you know? I DO feel better!