February 28, 2006 | Haven't been hit by lightning yet!

This is me, going to bed early the night before my surgery. Whoops!

Well, I was going to go to bed early. Really I was. I have to get up at, um, 5, I think, so as to have proper time to shower and shave anywhere that may need to be shaved because in spite of them only working on my boob I will doubtless be forced to don a hospital gown and have all my whathaveyou out flapping in the breeze (and for such an occasion, I violate my “I shave my legs once a month in the winter whether they need it or not” rule) and then arrive at the hospital early enough to change into said gown and sit around gnawing off my own fingers in nervousness and hunger because I can’t have anything to eat.

But then, um, I had stuff to do.
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February 27, 2006 | It's not a regret, it's an "experience"

I seem to have misplaced the funny. It might be underneath that pile of puppy treasures on my desk, but the last time I saw it was definitely right before my ex pointed out that when he remarries, I’ll need to figure out my own health insurance. Now, so far as I know, he’s not getting remarried any time soon. But I’m also pretty sure he’s not going to base his life-planning on my freakish medical needs, and even assuming that I never again need poking or prodding or surgery, this is problematic. Without insurance, I’m thinking I wouldn’t even be able to afford my hormone patches. Which would mean I would not only be uninsured, but I’d have brittle bones and a beard, as well.

Between that conversation and my upcoming biopsy, I’ve more or less convinced myself that 1) I’m doomed, 2) I’m dying, and 3) I’m going to die alone. I think these are logical conclusions to draw. But I’ve yet to find the humor in it.

So: Not funny, but wise. So I shall try to advise those who come here seeking knowledge.
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February 26, 2006 | It's not a regret, it's an "experience"

Monkey was running a little temp last night, and then again this morning. He wasn’t deathly ill, or anything, but just sick enough that we needed to skip church… and he, apparently, needed to whine a lot. So I was worried that it would be a long day of being cooped up in the house with the children bickering.

But I’d worried needlessly, because it was a long day of being cooped up in the house with the children bickering and Princess Puppypants either proudly bestowing gifts upon me or slinking away from the kids as they yelled, “Drop it! Drop it! GIVE IT BAAAAAACK!”

Ask not for whom the dog fetches. She fetches for you. (Unless she really likes what she fetched; in which case, you’d best have a Milkbone to trade.)
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February 25, 2006 | What do I do all day?

There were so many things I wanted to do today, but in the end I did none of them, because I died.

It’s tragic, I know. I will miss me. Regardless–am now dead. Several times over, actually.

The nice folks who sometimes send me products to try sent along a new! improved! Swiffer, and I thought it would be quite amusing to line it up along with all of my other Swiffer and Swiffer-like products and take a picture (just to demonstrate that even though you would never know by looking at my dirty floors, I own a veritable museum of cleaning implements with jointed aluminum handles). Oh, the hilarity that would ensue from that photo! I have an original Swiffer! An improved Swiffer! A Swiffer Wet-Jet! A Swiffer Carpet Flick! And–cover your eyes, Swiffer people–whatever that Pledge thingie is that’s an imitation of the Wet-Jet but shoots foamy stuff!

Yes, I would take a picture, and then I would test it out, and all would be well. But then I died.
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February 24, 2006 | Forget talk; walk the walk!

Um, the surgical nurse called me today for my pre-registration whosiwhatsis for my biopsy next week, and told me that according to my paperwork I am having “mass excision” as opposed to the “core needle biopsy” that I thought I was having. This is causing me to “freak out” and also use extraneous “quotation marks” in reaction to the “reality” of a doctor using a “knife” on my “real and very much attached-to-me breast.”

And then I read that Amy’s mom has another lump and I decided I should just shut up already and by the way, these boob things are highly overrated and more trouble than they are worth.

All of which is a long-winded way of saying I’m SURE you’ve donated already or been to my CafePress store to buy a 3-Day t-shirt, but if you need MORE motivation, FINE.

A hearty thanks to gorgeous model Stephanie for demonstrating that you can enhance your rack while helping the racks of others!

February 23, 2006 | Haven't been hit by lightning yet!

I was chatting online with a friend last night and she started… I don’t even know what to call it. Berating me or complimenting me–depending on your point of view–on the fact that I post every day, and generally long entries, at that. I think this was brought on by her own “I should post but I don’t have anything to say and I don’t want to but I feel like I should” issues, but regardless.

This is a conversation I’ve had before. Every now and then someone points to my posting habits as if I’ve stumbled upon the golden ticket.

It bothers me for two reasons. First, it bothers me to think that there are “shoulds” to the mechanics of blogging. I enjoy many blogs that don’t have new content every day. I also enjoy some blogs where there are new posts multiple times a day. The frequency isn’t (to me) the important part. There are also plenty of blogs out there with daily postings that I wouldn’t voluntarily read if they were the last words on earth. (This begs the questions of how, exactly, all the OTHER words disappeared, and why we couldn’t generate new ones, but just pretend it made sense.)

The second reason… well, I’ll get to that in a minute.
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February 22, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

At a rough guess, I’m going to say that we have no fewer than 500 children’s books here in the house. Perhaps more. There is no shortage of books around the place, is my point. And lord knows I have combed through the shelves and piles and pulled out the appropriate-level phonics books and tried in vain to get my son interested in fat cats sitting on mats and Tog the dog who meets a hog on a log.

About two month ago, I concluded that he would simply have to do his best at Princeton 1) in nighttime pull-ups and 2) with all assignments given orally or via pictures, because he surely will never read. Granted: he’s only 6. I’m aware that I’m a perfectionistic freak. But when you learn to read at 3 and your firstborn basically follows suit, a 6-year-old who doesn’t even WANT to read is like being served a fish that still has the head on. You know you can just try to ignore it, and/or work around it, but, DUDE. You’re trying to eat food that’s LOOKING AT YOU and that’s just not right.

[Yes, I did just liken my baby to this in an unparalleled display of excellent parenting. Excuse me while I go put some more money in his therapy fund.]
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February 21, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

There are times when I think our little school system gets it exactly right, and I know that our decision years ago to move to this little town in Nowhereville was a wonderful gift to our children.

And then there are times when I think our little school system is run by amphetamine-addled monkeys who’ve never met an actual child.

When I am ESPECIALLY lucky, I get to experience both of those convictions within the space of just a few hours! Which is like the excitement of a rollercoaster ride except without the fear of heights and thinking I might puke! But there are no funnelcakes, which is certainly a drawback.
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February 20, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

How very fitting that on a day like today, a day when I’m JUST SO EXCITED to tell you WHAT A FANTABULOUS MOM I AM, BlogHer decides to finally publish the Day Two schedule of events. You may happen to notice yours truly scheduled along with Alice and Tracey to talk about why Mommyblogging is a radical act.

Hell, voluntarily deciding to be responsible for another human is radical. Blogging about it is just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, methinks. ANYWAY, the bottom line is that I am thrilled to be headed to San Jose this summer, and I hope to see you (yes, YOU) there. I will be the one who trips into the pool, tipsy on half a glass of wine, and then flails through a couple of laps while insisting that I meant to do that. Woo!

So. Wanna hear about my day? OF COURSE YOU DO. Why, it was a veritable exemplification of parenting at its finest. I couldn’t be more proud. Though I sort of wish I had that wine right now.
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February 19, 2006 | Haven't been hit by lightning yet!

I… have a confession to make. I’m embarrassed, and I beg you to please be gentle with me as I come clean.

I sometimes (okay; OFTEN) browse my local Craig’s List for entertainment.

It didn’t start out that way. Originally, I was just perusing for writing gigs. Then I started reading “Best Of” and before I knew it, I was mainlining the very hardest stuff they have to offer–Missed Connections and Men Seeking Women.

Somehow I’m convinced that founder Craig Newmark knew that it would work that way. First he offers a giant gathering place for every moron on the internet, then he makes it just enticing enough that those of us with actual brain cells CAN’T LOOK AWAY. It was a nefarious plan, Mr. Newmark, and it’s working. Damn you.
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