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Kids. SHEESH!

Chickadee managed to catch All The Germs during the Icepocalypse week off of school, which is doubly impressive when you consider that we were trapped in the house all that time. (Where did the germs come from? Had she been saving them up? DID SHE EAT INFECTED SNOW???) I ignored her misery for several days before caving and taking her to the doctor, at which point my just desserts were “Yeah, that looks pretty nasty, let’s get some antibiotics on board” and the subsequent and immediate coming down with the crud, myself. HOORAY.

This is where I would normally tell you that in my next life I am only going to have dogs, because kids are just too disgusting. But then this morning Duncan crapped all over our bedroom (you’re welcome for sharing) so basically my whole world is gross and I don’t know what to tell you.

I am now busy alternately blowing my nose and Cleaning All The Things, but also preemptively freaking out about summer plans, because I’m an overachiever like that. If you’re starting to think about what your teens will be doing this summer, please come on over to Alpha Mom and commiserate with me. Misery loves company, and I promise not to breathe on you.

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Merry Christmas! (P.S. Not dead.)

Oh, look. I haven’t been here for a week. No explanation or anything, just *poof*—GONE. If it’s any consolation, that week took about three years, in my mind. What? That doesn’t help? Well, now I’m just going to make it worse by saying, “We are all fine (now) but due to the nature of this particular suckitude, I am not at liberty to discuss it at this time.” And now I want to punch myself in the face, so we’re all on the same page, I think.

[I know. I KNOW. Here, let me give you details as best I can: Something Really Scary And Sucky happened, and while we were trying to deal with that, Something Completely Unrelated But Equally Sucky happened. The first thing was no one's fault but the second one was 100% preventable with my general life mantra of "don't be an asshole" (which turns out to be really hard for some people). One situation is now cautiously resolved but the other may end up in a lawsuit and have I ever mentioned that I hate everything? Because sweet baby Jesus, I really kind of hate everything. And THEN my work computer died, because the only thing that week was missing was a giant, expensive inconvenience. Not that I was getting any work done last week, anyway, of course, but there you go.]

And how was YOUR week?

The good (?) news is that the dogs have definitely picked up on the recent stress and have decided to put aside their differences in the interests of a nightly snuggle:

If I’d managed Christmas cards this year, I would’ve used that picture. Peace on earth! Or at least peace on our couch. Those two little hairy beasties are helping to keep me sane, which we all know is no small task.

Here’s to a better week all around.

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Meltdown City, population: me

I think one of the dirtiest little secrets of parenting is the parental meltdown. Sure, we all joke amongst ourselves about that time we got so mad that we yelled—pass that Mother of the Year trophy over here!—but the truth is that the really awful meltdowns don’t get talked about, much.

We’re too ashamed, too worried someone will point a finger and pass judgment.

Well,the advantage of really screwing up and knowing it is that there’s nothing anyone can say to you that you haven’t already said to yourself. (Silver lining, right there.) So come what may, today at Alpha Mom I’m coming clean about the giant tantrum I had this morning.

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Why you don’t mix the government and money

I keep meaning to tell you this story, and what better time than during a government shutdown? Er, slowdown. Or whatever we’re supposed to call it. It just seemed like a good time to reaffirm what every American already knows, which is that our medical system and government are—SURPRISE!—not actually operating as smoothly as they’re supposed to.

Try to contain your shock.

So! Perhaps you remember that about a year ago, I took to the blog to detail how we’d finally gotten Chickadee qualified for Medicaid coverage while she was hospitalized. That was a really big deal, both because the process is crazymaking and because if she hadn’t, we would’ve been on the hook for medical bills we had no reasonable way to pay. At the time, I thought getting the Medicaid approval would be the end of our financial issues related to her illness.

Haaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha! Yeah. Pull up a chair! (more…)

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Inconveniences of the dull and boring

“Our life is boring,” I told Otto after dinner last night. “I have nothing to blog about!”

“We should go on more adventures,” he replied. That Otto, he’s a problem solver. Though he seemed a little miffed when I declined his offer to leave the dirty dishes on the table, the children in their rooms, and grab the dog and drive off into the sunset. I’m not saying it wasn’t tempting, just that I was afraid the kids might eventually track us down. (Also, I hadn’t finished my laundry, and you should never run away without a sizable stash of clean undies.)

I just want to make it clear that I know I am
1) boring
2) relatively privileged
and
3) whining.

I KNOW. That’s not going to stop me, though. (more…)

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Conclusion: I continue to be a hazard to myself

Hey, remember that time I broke my hand on an apple and turned into a cyborg? Good times, man. That was almost a year ago, now. It was year ago next month, in fact, though I wasn’t thinking about that at all this week. After the surgery I did months of physical therapy and then also kept going back to the hand surgeon for rechecks because my hand remained kind of weird and deformed for a LONG time, prompting him to keep saying, “Let’s have another look in a couple of months.” And then I’d go back and he poke and prod and finally my hand mostly looked like a hand again and he said, “Okay, you’re good to go!” and that was that.

That was that until this past Wednesday, anyway, because I AM ME and if I made stuff like this up you’d be all, “Oh don’t be stupid, that could never happen.” That’s because on Wednesday I was making a lovely from-scratch chicken pot pie—one of Monkey’s favorite things, so he kept wandering into the kitchen and asking if it was ready yet, starting at about 2:00 in the afternoon—and the thing about me and chicken pot pie is that it’s a “one dish meal” where I end up using every pot and pan in the kitchen. I had to bake the chicken, roast the veggies, caramelize the onions, etc. I was moving things around and lifting heavy pans and making a huge mess and having a grand time.

Finally dinner was in the oven, and Licorice—who’d been under my feet all afternoon, hoping I’d drop anything at all, but hopefully some chicken—sat down by her dishes and wagged. So I pulled out the canister of kibble and scooped her dinner, and then as I was putting the container away… (more…)

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Cranky

I am cranky. [I am going to spare you a thousand-odd words about said crankiness, because really, the only thing worse than someone cranky is that cranky person trying to justify said crankiness. I HAVE MANY FEELS. Mostly they feel like throwing tantrums. Being a grownup often sucks, it turns out.]

Know what’s good for an advanced case of poormeitis? Baking. Yay! Here, I made you some healthy cookies you can eat for breakfast. You could make some for yourself/your kids and say thank you, if you wanted. Or if you wanted to pretend to be one of my kids, you could just eat them while glowering at me and expounding on the many ways in which I am the most horrible person on the planet. Either way. They’re versatile!

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Pro tips, free of charge

When I wrote about our trip to Atlanta on Monday and all of the traffic we encountered, I included the tidbit about desperately needing to pee to illustrate how very unpleasant the whole ordeal was. When I reread what I had written, I had a moment of, “Do I really need to talk about how much I had to pee?” Because: pee. (I sure am saying “pee” a lot, here.) But I left it, because what’s a little pee between friends? Also, WOW was that uncomfortable in the extreme.

Well HEY, GUESS WHAT! Today I learned that if you wait a really long time to pee when your bladder is full, that can give you a bladder infection. NEAT, HUH? You’ll never guess how I found out! It’s no big deal, though, because if you’ve never had a bladder infection, I can assure you that it only makes you wish for death during the time when you’re awake. (Never had one? Imagine having a mild stomachache and feeling like you have to pee ALL THE TIME, but then every time you DO go it feels like someone is jabbing broken glass into your urethra. YOU ARE WELCOME.)

So after peeing in a cup for my doctor this morning and then heading to the pharmacy, it turned out my meds weren’t ready, and I was a very sad panda. BUT THEN while I was waiting, the cops came in to have a chat with a woman who apparently had a forged prescription for narcotics. Today was WAY more exciting than anticipated, is my point.

Moral of the story: Find a way to urinate as soon as you need to go, lest you find yourself sitting at the pharmacy with crotch pain in the middle of a drug bust.

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If my GPS could talk

This morning Chickadee had an appointment at Emory for chapter 593 in Mystery Rash: Where Is It Now, And Which Med Student Hasn’t Seen It Yet?, and because getting into Atlanta on a weekday is always an enormous clusterfuck, we left nearly three hours before her scheduled arrival to be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN of getting there on time.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha. My optimism! It never fails to slay me.

There’s this whole time window calculation with heading into the city, too, where if your appointment is too early you get stuck in rush hour GOING, but if it’s too late you get stuck in rush hour coming BACK, and then there’s this whoooole fuzzy gray area where you’re likely to catch the tail end of rush hour no matter what you do, and so leaving at this time is functionally the same as leaving half an hour earlier, blah blah blah blah. I thought I had it figured out, is my point.

But I was wrong, because: Rain. RAIN! OH NOES! Quick, everyone veer off the road! Still: THREE HOURS. For a drive that should take 90 minutes, tops. What could possibly go wrong? (more…)

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Y’all can call me the little lady

Otto and I enjoy a fairly egalitarian relationship, I think, which is mindfully arranged through cooperation, compromise, and the fact that we both really like each other and try hard to be helpful to one another rather than being lazy or assholes. I don’t see us ever writing a marriage guide, or anything (“Step 1: Don’t be an asshole. Step 2: Remember Step 1!”), but it seems to work pretty well for us.

Sure, I do the bulk of the cooking, but that’s because I’m home a lot more often than he is, and also because I really enjoy cooking—NOT because I’m female or because he can’t or won’t cook. (He does cook, just not as often as I do.) And yes, he seems to be chief bed-maker, and I’m not sure why, although it may possibly be related to me not giving a crap about whether or not the bed is made. Stuff like that. Also, Otto is in charge of Fixing All The Things because he’s good at it. And I am in charge of beating the children because it poses fewer legal issues. Etc.

And it used to be that when it came to things like arranging for a plumber to come or, say, getting the pool company to finish fixing the pool (STILL LEAKING, THANKS FOR ASKING), we would take turns handling these issues. But eventually we gave up and now Otto handles all of that, on account of my pretty little head can’t be bothered. (more…)

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