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The little black pants that could

I may have mentioned a few (dozen) times that I’m in a play this week…? Possibly? And one of the super things about putting on a production of The Vagina Monologues is that it really doesn’t require any sort of set or costuming or anything. Basically the director picks a theme for what the cast will wear and then everyone goes home and pulls something out of their closet and whatever. Boom. Done.

Last year we had to wear black, purple and gray, in whatever combinations we wanted. That was really easy, frankly, since I wear those three colors kind of a lot, anyway. This did not stop me, however, from going out last year and buying some, umm, SPECIAL pants for the show. In my defense, they were on clearance. Also in my defense, I was doing the “angry vagina” monologue and I really wanted to wear something kind of hardcore that I would never ordinarily wear. Further in my defense, SHUT UP, it is TOTALLY not weird that I bought some faux snakeskin black, shiny skinny jeans.

[Chickadee was horrified. Like, asked me over and over to confirm that I would never, ever, under any circumstances, wear them "for real" any time other than the show. Her horror amused me, but not to the point where I wore them anywhere else. Because they are ridiculous and that was the point.] (more…)

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Keeping me grounded

My Prednisone-fueled pace for 2013 continues unabated. I don’t know that I’m actually accomplishing anything beyond what a normal, functioning adult should be doing—possibly the last year has left me with a bar that is not so much low as it is smashed-on-the-ground and therefore easy to clear—but it certainly FEELS like I am Getting Crap Done in various areas of my life.

And yet, between cleaning things and getting work done and spending hours on the phone with the government (that’s… a whole ‘nother story for another time, and it shall be called Medicaid May Actually Be A Unicorn) and Getting Healthy Again (This Time With Feeling) and on and on and so forth, I have been a bit lax about doing some of those… shall we say… elusive “nice things for myself.”

So today, I did. I went out to lunch with a friend! And on my way home I stopped in at a consignment shop where I brought some stuff a looooong time ago, and lo, I had credit to spend, and before I knew what was happening, my “find a sensible black purse” mission had been supplanted by “OOOOH PURPLE!” and I was walking out of there with a “magenta leather” bag I clearly needed to have. LOOK AT ME, being wild and crazy. A purple purse! I may as well dance naked in the pale moonlight! (No, I am not getting out often enough; why do you ask?) [Edited to add: I did some research because I am NOT a Purse Person and was curious what I'd gotten. It's this Coach Alexandra, from a 2009 (?) line.]

When I picked up Monkey from school, he pointed to my new bag on his seat and said, “What’s that?”

“My new purse!” I said, ever so pleased with myself. “It’s my favorite color!”

“You’re dressed head to toe in your favorite color,” he observed, with a small smirk. This was perplexing, as I’m not wearing any purple today at all. I’m wearing blue jeans and a black shirt. My face must’ve registered my confusion, because with a sweep of his arm, he proclaimed, “BRUISE. Now that you have that bag, the look is complete.”

So, uh, apparently my favorite color is “bruise.” He’s not wrong. (But I did enjoy that hour or so of feeling all sassy before I was schooled….)

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Poor little daft princess

Licorice is having kind of a tough week.

First there was the long holiday weekend, which meant people were home all the time—YAY!—and then strangers were here—BOO! Except FOOD! YAYYY!—and then people were home but the doorbell was ringing a lot.

We’ll never know what Licorice’s life was like before she came to us, but I strongly believe at some earlier point in her development, every time the doorbell chimed, someone kicked this sweet little pup in the face. It’s the only explanation I can think of that justifies the way she loses her ever-lovin’ mind whenever someone comes to the door. She runs in circles and barks her head off and generally has a mighty conniption. (Yes, we’ve taken her to training. Yes, I can get her to shut up and sit down when she’s doing it, but as soon as I stop LOOKING DIRECTLY AT HER she goes back to freaking out, and as I find it kind of funny I haven’t bothered working on it further with her. I know, I’m a terrible, negligent doggy-mama.)

And, see, ’tis the season of Amazon Lightning Deals, which means the UPS guy is here a LOT. Also the FedEx guy, sometimes. (more…)

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To sleep: perchance to dream

First: A thank you, which feels inadequate, but is necessary, because y’all are nice and I love you, man! And I don’t even want your Bud Light. You are all lovely and I appreciate you so much.

Second: Please know that my intention in indulging in a bit of woe-is-me “Why do people DO THAT??” whining is just… venting. Wallowing. Many of you were quick to jump on the SCREW THE BASTARDS train in response—and I get that comes from protectiveness and caring and kindness—but in my logical non-hurty-emotional mind parts I know that in general people do not hurt us on purpose. In specific for the situations I mentioned I know this even more; the people in question are not evil or bad or even (most of the time) inconsiderate. Things happen by accident, sometimes, and people end up wounded. It doesn’t make the folks doing the wounding villains—it makes them human. I get that. Thank you for letting me vent. Now let’s please stop bagging on people for being human.

Third: Here at Casa Mir we have been on a complete spending freeze for months while slogging through getting Chickadee approved for Medicaid on account of that whole “oh God we are going to end up broke and homeless” thing that wasn’t hanging over our heads. And that’s fine and all—it’s not like we got her Medicaid card and then ran out to party or anything—but of course we didn’t realize that wasn’t the end of the story. (more…)

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Making lemonade, darn it. Tampon lemonade!

So when I first shared here about Chickadee’s toiletries being pilfered by her fellow patients, many of you responded with a righteous indignation that brought a little tear to my wounded mama-bear’s eye. Several of you commented or emailed saying “Let us send stuff to them. We want to help.”

And I was touched by your generosity, so I went and mentioned it the person who I assumed was the correct contact at the hospital, and the response was… lukewarm. “It’s not really about the stuff,” was what kept being said. “This is more a matter of boundaries and appropriate behavior.” And yes, it is, but still. Some of these kids arrive at the hospital literally with nothing.

So I kind of tucked my tail between my legs and let it go, but it kept niggling at me. Really, they were going to turn down FREE STUFF for the patients? Really REALLY? And was I going to just let this go instead of doing something? I took a page out of my kids’ playbook and went for broke: I went and asked someone else, pretending I hadn’t already asked and been turned down. And I chose more carefully, this time. And her answer was, “Oh my HECK YES!”

If you want to help, here’s how: (more…)

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In case you want some flowers of your own

This isn’t a real post, because if it was, I would probably be telling more vacation stories, none of which (thankfully) involve further car wreckage.

Nope, this is about the many comments left on yesterday’s post about the flower my dad is sporting on his blazer. When we first learned we would potentially be having an on-the-spot wedding at the Grand Canyon, I felt certain that flowers were required. But real flowers in the Canyon seemed… complicated. So I went to Etsy—as one does—and it was there I discovered the awesome folks at Muncle Fred Art.

(more…)

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Mir and Otto’s big shopping adventure

You may perhaps remember that during the last few months of last year—having no idea how much 2012 was going to suck, and how much less I’d be working—we decided to give all of our spare moneys to our favorite contractor so that he and his guys could rip down our sagging deck and replace it, and then of course it ended up taking forever, including failing the first building inspection in January because the handrail on the stairs ends on the second-to-bottom step instead of the bottom step. (TRUE STORY!) (Know how you fix that? Your contractor comes over and attaches a piece of two-by-four to extend the railing, and uses a couple of pieces of scrap wood to anchor it to the existing railing structure, and then after the crabby building inspector signs off on it, the contractor takes it off again. VOILA!)

Anyway, that’s all been resolved for months, and the new deck is lovely, and the dog has decided that the $29 doggie door we installed so that she can let herself out of the screen porch to the great outdoors is the best thing in the whole wide world.

As the weather’s improved, we’ve spent more and more time out there, though we’re sitting on folding camp chairs and using a card table for when we need to play a rousing outdoor game of Balderdash, because it turns out that… we don’t really have any deck furniture. And we, you know, spent all our money on the deck construction. Whoops. (more…)

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A little bit of everything

Every now and then I realize that I’ve left you hanging on a variety of things—by accident, and because I’m disorganized (not on purpose)—and/or I think of a few minor things I want to share that aren’t entire-post-worthy. And then I throw them all together in a single mish-mash post and call it a day. Hooray!

First of all, I can’t stop watching this video:

(No, that has nothing to do with anything, I just love it. You’re welcome.) (more…)

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A reminder

If nothing else, I’m learning to sit with helplessness these days. I think Chickie is, too. It sucks (especially for control freaks like us). We are both learning and relearning how to take charge of what we can, and to surrender the rest. Did I mention that it sucks?

While Chickadee was in the hospital I found myself browsing Etsy—I don’t even know what I was looking for, really—and I ended up finding this:


(Image shamelessly stolen from Berkey Designs because I love them and hope you will, too. Beautiful craftsmanship, fast shipping, and pretty wrapping, too.)

I bought it for my daughter, and since it arrived she hasn’t taken it off. I hope it helps her remember.

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Because I’m klassy like that

Lord, but it’s been a good long time since I regaled you with a story about my lady-bits. I mean, lately it’s been all I HAVE ANGST and MY KIDS HAVE ISSUES and IT TOOK 37 DAYS TO BUILD THIS STUPID FENCE, and—surprisingly!—this has left precious little time for in-depth discussions of the various ways in which I sometimes end up naked in front of strangers.

Clearly my priorities are WAY out of whack.

Needless to say, I live to serve you, my loyal audience. And given how long it’s been and the fact that I wasn’t due for a gynecological check-up, I went ahead and did the next best thing: I purchased a certificate for discount laser hair removal off of the Internet. Because what could possibly go wrong there? Surely a spa willing to zap people with lasers is still perfectly fine even if they’re selling sessions for 90% off. (more…)

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