We went up to the mountains to pick apples on Saturday. So pretty! Idyllic! I kept cautioning Monkey about the uneven terrain at the orchard because "all we need now is for someone to break an ankle." HAHA. No one broke an ankle; we picked a bushel of apples, and the boys ate some fried pie. Back at home, I made an apple crisp and several batches of dried apples. Sunday night I was working on a second crisp and mounting the LAST FREAKING APPLE when my apple peeler/corer doohickey decided to slip off the counter, and I can't tell you exactly what happened because I really don't know, but...
The following is offered for your consideration, without further comment. * * * * * A voicemail received on my cell phone from a blocked number: Hey, I'm looking for a Ronald? And if I've found you, I just wanted to let you know that I found out some disturbing news. And, um, you need to tell the little bitch that yer livin' with that she better leave my man alone. Because I just found out they're seeing each other? And I don't fuckin' like it. Let me catch her ass out somewhere, she's mine. * * * * * The other night in bed, after yet another tearful discussion of the mess our lives have...
Well, I had my wallow. It was deep and wide and dark and there's a certain comfort in just opting out for a while. It's not sustainable, though, because eventually I have to pack lunches and help with homework and say something to my husband other than "I just fucking hate this all SO MUCH." ("Your husband sounds like an angel," my therapist commented last week, as I sat on her couch, sniffling and leaking tears, and that was enough to make me smile. "He really IS," I said. "I don't know how I got so lucky." And that helped, because he is and I am and not EVERYTHING is terrible, after all.)...
We had a meeting over the phone with Chickadee's "treatment team" (and I use that term loosely) last week, during which I'm pretty sure my head exploded. In the aftermath I had a small tantrum and then returned to all of the things I'm supposed to be doing. We took Chickie out for a while on Saturday and on the drive home I made Otto stop and get me some coffee because I was starting to feel that bone-crushing weariness that was putting me to sleep while I was sitting up. He stopped; I drank my coffee; I fell asleep anyway. And then we came home and I was futzing around online, and while...
This week has, in a word, sucked. Oh, I know, this entire year has sucked, but this week sucked even compared to the rest, which is saying something. Tensions are running high and faith is being tested. Today Otto got up before me and made coffee. I know this because I woke up to BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP, the international signal for "it is now safe to get out of bed and proceed directly to the largest mug in the house." My darling, wonderful husband was in the shower by the time it beeped, and I all but ran into the kitchen. And there I found a lake of coffee on the floor. The coffeemaker was in...
I think I mentioned that Monkey is taking a couple of virtual school classes this semester, and as part of filling out the hospital/homebound paperwork for Chickadee it was suggested that she do so, as well. (Translation: Oh, we are legally obligated to send a teacher out to tutor your kid, but she's too far away for us to feel like doing that, and we are too lazy to coordinate with the district where she's currently residing, so instead how about we pay for her to take virtual school courses and you don't sue us? OKAY!) Actually---now that I think of it---the craziness started really early...
It's Tuesday, so that means I'm over at Feel More Better, but today I couldn't muster up something funny. In the wake of yesterday's comments by Rep. Akin and the resulting discussions of what rape is and isn't and what it can and can't do, I find myself realizing things about the world (and myself) that I wish were different. So really, I owe Akin a thanks for this rape epiphany, I guess. (Not that I can quite bring myself to thank him without my tongue lodged firmly in my cheek, on account of he's a jerk.)
Today you can find me playing the role of crusty ol' curmudgeon over at Feel More Better, where I am lamenting the role that rewards have come to play in our children's lives. Not a new topic, to be sure, but driven home for me yesterday in an unexpected way. Kids today, man. Pretty sure they're not going to be able to get out of bed for anything less than a ticker tape parade and a life-size trophy.
A little while back I suspected that Monkey might be having some trouble seeing. (I think this was because he'd developed the habit of reading with the book resting within an inch of the tip of his nose.) I took him to the optometrist for an exam and they said no, his vision was only very slightly off (like, maybe 20/30 instead of 20/20), and he was fine. Probably we should tell him to hold the book a little further away. I told him to hold the book out further, and he did. End of story. Except that while Monkey was away on this last trip with his dad, my ex called me up one day and said, "I...
