I began menopause unceremoniously at the tender young age of 33, thanks to a total hysterectomy. (Sorry for the rhyme, there; I tend to get all poetic when we chat about my uterus.) After having spent the majority of my lifetime at the mercy of everything that can possibly go wrong with those stupid organs (endometriosis! adenomyosis! infertility! ruptured ovarian cysts! hypermenorrhea, and I hope you're not eating if you click on that link!), I was not one of those women who approached the surgical suite weeping for the loss of my womanhood, or anything like that. I believe the last words I...
Thank you for all of the kind birthday wishes! As it turned out, this weekend marked what was perhaps my favorite birthday in a very long time. It was low-key and unremarkable, but no one bled or screamed or told me they hated me (to my face, anyway), and there was excellent food and many hugs and kisses, and it was all very nice. Otto took me out for a fancy dinner on Saturday night, and while my margarita wasn't quite as big as my head, it WAS very yummy. I had duck that came all fanned out on a plate like origami and Otto had frogmore stew that came in a bowl bigger than the one I use for...
We're not quite a week into the new school year, and already we're settling into a familiar routine. I hear his alarm go off and the sound of Monkey leaping out of bed just seconds before my alarm goes off; in contrast, Chickadee's first alarm is usually turned off before it has a chance to beep (she'll turn it off in the wee hours, I suspect), and the second alarm---on a second clock, across the room---goes off ten minutes later. Monkey is downstairs in about six minutes, bright-eyed and chatty and cheerful. Chickadee won't follow for at least another fifteen minutes (if not more), and she...
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much. --- Mother Teresa I am no Mother Teresa. Just in case you were wondering. Otto's mom is in the ICU, a thousand miles away; and while God may trust us plenty, quite frankly I think He's being kind of an asshole right now.
Oh, hi there! I was thinking about you all morning. Yes, YOU. Many thanks to everyone who chimed in with suggestions for my daughter's warts (though no one suggested I set aside more money for therapy after discussing her wartiness with the entire internet, interesting). We went out yesterday and got her some Neem soap and some colloidal silver and also some tongue of newt and eye of wombat, plus I ordered some stuff to tape up horses, or something, I DON'T KNOW, it's kind of all a blur, now. But thank you for all of your collective expertise and kind words, it really was very helpful. And...
So, um, it turns out that my daughter has a highly contagious skin virus called Molloscum Contagiosum. She did not appreciate the various jokes I cracked, asking her when she'd become a marine invertebrate, so I switched to shouting "MOLLOSCUM CONTAGIOSUM!" at her with a flourish of my invisible wand, and then asking her why she had failed to levitate. For some reason, Chickadee spent a lot of time rolling her eyes at me, yesterday. I cannot IMAGINE why. But I had to make light, you know, because otherwise I would've had to cry. Molloscum isn't serious---she's not sick or anything, and...
My name is Mir, and although I am nearing 37 years of age, I have never really been on a diet before. Oh, there were a few times when I idly said, "You know? It might be good to lose a few pounds," and I was GOOD and VIRTUOUS for a day or two, right up until I saw something shiny and tripped and fell face-first into a bag of Oreos. I just never really had the need/motivation to diet---I have always been naturally skinny, and--- OW! Stop THROWING THINGS! Correction: I always HAD been naturally skinny. Past tense. Put down your tomatoes (besides, haven't you heard? They're covered in...
So yesterday Otto and I went out to run some errands and go to our first appointment with the specialist Monkey will be seeing, because for the first appointment just the parents get to go. We spent a lot of time sitting in the waiting room, and then a lot of time telling the nice doctor our entire medical history (well, mine and Monkey's, anyway), until somewhere around the "Has your cousin's step-sister's uncle's father ever had bursitis?" question I became sorely tempted to tell him that I had JUST REMEMBERED that actually, Monkey is adopted and we have no medical history on him...
I'm not the sort of person to blog about what goes on in therapy, usually. I mean, why would I tell you about that when there are so many more interesting things to talk about, like mammograms and surly children and such? The point is that I generally consider that to be a situation above reproach and somewhat sacred/private. [Well, usually. There was that one marriage counselor my ex and I saw who sat in an oversize rocking chair, sipping I'm not sure what (tea? bourbon?) from a mason jar and telling us---in the midst of what anyone could see was a badly broken marriage---that if we just...
