My site issues continue apace, as I'm sure you've noticed. Apparently there are people who just sit around attacking web servers for... fun? And my hosting provider says I've now been under attack for about a week, and they're doing their best, and mostly I want to call up the people responsible and ask them if maybe they've ever tried Qwirkle or Scrabble or occasionally having sex? Because I think they might find it more entertaining and less likely to make people want to kill them. Anyway. While I wasn't here (or, more accurately, HERE wasn't here...), I was other places. Like, for the...
It's Tuesday, so that means I'm over at Off Our Chests. Today I'm talking about surviving, though---as usual---it's not the serious things that get me thinking, but the kind of ridiculous ones. You'll see. Come on over. (Spoiler: I wasn't any more graceful as a little kid than I am now.)
It's true that I'm easily confused; I'm not saying that I feel like I'm butting up against the great mysteries of our time, or anything. But even accounting for the ways in which I, personally, might be somewhat cognitively impaired, I'm left with many, many questions. It occurs to me sometimes that Monkey's rigid "But this is what makes SENSE and you, sir, are NOT MAKING SENSE!" moments may be a case of, shall we say, an apple that has fallen rather close to the tree, if you get my drift. [Not that I'm saying that I think I'm autistic. I'm not. NOT THAT THERE WOULD BE ANYTHING WRONG WITH...
1) Two days into the NEW Toxic Med That May Or May Not Clear Up The Rash, Chickadee is feeling fine. It remains to be seen if it does anything for her rash, but after the last med pretty much made her want to die, this is progress. 2) The new med causes birth defects, so "standard protocol" is that you have to go on record with the "two redundant forms of birth control" the patient will be using for the duration of treatment. While the jokes this has spawned are ongoing (she's 13! she still thinks boys are icky!), I still think Otto wins for his suggestion of "fear and loathing" as her two...
I've been thinking a lot about teeth, recently. I took Monkey to the orthodontist yesterday, and although it feels like he only just got his braces off (okay, two years ago, whatever), we are fast approaching "stage two" time. In other words: the orthodontist clearly has a boat payment to make. They did a new panoramic view x-ray which showed that Monkey's last round of permanent teeth are descending in a full variety of crazy ways, meaning that in another six months to a year, he'll need braces AGAIN. Awesome! In the meantime, Chickadee's braces are scheduled to come off next month (and...
I could probably do the math on how many trips to the grocery store I've taken in my life, but math isn't my thing and I don't really feel like depressing myself right now, anyway. Groceries are one of my chores. If I need Otto to go, instead, I have to make a list, and I don't do lists, so most of the time I just take care of it myself. Of course, my version of "taking care of it" means that half the time I forget at least three items, and a good portion of the time I have done zero meal planning and have no idea what we need to get through the week. Except milk. I always buy a couple of...
Longtime readers know that I'm not squeamish about much, but the bugs down here in the south---unfettered by a nice long winter freeze like the bugs where I grew up---do not screw around. They are free to grow to insane sizes and spend the entire calendar year plotting to suck out your brains through your ear. Or possibly your nose. I don't know. I try not to think about it. If you're a newish reader, and stories about bugs aren't going to make you scream (don't worry, I scream enough for both of us!), you can review a few of my various delightful insect encounters in the archives. Why,...
So we have good news and we have bad news today. The bad news is that the new, potentially miraculous medication Chickadee finally agreed to try is making her sick as a dog. I stupidly started her on it on Friday, figuring it would give her the weekend to adjust, not realizing it meant we'd have to go the whole weekend before I could call the doctor if she had problems. Now I'm waiting for a call back and my kid probably should've stayed home from school today but was all, "I HAVE TO GO BECAUSE I CANNOT MISS MARCHING BAND OR I CAN'T MARCH AT THE GAME AND I'LL BE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE AND P.S. I...
I'm over at Off Our Chests today, musing on memories and the things that slip away. Of course, my children are certain I forget even more than the average person, because my favorite defense against something I'd rather not do when they whine "But you promised!" is to insist that I don't remember saying any such thing. [Unfortunately, the teen has caught on. Now she claims "You promised you would" even if it's something we've never discussed, and half the time I'm not entirely sure I haven't just forgotten it. Getting old kind of sucks.]
