The best whines are ones wrapped up by an incontrovertible statement of pitifulness, one you cannot help but grant an immediate and full free Pass To Wallow on, as it were. So for a week if I need to complain about anything, I'm sure to tie it all up with a simple, "... and I can't sleep because of the stupid Prednisone!" Because how could you possibly argue with me THEN? You can't. Because I'm simply TOO PATHETIC. You wouldn't argue with a woman suffering from steroid insomnia unless you were some sort of MONSTER. This is a skill I've passed along to my children. Monkey---Literal Boy that...
I am really feeling SO much better. It's funny how you don't realize exactly how fond you are of oxygen---and the partaking of it with unencumbered lungs!---until that part of your life is a bit hampered. It's been a long time since my asthma got aggravated like that, and I'd forgotten that the so-tired-and-achy feeling I was having often signals an inability to breathe. So. Definitely enjoying taking deep breaths, again, and trying to finish recovering from this stupid cold/allergy thing. HOWEVER. Oh, steroids. How you eat into the gunk in my lungs! And then on into my brain! I'm sure...
... the way Licorice's tongue flops sideways out of her mouth when she's getting tired at the end of a walk. ... getting into a bed of clean sheets after a long day. ... that Monkey has named every one of his army of plastic bugs, and can keep them all straight. ... the first sip of coffee when everyone else in the house is still sleeping. ... that Otto and I are equally lousy at staying mad at each other. ... the guilt-free reading time I get on an airplane. ... when Chickadee tries to curl up in my lap, all legs and elbows and frequent disdain, but still my baby girl. ... shamelessly...
You may recall that I visited Kira last year, too, and it was a wonderful trip and I had a hard time leaving. I was just getting to know her boys, and while I'd been allowed to freely snoogle the baby, I knew that she would be a whole different person this year, and it was hard to leave her sweet babylump self knowing that that she would change so much before I could see her again. What I hadn't anticipated---despite Kira's stories in the intervening year---was that when I returned it would be to boys who had grown a bit, yes, but also to a tiny, adorable tyrant who has effortlessly wrapped...
I am back from a whirlwind weekend of jetting off to the Rockies, wrestling with Kira's boys, attempting to snoogle a baby who is now a toddler whose favorite word is "NO!" (thankyouverymuch, now please hush up and get her some crackers), and talking Kira's ear off. It was lovely. Well, for ME, anyway. Kira's husband always seems a little shell-shocked when I'm around, as it does throw off the testosterone/estrogen balance in their household pretty significantly. As both Kira and I were long overdue for some decadence (not to mention a girl's night out), we elected to go out for a Dinner...
I am... a wee bit neurotic about traveling. Try to contain your shock. I am a creature of habit and leaving my natural environment and schedule is always a bit of a jolt to my system. I also find having to be in a certain place at a certain time a little bit stressful, and once you factor in traffic and the TSA, you have a perfect storm for me to lie awake the night before a trip, mentally calculating what time we need to leave under any of twelve different circumstances (only ten of them involve a crisis, though). The advantage to this, I suppose, is that I generally board the plane I'm...
It may be time to rethink my default email closing. It's supposed to look like this: Best, Mir First of all, I'm a little concerned that in some unconscious corner of the brain, that gets read as "I'm the best, yeah, me, that's right, I'M THE BEST MIR!" And I don't want to come off like a pretentious egomaniac in an email, when there's PLENTY of time to give that impression in person, you know? (Kidding! Totally kidding. I'm pretentious but I have esteem issues, dontchaknow.) Second of all, there's simply too much potential for butchery as my fingers fly. Bet, Mir What am I betting them? Or...
As Monkey and I walked to school this morning, and then as Licorice and I continued on without him, I mused on what must go through the dog's head on these walks. It took her about two days to figure out that once Otto and Chickadee leave, that means A WALK IS IMMINENT. The resultant excitement means that I get to experience the joy of getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and finding my sneakers all while the whining, wagging, spaztastically excited dog tries to trip me. Sometimes my favorite part of the day is when we're ready to go and I hold up the leash and tell her I'm not putting it on...
I don't talk too much about divorce/coparenting/family-blending here, anymore. A lot of it is ancient history; a lot of it is just an attempt to respect my kids' privacy. I don't see a whole lot that can be gained by noting every time my ex comes to see the kids and pretends that Otto is invisible (every. freaking. time.), or times when the inevitable "I wish you and Daddy never got divorced but then if I wish that I wish Otto and everything here away and I don't want that, either" sadness comes up and I have to 1) try to be comforting and 2) bite my tongue about the million reasons why this...
