Yesterday everyone got home late and we had take-out for dinner and I was scrambling to put out everything we needed, and I opened the silverware drawer and stopped short. For some reason, the last time Otto unloaded the dishwasher, he decided that our silverware organizer was arranged incorrectly. For four and a half years it has been (left to right) knives, forks, big spoons, little spoons; what I looked in on as I was exhorting Monkey to pour milk and Chickadee to get out the napkins was big spoons, forks, little spoons, knives. This halted the entire operation. "What did you DO?" I asked...
There is a list of things I carry around in my head, and I may not refer to it or think of it all that often, but it is labeled, "Things I Will Never Do As A Parent Because It Bugged The Everlovin' CRAP Out Of Me When My Parents Did It." (Sorry, Mom and Dad.) I don't think this is unusual. Most parents I know have a similar list. Its biggest hallmark, of course, is that half of the items on the list are things we've already done, because HELLO, a lot of the stuff we hated as kids we perpetuate as parents because it's actually the stuff that makes sense, no matter how irritating it is to be...
The work on the fence has been going on for almost a week, which means that even Licorice is pretty much over it, not even bothering to bark at the guys anymore. That's fine, because Otto has pretty much taken over on the barking, inbetween small head explosions as we traverse this particularly delightful path of home renovation. When we signed the contract, by the way, we were told "one full day, or maybe one full day and half a day." That's all it was supposed to take. And this is not our first rodeo; we figured that meant maybe three days. Heck, I even said it to the fence guy, laughing,...
I've found myself talking about this in blog comments a lot, lately, and with friends, too. I think it bears a bit of probing, because I remain absolutely astounded at the number of otherwise kind and intelligent people who just Do Not Get It. The theory is this: There are no Hardship Olympics. Nobody wins for having it worse than everybody else. There is no honor and glory in that which sucks. Any sort of one-up-manship that happens in the discussion of difficulty is a dick move, because no one wins and it's not a competition. Furthermore, the fact that the world is full of...
Yesterday was a no good, terrible, horrible, very bad day, and every time I think about it I get mad all over again. It was the sort of thing where I couldn't help just stepping outside of myself, mentally, even WHILE it was happening, and thinking, "If I wrote this up as a fiction story people would be all, 'Yeah, it's just not believable, I'm sorry.'" Like that. So I am too lazy to find the old posts and link back, but for anyone who's new 'round these parts, my darling daughter has some sort of chronic skin condition that she developed when we moved to Georgia which has been steadily...
It's true that our "kingdom" at present doesn't amount to much, and as many odd things as I've encountered thus far, I really haven't gotten the impression from anyone involved that the offer of a deck badly in need of refinishing or a falling-down fence or even the pond full of peep-peep-peeping frogs would significantly improve our odds of being helped, but whatever we do have, I would happily offer it in exchange for the ability to: 1) Locate an appropriate child psychologist, 2) discover said professional takes our insurance, 3) admire said professional's extensive experience in dealing...
On the whole, life right now is pretty darn good. Honest and for true, the most likely answer these days when you ask me how I am is, "I'm really good." I may even sound a little surprised, when I say it, because... it's still a little unexpected. But yeah, in the big picture? Not only am I feeling grateful and appreciative of all the recent improvements and little victories, I'm feeling all HOPEFUL and CHEERFUL and crap. It's weird. At one point while I was kind of down in the pit during operation Gather Up The Shattered Pieces Of Monkey And For God's Sake, Someone Get Some More Glue Over...
Christmas has already been completely ruined, and we still have five days before the actual holiday, so I'm thinking this is some sort of truly awesome record for Maximum Suck. The Plan was that the kids' dad would pick them up on Saturday to fly north; Otto and the dog and I were to follow the next day, driving up to my folks in New York; the kids would spend a week with their dad, we would work our way Boston-ward for Christmas, and then on Christmas Day we'd get the kids back, they'd have time to see the New England relatives, and we'd head back through my folks' place again on our way...
So remember how I thought the pediatrician just thought I was angry and maybe a little crazy? And she was brushing me off? I take it back. The next day she called to say she'd personally gotten us in with the ENT. When? Oh, immediately! Could I just go over there NOW? (I was wearing my pajamas when she called. Also, Monkey was at school. But we made it, somehow.) The ENT said many interesting things, making noises with his mouth-hole that sounded like "here are the things that are clearly wrong which I can see even before we start testing further" and also "chronic infection that has...
