Sometimes love makes me itch
Love thy neighbor. Love thy neighbor. LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, DAMMIT, is what I keep chanting over and over to myself. Even though my neighbors have not only single-handedly infested our block with feral cats, they’re the reason we spent more money than I can talk about without crying on a big guns extermination because our “rats” turned out to be feral kittens.
And now, now, my darlings, I chant LOVE THY NEIGHBOR to a steady beat in my head, because now, the CAT CRAP TRIFECTA is complete: Licorice has fleas. Even though she’s on a flea preventive. And they’re cat fleas, OF COURSE, courtesy of the feral cats tromping around in the yard. So we are treating and bathing and flea-bombing and oh yes, don’t forget, Licorice has severe flea allergy dermatitis, so even though we caught this very early, she’s itchy and red and miserable.
And it’s crappy and annoying and itchy and expensive and if only my neighbors weren’t so incredibly… well, THE WAY THEY ARE… I wouldn’t be dealing with any of this. ARGH. read more…
And speaking of protective bubbles
Yesterday I took Monkey to the post office with me to mail some packages. We frequent four different post offices, depending on where the errands of the day happen to take us, but yesterday we hit the one we go to most often, and the clerk recognized us. She chatted up Monkey (“How old are you now? What grade are you in?”) while I piled items on the counter.
She began going through the stack and stopped to look at the return address on one of the packages. “Now, what’s Want Not?” she asked, peering at my handwriting with a furrowed brow.
“It’s a bargain shopping website I run,” I responded, automatically, while digging for my wallet.
She nodded, but before she could respond, Monkey bounced into action. read more…
Today on “As the Rash Spreads”
It’s nearly July, in the third summer of my daughter’s Mystery Rash Saga, and we are still stumped. When we last left off, the doctors suspected sun allergy, but then in a follow-up phone call amended that to “maybe it’s just a sensitivity to chemical sunscreens.” We were instructed to ditch our old sunblock and buy only the kind that uses a physical barrier rather than a chemical one, and told that within a month we should see an improvement if one was going to happen. We dutifully replaced all of our cheap sunblock and crossed our fingers.
As soon as Chickadee finished the last round of Prednisone, the rash came back. Again. So I called our crack team of specialists, again, to say “Oh hi, my kid has been on Prednisone three times this summer already and not only have the effects on her personality been TOTALLY AWESOME, she’s actually still covered in a scaly rash, so hey, how about we try something else?”
So it was back to Atlanta today for another shot at deciphering the Mystery Of Itchy Girl. read more…
Lesser-known Marco Polo rules
1) Whoever is “It” is not allowed to wear goggles.
2) Game may be delayed for prolonged argument between children as to whether wearing goggles on your FOREHEAD qualifies as “wearing goggles.”
3) Everyone has to play or someone is going to whine. LOUDLY.
4) When playing with the “no getting out of the pool” rule, you may still get out of the pool as long as you immediately execute a spectacular cannonball to establish your whereabouts.
5) Rule number 4 is actually imaginary. Expect copious complaining from “It” after executed. read more…
Back
The kids came back tonight, and they were taller and bigger and I couldn’t stop marveling at how just two weeks made them different.
Monkey looked like he was gaining weight on the cruise, actually, and two more weeks of voracious eating have settled on his frame in a way that renders him less the spindly waif I’ve known for so many years, and more a sturdy boychild who could tip into adolescence at any moment. We made him hop on the Wii Fit to weigh him; it claims he gained 8 pounds in the last month.
Chickadee is now mere inches away from being my height. She will be taller than me by the time she starts high school, but she still doesn’t believe it. She is shedding the skin of childhood ever-faster, and two weeks in one fell swoop catches in my throat and seems more than I can swallow. She is so lovely and so goofy; so lovely BECAUSE she is so goofy.
They asked to swim and although it was time for dinner we said of course. read more…
After this, I’ll stop talking about it
Hey, did you know I went on a cruise? Maybe I mentioned it? At some point?
Yeah, still kind of riding that high.
Anyway, if you want to hear EVEN MORE about the cruise, you could go listen to this podcast, where I’m chatting with longtime readers Patricia and Michael, who also happen to be a travel agents and cruise junkies. (Can I say that? Please do not confuse “cruise junkies” with other kinds of junkies….)
We go off on about fifty different tangents, and discuss everything from the goofiness of my children to wizened old men taking their trophy wives on vacation. Really. Also, I learned from listening to this that I say “you know” entirely too often. You know, I should stop doing that. Crap.
Anyway, it might be worth a listen. Particularly if you were thinking to yourself, “Self, I just wish I could hear Mir say ‘you know’ six or seven hundred times.” I’m a giver. You know.
Love crosses its fingers
I know that every year I get a little loopy about my garden; in much the same way I can barely believe I’m an adult (with a driver’s license and kids and everything), it still amazes me that I can grow things that turn into delicious food. I must’ve slept my way through botany in high school, because it still blows my mind. Soil and seeds and water make FOOD? It’s like some kind of wonderful black magic.
Of course, it’s also a pretty nearly-instantly gratifying kind of thing, too. Plant, water, wait a month or two, enjoy the fruits (and veggies!) of your labors. For a devotee of Short Attention Span Theater such as myself, that’s a pretty rewarding payoff in a not very long period of time.
Of course, there are demons to slay along the way: Two years ago I focused on vanquishing the slugs, and last year I dueled the tomato horn worms in the Battle of Squick. This garden thing is not without its trials, is what I’m saying. read more…
We’ve resorted to torturing the dog
The children are away with their dad, and the first few years here in the south we used their vacation to do Big Projects here in the house. Now that we’ve run out of patience and money (ha!), summer holds no such drudgery over our heads, and while it’s awfully nice to have a little time off, I just plain miss them. Because, yeah, it’s nice to be able to sleep naked or whatever, but not as nice as having everyone home.
And the progression is the same, every time they’re gone for two weeks: The first week is AWESOME! Woooo! Let’s eat dinner on the couch! Let’s go to the movies and see something rated R! Let’s go out with friends! (Uh, except that we didn’t actually do any of that, this time. I was away and then home and sick and then Otto was away. We fail at partying, yo.) At the beginning of the second week I find myself doing things like clothes shopping for the kids. And then by the middle of the second week (now) I’m counting down ’til their weekend return.
Anyway, in just a few more days all will be back to normal. And no one will celebrate more than the dog, who is currently the focus of all our parental inclinations to torment our offspring. read more…
Remember that thing?
Hey, remember when we were updating Five Full Plates all the time, and we had GOALS and MISSIONS and we did THINGS? Wasn’t that cool? We’re taking the summer off, on account of… ummm… we got tired of being so darn virtuous all the time. Yes, that’s it. But after a long period of silence I thought a bit of an update was in order.
You know, because I’m endlessly fascinating and you lie awake at night wondering how I am. Um. What? No…? Whatever, man. Here’s a bit of a Full Plates update on me, just in case you care. (Which you totally do. I can tell.)
Vel-Shih-Poo
Someone asked how Licorice was doing with our reunion and how she dealt with her first week away from us. I’m pleased to report that she still maintains all of the endearing qualities she had when we left, like that her tail is very waggy, she makes that adorable “murph!” sound when you pet her and/or she’s really happy, and her breath—despite the finest water additives, targeted treats, and dental rawhides money can buy—still threatens to melt your face off whenever she decides you need a good lickin’.
In other words, she’s absolutely fine and the reunion was very sweet.
On the other hand, never let it be said that Licorice isn’t a dog with her own special complexities. Much as many dogs and owners start to look like one another after long-term ownership, I am coming to grips with the fact that the longer I own this dog, the more neurotic she becomes. Like, um, someone who lives in this house. And prefers to remain anonymous. STOP LOOKING AT ME. read more…