Better, stronger, dressing weirder
You are all lovely, everyone who commented on yesterday’s post. You are my favorite.
[Quick addendum to yesterday: I defensively feel like I need to point out that the ruined pants in question are track pants (nylon blend), and thus impossible to patch. Yes, of course, I patch holey jeans. Holey wind pants? They’re toast. Alas.]
I can only sustain the Mushy and the Heartfelt for a day, you know, so thank GOODNESS today is Friday, which means it’s my day to weigh in over at Five Full Plates. Today brings good news and ugly shoes. Two great tastes that taste great together!
Come on over, won’t you?
Love’s losses and gains
I realized at some point this week that I haven’t written very much about Monkey, lately. I’m not sure why that is. I think that since his official Asperger’s diagnosis I’ve felt conflicted. I felt relief to know what we already knew, but sadness for him to be saddled with a label. I felt hopeful that people who might be able to help him now had a handle on his needs, but wariness about the assumptions that might be made about him by those less than loving. For a while he was still having a hard time with everything, and it was just too difficult to talk about, too painful to say, “He’s my baby and his life isn’t supposed to be this hard and I can’t fix it.”
And then things started getting better—for a whole lot of different reasons, some of which we know and others which are ephemeral and, we hope, continuing whether we understand them or not—and I just wanted to cautiously enjoy it and not think too hard about the WHYs or the HOWs or (especially) the WILL IT LASTs.
Something happened yesterday that made me realize I have things I need to say about my son, and me, and us. read more…
They’d like to know!
Chris wrote a hilarious post the other day about the ridiculous pitches we receive as bloggers. We’ve all been through the “I don’t respond to email addressed to ‘Dear Mommyblogger’ or addressed to someone else” thing, and Chris does a great job of explaining why pretending to hype an “opportunity” to someone that is really a request for advertising in return for some crappy free product is just insulting and dumb.
But I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that that at the very least, you kind of have to admire the chutzpah of those pitches. I mean, they’re terrible. AWFUL. But someone must be falling for them, right? So maybe even at a low rate of return, it works out to be advantageous for them. And if you want to be completely technical, offering free product in return for space on someone’s blog is indeed an “opportunity,” albeit one that doesn’t seem like it would appeal to many people with brains.
But I’ve decided that my favorite pitch to hate has got to be the ones that are even dumber than that. read more…
Special
My children are hoarders. I mean, not Prime Time Special, bring in the forklift kind of hoarders, but hoarders nonetheless. Every item that comes into the house is the most wondrous [insert category of object here], and every drawing is sacred, and every graded test a reminder of a more halcyon time. I have to remove outgrown clothing under cover of darkness or create an elaborate diversion during the day (“Hey, look! Is that a big sign that says FREE COOKIES?”), lest the wailing and gnashing of teeth commence.
Otto is meticulous and organized, and while he has a vast quantity of STUFF, himself, every object has a place and a filing system and is part of a rigid hierarchy. His strategy with the children is to try to help them ORGANIZE their things. In other words, it’s okay with him if they keep everything, so long as it isn’t all over the floor.
I am neither meticulous nor particularly well organized, and I don’t have a single sentimental bone in my body. In my world, if I don’t have a spot for it here on my desk, it’s not something I wear regularly or something I need to do my taxes, INTO THE GARBAGE IT GOES. I am forever trying to get the kids to part with their “treasures” by lovingly pointing out that FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IT’S A GRANOLA BAR WRAPPER. LET IT GO. read more…
Contacts and kitties and baths, oh my!
I know, I know; I completely missed Love Thursday this week. In my defense, I spent most of yesterday trying to figure out how the heck I sprained my ankle doing nothing. (What can I say? I’m unbelievably klutzy fragile talented.) You can read about that and my general hatred of everything fitness related this week over in my weekly post at Five Full Plates, but here is the summary: WAH WAH WAH THIS SUCKS.
You’re welcome.
One spot of good news, though, is that Dr. Fancypants came through and supposedly a contact lens prescription has been faxed to our local place for Chickadee. Is it true? I have no idea. I’m headed over there this afternoon to see if we can actually get her some contacts. I’m hopeful, while still poised for crushing frustration, you understand. read more…
Can you see me now?
My baby would forgive me if she ended up going blind because I couldn’t figure out what the hell her various eye care professionals were smoking, right? I’m sure she would. I mean, it’s not like she’s ever mad at me about things that aren’t even my fault, or like she overreacts to the smallest provocation, or…
HAHAHAHAAAAAAA.
Holy crap, I’m doomed. I may as well hand her a voodoo doll and a white cane for her birthday this year, I think.
Perhaps it’s my fault. (Oh, who am I kidding? OF COURSE it’s my fault.) I should’ve taken her to her last eye appointment. But the yearly trek into Atlanta to see the Pediatric Wonky Eyes Specialist involves, you know, driving into Atlanta, and I try very hard not to do that if I don’t have to. So I’d suckered Otto into taking her, and I thought everything was all set. read more…
The wind beneath my things
After a week of having a bookcase sitting squarely in the middle of my office (don’t ask), yesterday the Grand Office Redesign of 2010 was completed. Basically I spent half the day wallowing and the other half realizing that my aversion to the work of getting reorganized was steadily being outweighed by the annoyance of HAVING A BOOKCASE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM OH MY GOD.
Plus, you know, it was really stressing out the dog. The bookcase was creating a wall between the futon where she likes to snooze all day and the chair at my new desk, so she couldn’t BOTH be a slug AND keep watch over me, so she was spending the day bouncing back and forth between the futon (comfort! but lack of watchdog capability!) and trying to sleep directly under my feet (cramped! and with accompanying cranky human!).
Anyway, it’s all done. I mean, it’s mostly done. Look, if you walk into the room, it totally looks like we set it up this way on purpose, and there aren’t any extraneous pieces of furniture hulking aimlessly in the middle of the floor for no apparent reason. That has to count for something. read more…
This too shall pass
I spent much of the weekend licking my wounds, except it was figurative, of course, which was a good thing, because if I’d been trying to LITERALLY lick anything on my body I might’ve screwed up my neck more than it was already screwed up.
[Typical conversation with my chiropractor over the last few days:
Her: Does this hurt?
Me: IT ALL HURTS.
Her: But does it hurt MORE?
Me: Maybe. Can you make it hurt LESS? Or could you maybe just KILL ME?]
So my neck was hurting and my ego was hurting and my everything-is-going-to-be-fine meter was freaking out and I figured I would just sulk for a few days and then come back and tell you a funny story about the dog, because HEY! Everyone loves funny stories about the dog!
It was such a good plan, too. read more…
That’s what she said
It’s Friday, and that means I’m over at Five Full Plates today. If my neck wasn’t so jacked up I might be talking about exercise or even bemoaning my current weight, but as it is I’m nearly immobile and so have resorted to telling you about what I put in my mouth this week.
Insert your own jokes. You know you want to.
Love soaks up the sun
I spent most of yesterday feeling very sorry for myself, and have a good head start on doing more of the same, today.
My neck is out. This used to happen with a fair amount of regularity, but it hasn’t happened in a long time. I think I thought I was “over” it; that whatever was injured in that long-ago car accident had finally been healed or at least cracked into submission by the chiropractor. And here as I stand on the brink of what is perhaps the healthiest period of my life—I am eating a high protein, low fat, mostly fresh, antioxidant-rich diet, and exercising daily for the first time since my childhood—I managed to wake up yesterday morning almost unable to move.
When I commented that “this sucks” to Otto, Chickadee wagged her finger at me and told me to “find a nicer word,” and I told her that I most certainly would not, because it DOES suck. Winning parental moment, right there. I am a role model for the ages, no? read more…