Animal House
The parentals are here for Thanksgiving, and I know that many people find visitors—and in particular, family—stressful, what with the extra bodies and noise and dishes and foibles, but I am generally delighted to have other warm bodies in the house. Especially ones who are happy to entertain my children and buy me dinner.
(Sometimes it doesn’t take much to make me happy.)
These sorts of visits are always All About The Eating, and the fact that the Most Eatingest Holiday falls this week is just a bonus.
The new twist, this visit, is that of course last time they were here, we didn’t have the dog. So where the house is normally buzzing with excitement because GRANDMA AND GRANDPA!, this time we also have a small worried animal underfoot. read more…
Humiliation ahoy
Once upon a time there was a kind, beautiful, talented, and extremely mentally ill woman who said to a few friends, “Do you know what we need? We need to start one of those group blogs and do a weight loss challenge, because it will keep us accountable and honest and I am rabidly competitive and I will mop up the floor with you. Doesn’t that sound FUN?”
I am pretty sure I was eating some cookies and didn’t really hear her clearly when I said, “Sure! Great idea!”
Oh, well. I’m stuck, now—I’ve committed to actually diet and exercise in the new year, and be publicly accountable for it, and here we are headed into the Season of Eating and a little voice inside me says, “Oh, I could probably just GAIN ten pounds before January, then take THAT off!” I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t even be cheating.
Anyway. Won’t you come join us over at Five Full Plates? I can pretty much promise you that I will have a full-on tantrum at some point during the competition. Maybe even more than one.
Love gets the message
Thank you for all of the suggestions regarding delicious baked goods. I’m ten pounds heavier, now, having read the comments, but I appreciate it from the bottom of my straining zipper.
The meeting Wasn’t, which is to say that we thought it was scheduled and then it wasn’t and then we were left hanging and then I had to send some Very Stern Emails. Now we are rescheduled, which gives me more time to plan. And bake. In the meantime, the OTHER child (surely not wanting to be left out) came home with news of a “uniform violation” which required another Stern Email (the response was priceless, if electronic backpedaling is your thing), and also there’s the small matter of a missing project, which is a whole ‘nother story and frankly, I felt pulled in ten different directions last week, and this week it feels more like twenty.
Yesterday I had meetings and today I had meetings and I arrived home to a blinking answering machine. read more…
Bake your way through bureaucracy
I’m hip-deep in preparations for our next IEP meeting, which I’m told should NOT include some of my brilliant ideas, such as screaming, “You people are inefficient, heartless asses” or suggesting that my child could, in fact, receive a better education in a cage full of premenstrual orangutans. (I only believe one of those statements, actually.) (But I’m not saying which one.)
This time we’re bringing the Big Guns, by which I mean that we have hired representation because it’s become clear to us that that’s the only way anything’s going to get done. Sad, but true. And really, all of that pesky money I had tucked away was making my mattress all lumpy.
In addition to having many other brilliant ideas, our shiny new advocate has suggested that I bring food to our next meeting. (Don’t you love her already?) She suggested a number of things which are easy enough to pick up at the store, but you know me. If I’m going to kill them with kindness, I’m going all the way. I’m baking, baby.
Have a recipe guaranteed to turn even the most curmudgeonly drone to pliable goo? Please share. I need a good one.
Important things (via Chuck Norris)
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I am trying with all of my might to continue to believe in the public school system in this country—and, more importantly, in my current county—but that recent circumstances are making that harder and harder. I have become That Mother, the one with all of the EMAILING and PHONE CALLING and, um, gray hair.
So on the one hand, we’ve got Monkey’s Situation, the Cliff Notes summary of which is: Gosh, I hope you don’t have a special needs child who gets good grades, because the school is not at all interested in doing jack for you if so. (Me, to Monkey: Your choices are to either un-special yourself or fail the standardized tests next time, do you hear me?) (Monkey, to me: Huh?)
On the other hand, we’ve got Chickadee’s Situation, the Cliff Notes summary of which is: Mystery illness ahoy, with a side of “I hate school” and a garnish of “I hate everything, actually, on account of I am a tween girl.”
And then, of course, there is Chuck Norris. read more…
People of Goodwill
Hooray—it looks like Chickadee is going to live. We’ll be headed in for some more tests, next week, but she’s stopped with the narcolepsy (which, quite frankly, was freaking me out) and feels well enough to torment her brother and talk back to us. So I’m pretty sure that’s good news, all things considered.
Yesterday I found myself full up on cabin fever after most of a week trapped at home with a sick kid, and I kissed my family goodbye and fled the house.
I didn’t need to do anything. Well, that’s not true—I needed to shop for a new bed for Chickadee’s room (which is also the guest room), but mostly I just needed to get OUT. So before I went bed shopping, I went to Goodwill.
I always have such high hopes for Goodwill. I… am not very bright. read more…
Helpful
Good news! Chickadee doesn’t have mono!
Bad news! Chickadee is apparently severely anemic! Worse news! The doctor is now out of town until next week, so sorry, he’ll call when he returns to talk about “next steps.”
Helpful tip: Do not ask Dr. Google about children and anemia. Seriously. Just don’t.
If you need me, I’ll be spending the day hand-feeding my child popsicles, buying her ponies, and also bleaching my brain.
[Edited to add: Got a second call from the doctor’s office to schedule a follow-up, and this time had the presence of mind to ask for actual blood test results. Hi, my doctor’s office is staffed by morons—she’s not anemic, she’s the OPPOSITE (blood count too HIGH). Don’t Google that one, either. Nice to know the spinach she eats is working well as she’s potentially harboring a deadly disease, though.]
Please keep your tongue to yourself
Chickadee has been malingering. Except malingering is really the wrong word, because I do think she’s sick… or sickISH… certainly she’s just plain not feeling great; but given her bent towards the DRAH-MAH and the fact that MALINGERING just tastes exactly like what she’s been doing—dragging herself around, looking all peaked and weary—I stand by my original verb choice. Last night in addition to the “my throat is sore” complaint that’s been around for a couple of weeks, she started adding in “my ear hurts,” and I could avoid it no longer: Today I took her to the doctor.
We waited for approximately three years (no, no I don’t have ANY IDEA where she gets that penchant for melodrama, why do you ask?) and then we were placed in a room and she was poked by a medical assistant. We waited a couple of more years and then the doctor came in and did the doctorly sorts of things one does. read more…
Literary slut, visual prude
It occurred to me this weekend that I have a complete double-standard about sharing stuff online. And not just for me—which would be fine, you know, setting standards for myself—but I find myself getting all Judgy McJudgerson about other people, which is quite frankly both exhausting and probably just bad karma.
And yes, I know that everyone has their own boundaries. Everyone has to decide what they can live with, and what makes them comfortable, and if it makes ME uncomfortable, I am free to look away, and blah blah blah BLAH let’s sing Kumbaya! I get that. I do.
Nevertheless, I realized this weekend, when I found myself face-to-face with someone’s naked boobs, that I am much more tolerant of the written word than I am of photography. Specifically, I am not bothered by an entire post about your breasts (particularly if it’s funny) (I think I’ve written a couple of those) (at least, I hope they were funny), but I’d rather not be ambushed by a giant picture of them. read more…
Honey, I broke the dog
It turns out that I’m not exactly a paragon of Doggie Mama Perfection. I mean, I try—lord knows, I try—but, well, sometimes my optimism vastly outweighs reality. (For those who are new or who have spotty memories, I present supporting exhibits A and B as evidence of my dumbassitude when it comes to believing that dogs should just love me and want to be with me always. Ahem.) And the problem with Licorice is that the longer we have her, the more I become deluded into thinking I Know Things when, really, I should just consult the Dog Emailer before I do anything other than, oh, I don’t know, feed the dog or rub her belly.
Anyway, we’ve had Licorice for a couple of months, now. She is still shy with new people, but totally comfortable with our home and family. (Um, if her flying leap into my bed every time I enter the bedroom and subsequent valiant slaying of my pillow—followed by a velocity of wagging that’s almost enough to knock her right off the bed—is any indication, that is.) When we go to doggie class she is a little timid, but has warmed up to the other dogs and has even been known to sniff at them and wag.
So really, was I so wrong in thinking she might enjoy a trip to a local dog park? read more…