The tell-tale beep
I don’t recall when it started, or who noticed it first, but the fact remains that our house is currently possessed. Oh, I guess I’m exaggerating. Not our entire house. Just our kitchen. Or maybe my office. Possibly the garage. OKAY, the entire first floor is suspect. But really, that’s only half the house. So yes, half our house is currently possessed.
Or just kind of… beepy.
It’s a sneaky beep. It doesn’t happen at regular intervals, it doesn’t seem. You’ll just be puttering around in the kitchen, packing lunches or sneaking some of your kid’s jelly beans (what?) and there’s this faint, muffled *beep* that comes from… somewhere.
I think it’s in the kitchen. Or under the kitchen.
Or in the garage. Or my office. Really, it’s a wonder we haven’t found it yet. read more…
Full circle (or maybe oval)
It’s been approximately two years and two months since we moved into this house, and there has been a methodical progression of organization and renovation ever since then. Before we moved in our stuff, we repainted in the living room, hallways, and the kids’ rooms. The children’s rooms were the first parts completely finished and habitable, followed by the kitchen and then the living room. We redid walls and flooring, and then the dining room was perfect. We found the perfect kitchen table, and then I vowed to stop complaining so much about the kitchen. (Ahem.)
My point is that it’s not that we haven’t been working on the house and fixing it up. We totally have! But even as we’ve worked on every other room, one thing has remained unchanged: Our bedroom.
I know there are people who make the argument that your bedroom should be your beautiful haven of relaxation and the place where you can retreat at the end of the day and feel completely at ease, but I am apparently missing that gene. I believe the bedroom is… where you keep your bed. And, um, everything else. read more…
The Dog Emailer
So I’ve been meaning to tell you that Otto and I met a Real Live Dog Whisperer here in town, but after umpty-hundred emails back and forth I’ve decided that she is not, in fact, done justice with the moniker Dog Whisperer.
She is the Dog Emailer.
(Though I do not think she actually emails WITH dogs.) (On the other hand, knowing what I know now about her, it would not entirely surprise me if she did.) (But that’s not the dog I want, because I get grumpy when I have to share my computer.)
ANYWAY. There was some sort of dog festival thing here a few weeks ago, back before we all got sick and we contemplated putting one or both of the children on Xanax just to get through each day. Back when we were still under the illusion that everything was fine and dandy, we spent part of an afternoon petting dogs and talking to people, and then, being rescued. read more…
Love finds the right currency
The post I wrote for BlogHer yesterday about writing unsavory things about your children was a hard one for me. The subject of my post has, in my mind, crossed the line. Hell, she can’t even SEE the line anymore. It seems pretty black and white, to me.
But I write about my kids. Many writers I admire write about their kids. I think it can be done respectfully, and I cringe when I hear the baby-with-the-bathwater arguments for parents to never say a single word that’s less than glowing about their offspring. It’s dangerous territory, but I refuse to believe a few people making poor choices should mean that everyone else has to just shut up.
So this has been on my mind. And I’ve been taking stock of what I say and what I don’t. I don’t think I always get it right (though I hope I do most of the time, of course), but it’s part of what I deal with when it comes to sharing, here. read more…
On notice:
[Alternate title: You Damn Kids Get Off Of My Lawn.]
[Alternate alternate title: No, Seriously, Knock It Off.]
[Alternate alternate alternate title: You Really Might Not Want To Tick Me Off Right Now.]
I’m willing to cop to being fairly irritable. I’m easily riled. It’s true. I try to take it in stride. I also try to recognize when I’m overreacting, even if only to justify having more chocolate (“It’s my MEDICINE!”) or whatever. But sometimes too many annoying things happen in too short a span of time for me to digest them in a calm and rational way.
So here are a few things I feel the need to vomit back at the world this week. You’re welcome for that appetizing metaphor. You are now in the perfect frame of mind for this! read more…
Through the fire
Last week chewed me up and spit me out and then sneered at me and told me my mother dresses me funny. Then it stole my lunch money and stomped on my fingers.
The sad part is that I really didn’t get the worst of the week; I’d say the men of our household had a significantly worse week than I did, even. In fact, some might say the only person who had a great week was Chickadee, except for the tiny detail of some of her choices having resulted in a few extra chores this past weekend. And although it cheered ME up immensely to watch her mop the kitchen floor, I’m guessing that wasn’t her favorite thing. (I’m still trying to decide if it was mine. I mean, of all the joys of parenthood, slave labor is one of the finest.)
We four sat around the dinner table last night, making a grand mess with taco fixings, talking about how much better this week will be, and how we’re all going to pull together as a family and support each other and be kind and respectful and diligent and BETTER. I think we were all trying to convince ourselves. I find guacamole is an excellent confidence booster in these situations. read more…
Spring cleaning in the fall
Today was a giant work day for all of us; the kids and I dug out their rooms and their closets, while Otto did manly things like replace a faucet and put holes in the walls where we’ve had things just propped against the wall “to be hung” for months on end. Monkey made up a little “Spring cleaning in the FAAAAAALLLLLL!” song that he kept singing at me to make me laugh, and Chickadee did a lot of complaining about how it wasn’t her fault her room was a mess and she didn’t realize that I meant the WHOLE closet and such, and the end result was lots of stuff got done and rooms ended up clean and it was a small comfort to me to have a few things set in order after a few days of what felt like utter chaos.
“I don’t know about you, buddy,” I said to Monkey as he set the last of his bins back on the shelves with a satisfied look on his face, “but sometimes once I get everything all organized, I actually feel better. Like life is more manageable.”
He nodded in agreement. “Me too!” he said. “I like knowing where to find everything.” read more…
Love needs a little smile
Lord, this has been a long week. I was sick, Otto’s been sick, yesterday Monkey was sick, and thanks to all of that, we’re all behind on work and meals have been cobbled together a la “Well, I found… a green pepper that doesn’t look too old. And a slice of cheese. And I think we have some rice. What could I make with that?” I like order and routine and this week has had precious little of that.
To top it off, Chickadee (having gotten sick last week, instead) has been trucking along as the sole healthy member of the family, but with her skin having taken another turn for the worse. She so dreads the steroids and other interventions that at this point she just dons long sleeves and long pants and hopes I just don’t notice. I do notice, of course, and yesterday I was finally well enough to play Spend The Entire Day On The Phone Trying To Make Headway. It’s my least favorite game, but it was time.
So the good news is that despite her issues with the spacing of kids in our family, the nice dermatologist called me right back and said the magic words I’ve been wanting to hear: “I think it’s time for the big guns. I’d like to send you to a specialist at Emory.” read more…
Problem solver
At about 11 this morning, my phone rang. Conveniently, I had just fallen asleep again, so I was super-excited to be woken up as you might imagine.
Me: Hello?
Chickadee: Hiya.
Me: What’s the matter? Are you okay?
Her: I’m fine. Well, I got something in my eye, and my contact fell out.
Me: It FELL OUT? Okay…?
Her: Yeah. So. Um. I’m wearing one contact.
Me: Take it out and wear your glasses, instead.
Her: Oh. Um. I don’t have my glasses.
Me: You don’t?
Her: Nope.
Me: So you need to put your contact back in.
Her: Right.
Me: And let me guess. You don’t have your glasses, and I bet you don’t have any saline, either?
Her: Nope. read more…
A story for another day
I had this grand plan to tell you all about where we are in our dog search, but last night my cold morphed into something I was sure was the flu, but after going to the doctor this morning and being swabbed I have been assured that I do not have the flu.
I was sort of disappointed, frankly. When you lay down on the floor and cry because you haven’t slept all night and your head feels like it’s going to explode and you have a fever and you can say, “I HAVE THE FLU!”, well, people are understanding.
If you do all of those things but you have to say, “It’s just a VIRUS!”, you kind of feel like an ass. Or at least I do, what with my husband probably in the process of dying and whatnot, at the same time. I mean, he has MRSA. I just have a lot of snot. And, apparently, a very low tolerance for feeling like crap.