While I was peeing
(Wouldn’t that be a good name for a sitcom? Or a novel? I think it has a certain ring to it.)
Mostly today I have been busy drinking all of the water in the world and then, you know, flushing it out of my uncooperative bladder. But saying “I spent all day peeing” seems a little crass, even for me.
So here! I made you some delicious gluten-free multigrain pancakes! I did not make them WHILE I was peeing, of course. That would be gross. I made them for you earlier this week, and given how busy I am with my bladder today, it seemed like a good time to share the recipe so that I would stop talking about peeing. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be done with this particular bit of life experience.
Until then: pancakes. Much better than pee. Yay!
Pro tips, free of charge
When I wrote about our trip to Atlanta on Monday and all of the traffic we encountered, I included the tidbit about desperately needing to pee to illustrate how very unpleasant the whole ordeal was. When I reread what I had written, I had a moment of, “Do I really need to talk about how much I had to pee?” Because: pee. (I sure am saying “pee” a lot, here.) But I left it, because what’s a little pee between friends? Also, WOW was that uncomfortable in the extreme.
Well HEY, GUESS WHAT! Today I learned that if you wait a really long time to pee when your bladder is full, that can give you a bladder infection. NEAT, HUH? You’ll never guess how I found out! It’s no big deal, though, because if you’ve never had a bladder infection, I can assure you that it only makes you wish for death during the time when you’re awake. (Never had one? Imagine having a mild stomachache and feeling like you have to pee ALL THE TIME, but then every time you DO go it feels like someone is jabbing broken glass into your urethra. YOU ARE WELCOME.)
So after peeing in a cup for my doctor this morning and then heading to the pharmacy, it turned out my meds weren’t ready, and I was a very sad panda. BUT THEN while I was waiting, the cops came in to have a chat with a woman who apparently had a forged prescription for narcotics. Today was WAY more exciting than anticipated, is my point.
Moral of the story: Find a way to urinate as soon as you need to go, lest you find yourself sitting at the pharmacy with crotch pain in the middle of a drug bust.
Back in the saddle again
I’ll be headed into our first special education meeting of the season later this week, and it should be a real doozy. Chickadee’s guidance counselor has been changed, since last year, and she has a new diagnosis, and we want some additional testing, and… well, you know I always make cookies, but I think I’d better be certain to make REALLY GOOD COOKIES for this one.
I pull no punches when it comes to dealing with the school. Five minutes after meeting the new guidance counselor, I was saying, “Look, I’m going to be a pain in your ass. I know this and I’m telling you. I’m here to advocate for my child, and if we need something, I will be here until she gets it. On the other hand, I think you’ll find I’m pretty realistic about who she is and what she needs and what the school should be providing, and when everyone here does their job, I will be here saying thank you. Plus I make good cookies.” She looked a little scared. We’ll see how it goes.
Transitioning to the high school years when you have a kid with an IEP or 504 Plan is a whole new ball of wax, man. I’ve got a few quick tips on navigating special education with an older child up at Alpha Mom today, just in case you, too, recently realized how little time is left before college to teach your special snowflake how to be her own best advocate. (Hold me.)
If my GPS could talk
This morning Chickadee had an appointment at Emory for chapter 593 in Mystery Rash: Where Is It Now, And Which Med Student Hasn’t Seen It Yet?, and because getting into Atlanta on a weekday is always an enormous clusterfuck, we left nearly three hours before her scheduled arrival to be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN of getting there on time.
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha. My optimism! It never fails to slay me.
There’s this whole time window calculation with heading into the city, too, where if your appointment is too early you get stuck in rush hour GOING, but if it’s too late you get stuck in rush hour coming BACK, and then there’s this whoooole fuzzy gray area where you’re likely to catch the tail end of rush hour no matter what you do, and so leaving at this time is functionally the same as leaving half an hour earlier, blah blah blah blah. I thought I had it figured out, is my point.
But I was wrong, because: Rain. RAIN! OH NOES! Quick, everyone veer off the road! Still: THREE HOURS. For a drive that should take 90 minutes, tops. What could possibly go wrong? read more…
Gross or awesome? You decide!
Every now and then I do something where I catch myself and go, “… did I really just do that?” It’s usually because I can’t decide if I’m amazing or disgusting. (In my defense, there’s sometimes a really thin line between these states. Also, I’m not very bright.)
Before the Internet, I had to just wonder in silence, or call a friend. But now I have all of YOU! Ready to tell me the TRUTH, and scold me if necessary. So naturally just now I did this thing and was all, “Oh yes, I must tell the world about it immediately so that I can find out how to properly judge my own actions.” Woooooo!
So the best part here is that I just reread this intro and I’m now envisioning readers being all, “What? WHAT DID YOU DO? Did you bring home roadkill? Are you snacking on ants? HOW CRINGEWORTHY ARE YOU RIGHT NOW??” This is sort of like that letter that’s been going around for years where the college girl writes to her parents to let them know that she’s hooked on drugs, living with a convicted felon, knocked up, and a bunch of other stuff. And then at the end she’s all, “Just kidding! But I did get a C in a class. No biggie, right?” This is going to be sort of like that. I hope. read more…
Things I do when I should be working
The thing about working from home is that—while those of you working in offices may recognize when you’re wasting work time via, say, watching cat videos online—my time slippage is a lot more insidious than it used to be. That goes double now that we’re back to school, because hey, sometimes Monkey really needs me to help him with his work, y’know?
There’s too many possible rabbit holes in my day, here. Because Monkey really needs me to help him with his work and THEN he has to show me this new thing in Minecraft OR he can’t find a syllabus and so I HAVE to orchestrate a clean-up mission. OR it occurs to me that I should probably get dinner started and then it seems like a GREAT time to try a new recipe even though I have a million things I really ought to be doing, instead.
[Sidebar: Remember the whole “Oh, hey, SURPRISE! Chickie has ADHD!” thing? I’m now reading Smart But Scattered Teens and… holy Chickadee. Holy Monkey. HOLY ME. I can’t decide whether to be pleased with myself for not being a hot mess 100% of the time or aggravated that I still wander off when I see something shiny to this day. Executive dysfunction: A family affair!] read more…
They refuse to stop growing
Last night at dinner, the following conversation occurred.
Otto: How was your day at school?
Chickadee: Terrible.
Otto: Really?
Chickadee: No. Just messing with you.
Otto: And how was YOUR day at school?
Monkey: It was good. How was YOUR day at school?
Otto: It went well. Thank you.
*here there was a pause, as everyone turned to look at me*
Otto: Do you feel left out?
Me: A little!
Of course, Monkey’s “day at school” yesterday was on the computer, but today, EVERYONE WENT TO SCHOOL. I’ve been alone all day and it’s rather glorious. (I’m hoping the new co-op goes well for Monkey, as I’ll be treasuring the one day each week where I don’t have to listen to Minecraft stories.)
This morning I packed lunches for my darling children, and then Chickadee put on her shoes to go wait for the bus, and because I was still barefoot, this made her taller than me. THIS WAS NOT OKAY. Shortly thereafter, Monkey put on his shoes, and that made him almost my height, and that was even WORSE. The saddest part about all of this is that I’m a dirty enabler, constantly FEEDING these kids and encouraging them to grow. I am ashamed. But not so ashamed that I won’t tell you how we do it, because misery loves company.
It turns out that being a grownup is a grind
I spent most of the last week trying really hard not to whine about not feeling well, because there is little more annoying than listening to a grown-ass adult complain because she has the sniffles. But I didn’t feeeeeeeel goooooooood and that was HARD. Because of the sniffling. And the feeling yucky. And wah wah wah. The truth is that I always get sick after I travel, and that was WEEKS AGO, now, and instead of getting full-blown, plague-level sick right away, I was just kind of stuck in this Victorian-fainting-couch level of feeling unwell for weeks, not getting better, but not really getting worse, either. Basically I had a cold.
And then last Friday I woke up with an awful earache, because I am three. Naturally I handled this situation with maturity and aplomb, which is to say that I stayed in my pajamas for two days, whining about how I AM TOO OLD FOR AN EAR INFECTION. I also took a lot of drugs (legal ones; nothing fun) and ate all the vitamin C in the world and drank a lot of water. I bemoaned my fate as The First Person Ever With The Cold That Would Never Go Away. And then yesterday I woke up feeling fine.
I should’ve been elated, but instead I was 1) slightly embarrassed by all the carrying on I’d been doing and 2) annoyed that this meant I no longer had an excuse to avoid being productive. read more…
You don’t know until you do it
I had a nice chat with one of Monkey’s virtual teachers this year (uh, she is not virtual, she’s a real person—a real teacher—but she works with the Virtual School, I mean) wherein I said something in passing about how this is our third year of homeschooling, and she uttered the dreaded phrase:
“Oh, I just DON’T KNOW HOW PEOPLE DO IT. I could NEVER homeschool my kids!”
I have an arsenal of standard responses to such statements: that I didn’t think I could until I did, that one of my kids is still in public school, that we utilize a lot of resources like Virtual School, and—my personal favorite, as it really gets to the heart of the matter—that I never planned to, but with Monkey’s particular set of needs being incompatible with a conventional middle school classroom, I simply didn’t have a choice.
But the truth is that a huge part of the reason I hate that phrase is because I probably said it to homeschoolers, myself, a hundred times before we found ourselves homeschooling. The implication is admiration, but the subtext is disbelief that anyone could survive it. read more…
I think this is the end of an era
I made the homeschooling child get up early and put on shoes, much to his chagrin. Chickadee was already up, maybe a little nervous, maybe a little excited, but saving us from the “I’m NOT A MORNING PERSON!” slog for this first day back, at least.
It’s the first day of 10th grade, and—as the saying goes—what a difference a year makes. Thank God.
For those paying close attention, you may note that this year, Monkey’s shoes are slightly larger than Chickadee’s. Next year when we do first-day-of-school pictures, I think he’ll be taller than her, too. I’ve been telling her for years to enjoy being taller while it lasts, but I think she’s never really believed me that her days were numbered.
This morning was calm and ordinary and unremarkable—just one of those everyday miracles. I had the passing realization that Monkey will pass Chickadee’s height by this time next year, then nearly burst out laughing at what a normal thing that was to think about.
Today’s a good day.