Look at that little smile :)

Here's the part of this post where I could go on and on about how big Baby B is getting, and how much growing little guys do in the three/four months between the times I get to see them, but that's not very entertaining. It's true, but not exciting enough to babble on about in a post. Instead, I'm just going to say how adorable he is, and show you my favorite picture of him during this past visit.



And then I'm going to send you over to Tracey's for some birthday happiness and more Best Shots.

Checking it twice...

I have found the most amazing advice columnist ever, and gone back and read every single one of her columns. She is wise and sweet, and witty and sharp, and her pointed corners are covered in that nice fabric/foam stuff so they don't poke you too hard. She's reasonable and realistic; her commenters are (for the most part) also wonderful and present and fabulous; and she's not the least bit shy.

I want her to be my very best friend, but in lieu of that, I'm just glomming all her advice, and I thought I'd share one of my very favorite bits here:

In response to someone who was wondering what to do with their life, and lamenting the overwhelmingness of choices and forever and ... the whole wide world being out there, she suggested:

Option 3: Stop asking yourself what you want, what you desire, what interests you. Ask yourself instead: What has been given to me? Ask: What do I have to give back? Make a list. Make the list very long. Then give it, my addled friend. Give it.

I'm definitely going to be working on my list: it'll be nice to focus on the things I have, for a change, instead of things that I'm lacking.

I be back

Hey everybody: I know it's been a little while, but have no fear, I have not (as Crazed Mom has worried about) been a part of the blog-apocalypse or anything like that. Nope, it's just regular, end of summer, everybody has their vacation at one time, trying to cram experiences into the last few weeks before school starts mayhem.

I told y'all we'd be having some visitors, and boy howdy*, did we have visitors. My sister and her boys came for about a week, and Lil Girl and her brother decided to stay with us most of that week too, because their cousins were here. Which is awesome and wonderful, and I'm so happy that they (mostly) get along because there is such a wide range of ages (8 months to 14 years), and that could be bad news, but (mostly) works for them. One of my most cherished memories of my childhood summers is the week in August that my Virginia cousins would visit... I can remember crying every time they left and almost holding my breath every summer till it was time for them to come back. I'm so glad that my niece and nephews can have the same kind of connection (and, since Sister S's boys only live in New Hampshire, get to have more than one visit a year).

But that's not to say that it didn't take a lot out of me, and really made me realize that I am still - three months post-op - definitely still in a recovery phase. I just didn't have (what passes for) my normal level of stamina or strength, and, by the middle of the week, I was getting lots of concerned questions from both Sister S and Oldest Nephew. They kept asking if I was mad, which is the question I tend to get asked a lot if the pain is showing up on my face. I had to keep reassuring them that I wasn't mad (because I wasn't), just really, really sore. Since I have had 15 years of practice in covering up how badly I am feeling (particularly around the kids), it has to be pretty horrible for that much to be leaking out. I also don't necessarily think it was bad for it to be showing - Sister S, and her oldest boy, to some extent - still don't really "get" the whole chronic illness thing, mostly because they only briefly lived with me while I was ill. They don't quite understand how bad it can get, because I mostly hide it when they are here, so as not to put a damper on the visit. Which is possible on a weekend visit, or a day trip, but for a whole week? Never gonna happen. Eventually it catches up with me, and in this case, it was definitely sooner rather than later.

While they were here, we managed to get most of the whole immediate family crew together (minus Sister K who went to Montana with her boyfriend) for a little trek to a local old timey amusement park. It's a place that holds a lot of memories for most of us, as Nana (5th grade teacher extraordinaire) used to take her classes there on a field trip every year. She and the other chaperones would bring beach chairs and park under a giant willow tree, while the kids ran across the parking lot to the arcade with the warnings of "Absolutely no one goes to the beach!" and "If you don't come when I blow this whistle, we leave without you and you can explain to your parents why you didn't make the bus" ringing in their ears.

This trip we all had a great time, we took lots of pictures, and I will talk about it some more in a later picture filled post. But it was a really special day.

Added to that, I got a visit from College Roommate/ Best Friend, and her two little girls, who I haven't seen since before Christmas, because of various illnesses (on my part) and busy social calendars (on hers). We had a very nice visit, and definitely won't go so long this time in between. And then one of those fore mentioned Virginia cousins - who now lives in Maine - came down with her mom, husband and little boy and we had lunch together at Grandmother's house, with her kids and the kids my heart says are part mine running around in the yard while we - the grownups!?! - watched from the porch. It was pretty awesome, although I still really, really don't feel like a grownup.

So that's where I've been: visiting with sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and best friends and their kids and Virginia cousins that now live in Maine, and taking field trips down memory lane. As exhausting, punishing and painful as it has been physically, it was definitely worth it. Although I am still recuperating - from both the summer and the stupid surgery - I'm glad that we got a chance to get everybody together, and that so many people I've been missing managed to make their way to me this summer.

Plus, now I have a ton of photos to edit, and some of them I actually love, so it's bonuses all around.

*I have no idea where the Southern accent came from: I apologize for the "boy howdy."

Wish me some energy, please: I'll need it!

I want to thank everybody for their condolences and well wishes: I really appreciate it. And now, like I said, I'm going to try to get back to normal a little bit, and post about something totally different.

I'm working on a pretty full week of visits, starting this weekend and going right through next weekend, as SisterS is bringing her boys down, and staying for a while; and then my cousin from Maine and her family are coming in for a day; and College Roommate/Best Friend and her kiddos are finally going to make it over here again (I say finally because I have literally been moving her kids Christmas presents from one box to another for eight months). I don't like to have everything crammed in all together like that, but I wasn't the boss of other people's vacation plans (shocking!), so what can you do? Plus, it's been a while since I've seen any of them, so I don't want to beg off unless I really have to, healthwise.

(Also? Having some positive interactions at this particular moment in time is going to be hard to pass up.)

So the plan for College Roommate/Best Friend and my cousin from Maine and their families is just "hang out... eat food, maybe? Let children roam and stuff while grown ups have actual grown up conversations?" Very low key. Low pressure, with a dose of "here are your Christmas/Birthday presents: I hope you have not outgrown them, because I wrapped them so long ago, I no longer remember what they are" thrown in.

SisterS, however will be sleeping over for four or five days, with an infant and a teenager: both Creepers, just in different ways. (And also not quite as low pressure for me.) BabyB is trying his hardest to crawl, and Oldest Nephew is just one of those kids (when do you have to stop calling them kids? 14 isn't it, but I know it's getting there) who is always just... There when you turn around. Not in a spooky way, really, just more of a 'Holy Shit where did you come from?' type of way.

And when Oldest Nephew sleeps over, that means (No Longer) Youngest Nephew will want to sleepover. And when her big brother gets to sleepover, Lil Girl will definitely want to sleepover as well. But, as much as I might like to, I can't handle four kids - of four really different age and maturity levels (14,10,4,and 9 months)- for five nights and still expect to be a functioning member of reality at any point during their visit. And I want to have some fun too, so I'm putting my foot down at a one - two night Lil Girl and her big brother sleepover visit, which still gives them a chance to all hang out together (hanging out with my visiting cousins was always the highlight of my summer, and I'd love it if they had the same opportunities!) without it being too much for me to handle.

On Sunday, we're taking the whole lot - plus everybody else except SisterK who is on vacation in Montana with her boyfriend and won't be back in time - to a local old-time amusement park. There's no adult rides, although I think there used to be a Ferris wheel, and only three or four kiddy rides: The place is mostly centered around it's video games, it's arcade, and it's skee ball. (Mum is a skeeball fanatic, so we never have to searching for her when it's time for lunch.) There's also lots of great food, and it's right on the shore, so we'll be able to have a nice picnic lunch.

The overall goal for me this week is to a) try to take it easy and enjoy myself as much as possible and b)take a TON of pictures, which is something I haven't really been feeling inspired to do lately, with all the heavy stuff. But I know, with all of these fabulous people - not to mention more than a few adorable kids - around, I'll be itching to pick my camera back up.

Plus, since I'm promising to post a few of the best ones, I'd better get busy.

*Caution: Very Sad Post*

This blog has always served as a kind of venting place for me - Good or bad, if I'm feeling it, chances are, you know about it. I've written too many times to count about my worries, my health issues, my family and how they are making my brain hurt (see tag "Making Me Crazy") or how they are making me smile (check out "Love" or anything tagged nephew or niece). I've tried to tell the stories of my life, as honestly as I know how - positive, negative, or somewhere in between. It's not always the easy thing to do, but I feel like that's the kind of writing I want/need to do: To share my experiences with all of you, to know that I'm extending my own community, just by living my life and talking about it.

But, like I said: it's not always easy to do, and I am now going to type a sentence it had never occurred to me it would be necessary to type... This past week, our family suffered a tragic loss: my cousin's baby was born still, three days past her due date. I ordinarily would have no compunction about talking about it here (the myriad of posts about the loss of my Nana should prove that), but every time I've sat down to do just that, I come back to this single fact: I don't feel like it is my story to tell.

It's effected me, yes: it's effected our whole family: It is a terrible and shocking sadness. And yet, my story is about how I had to sit, helpless, and listen to my uncle rant and rave about fairness and unfairness and if our family could be expected to bear anything else. My story is about how that little white box was the single saddest thing I have ever seen in my life and how I (who doesn't really believe in god) found myself praying for everyone in the church to keep standing, just so I wouldn't have a view of it anymore. My story is about how incongruous it seemed to be watching my other cousin's two year old twins at the hospital, making them giggle and reading them stories, knowing that a hallway away their entire family - my family - was being swamped with pain.

In this instance, my story is basically that I am unable to help with their story - that, aside from letting them know I love them - I can think of nothing to do to help the couple whose story is that they just buried their first daughter before she took her first breath; to help the grandparents and aunt whose story is that they never got to dote on the first baby girl for their side of the family; to help any of us because I can't answer the questions of why something this horrible could happen, why the word stillborn is still in our vocabulary in the year 2010, why nobody ever told us that being a grown up was going to this unbearably painful.

And yet: I couldn't say nothing here - I couldn't just let it pass by unremarked. I've tried to write about sixteen other posts since then as well, and each of them falls apart in my exhausted brain. So do blog comments, and Facebook status updates: I can think of nothing, really, besides: "I am sad." "If I am this sad, I do not understand how my cousins are breathing." "Did this last week really happen? Why isn't there some undo button, because last Friday is looking spectacular, comparatively?" "I wish I could help you. Please talk to me." or "Please don't talk to me, because I don't know what to say, but know that I love you. A lot."

And not mentioning it, well it seemed like lying: I am going to try to write other things this week, to post a best shot tomorrow, if I can, or point you to something awesome or funny if I should happen to be able to concentrate long enough to read it. I'm going, in short, to try to get back to the things I enjoy, and see if I can't try to enjoy them again. But it's not going to be simple, and I'm going to be dealing with this grief for quite a while. If I didn't mention it - as easy as that seems, to just not say anything, to let all of you continue to live in a world where stillborn is just a word from the ancient past - it would also feel dishonest of me and disrespectful to the stories of the people I love. I wouldn't feel like I could share my truth, my life, and if I can't do that, what's the point of this whole blog thing anyways?

So I'm going to write when I can, and I'm going to try to crawl out of the melancholy that has - rightfully so - enveloped us here this past week. And I might need your help, so I'm thanking you ahead of time for listening.

*Since I have been trying to weed through my Google Reader, attempting to read only things that might cheer me up, I've been wishing that there was some sort of warning system for posts that start out good, and then take a dramatically sad turn. So I could skip them for now, come back to them when everything in the world - including a damn LOLCat - isn't making me cry. So, I figured I'd better warn y'all, just in case.

Oops...

In the course of reading why Feminism is a tool of Satan (really), and how it's a horrible thing for our society, I came across this older article from December 2002. Written by Phyllis Schlafly, it's about "Feminist Fantasies" and how feminist organizations are out to ruin the world with their nefarious "equality" plots and demands - words like emasculating, sabotage, and radical litter the entire thing. It's pretty nauseating, actually. (Schlafly's public record - being one of the chief opponents to the ERA, her pro-death penalty for minors stance, and her paleoconservate views - weren't exactly benefits to the article's cause either, for me.)

At one point she's talking about the National Council of Women's Organizations fight to make the Augusta National Golf Club (home of the Masters tournament) truly a coed organization. She, of course, disapproves and is lauding the efforts of the club's owner to prevent this from happening. In the course of the discussion, she says (emphasis mine):

The feminists tried to use Tiger Woods, who won the Masters in 2002 for the third time, as a prop in their publicity stunt to advance their special-interest agenda. When asked what he thinks about Augusta National's rules, Tiger replied with the good sense that has made him a star and a role-model: "They're entitled to set up their own rules the way they want them.

Don't you just hate it when something you've written comes back to bite you on the ass? I wasn't buying anything she was saying up till that point (shocker - I actually think feminism is a good thing!), but after that, I just couldn't help laughing. Really, really hard.

Yesterday I went floating in a pool

you will think that this is no big deal, until I tell you that the last time I owned a bathing suit was 1997, when I went to Disney World with my friends after I graduated from high school. I still do not own a suit, and went floating in the pool wearing a skirt, my bra, underwear and a tank top. It did not matter, because it felt heavenly.

I never really learned how to swim: When my mom signed me up for lessons at the Y (at my insistence), I was ten years old, a slightly chubby brainiac that frequently still wore my hair in pigtails, played with School with her sisters and was completely useless without my glasses. Of course, the first thing they did was tell us to change, and to stow our personal gear - "This means glasses too!" - in the lockers. My best friend was also taking the class with me, and was kind enough to lead me out of the locker room and into the shallow end of the pool. To say that my vision without my glasses is hazy is a major understatement. I can see shapes - people sized blobs of mushed together colors, fuzzy colors with no defined edges. I could see my friend's face, if she was the one bobbing in the water next to me, but I couldn't have picked her out of the line of young bodies that floated around. We had our own secret game of Marco Polo going on, even before the lessons started.

And what an illuminating and educational lesson it was: A large man - the high school swim coach - came out of the locker room and sat in a lifeguard's chair. Then he threw a bunch of plastic rings into the pool and told us to go get them. "Dive if you want to, tiptoe over if you don't, but go down there and get them." End of lesson. I spent the entire time trying to see a darker blue blob at the bottom of the moving lighter blue blob, failing over and over again to retrieve my ring because A) it was at the bottom and I was at the top not knowing how to get to the bottom without drowning and B)the blob that I thought was a ring was in fact paint on the bottom of the pool, so I just wasted all my breath to get down there for nothing. For one hour every Friday for six weeks, my friend tried to drag me around to the location of a ring, I would claw my way down to get it, bob back up and then we'd hold on to the edge of the pool for dear life, waiting for the class to be over so we could go home. Between that and my uncle throwing me into a pond and telling me I'd pick it up once I was in the water, I figured I'd never be able to swim.

Eventually though, I put together the basics on my own - arms and legs both need to be moving, try rotating your head so you can breathe every now and then - but swimming will never be my forte.

But yesterday I waited until the sun went away and the shade covered the yard, after the kids had finished all of their major splashing and the adults had had their pool time as well. Then I slipped into the middle of my sister-in-law's pool, (to the shock of my brother in particular) laid on my back and floated. It was the most peaceful I've felt in a very long time, and I was reminded that I used to like the water (initial swimming experiences excluded). It's so quiet and calming, and honestly, my body feels so different in the water.

The weightlessness is part of it, sure: it's easier to move all the stiff and sore parts of me - they feel more connected to each other and less likely to rebel: It's almost as if I've got my dancer's body back - one that responds to the moves I want it to make automatically and with little protest. I'm still in pain, but it's just like someone turned it down a notch, and if I could've stayed in that water all day - every day - I would've.

I splashed around a little with Lil Girl (who is a fish), and floated as long as I could, but even though the pain had dimmed a bit, other issues were still making themselves known. I got a rash from either the chlorine or the sun, just one big patch of it on my thigh, who knows why (it's itchy as all get out today). And my pulse was hammering away the way it does when I try to stand up - being upright, even in water makes all the lovely blood pumping away slow down and my heart tries to speed it back up, and the ultimate conclusion to all that is that I pass out, which I really didn't want to do in the pool, so my peace was short lived. And the getting out reminded me of why it's been so long since I've been in a pool. Because all of that freedom and flowing stops as soon as I put my butt on the steps and try to scootch out... I'd rather live in the water forever than try to do that again.

Add in an unexpected breathing issue that popped up - Lil Girl kept making me go all the way under so she could show me her flips and wave and whatever. I forgot that I can't hold my breath very long anymore. (Hello: Asthma!) I had to use my inhaler twice yesterday, and today my lungs are wheezing and my chest feels like I got kicked by a mule. "Call the doctor" my mom suggested. "And say what," was my reply: "I held my breath too long and now I'm hurting?" Even I can't tell them that. It'll go away eventually, but it's another harsh reminder that everything I do has a price.

So it had it's drawbacks, but I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. It was worth seeing Lil Girl with her goggles on and a mile wide smile. To float on my back and feel dainty and delicate and like nothing in the world could be heavy. To look up at the clouds and remember that the world is going to keep turning whether I'm participating or not. It was nice to participate, and since I have all week to recuperate, I'll deal with the consequences.

In the meantime, want to see a fish?

Let's talk a little

My mind lately seems to be going at about triple it's normal speed. Frantic, speed-brain, for some reason. It's strange, really, because things are relatively calm (or what passes for it in my family anyways), and yet I can't get my stupid brain to slow down long enough for me to grip on to anything. Or - alternately - I get hold of something and just can't let it go.

July started off OK - I even took the month off from doctors, because all the news was bad and painful and just more of the same and I couldn't think about it anymore. But of course it hasn't stopped me from thinking about it: At the very least though, by taking the time off, I couldn't be poked or prodded or asked stupid questions about it anymore.

And then my brother and sister-in-law took the kids to the Cape for a week, and were too lazy to drive them up for a few days before that, and all of the "good summer fun with the kids" I had planned to cram into my month (and my mind) instead turned into "days of doing nothing but sitting around thinking about my life." These days were not nearly as much fun as the ones I had anticipated. Left with entirely too much time to ponder at least two major family situations (one of which has blown over and another that continues on without any solution to be seen), my own non-improving health and relationships situations, and the fact that yesterday was the anniversary of my father's death (not to mention a very rude person who treated it as if, because my father and I did not get along, this anniversary should be pretty meaningless to me); it's been an unexpectedly emotional time. There's just all this stuff, and I feel like I need energy to sift through it, and I haven't got the energy - emotional or physical - that god gave a gnat, so it's all heavy lifting.

It's all heavy lifting.

And I don't, as usual, realize how heavy, really, until I sit here with my fingers tapping away trying to explain why I haven't posted anything lately, or taken pictures of the gorgeous kids or why I've signed up for at least three projects this summer that I haven't even begun to consider, let alone start. Until I sit here and let my fingers start talking, I let my brain rev itself up into a frenzy, and don't realize that not saying anything, not posting anything is part of the trouble.

So here's some more of what I've been toting around, this week particularly -

We've been attempting to clean out Nana's storage: Yes, 2 years is a long time to pay storage fees, but when you roll up that door and the smell - her smell - hits you, I would gladly pay for another two years just to not have to sit there and sift through the contents of her life while my uncle - who is clueless - natters on about "Goodwill" and "Junk" and my mother and aunt try to move as quickly as possible so we can just leave already, and all I want to do is sit there with a box of stuff opened around me and absorb it into my skin. I've been taking pictures and saving things from the scrap bin; trying to hold all my emotions in in case my mom needs to let hers out.

I'm in that tiny little hallway, with it's concrete floors and neon orange doors, watching as box after box after box comes out. When my uncle pops out one of the windows on my grandmother's dollhouse (they're plastic and pop back in), I bite my tongue and control my need to scream about how important it is to fix it Right Away! I watch my aunt take a box of china she shouldn't be lifting and wrap it up so clumsily that it's sure to be in pieces the next time we open the box, but I don't say anything: I just wait till she turns around and slide the box in my direction, re-wrap it when she heads out for a cigarette. When my mom opens a box with baby shoes in it - shoes that Nana had lovingly wrapped in tissue paper, for her 'baby' who died twenty years before she did - mom doesn't cry, so I don't cry.

See, I know that this stuff is not my Nana, and that - in all honesty - she couldn't really have cared about the majority of it: glasses that lived in cabinets, tea sets made of gold that never made it to the table, knickknacks from places she never traveled to, lots of things that said 'grandma' because stuff that said 'nana' was so much harder to find. She wouldn't mind if we tossed all that out, would actually have done it herself if she'd have thought about us having to do it now.

But I also know that there are memories to be found here - not just my memories, but everyones - and so I feel like I have to safeguard them - for my mom, who isn't thinking anything except "get me out of here"; for all the grandchildren who can't be in that dark little hallway with me, and for all the great grandchildren - here now and to come - who never got a chance to know just how awesome a lady they missed out on.

So I sit there, allergies acting all renegade and body too sore to take breaths, it seems, setting aside a porcelain cat for one sister, a rogue leprechaun for my brother, a picture of himself that my cousin has probably never seen. Some of this stuff means something to me, some of it doesn't but I'm determined not to let the "one thing" that somebody would have wanted get tossed in a box for Goodwill. I feel like the only person there capable of remembering that this isn't just stuff, it has value to someone, and they should at least have the chance to say "No, you can toss that" or "Oh my god, I totally remember this!" So I click the shutter on my camera again and again and again, hoping that I'm capturing the something somebody wants, before I repack the boxes and watch my uncle roll his eyes again.

It's just heavy lifting.

And I try to be gentle with myself, try to say: Even though it doesn't seem like right now is a busy time, you are doing a lot of work. But it doesn't always sink in, because part of my heavy lifting is the way I think about myself, the way I don't give myself credit for the things that I do, the way I beat up on myself for all the things I don't do. It's a tricky line, I think - to hold yourself accountable without tearing yourself apart. (At least it is for me.)

I read, somewhere, in a recent blog post of somebody's, that one of the rules to remember in blogging is that your blog is not your best friend. If you feel like you need to vent, pick up the phone, don't complain to your audience or they'll stop coming back. I think that's probably good advice, but I don't know that I can follow it. I appreciate it, honestly, with my whole heart, that you people come back time and again to read things like this, where my head is a spinning top and my heart feels cracked open.

I won't say that I don't have people in my life who would listen, if I started talking, because I do, but it's different to write it here, freer somehow. Saying what I need to say to get my head back on straight is a large part of what's kept me writing for so long at this blog, and - while it may be the reason I don't have a zillion followers - it's also part of the reason that I cherish the followers I do have.

So, now that I feel somewhat normal again, what's going on with you all? I know somebody has a new job (YAY Ms J!!!) and other people are dealing with their own brands of chaos (Hope the bed rest is going well, Laurie!). I hope that you're all enjoying your weekend, come what may, and I promise to write again soon. (And less emotionally jumbled, hopefully.)

Reading Round-up & Linkage!

Here are some Very Interesting Posts & Quotes I have read in the last little while. I thought I would share some accumulated wisdom, and if you have any to share, please feel free to post it in the comments:


Future Feminist Librarian-Activist has written a fabulous post about seeing parenting not as a project or a job, but as building a relationship with another person -

I say, just quit. Quit your job and go find a relationship. With that person who you're interested in being intimate with as they grow and discover the full strength of their humanity. Who knew this would be such a radical suggestion?

Kate Inglis, over at Sweet/Salty shares her wisdom on things NOT to say to others:

For the sake of humility, do this. Do not presume we influence our fates in a way that implies the failure of others to influence theirs. Let's respect change, either way, and do our best to walk towards it and accompany one another through it with dignity.

Havi, at The Fluent Self, has been talking about being stuck in the middle, (which is where I often feel I am languishing), and how to get unstuck. This line in particular struck home for me:

You meet yourself with love. Or: you meet your inability to meet yourself with love.

That second part? Is me all over. Which reminds me of this -

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.

- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer

Hope you are all out living your lives today, if you've got something I should read, leave me a link!

Best shots - 2 for the price of 1

Here are two of my best shots from the last little while -

Here's Lil Girl, down at the beach. Since Auntie and sunlight are not friendly, we sat up under the bandstand and blew bubbles that floated down to the ocean. Then the kids collected shells and rocks, and we ate pizza and drank Shirley Temples. It was the very definition of a fine summer day.



And here's another recent favorite - (No Longer) Youngest Nephew, reading along with the Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets book on tape. I love this picture for so many reasons: The fact that he was voluntarily reading; The fact that he'd never used actual tapes before and I had to instruct him on how to flip it over and press play (even though it made me feel ancient); The fact that, since the spring, he's powered through three of the books, and he's as excited as I am about part one of The Deathly Hallows coming out in November. It's just an all around favorite.



So there are the two kids I'm spending most of my time with this summer; Don't forget to head over to Tracey's place to check out who she's spending her summer with, and the rest of the Best Shots.

It's been weeks and weeks,

actually probably closer to two plus months, since I've participated in My Best Shot Monday, but I'm planning on contributing tomorrow. Our new days with the kiddos mean I won't get a post up till after they leave, but I'm determined to post something. Hence this really useless post that only serves as motivation for me not to 'forget' or be 'too tired' to post tomorrow. Commit to an action publicly, they say, and you're more likely to follow through. I tend to agree, when it comes to myself, that if I haven't said "I will do...." then I can convince myself to just put in on hold indefinitely. So: Tomorrow a picture! Of something! Or someone! Let's all be surprised together. :gulp:

Points of order

Point the First - This weekend is a Harry Potter weekend on ABC Family. I am 31 years old, and I have already seen all of the Harry Potter movies, multiple times. I own them, and could watch them without commercials, whenever I so chose.... I will still have channel 26 on in the background for the next three days, and may or may not be reciting lines as I go from one room to the other. (Am. Can't help it: "Even in the wizarding world hearing voices isn't a good sign".) My sister, the one who reads my blog (at least I think she still does: it isn't as if I've been writing all that much lately), said the other day that she thought maybe she was "over" the Harry Potter movies, or something similar to that. I, on the other hand, am trying to convince one of my sisters - any sister, really - that we have to go to the midnight show of the next movie (and maybe the last one too). I've also watched the trailer for The Deathly Hallows Pt1 approximately 14 times. I am pretty sure I will be heartbroken when all the movies are finally out and there are no more new ones to wait for: I was with the books. ("The Boy Who Lived, Come To Die.")

Point the Second - Since this is the Summer Of No Whining, I am only going to briefly mention that it is quite hot in the northeast at this present time. That's all - it is quite hot, no additional comment necessary.

Point the Third - Tomorrow I am going to try scrapbooking, for the first time in many, many (too many) months. I am quite far behind, and know I will spend a great deal of the day reorganizing my equipment and stock and stuff, before I will get to any actual creating. That is my least favorite part, because every time I think I have it all sorted out, I buy something else that there is no spot for, and then I have to start all over again. (And other times, I am too exhausted to do this organizing, so I fall further and further behind.) But I do have about 10-15 ideas on my scrap list, so if I get to the point where I can start, I have some good beginnings to work from.

Point the Fourth - I have no point the fourth besides: Have a great weekend, everybody.

Oh - and Point the Fifth: Congratulations to Ms. Janice on her brand new job! We knew you would find something, and that you'll be awesome at it! Best of Luck, chica!

I know the internet doesn't care

about the heat, but my body does. Other things it cares about that I would rather it didn't: the smell of food cooking in neighbor's yards; the smell of photos that have been living in a smoking house for 30 years; the smell of low tide, over a mile away; any smells, ever, in my immediate vicinity; our new summer schedule with the kids (MWF); the damn sun; every movement I have to make; about a thousand other things.


I find that I am easily, easily frustrated right now, and I hate it: I feel whiny and petulant and ungrateful. Nothing is horrifically wrong - nothing new is happening, and yet, the fact that my face isn't better, the fact that I'm too exhausted to help the kids check things off our "Stuff we want to do this summer" checklist, the fact that the incessant humming drone of the air conditioner is driving me batty - it's all making me feel cranky.

We don't have the kiddos till Friday this week, since their parents have some vacation days this week, and so I've little distraction from my crankiness, and that makes me feel even more ridiculous, because I'm depending on a 10 year old and a 4 year old to distract me. They are a great distraction, though...

You wouldn't know it by this post, but we've had to declare this the Summer of No Whining at our house, because Lil Girl is smack in the middle of a very whiny phase. (Says the woman who just whine-typed for five minutes straight. Does it count if it's on the internet?) She's catching on pretty quickly - since we can't hear whining, she doesn't get what she wants, so she changes her strategies swiftly.

Aside from the whining - and fights over who gets to sit where in the car that I remember all too well from my own childhood, and NOW I get why we all eventually had assigned seats - they've been great so far. They usually are, but now that they're getting older, we're trying to schedule more outings... having them (and us) all cooped up in the house all day everyday is just asking for trouble.

Last week I sat on the bandstand at the beach while Mum and the children wandered around looking for shells and rocks (They brought home quite the collection). We watched planes come in (Logan's right past the beach), had lunch, blew bubbles, and decided to come back for ice cream next time.


It was a pretty great day.

I was going to add a "but" to that last sentence, but I'd rather not: No more whining. Besides, it was a pretty great day, and I need to remember that part, let the rest of it all go. Let the Summer of No Whining commence, and help me to remember that it applies to grown ups and not just four-year-olds.

From the Random Files in my brain

Here's an interesting article about "dystopian fatigue". The author discusses her need for happier slanted movies and TV shows, leaving her looking for a little Glee or a Modern Family to brighten up her viewing habits. I agree with much of what she's saying, and hope that programmers are listening - I am so far behind on the heavier things that are sitting in my DVR, but I watched ABC's Comedy Wednesdays live, every week. (Except for Cougartown, which I refuse to watch because the title makes me want to puke.)

That said, I also just read a fabulous dystopian YA book that I can highly recommend - The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. It's gripping and moving, and I read it in an hour and a half, and am going to read it again, with post it flags and pencil at the ready, as soon as I can get my hands on the sequel. I chose it based on some great reviews, so I know it's not exactly an unknown book, but if you haven't read it, then you are missing out on something special. There were parts of this book that were ridiculously difficult to read, which I know some people shy away from, but, for me, it just shows what an exceptional writer the author truly is. Set in a far distant and horrifically frightening future, it could have been one of those books that was just a good read, but doesn't feel likely or truthful. Exactly the opposite is true - this book is REAL, zombies or no - and makes me want to gobble up anything else Carrie Ryan has written.

Bits and pieces, like I said.

33 days post op,

and I am starting to finally feel like I might actually be a human-type person again. I'm not springing into cartwheels, or feeling the magical special cure that I had, deep down, obviously, been hoping for, but I no longer feel as if someone decided to whack me in the face with a mallet, while at the same time letting some sort of giant lizard claw its way down my throat. You can imagine that this is a bit of a relief.

I managed to catch, in these 33 days, at least one sinus infection (either inadequately quashed the first time and capable of rebounding, or a party-bug who invited a friend over; impossible to tell) and a case of thrush that made me want to rip my tongue out and use sandpaper on it. Thankfully, the thrush has cleared up, and the infection(s) are on their way out as well. (She says, trying not to jinx herself this time.)

So I'm going to talk a little bit about a couple of things now, and I'm going to warn you that the very first thing I'm going to talk about is exceedingly gross. As in "Are you really about to tell the internet that...?" level gross. But here is where I talk about things that I can't discuss in real life/make my family understand, and so, you lovelies have a bit of forewarning that you might want to skip item #1.

Item #1: Every week since my surgery (and twice the first week immediately following the surgery), I have had to go to the ENT surgeon for a check in. During these check ins, he pokes at my face a little bit, looks up my nose, down my throat and in my ears - in short, all the things you expect the ENT to do. And then things take a dramatic turn for the worse, and I break out in the kind of flop sweat usually only experienced when the dentist turns around with that huge needle in his hand. Luckily, the ENT does not start poking me with needles, but, rather unluckily, he instead decides that now is the time to insert things up my nose.

UP my NOSE, people. My very tender, and much abused nose. First, he sprays a little numbing stuff, which is about as useful as tap water would be, and then he uses a long thin strip of cotton ball, doused in decongestants, and his looooooong metal pliers, and he stuffs the cotton ball up my nostrils. He leaves it there for a minute and disappears behind me, while the medicinal tasting decongestant drips out of my nose and down the back of my throat.

The first time this happened, I was a little bit shocked: I assumed that when he said he was going to use a decongestant, that he meant a nasal spray. And that was going to be bad enough, because my nose was already swollen and sore, and now he was going to spray stuff up there? Bah. So I was sitting there all shocked and drippy, waiting for him to take this gross stuff out of my nose when, all of the sudden, there's an unexpected noise behind me. A mechanical noise, a little hum that is entirely out of place. And then things go way downhill, way too fast.

Because the mechanical humming noise is coming from some sort of vacuum, not unlike an elongated, metal version of the doohickey that the dentist uses to suck spit out of your mouth during a cleaning, and the ENT is telling me that this damn thing is going up my nose to "clean out what's left."

Are you freaking kidding me??? This was not mentioned during the numerous pre-op discussions we had about surgery and aftercare; This was not mentioned in my aftercare instructions; This was not mentioned anytime during the previous 15 minutes I've been sitting here talking to you: NOW you are telling me, as you approach me with that goddamn thing, that you're going to suck stuff out of my sinuses? I am so not on board with this.

But, what choice did I have, really, since this is part of the after care - I'm going to go through all the pain of the surgery, and then have it be a waste because I didn't do the necessary follow up? I don't think so. How bad can it be, really?

Oh, it can be really, really bad. *I should put a disclaimer here that this was my experience, and the whole sucking out of sinuses might not be a big deal for other people: I can't really say. Except for another guy who was having the same surgery/procedure done on my first post-op visit who yelled really loudly from inside the room while I was waiting for my appointment, so he obviously didn't enjoy it either (if only I had known why he was yelling before I went in...). I can only say, that for me? It was a gigantic deal. Not just because I was already in a lot of pain, although I was, but because, to me, it feels like drowning.

The sensation of not being able to breathe through your noise is bad enough, but you add in the forced pressure of that little vacuum, and the fact that you can feel it not just in your sinuses and nose, but in the back of your throat? And it adds up to a completely overwhelming and painful experience. I cried, the first time, and (Mum told me later) was also, from the waiting room, quite audible in my distress. I cried the second and third times too, and I'm not even the tiniest bit embarrassed by that fact. (It was a little bit less traumatic the last two times, thankfully.)

It hurt, and I am already hurting enough.

But it was the panic that it caused me that was most distressing... the doctor actually told me to "breathe through your mouth" (as if I had any other options) "or you're going to have a panic attack". That is because you are cutting off my air supply, and my body, for some reason thinks this is a bad idea. He also appeared shocked that I would find this so upsetting, only adding to my impression of him as completely out of touch with reality ("7-10 days and you'll be good as new!"; "No patient has ever had a sinus infection so soon, post-op: are you sure that's what it is?"; "You should chew more gum to help stretch those muscles, did I forget to tell you that?").

The only good news is that I now don't have to go back for another month, baring additional issues, and that time, he may not even have to use the vacuum. Fingers crossed! End of totally disgusting and barbaric Item #1.

Item #2 - I have missed out on a lot of things in the course of the 33 days: a cousin's wedding (which apparently included much celebrating), my birthday, a college reunion I wasn't going to go to anyways (but I would've liked to make the my-girls dinner pre-party), Lil Girl's end of school celebration, No Longer Youngest Nephew's school report (which I have never been invited to before :( ), and more than a bit of family drama that I'm still trying to catch up with. Everybody in my family had issues during this period, and I feel like I am a page or two behind on the stories, which is a feeling I truly hate. I also feel like this lag in my understanding of things has caused new drama, which I have to figure out how to fix, but can't till my brain is back at full power, which sucks. This is one of the things I tried to factor into my decision to have the surgery - knowing I would be so far behind/out of the loop, and trying to make it be ok, but I absolutely hate not being there for people when they need me (and we can talk about why I don't expect people to show up for me when I need them some other time, thank you very much). It has been hard, playing catch up, apologizing for the gaps and lapses, the gaffs and digs I've delivered unknowingly. Or trying to, at least.

But at the same time, I'm trying to be realistic about this - I had the right to do something that, hopefully, is going to lead to a real improvement in my health. It wasn't selfish to do this, even if I don't get the outcome I wanted. Or, if it is selfish, only in a good way. This is one of the things I have decided to work on, about myself - that I don't cut myself enough slack about important things. Yes, it is vital to be someone that my family and friends can depend on, and it stinks when my health issues get in the way of that. But that doesn't mean it's not something that people should try to understand, and that doesn't mean it's something I should feel badly for (at least, not excessively so). So, I'm working on that. It is much harder done than said.

Item #3 I would just like to state, for the record, that I am through thinking about my weight. Because I ate nothing but soup broth and mashed potatoes, slush, bananas, and jello for, let's say 27 days, discounting the first two days (when I could only eat slush), and the last four (when I've been expanding into other, actually needs to be chewed types of food). And I think I gained weight, to be honest with you. So if I can't lose weight on three weeks of vegetarian, non-chewable mush, then I'm just not going to lose weight. So I better figure out how to like the size I am right now.

I think that's about it for now, before this post turns into a novel. I'll be back pretty soon (certainly more frequently now), and we'll talk about something completely different, won't that be nice? Please also know that I am, slowly but surely, catching up with my Google Reader (yay: The Collective is back in my Google Reader!), but it's taking me a while. If you have clicked through a new comment of mine on an older post of yours, welcome! Sorry to be so late to the party! I'm getting there.

Some more off-topic, lighthearted linkage to share, since I'm still not feeling awesome. As I was sifting through my Google Reader, I found a link I thought I'd share. These are from a pretty hysterical site called "Dear Girls Above Me", and are a couple of my favorite lines from a downstairs neighbor to the ditzy girls upstairs.

Dear Girls Above Me,

I’m sorry you sprained your ankle and “aren’t hot anymore” but Chanel crutches don’t exist…yet. Thanks for another golden idea. 6/1/10

Last night u held something called a ‘trash mag partaaay’. Is that like a book club for the illiterate? 3/2/10

Our building doesn’t have a ghost “trapped in the walls on Thurs & Fri.” Its just street cleaning. 2/18/10

Just because a guy looked at you funny on the street, doesn’t mean you’re living in The Truman Show" 1/13/10

Well, so far,

this operation has not been as big a success in the whole "preventing multiple infections" genre as I might have hoped. I'm on my way back from my second infection since the surgeries, all though I will say that (so far, knock wood, cross fingers) the duration of this infection is hopefully of an atypically (for me) short duration. That is the hope anyways.

I've been pissed off because I told Lil Girl's parents to keep her at home last week when she was sick (which I hate to do) and I specifically did not go to my cousin's wedding this weekend because I was trying to take the safe road and keep myself away from germs and rest up and recover. And then, by Monday morning, I was sick as a dog. Again. So it really didn't matter that I didn't do the things I wanted to do; I got sick anyways. Realistically, I know that there wasn't a connection, but still: pissed.

I am recovering, though: my voice was coming back before I coughed it away this week, and my face wasn't as painful as it had been (before it took on it's new infection throbbing). One strangely unanticipated side effect from my septum repair is this odd tingling in my front teeth/roof of my mouth. The doc says this is because the nerve that runs there begins at the base of my nose, and I say it would've been nice if he had mentioned that before the surgery, but since it's supposed to go away, I'll just keep spraying Chloraseptic on it and drooling like I just got "woot canal".

I can't really judge how healed I might be, what with the new issues, but I'm working through a course of antibiotics (and got back from yet another horrid visit with the surgeon), so hopefully, by this time next week I'll be doing better and will be able to say "I'm healing" without all the caveats. Thanks for your support, in the meantime.

I do have a lot of things I want to do this summer, so keep fingers crossed that this is the END of summer infections for me.

Took me a while

but I'm finally posting to let you all know that the surgery went well, and I am recuperating. It is a process, which I hate (I'm much more in the mood for a recovery of the 'flip a switch' variety), but since I'm finally seeing/feeling signs of progress, I suppose it'll do.

I will say that it was a much more painful prospect than I had prepared myself for, the probable cause of which includes me getting an infection, and thrush, and being hideously nauseous to the point of dry heaves, and not realizing that this was not just a normal post-op situation, and trying to 'push through' it like a big dope. But, now it is starting to get better, and today I ate noodles (my first meal other than mashed potatoes, slush, jello or soup broth), so I know it must be improving.

The pain meds are killer, in that I find myself constantly loopy: Today is my first day back on the computer, and I have spent an hour and a half writing the three paragraphs you see here in the hopes that they will be logical and legible. I do not like this sort of high life, and am trying to cut back on the pain meds as much as possible, so that I can function.

Worst of all, probably, is the fatigue. This is not unexpected either, since the CFIDS makes exhaustion my constant companion, but I always forget how much energy recovering from illness/stress/operations takes, and then am shocked when I can barely life my head from the pillow sometimes. We had two weeks without Lil Girl, and I think my incapacity has shocked her too, now, which I hate. I don't like for people to see how weak I can get, and for her to see it (because I see that it worries her) makes me want to cry.

Or punch things. If I had any energy to punch things, but I can't cry because Did you know? That crying? After sinus surgery? Will HURT??? Well it will: Trust me.

So there's the update: Am doing better. Would not make this decision again if I had it to do over (but should probably reserve judgement until I see if it actually helps things). Need a large, large nap. And less woogy drugs. Miss you all, and will try to check in again really soon.


Love, NTE

O...K: that's different

Here are a couple more things that have caught my eye (via my Google Reader):

I don't care much for Russel Crowe, but I kinda have a crush on Scott Grimes, from way back in Critters, so I thought this was cute.

If you are not reading Sleep Talking Man, you are really missing out on some high quality, English-accented cussing. While asleep.

I want:

Some things to keep us busy

Since I don't know when I'll be posting next, I've got a couple of random posts in the queue to share... Mostly stuff that's popped up in my Google Reader that I think you should be aware of. The first is the latest batch of MLIAs that have caught my attention:

I'm a student teacher for a kindergarten class at a local elementary school, and today the lesson plan was about honesty, so the head teacher asked one of our students, "George Washington not only chopped down his father's cherry tree, but also admitted it. Why do you think that his father didn't punish him?" The student replied, "Because George still had the axe in his hand." That was epic. MILA

Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poke me in the ribs and giggle, telling me, "You're next." They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals. MLIA.

Today in class, my professor had stapled McDonalds applications to the tests of all the people who failed. MLIA.

Today we had silent reading time in my sophomore english class. Ten minutes it, I notice that nobody else was reading and the entire class was staring at me. I was then informed that when I read silently, I'm really reading out loud with accents, facial expressions, and different voices for each character. My teacher has decided that we will no longer have silent reading time, and I have been volunteered to host "story-time" for the first 30 minutes of each class. MLIA

In my Ecology class I sit in front of this guy whom never talks. ON this particular day he was staring at the fish tank. Then he looked up at me said said with a serious face. "you think i would get in trouble if I slapped the teacher with that fish?" MLIA.

Today, I was on a flight. One of the three flight attendents said before taking off, "Hello, I'm Cindy, I'll be one of your flight attendents today. The others serving you are my ex-husband, Steve, and his new wife, Becky. We are going to turn the lights off now because Steve looks so much better in the dark. Have a nice flight!" I could not stop laughing. MLIA.

Today I walked into a horrid break up, I was really upset for the girlfriend when the boyfriend said "Im dumping you because Im too good for you." But I couldnt stop smiling when she replied, "I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass." Whoever you are, I salute you. MLIA.

Today, I was in my American History class, and the teacher was auctioning donuts to prove a point. The bidding was up to sixteen dollars for a dozen when one guy yells "My eternal soul." To which the teacher responded, "I don't think you understand that I'm looking for something worth more than sixteen dollars." Not only is he now my favorite teacher, he also just earned a spot amongst my hall of fame of awesome people. MLIA

Today, I had to sell chocolate bars for my school club. Instead of calling them chocolate bars I called them Dementor Bars with the slogan, "Your best deference against Dementors!". I was the top seller. MLIA

Today in class we were watching the 6th Harry Potter movie when it came to the part where everyone raises there wands cuz Dumbledore died my whole class raised there pencils including the teacher who looked like she was going to cry and my best friend had the most serious face ever. i love my class MLIA


Today my mom was reading through my 13 year old sisters disclosure document for one of her classes. One part of the document asks parents to tell the teacher a little bit about their child. My mom proudly wrote, "Paisley believes she is preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse and spends her extra time building tunnels from our house to Costco, Wal-Mart, and Home Depot so she will be fully prepared." MLIA.

Last year, a girl I babysit was graduating from preschool. When up on stage, they asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and with a smile on her face she told the whole audience she wanted to work at Mcdonald's. After the presentation was over, her mom asked her if that was really what she wanted to do and she replied in all seriousness "No, I really want to be a paleontologist but I just wanted to see the look on your face!" She was 3 at the time. I was proud. MLIA


Well, I hope those gave you some chuckles. I hope to be back soon, but enjoy the filler (entertaining filler! I promise!) in the meantime.