sueeeus

Have you ever heard the one about finding a worm in your apple?

Not finding the other half.

The same goes for salads.  And finding a bug.  Or part(s) of a bug.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.  I know, get over it, if it were that disgusting, you would have noticed it when you ate it (if in fact you did).

And I wash my lettuce meticulously.

But not meticulously enough.

Apparently.

The washing of lettuces and all manner of things in which creepy crawly things might seek refuge is from henceforth escalated to a level of scrutiny far and beyond meticulous.

I am so squeamish, I’d never make it as survivor (wo)man.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!

One of the reasons I get very little blog traffic may be that my blog sometimes suffers fatal errors.  Lucky these fatal errors aren’t permanent fatal errors.  Although today was a close call.  After the fact, and many hours after discovering that all was dead in the water, I learned that the server on which all my domains reside had suffered the blue screen of death.  Very frustrating.  But my support person, and it’s almost always the same person, is top notch.  However, it’s still frustrating to be dead in the water for an entire day.

I’ve said it before.  I hate technology.  Now, if I had any wits about me, I’d run some backups, just in case.  Too tired right now though.  Maybe tomorrow.

Run along now.  This is a post that will likely be long and laborious.  I’ve just got a load of disappointments that are eroding my sense of equilibrium, so I think it may behoove me to write it out.  Perhaps I’ll feel better at the end of it.

• Much as I’m grateful for the magic and mystery that is the human body, and its ability (however challenged, in my case) to produce milk, and much as exclusive pumping has its advantages, I have to admit that I am, after all, disappointed that I don’t get to be one of those nursing mothers, completely attuned to her child, the child contentedly suckling away.  I suppose there is a bit of grief to process here.  It’s one of those experiences that I’d longed for and worked valiantly toward.  And it’s apparently not for me.  I’ve studied in earnest hundreds of pictures of nipples and breasts (dear me, I might actually get blog traffic for that combination of words) and suckling babes trying to determine what they have that I don’t have.  Yes, milk flow was and is certainly a handicap, but it appears that I come from a line of women who can not nurse.  Not my grandmother, not my mother, not my sister.  My nipples are wide and flat, and the aerolae are huge.  I could do without Gadget’s ever helpful mother’s suggestion that perhaps the baby would be able to nurse if he’d get his mouth past the nipple and on to the ‘dark circle part’.  No, dear MIL, I wasn’t aware of that.  Sigh.  She means well, so I shouldn’t be so sarcastic and short with her.  And she hasn’t seen what I have to work with.  Not that I plan to flash my breasts at her, but it would go a long way in explaining things.
• I don’t like goodbyes.  My sister and her family came to spend LB’s first week with us, and she filled three freezers with amazing food for us, to tide us through many months.  She’s wonderful and generous and I love her to bits.  It’s always so hard to say goodbye, and I selfishly wish and hope that one day we can live closer, much much closer, to each other.
• Shortly after my sister left, my mother and her husband (MH) arrived, to spend ten days with us, and they left this morning.  None of the siblings have a particularly close relationship with her, but we love her.  She’s our mother.  So I’m sad when she leaves.  It took a little arm twisting to convince her to stay as long as she did.  I don’t know how much of it is her, and how much is her husband, but they generally stay only a day or two, and they zip off long before sunrise, sometimes without even saying goodbye.  Well, they say goodbye at night before bed, but what’s the hurry?  They’re retired.  It’s easy to push buttons and tread on nerves (more on this later), but even so, it’s sad to say goodbye.
• With a new baby, we’ve been trying to organize some family get togethers, so everyone can meet him.  One of my nieces planned a trip up, and wanted to make a dinner for us.  We gladly accepted, and as the time drew near, we all decided to get together at my SIL’s place, rather than my place, because she’s more centrally located to all of us, so the commute would be much easier for most people.  She planned to make Thai food, so Gadget said he’d stay home, since he doesn’t like Thai.  I gave him the evil eye, and later I told him that it would mean a lot to me if he’d go, regardless of what was being served for dinner, because it wasn’t really about the food in the first place.  He said he was only kidding (but he wasn’t) and that he’d go.  Then we were trying to figure out when to get together with Gadget’s family, because we wanted to do it while my mom was here, for more family bonding.  We weren’t certain of the dates, so the next thing we knew, my mother’s husband was dialing the phone.  He’d called my niece, and proceeded with the grand inquisition, which probably freaked her out a bit.  It would me.  He has a tendency of taking more initiative within the family than many of us are comfortable with.  For instance, he spanked my nephew once, and I’m not sure how my SIL handled that, but my sister who witnessed it was livid, as was my BIL, and because of that, MH is not welcome to stay in their home.  Somehow, I didn’t notice that event, but I kept a bit of an eye on him while here, because I didn’t want him to be disciplining my child in such a manner.  He came close, but didn’t cross the line where I’d have had to rear up as MAMA BEAR and tell him to leave the discipline to me.
• The day for the niece dinner arrived, and we converged on my SIL’s home.  But where was the niece?  Dinner was to be around 6, and she didn’t even arrive until after 7.  She has two kids of her own, which she left at home for this trip, but surely she knew that kids can only wait so long while maintaining reasonably good behaviour.  Surely she knew that?  My SIL ended up putting together a quick kids meal to take care of the hoarde of hungry children.  Once my niece arrived, she seemed preoccupied, and went to work immediately in the kitchen, prepared a fine meal, grabbed a plate, took a bite or two at most, then left.  She left!  I don’t know….  I was disappointed because we were having this family get together that it seemed as though she didn’t even want to be a part of.  Maybe she didn’t really want it to be a big thing, and maybe she just wanted to come to my house by herself and cook dinner for just us, rather than for us, my mom and her husband, my sister, my nephew, and my SIL and her kids (half of whom are her half-siblings).  Maybe it was family overload and maybe she has a touch of social anxiety.  It runs in the family.  I just don’t know.  But I felt disappointed afterwards, and even now, thinking of it.  I’m certainly taking it personally, whether or not I should.  It feels sort of like rejection.
• The next day was the Gadget family get together.  To make it easy, we bring all the food and we drive an hour and a half to get there, so they don’t have to do anything but show up at the MIL’s house.  The rest of them live only minutes from her, so it makes it very convenient.  But do they show up?  NO!  Only one of Gadget’s sisters came, apart from the brother who already lives there.  His other sister and dad, who live less than a mile away, didn’t come, nor did the other brother.  It will be a long time before I agree to a get-together up there again.  It was especially disappointing because it seemed like it should have been a big deal, to come meet a brand new baby in the family.  Plus, with my mother and her husband making the effort to extend themselves to the other side of the family, it all seems like a slap in the face.  And more rejection.
• I’ve made the recent observation that there are several personalities within my family, that, were I not related, and should I cross paths in the course of living with people of these personalities, I wouldn’t befriend them, and probably would never even make any effort to introduce myself or interact with them at all.  At all.  This makes me sad, because these are my people.  What is it they say, that you can love someone, but not like them?  I suppose this is how it is.  And it makes me sad.  And maybe a bit ashamed.
• I find it very sobering to recognize that those traits which I find most frustrating and least appealing in my mother are traits that I quite possibly manifest myself.

…it doesn’t seem to have helped (much).  I’ve written it out, but don’t feel much better, if at all.

Recently, while reconciling my credit card statement, I discovered a charge for on-line movie rental, which struck me as odd, because we’d suspended our on-line movie rental account months ago. Upon investigation, I found a charge in the previous statement as well. I’m fastidious about reconciling my statements (and mercilessly nagging Gadget to produce his receipts), but I don’t necessarily get to them promptly. So, two rogue charges. I called the movie company, and they verified that my account is still deactivated, so they ran my credit card number and voila. Up popped another account, using my real name, my real address, and my credit card number. The email address was myrealnameandsomenumber at gmail, and the security question was something unfamiliar to me. They deactivated the account immediately and flagged it for fraud, and I called my credit card company and explained the situation as well. I had to cancel that card immediately, and was issued a new number.

At least the fraudulent charges were small, under $40 in all, but distressing is the fact that somebody was able to acquire my name, address, and credit card number, all three. How did they do that? So much more damage could have been done. I have a ridiculously high credit limit, and I’ve always felt nervous having a limit that’s more than I could pay off in a month. I use a credit card for everything, but I pay the entire balance each month, so never pay any interest. Plus, it’s one of those cash back cards, so I actually save money by using it, and it pays for my Costco membership as well. All good!

The problem is, my new card hasn’t arrived, and it seems like it’s been ages, so I feel like I’m hanging out to dry. My independence is compromised. I’m tied to Gadget for the time being, because his card number didn’t have to be reissued with mine, even though they’re on the same account. I was told it would take 7-10 days, and it seems like it has been over two weeks. I feel like I can’t function! I have automatic payments tied to that card, so even though I know the number, I don’t have the security code or the expiration date, so I can’t properly update the auto-pay functions, nor can I make on-line payments. So frustrating! Like a kid waiting for Santa Claus, I check the mailbox every day, looking for that silly card. Am I a credit card junkie? I need that card!

It’s such a shame, in this day and age, that identity theft is a reality. I’m just thankful that I was able to nip things in the bud, and that the damage was small. If I weren’t in this particular physical state, at the moment, I might be quite a bit more worked up over this whole affair, and feel more violated, but I simply don’t have the mental or emotional capacity for any more stress than this. I hope it’s all over.

So this morning we got a phone call from Sissy’s mother. Apparently, she has quite a case of head lice.

She said she’s been itching a lot, for about a week. Of course she didn’t mention this to us while she was here.

Never having experienced such a thing, I consulted Doctor Google. And read horrifying things about chemical treatments. And heartening things about dealing with the situation. Thankfully.

I bought a special comb and inspected BB. He seems to be okay. The comb hurts him too much and he won’t hold still long enough to do any sort of reasonable job, but I just cut his hair the other day, and it’s very short. I don’t see anything there.

Similarly, I cut Gadget’s hair very short the other day as well, and don’t see anything there.

I spent an hour and a half in the shower, working through my own hair. And found nits. About six of them. Or maybe ten. I don’t know. It’s very distressing. The comb yanked out handfuls of hair, like a razor blade, and left my scalp feeling raw, so no wonder BB wouldn’t cooperate.

I’m going to go through Gadget’s next, with the comb. He had more contact with his daughter than I did, but he has so much less hair than I do. Hopefully he’s nit free.

Now I have to go through this scalp raking for a while until I am certain I’m nit free. At least I didn’t find anything hatched, which means I might have caught it in time. I hope.

Maybe I’ll just shave BB and Gadget’s heads, for good measure.

For me, I’m not ready for the Sinead O’Connor look.

And I have a lot more laundry to do.

Somebody, please write something happy and joyful about gumdrops and lollipops! Google reader has been sparse of late, and I’m teetering on the brink of emotional meltdown.

Yes, I’m hiding out in my room, while the rest of the family is sprawled on the couch watching TV. I’m in and out of tears, and can’t be around them. I think it’s safe to say that my limits have been exceeded.

The two teenagers were rough-housing this afternoon, and I could hear yelling and slapping or something like that going on. Part of me wanted to just scream at them, but I didn’t want to give such a display around my little guy, so I squelched it and just kept him away from them, distracting him with a book. Transformers. There’s a picture in the table of contents with an array of Transformers across the bottom of the page, and he pointed to and correctly named every single one. He’s a smartie, my little guy. I’m very impressed. And proud of him.

Tonight I made pasta with two sauces. Some prefer red, some prefer white. But I’m wicked, and I minced two whole onions and cooked them into the sauce. Because both kids hate onions.

Two days ago, while the teenagers were putting the dinner leftovers away, I noticed that Bubba, who has been loudly and expressively coughing into his hands, use those very hands to put the chopped onions in a container. I told him that the reason I have tongs out is so that the foods don’t have to make contact with people’s germy hands. “Then I’ll eat them,” he said. A flat out blatant lip serving lie. He hates onions, and would not in a million years eat them. I almost told him to eat them NOW, in front of me, to make good on his word, and teach him a lesson in not giving lip service. If he were my kid, I would have. But if he were my kid, surely he wouldn’t be such an ass. I’m just so tired of it. But I refrained.

Yesterday I made a salad with peas, kidney beans, corn, peppers (the more civilized peoples of the earth call them capsicum), and chopped red onions. Mostly for me (I know, high carb, but relatively good carbs), because I can’t be eating the junk they prefer. I made them a diabetic’s nightmare of baked beans, red beans and rice (which I actually love, but can’t have), and hot dogs. So Bubba took a good sized portion of the salad, even though I told him it had onions in it, and he proceeded to pick out each and every fragment of onion, and expressively gulp and laboriously choke down the remainder. He also claimed to have discovered three short pieces of hair in his beans and rice, and comment on how disgusting that was.

I know it does little to no good to go to such length in describing and reliving these irks, but I need to vent, for my own sanity.

Last night, we gave them a huge bag of candy to take home with them, which delighted them immensely. I had only one caveat. Please don’t eat any of that in front of BB. So tonight, here comes Bubba, chomping on candy, right in front of BB. So I reiterated that I asked that he not do that. “I didn’t hear you say that.” It’s infuriating. He apparently hears NOTHING I say. I could scream. But instead I’m just cold, and try my best to ignore him, not look at him, not be in the same room with him, and not speak to him. He’s a leper.

Every day I look for something good. Some kind words. Something. Anything. But every day I hear only sarcasm, ridicule, criticism, and an endless array of exaggerated body noises. Smacking lips, loud gulping of liquids, coughs, hacks, and on and on and on. Screaming for attention.

The sad thing is, I could go on and on with two or three times as many examples of things that have transpired. But this is exhausting, and I hate that I’ve stooped to such a low level of humanity to take the time and trouble to spew this forth. I could be the better person, and just suck it up. But I’m not the better person. Not today.

I don’t really understand the social security system, and I have mixed feelings about what little I see, in my ignorance. Gadget has a brother in his 50s who’s been collecting social security income for his entire life, because he’s disabled. I don’t really understand his disability. He’s not got Down’s Syndrome, but I guess he’s what one calls ‘retarded’. Or something. The man can read and write. He hasn’t got the most common sense in the world, and he has a snarly attitude, but it seems to me like he could work and do something somewhat productive with his life, rather than sit around with a snarly attitude, watching TV, collecting SSI and food stamps. It seems like he could work, but he won’t work, because it’s too hard to overcome the snarly attitude and actually do something productive and giving in life. I’m bitter. I know. And I obviously don’t understand disability. If I did, I might be much more gracious in attitude. But I don’t understand it. I understand hardship and making choices and sacrifices to get through and overcome hardships. I understand physical disabilities, and some mental disabilities, but there’s this big gray area that I can’t comprehend. And it’s not like I don’t try. (But it’s entirely possible that I don’t try hard enough, because when I think about it, I get too frustrated, and I find myself at an impasse, time and again.)

Gadget’s stepson is another case. He had leukemia when he was two. It was a tragedy, for certain, and the treatment took its toll on his body, as it does. He’s stunted in stature – he’s maybe 5’2″ or so, and he takes human growth hormone for something – maybe his pituitary is shot. I don’t know. But a shot pituitary isn’t a disability. Someone very dear to me has a shot pituitary with a slew of other physical challenges, and she has an amazing, full life, and the last thing she’d ever consider herself is disabled. She’s worked hard her entire life, and is very successful, full, and happy. And she’s never collected a penny of assistance.  Back to the stepson. He’s drawn SSI for his entire life, as he’s considered disabled. And I don’t know what it is that constitutes the disability. He’s 19, and has never had a recurrence. I think one is pronounced healed after ten years of remission. So what gives? He prides himself on his physical abilities when it comes to manly things like weight lifting, but good Lord, the level of grumbling when that strength is called into action for any sort of manual labor. He’s been here for a little over a month, and filled my home with his sour and snarly attitude. He’s big on talk, saying he’ll never put up with lame manual work and such, and that he’ll have nice things, but he doesn’t grasp that with such an attitude he may find it difficult to find, let alone hold, any sort of job. And it makes me wonder if he’ll somehow be one of those people who can somehow hold onto his disability claim, and skirt through life with the government (which means the tax payer, which means ME) paying his way. I’m very bitter, I know.  I don’t want to pay his way.  I want him to step up, grow up, change his attitude, and make a contribution to the planet.

Gadget is frustrated and disappointed and even embarrassed by these kids, because they have no incentive to be constructive in life, and they have no ambition. Of course many teenagers are self-centered in general. It’s part of being a teen. We’re all idiots who don’t know anything, as far as they’re concerned. They’ve lived their entire lives collecting money without having to work for it.   (At least they’re not drug addicts or criminals, though.)  They’ve lived, albeit meagerly, on child support from two separate fathers, SSI, and food stamps.   Something for nothing.  No actual work.  They have no work ethic, no desire to rise above their circumstances, no reason to think there’s anything wrong with getting assistance.

Now, I’m all for assisting those truly in need. I’m just so very much against free-loading and laziness. And snarly attitudes. And all I see is free-loading and laziness. And snarly attitudes. So I’m bitter. And worn out. And ready for them to go home.

Gadget’s not entirely happy with me. It bothers him that I clearly don’t like his stepson. But what can I do? I should be like Jesus and just turn the other cheek and love unconditionally. But instead I feel like throwing a tirade and toppling the tables in the temple, shouting something about dens of thieves.

One more day. I was considering staying home Tuesday, so I could go to the airport with them, but now I’m hoping wondering if I have meetings (surely I do) that can’t be missed, so I can just get up, go to work as usual, and come home to an empty and glorious home.

I’m hoping the bitterness wanes quickly.  It’s not good for me, or anyone.

And then I have to begin the damage control, and reprogram BB’s attitude and vocabulary.  I may remain bitter for a while.  And I’m never inviting that person back.

• Although I’m still hiding out in my office, and generally avoiding the company, I am feeling better in general. We’re getting ready to take a few days off and visit my sister, who lives conveniently close to a water/amusement park. That will be the big hoorah for the teenaged house-invaders. They’re very excited about it. Plus, my sister and her husband have a boat and live near an amazing lake, and the weather is supposed to be nice. So. I will fork out a truckload of cash to offset the cost of operating said boat, and the kids can have more water fun. I will be surrounded by mostly relations of my flesh and blood, so I will take strength and nourishment from that. Maybe the teens will run off on their own and do their thing. I’m hoping they behave well, and interact well with their step-cousins.
• Being on insulin has helped reduce some stress. My numbers aren’t jumping all over the place now. They go up, they come down, they don’t go bang bang zoom pow bang.
• Getting the go-ahead to use a laxative has greatly improved things as well. Ahem. Seriously, though, I feel emotionally better knowing that I’m not all compacted with festering debris for days on end. TMI. I know. I know. But I feel better.
• Having those 3D pictures of my baby is such a joy for me. It helps me visualize him. I find myself thinking of him more, and smiling more.
• BB was placed in time out in the kids room at the gym while I was doing my water aerobics. He was throwing things and reportedly hit a couple of kids. When I ask him about it, he says he likes to hit. It’s a bit challenging trying to have a reasonable and logical conversation with a three year old. I want him to understand that it’s not nice to hit. He was broken of that before the home invasion took place. Now I have to start over. He’s being exceedingly belligerent, saying, “NO. I’m NOT going (to bed, to the bathroom, to daycare, to pick up that toy, to eat my dinner, etc.) NO.” I felt awful, that he got in trouble in a public place. I had mixed emotions. Awful that somebody else disciplined my child (albeit gently) and awful that he needed to be disciplined.
• We’re going to be towing a small utility trailer loaded with two refrigerators when we take our trip this week. The weight of the load is within the trailer’s limit, and the weight of the trailer is well within the specs noted in my van’s manual. Even so, I’m feeling nervous. There will be five people in the van and a heavy load behind the van. We will be riding very low. And I’m nervous. Must. Not. Think. Of. It. Denial is best for situations like this.
• Gadget keeps blowing off his chiropractor appointments. It’s very annoying. He should at least have the decency to cancel, if he’s not planning to go. Meanwhile, he gave them the wrong insurance card, so the billing is all whacked too. None of which really matters to him, because it all rolls to me. I, however, am annoyed. Especially because he has plenty of complaints over people in his line of work not being where they say they’ll be when they say they’ll be there. He should just cancel. Period. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to go to the chiropractor. We both tend to think it’s mostly quackery. But if he has an appointment, he needs to cancel it.
• I have some sewing/crafting projects in mind, but don’t want to start into anything until I have my home back to myself. I think I’ve become somewhat of a recluse or something.
• Tomorrow is my beloved niece’s 12th birthday. When she was 6 months old she (and her family) lived with me for a time, and I got to enjoy her in the best of her babyhood. She took her first steps to me. Me! I like to think of her as my girl, especially since I will not likely ever have a daughter of my own. She’s an amazing person, and I’m very proud of her.
• The benefits of the magnesium are sadly not fully consistent. I’ve had several night visits with my friend Charlie, who is NOT a good or welcome bed partner. Why are they called Charlie/Charley horses, anyway? Bill Bryson would surely know.

Now there’s a joyful looking woman. It’s amazing, really, how one can achieve so many different looks, depending on the angle of the camera. I don’t think this looks anything like me. But for a not very joyful person, she looks sort of pretty.

This looks more like me, but again, I cheat by taking the photo from a vantage so as to obliterate the multiple chin factor. Tricks of the trade. I like the blonde, but it still takes me by surprise once in a while.

So what’s new around here?

• I’m pretty sure I’m going to be ordered to start injecting insulin, after I see my doctor tomorrow. The numbers have remained bad. Sure, it coincides with the presence of the step-kids, coupled with an incredibly stressful bout of work, but it also coincides with third trimester or whatever that magical placental week is when all hell breaks loose in the realm of blood sugar control. I feel somewhat of a failure, as I thought I’d be able to manage the sugars on my own, but I’m no match for my present circumstances. Now, to try and coordinate a 3-month prescription before the end of June, because my medical insurance is switching to a new plan, thanks to my company’s unrelenting cost-cutting measures, and the new plan is fraught with more paperwork, claims, copays, and deductibles.
• Gadget thinks I’m being anti-social. Hey, my laptop is at the dining table, and everyone else is watching TV. That’s as social as I feel like being. And besides, these people aren’t the most considerate of youngsters. When I do enter the family room, nobody makes a move to make room for me on the couch. Our couch is a sectional with a chaise, so it can seat 5 very comfortably, but Gadget’s in his spot (the chaise), Sissy is next to him, and Bubba is stretched out over the remainder, stinky feet and all. Now, another, well-mannered, well-raised child (like any of Suse’s fine bunch) would hop up immediately to offer a seat. But not these. No. In fact, I actually did want to join them the other day, but met with the afore-described scenario, to which Gadget was disappointingly oblivious, so went to the dining table instead. My Beautiful Boy, BB (soon to be Big Brother), sweetly asked me, “Don’t you want to come sit with me, Mommy?” I told him there’s no room for me over there. He went and made a little spot for us on the floor. What an angel. Melts my heart. But I told him I didn’t want to sit on the floor. Especially with self-centered teenagers who are oblivious to the physical constraints of a large, pregnant woman.
• My work has been crazy ridiculous. I work in customer service, supporting very expensive widgets. Once in a while we get demanding requests in which we are expected to be miracle workers. Decode this data and tell me if my widget is in compliance with the widget regulators, and by the way, we bought it from somebody who changed it, and we don’t have any information that describes the changes. But do it anyway. And do it now. Because if you don’t, this widget will not be able to service our valued customers and we will lose tons of money. So do it now. And if you find anything wrong, tell us what it is and tell us how to fix it. So. Some people have amazing faculties in which they remain undaunted by such demands, but I have yet to achieve, let alone master that particular skill. I was able to get something put together, by the skin of my teeth, but it’s not at all satisfying. I sent the final report out today, with a big ‘FAIL’ marked on it, so I’ve been half expecting a phone call at home, requesting emergency troubleshooting to resolve those items which I failed. But what can I say? Dudes. If you don’t tell me how it’s wired, I can’t tell you how to fix it. Leave me alone!  As if I could really say that.
• BB loves having his half-sister and step-brother here, but he’s regressing and there will have to be a period of damage control in which we (that means I) re-establish good behavior. I do like how much fun he has. He has laughing fits and plays hard, hard, hard. But he also picks up on the belligerence and other attitudes milling about, so that part I don’t like so much.
• I discovered that my right ear has a mutant skin condition, much to my chagrin. My ears used to be my only near-perfect physical attribute, so it was with some horror that I discovered this condition today. I don’t know why it’s only one ear (thankful that it’s not two!) or if it’s stress-related or blood-sugar related (does diabetes affect the skin?) or what. Maybe I just got a sunburn and it’s peeling. It’s all red with flaky skin, so maybe it’s an eczema or something. Whatever it is, it’s not pretty, and I don’t like it.  I’m blaming the step-kids.  😉
• I should take a picture of my belly.  At 28 weeks, it’s magnificent, in the sense that a manatee is magnificent.
• I’ve lost my temper with Bubba a few times.  It makes my blood boil when he barks, yells, reprimands, or scolds my BB.  I told him NOT to do that any more, that I will do the reprimanding, and he’s supposed to be an adult, and take into consideration that three year olds behave like three year olds and learn to manage his own words and reactions.  July 8th can’t come soon enough for me.  I’m not proud of myself, but I just don’t have the time or energy to invest in nurturing him into a considerate, thoughtful, well-mannered, pleasant person.  That ship has sailed.
• I’m doing okay with Sissy, which is a relief, because she is Gadget’s flesh and blood.
• The magnesium is working.  No leg cramps!
• I’m going to have a 4D ultrasound of LB (Little Brother) on Thursday — I will get to see his beautiful face!  It’s a splurge, but I’m not likely to have any more children, and I had it done with BB.  I’m excited to get a look at this beautiful little boy.  Pictures to come!
• I’m spending a good part of my waking time trying not to be on the verge of tears; chalking it up to hormones and the home invasion.  I really need some good alone time.
• Blogging away ad-nauseum like this helps.  I’ve thankfully consumed the better part of the evening.
• Some day I’ll probably look back on this time and be even more ashamed of myself for my attitude re the home invasion.  But if I know myself well, I’ll likely deny it.
• Over and out.

The stepkids started whispering between themselves the other day, and when asked to share what they were talking about, they said it’s a secret that has nothing to do with the rest of us, and we’ll find out Sunday.

Oh?  Father’s Day? 

No, it has nothing to do with that.

So.  It turns out that the big secret is that according to their church, they aren’t to work on Sundays.

I wonder if they were complaining to their mother that I was having them work every day.  I only assign actual jobs on weekdays, and on weekends we do whatever, and sometimes that includes work, but it’s not scheduled labor, by any means.  I was planning on seeing to it that we do fun family things on the weekends while they’re here, but I’ve just lost all my oomph for that.  Gone.  Vamoose.

I’m a bit miffed, and maybe I’m taking it all wrong, but I said something about how we’ll not be doing anything tomorrow, because we’ll make it a day of rest and respect.  So, no movies, no games, no outings, no shopping.  A day of rest.  And meditation.

Gadget thinks I’m being ridiculous.  Or mean.  Or both.

I could see the importance of observing the ‘day of rest’, if they were actually people of devotion with gentle and meek souls, who lived their beliefs by speaking kindness one to another, showing consideration to others, and being generally wholesome in nature. 

Instead, I see it as an excuse to wield their will over mine, and I wasn’t even planning on imposing any chores on weekends, other than the things that need to be done daily anyway, like clearing the table and washing the dishes.  So now I want to be belligerent, and tell them that if they’re hungry, they can get themselves a bowl of cereal or a slice of cheese, because I won’t be working on cooking tomorrow.  And if they won’t do the dishes, I’ll save them for them to do the next day.  And by no means will I allow television during the day.

I’m a hard ass.  I know.

And my blood sugar is sky high.  180.  Most distressing.