Packed up Boo bright and early this morning and set off to visit my friend Jack. It’s his birthday on Monday. 89th, I think. I wanted to wish him well. Drove Northbound on one freeway, merged onto another for a Northeasterly jaunt, then looped back Westbound on yet another. Finally, Exit 7. Straight a few miles, left on 78th, right on 28th, up the hill, left into the parking lot. Through the front door, down the hallway, up to the second floor, past the nurse’s station, down another hallway, to Room 209. Empty. Room 209 was empty and my heart sank. Had he left us I found a nurse and told her I was looking for my friend Jack. Oh, they moved him closer to home. Two days ago. I guess I should have called first. It would have ruined the surprise though. At least I have his stepson’s number. I left a message with him. Hopefully he’ll let me know where to find him.
…and Blackbird says… Show us your front porch.
Alas, my front porch is not so pretty. Not so inviting (but it doesn’t seem to deter the friendly Mormon missionary boys and the nice Jehovah’s Witness ladies, who all keep returning, again and again…)
On my front porch is an assortment of withering plants and a few empty pots (whose contents have recently met their demise and been sent to the afterlife — compost heaven).
Note to self. Must water plants.
There is one thing of beauty, however. This glorious green! Such a lovely coleus. Something is nibbling away at it though.
I live in suburbia where nobody knows their neighbors and nobody uses their front porch. People enter and exit their homes via the garage door, so there is little chance of interaction and things on the front porch can easily be forgotten. A level 2 sex offender just moved in a few houses down anyway, so we’re even less inclined towards being sociable. Directly across the street from a grade school. How does this happen
All said, I am thankful that I have a front porch.
meme
/meem/ n. [coined by analogy with `gene’, by RichardDawkins] An idea considered as a replicator, esp. with the connotation that memes parasitize people into propagating them much as viruses do… …Use of the term connotes acceptance of the idea that in humans (and presumably other tool- and language-using sophonts) cultural evolution by selection of adaptive ideas has superseded biological evolution by selection of hereditary traits. Hackers find this idea congenial for tolerably obvious reasons.
I’ve been tagged! (Meme, thanks to Pea Soup)
id•i•o•syn•cra•sy – a structural or behavioural characteristic peculiar to an individual or group. Write down 5 of your own idiosyncrasies, then if you wish, tag 5 people.
- I can’t seem to find a watch that will keep time when I wear it. I’ve had quartz watches and they run slow, even with new batteries. I’ve recently upgraded to a watch with an automatic movement, which ran fine for a while, but is now running fast. Maybe it’s because I don’t buy expensive watches, but I’m afraid to invest in one, just in case.
- Coffee and Tea OCD – The color is of utmost importance, as is the brew! It must be rich and strong. Coffee with non-dairy creamer and no sweetener; tea with dairy creamer, preferably evaporated milk, and two sugars (but I can drink it without, if necessary –I had to, when I had gestational diabetes, and I survived). Both must be whitened to that gorgeous caramel color. Of course, the level in the cup matters as well. No more than 1 cm from the rim!! And don’t forget the cup! Medium size with a thin lip – no big thick dribbly ceramics/porcelains!! (I could go on – this probably doesn’t count as one idiosyncrasy!!!)
- I can’t stand to have hair in my face. Bangs are okay, as long as they’re not in my eyes.
- Everything in its place, and a place for everything (more OCD). I like the dishes and pots/pans to have a stable home so that I know exactly where they are when I go to use them. When my mom visited for a few weeks, she helped out alot, and put things away, but not in the right place. When she left, I put everything back where it belonged. I like order in the dishwasher as well. Forks in one compartment, big spoons in one, small spoons in one, etc. (When it’s time to put them away, this minimizes the amount of handling, thus promoting a more sanitary environment.) I can justify all my OCD!
- I like to eat things one color or item at a time, even if the dish is a mix, like a salad or a stir fry. I’ll eat just the green things, then start on the red things, etc. or if the meal isn’t a mix, I’ll still tend to eat things one at a time, usually starting with the veggies. Shrimp fettucine I’ll eat all the shrimp first, then the pasta. I generally finish my plate (and it shows).
Sadly, I don’t know 5 bloggers well enough to tag them. If I were more brave, I’d pick 5 randomly. If somebody visits my blog and reads this, and hasn’t already been tagged, consider yourself tagged! (That’s as brave as I am at the moment.)
Mr. Squished Piggy has his own funny beverage idiosyncrasies. He won’t drink Coke unless it’s with ice, but he will drink Pepsi from a can or a bottle. He prefers soda with ice, and when we’re home, he wants the ice to first be rinsed with cold water until it’s done cracking and popping and then he likes the soda added slowly to the freshly rinsed (and drained) ice. He claims that there’s less foam and that this prolongs the carbonation. We are so well suited to each other in some ways!!
I took Boo to his daycare this morning and he broke my heart because he started crying the most heart-wrenching cry when he realized I was dropping him off again. I’m working from home today, which is wonderful, but I just can’t get my work done and give him the attention he needs, so off to daycare he goes.
It’s such a beautiful day that I decided to try and set up my laptop outside on the patio, so I could get some of the cool morning air. In the process of unplugging the power cord, I managed to shock myself, which shook me up quite a bit. I realized how easy it is to compromise one’s life. It only takes a twinkling of an eye and life can drastically change. I must be more careful. And I must baby proof my house SOON. All that drama and the traffic was too noisy for me to concentrate, and the cool morning was quickly replaced by stifling heat, so back in the house I went. Now the day is over and I’m off to collect my precious Boo, and I feel anxious that I’m surrounded by things to do that I haven’t done. I must learn to let it slide and not worry about it.
Can’t wait to see my beautiful boy!!
I like the things one can do with graphics software. This is a paintbrush effect. Boo is snuggled against me in a mei tai wrap, also called an Asian Baby Carrier (ABC), which I made using this pattern and some gorgeous blue batik fabric. I love batiks!
I’ve recovered from yesterday’s pity-party-of-one. On a somewhat good note, Buggaboo’s strawberry broke open again this afternoon, but barely bled at all. When I saw the first trickle I jumped for a towel, but it only bled a few drops, and re-clotted on its own. Maybe it will heal swiftly now. Fingers are crossed.
What a day. The strawberry broke. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of so much blood. I knew there would be blood, but how can it not be a shock to look at your baby and see their face completely covered in bright red blood, with more blood streaming steadily, on and on It bled for nearly TWO HOURS. It completely saturated a 16″x16″ microfiber towel. We were on our way to the in-laws for a birthday celebration. I don’t know if he rubbed his eyes or rubbed his face against the seat belt shoulder strap. He was asleep and it happened in the blink of an eye. We went to the emergency room. I was distressed that he was gushing so much blood and didn’t know what to do, since it wouldn’t stop bleeding. It’s not a bit like what you see on shows like ER or Gray’s Anatomy. It took nearly two hours to see a doctor. The triage nurse saw him in the first 20 minutes, took his weight and blood pressure and told me to keep on putting pressure on it, just as I was already doing. He bled on and on. He fell asleep. Still bleeding. At least he held still better when he was sleeping. He didn’t like me holding the towel to his face and kept squirming while he was awake. It stopped bleeding just before the doctor saw him. Diagnosis Bleeding Hemangioma. Yes, I know. Treatment Plan A. If it happens again, apply pressure until the bleeding stops. It will eventually heal on its own. Plan B. Anesthetize and Cauterize – inject a needle that close to my baby’s eye, to numb the area, then burn him and leave a lifetime scar We chose Plan A. During last Monday’s checkup our doctor had told me that it could break open and it would bleed, and it would probably grow back, and eventually it would diminish and disappear on its own. She just didn’t mention how much it would bleed, and what to do if it did. I was expecting something I could put a bandaid on. I did tell Mr. Man that the treatment is to wait it out, that it would eventually heal on its own. He wasn’t too impressed with that solution, but in the ER, hearing the doctor pose Plan A and Plan B, he was amenable to Plan A. Go figure. (But I’m glad that he was no longer adamant about more drastic action such as Plan B.)
We made it to the birthday celebration an hour and a half late. We have another new mom in the family. Her little guy is 2 weeks old and she herself is looking fabulous, as though she’d never even been pregnant. She’s had no trouble at all nursing. I’m so jealous. Really. The little guy knew just what to do. He latches like a pro and drains her efficiently, in 10-15 minutes. TEN MINUTES! I remember our struggle, where Buggaboo would chew me raw for 30-40 minutes at a time, every two hours, and hardly draw anything out. I’d have to pump afterwards, another 15-20 minutes. Clean up the bottles and get them ready for the next round. 5-10 minutes. Then do it all again. Do the math. I spent over 12 hours a day trying to feed my baby. How I longed to be a breast-feeding mother! I tried SO hard, with nipple shields, a tiny feeding tube along side the nipple, or against my finger. There were so many obstacles. The breasts were too big, which made it difficult to position him. The nipples were too big for his sweet little mouth. He couldn’t get a good latch. The milk didn’t come in well and he didn’t have the patience to try to draw it out, and I just didn’t produce enough milk. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so emotionally difficult had I not had my heart set on being a breast-feeding mother. And to see this new mom and her little guy sail so smoothly into it! I’m so happy for them, truly, and surprised at my concurrent feelings of jealousy. In the self-pity confines of my mind, my selfish thoughts are why couldn’t it have been that easy for me
I feel drained.
It is bigger. This distresses me.
The lonely peach. Last year we had so many peaches that the branches broke from the tree. It was very sad. I’m surprised that there are any peaches at all this year.
The apricot tree suffered a similar woe, and there are no apricots this year. There were hundreds and hundreds last year, but not a one this year. The tree has to get its oomph back. We have plums though! Two kinds!
I love bamboo. I have four kinds. I love the sound the leaves make when there’s a little breeze. They rustle so peacefully.
I have a box of lavender. See the bee ! It’s a bedraggled box of lavender, but I love it just the same.
