sueeeus

/ˈfyugɔɪd/ [fyoo-goid]

-adjective Aerospace.

of or pertaining to long-period oscillation in the longitudinal motion of an aircraft, rocket, or missile.

[Origin: 1905-10; irreg. < Gk phyg() flight + -oid]

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.

…So you see, it’s all about the ups and downs.

---

Probably I shouldn’t be broadcasting my occasional marital woes. Yet I do. Probably I shouldn’t be so forthright with full face photos of my loved ones. Yet I am. I write as the pendulum swings, and although it’s quite certainly tiresome to most, it serves the purpose of helping me regain a sense of balance. (And one of these days, I might actually get over myself.)

---

I love words. Especially oddball and interesting words. At the office a few weeks ago, the word phugoid came up, and we all thought (as dry, wry engineers do) that it would fit appropriately into a title for a book. Or a blog. Because lives are full of ups and downs.

---

I’ve known for quite some time that I am my own worst enemy. Common knowledge. A given. I have had a recent epiphany, though. (Another fine word. It sounds so holy.) It occurs to me that I am, and have always been, my own biggest fan. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it. Naturally, the revelation spawned the quest for origin, and I can only conclude that I am my father’s daughter, and I am my mother’s daughter. For as widely as they differ, they have some very similar traits. Stubborn defiance. Pride. (Which goeth before the fall.) Haughtiness.It all came about while I was fuming over Mr. Gadget’s recent gross error in judgement. In my mind I was going over how I am worthy of committed, continual, thoughtful love, kindness and respect. Of course I am. I am Sueeeus, for goodness sake. That should be enough. At the same time, I was countering that with thoughts of general disdain towards Mr. Gadget. I could hear my father muttering something about uneducated nincompoop. Of course Gadget is undeserving of the level of respect that I command. Haught indeed. Scornfully and condescendingly proud, she is. Amidst this string of thoughts, the clear vision of Mr. Gadget in his own obstinate glory. He believes in himself and his worth. He believes he is every bit as deserving of committed, continual, thoughtful love, kindness and respect. Therein the epiphany. He is, of course, right. What makes me think that I am so much better and that by default all should bow down in obeisance? I am not all that, as I have until now unadmittedly and unknowingly led myself to believe. This doesn’t excuse his gross error in judgement, of course, but he is a human being after all, and therefore he is worthy of love and respect.

---

And so the pendulum swings. Recently I’ve spent some time with a newborn, and also found myself quite frustrated with the entire health and fertility scene, what with data that shows no rhyme nor reason, and doesn’t correlate with anything at all expected. That, coupled with the enormity of the responsibility for yet another fragile life and all that entails. I’ve been a bit discouraged and despondent. I basically gave up. What was I thinking, anyway?

---

I’ve had a head cold, and it’s almost impossible to sleep. I can’t breathe, and I can’t wear my cpap mask. The full face mask works, but my mouth gets unbearably dry. The nasal mask is most comfortable and unobtrusive, but my nostrils are completely swollen shut so it won’t work. Without the mask, if I do sleep, I snore terribly and don’t get good rest, plus wake up with a horrible choked up throat. I ended up not sleeping at all. Miserable. Add to that hot flashes and one cold spell. I even spent a little while in the hot tub to warm up. I’ve been almost unbearably tired, and have attributed it to the blood sugar chaos that wrestles within me. It might have been my imagination, but I caught a glimpse of my reflection and it seemed as though certain rather circular areas of skin appeared somewhat darker.It’s cd41. In my estimation, the clomid this month was a complete bust as there was no hint of temperature shift until cd28, when it should have occurred around cd15, and then the hot flashes started around cd35. I used opks from cd12-29 with nothing to show. I started metformin on cd13. Fertility Friend estimates I ovulated on cd33, but I think it was cd28. Because of all this hot flashing, I figured I must have ovulated. Then again, it could be because I’m sick. What the heck, I thought to myself. Why not indulge in a little more self torture. I took a test, expecting nothing of course. Especially since I’ve been drinking gallons of tea and water and emptying my bladder hourly.

---

bfp

Now, what to do. Will it last? (I hope.) Will I get my heart all wrapped up around this? (Of course.) Will the outcome be good? (I hope.) Should I wait a few weeks before I decide to think about what I think? (Most probably.) But will I? (Of course not.)

Due date – 7.Mar.2008

Many!  I wish I had a dvd with just some action shots of Spiderman’s thrilling acrobatics, that I could play on a loopback.  They should make videos like that for toddlers.  Superheroes doing their stunts sans all the violence.  Oh, they probably do have videos like that, but I’m not about to go look. 

We had a wonderful ferry ride with the family on Tuesday.  It was a glorious day.  My beautiful boy had the best time with his cousins.  It thrilled my heart to see him playing and laughing and having the time of his life.  How I wish we all lived closer to each other.

This is called belly wrestling.  What a hoot!  It’s their version of Sumo wrestling.  They lift their shirts and collide bellies, then fall on floor shrieking with laughter. 

The flip side to that most beautiful and perfect of days was the mother of all tantrums when it was time to go home.  He wrestled against his seatbelt like a king salmon out of water, and howled until his voice was hoarse.  He was all sweaty and worked up.  It killed me, but I had to keep driving.  When we got home, he had a bruise on his shoulder from his thrashing episode.  The next morning he woke up and asked where his cousin was.  Oh, it broke my heart.  I wish they could live with us.  It was a jubilant household full of children.  I couldn’t stop smiling.  Even the small things like seeing their small forms seated in a row, eating their lunch.  My heart swells.

Oh look. I’ve moved. Again.

I’m in the process of migrating to a new service provider, so I decided to implement my vanity domain in the process. I’m hoping that this new provider will be much better. So far I’m pleased with the customer support.

I have a redirect on the old url (sueeeus.holyshiznit.com), but I think I will completely disable that subdomain after a little while. I have a 30 day money back guarantee, so it will be within the month.

Eeeeeeeeehhhhhh, what a hassle.

It dawned on me, as I was folding clothes yesterday, that I could give the munchkin almost free reign with a paintbrush and leftover house paint and an already paint stained t-shirt.  What better way to say Happy Father’s Day than a hand painted shirt   Mr. Gadget has a multitude of ruined shirts, since the house painting job took several days and he didn’t bother using previously stained clothes, but rather wore something fresh each time.  

We worked quickly, the wee one and I, while the daddy was out.  He had left to share brunch with his family on Saturday, and was planning to be back early that afternoon, as some of my family were to visit us on Saturday also.  We had loosely spoken of going to the lake and letting the children play with his new remote control toy speedboat.  I elected to stay home, rather than join him for his brunch, because I wasn’t sure when my family would arrive. 

Saturday morning turned into Saturday afternoon, which turned into Saturday evening.  Saturday evening became Saturday night, and after several unanswered phone calls throughout the day, I realized that Mr. Inconsiderate Gadget was probably not going to come home.  I had four children on my hands, and was feeling a bit overwhelmed.  I had volunteered to watch them, which is a joy to me.  Even so, a seven week old (such a beautiful little girl!), my toddler, and a seven and eleven year old all running in circles and making happy noises became a bit daunting every now and again.  For the most part it was a breeze, but I sure would have liked the man I married to have been there.   I was trying to decide whether I was angry or worried, but tried not to let it bother me, and went to bed around 12:30 a.m.  The ladies returned from their night on the town around 2 a.m., and I turned the baby over to her mother.  There’s something terrifying about watching an infant who is not my own.  I didn’t know her breathing and her sounds well enough to feel confident that I could fall asleep safely with her.  Of course she was fine.  Even so.  New life is a terrifying and precious responsibility.  

There it was, 2 a.m. and still no husband.  I went back to bed, and dreamed of the verbal lashing that I would give him.  Morning arrived.   I waited a little while before I called his mother.  No, she hadn’t seen him since 3 p.m. the day before.  This is the part where I got scared.  A missing spouse.  Many unanswered phone calls.  Not where I expected him to be, if he were merely being an inconsiderate @$$.  It was time to start calling all his other family members to try and find out more.  I rang his sister, and while it was ringing, he called.  The worry turned to relief in an instant, which quickly gave way to anger.  U N A C C E P T A B L E.  And when he finally arrived home, early Sunday afternoon, when I was asking what he was doing and why he didn’t answer my calls, he had the gall to ask me “What’s with the third degree ”  I could have slugged him.  I don’t have room in my life for an irresponsible spouse.  I don’t think he really understood how close he was to being kicked to the curb.  I was furious.  He laid low all day, and I cooled down.  He played with the children.  We had a nice family supper.  The rest of the family departed, and he turned on the Spiderman video for our love bug.  I’m not angry any more, but I think it will take some time for the disappointment in his complete lack of judgement to fade.

He is the father of my most precious and beautiful boy.  It’s his saving grace at this particular moment in time.

Even with an expensive camera, the results are only as good as the operator. One could say the lack of focus is intentional for the purpose of artistic interpretation, but one might be lying.

We’ve been busy at Chez Sueeeus.   The homes in the neighborhood were starting to look a bit tired, and some of the neighbors decided to have theirs painted.  Ours was looking a bit shabby, so we decided to keep up with the Joneses, only we didn’t hire out, and we used three colors rather than two.  I wanted a dark grey with a hint of slate, but when applied to a large surface, my carefully chosen color turned out more blue.  Even so, I like it much better than the original track home bland neutral pastels that comprise most of Suburbia.

(before)

I painted the lower half, and Mr. Gadget painted the high parts.  I did  a little high ladder work, but it was a bit too frightening to be teetering on a flimsy aluminum ladder, so I let the other half risk his life instead.  We saved about a thousand dollars or more in labor, and Mr. Gadget ended up with a fancy new ladder and platform to boot.  Now he has fewer excuses for future high reaching honey do’s, I’ve noticed that days upon days of slave labor has been somewhat beneficial to the blood sugar equation, and finally, I am reminded to be thankful that I don’t have to toil for a living.

On my way home from work yesterday I felt poisoned. As though something has sapped my life force away so that I can’t even bring to mind my hopes and dreams. I even thought that I don’t want another baby. I know what my hopes and dreams are, but it’s as though I don’t care about them anymore, or don’t want them anymore. The sky was a bright and beautiful blue, filled with happy puffy clouds, but I had my own personal cloud that’s dark and heavy with rain. I know it’s the same old repetetive tale, and I’ll be all bright and happy again when the pendulum swings.  At least I came home to a husband actually working on the honey-do list, with no nagging prompting.  A rarity indeed.  This made me happy. 

I was thinking recently, be careful what you wish for. I did finally get my metformin prescription, but only because I failed my A1c test. So I’ve now been officially diagnosed with type II diabetes. I went to a diabetes information class yesterday. Survival skills. All these years and I’ve never understood why they say that once you have it, there’s no cure. It didn’t make sense to me, that if your morning blood sugar is over 126 for 2-3 days during any given week, then you are deemed to have this incurable disease. But if your blood sugar is below 126, you don’t. It seemed to me that if one would change their lifestyle such that their blood sugar, although once above 126, is now below 126, that they would fall back into the pre-diabetic category. But no, it doesn’t work that way. I wish that it would have been made clear to me. I’ve been told by my family members who have it that there’s no cure, and that once you have it you have it. My older brother said that it’s not a matter of if, but when, as we’ve got the genetic makeup lined up against us. I was always offended by that. Speak for yourself, I’d say. Me in denial. I won’t get it. I’m healthy. I still wish that someone had explained why once you get it, you have it for good. What is so magical and mystical about 126

I learned in class that there is a phase of insulin resistance called pre-diabetes, and that people are pre-diabetic for 15 years prior to diagnosis as diabetic. From what I gathered, it seems that the reason that there’s no cure is that by the time one reaches the point where the body can’t regulate the glucose, that magical morning 126 number, the pancreas is just plain worn out past the point where it can recover. Like an over-worked motor or something. Why doesn’t anybody say we should eat right and exercise and manage our stress or else we’ll wear out our pancreas. That’s not so nebulous to me. I can visualize an internal organ failing. I can’t visualize diabetes. So I’m a dunderhead. So it’s a stretch for me to put two and two together and grasp that, oh, yes, it’s the pancreas that produces insulin. I’m a bit miffed that it took an actual diagnosis for me to finally get informed as to the real nature of the beast. I think that children should be taught this in school. Taught so that it sinks in. People. You have one and only one pancreas. If it gives out, you will need to take medication for the rest of your life.  All the “I told you so’s” are worthless if the message is never understood.

I’ve been marching steadily for the past fifteen years towards the precipice over which I’ve just fallen. Had I known I’d be hurling myself from a cliff, I like to think that I would have taken steps to change my path.

I am so frustrated.  I have a handful of domains for which I’m responsible, several of which I designed using ColdFusion.  I also have some sites that use php.  Two days ago I began receiving error messages from the CF sites.  I ignored them at first, because my hosting service occasionally has troubles and resolves them in a few hours or so.   However, the error messages persisted, so I contacted technical support, only to be told that they couldn’t help me right away, but would submit a ticket on my behalf.  Nice.  Now that they’ve responded to the ticket, they tell me that they have removed CF from the server on which all of my sites reside.  Furthermore, they say that if I want to continue using CF, I will have to be moved to a new server that doesn’t support php.  Arrrrgggggghhhhhhh.  And if I give them the go-ahead to move to CF, it will take 24-48 hours.

Luckily I generated static html pages for emergency purposes, if and when CF has problems, but even so, users will not be getting fresh data until I resolve this.

Sometimes I regret that I have these domains to support.  If the servers and technology would just stay put, and if things would remain stable, I would have much less stress in my life.  Maybe I shouldn’t have ever designed anything with CF, but it’s such a programmer-friendly language, and it’s used extensively where I work.  Out in the real world, though, it’s a very expensive platform, so it’s hard to find good hosting options.

What to do, what to do.  And when am I supposed to find the time to fix whatever has to be fixed   I could reprogram the CF sites to be php sites, but that will take me a little while, since I am so much less proficient in programming php than I am in programming CF.  If I did that, though, it would be much easier for me to eventually unload the responsibility of these domains, since so many hosting services support php.  Sigh.  It bugs me that I have to do anything at all.  Argggggggghhhhhhhh.

I would so much rather blog about other life happenings, but the stress du jour is the woe of technology, and I simply must whinge to get it out of my system.  Arggggghhhhhhhh.