sueeeus

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.

The continuing saga of my lack of graciousness as a human being…

So this morning, the most annoying presence in the household, we’ll call him Bubba, came downstairs where I was preparing the all-American breakfast of hashed browns, eggs, and bacon. 

Good breakfast!  He exclaimed heartily.

My little one and I were the only others up, and I prepared a small plate for my boy, and told Bubba he’s welcome to have as much as he likes, because Gadget doesn’t particularly like that kind of bacon.

What’s wrong with it?

Nothing’s wrong with it.  It’s actually the expensive gourmet super thick sliced kind, but it seemed very salty, the last time we had it. 

So.  He takes a tiny portion of everything, and proceeds to pick away at it and inspect it and look quizzical at each laborious bite.  As if it’s the most disgusting thing he’s been expected to endure.

Had I not mentioned anything, and had the others been awake, he’d probably have wolfed down loads of it with gusto.  As is, he wore a pained expression on his face and took ages to finish. 

I know, it sounds petty, and it is petty, but it’s just one more addition to things that annoy me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yesterday, Gadget took Bubba to work with him.  Oh, the dramatic expressions at the end of the day.  One would think that the kid had been subjected to slave labor.  All he did was help install some appliances, for maybe half of a day, but I suppose it was the longest working day he’s ever had in his life (a deplorable shame, if you ask me).  He’s in for an adjustment, when he will have to work a full day every day, and with his skill set, he’s in for long days of manual labor.  Or another burden on society and the welfare system.

When he got home, he stretched out on the couch and moaned and sighed every once in a while about how exhausted he was.  I ignored it completely.  I think he wanted me to say something, but what am I going to say?  At the dinner table, he picked away at his food, again groaning and sighing.  Poor, overworked, exhausted boy. 

As is quite obvious, I’ve got little patience and respect for the non-hard-working.  I don’t think it matters so much what one does, or how much one makes, but to do it with ambition and dedication.

Meanwhile, I had the girl, we’ll call her Sissy, clean the carpets.  She did a right fine job.  I did the loading and emptying of the water and soap reservoir, but she ran the machine.  I think we went through at least 12 changes of water over the course of a few hours.  I let her stop after two carpets, and when I had my work break, I did my office, then after my work day was over, I did the kitchen stools.  

We had an ice cream treat when it was finished, and took a small outing to the store, which in itself was a treat.  Oh, Bubba was jealous that Sissy got to go to the store!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I’ve been having trouble with charlie horse cramps in my legs at night, and finally got a magnesium supplement to try and help.  I don’t care if it’s just a placebo effect — I got through a night without cramps.  However, I spent the full next day on the verge of cramps and could barely walk, so I don’t know what was up with that.  I still took some magnesium before bed last night, and thankfully, no cramps in the night and I can walk today.  My tailbone is very sore though.  This little wonder inside of me feels like he’s kicking and punching all limbs simultaneously!  I feel jabs in all quadrants of my belly.  He’s a little gymnast, just like his brother, who twists and turns in all directions in the night.  Little tyke tried to crawl into my bed twice last night — he’s on strict restrictions, having wet the night previously.  Stinker boy.  Mister Pee-body.

I’m not going to write about the recent meltdowns and the skyrocketing blood sugar today. It’s all tech talk today.

This weekend I slipstreamed Windows XP Pro with service pack 3. Ta da! Now how is that for technical? It sounds very Zooropa.

I followed a tutorial I found online at icrontic. Then I bravely took the plunge, encouraged by chem’s comment on macrumors and partitioned most of my Macbook’s hard drive for my new Windows XP Pro installation. And voila! Here I am (holed up in my bedroom, door closed to the raucous step-family, nursing my wounds from my most recent meltdown that I wasn’t going to mention), boldly blogging away, with my Macbook fired up in Windows XP Pro. Now I can actually edit my photos and manage my files and know where they are and understand their attributes. I was not doing well with the Mac at all. It’s all fine and good for those who are not control freaks, who don’t want or need to know where things actually are, and who don’t want or need to manipulate files. But I yam a control freak, and these things I need to know!

I was a bit reticent to venture forth. Mostly because I hate to fiddle with extremely expensive electronic gadgets. It’s so easy to do something stupid and cause permanent and irreversible damage. But I did bravely go forth, and all appears to be well. My dinosaur of a desktop can now die a leisurely death, on its own terms, and I will not mourn. My files are backed up on my NAS, and joy of joys, my Macbook (in Windows) can now recognize and speak to it! And! My wireless network connection persists! It was SO frustrating to constantly lose it when fired up in Leopard.

Sure, the desktop isn’t as pretty as Apple’s, with its clever dock, but that’s okay.  I have 165GB partitioned for XP, compared with the 40GB capacity of the dinosaur, and 2GB RAM, compared to 256MB.  I have SO much more capability, speaking of memory and disk space, than I did before, so I’m way ahead of the game and pleased as punch.  And beauty of beauties, I don’t have to buy a separate computer to replace the dying beast.  I’m good to go.

I don’t think I’ll ever buy a Mac again, though.  I can now say, ‘been there, done that.’

I think I gave it a fair shot.

Other People’s Children.

I suspect that the next month or so will be filled with laborious posts about me working through my lack of graciousness as a host, step-mother, and human being.

It could be, in part, due to pregnancy hormones. I suspect it’s mostly just me, though.

My blood sugar is up. Way up. It’s been a few days, and I want to try to regroup my inner self and work my way to a place of relative tranquility, and reassess before I call my doctor and get the order for injectable insulin. I know that stress wreaks havoc on blood sugar control.

I don’t know why I let things get to me. I think I might feel a bit helpless, in that I’m sort of forced into the situation of sharing my home and my life with near strangers for a while. It rocks the boat somewhat, and add to that the fact that I’m the one who is basically shouldering the expense for the better part of all of it. Not that I’m complaining that much about the cost (yet). I sort of doubt Gadget would be able to see his kids if he weren’t married to me (unless he moved to Kentucky). He doesn’t make enough to cover more than the child support (and it’s only for the one) and basic living expenses, so if he had to come up with enough to cover plane tickets, entertainment, and food, I think he’d be hard pressed. And of course he wants to bring both kids out. Which is fine for now, but the boy is 19 now, and at some point this summer I’m going to have to let it be known that he’s welcome to visit in future, but he has to get here on his own dime. Or else I’ll tell Gadget that he’ll have to come up with the tickets on his own. Oh, I don’t know. I sound like such a selfish money grabbing cow.

And of course, Gadget takes every opportunity to bring out the comparisons, that I don’t freak out when MY nieces and nephew are here, and I have a much higher threshold of tolerance for them than I do for his kids. It’s true. I tell him that of course I’m more comfortable with my people, just like he’s more comfortable with his. He’s been making comments about how spoiled and privileged mine are, and how annoying that is to him. All of which I don’t appreciate one bit. I think its in defense of his own kids, but it’s a childish way to reason things out, and I wish he wouldn’t do it. Just accept that his kids are the way they are, and don’t compare them to mine. Please!

In many ways, I think his kids are more spoiled. They’re not raised to be independent thinkers. They’re not raised to learn responsibilities. If they had more income to work with, they’d have more privileges and conspicuous consumption. As is, they each have their own TVs, VCRs, and DVD players in their own rooms. They have video games. They don’t have the latest and greatest, but they have much. I don’t plan on allowing my little one to have his own TV, ever! If there is TV time, I want it to be family time, and limited. The same goes for video game time. Bedrooms are for sleeping and imaginative toys/play, but not mind-numbing electronics.

People can live rich and fulfilling lives with very little income. There are many wholesome and satisfying things to do. But these people have very limited vision and imagination. I think Gadget is just as guilty of this as anyone. Why else would I call him Gadget? He always wants things. Motorcycle (unauthorized acquisition), boat, big screen TV, hot tub (another acquisition that I regret, frequently), fancy truck, electronics, and on and on and on. And he’s got most of these things! (I’m an enabler, and I need to make it stop.) I do make sure that I often express that there will be no boat, ever, unless it’s a rowboat or canoe. No snowmobiles. No ATVs. No dirt bikes. No, no, NO!

Anyhow. I’m trying to put my finger on what’s causing me the most immediate stress. I’m finding myself very weary with the boy’s attitude and mannerisms. He’s constantly making noises. There’s a steady commentary. Or else just body sounds, like noisy throat clearing, or grunts and groans. Lip smacking. Loud gulping when he drinks. And he sniffs everything. He opened a box of cereal and stuck his whole face in the box, then inhaled. I don’t know why, but it bugs the hell out of me. When I’ve got the food laid out on the table, he sticks his face close to the various dishes and inhales. It makes my skin crawl. And I think I saw him sneeze without attempting to cover his mouth, with the silverware drawer open. I hope it’s not true, but I suspect it is. I didn’t empty the drawer and re-wash everything. But I felt like it. I have kitchen towels for drying dishes and separate ones for drying hands. I have a huge stack of towels for kitchen use. I don’t want anybody using the dish towels for hands. And I find that it bothers me to use the same hand towels, even, after I see him using one. I think my OCD is teetering on the brink of something more serious. I’m a little ashamed of myself, but at the same time, think that maybe I need to just respect that this is the way I am for whatever reason, and work with it so that there can be as little rocking of the boat as possible. So I can always just get myself a fresh hand towel, and reiterate that the dish towels are only for dishes. It’s easy enough without making him feel like he’s untouchable. I think that may be what it boils down to though. Or else it’s just the aftermath of how I process the extreme lack of common sense and independence that I’m witnessing on a near constant basis. It’s very wearisome to hear I can’t spoken over and over and over again, without actually taking a moment to assess and at least try to figure out ____. I can tolerate it with my three year old. He’s three, and I’m trying to teach him to think about things and try things, rather than say he can’t. But these folks are not three. And I was over half way through college when I was 19.

It makes me grateful for my own upbringing. Yes, my dad was a tyrant and my mom was a martyr, and living conditions were generally deplorable, but they were both strong and independent people and they both had a good hard work ethic. Yankee Ingenuity. It’s something my dad would often say in reference to my mom. While he had the scholarly genius (and complete lack of common sense), she had the practical genius (and somewhat lack of scholarly intellect). And although neither were active in teaching us anything, that I can recall, we learned much from observation and example. We (some of us, anyway) learned that we can find a way to do nearly anything, given the will. We left home and struck out on our own at the earliest opportunity.

I can hardly imagine this boy on his own, making his own way. It sounds as though he wants and hopes to live at home, that his mother wants him home, but the stepdad wants him out. Of course he despises his stepdad. I can sort of see the stepdad’s point of view though. Even though neither adult is working, he does and has worked sporadically, so he is the only income generator in that household. I can’t even begin to comprehend the mother. I can’t put the points from A-to-B, that a person can live without contributing or generating some of that living. My mother was a homemaker, a SAHM, who generated no income, but she worked her ass off. She was in no way or shape any kind of a drain or burden on anybody. But their mother… They learn from observation that they can get by without actually working. It’s a shame, and it bothers me deeply. I guess she thinks she contributes financially, because she collects the child support from Gadget, and they use that to live on. So by bearing his child, she’s done her part until the girl turns 18. Of course I think Gadget should support his child. And so does he. It just seems that she should make an attempt to do so as well. If she were teaching them life skills, values, and simple appreciation, that would be one thing.

Maybe it’s a Southern thing. A Southern, cultural thing. I don’t know. It seems like there are hard-working, intelligent, and responsible people who come from the South. And if I think of it, there are plenty of unimaginative lazy people in every part of the country. Even here.  So it can’t just be a Southern thing.

Meanwhile, I need to get a grip.  I took my little one and left the house on Saturday morning, went to the gym, then got groceries.  I needed to be AWAY.  I felt bad, knowing those kids were feeling housebound and would love to go grocery shopping, but I needed to be AWAY.  We were gone for over four hours.  It helped a little.  Yesterday I left again, alone, just to go to the store for more groceries.  (These people eat a LOT!)  I’m used to quiet, so having people underfoot all day, making strange sounds on top of everything else, is grating on me.

Selfish cow.

The stepchildren have arrived. Gadget didn’t get to see them at all last year, due to irresponsible and inconsiderate scheduling on his ex’es part. They are here for a month and a half this time. He reports that their living conditions are similar to those of my own youth, a squalid shack in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to fathom why his ex left him for a crotchety man eleven years her senior. If he had wealth, charm, or some other redeeming qualities, I might understand, but the only thing I can see (and I’m being objective!) is that he’s not Gadget. Apparently that was enough.

It’s sad to see the kids raised in an environment in which he has absolutely no influence. The step-dad is out of work, hobbling around recovering from having an ingrown toenail removed, and the mother has never worked. From what Gadget can see, they live on the child support that he sends for his daughter, and welfare and social services. They were receiving social security payments for the step-son that had something to do with his having leukemia as an infant. I’m not sure how that works, but he’s 19 now, graduated from high school, and about to face the future, so for some reason, the social security payments stopped, which means that much less for them to live on.

While we were dirt poor, we never used welfare and social services, and my dad went to work every single day, regardless of health. He was an emotional tyrant (and sometimes physical), but he had a good work ethic. Our house was a pigsty, but we had a band of nine wild ones and a harried and frazzled mother who tried her best to keep food on the table and clean clothes on our backs. If she’d had more energy and perhaps some parenting assistance from my dad, we might have been made to contribute with housework and chores. One thing is for certain. Each and every one of us counted the days until we could be out of that house and on our own. I left the very day after I graduated high school. I was 17.

So these two children are being raised by a mother who doesn’t and won’t work, and a step-dad who works sporadically. They don’t clean their house. Gadget wouldn’t even use their bathroom while there. Dirty dishes are everywhere and stacks of junk are everywhere else. When not in school, they watch TV, movies, or play video games, all day, every day. Or they go shopping. (??? I’m not even going to get into that…)

Neither know how to swim. The daughter is going into high school next term and doesn’t yet know how to ride a bike. When here two years ago, she loved to read and had a little spark. Now she hates to read, and she’s all huddled into herself. She mumbles incomprehensibly if she does speak, or she just doesn’t respond when spoken to. Occasionally, she’ll nod her head yes or no. She’s got extreme pronation in which she practically walks on her ankles, and now one leg is visibly longer than the other. We tried to get her to take interest in trying to correct her walk, the last time she was here, to no avail, and now the problem is much worse, and she claims not to care at all. She’s setting herself up for a future of chronic pain. We’re going to try to get her to at least wear specialty insoles. She snubs any reasonable shoes. Gadget is very angry that his ex doesn’t try harder to help her correct this.

Enter Sueeeus, the wicked step-mother. Sueeeus has rules. Every day there is a chore to do, and it must be done before any game-playing or TV/DVD watching. Work first. Then reward. And Sueeeus sets limits. Only one movie per day. Only one hour of video game playing per day. Only one hour of TV per day. (That’s three hours of leisure trash time, but one would think it was cruelty to the utmost extreme.) Oh, that Sueeeus, she is so wicked.

These kids are not prepared for life in the real world. The boy is very soon, as in several weeks, going to be out there. At least he has some enthusiasm, and although he has very limited vision and ambition, I think he will be able to make a way for himself. I hope.

The girl has no ambition. No interests. No spark. Nothing.

It breaks Gadget’s heart, and mine, and makes us both angry and frustrated.

***

A few days have passed, and thankfully, the girl is opening up a bit. They’re not grumbling TOO badly about their chores, although, in the long run, I may wonder if the price is or was worth it.

So far, we’ve nearly lost our freezer after being left ajar a night. Gadget worked all his magic on it, to no seeming avail, but it kicked back into operation after a full day and two nights. Phew. Such a sad and shameful waste of good food, though. That was just a sloppy oversight, not a chore.

Yesterday I assigned weeding. One might think it would be common sense that things IN planter boxes were meant to be there, and things outside of containers were not. One would think. Gone is my lavender and my dwarf bamboo. Present are dandelions, bindweed, and thistles. Today I reassigned weeding. They’re on their second round, having failed the first inspection. I’m not sure what they pulled this time, but the dandelions remain. There may be hope for my lavender and bamboo, because I noticed that they were just pulling tops, and not pulling out the roots. I re-instructed them to pull the roots up, using a dandelion as an example. They didn’t give me a very appreciative look. I told them that if they don’t pull the roots, they’ll be pulling those same weeds all summer. Another steely glare.

I haven’t told them that we might go to the movies tonight. They can wait and be surprised by that reward. Meanwhile, this weekend the hot tub must be scoured and sanitized, and the carpets and floor mats in the car must be cleaned. I’m sure they’ll rejoice over that. Next week they’ll get to steam clean the upholstered chairs and sofas. And the downstairs carpets. And maybe paint a wall or two.

Yes, I am the most wicked of evil step-mothers.

Casualties of an extended weekend:

• 1 broken Wii remote – fried
• 1 broken Wii charger station (see above)
• 1 three year old child, afraid of the water since his everloving dad thought he was big enough to try going under
• eleventy gazillion DVDs out of order, with or without their jackets
• forty seven** opened but unfinished soda cans
• thirty two** opened but unfinished snack cracker/chip packets
• 1 mountain of laundry
• 3 mountains of dirty dishes
• general homeland chaos
• sore, sore feet
• headache
• 1 parental meltdown when her three year old decided he was afraid of public toilets (which is completely understandable) and would only go at home. This at the beginning of an extended weekend away from home. (Luckily, once settled in to the hotel room, he decided that one wasn’t too scary.)

Highlights of an extended weekend:

• An overnight stay at a swanky downtown hotel, complete with swimming pool, white robes, and unlimited complimentary*** milk and cookies room service for the children
• A glorious sunny day for the girls to wander, browse, and shop without the boys
• An opportunity for the boys to go play arcade games without the girls
• Dining out with family
• Playing in a beautiful swimming pool with happy happy children (prior to being dunked, that is)
• Two little boys sitting on a king-sized bed, snacking on cookies and milk, and playing ‘go fish’
• Five kids, two adults, popcorn, candy, snacks, sodas, blankets, and pillows (all in two vehicles parked side by side) at the drive in theatre for the new Indiana Jones movie.
• That blissful calm that descends when the four extra kids are safely delivered to their own home, and our little family of three is safely back in our own home.

*Memorial Day weekend.  So it’s yesterday’s news.  Better late than never.

**exaggeration — even so, TOO MUCH WASTE! Ack!

***may not be so complimentary considering the king’s ransom charged for just one night

Inspired by Suse…

The concept:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name

You can play too.

There have been many times in my life in which a discovery like this might have put me in a foul mood.

Especially if it happened to be found in a load of our best whites – you know, the expensive plush turkish spa bath sheets, and my brand new white pants and summer shirt. Of course it didn’t manifest itself in the load of darks. No, that wouldn’t be nearly so interesting.

Surprisingly enough, to both myself and the man I married, I shrugged it off. Of course, I did leave the pen fragments on the kitchen counter before I left home, so that he would see them when he got home. I had things to do, and no time to work out a damage control plan, but I was somewhat curious as to what his reaction might be. After all, there are only three people living in this household, and I’m quite certain that instrument of destruction did not originate with me or the wild child. So.

I did receive a somewhat sheepish phone call, but there was only the slightest hint of sheepishness. No apologies. Very few words. And I continued to surprise myself. In days past I would stew and remain irritated for days at the laziness, stupidity, and irresponsibility that could cause such a thing. But not now. And I’m not even on Zoloft any more. It’s a wonder of wonders.

All part of a new me.

…Carefree…

…Young(er)…

!!

So, when there is so much gray, what can one do? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.*

I do wish I’d had a video camera to capture the expression on my son’s face when his mother walked through the door. After his initial shock, he came up to me, cradled my face in his meaty little paws, and kissed my head.

Then he gave me a present. “A prize.” (Surprises=presents=prizes around here.)

“Thank you,” I said.
He beamed.
“What do I do with this?” (me)
“Play with it.” (Grownups are so daft, they don’t even know what to do with prizes.)
…and a little later…
“Don’t choo wanna play with your prize?” (Grownups are such ingrates, with no imagination whatsoever.)
…and the next morning…
“Hey! Why is your prize still here? Don’t choo yike it?” (Grownups. What a bunch of fuddie duddies.)

*I’m a bit self-conscious about the next time I show my face at the office. It’s such a dramatic change that people won’t be able not to say something. Obviously, I didn’t think this through. Must brace myself against pending social anxiety. And make sure I do a good job with the makeup.

It’s the contrast one feels when one awakes to find that the travails of the last day are a thing of the past.  A lightness in being.  Bliss.

Glorious sunny days are a rarity in the Pacific Northwest.  The abundance of lush greenery comes at the price of many a gray and drizzly day.  Yesterday was just such a glorious sunny day, a terrible shame to waste, but I was overcome with fatigue and lethargy.  It was all I could do to drag my body from room to room.  I had a nagging headache and some nausea, reminiscent of a migraine, but on the milder side, as my migraines go.  We managed to go to the store for some groceries, but that about did me in, and I collapsed on the couch and fell into a groggy nap state for an hour or more.  The day wore on and I finally broke down in tears, Googled the use of hydrocodone during pregnancy, and decided I could allow myself to take one.  Gadget never understands why I torture myself all day long before I finally break down and take something at the end of the day when I can stand it no longer.  I always try to see if I can wait it out, if it will resolve on its own.  Occasionally, I give in, and sweet relief comes in less than half an hour.  Bliss.  No wonder people get addicted to narcotics.  Luckily, the thought of addiction terrifies me, so I’m almost overly cautious.  And all through this, little mister man wouldn’t take a nap.  I was a bit concerned how this would affect the evening, envisioning a three year old meltdown or more on the horizon, the last thing I needed in my fragile state.

As luck would have it, he zonked out like a light, around 8:30 p.m. (coincident with the hydrocodone kicking in) and wonder of wonders, slept until 8 a.m.!!!!  I’m wondering if this means we ought to give up the nap altogether, so he can have a reasonable bed time.  A child in bed by 8:30.  Now that’s a dream come true.  He had a three-hour nap the day before, and he and his dad stayed up watching Ghostbusters until midnight that night.  Simply atrocious parenting.   (Gadget gets full blame for that one – I went to bed at 9:30, as usual.  I can’t keep my pregnant self up very late these days.)

Today is not such a delicious sunny day as yesterday, but it’s reasonably clear.  Dogwoods and magnolia are in bloom (I’m coveting these for my garden) and I feel like a new person.   It’s a shame to have lost half my weekend, but the simple feeling of revival makes up for it.