Wednesday, December 9, 2015

The Definition of Insanity

Okay, so it's a wonderful thing when you can actually STOP coughing and wheezing before you are out of breath and covered in pee. I think I knew a long time ago that I was destined to have asthma, or else someone told me. Point being, the inhaler is a lifesaver--and I'm not sure that's just being figurative.

So now with that out of the way, I may not be on the exercise circuit just yet but I am able to do some work. Junior brought home a bear of a cold, and somehow gave it to his sister before I ended up with it, and with all the snuggling I would have thought I'd have caught it sooner so I could give her a little antibody boost, but she seems to have finally shaken it. Do you know what you can do when a baby has a sinus headache?

That's what you can do.

I held her and walked around, which did seem to help. I also planned dinner for this and next week and have begun obsessing on what I can do to get my family back on a track to health. We've been getting caught up in a Friday/Saturday blow-out that's gone off the rails. I stopped the soda encroachment for the most part, though I admit I went for about four days with bare minimum sleep to stave off hallucinations and on those days, I'd use a soda to give me a caffeine boost.

It's like liquid sleep!

In other new, my palm pilot has started having charging issues and no longer fully charges even after being left for a while on the charging dock. I have been nervously lamenting the change back to paper or perhaps some OTHER shopping application to help me keep track of my budget. Is it wrong that I want to see the aisles, prices, and total cost all in one easy, straightforward manner? I don't need wifi, sharing, or pretty pictures, I just need a shopping app that WORKS and helps my budget. So, for those of you who follow my G+ you know that I found rShopping List on the play store and it is AMAZING! It is a rewrite of the original program that has kept me tied to the Palm m500.

Pretty sure this is an actual picture of the author.

Christmas is almost here. That means Crimbo gaming on Kingdom of Loathing, shopping, wrapping, and planning Junior's birthday. (I have big ideas.) It is also my first Christmas with Steve the Meyer lemon. Unfortunately, being self-thinning, Steve is apparently not confident in his ability to bear adult lemons. I've lost all but two of my fruits and I don't have much confidence that they will survive.

I believe in you, Steve!

I am hoping to get back to my lace, soon. I've made decent progress, but I'm still feeling terribly slow for all the amazing work other tatters do. Granted, I am doing them with a little barnacle. On top of that I am working on deep cleaning.

I slipped this week, I do have plans to declutter what I can by myself. Yesterday, in my usual fit of cleaning pique, I cleared off the top of my dresser. I found a lot of interesting things, discarded a few "holding on to the memories" sort of things, and actually put a lot of things away. I fear if I'd left it much longer I'd have to call in a professional to deal with it.

Meet Ruth the archaeologist.

I have been working on this for several weeks, doing the decluttering that I can, but I think the house has figured me out. It feels like it's actively fighting me. I clear a spot and in a week, it looks as though I have done nothing. The new messes clean up quicker, because they aren't filled with year old trash and sticky things, but it can be frustrating to watch an area that you designed and cleaned by yourself covered over with the same trash and sticky things that you JUST spent all day clearing away.

Well, I'm not one to be deterred. I have been working three and a half years on a tablecloth, knot by knot, I am not going to give any ground on this. Excelsior!

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Wait long enough...

Sometimes we teach people the wrong lessons. Sometimes you have to take those lessons and roll with them. The current lesson? Wait long enough, and I will do it.

Recently, on the Home Front Mr. Smith began an experiment to see how much mail he could pile onto the mail holder beside the door (and every other surface).

Turns out, a lot.

There was mail in the pile that dated to April. So in a fit of frustration, I combined a couple of decluttering projects. I moved the filing cabinet that has been my night table into the entry and actually FILED all the bills and things that came in, keeping only the most recent. As for the rest, it has been collected for the next shredding day at the bank. Or I could burn it.

That's about half of it.

So with that done, I have turned my attention to the space where all he large clutter has accumulated. The bassinet, the OTHER bassinet, my old desk chair, and the probably broken stroller. I would rather put these last two on the curb, though I admit I retain a mild affinity for the old desk chair, in reality, I need a chair with a back. I would throw the stroller away, but for hubby who is convinced that if it sits in our living room long enough, it will be fixed and useful by MAGIC! Really, it's too large to take anywhere, and has been replaced by the moby until the Diva can walk on her own.

In other news, I managed a temporary but half-decent fix on the attic ladder, which is necessary with the promised decluttering that Mr. Smith will be giving me for Christmas. Since I finally have my Kingdom of Loathing Tiny Plastic Sword AND a Golden Mr. Accessory, he's not going to get away with cyber gifts. I'm really making him work this year.

I'm making a list.

Okay, it's actually a very short list. The problem is that most of the clutter is Mr. Smith's. I have been paring down my stuff and though my internest can become cluttered from time to time, I clean up regularly because I have a lot of projects running at once.

Currently, I am working on my tatting as usual, while planning a separate lace project and reading about yet another kind of lace. I am also working on the Hobbit Book, aka the Lore Book of the family, starting with my Mom, because I have to start somewhere. I am going to have to buy some of those extender things so I can fit in more pages, but my hope is to have a bio and photo/art page for each family member and spouse. Then I will have a Yearly Summary letter that will be appropriately accessorized. I will probably do that at Thanksgiving, Because anything that happens in the last month can be added on after.

It won't be too big, I'm sure.

Anyway, I've got a lot done, but SO much left to do. Junior is sick and has been home since Monday with a general annoying cold. I hate that he's missed so much, but let's be honest what has he really missed this week education wise? Yes, we are still fighting the school. Yes, 99% of school systems are run by a bunch of jerks who couldn't educate their way out of a paper bag, among other factors involving other people.

This mom's group found out I wanted my son to
study something on his OWN academic level.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Okay folks, I know it's been a while. It has been a busy summer, getting Jr. into a new school, handling the first sinus infection of the season, and of course, our new family members, Boone the Treeing Walker Coonhound and the Diva who shall be called Diana for the purposes of the public blog. I have also started my first tree, a Meyer Lemon named Steve. We are hoping to finish planting our trees and shrubs as autumn falls on us, and I am hoping for some real progress on the five year plan.

I am hoping to have time once a week to do a proper post, but we have seen how that works out. I am cursed with DVD, and I sometimes get distracted by other things. Mostly by the baby, let's be honest.

Another part of the five year garden plan actually came from Mr. Jones, this summer. I had not considered actually putting my jar shelves inset. I should have gotten Mr. Jones some cabinetry books sooner!

Anyway, I'm back to catching up on my stuff. I'm behind from Monday and only JUST getting the sheets washed.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

Big Pharma strikes again!

Grab the coffee, friends. This will be a long one.
Might need a few more stamps.

So, though I appreciate the "mend and make do" world of my forebears, I am always appreciative of the wonderful advancements modern science, and especially modern medicine have to offer. Diseases and diagnoses that were death sentences back in the day have become treatable if not curable with modern drugs, technology, and techniques. Knowing several people (and one pet) who would have had their lives shortened considerably without it makes me wonder what the hell those against it are hoping for.

Well, I have an idea.

With that being said, yes, I am trying to go ahead with a pseudo - hippie birth as I did with my son. I may not have wanted interventions, but they were there if I needed them, and goodness knows I am happy about that!

Well with the GDM diagnosis (which was wrong, the doc admitted later), I received the sad news that the hippie birth center no longer worked within a hospital, so I packed up my marbles and picked out the best hospital our insurance would pay for, which is actually a really nice hospital!

The alternative was unthinkable.

Well, after transferring, I realized immediately how good it was I switched to the hospital, for as soon as they did the ultrasound, they knew my little proto-stinker was breech. She had been that way for months, and the same abs that kept me from having the adorable baby belly I have now were holding her in position. It was too late at this point for any sort of baby yoga to work, she was too big for that (right on her weight target though), so we turned to medical science, and the external cephallic version or ECV to give her some help.

I make it a point to read up on medical procedures that I am to undergo, and the related statistics just to know my options and to be a properly informed patient. This is not research, as I don't compile or publish it in any professional capacity, it is just reading. I make this distinction, because I am honestly sick of hearing people bandy about the word "research" as though it gives them legitimacy, while also telling me to "Google it!"


I know too many scientists not to know better.

Well, I knew mostly about the procedure, though I found out more specifics early this week as I asked my medical team about it. I knew I was a good candidate for it, and the doc gave me the go-ahead to attempt and then wait as I reached 38 weeks. Well, he said I had two options, try and wait or turn and induce, so I chose the route that would keep my granola cred as much intact as possible.

Without becoming this.

So yesterday at 6:30 am, we found ourselves checking in to the hospital, statistics and a general knowledge of what was happening in mind. I met Nurse Jennifer, and student nurse Dianne, and they started the dreaded IV! I warned her as I always do that my veins are like teflon paper fire hoses. Hubby was there to back me up, and it resulted in only one stick and a bit of gold digging. They wonder why I hate needles! We did all the vitals, I got a ride back to my doc's offices for another ultrasound, and we returned to meet Dr. McCool, who would perform the proceedure. For those who know, I give my docs nicknames, and since I have trouble with a male OB, most of them are in the Creepy Family. Dr. Creepystein, for instance, has become my main doc, while Dr. Creepy Whitebeard is also there. This guy, however, was go with my desire to maintain hippie cred, so he gets to be Dr. C. McCool.

Maybe not this cool.

Well, Doc informs me that they can first try to turn her using just a smooth muscle relaxer, which used to be an asthma medications, and felt like it should have recreational uses. A shot in the arm, a few minutes, and two attempts later, while not phasing the baby, it was too painful. Years of martial arts and core strengthening made that decision for us. I had not known it was an option to try without an epidural, though I had read that the stats did not favor it. Well, the statistics were trustworthy, and it didn't work. I knew what came next, the needle in the spine. This has been my biggest fear, like being trapped in a maze with a bear made of snakes that hasn't eaten in two days hunting me.

Or this.

Against my fears, and with the knowledge that the epidural would improve our chances for success, I took Student Nurse Diane's hand, sobbed like I was slowly being peeled, and let the very amazingly patient anesthesiologist do his job. Which he did very well, letting us know exactly what was going on, while Bob translated my sobs in responses to questions. They don't tell you what it is like, and I could go into excruciating detail at a later date, but suffice it to say I soon had some powerful narcotics and numbing agents blocking everything from my diaphragm down. They did have to pump me full of epinephrine so my heart rate would remain stable.

Also, it gave me a year's worth of cardio.

Another shot of the muscle relaxer, and I was cool with the world. Though apparently according to my husband, they realized that when I started to babble, my blood pressure was falling, so they had to bump it up. Why is it that every time I take a drug that makes me loopy or woozy, I get more talkative? Well, anyway, I was still scared and upset but like a junkie on four or five Xanax, I no longer had the will to really do anything about it.

So much Xanax!

Also, I was unable to tat. But I tried to keep a good humor when I wasn't sobbing because these nurses go through a lot. Just ask the poor lady who offered me ice chips during my last labor.

No. Ice. Chips.

So the whole crew returned as soon as the ceiling became the most interesting thing in the room, and I held a conversation while Dr. McCool pushed as hard as he could, grunting and straining while regularly checking his progress with an ultrasound. My head was tilted down, and Nurse Jennifer was right there holding my hand so, I was totally unaware of anything south of the chest zeppelins. I did realize at some point that I was naked in front of the room, and I had a pang of modesty, but it was more like an errant thought that got bored and wandered off.

Modesty is for chumps.

Suddenly, everyone was happy. I had to ask to confirm because though I had guessed and am rather sensitive to the moods of others normally, I was not my usual sensitive self.

With about as much muscle control.

The baby is headed south! Success! And baby played honey badger the whole time.

Baby don't care. Baby don't give a crap.

Recovery went well, though for a couple of hours, my left toe had a rhythm in it that could not be denied. Soon, Nurse Emily de-borged me and we came home, six new holes in my body, baby still moving well, though with a new set of sensations to get used to. Hubby and I relaxed and enjoyed a quiet evening (the Boy got an extra night of spoiling thanks to a fantastic Granny), and we trundled off to bed.

Blissfully unaware...

At 2am, the last of the muscle relaxer must have left my system and I remembered why she had not turned on her own. Remember when I mentioned my awesome abs? Yeah, I remembered, too. I also remembered that having a "resting" heart rate in the 130 range for a couple of hours should have given me a headache. It did, DOMS style.

Ow.

Headache, back ache, ache from every wound that had something shoved in it, and the lateral abs that had been holding her back. Well, no pain, no gain, right? At least we have the machine that goes "ping!"

Friday, March 27, 2015

Adventures in Housewyfery

There was just too much adventure this morning to do a simple G+ post. This morning requires pictures, so grab your adventure hat, and cup of culturally appropriate beverage of your choice, because it's going to be a day.


I'm going to need a lot more "lemonade" for this.

So my morning started at 12:30 am with some heartburn I cannot even begin to describe. I felt like a bad sword swallower. I hate midnight snacking, but I also know that there is only one thing that will curb it, so I downed a bit of cheese and some milk. My mother does her best to instill healthy habits in me, and midnight snacking flies in the face of it, but then, pregnancy flies in the face of normalcy, mostly because evolution is stupid.


Two words: Laryngial nerve.

So, with heartburn calmed, I get to sleep for another three hours before I have to pee again, because evolution is still stupid.



Squids don't have a blind spot like we do. Jerks.

Well, right about the time I was about to fling back the covers from a hormonal hotflash, hubby's alarm went off and he muttered something about morning and stumbled off to the shower. On Friday, I don't have to make lunch for the boy (pizza day at school) so I relaxed in bed, checking email. Ah, a note from the Boy's teacher. Well, this is starting my Friday off on the wrong foot.


I can see where this is headed.

So, I am laying there, quietly contemplating talking to the Boy about school, again, because he told me everything was fine. But before I really get a chance to go over things in my mind, I hear a thud, a shout, and a scream from the bathroom. I do not know it at this point, but the adventures are about to really begin.



Suit up.

So I rush into the bathroom. Husband informs me that he has just been stung by a wasp. He gets out of the shower, asks me about the stinger--I already know that wasps are the bastard cousins of bees and do not leave the stinger in--and we find our little jerk friend battling the shower water that is still falling. Well, being the brave insect slayer that I am, I look around the bathroom for something deadly, grab the foaming hand soap, turn off the shower, and douse the thing until it is dead.


Something about this does not say "Amazonian Princess" to me.

Well, I'm about to leave as hubby returns to showering, when I make a terrifying discovery. The wasp had a friend.


I will sting your face.

Meet the Carolina Red Wasp. At first it was by the ceiling, but when it got tangled in a spider web, it panicked, and we, being the large, intelligent mammals that we are, did what our species is best at in such a circumstance. We got as low as possible and cried out in terrified shouts to each other.



You rang?

Once our second "Red Baron" had landed on the door jamb and was staring at me in my bright red tank top, hubby returned to showering. My new plan, sneak out for wasp spray. Okay, no pictures for a minute. I want you to read, then close your eyes and imagine what you are about to read:

Our bathroom is a faded blue, and so small it would violate modern codes. It was grandfathered in so that our house would still be habitable. My husband had just finished his shower and was wrapped discretely in a fluffy towel. I was in the small space between our sink and the door, allowing him to step safely out without alarming our guest.

The wasp was perched in the center of the only door out of the room, like an evil version of Poe's Raven. It's wings at rest, it's compound eyes fixed on me. Bob left the shower, very slowly, and began to shave. He did not have his glasses, I did, so I kept my eyes focused on the Baron. Then it hit me. I have wasp spray, just on the other side of that door. Also, my son was awake and could come bursting into the bathroom at any moment.

So, to take control of the situation, I opened the door, beneath the Baron, as slowly as I could. I crouched down, low as I could, not crawling--pregnancy has prevented that, but crouched, almost a caper. I edged towards the door, like a ninja, my eyes never leaving the source of danger. I reached the threshold and edged under. SAFE!

As I slowly closed the door, a small, terrified voice comes from inside the bathroom. "Don't leave me alone with it!" Well, when you are a ninja, you must make choices. I let the dog out, made sure my son was secure, and got the spray. Husband was as far out of the way as he could get. It had taken wing again and landed on the wall.

I was at the door, as low as possible. Husband mutters low, "Hold on, I'm going to get into the shower."

To protect himself from ricochet spray, he slipped behind the curtain. My family line has a history of ranged accuracy that dates back to medieval times. I may not have the eyesight of my ancestors, but I drew on that strength and pulled the trigger.

Like an amateur ground gunner, the Baron fell from its perch and landed on the rug. As it struggled to its feet, I opened the door like a conquering hero for a second shot. BLAST. Dead.



Obligatory eye candy.

If the first encounter was a 4-camera sitcom, this was a dramatic superhero drama. (See above.)

So with that done, I returned to the mommying side of things. This will take some consideration. I feel as though I am standing where my mother stood 25 years ago, watching myself. Hubby feels the same thing, at the branching of two paths. I know, now, what my mother went through, I know how the world has changed and not changed, and I feel as powerless as I know she felt. Yet I am not doing this alone. I have the chance to change the past by changing the future.


Well, Mr. Frost, what now?