Monday, August 31, 2009

The Five Seasons of California

Sure, you all know the first four. Everybody has those. But we are also in the midst of another season: Fire Season.

How do you know it's fire season? Well, if the actual flames and nonstop news story break-ins about nonsensically named fires aren't enough, here are a few extra clues.

The moon is orange. No, not like a harvest moon. It's all the way up in the sky. You can only see it periodically because the smoke is constantly blowing across it. At one point tonight, the only part showing through was shaped like glowing orange broccoli.

Even though you only went to the pet groomer today, you and your daughter and dog smell like you've been camping. For a week. Without a shower.

That's not dandruff, it's ash. And how it got into the dog's water bowl, which is in the house and in her crate, you'll never know. The good news is that it blows off your car as you drive away (anything that didn't blow into your car to be ground into your seat and the seat of your pants, that is... one more reason to carry a lint roller at all times).

Your eyes are constantly burning. As if you didn't already have allergies to nearly every living thing. All hopes of wearing mascara are dashed, apparently at least until September 8, when one of the three major fires surrounding you might be under control. Not out. Just less wild.

Driving without sunglasses is verboten because the whitish-brown sky reflects the sun like laser beams.

You are exhausted. Sure, there are extenuating circumstances, but limited breathing ability is definitely high on the list of causes.

Argh! I have some photos from my sister-in-law that aren't uploading for some reason. I'll try again later.

***In unrelated news, Mad is doing fine. We woke her every two hours last night, which resulted in a nice long nap (for her) this afternoon and a too long one (for me) this evening. She seemed to recall everything from yesterday. Today on TV we saw a fire truck. Mad looked at me and smacked her head, V-8 style, with an expression that said, "What the heck?!?" Of course, she does that whenever she's frustrated or too tired, too, so I could be reading into it.

***Even more unrelated news: Tomorrow I go back to work full time. I have enjoyed being off, even if it wasn't as far off as I'd have liked to be. The mantra is a reminder that I do love my job. I love it enough that I never seem to recall at the end of each year how much I dread going back at the start of the next one.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

All's Well That Ends Well... So I Hope This Is Over Soon

Tom and I are not people who parent by fear or in fear.

Or we haven't, but I could really see myself going that way now.

A little background: This afternoon we were expecting to host an end-of-the-season dinner for Tom's softball teammates. In preparation, I've been working on finishing up the kitchen cabinets and staining our new dining table (that we've had still in the box nearly five months). Tom, the organizer extraordinaire, was handling the living and front rooms, including shampooing the carpets last night.

When we finally crashed last night, the table was done, except for the clear coats (which I planned to do today), the carpet was drying and two cabinet doors needed their final coats of Dried Violet (check out the almost black color about 3/4 down the page) and to be hung.

Even though I was a filthy mess, with way too many streaks and drips of Cabernet gel stain on my arms, legs and hands, a shower was out of the question. I was exhausted. So I removed the dirty clothes and put on a long-sleeved shirt and pants to sleep in.

Because I had more work to do on the table, I put my stain-riddled clothes back on this morning. As I did, I pondered how it looked like I'd been sprayed with blood. But what else could I do? I don't own that many clothes to begin with, so staining in something else was out of the question.

As Tom and I were replacing the furniture in the living room, he decided that the large floor pillows we have also needed some freshening up. So he set up the wet vac and got to work. Somewhere in there, some water was left on the floor.

Mad woke up rarin' to go... like she always does. As she was following us around, she ran through that little bit... that tiny little bit of water.

Slipped. Fell. Cracked her head on the kitchen floor. Made a sound, but didn't really cry while I picked her up. Put her head on my shoulder. Threw her head back.

I thought she was playing.

Her eyes were rolling back in her head, her mouth was puckered and I couldn't get her to respond. Somewhere in my brain I recalled that part of the movie, Airplane!, when the young girl's IV is knocked out and she loses consciousness. As Tom called 911 (thank you to whomever set that up, by the way), I worked frantically to get a response. Madelyn started turning pale and then blue.

She started coming to a little, but wouldn't make eye contact and her cry was strange. I recently read or saw something about brain injuries and how the lack of eye contact can be a symptom.

I put her on the floor, on her back and started tapping her foot, bicycling her legs and calling her name.

Finally, she came back to me.

It didn't last. As we waited for the emergency service (and thank you to the person who thought of that, too!), her eyes were rolling again. She turned blue again. I was hitting the bottom of her foot as hard as I could while holding her and getting nothing. I went straight to the floor with her this time, but it took just as long to get her to come around the second time as the first (in reality, probably about 90 seconds each time... so, you know... 10 years).

The fire department got there first, followed right away by the AMR people. They were thorough, mostly didn't assume they knew Madelyn or how she behaved (one guy from the fire truck did suggest that the second time we couldn't get a response might have been because Mad wore herself out from crying... uh, NO, she turned blue and her eyes were rolling back again).

They gave us the paradoxical choice of having them take her in to be checked out, or not... and based on their assessment, she didn't need to be checked out, but if we didn't let them take her, then we had to sign something saying we would take her in to be looked at.

I'm a pretty competent parent. And Tom goes into uber-collected mode in an emergency. We've taken infant/child CPR and first aid classes twice. But I did NOT want to be left alone with my daughter this morning. Maybe if nothing happened after the first time, okay, but not when she lost consciousness twice in less than 10 minutes.

So they strapped Mad's carseat onto the gurney and I rode along next to her. She was fine the whole way. I was mostly fine the whole way.

Here she is upon arrival (no, I wouldn't normally take pictures in this situation, but I sent it to Tom and Corey so they could see she was calm... they were stuck in the lobby for a while):

Since I started thanking people, here's a continuation of that list (most of whom I have already thanked in person):

*Tom, for remaining so calm... and, odd though it may sound, for being the one who left the water... Corey would never recover if he'd had any hand in this, no matter how innocently it occurred and even though she seems to be okay;
*Corey, for staying cool in front of Mad, even though his voice was shaky as he kissed her good-bye and said, "I love you," before we boarded the ambulance;
*The firefighters, just for being there;
*The AMR guys, for the jokes ("First time in an ambulance? Yeah? Mine, too. Paul [the driver] loves that joke. Never gets tired of hearing it.") and for taking down all of Mad's info and passing it along.
*The nurses and doctor at Victor Valley Hospital, who didn't ask us anything; they knew the whole story before we arrived. They came into our little curtained off area and said, "Hi Madelyn!" and got down to business. When it was all over, the paperwork took about three minutes.
*And lastly, my mom... because she was the one person I broke down a little to while retelling the story (well, besides you... but you can't see or hear me so it's not quite the same).

As we drove home, Tom and I debated briefly whether or not to go ahead with our plans for tonight. Since Mad was given a clean bill of health, we kept to our plans. As I put her down this afternoon, I told her what I always do, "I love you so much and so much," but then I added, "You can sleep as long or as short as you need, but just please wake up when you're done." During her typical three-hour nap this afternoon, we must have checked on her at least 10 times.

This afternoon, Mad ran around her home like she always has. I wanted to run along beside her, ready to grab her as soon as she seemed ready to fall. I did not.

Why yes, I do have a nasty headache. Okay, it could be all the ash and smoke in the air, but I'll bet that's not all.

Tonight we will be checking on her way more than she'd like (Mad's an excellent sleeper)... but probably not enough to satisfy my heart that she is truly okay.

Here's the deal: My secret fear with Madelyn is that I won't always get to keep her... that she won't be with me forever. I attribute it to the fact that I have wondered how long I will be alive during her life. However long that is, it will be 15 years less than Corey gets. So I figure I'm mentally switching those fears around or something. Whatever it is, today is as close to realizing that fear as I never wanted to come.

So my new goal is to not let this change the freedom I give to my daughter. And to not have a heart attack while letting her be free.

We know now where the closest hospital is located (something I'd just looked up on Friday, but hadn't exactly figured out). Or, at least Tom does. I know it's on a hill overlooking Corey's high school.

On the way there, I truly regretted my decision not to shower last night... or to brush my teeth before coming downstairs.

More than one person today asked me why I was such a mess. Well, that's not how they said it. Here's the conversation I had with the ER doctor:

"So she slipped and fell?"

"Yes, on the kitchen floor... there was some water from the carpet shampooer."

"So... where'd all the blood come from?"

"Oh, that's just an unfortunate coincidence. It's not blood. I've been staining a table."

Mad had a pretty thorough exam, including Xrays. After one of them, the tech came over and started feeling around her head, muttering something about "the artifact." Turns out there was a staple under the cushion she was laying on during the Xrays. Apparently it looked like she had a staple lodged in her skull. Happily, she does not.

Start to finish, the whole excursion took just over two hours and she was given a clean bill of health. Not bad for a Sunday morning trip to a completely booked ER.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Body Parts

For the past several months, Mad has been learning to point at or even say some of the parts of people's bodies. She generally doesn't get the personal pronouns yet, but here's a list of what she can either say, point to or both:

Not bad, eh?

So why does she point at my breasts and say "ahm" (arm)?!?

Oh, why lie. I know why.

Peer Pressure

We are just returned from a lovely weekend of camping at Table Mountain in Wrightwood. There are many great things about this campsite (it's gorgeous, has great trails, is family friendly, the spaces are huge, etc. etc.), not the least of which is that it's only about 40 minutes from our house. Our last camping trip was at Lassen Volcanic National Park... 14 hours away. We did that when Mad was a wee baby of just over three months.

Camping with a three-month-old is pretty darned easy, especially if she's exclusively nursing. With a 16-month-old who's teething, not as easy. But Mad did a great job.

It rained all of Friday night and into Saturday morning. Most of that time, Mad was asleep, and Corey and his friend, Richard were in their own tent (gassing it up and laughing, from what I could tell), so no big deal. When she awoke, Mad found the tent was a fun novelty for quite a while.

Eventually we had to go out and play in the wetness. She liked it, except for when she'd topple over and get a wet pebble jammed in her hand (go figure). One especially fun game was to step down into a little gully, step up out of it and then back up until she was in it again. I just tried to make sure the larger rocks were clear of the area.

Our days were spent taking short carries. Any parent of a toddler knows what a "carry" is: that's when your kid says she wants to go for a walk, but three feet in she's standing in front of you with her arms up, saying, "Uhhhhhhhhp." And no, she doesn't want to do the uphills herself, thanks.

Yesterday while Tom and I were making breakfast, and the boys were off releasing the lizards they'd caught, Mad roamed our campsite. She drew the eye of a 21 month old little girl, Alana, who was walking by with her own mama.

Alana was a little intrigued by Madelyn herself, and more so by Mad's stuffed dog. Mad shared it with her twice. Eventually Alana's mom took it and handed it back to Mad. This did not make Alana happy. She's not a loud little girl, but one word was quite distinct:


Mad hasn't spent much time around her talking peers. All of her friends are her same age (no, really... Luke is four hours older and Samantha is five days younger), and the talking has been pretty limited.

So this is a little shout-out to Miss Alana from Orange County.

Thanks, baby, for teaching my daughter her first four letter word. Now everything is "MINE."

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The Day, A Retrospective

As you probably know, we left at the butt crack of dawn for Corey's school this morning.

***Note to self: It's rather awkward to use the phrase "butt crack of dawn" to a small crowd that includes a woman named Dawn. Choose something else next time. Mm'kay?

The upside of being up that early is that he and I got to watch the sky change from navy with all the constellations to orange to lavender to blue. And we stopped for coffee.

Even though we weren't at school ridiculously early, we were still the first people in line for the counselor's office. We were the first to see his counselor, a cute young woman with tattoos on the insides of her wrists. Once she found out that we'd never been on campus before, she gave Corey a rundown of how things work and where to go for what. He and I had looked up his school on a couple of websites and found out that there's a grassy area that's only for seniors, something confirmed by the counselor.

Here are some of the highlights:

There are murals all over campus. Each class gets an area to paint. It looks like seniors get many areas. Some of them are quite nice.

It's an old school. When we walked into the office, the smell of old wood cabinets and paper and the yellowish lighting took me back to when we transferred to a school in Monrovia (outside of L.A.). I love that smell.

Teachers, staff, security guards... they were out, interacting with kids. I think every adult I came across either smiled, waved or said hello.

I only heard one student swearing. Sure, it was pretty foul. But I work at about a dozen high schools. I am used to foul-mouthed students. Only one was practically sweet.

Did I mention that students didn't try to shove past me? Or get pushy while we all waited for the counseling office to open?

And here's the craziest (and to my mind absolute best) part of the morning: Corey was never given a handbook of rules. Punishment and discipline were not made to be the focus. Getting good classes that meet his needs and interests, however, was all important. Corey really got it, too. When the counselor presented him with available electives, he asked questions about them before deciding (he chose the JROTC and band, in case you were wondering).

The downside is that, although he's finished one semester and one unit of math and one semester of English for this year, they'll have to be retaken. (He'll still get the credits, but the old classes will move into the electives category.) Corey didn't mind too much. He understands that he needs more work on math anyway before he can move on.

Overall, my boy was calm and thoughtful and mature. He chose JROTC even though he knew he'd have to shave off his mustache, imperial and goatee (the loss of his imperial was something he pondered briefly). Within half an hour of being home this afternoon, they were all gone. He looks good without them. Even cuter than before.

Aside from seeing him "hairless" for the first time in a few years, it was strange to look at him at first because I realized something: Corey has his father's mouth. Well, with perfectly straight teeth, but the lips are exactly the same. It's strange to see someone so similar to my ex-husband standing before me. But it's just the mouth. His eyes are mine, except for the lashes. I have no freaking clue where those gorgeous long lashes come from.

All in all, he's a handsome kid. Especially when he's smiling, something he did a lot today.

Drum Roll, Please

This morning, in about 45 minutes, Corey will be starting high school. Well yeah, he's in 11th grade and all, but you know what I mean. Yesterday we spent about three hours dealing with registration and I'm not hopeful that his counselor will have a class list ready for him when we arrive.

He's got his backpack... when he was four he called it a "packpack"... all ready. New clothes are on... unwashed because I guess that's how he rolls. Lucky for him he is starting school now and not 20 some-odd years ago when I went. Those black jeans and black shirt (in the desert? really?) would be leaving some serious ink stains in all the corners and creases back then.

I don't really have much to say. We're both excited and nervous (okay, he's excited and nervous... I'm just nervous). To cover myself... and to keep from leaving way too early, I'm stalling.

When we do get there, I have a lot of questions: What are his classes? How long should I stay to help him sort it all out? When does school let out? Will he be able to find his way around? Will people be nice to him? Do we really have to do this?!?


Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Corey, Corey, Corey

It's been a while since I've aimed a blog post at my son, but it seems like now is as good a time as any. Plus, this is good news, so I've got to get while the getting's good.

Today my son finished tenth grade. Sure, the school year ended for most kids around here somewhere between two and three months ago (why is there such a spread?!?). But Corey's been doing an independent study program since starting eighth grade. He's done well, too.

I'd had him held back for various reasons in sixth grade. One of the reasons this worked was that he was barely up to my shoulder (I'm 5'7"). Imagine my chagrin when he sprouted about six inches and grew a mustache at the age of 12. No, not just a peach fuzz 'stache; a full-blown, my-grown-friends-are-jealous-and-are-you-sure-Magnum-PI-isn't-his-dad doozy.

One thing Corey has always had on his side (if only he would use his powers for good and not eevilll) is that he's smart. Very smart.

During his seventh grade year he completed seventh and eighth grades. The following year he took a more leisurely approach and completed ninth grade about seven weeks into his tenth grade year.

Surprisingly, we both lived.

Somewhere around the middle of October, he began plugging away on the current curriculum. One of the assignments was a math packet that the teacher explained was the hardest one he'd face. He added (not that Corey was listening) that all of the remaining packets are fairly easy in comparison.

Aside from his other work, that packet took nearly 10 months. It should have been done well within a few weeks. He tried everything, and I do mean everything to get out of doing it.

Don't believe me? I have the chest Xrays, neurological assessments and MRI results to prove that, no, he does not have a heart malady, seizure disorder or any other health impairment along those lines.

Ahem... I said this was good news. Got a bit off topic there. Sorry.

So last week he finally got to the part where it was time to take the test. There were three days of antics surrounding that, and ultimately, he failed. Yesterday he was all set to take it again. Naturally he left the study guide (which has to be submitted to take the test) at home.

I should mention that I was off yesterday, so I did drive it to him... 55 miles each way to make sure he wasn't getting away with anything.

Oh, I'm gonna win this one.

After a brief pep talk that excluded all the other things I was thinking, he went in and passed the freaking test.

Whoop whoop!

Here's where things get a little tricky: Corey wants to go to a traditional high school, but if his units completed don't match up with the school year in progress, he's screwed out of credit for work completed.***

The neighborhood high school starts in a few days. He still had a couple of units to complete in an earth science class or he'd have to take the semester over.

Today he passed both tests.

Tonight he got his first cell phone. He would have loved one, oh, five years ago, but he's never been in need of one.

Tomorrow we're enrolling.

Thursday he starts school. Up here. Fifty miles from my job. Seventy miles from Tom's.

He's a boy with a history of acting goofy and/or obnoxious just to get attention.

His temper can flare pretty quickly, although it generally has been under control lately.

He wants to make friends, but hasn't really mastered that aspect of life. So identifying the good'uns versus the baddies isn't a skill he's acquired.

I'm not afraid.

I'm not afraid.

Okay, I'm scared out of my mind, but I don't think he knows that.

***Oh yeah. Remember that math test he took yesterday? Well, he will be getting the one credit that comes from it, but he will still have to redo that semester. Ask me how much I care? G'head, ask me.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

For This, I'd Like To Thank My Children

You wake up in the morning and hit the shower. It's a lovely day, weather-wise, so you stand there al fresco and brush your teeth. While you're rinsing, you bend over the sink and get the not entirely pleasant sensation of your left nipple on the counter.

To make matters worse, you realize that your right nipple is a good inch and a half away from the countertop.

Yeah. That was me you heard screaming

Thursday, August 13, 2009

And Now Back To Our Story

Early in November of 2007 I finally, for sure, felt the baby moving. Here's what I'd written later that night:

When I told Tom tonight, he put his hands on my stomach and waited, like the baby would know he was there and just go crazy all over him. When that didn't happen, he leaned over, kissed my belly and said, "You can kick me. I'm right here." God I love him.

That November was pretty eventful. Tom and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary with a short weekender to Julian. A few days before we left, Corey went to the corner store and bought us a gift of... organic cotton balls. Why, you wonder? Don't think we got it right away, either! Turns out he'd read that cotton is the appropriate gift for a second wedding anniversary. We still have the bag, mostly unopened (Mad got hold of it, so... you know).

Of course we celebrated Thanksgiving, too. Here's something else I wrote at the time:

We had an awesome Thanksgiving. I was really dreading the drive up to Hesperia this year, as last year's was so horrible that I didn't ever want to do it again. Tom finally convinced me to give it a try one more time about a week ago (that's right... even just over a week ago I was still upset about it... it was that bad). He convinced me because, A) We always have a great time with the family and B) He likes hanging out with them. When he said that, I thought back to what my life was like when I was married and pregnant before...

Well, for starters, by this point in the pregnancy, I knew that the marriage was over. Second, my ex-husband didn't like or love his own family, let alone have great feelings about mine. And third, right after Corey was born, surrounded by my grandparents and mom (oh, and the now ex-husband), the ex got jealous and said that my family had had Corey long enough and that his family hadn't... ugh! What a freaking moron... and I mean me, since nobody made me be with or marry that jerk.

Continuing with our Thanksgiving theme, here's something else I'd completely forgotten:

I just wanted to say that whoever thought it was a good idea to schedule a prenatal appointment on the Monday after Thanksgiving must have been a complete fricken idiot! Didn't that person realize that I'll have to be weighed?!?

That appointment was the first time Corey ever heard the baby's heartbeat. It didn't make him all gushy or lovey. He thought it was weird, like a space alien, and kind of gross.

Exactly a month after I felt the baby move, here's what I journaled:

Tom has been living in that after-stress zone where, when he comes home from work, he pretty much stays awake for dinner (most of the time) and then falls asleep on the couch. So while I've been pretty sure that he could feel the baby if only his hands were on my stomach instead of his own, it hadn't happened.

Prior to this week, whenever he put his hands on my stomach, the baby would actually kick wherever he put his hands, and I would smile and look at him.


It got to the point where he seemed to feel bad that he wasn't feeling it... like he was a failure or already a bad father or something.

Yesterday morning I was sitting on the couch and he was in the chair. I told him his baby was moving around a lot and he should come try again. He did, and the baby was kicking up a storm. Of course, Tom didn't feel any of it because I was wearing flannel PJ bottoms and two shirts, so I pulled up the shirts and he stuck his hands down my pants (don't get all pervy on me... these aren't maternity bottoms, so they are either all the way up or all the way down).

Just then his brother called, so he answered with one hand and started chatting away. The baby gave some fairly light taps right under his hand and Tom stopped the conversation with Matt. He asked, "Those little taps... was that it?... was that the baby?"


So we laughed and shared the moment with Matt, which was kind of cool, but it would have been better if all three of us could have been in on it together, instead of just him talking to Matt or to me. But he's finally felt his baby move, and that's more important than anything.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Retractable Claws

Things are finally starting to settle back down around here. So I'll give a brief (as I can be, ha!) update and then next time around I'll get back to Mad's story.

After spending almost $200 to get the truck limping along, we rented a trailer and towed it up the hill on the back of my dad's truck. Monday of last week we went out and bought a new car. We'd narrowed it down to the Altima and Camry. Online and based on my dad's and Nancy's collective info, I liked the Altima better, but we still ended up with a Camry. And I'm glad. I bonked my head on the ceiling while in the back seat of the Altima, for one thing. For another, we ended up with a hybrid. Now we're a two hybrid family.

The deal we made on the car wasn't anything like the one the sales guy stated we could get, but it was still too good to pass up. The amount they didn't come down in price was nearly eradicated by the extremely low financing rate. They offered 3.9 percent, but because the finance guy had said "if you'll be flexible, we can be flexible" and then tried to give us sticker price and the "cash for clunkers" money that we were getting anyway, I got a little pissy (no, really?!? I'm shocked, too). So we got an even lower interest rate and $500 off.

I do love the car, but I also loved not having a payment on the truck. Oh sure, I didn't have to drive the smoking beast or listen to it's random, yet incessant binging (you know the sound from leaving the keys in the ignition? the truck is probably already a heap of scrap and I'll bet that thing is still binging).

I've driven the Camry a couple of times and it's a very lovely car to drive, if you like cars. I used to until I was nearly squashed off a bridge in my old Saturn. It was almost eight years ago, but I still felt a little tense being in a vehicle that is hard to see for those "small penis trucks" (you know the ones... sometimes Corey and I will look at a massive, insanely jacked up truck and bust out laughing because "that guy has NO penis!") . One thing about this car, though, is that it has too many gadgets. I was using the cruise control and needed to speed up or slow down a couple of times. Instead I managed to turn the windshield wipers on twice, turned the radio volume all the way down and changed the radio station once.

The day after we bought the car, our stimulus check arrived from buying the house. Here's an odd little fact: prior to receiving the check, Tom and I each received notices that it would be coming soon. The notice also said that adding the stimulus check to our tax forms actually increased our tax bill by two dollars. That seemed stupid, but hardly worth fighting for, and it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not sure why, but we were paid interest in the amount of $52.48. We submitted the form at the end of June, and it could have taken until the end of next month, but whatever.

The first thing we did was to pay off the Target credit card. I can't stand that company. We'd been working on paying off our debt prior to the Madaladelyn, but that went on hold for a while. Target wasn't supposed to be next, but the way they keep reducing our limit every time we do make headway is too annoying. So they're done. I anticipate that they'll close the account, as I've heard has happened with some others who've paid off cards recently. I don't even care.

We also made a sizeable payment on another card. Initially we'd hoped to pay off both cards, but it's just not going to happen.

We've splurged on a few things. One of them is the rest of our dishes. We have Fiesta dinnerware in five different colors, a service for 10. Now I just have to finish painting the cabinets so I can move onto staining the table and chairs and we'll actually be able to use them.

We also bought a bundle of Photoshop Elements 7 and Premiere Elements 7. When we had the computer operating system reinstalled a few months back, our photo editing software didn't make it back on and we couldn't find the disk. Sending pictures to the grandparents has become unwieldy. Sending more than four as attachments to my MIL's email would cause the email to bounce back. I could drag and drop photos, but then she had a hard time printing them on photo paper. Whatever we had before was pretty basic, but I was quite good at it. Photoshop is something I've always wanted, but it will take me some time to figure it out.

Naturally, just before installing Photoshop, our computer took a huge crap. Our computer guys determined that the memory cards were corrupted (would this be another "Thank You!" to Corey and his interest in... ahem... female anatomy?!?). We upgraded the memory and also replaced the monitor. Oh sure, it was a flat screen, but was still nearly two feet front to back. This one's energy efficient and should keep the room from getting as hot. Another benefit is that photos look better on it. Our screen had been getting progressively darker over the past year or so. I had thought it was a problem with the camera.

Last month I spent three weeks thinking I was pregnant. I am not. I'm not sure if it was wishful thinking or over-analyzing or just simply trying to be pregnant before the end of summer as we'd originally planned. I have told Tom... I was going to say I've made it clear, but who knows... that I am not up for trying for another 8 months. Neither one of us has broached when the outer limit would be. At this point I'm rather resigned to not getting pregnant. I understand all of his reasoning for wanting another one (or however many happened to come along without IVF and the like)... I even agree. But I couldn't be more okay with stopping here.

Sunday, August 02, 2009

The Forecast of the Day Screams "CAUTION"

... when it starts with an emergency trip to Target for tampons and formula.

... when it involves letting your toddler get only about a 45 minute nap because you've got to drive for an hour before shopping for a car (because that's where your truck died and you don't want to tow it up the hill to trade it in).

... when your husband, who knows you had to make an emergency tampon run, still takes his frustration and stress out on you because he feels stranded without a working vehicle (like the situation's going to last for-freaking-ever).

... when you get diarrhea at the first dealership.

... when your exhausted, overheated daughter freaks out about getting into her car seat again after it took nearly 10 minutes to move it from your car to the test drive vehicle.

... when you lose your $225 birthday present sunglasses somewhere along the way ("oh, sure... you'll call me if anyone happens to turn them in... thanks").

... when the sales guy at the next place jams his card in your hand and tells you to "wave him down" if you have any questions (I guess he didn't like that we took separate test drives so Mad didn't have to come along).

... when all the tension builds up between you and your husband so that when you do get to a restaurant to cool off, you threaten to sit at your own table.

... when, even though you said you weren't sure if the title to the truck would be in the truck (and you can't imagine why it would be since that would stupid if the truck ever got stolen, but you haven't had any file drawers since being married because we have to use the table his mom bought instead of the computer hutch that you own, so it's been his organizational system for four years), little to no real effort is made to find it before you drive down the hill, so even if the guy at the Toyota dealership wasn't a complete jackhole, you couldn't trade the truck in tonight anyway.

... when you finally apologize for your part of the problem, but your husband doesn't make eye contact or respond in any way, including apologizing for his part in this mess, even though he started it (and then you silently send him to hell in your mind, but realize you'll have to leave before he arrives).
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