Spawn

What next?

2010-12-16T15:13:00.000-08:00

I have come to loathe whatever it is in the world that makes people get sick. Old age? A weakness of the system? Too many Krispy Kreme donuts? I don't know, but I hate it. And I want it to die in a way too obscene to put into words.

Seriously, this is the way people need to pass away: they age and age and age, and then one night, they go to bed, and they have a lovely dream from which they never wake up. Just like that. None of this, they age and age and age and then begin to forget everything, and then literally forget everything, including how to eat and breathe, and then waste away lying in a bed staring at the ceiling until one day the pauses between breaths get longer and longer until they just run together, and then there's no more anything. That's bullshit.

And no alien THINGS growing where they shouldn't be growing and making the things that are supposed to be there malfunction.

Nobody should ever get sick, and nobody should ever die. Or at least, nobody in MY family should ever get sick or die. Because both events suck, and I don't want to think about them even though they stare me in the face and poke at my chest and yell, "HEY! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEE!" If I don't think about it, it isn't real. That's how it works.

Something interesting?

2010-11-29T11:27:00.000-08:00

Okay, how's this for interesting?

I have to go to the grocery store today after picking the Girl up from school. Just to get a very few things. Know what this is going to cause?

Unbridled drama. Great heart-rending sighs from the backseat. A whine that batters itself against my eardrums until they shatter and I'm rendered a quivering wreck with blood dripping off of my earlobes.

All because I want to pick up some salmon.

Damn you, tasty, tasty salmon!

I guess it's been long enough

2010-11-28T08:49:00.000-08:00

I have been admonished to keep up my blog. What is perhaps not understood is that I post when something INTERESTING happens. See where I'm going with this?

However, in the interest of family peace, I hereby update my blog. Ta-daaaa!

Let me see--Zoe is officially in 2nd grade, and we're gearing up to send her to a new school, since I have finally had my fill of ACE's shenanigans. However, for the time being she seems to be doing well. I am particularly impressed by her ability to read French words with the correct or nearly correct pronunciation. This is because she's Super Girl.

Halloween came and went with a LOVELY Cyndi Lauper costume. Much candy was begged for and received--it was a good night. And the costume didn't take her Sainted Mother countless hours to make this time. Just a few evenings for the skirt, and a few shopping trips to Wal Mart for the accessories. It's hard to see from this photo, but her hair was dyed red for the occasion, and lasted several days at school.

During Thanksgiving, she baked her first pumpkin pie and it was most photogenic. I signed on as her helper, so all I did was open cans and handle the oven and stuff like that. Everything else that had to be done was done at her hands. So I took a picture. I call this one:

Gang Pie

Seriously, I'm not sure I could have done any better. From what I understand, it tasted good, too! (Never could figure out the allure of pumpkin pie, myself. . .)

This has not been the most exciting of posts, but at least it's out here on the interwebs for all to see and snooze at--any questions about Christmas wish lists may be directed to my Amazon account, where both I and Zoe have lists posted.

Maybe next time I'll come up with something a bit more fun. . .

Mortification

2010-07-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

The Girl and I went to the Children's Museum today. This in itself was a huge triumph on her part, because I have grown to loathe the Children's Museum with almost every fiber of my being. Not because it isn't educational or fun for her, but because it makes me want to lynch myself from the boredom. When we walk in the doors and I get my first glimpse of the round lobby and the gift shop, my eyes glaze over and I turn inward, hoping I can make it through the next few hours without going on some sort of zombie-rampage.

On the second floor of the museum is a room devoted to creating stuff out of bits and pieces. There are egg cartons, colorful tape, crayons, scissors, ribbon, paper, you name it. And you can create anything imaginable (assuming your imagination is good enough.) We were sitting in there, across the table from a very large African American man and his two little daughters, and Zoe had found a wine cork. We also had a single strip of egg carton cups, and it was going to be a caterpillar with the cork as the head. Then she found a piece of grey styrofoam, but discarded it. I picked it up and discovered a hole in the underside. It fit perfectly on the cork. I handed it to Zoe, and said, "Hey, this could be his hair!" realizing too late that it looked almost exactly like Don King. Even though she doesn't know who Don King is, handing her a cork-head with a makeshift 'fro on it was going to open up a can of worms I wanted nothing to do with.

I went to work on the rest of the caterpillar, finding that crayons don't work on the styrofoam stuff most cartons are made out of. "Guess who this is!" Zoe hollers.

"I don't know."

"I'll give you a hint: he's holding a microphone!" Yeah, I know where this is going, and I'm wishing I was anywhere but here, anywhen but now.

"I. Don't. Know." Then I lean in and say, "Please be a little quieter."

Eye rolling. "Black hair and brown skin? Moooom. . . it's Michael Jackson!" And I'm thinking that the last time Michael Jackson had an actual 'fro was about 25 years ago, and also that the giant man four feet away from me is going to be offended by this aggressively white girl saying something that shouldn't be offensive at all, but could be twisted and construed to BE offensive somehow. I wanted to leap over the table to him and sob into his face that I'm NOT a bigot, and I didn't teach my kid that everybody with dark skin likes to talk about slavery! Honest! (Yes, she does seem to think that."

Nothing happened. We left Michael Jackson on the table and walked out. Really I should have kept him, because he looked a little bit like a mushroom.

2010-06-27T21:38:00.000-07:00

I have recently received complaints that I don't blog often enough.

My time is limited, and it might be better for all two of you who read this to just sit down at the kitchen table and talk to me directly. I might even feed you.

That being said, I am only writing tonight because I don't have the stamina to tackle yet another exam, but I do have just enough energy to blather for a while about something inane. Rather than try to be witty and urbane about everything, though, I'm going to make you a list, in no particular order of importance, of Stuff That Has Happened recently.

1. I bought a bicycle. "But Stef! Don't you already own a bicycle that you so frequently don't ride that it's covered in rust?!" you may be asking your computer screen. Yes! That is the case, but I discovered that my tendency to not ride my bicycle was a result of having a bicycle that sucked. I bought a Schwinn cruising cycle, which means it has upright handlebars, like the bicycles used to have when I was a kid. There are no handbrakes, but pedal brakes, and there is only a single speed. It is bubble gum pink and has a little ledge on back where I can bungee my belongings. This bike is a joy to ride, and you'd think I'd be a size 8 again because I like it so much, but that's not the case. Perhaps I should try not eating Sonic cheese tots every day of my life.

2. I ate Sonic cheese tots every day of my life up until the Girl got out of school, which was also when I had to stop my internship at the clinic, which was situated 3 blocks away from Sonic, where the cheese tots dwell. Presto! Now they are only a guilty pleasure. And I do mean guilty. But that doesn't stop me.

3. I am a semester and a half away from finally graduating. (Yay.) I am also about 6 and a half months away from taking the VTNE. (Boo.) I say boo because I'm not sure I'll pass it without killing myself studying, and those in the know are well aware of my abilities to study consistently. (I don't have any.)

4. I have decided that what my life needs is simplicity (plus a lot of money.) Along that line, I have decided that I am going to, in essence, pick up the house, dump everything out, and start over. I'm talking brutality here, okay? If we haven't used it in 6 months, it goes away. I don't care who gave it to us or where it came from. If we're keeping it, it had better have a darn good story about how it came to be ours! For instance, I probably won't throw out my wedding shoes. Yeah, I wore them for about 4 or 5 hours one day over 10 years ago, but dammit, the Girl is going to have big gunboat feet, too, so maybe she can wear them! Underwear and socks are going away, because I have about 300 mismatched widow socks, and an equal number of pieces of underwear that are either too small, too big, cut funny, holey or just plain weird. I've already started on my clothes and the Girl's clothes (about 5 lawn and leaf bags full!) and shoes. Towels and other linen closet stuff goes next, along with kitchen gadgets and old cans of food pushed to the back of the pantry. The Girl's old bike and kid kitchen are going on Craigslist (with her permission, of course. She gets the cash!)

5. Once the simplicity is established, it will be further enhanced by the cleaning person/people I'm fixing to hire, and the interiors company that I plan to have in to strip our nauseating wallpaper, retexture the walls, and paint. Which will then mean we have to buy new towels for the bathrooms and possibly lay down some carpet tiles in the living, dining, and bedrooms. And also new curtains, naturally, and maybe new kitchen and guest bath cabinetry. But all that stuff? SIMPLE!

6. The simplicity will continue on in our food. I am trying to get away from all the prepackaged stuff and go more toward whole foods, but I'm having a terrible time. The biggest obstacle is the Girl's need for snack foods, and to be honest, as much as I'd like to be able to make my own fruit leather and crackers, it just isn't happening. I do try to get stuff that's organic or without hydrogenated death powder in it, but sometimes, you've just gotta have a Pop-Tart. (Okay, not really. I don't eat them because of the Gluten, the Girl isn't allowed to have them, and Zach doesn't eat them because he's too smart for that. I do, however, occasionally give the Girl the treat of Fiber One toaster pastries. They're just as bad as Pop-Tarts, but at least you poop them out, faster.) At any rate, this means that I'll be cooking more often, which is a good thing, and eating healthier foods, which is also a plus. Now if I can only figure out a way to get the Girl to stop seeing veggies as The Enemy. Does anybody have a recipe for Vegetable Ranch Dressing Soup? Hmmmm. If nobody does, maybe I could develop one! Note to self. . .

7. I have finally become slightly better at jugular blood draws, and intubated another dog last week. I am in love with my job. How many people can say that? Seriously, I love it. I feel more confident (except about the state boards!) and feel like I can figure out almost anything people need me to do there. Now all I have to really work on is my fear of handling cats. As much as I love Mr. Kitty (and I do love him something awful!) I still believe cats are evilish. But I'm not afraid to scruff them anymore!

8. We are raising 10 Black Swallowtail caterpillars in a butterfly habitat on our kitchen table. Thus far, 5 have become crysalises and there's one more getting restless which is what they do the day before they suspend themselves from a branch and go to sleep. Of the four remaining, I'm pretty sure one is retarded. Curious to see how he'll turn out.

9. There are probably way more things to blather about, but I can't remember them now, and even if I did, I wouldn't feel like writing about them, so instead I leave you with this quote from Eric Cartman:

"Hell YES I want Cheesy Poofs! Stupid Mom. . ."

2010-04-18T19:16:00.000-07:00

I had no clue I could change the font here. Although I don't know why that never occurred to me, because you can always change the font, everywhere. Or almost everywhere. I'm pretty sure the New York Times doesn't want you going in there and mucking around with the font they use, because then the stories would appear less serious, especially if I were to change them to Curlz or something. That'd be funny. As you can see, I've chosen Courier today, which is a font I've always liked, simply because it looks like typewriter writing, and I miss typewriters.

I also miss getting paid for doing things, even though in the past, I was only ever really paid for doing things I didn't like, such as filing and answering phones and shuffling papers for people who thought they were way more important than they really were. Still, I got a paycheck out of it every two weeks. And that's true, by the way, the bit about me only doing work I didn't enjoy. Even the one and only time I worked for money in a veterinary capacity, I happened to end up working for the Veterinary field's antichrist. This is because that's how things work for me. True story! But I really do miss getting paid. I like money. I like buying stuff without feeling too guilty that it's a frivolous expense. Plus, getting paid makes one feel that they're not retarded. You know, because someone has hired them, indicating that they're probably good at something. I know, I know. I'm good at filing and answering phones and shuffling papers for people who think they're way more important than they really are.

The clinic where I'm an intern is losing a tech next week, and there's an ad up for that position on Craigslist. I would love to feel qualified enough to ask them if I could have the job, but I don't, and I'm not, anyway. Also, I don't have the time. I have come to realize that I can really only work nights, which means I am limited to working in an emergency or specialty care environment. Fortunately, this is what I WANT to do. But then that qualification thing comes up again. And then just to make it worse, there's another ad on Craigslist, for an EVENING and OVERNIGHT tech at--yes!--the veterinary antichrist's hospital. I suppose it could work if I grew used to the smell of sulphur and the feel of a trident nudging my butt.

Jobs I'm Glad I Don't Have #2

2010-04-04T20:35:00.001-07:00

Bigfoot Tracker.

On Being Responsible For Somebody Else or Parenting Sometimes Sucks Quite Mightily

2010-03-07T22:23:00.000-08:00

It has recently come to my attention that the people who run the school the Girl goes to are asshats, and for various reasons, (GREAT BIG ASSHATS), I feel she might be better off at another school.

Seems like an easy enough decision to make, but it isn't! And it isn't simple because it isn't about me. If I screw up something big and I'm the only one who has to pay for it, fine, but the Girl is in the middle here. What if I send her somewhere that makes her miserable? Then again, what if remaining at her current school is what makes her miserable?

Why does nobody say anything to childless people about all the shit that happens when you have another human person depending on you and that you actually CARE about that actual human person, and so all the choices you have to make are absolutely agonizing? I guess it wouldn't make a particularly uplifing greeting card: "Congratulations on your pregnancy! YOU WILL GET AN ULCER."

Or at least some diarrhea.

Jobs I'm Glad I Don't Have #1

2010-03-07T16:47:00.001-08:00

Amazon jungle guide.

Way too much sewing, Day 2

2010-03-02T14:42:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I got done everything I hoped to get done, although I found I was about 1 foot short of the green linen I have to cut out the last piece of a cote. Luckily, I have three more yards of the same fabric sitting around, and which I was going to use to make cool, long sleeves.

So tonight:

1. finish cutting out green cote
2. pattern the Girl's underdress
3. wash remaining unwashed fabrics
4. construct green cote
5. cut out grey cote

Let's see if we get any gravy tonight.

On The Methods of my Madness! (Hint: there are none.)

2010-03-01T15:36:00.000-08:00

If the jury was EVER out about whether or not I'm a dyed-in-the-wool masochist, let me clear that right up.

Yes. Yes, I am.

I'm not sure why I'm this way, because I'm pretty sure neither of my parents is or was. And I'm not sure how I'm going to keep the Girl from getting this way, because I'm supposed to lead by example, and my example is, frankly, pitiful. Faced with a million things to do and a good book to read, I unerringly choose the good book, knowing there will be PLENTY of time to get all those other things done! And there IS always plenty of time--in some other dimension, at least, but not in mine. And so I end up trying to do those million things at the eleventh hour, and inevitably getting more and more stressed so that even things I normally enjoy, like sewing (this is known as "foreshadowing") make me wish I was in a nice, relaxing coma somewhere.

An ongoing issue of mine is that I don't have appropriate (read: impressive) garb for SCA events, but I'm usually too cheap and too proud to buy them ready-made, and too "busy" to make them myself, and so if I do go to an event, I'm wearing something old or something that makes me look like a medieval version of Jabba the Hutt, and because I feel conspicuously unattractive, especially next to my husband Spifficus, who is pretty much famous for his ability to be visually awesome, I don't enjoy the event, and I don't go to very many. SO! Awhile back, Spifficus mentioned that Gulf Wars were coming up, and rather that sit around the house with the Girl on spring break agonizing about having nothing to do, I decided we should go, too. Yaaaay!

But booooo, because my garb sucketh.

Most logical solution? Throw a bunch of money at Historic Enterprises or Revival Clothing and get outfitted with a minimum of fuss and bother, although at a premium cost. Contrast that with the Stef solution, which involves buying yards upon yards of fabric, altering patterns and sewing until the wee hours of the morning. I went with Option B, naturally.

Today I find myself facing the monumental task of outfitting myself and the Girl for 7 to 10 days of camping in medieval style without being embarassed about our clothing. I have 12 days in which to complete this task.

Maybe not so daunting, you say? Let us enumerate--let us DETAIL what needs to be done. Then perhaps we can rethink that. I need to do these things:

1. Alter my green/brown/gold cote. It would fit a moderately-sized mountain gorilla right now.
2. Fix the shoulder on my navy blue cote.
3. Line the sleeves of my chocolate brown houp and sew them in.
4. Position and sew in the pleats of my brown houp. Hem the whole thing.
5. Make a houp belt.
6. Do all these same things for my blue/green houp, plus pattern new sleeves for it out of bits and pieces and then sew them on. Hem the whole thing.
7. Finish all hems and edges of blue/grey particolor cote.
8. Construct 4 undergowns with cool sleeves.
9. Make green cote with long, draggy sleeves.
10. Make grey cote with short sleeves.
11. Finish hand-binding lacing holes on the Girl's green dress.
12. Make pattern for the Girl's oversmock.
13. Make pattern for the Girl's houp.
14. Make 2 oversmocks.
15. Make one houp.
16. Finish the beige underdress.
17. Make particolored dress (red and yellow).
18. Make two underdresses (green and yellow).
19. Make coif or two for the Girl.
20. Other stuff I've forgotten.

In 12 days. Possible? You be the judge.

Tonight's tasks: Draft smock and sleeve patterns for the Girl, draft sleeve pattern for me, and cut out one cote for me. Anything after that is gravy. Ready? Go!

Question: What is evil and cruelty personified? Answer: Me

2009-11-22T09:54:00.000-08:00

According to my dear daughter, I would give Snow White's stepmother a run for her money. I am cruel, mean and evil, and I wouldn't know how to help somebody who came up to me begging for it. I am, apparently, what makes her life so very miserable. Yes, I did it.

I asked her to clean up her room.

Oh, the humanity! And well you might gasp out, "What sort of monster asks this of a child? What sort of foul ichor runs sluggishly through her veins that she has the intestinal fortitude to request a small girl do something so very distasteful, so very, dare I say, WRONG!?" Is she a reptile, devoid of the normal warmth a mother's heart has for her offspring? Are her emotions stunted? Is she unable to dredge up even a modicum of feeling for this little girl, who wants nothing more than to simply live a life of constant fun and excitement and absolutely no chores or obligations whatsoever?

Yeah, that'd be me.

I know there are those of you out there who may well remember my own fights with my mother about this selfsame thing. What I'm TRYING to do here is get her used to keeping a relatively tidy room BEFORE she becomes so firmly entrenched in her slobbiness that she turns into me. I don't think it's working so well, yet.

You. Do. NOT! Mess. With. My. Kid. I don't care if you're only 6.

2009-11-17T21:43:00.000-08:00

I am an avowed pacifist. I gently transport spiders from the corners of my home to the back patio, where I set them on the ground or in a bush, even though they litter my floor with the dry husks of roly-polies. If I see an earthworm on the sidewalk after a rain, I put it in the grass. I catch the geckos who run into the house each summer and send them back outside where there's a better chance of getting food. (Although, come to think of it, the spiders are really chowing down, so there must be a portal to Roly-Polyville somewhere in the house, and I guess a gecko wouldn't do too badly, assuming he's a roly-polyvore, like the spiders.) My list of things it is okay to kill includes: 1. mosquitoes, 2. fire ants, 3. cockroaches, if you can't chase them out of the house. I even allowed the maggots who were raining down on my head from the air duct in the bathroom to live (albeit in my garbage can.) Scorpions? Let them live. Snakes? Rats? Sure! All of this is to say that I am not a violent girl. Not usually. However, a new factor has been added to the mix, and it is about as popular as a cold sore. 4. Anyone who hurts Zoe.

I mean hurt emotionally, as well as physically. Hell, if they look at her cross-eyed, I want to disembowel them. But all that has been, until now, purely theoretical. But as of this afternoon, all bets are off. Somebody is fixin' to get a big old serving of Whoop Ass.

To begin at the beginning, when Zoe started school last year, there were only three girls (including her) in the class, and they became good friends. However, near the end of the year, one of the girls (for the sake of anonymity, let's just call her Fuckface,) had a birthday party and didn't invite Zoe. Now, actually, this wasn't a problem. It quickly BECAME a problem when Fuckface went around the classroom, pointing at people and saying, "You're invited, you're NOT invited. . ." At that point, she was clearly looking to get shivved, but I held back. At least I didn't have to buy her a present.

We thankfully didn't have to see her this summer, but at the beginning of this year, while Zoe and Fuckface were playing with some other children outside after school, Fuckface kneed Zoe in the crotch. Fuckface's father (for the sake of anonymity, let's just call him Microdick,) upon seeing Zoe crying in pain, sighed, looked at Fuckface, and said, "Say you're sorry, Fuckface," to which she mumbled something under her breath that I couldn't hear. He told her again, and again, she mumbled something so quiet I didn't hear it. When he tried a third time, she yelled in his face, "I ALREADY APOLOGIZED TWICE, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT ME TO DO!?" That was pretty much the end of it. Apparently, for Microdick, that was enough of an apology. He led her away, and mumbled his own apology to Zoe as he passed by. The next day, peeing was painful. Again, it occurred to me that I wouldn't mind if my car accidentally tapped her in the parking lot (and then again as I backed up to see what I'd tapped.)

Still, I held my tongue.

However! Today, another mother from the class (for the sake of anonymity, let's just call her Queen PerfectSuperMom) took me aside and told me that her daughter (for the sake of anonymity, let's just call her Princess Wonderful) had walked by Fuckface's desk and saw Fuckface's notebook open to a page with Zoe's name written on it. Princess Wonderful said to Fuckface, "Why do you have Zoe's name written and not mine? I thought we were friends." To which Fuckface replied, "I'm making a list of all the bad things I want to happen to Zoe." Princess Wonderful immediately said, "Zoe's my friend!" and walked away. She then told her mother. I love this child. And I love this mother, who, upon hearing the story, told the teacher, the teacher's assistant, the Head of School, another mother and another teacher. She even put the whole incident in writing and submitted it to the Head of School, because they need it in writing to do anything about it. I later accosted the Head of School in the foyer and she said that there would most likely be a meeting with Fuckface tomorrow morning, after which they'd decide if the parents needed to be called in. I was good with that, but later this evening as I was thinking about it, I think the parents need to be called no matter what Fuckface says tomorrow.

Isn't that a warning sign? Don't the kids who shoot up their classmates with submachine guns have lists like that?

I had a really good idea this afternoon, but a friend talked me down from the ledge. I was going to corner Fuckface when nobody was looking, get right in her face, and say, "I hate you. And if I were you, I'd watch out." She didn't think it was appropriate, just because Fuckface is only 6. I don't care if you're a FETUS! Don't mess with my kid! PERIOD! Just DON'T! Because, as she and her idiot parents are about to find out, my niceness is only a facade! Underneath this soccer mom exterior, I am a seething mass of rage and evil, just waiting for the chance to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. Now is my chance! Yeah, I may go straight to hell, but I'll take that little bitch with me.

Whew. That felt good.

The Halloween photo

2009-11-10T23:47:00.000-08:00

So I finally gave up all illusions of morphing into Martha Stewart overnight and reproducing in excruciating detail every bit of the actual Cleopatra's outfit and came up with something appropriate, tasteful and easily identifiable. I stuffed it with a breathtakingly gorgeous kid, and here's what we got.

Queen of Denial
(yeah, an obvious joke, but oh, so true)

Guilt

2009-11-07T09:21:00.000-08:00

Today, a Saturday, the Girl has a birthday party to go to. Zach is taking her so I can sit home and finish off the last of my homework and get everything turned in. And I feel guilty. The last 12 weeks I have been more of an absent mother than usual, what with all the time supporting my dog habit with hours spent on the computer. I should have more of a Girl habit, and I feel awful that I haven't, right now. Also feeling guilty that I never learned to roller skate, so I'd feel like a dork taking her to the party anyway, being as how I'd have to crawl on my hands and knees.

So I get to be a mother again in a week or so. Will I be good at it? We'll see.

Satan has icicles on his butt

2009-11-03T21:56:00.001-08:00

Yes, hell has indeed frozen over. You all will have a new appreciation for the wonders and weirdnesses this world has when I tell you that, when this semester is over for me (which is on November 16th,) I will take some time to CLEAN MY WHOLE HOUSE.

Because I, the kid/girl/woman who has never once cleaned anything on purpose, I have become disgusted with that has happened to this place in the past 10.5 weeks, since school started. To say I've had little time to do anything but study is an understatement. Zoe is lucky she's still alive, that I've had the time to feed her. Zach and I are reduced to writing notes to each other to communicate. I'm making myself sick with the stress (literally!) and ended up crying in the bathroom at work the other day. I've gained 15 pounds (don't most people LOSE weight when their guts are all tangled up? Not me. . . lucky!)

But I'm beginning to know what I'm doing. (And it only took 3.5 years!) I can run a urinalysis, test for heartworm, do fecal floats and smears (yes, they're as fun as they sound!) I can prepare a dog for surgery, draw blood from the teensy vein on a cat's back leg, and put in an IV catheter. I can recover animals coming out of surgery, and run/monitor anesthesia for those still in it. I can administer IV, IM and SC injections and take radiographs of any body part there is. I can develop the films. I can differentiate one leukocyte from another, and do an absolute count from a blood smear. And tomorrow, I'm going to intubate for the first time.

The question on everyone's mind at this point should be, "Is it worth it?"

Is it? There are days I would have said "Hell, no." But I'd be lying.

2009-10-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

Probably by now you've figured out that I don't have rabies. Or that at least my rabies hasn't appeared yet--they say it can incubate for years, and after clinical signs appear, there's no cure. So put simply, I am a potential walking vector for the Lyssavirus, a potential seething mass of replicating invisible killers, a potential Patient One for the rabies outbreak that will end the world.

Or not.

What I CERTAINLY am is very near the end of my first set of classes at San Juan, stressed out by the amount of written work I need to do, stressed out by the amount of practical work I have to do, and positively demented over the idea that the VTNE will grab me by my spleen and swing me over its head. (The VTNE is the test I have to pass to get my license, and it is very hard, which I know because I have some study guides, and even though I've been working on this forever, I can look at the questions and feel as though I'm back in 9th grade English class, staring at sentences to be diagrammed, and not giving a shit.) But this time, I give a HUGE shit! (Heh!) And I still feel like a deer in the headlights. And that's only glancing through the study guide! What'll it feel like when I sit down at a table with the test in front of me and no Wikipedia to turn to? I'll tell you what it'll feel like--it'll feel like a mouthful of farts, that's what. Not good.

The frustration inherent in learning new stuff is nuts. Last week, I drove IVs into dogs with one hand tied behind my back. Today? A chihuahua who screamed like a girl while I tried to place a catheter and a pug with skin like rhinoceros leather pounded me into the dirt like a bug. So I'm going back tomorrow to try three more times! And then on Friday to try three MORE times! Take THAT, skinny-armed, leather-skinned, catheter-burring lack of confidence!

So now all I have to do is cram about 6 weeks of practical stuff into a week and a half, and I'm all set! Sounds just like me, doesn't it? I will never change. Then again, my ability to procrastinate is a large part of my charm. (Isn't it?)

Rhino skin!

Rabies Watch, 2009

2009-10-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

Today is Day 3 of a mandatory 10-day rabies quarantine for a sweet little stripey gray cat at our hospital. In Texas, any animal that bites somebody MUST be under rabies quarantine, regardless of vaccination history. This sweet little cat with the great big chew-marks on her back bit MY thumb on Friday afternoon.

Naturally, it was all my fault. One of the doctors asked me to get her from her cage to be examined. "No problemo!" I say in my head, along with some jaunty superhero music, and I go to the cage where she immediately sees me and starts growling and hissing. "Okay!" thinks the Big Superhero Tech! "I'll throw a towel over her!" Throwing a towel over a growling, hissing cat usually actually works--at least to get it picked up. The yowling/spitting/swiping keeps on going, but you're protected by a nice loopy layer of terrycloth. (!) Whoosh goes the towel and then I try to grab her, at which point she projected her jaws out of her mouth like the monster in Aliens and bit my thumb. And you know what? Cats have mouths full of GIANT NEEDLES! Giant, hot bacteria-laden, festering needles of the Apocalypse, and I think they may also be serrated. And hollow, to better relieve you of your life's blood. And two of them were in my thumb!

Shoving all thoughts and worries that my thumb was being amputated, I got the cat to the table, and then casually mentioned I'd been bitten. There was a little bit of blood, but I wasn't all that concerned about it, because even though I joke about my false bravado at the hospital, I really don't worry all that much about stuff like poop and vomit and anal gland leavings and blood. Even mine. (Blood, that is. If any of that other stuff was coming out of me at work, well. . . )

Ever see a movie or television show where one character says something, and everything around them just stops? As soon as I mentioned being bitten, there was the sound of a needle across a vinyl record (remember those?!) and everyone looks at me. Sheeeeeeeit.

To save a lot of explaining, in the end I found that cats basically have mouths like. . . like. . . what has a grosser and more disgusting mouth than a cat? Is there a shit- and toxic sludge- and maggot-eating member of the animal kingdom? Because a cat's mouth is worse than that. Up to 80% of all cat bites become infected, and that's because cats just might come from hell. (I can't be sure of that, but I have my suspicions.) I'm just sayin'.

So said cat is now incarcerated in our hospital, and I had to get a tetanus shot yesterday, which sort of hurt worse than the original bite. Oh, the needle going in didn't hurt at all--it was the lingering throbbing muscle pain I'm talking about. And really--CATS DON'T SPREAD TETANUS! Any time your skin gets broken and a doctor gets involved, there's a tetanus shot. Fell off your bike and skinned your knee? Tetanus shot! Cut your hand while fishing? Tetanus shot! Foaming butthole? Is there a bleeding fissure there? Tetanus shot!

This little cat, when I got there today, is possibly one of the sweetest cats I've met, and the reason she gnawed on my Friday was because she was in searing pain and then I went and tried to manhandle her. She warned me. Any worries I may have had about rabies are pretty much gone--this is not a rabid cat. Unless rabies makes cats purr and rub up their faces on your hand over and over and over. . . and if that's what it did, it wouldn't be that big a deal to get, would it?

So I'm pretty sure I don't have rabies. However! If, within the next three or four months you see me staggering around and foaming out of any orifice whatsoever? Run away.

The Girl's birthday, and why I didn't remember it was so soon

2009-09-28T20:10:00.000-07:00

I was just informed tonight that the Girl's birthday is in three weeks. Um, CRAP! I was still walking around with my head up my butt thinking I still had LOTS of time to plan and invite and shop and order cakes and blah blah BLAH! NO! I DO NOT! Three weeks, for crap's sake.

However, my brain stopped working with good cause. Let me tell you about it in excruciating detail, because just saying, "I have a buttload of schoolwork to do" doesn't really encompass the enormical scope of what I'm doing. Between today (Monday) and next Monday, I have to:
- Read 164 pages from 9 different books (normally, reading a lot doesn't phase me, but John Grisham these people ain't.)
- Read 10 scientific articles
- Watch 2 videos
- Do 16 written assignments
- Post to 2 discussion boards
- Take 4 quizzes
- Take 3 midterm exams
IN ONE WEEK, PEOPLE! And then I have to do it 6 more times! Thankfully, I am not yet dead, although I'm beginning to wish I was, just a little bit. Can you imagine what it'd be like if I didn't LIKE what I was doing? Hell would've broken loose in Texas, I tell you what.

So in three weeks, the Girl turns 6, and has been telling me about all the things she'd like to have, and I bring those requests to you, Dear Readers.

Zoe's Wishlist <----- CLICK ON THAT! It will take you directly to her wishlist on Amazon, whereupon I have put on shameless display many of the things she and I think she would like to have because she doesn't have enough stuff already, and also we don't feed her.

I had all these amazing ideas for this post--stories and anecdotes, amazing things I was going to tell you all, but in reality, what's going on is that my eyes burn, I haven't gotten enough sleep, and I still have to look up the bakery that'll be making the cake, plus design an invitation, and find a place to actually HAVE the party, because for once in my like, I'm NOT doing everything myself. For her birthday, anyway. Now, Halloween is a totally different story. . .

Things I Suck At, and also, Despair

2009-09-08T19:56:00.000-07:00

Began "work" at the clinic again today, and discovered anew that I suck at the following:
--drawing blood from the jugular vein of a dog
--even FINDING the jugular vein of a dog
--drawing blood from the cephalic vein of a dog (although I suck less when the dog is less puffy)
--expressing anal glands
--scruffing a cat effectively
--remembering ANYTHING from my education thus far
On the upside, I did manage to fashion a small nest from a rolled-up towel for a small poodle to relax in.

I did find this morning that my dosimeter had finally arrived, and was unduly cheered by this. It means I'm finally able to stay in the room while an x-ray is being taken. See, nobody actually cares if I'm getting anally probed by a beam of x-rays, but they DO care HOW MUCH radiation is violating me. And the best part? On my dosimeter, my name is "Stephonie." I can't decide if I like this as much as I like the name on my credit card, "Shephanie." So I got to wear the dosimeter today while an x-ray was being taken, but it was during that procedure that I was reminded how much I'm not good at scruffing a cat. And it was a cat so sick that it was euthanized later in the day. I guess now I'm pretty glad I didn't do anything to make his last day unpleasant.

The whole anal gland thing--it can be pretty disappointing to realize that you can't figure out how to do something so unpleasant. I knew shit was going to happen in this job, literally, but there really is very little to compare to actually feeling shit while it's still on the dark side of a butthole. We hold a tissue over where the gland is theoretically going to express its contents, but I suspect I'd do it without a tissue just to be able to see what was going on, and then maybe get a faceful. Really, the stuff that comes out of there is a special brand of stinky. More or less like fish 'n' shit.

Ah, the despair. Really, I just despair of ever remembering all the names of the tests we run and the procedures we do. I listened to one of the techs rattling off one acronym after another and someone else answered her like they understood what she'd just said! I couldn't believe it. It's a totally different language, and if I remember correctly (which I do,) I was allowed to take Linguistics to satisfy the second half of my language requirement in college because I was so rotten at learning Spanish. (Yeah, the fact that it was Spanish I couldn't learn makes it even more pathetic.) No se puede ensenar a un perro viejo nuevos trucos. En serio.

In order to indulge in some after-work shopping therapy, we went to WalMart after I picked the Girl up from school. (Her first day, by the way. A good time was had by all.) She was barefoot, because her stellar mother had let her put on shoes two sizes too small this morning, and her toes hurt. (Of course, the fact that a kid who starts school two weeks later than every other kid in Texas because she goes to a special school for GIFTED children put on shoes two sizes too small for her AND DIDN'T IMMEDIATELY TAKE THEM OFF shall go unremarked upon.) I was feeling a bit woozy from a medical indiscretion.

Do you like that term, "medical indiscretion?" It's like the term "dietary indiscretion" in veterinary care, which is a code for "ate garbage and rocks like a dumbass." In this case, it means "while cleaning the kitchen, put her Paxil somewhere she couldn't see it, and didn't take it for several days, thus confirming her suspicions that she is one of the 4-10% of people who have withdrawal symptoms when she forgets to take it" or, "Dumbass."

So I was feeling less than completely healthy. And it was hot. And I was tired despite 4 nights of actual sleep with Ambien. I carried the Girl out to the car, which becomes more and more difficult as she nears 6 years old. Went to WalMart. Carried the Girl into WalMart. Set her down and immediately hear the greeter at the door say, "Ma'am? She's gotta be wearing shoes if she's gonna be walking." My choices were: 1. Take the petite machine gun I carry in my purse, spray said greeter with a cheery hail of bullets while introducing my little friend, or 2. Not. So I sneered at him and picked her up.

Okay, so COME the hell ON! WalMart? I know this is probably a liability issue--they don't want me suing them if she steps on an alligator while she's in there, but seriously. Here, do me a favor. Think of these two things together: WalMart and Texas. Do you think being barefoot is the worst thing you can do there? Do you really expect to see Ivana Trump and Paris Hilton shopping for Faded Glory flip-flops around the next corner? Gimme a break. And so, very neatly getting back to the title of this post, WalMart can just SUCK IT. And by "it" I mean the porn-sized Johnson of a man unwashed after 4 days of hard-core workouts at Golds. In Austin. In July. Just suck it, Wally.

Eleven more to go

2009-09-01T08:04:00.000-07:00

Having officially finished my first week of classes through San Juan, I can look back at my decision to take all 7 classes at once and say, with all honesty, "WTF!?"

No, seriously, it wasn't too bad. I have to do some tweaking as far as how I complete the assignments, but aside from being a crapload of writing, it has been a relatively okay process. Last week I tried doing ALL the readings first, then doing all the written work. This week, I'm reading for a class, writing for a class, and testing for a class before I go on to the next one. I'm expecting to be able to finish one class today.

This coming Monday also marks my return to the hospital, and as I write that it makes me realize that my supply of scrubs is markedly low. Okay, my supply of scrubs that I LIKE is markedly low. I have enough to get through a week and a half or so without repeating, but most of my scrub pants are too short, and more than anything, short pants make me really self-conscious. I doubt anybody cares much, but I feel like a dork. And you KNOW how dogs are--one glimpse of highwater scrubs, and boy, do they laugh at you.

I love my job.

2009-08-22T17:14:00.000-07:00

Interesting thing I learned today: anal glands can make a sound as they're expelling their contents onto my clothing.

It begins

2009-08-19T19:43:00.000-07:00

Monday I start (FINALLY) the second half of my studies that will gain my entrance into whatever place they're giving the state boards next year. What this means, in a nutshell, is that I'm going to have to relearn everything I already learned and then forgot.

Oh, there are things I'll remember. I'll remember which bone is the ulna (provided I see it alone, without the animal that usually surrounds it.) I'll remember the sequence when developing dental x-rays is: water, developer--30 seconds, water, fixer--45 seconds, water. I'll remember about the invisible pocket of air that surrounds a sterile field. I'll remember that one doctor at the practice doesn't like her surgery packs in a tray. I'll remember to clamp off IV lines BEFORE I uncap them. You know, stuff like that.

Will I remember what an erythrocyte looks like? Not bloody likely.

There's a 50% chance I could find coccidia on a fecal slide if it's actually present. Given enough time and an unlimited supply of needles, I could get blood from a dog. I excel at catching urine with a plastic ladle, and I have felt the inside of a butthole, but NOT, unfortunately, a full anal gland.

So, knowing what I do and don't know, I often ask myself, "Self, is it even remotely possible you could someday work in emergency and critical care?" (Because that's what I want to do.)

Seems like with my temperament, I'd end up with a permanent neckache. Hell, I have that already.

And this is why

2009-08-19T18:11:00.000-07:00

Last week I decided that enough was enough, and I would start riding my bicycle every morning for at least a few miles. Monday--2 miles. Tuesday--same 2 miles. Today? Nowhere, because my ass hurt.

Why yes, I believe I will, thank you.

2009-08-18T19:46:00.001-07:00

Having finally succumbed to the sneaking suspicion that my inability to sleep through a whole night wasn't going to just somehow END, I allowed my doctor's assistant to prescribe Ambien, which then gave me two of the most lovely nights of sleep in many, many years.

And me being me, I looked up Ambien on the interweb, because that's what I do (much to the chagrin of just about everybody who knows me.) Anyone in the know (which includes the company that MAKES Ambien) says it is a short-term drug, that should be used for a few weeks, tops. And here I was planning to take it every night for the rest of my natural life. I had actual energy those two days after those two nights. I wasn't yawning every 10 minutes. I have a clean-ass kitchen, because I was able to sustain my momentum long enough to clean it.

So I conducted an experiment. Last night, I went to bed without Ambien, and woke up roughly every hour like I usually do, although this time, I had trouble even GETTING to sleep, which is unusual for me. They say that this "rebound insomnia" happens when you take Ambien and then don't. But wouldn't that imply that after a day or two, you'd get back to your regular sleep patterns? And what if your sleep patterns sucked balls to begin with? What if your sleep patterns were such that YOU NEEDED TO TAKE AMBIEN? I took a nap in the middle of the day.

Big, hairy, rat turds.

Yes, there's a potential for addiction. If you take them long enough, they're supposed to lose their effectiveness. So the question for me tonight, is: should I take one, or no? Let me weigh the options. If they can be taken for a few weeks "as directed" then I at least have 12 more nights of actual sleep coming to me. If I take them as long as I want, I may end up on a particularly pathetic episode of "Intervention."

Sleep is so important. Also, I like it. And so tonight I will take a pill, and I will sleep and I will be happy tomorrow, when the Girl and I are supposed to go swimming in the pool that did NOT get pooped in today, (that would be the Blue Valley pool, by the way,) and I will worry about my impending drug addiction later.

Because denial is a powerful and effective weapon!!

A breaking point.

2009-08-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

My house is reaching critical mass. The Girl watches way too much television. I don't get enough excercise.

Surely, there's got to be a way to do this without actually--dare I say it?--ORGANIZING!

And don't call me Shirley.

Pop Quiz

2009-08-15T12:07:00.001-07:00

Today, a dog much like this one was at our hospital. As a coworker placed him on the table, she said, "Quick! Name that breed!"

I did.

Can you?

Physicality

2009-08-11T09:45:00.000-07:00

Imagine, if you will, a dog not unlike this one. (This one happens to be an Anatolian Shepherd, and NOT the actual dog in question.) Now, imagine what would happen should that dog's toenails become too long. A no-brainer--toenail trim! And toenail trims are what we at the clinic are partially there for. I have trimmed many a toenail, and most of them didn't bleed. As a matter of fact, while waiting recently in line at Subway, I found a toenail in the pocket of my yellow scrub top. At any rate, yesterday, said dog came into the clinic for the trim. His owners advised that he doesn't much go for having his paws played with, which is unfortunately where the nails were at the time. As a precaution against freaking him totally out, acepromazine was administered. Ace (as we fondly call it) has the effect that perhaps a nice Valium would have on you or me. Sort of a laissez-faire attitude is induced, and many times, procedures that would otherwise produce doggie angst are carried off without a hitch. He was left to let the medicine take effect, and then brought out into the treatment area, at which point a large rent in the fabric that separates all the horrors of hell from appearing in Cedar Park, Texas, was torn way, way open. In the beginning, one tech manned the nail area, and another restrained the dog. By the time it was over, FOUR techs were sprawled across the floor and draped over the dog while he tried to bite off faces through his muzzle. As luck would have it, I was the one draped over his back half, which meant that while I didn't sustain bloody scratches to my neck like one of the others did, I WAS on the end that kept shooting out poops from the combination of fear and physical strain. When it was all done, we struggled to our feet, carefully avoiding the bodily exudates, and the dog jumped up, let us take off his muzzle, shook out his fur, and looked at us with a smile as if to say, "Now who wants to go outside and throw a ball for me!" It is now noted in that particular dog's file that toenail trims will now incur a "handling fee" since 4 staff members are required. AFTER acepromazine.

Boy, I do love me some doggies!

Been laying (very) low

2009-07-28T20:45:00.000-07:00

Whoda thunk I would find myself in this very exact spot, this place where I need to seamlessly, and without dropping anything, juggle the family I came from, the family I built, the doggie I care for, the child I keep alive, myself, and the rest of the world, which refuses to understand that I need to hide in a closet with a book for about three weeks? Not me, that's for sure.

Mom's funeral mass is this Thursday. That, at least, is taken care of. But there are flowers to either order or arrange, and I'd like to have a photo on the table at the service, as well. Which means I have to have one blown up or something, because the one I'm thinking of is a 5x7. Does Kinko's do that? Should any company with a name like Kinko's be involved in a funeral? And yes, I'm leaning toward doing the flowers myself for a few reasons. One, that's how I am, and those of you who have known me longer than 20 minutes should be thinking, "Well, DUH!" Two, it would be both cheaper AND more meaningful, and three, I could pick out the colors I really want instead of letting some giant company who thinks only white flowers are appropriate make the decision for me. And maybe you're asking yourself, "Self, does Stef have a single clue about flower arranging?" Yes, I do, but it is only ONE single clue. Fear not, because if there's one thing I'm pretty good at, it's artsy shit. I'll arrange the crap outta those flowers. And then when the mass is over, I'll leave them at the church for the Virgin. Yes, I know: Catholics=Weird. We give flowers to Mary. Sometimes, we also make clothes for her.

Have I called anybody, like the banks or the Social Security office or the Teamsters, who are sending her money each month, that she has passed on? Nope. I've been waiting for elves to do it, but the little assholes haven't shown up yet. The tooth fairy shows up when the Girl loses a tooth, for Heaven's sake--you'd think I could get a few measly elves after the death of my mother. Is this a grownup vs. kid thing? Like only kids get the otherworldly helpers and adults get jack? Because really, only my body has grown up. The rest of me? Totally immature.

I have nothing appropriate to wear to the mass, either. Really, what IS appropriate? I have a black skirt, but no good blouse. I have some dressy black shorts, but that just seems like sacrilege. Scandalous in the way Mom used to be vaguely scandalized by the nun who lived next door to me in college: Sister Nancy. Being used to things like Sister Immaculata, Mom said she might as well have been Sister Taffy. The only black shoes I have are a 4- or 5-inch wedge with fake cherries on the toe. Again we're at sacrilege. Do I really need to wear black? Can't I wear red? Red in celebration of Mom's cool new address? Because I know it has GOT to be better than what she had here. Okay, I should probably go shopping tomorrow.

My house is a sty of epic proportions, into which Dad and Jan will be stepping tomorrow night. This means that tomorrow, while I'm buying/arranging flowers, blowing up and finding a frame for a photograph, and shopping for appropriate clothes, I'll also be cleaning! Okay, maybe doing the flowers myself is NOT a good idea. Also, maybe Dad noticed sometime in the past 42 years that I'm a slob. Why am I acting like it'll be a big surprise that this place is littered with weird detritus? That's my normal state. I attract detritus and chaos. Hell, I need to face that I AM detritus and chaos. I had planned on cooking trout tomorrow night for dinner. Somebody ELSE cooking suddenly seems like a much better idea. Don't you think?

And then yesterday, I dropped a urine sample off at Moe's doctor, who called today and left a message saying to call back to discuss the results, at which point, my head exploded, and then after I scraped what was left of my brains off the walls and packed them back into my skull, I thought, "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS!?" because normal results, results that do NOT indicate that the cancer as returned, are usually just left on the answering machine. On top of everything else, do I really need to have my heart break yet again over my doggie? Turns out, they found undifferentiated crystals in his urine. Know what those mean? NOT TOO DARN MUCH! I graciously didn't tear the doctor a new butthole, but instead just felt an enormous sense of relief, and gave Moe a rub on the head. So really, he isn't part of the juggling routine so much. He's fed, walked twice a day, and is packed full of flea, tick and heartworm preventative, as well as expensive NSAIDs for the rest of his life. He is not a problem, but in fact, a solution. At least when he's not barking.

Add this to the fact that we are quickly coming up on the day that everything needs to be at ACE to make sure the Girl has a school to go to next year, and with everything that's been going on, I have no idea what they do and don't have. I suspect I'll have to just show up there and do what I can. School coming up means I'll have to do the back to school shopping thing, but thankfully not too soon, and make sure the Girl has clothing to wear. (Nakedness is frowned upon at ACE.) Going back to school is a good thing, because I then get to go back to work, which I occasionally find myself aching for these days.

Finally, my favorite time of the year is also quickly approaching, which means I have to create a Cleopatra costume--and you all know I'll be going somepletely overboard about that--AND I have to plan a party. Luckily, I think I can deal with letting someone else do most of the work this time. She'd like to have a mad scientist party, and so I think I'm going to hire Mad Science ( http://www.madscience.org/locations/austin/ ) to come and take care of the entertaining part. I'll just have to provide the venue and the snacks. I can do that.

Then Thanksgiving happens, and then Christmas, and sometime next year I hope to take (and pass) the state board exams.

I'm tired.

This is my 100th post. Jeez.

2009-07-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

I wish I could show it the hoopla and fanfare it deserves, 100 times I've managed to impart some deep and important wisdom, but I don't know that I can.

Mom died yesterday, and I was hoping to be able to write something here that meant something, because as Mom used to say, "Come UP with something. . . YOU'RE the WRITER!" Yes, Mom, I am, but right now the words don't want to come so easily. I'm busy learning too late that you were more than I thought. I think it'll be impossible to know all the lives you've touched, but I'm beginning to suspect it was a huge number, and that you were well-loved in all corners. But those are the only words I can part with right now.

I have to write an obituary for the newspapers. I had to buy clothes for "the box" as Grandma used to call it, today. I sat for an hour and a half at a funeral home. And I am happy for Mom. She deserves the comfort and joy that I've been told time and time again she's got now.

How do I keep from being maudlin? Or irreverent? But then again, she WAS irreverent. Funny how it seems like the times when you most need to say something are the same times your brain shuts down and locks the door.

Pooh, and pooh again.

This picture is far cheesier than I usually go for, but it made me cry again.

Think it means anything?

2009-07-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

So here's the constellation of--I won't call them symptoms, exactly--things that have happened today.

1. Got very dizzy off and on today for a space of about 40 minutes.
2. Sight in my left eye became fuzzy for about an hour or so, a few hours after #1, above.
3. Vague headache now.
4. I either just saw a ghost or something ethereally white sped through my vision.

What's that all sound like? Tumor? Steadily increasing intracranial pressure? An incipient burst aneurysm? Bot-fly larva? Poltergeists? WHAT!?

Milestone

2009-06-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

There comes a day in the life of every mother when she has to let her child down easy, to somehow burst her bubble without incurring life-long insecurities, to keep her from getting her hopes up only to be shot down.

I have had that day.

Today was Day 1 of acting camp, where the Girl and several other children up to the age of 11 would be getting together to put on the musical "The Lion King." Although she's been signed up for a few months, we didn't really start hyping it until a week or two ago. The Lion King is a good musical because there are potentially lots of characters and chorus members a kid could be. Of course, the first thing out of her mouth is: "I want to be Simba!" Ah, jeeeeez! How am I going to talk her down from this one?

"Errr. . . well, Honey, there are lots of good roles! Wouldn't it be fun to be Ed?" (Ed is the idiot hyena who does little more than laugh and roll his eyes around in his head.) "Or Zazu? Or Sarabi?" All the while I'm thinking, ". . . or Gazelle #4 in the background. . ." because, let's face it--she's a 5 1/2-year-old in a class with kids twice her age. Urgh.

Fortunately, she did decide that Ed or Sarabi would indeed be good roles, and my only hope was that there would be few enough kids that she would be able to have one of those roles. So today when I took her, about 10 other kids trooped in, many who already knew each other. Seriously? My worst nightmare. Had I been a kid there this morning, I would've hidden behind whatever would have covered me and not come out until my mom came to get me. Yep--PLENTY of kids to cover all the big roles and then some. Whee.

So I left her with a kiss and took of for work, the continuation of my intership in Cedar Park. It was wonderful to be back in the hospital, and to make it even better, I got kisses from a tiny puppy and lots of attention from the hospital cat, Mr. Kitty. On the downside, I managed to attempt to read a cytology slide with the wrong lens in the oil, and whacked an uncapped hypodermic needle from a colleague's hand as I was attempting to restrain a dog. I remain amazed, however, that I can still love it the way I do. I love being in rooms with a doctor who doesn't glower at me or require me to disappear into a non-entity in her presence. I love staining slides and walking out back with dogs and a ladle to catch their pee. I love asking the doctors questions and filling prescriptions. I love being able to answer client questions most of the time. I would probably die of bliss overload were they to pay me. Which they won't, so I will continue to be merely extra happy.

After work, stopped to see Mom at Christopher House, where I met with the chaplain, a social worker, and the doctor in charge. It really is a wonderful place, but it appears she'll be going back to the rest home tomorrow. She has stabilized enough that she's out of immediate danger, and the plan is to continue hospice services at the rest home. What this means is that there will be another layer of care in her life. The next time anything happens to her (and it will,) instead of sending her directly to the hospital, the home will call the hospice nurse, who will come out to evaluate her and do what is necessary to keep her out of the hospital. Because we have a DNR order on her, if she develops aspiration pneumonia again (and she likely will,) the nurse will know not to give her antibiotics, and instead, do everything possible to keep her comfortable as we let nature take its course. Having known Mom my whole life, I know this isn't the "life" she would have wanted, and will do everything in my power to ease her suffering. I figure it's the least I can do, given that she took care of me for far longer than she needed to. The same way I would, for the Girl, by the way. I told her once when she was scared of something and needed to hold my hand, that I would ALWAYS hold her hand, even when she was a grown up lady, I would hold her hand if she needed me to. I wish I'd figured out earlier how much my Mom loved me. It might have made me act differently. Or not, I don't know. It seems unfair that this knowledge is something you only get when it's too late to be the perfect kid, you know? Then again, even though I am constantly wearied by the Girl's propensity to growl and huff and tell me I'm mean when I tell her to do or not do something, I secretly love that her will is so strong and her ego is so solid and healthy. I love that she isn't afraid to let me know she's angry, although sometimes I do wish she'd just SAY that, instead of giving me all these theatrics.

And speaking of theatrics? She was cast as Simba.

So I say, "Congratulations to my Princess of the Stage, who, as the youngest kid in the second musical production she's ever been in, was awarded the lead role. You continue to amaze and delight me."

Yes, I have had that day, the day of letting her down easy. . . and it was unnecessary. She doesn't expect second best, and she rarely gets it. Who IS this Girl!? With 100% of my heart and brains, I believe she'll change the world.

If anyone's in Austin on July 3rd and 3 pm, join us for the show!

June sucks, I find.

2009-06-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

Mom went into hospice care today, at a place called Christopher House. The way it has all been laid out for me, she'll be there maybe 4 days, and then when she's stabilized, she'll go back to her nursing home, where she'll receive hospice services from a different organization than the one that runs Christopher House.

In all honesty, I'm not sure I see her making it to 2010, which would really be a blessing for her. Many years ago, I remember her telling me that she didn't want to be kept alive with machines. We aren't exactly there yet, but we have gotten to a point where we're using technology to make it easier for her to stay alive, if that make sense. I think if we took her off the oxygen and antibiotics and pain medications and psychotropics, she would remain alive, but for less time. I also remember her on a few occasions saying, "If I ever get Alzheimer's, just take me out back and shoot me." That kind of decision is quickly coming for me, I think. I know what she wants. And I know what I'll do, and I hope she'll be proud of me for that one last time, doing what she wants.

Because really, isn't that what all moms want? According to the Girl, I want her to be my servant. If only. . .

Denial

2009-06-24T20:52:00.000-07:00

I think this is going to be the year of Not Trying So Hard.

At first, the idea of making a Cleopatra costume seemed simple. . . deceptively simple. Because once I got MY hands on it, I couldn't just use a stiffened piece of fabric with sparkly paints on it to make one of her spectacular beaded collars. No, I had to set out to find the beads and other stuff needed to make an ACTUAL spectacular beaded collar. Nevermind that I can buy one on ebay for $6. See, there's a major disconnect in my head. Let me illustrate it thusly:

This is what I WANT:

And THIS is what I can BUY:

No, no, no, no, no no nononononononoooooooo! Now, while I wail about the intense cheesiness of this one, let there be no doubt that the Girl would probably swoon over it. I cannot let this happen.

But do I really need to be the mother who handcrafts every single thing her kid wears on Halloween? I mean, I'm getting to the point where I have to ask, "Does she really NEED actual Egyptian linen? Are scarab beads and an enameled pectoral pendant imperative?" And really? the answer is no.

I can still make parts of it, and I will, but I will also be buying some pieces in the interest of my own continuing sanity and the saving of the hours that I would undoubtedly spend making a costume to be worn one time and then relegated to the costume box under the bed. I may no longer be the Coolest Mom on the Block, but I tell you what, I'll be the Mom Who Isn't Completely Insane.

For once.

Suckful

2009-06-24T16:22:00.000-07:00

Mom is finishing up her second full day at the hospital, where she was sent Monday evening with pneumonia. I spent the better part of Monday night and Tuesday morning/afternoon there with her, and ended up coursing at the speed of light through every emotion known to man.

I honestly had expected that when the time came where I had to think about her passing away, I would be relatively okay with it. It isn't like I haven't seen it coming for the past few years. And I always tell myself that our relationship had been so adversarial and everything, but that's not meaningful, as it turns out. Your mother is still your mother, no matter what your relationship might have been like, and so to find myself crying about it was really quite a shock to me.

And THEN, on top of that, try having dual emotions --"I hope she's okay," and "I hope this is the end." They're like oil and water in your brain, and no matter how much you shake it, they don't mix very well. What would "okay" mean for her, anyway? It would mean going back to the nursing home where she will lay in bed or sit in a wheelchair all day, staring into space and occasionally mumbling. In what universe is that "okay?" But do I want her to die? No, I don't. Then again, what would dying mean for her? It would mean the exact opposite of the scenario I just painted, and depending on one's beliefs about death, it could quite possibly mean some serious happiness, fun and games galore! Old friends! Family! And end to whatever this life has turned into for her. Do I want THAT for her? Yes, I do. So what do you do?

In this case, you call on the local Catholic priest to come give her the Anointing of the Sick, and then sit with the hospital's chaplain for awhile, discussing the whole thing. And you whine and complain about why why why, and eventually come back to faith and what it means and you go home and eat two Coke floats.

Butter!

2009-06-21T21:43:00.000-07:00

With "Pioneer Week" we dyed muslin with vegetables (note: if you're ever stricken with the desire to dye like they did in olden days, stay away from beets. The water is a gorgeous color, but it rinses right out! Now, blueberries are a different story. . .) and we made butter! The sample you see above was made by simply shaking heavy cream in a jar for about 7 minutes. It would have been a much more enjoyable project had the Girl helped shake, or even been able to tear her eyes from whatever episode of "Wow Wow Wubbsy" was on, but I thought it was keen. I packed the butter and bonus buttermilk away in the fridge, and am scared to ingest either one of them. This is because I am, as you know, well--me. But I'll tell you, it made me feel like Ma Ingalls on steroids.Here you see my labor-intensive yet low-yielding veggie factory, as well as the muslin squares that we washed in the "stream" just like pioneers. ("Stream" = a bowl of soapy water and the squirty attachment on the hose.) We were taking advantage of the sun, which in Texas sits about 20 feet above the treetops, to dry them. The first three batches burst into flames. The plan is to make a quilt out of them, but I don't know if that's going to happen. We have three left to dye, and I've run out of options for natural colorants. We used onion skins for an orange color, blueberries for a purplish color, and beets for a mottled pinkish effect. I suppose we could tea-dye the final three, but I was hoping for a more exciting color than brown. We tried spinach for green, and that washed right out, as did the orange beets, too. Maybe I should just open a vein.

So Pioneer week didn't go much of anywhere, so I'm going to try an Ancient Egypt thing next, in keeping with the Girl's decision to be Cleopatra for Halloween this year. Given that I fully expect to overdo it again, I've begun looking for instructions to make a collar necklace out of safety pins and beads all over the interweb, and seriously, I think it's gone wherever things like missing socks and Jimmy Hoffa go. In fact, I suspect Jim's wearing one right now. I have no real plans for this Egypt thing, although I'm guessing at some point, we'll make a mummy and sarcophagus, and maybe fool around with heiroglyphics. Ooh, and make some yummy Egyptian food!

Stay tuned. . . I have a metric buttload (yes, that IS a technical term) of incipient projects--watch them all come to fruition here. Or not.

Ennui, 2009

2009-06-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's being home all the time, and maybe it's even Moe's constant paw-licking habit, but I find myself slowing down more and more as far as "having a life" is concerned.

Pooh.

I'm happy anyway, though. Maybe picking tomatoes and cucumbers really is as exciting as I think it is. Or planning how to redo the yard or kitchen (both which need doing, by the by.)

Still, there's a whole long list of stuff I WANT to do, but can't seem to haul myself off of my kiester (I'm using the "i before e" rule here, so don't blame my spelling if that was incorrect. . .) to do any of it.

See? Lookit:

Stuff I want to do: sew for me; sew for the Girl; exercise; lose 5 pounds; get my hair colored (I can't do this myself anymore, because last time I tried, I ended up looking like Goth-Mom and had to have it professionally rescued for $130.); do more crafty things; do actual work for actual money; update my blog more often; take more photographs; cook healthier foods; see my girlfriends more often; get our f@*&$ing phones fixed; look good; sleep more; dance.

I also need to post more photos, which I might be able to convince myself to do sooner or later. Maybe I can include a picture of the ONE chinese long bean my plants produced. It's very long. On the other hand, I'm doing wildly well with cucumbers. I'll have to figure out how to make pickles.

I think I should've been a country wife a long time ago, except for that cleaning the house part. Bleah.

Slob

2009-05-24T07:09:00.000-07:00

I can't find my camera battery recharger. This sucks. Thanks for reading.

A star is born

2009-04-24T06:51:00.000-07:00

Dilemma

2009-03-23T00:20:00.000-07:00

I am experiencing a deep longing for a pair of cowboy boots while simultaneously continuing to be a cheap-ass unwilling to part with $250 for shoes.

What does one do? (I don't have an answer, here. Seriously, WHAT DOES ONE DO?)

Youth in Asia

2009-03-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

Last week I was privileged to sit in on the passing of a dog at the request of his owner. This dog had somehow done something to his spine so that his hind legs simply didn't work any longer. This normally would have been a great candidate dog for one of the cute wheeled carts some paraplegic animals scamper around on, but unfortunately, this dog was also incontinent, and the owners felt they wouldn't be able to properly care for him.

I knew the week before that he would be euthanized, and truth be told, I was more than a little angry at the owners for taking what I thought of as the "easy" way out. When they brought him in for the procedure, I went into the room to assist, and changed my mind. I know from experience that euthanasia is NOT easy in any way, if you're someone like me, but there are also people for whom it IS easy. This particular owner was not one of those people. He stood over the dog and cried openly, talked about how fast the dog used to be able to run, told him how much he'd miss him. It was left to me and another tech to prepare the body afterwards for the owner and his father to take home. We put him in a cloth bag and pressed a pawprint into a heart-shaped piece of clay. We put him on a gurney and rolled him into the parking lot where a pickup truck with an open bed was waiting for him. We helped put the dog into the truck, and the owner, through his tears, thanked us.

As we were walking back into the hospital, I for some reason noticed the sunlight, and thought back to the days after losing Sarah, or Lando or Arthur, and how the lives of everyone else go on around you, while you're trapped for awhile in your own little pocket of grief. I wanted to go back, to tell him I understood, and that I, for one, would NOT just go on, but would stop occasionally to think about his dog. But of course I did go on. We always do, and I don't like that it seems easy for me so far, but I also like that I can be strong enough to help.

And so as a way of gently easing from his subject to a more lighthearted one, I can tell you that even though I may well have taken a job in a slightly hellish place, I love it. When I say hellish, I mean simply that the doctor I work for has very particular ideas about how things should be done, and has a very no-nonsense way of telling others. I was warned that sooner or later she'd make me cry--she's made every tech cry, at one time or another, but to not take it personally. And I'm not. I'm old enough to be above the drama. I can be an armour-plated bitch if I need to. Actually, I said something to one of the receptionists the other day about how I was asking for something just to be a bitch, and she said, "What, you want to BLEND?" I'm learning what I need to carry with me (lots of pens, a Sharpie, a Taylor reflex hammer, a penlight, forceps, bandage scissors, suture scissors, thermometer, yellow highlighter. I also carry a tiny notebook and have a watch with a second hand. Being able to carry around a tube of KY would be great too, but I don't have an appropriately-sized pocket.) I'm learning how to blood-type a dog, take his blood pressure, and change out his fluids bags. I can calculate the correct dosages for pre-meds and draw up the drugs. I could administer them, but don't very often. I'm hoping someday I'll be able to learn all the things I could do at the hospital. It could take awhile, but I told somebody the other day that this is the best job in the world, and it is. Yesterday, the practice manager gave me a check. Not the biggest check I've ever gotten, but for the first time, I GOT PAID FOR TAKING CARE OF ANIMALS!

I am happy.

I am also putting in a garden this year with serious intent. No more weird containers making our backyard look like it belongs in a trailer park. I'll be planting in planter boxes this year, with a 4 x 4 footprint and a special soil mix that I've gone to four different nurseries to compile ingredients for. I built The Girl her own 2 x 2 planter box, which she has chosen to fill with a tomato plant and three different flower plants. I'll be concentrating more on veggies, including lots I've never tried before, like okra, tomatillos and lettuce. I bought a packet of radish seeds for no reason other than I think growing radishes is fun--I think they taste worse than awful. Hopefully I'll be able to give them to somebody. While at the nursery the other day, the Girl and I bought a dill plant with a bonus caterpillar on it, having dreams of growing another Invisible. (A black swallowtail we raised from 'pillarhood to butterflyhood.) However, I think this time around, we'll be raising a Cabbage Looper into a moth. Not as pretty, but equally as interesting. Two days after buying the dill, the caterpillar has enclosed itself into a coccoon-like net of silky strings and dill leaves. We're watching to see what happens. The Girl named the caterpillar Heart, I think.

Photos of much stuff to come soon, I think. Or not.

Random Zoe Pictures

2009-02-20T06:44:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago my friend Joe took Zoe and me on a hike down a trail in our neighborhood which leads down to Barton Creek. There are some neat little caves and canyons down there to explore, so Zoe and Joe's dogs did a lot of sniffing around and checking out the scenery.

Zoe with one of Joe's dogs.
Zach

Zoe's First Bike Ride

2009-02-20T06:41:00.000-08:00

Now she's riding like a pro, but just a few weeks ago Zoe had her first bike ride.

Zach

If I only had the noive!

2009-02-11T19:14:00.000-08:00

While helping Zoe learn her song for the Wizard of Oz, I, too am learning it. We sing it each night before bed, and I am getting more and more excited about seeing it onstage.

So I've been pretty remiss about updating--I've been pretty remiss about almost everything lately, except going to "work" and knitting a sweater. Both things make me uncharacteristically happy, so I guess as a tradeoff it isn't bad.

I wish there were a million exciting things happening around here so that I could fill up a page with stuff everybody wants to read, but in reality, we're just plugging along as usual, and are all still alive, which is a huge plus in my book. On a personal note, I've been having some wildly vivid dreams, but all I can remember when I wake up is that they were wildly vivid. I'm not sure what this is coming from, but suspect it is simply a function of my mind refusing to wind down at the end of the day. We use a medication called propofol at work. I want tubs of the stuff here at home. One big squirt of the stuff IV, and you're out like a light. Only problem is that you need to then be attached to some more long-term method of anesthesia, or you wake up in like 5 minutes. I wonder how cumbersome it would be to administer some sort of anesthesia to myself each night.

So if anybody is in a traveling mood, April 18th is Zoe's musical theatre debut. Be there or be square!

Still I soldier on. . .

2009-01-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

And today my combat takes the form of writing a resume.

There are not words embodied with an adequate rancor and loathing to convey the level of distaste I have for this particular task. It is a foul and unpleasant thing to have to do.

I know eventually I'll need a resume that will get me a veterinary job, and there's a job out there, RIGHT NOW, that I'm going to apply for, even though I'm not technically qualified yet. I figure it can't hurt anything, and it might actually work in my favor somehow. I'm hoping to get away from my internship, which started out as an amazingly fun experience and has since morphed into a 12-hour-a-week waste of my time, since they don't allow me to DO ANYTHING! My practicum paperwork lists 208 tasks that I need to be rated on. (Yes, I counted them.) Some of them almost nobody actually does in a practicum, because they pertain to a species we don't usually care for, like horses or cows, but most of the other stuff is stuff I'll be expected to do in practice. At this point, slightly over HALFWAY through the practicum, I have performed exactly 23 of those 208 tasks. And one of those things is "maintain a professional demeanor," so it isn't like they're all specialized things!

The words "bite me" come to mind.

Yesterday the high point of my day was restraining a black lab while she vomited all over a colleague's hand.

Things you DON'T want to hear AFTER you've picked up the dog.

2009-01-16T16:39:00.001-08:00

"Oh, by the way, be careful. He has some anal bleeding."

I haven't made any resolutions.

2009-01-08T18:31:00.000-08:00

Oh, wait, yes I have. I vowed to do brief spurts of weight training each morning. Like 15-minutes worth. I'm hoping that this concession to actual biology will help me firm up and the things that are flapping on me. Seriously, you don't want to see me standing in a windstorm.

I am teaching myself to knit. It isn't as difficult as I thought, although all I've done is knit and purl, cast on and cast off. I made a 4-inch square of mostly stockinette stitch. Next: a car cover.

I am crossing my fingers that Moe will spend far less time in the hospital this year. Last week he spent two nights at the hospital again, this time for eating half a pack of gum containing xylitol, which can be fatal to dogs. If you read this and own a dog, GET ALL THE XYLITOL OUT OF THE HOUSE! IT CAN KILL YOUR DOG! Also, acetaminophen can cause liver damage, but they have to eat a lot, and it generally doesn't taste as good as sugar free gum (where the xylitol usually lives.)

I got to remove an IV catheter from the official "Ugliest Dog in Austin" as voted by the readers of some publication here in town, yesterday. I was successful, and the dog went home without anything stuck in his body, except for some sutures. I also manhandled a Chow without losing any appendages! This is doubly impressive when you think that on the same day, one of the other techs got her boob bitten by Dr. C's dog.

Now I'm going to see if I can find an easy knitting pattern on the internet for that car cover. I'm thinking red would be a good color.

Ack.

2008-12-29T23:10:00.001-08:00

Do you ever have gas so bad you start to worry a little bit about what might be getting eaten away by MRSA inside your person?

Just wondering. . .

A sneaky suprise Christmas gift

2008-12-25T05:48:00.000-08:00

I just had to hack into my wife's account to post this little stocking stuffer for the family.

- Love, the muffin baking heathen.

Staring down the beast

2008-12-23T21:15:00.000-08:00

Perhaps "beast" isn't the most appropriate word for Christmas, and it really does make it sound as if I'm not looking forward to it, which is completely untrue--it is my FAVORITE holiday--but I worry about the girl, who it seems is narrowly avoiding an aneurysm each day when she figures out how many more days it is until THE BIG DAY. Tell me, is it possible to teach a 5-year-old about how good it feels to GIVE?

Our big plan for Christmas day (and these plans were made with the girl's consent and even enthusiasm) are to get up around 6 a.m., drive down to the staging area for Mobile Loaves and Fishes, and go with one of the trucks to feed breakfast to the homeless downtown BEFORE opening gifts. I am hoping to convince Zach to bake muffins while we're gone. Being a godless heathen, he's staying home.

I've told a few people that a week or so ago, the sheer number of gifts for the girl under the tree actually embarassed me. The only saving grace is that they're not all from me, and the things that ARE from me are fairly educational. (Well, for the most part.) No Barbies, no My Little Ponies, no princesses. There are at least 4 different science kits, tons of books, lots of clothes and at least 3 music CDs. On the other hand, I also gave her a kit with hair products and another with lip gloss and glitter. With any luck, we'll end up with an astrophysicist who knows how to look good. I'm beginning to think that next year, we will all have to limit the number of gifts she is able to receive for the holidays, although buying them is one of the highlights of my year. Maybe I'll set up a system whereby really worthy good deeds done throughout the year earn her extra gifts on a base amount. I don't know. It just seems excessive. I don't want her growing up thinking she can have anything and everything she wants just because. Along those lines, we've given her her first chore to be done on a regular basis that doesn't bring with it a reward like an allowance--it is simply something that needs to be done, and she's the one to do it. She is now in charge of emptying the silverware rack from the dishwasher. Thus far, she's quite good at it. When she gets used to having a regular chore, we'll add another. I'm thinking pressure-washing the house.

I really surprised her this morning, I think. She was wailing and crying because she had to help me clean the house, and she says, "I HATE cleaning!" My response? "Me, too! I hate, hate, HATE cleaning! It's HORRIBLE!" That brought her up for a moment, and she asked me how I did it without yelling and crying. I had to tell her that I honestly didn't know, but that it was probably ONLY that I'm an adult and have a bit more control over myself. I think it was good for her to hear that there are things I loathe, too, but then see me do them anyway.

Have I mentioned that being a mom is so much easier when you're on the correct drug dosages?

I'm gonna go see if I can figure out how to post a video on here.

Only the greatest dog name EVER

2008-12-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

Schweed Mermelstein. I picture the perpetually-stoned surfer-dude son of a Jewish jewelry store accountant. . . in reality, a dog.

A long-haired daschund puppy named Einstein was euthanized today because his owner's well-meaning but ill-advised attempt to coax some semblance of a normal life out of him with MEDICATION for hydrocephalus was failing. Because he had a CT scan some time ago, his owner knew that he basically had enough ganglia in his head to remain alive, but really nothing to speak of, brain-wise. Yes, that's something I would seek to cure with medication . . . if I was retarded. Poor little guy. One of my coworkers teased me for scritching on a dead dog--another said the dog could feel it in Heaven.

Watched the amputation of the left forelimb of a dog with osteosarcoma in the joint analagous to our wrists, and discovered that a dog's front legs are connected to the scapulae, but the scapulae are connected to no bone at all, only muscle and tendon. So taking off a foreleg is really quite simple, once you figure out how to cauterize all the squirting vessels you come across while hacking away. Dr. Caplan did it in 1 hour, start to finish, while I gawked like a tourist. And, luridly, the amputated limb sat on a table in front of me for quite awile, continuing to twitch in spots.

While I was watching the surgery today, I kept thinking about the differences between being the veterinarian and being the tech, and even though people ask me if I plan to be a veterinarian, and seem to think it is somehow better than being a tech, I find the tech job more satisfying in a few ways. One, I don't have the ultimate responsibility--I don't make the treatment choices that could be wrong, and I'll never misdiagnose a patient. And two, the doctors really don't get much time with the animals, but as a tech, today I crawled into a cage with a black lab named Lily to hold an ice pack to the fresh scar on her knee for 15 minutes. In those 15 minutes, she relaxed visibly from her upright position until she was laying in her cage with her head resting on my leg, sighing. I get to talk to them, feed and clean them, basically nuture them, and that's what I want to do, not poke and prod them, pronounce a diagnosis, and go on to the next one.

Someday, I'll be getting paid to do this, and I'm having difficulty wrapping my brain around the concept. Part of me is pissed that I didn't discover how much I love doing this until now, and the other part is pretty certain I couldn't have handled it earlier.

But really, any time a job allows you to meet a Schweed Marmelstein, it's gotta be good!

2008-12-01T11:59:00.000-08:00

I'm probably blowing confidentiality all to hell, but this Rottweiler is a reasonable facsimile of Rok, a Rottweiler I sat with this morning as he died. Diagnosed with lymphoma just last week, he was lying in one of our big runs this morning when I got to the hospital. The door of his run was open, and he was urinating on himself, and breathing with effort.

While I was trying to find out if he was an oncology or ortho patient so that I could ask permission to change out his pee-pee pad, I found that he was slated for euthanasia later. As I changed the pad, I gave him a good scritching.

But before he was euthanized, the oncology techs put him on oxygen, and we found out that they were trying to keep him alive long enough for the son of the family to get to the hospital. Slowly, we began to get physically closer to him. It was weird--it was like we were drawn to him, and we all did whatever work needed to be done a little more closely to him.

Rok had plans of his own, though. I had heard of but never seen agonal breathing. Suddenly we were all there, and Dr. H was on the phone to the owners telling them that he didn't think the dog would make it, and that he thought the best course of action was to go ahead and euthanize right then. Even as he hung up the phone, the syringe was waiting to go, and Rok was sent on his way.

I saw a new side to some techs who I had thought of as aloof and standoffish, and actually felt pretty honored to be there at his side as he went. We made ourselves feel better by saying that at least he went with five ladies around him, he wasn't alone.

Later, as I stood in a very chill wind waiting for a cocker spaniel with a perianal cancer to poop, I didn't care that I was freezing, and I didn't care that I wasn't at home, and I didn't care that I wasn't making any money.

I think finally, FINALLY, I have found where I'm supposed to be. And that's a cool feeling.

Black Friday--is it worth it?

2008-11-22T08:52:00.000-08:00

Especially at Wal Mart. Ech.

Normally, I'm not a Friday-after-Thanksgiving shopper, as much as I LOOOOVE Christmas shopping. However, this year, Wal Mart will have the Leapster for $30. I've been toying with getting one for The Girl for about six months, but they're almost $70. I would have to be there at 5 am, probably in the middle of a large number of muscly trailer-reared, Coke-in-the-baby-bottle pregnant smokers, but damn, I want a Leapster. And since "Cheap" is my middle name, well, I might just have to try it.

I haven't publish the pic of The Girl's decision yet, because I haven't taken a picture. I'm thinking later today, since we're going to build on the decision this afternoon, while Zach is out of town. Heh. Girl's day out! Movie, shopping, other stuff.

So if I get my paws on a Leapster on Friday, I'll let you all know, so I can beg you to buy her some games for it. (Or I could just go to ebay. . .)

I've been seriously remiss

2008-11-07T10:08:00.001-08:00

Halloween has come and gone, not to mention The Birthday, and I've just been sitting around, not posting any photos, not writing any thank you notes. This is mainly because I've been paralyzed by all the election stuff, which is now thankfully over, and I can start my life again, so here are the few photos taken on Halloween that turned out well enough to post. She decided she wanted to be a belly dancer right after Halloween last year, and never changed her mind, except for a brief moment when she considered dressing as Super Robot Martian Girl.

Now I'm wondering if that wouldn't have been easier. There isn't much to say about the whole evening, other than much candy was collected, which she quite generously continues to share with her father and I. This is helped, I suspect, by the fact that she could take or leave the "fun-size" chocolate options, and goes instead for the lollipops and other forms of straight sugar lumps. A win-win situation!

Anyway, her request for next year's costume is to be a girl pirate, which I think I can handle, as it involves far less chiffonny stuff and far more stuff one can buy at the costume shop, like a tri-cornered hat or an eyepatch.

There are other things to discuss, and I'll discuss them under individual headings, so that I can avoid having to come up with seamless transitions. Seamless transitions are really hard.

CHRISTMAS

This year, we will again remain in Austin for the holidays. Any and everybody who would like to join us is welcome, and I promise that if I again make a brussels sprouts dish for Christmas dinner, I will also provide a baked potato for those who find sprouts un-festive. There is a potential trip to see The Nutcracker again this year, and perhaps attend the High Tea given by the Junion League (although I think that happens in November.)

TRAIL of LIGHTS

(The Trail of Lights is a continuous 1.25 mile long display of 41 lighted scenes, and special features including Santa's House, Santa’s post box, a giant Yule Log, a crafts fair, food and beverage stands, a holiday train ride and two stages of entertainment. The Festival begins with the Zilker Tree Lighting, a 155 feet tall, 180 feet diameter lighted man-made tree consisting of 3,309 bulbs on 39 streamers strung from Austin's historical Moonlight Tower. Since 1987, the honor of lighting the tree has been bestowed upon the winner of the city-wide children's tree coloring contest. The tree lighting ceremony takes place on the first Sunday of December. The following Saturday, a 5k Run provides registrants with a sneak preview of the Trail of Lights. The Trail of Lights Parade, on December 14th, opens the Trail of Lights opens with pomp and ceremony featuring large scale puppetry, music and Santa’s sleigh. Over 300,000 visitors experienced the Trail of Lights and the Zilker Tree in 2007.)

That there is excerpted from the official website. At any rate, I have this here because this year, Zoe will be dancing on one of the stages at the Festival of Lights, on December 20th. Last year, she was invited to watch because it was anticipated that she'd be on the dance team this year. We sat in the audience and she bemoaned the fact that she wasn't up on the stage right then and there. So now's her chance, she's indeed on the dance team, and she has her costume all ready to go, and they will be dancing to, of all the pieces of music they could possibly dance to, Ave Maria, which pretty much guarantees that I will be openly weeping in the audience. Plus, Zoe has the only "solo" part of the dance. Did I ever mention that she's purt'near perfect?

PRESENTS (no, not presidents. That'll come later.)
I know that everyone who reads this is just itching to buy presents for The Kid and myself, and as a service to those people, I will say that both of us have wishlists on Amazon. For the sake of convenience, I will put links to them here, as well.

Zoe's wishlist: http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/14D66MUB32AFP/ref=reg_hu-wl_goto-registry?ie=UTF8&sort=date-added

Stef's wishlist: http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/ref=gno_listpop_wi

Zach's wishlist: http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/3VSLLVYJP3IDS/ref=cm_wl_sortbar_v_page_1?ie=UTF8&page=1

Check early and check often, as they will be updated as frequently as our black little hearts decide we NEED just one more thing! I could also use ideas for you all, by the way. What does everybody want?

KINDERGARTEN
Three times a week, The Kid comes home with reading homework. Because she is in the highest reading group in her class, (the Cheetahs) she gets more and more difficult stuff. Yesterday, she came home with a book called "Knights of the Kitchen Table." The following are the opening paragraphs (keep in mind she's in KINDERGARTEN):

"Halt, vile knaves. Be prepared to die."
"Is he talking to us?" asked Fred.
I looked around the small clearing. A dirt path went from one end to the other. Fred, Sam, and I stood at one end. A large guy on a black horse stood at the other. He was dressed from head to toe in black armor like you see in those books about knights and castles.
"I don't see any other vile knaves around," I said.

Yeah, she's five. And she can read this. Her comprehension isn't very good yet, and she still will probably have trouble with the word "knave," but otherwise, this won't present a problem to her. It frightens me a little. I think when the aliens decide to openly invade Earth, she's one of the ones they'll pick to communicate with. I don't feel particularly sanguine about letting the Greys sleep in our guest room, but if she vouches for them. . . we'll see.

PRESIDENT
I don't need to say much about this. I will limit it to: Woooo-hooooooooo!

INTERNSHIP
I started my internship this past Monday, spending a few hours at the Capital Area Veterinary Specialists helping restrain dogs and finding my way around the hospital. I had my arms around a pug, an English bulldog, a German shepherd, a daschund, a golden retriever, and got to scritch a pit bull with hot-pink toenails. I also got to watch Dr. Caplan perform a bone biopsy on the German shepherd while my socks were quietly being blown off by the fact that I was actually there, actually in a hospital and it was beyond wonderful and it made me happy like an idiot.

Stay tuned for the next photograph--Zoe made an interesting request that I agreed to. I think you all will like it.

Fraught with ridiculosity, replete with foolishness.

2008-10-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

This year, October 18th is the day we're hosting The Kid's birthday party. Until about a month and a half ago, we agreed that she would have her birthday at Libby Lu, a mall establishment where she and a number of friends would get their hair and makeup done, get to dance to loud Hannah Montana and Jonas Brothers music, and be extra girly, all for only $35 per girl. I was fine with that, because I traditionally go all out when planning a party for her, and I thought it would be nice to let someone else take care of it, and all I would have to do is throw money at them.

It was a nice, nice thought. For some unknown reason, Libby Lu became SO YESTERDAY, and big ol' idiot me, said, "How about a fairy party?" because I had seen ONE book about how to make teensy weensy food, and everyone who knows me knows the teensier something is, the more I like it. (Flashback to an early date with Zach--I told him I liked tiny things, and he said, "Oh, then you'll LOVE me!") At any rate, the fairy party idea was met with great enthusiasm, and so I embarked upon an odyssey of planning, shopping and spending that has consumed the better part of my life. I am not content to buy a Party In A Box, oh no. I must do it all myself. Therefore, I will lay out for you now the Party Plans from Hell.

I have made:

9 fairy skirts, each requiring 1/8 yard of green satin, two entire rolls of 6-inch wide tulle in two different colors, looped together and tied in knots, 7 satin flowers and 7 irridescent plastic beads, plus some hand sewing and some machine sewing.

9 fairy flower wands, each requiring one large silk flower, cut down to size with wire cutters, two squares of dark green tulle, each with three holes poked in it and threaded up onto the stem, waxed florist tape, and about three yards of coordinating ribbon. Also spray glitter.

9 flowered head wreaths, each requiring 1/3 of a daisy swag, a length of florist's wire, one large silk rose, plus one dozen each tiny roses and tiny daisies in coordinating colors, and two lengths of ribbon, knotted at the end and cut on the diagonal.

9 wooden initials, each sanded, painted seafoam green, covered with glittery topcoat, hangers screwed into the back and pink ribbons tied on for hanging.

9 papier mache eggs, painted first off-white, then covered with a pearlescent topcoat. Irridescent jewels were glued on, and then the glue around the jewels was covered with glitter. Finally, the eggs were covered with more glitter topcoat.

9 necklaces made of sheer green ribbon with a crystal pendant.

9 goody bags, containing chinese yo-yos, rock candy on a stick, a small spiral lollipop, stickers, cool erasers, stick-on-body jewels, and notepads with unicorns on them.

I have bought:

One dozen fairy wings (white)

One Pin the Horn on the Unicorn game

One blue and purple flower pinata

Toys and candy to fill the pinata.

25 white balloons for a game we'll be playing.

10 completely different floral saucers from the secondhand store.

10 completely different floral teacups from the secondhand store.

4 different white bud vases from the secondhand store.

Floral paper plates

Floral napkins

Plastic cups and forks

Off-white tablecloth

Pink and green streamers

Sparkly makeup

I have rented:

One kid-height 6-foot-long table

9 kid-size yellow chairs

I have hired:

Miss Myia, one of Zoe's former dance teachers to play the part of the Fairy Queen.

Miss Lindsey, Zoe's babysitter from the summer to help out.

Food will be:

Miniature pizzas

Miniature sandwiches

Fruit salad

Fairy kabobs (made with marshmallows and maybe blueberries)

Lemonade with pink ice

and each child will have her own individually decorated cake on the china saucer to eat with miniature chocolate dipped ice cream cones and "tea" which will probably be warm cider.

Am I crazy? Um, yes.

She just keeps doing this "growing up" thing.

2008-10-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

First tooth lost on Thursday, October 9th, while eating pizza for dinner at her friend Cole's house. She swallowed the tooth, but the Tooth Fairy came anyway, because she's cool like that. The other front middle tooth next to it is loose, as well.

I remember feeling stressed about having an infant, then stressed about having a toddler, and I like this age right now, having conversations with her, singing hawaiian songs before bed, going on nature scavenger hunts around the block or listening to her read to me. She's tall, she's beautiful, she's crazy-smart, and she has an imagination that won't quit. And yet, sometimes when I see so clearly how grown-up she is, I miss that infant, and I miss that toddler. Five years went by in a wink, and in another five years, she'll be 10, maybe she'll have glasses, maybe she'll be a bit chubby, and five years after that, she'll be 15 and hate my guts just because. That's only two winks away, and if I wink again, she'll be gone. And although I know she'll probably take over the world, I don't want to send her out into it without me by her side, protecting her.

Damn. I never would have had a kid if ANYBODY had told me it would rip my heart out!

Thanks for not telling me.

Then again, maybe not.

2008-10-16T11:21:00.000-07:00

This was not what we (I) bargained for when picking Moe up from the surgeon. He had a partial cystectomy--about 1/3 of his urinary bladder removed. Incontinence and blood are not the most pleasant of mixes, but we got by with plenty of Simple Green and paper towels. We were intially worried that he would remain this way forever, but now that it's been two weeks or so, he's back to being Moe, with the one exception that he no longer has his famous "camel bladder," and about every other night, wakes me up to go outside sometime around 3 a.m. This is a small price for me to pay for not having to wash the bedsheets and blankets daily, which was what was happening, for awhile. And before you say to me very slowly and clearly, so that I, as an obvious retarded person can understand, "Then why did you let him sleep on the bed, Stef?", I'll tell you why. One, he gets fretful if we're on the bed, and he's not, and two, he had diapers. Yes, diapers. Specially made for dogs with issues, complete with tail hole. And while those diapers did keep the majority of the urine off the bed, it wasn't always 100% effective. Plus, I really like the feeling of bedsheets fresh out of the wash, all tucked in tightly and smoothly, so I didn't mind too much. And he couldn't help it. Poor guy had a staple IN HIS WINKIE.

As a matter of propriety, I have blurred out said winkie in the photograph below. It might be hard to see very well, but he has a scar running from the bottom of his ribcage down to the side of his penis. It doesn't look too shocking now--I should have taken the photo before the staples were taken out.

Anyway, the most important part of this whole thing is that after we paid an obscene amount of money for this, his second surgery and hospitalization, bought dog diapers and pee-pee pads to put all over the house, and waded up to our ankles in urine and blood, the pathology report came back and . . . let the suspense build for a moment. . . he hadn't had a relapse of the cancer. What they saw on the ultrasound was inflammation, after all. Yeah. Thank Gawd and yippee for Moe, and #%*&! for the checkbook. This all comes from veterinary medicine not having access to all the equipment that human medicine does. Had Moe been human, he would have had a cystoscopy, where they would snake a scope into his bladder to see what was going on. They could have also biopsied a sample while in there, and sent THAT to pathology, instead of 1/3 of his bladder. The oncologist mentioned a cystoscopy, but said that he didn't actually know of anyplace doing them on systems this small. We were thinking of calling A&M, which does cutting edge research since they have a wonderful veterinary school, but he doubted they had it, either. Personally, I prefer dogs to many, many people, and firmly believe they should have access to the same technologies we have. But I am also a borderline Crazy Dog Lady.

So Moe is doing well, and is his old self, and I am so very glad of that. Another good thing is that Capital Area Veterinary Specialists, the office where he sees his oncologist and surgeon, is probably going to take me on as an intern. So, yay me, also. I'm very excited about the prospect, but haven't got all the details just yet. What's nice is that it is about two exits off of the freeway beyond Zoe's school, so I could drop her off, go to work, and then pick her up afterward very neatly.

So ends the continuing Saga of the Bladder. I am glad it is over, and happy to say that Moe is right now sleeping on the floor next to me. Good doggie.

The news, she is not so good.

2008-09-30T16:10:00.000-07:00

"She" being the news, of course.

Upon going to his first quarterly urinalysis, more blood was found in Moe's urine. Back to the oncologist we went, and an ultrasound found a new mass in his bladder. Our options were to do exploratory surgery, or wait a few weeks and do another ultrasound to see if it grew or remained the same. If it grew, it was probably a cancer. If not, probably just inflammation.

It grew. We found this out a little bit ahead of schedule when I actually SAW blood in his urine one morning, which was the first clinical sign we've had that something is amiss. So we had the ultrasound a bit early, and it had grown. He is now scheduled to have another surgery this Thursday, and the prognosis this time around is more guarded, because the mass is in a less advantageous spot for surgery, and it isn't pedunculated this time.

Shit.

When the surgery is done, we may opt for chemotherapy or radiation, depending on what the oncologist says. I'm also about to change up his diet to minimize carbohydrates (they're sugars, and there's a theory that cancer cells feed on sugars) and maximize proteins, healthy fats, and vegetables. I'm doing the research to find out what sorts of complementary therapies I can provide for him, such as herbs and antioxidants and stuff. I've been reading books by a renowned natural veterinarian (an actual, REAL veterinarian who also is a holistic vet) who writes for Dog Fancy and Cat Fancy and has written several books, and I like his ideas. And about half an hour ago, I found that he practices in Plano, which is about 3.5 hours away from Austin. I am willing to drive that far.

I don't have any illusions that we'll cure him, this time around--it's pretty rare to cure bladder cancer. The goal, to my mind, is to make sure that his quality of life is good in the time he has left with us. Because his health is fine otherwise, and he's still relatively young, I'm going to be optimistic and say I suspect he has at least a year. I'm not a proponent of prolonging an agonizing life, so when he tells me it's his time to go, I'll help him along. (I wish this was a decision that could be made about people, too. But if it was, I don't know if I could make it. Anyway. . .)

At any rate, please keep him in your thoughts as he takes this next step in his journey. All positive vibes are welcomed.

Because she needs more stuff

2008-09-29T08:37:00.000-07:00

I was asked some time ago about birthday/Christmas gift ideas for the Kid, and have yet to answer. . . so I present here a list of YES and NO, stuff that would be wholeheartedly welcomed, and stuff that will not be allowed to darken my doorway.

NO!
*Bratz (NEVER!)
*Hannah Montana
*High School Musical
*Jonas Brothers
*Polly Pockets (or any other stuff that includes itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny microscopic shoes)

YES!
*Clothes are always good. She is currently wearing a size 6 clothes, size 12 shoe. (Lucky girl has my feet!)
*Books. She has lately been reading those levelled books at level 3.
*Hello Kitty anything.
*There is a music CD on my Amazon wishlist that she would like.
*Science stuff--she likes being able to conduct experiments.
*Girly stuff--pink, glittery. (I just bought her a set of lavender satin sheets!)
*A scooter, probably with 3 wheels (we're getting her a two-wheel bike this year, by the way.)

In reality, she wants everything she sees, so I'm relatively certain that she'd be happy with whatever she got.

As for the rest of us, I'll update later.

A new routine--yay!

2008-09-11T10:39:00.000-07:00

Vacation was good, aside from the fact that brilliant me decided we should drive instead of fly, so that Moe could go with us, and wouldn't have to be left behind with a sitter. I was mostly impressed with Zoe's ability to ride in a car for 8 - 10 hours a day with almost no complaints. The most whining she did was about an hour out of Austin, at which point I turned around and told her that if she wanted to complain, we could very easily turn the car around and go home and NOT go to Disneyworld. End of story. Really, I have to wonder if she was channeling the spirit of someone much older during the ride, because I ended up NOT wanting to throttle her.
I was quite proud of her.

We were lucky with Florida weather. We were able to go to all the theme parks we'd planned on, plus Universal Studios, when someone gave us free tickets. The biggest problem we ended up having was at Disney's Typhoon Lagoon, in the wave pool. I guess the fault was ours, because when you hear "wave pool" you don't automatically think, "tsunami pool" but that's what it was. And like a fool, I had waded out too far to get away when the 100-foot wall of water came rushing at me. Being a dedicated non-swimming person who is suspicious of bodies of water larger than my shower stall, I did the best thing I could do, which was turn my back to the wave, and know that I would simply be pushed to the shore if I remained calm. No problem. Except that while reassuring myself that I was doing The Right Thing, I also forgot to take a breath and hold it until the wave was upon me, so naturally I got a nose and mouthful of water, which burned and made me sad. I did, however, survive, and waded out, hoping I didn't look too idiotic. I sat on a little outcropping of rock and waited to be able to breathe painlessly, when just to add insult to injury, a wavelet came up, picked up my foot and scraped it against the rocky outcropping, resulting in a wicket scrape that only just got new skin a few days ago. Of course, I whine about myself. At the same time, Zoe got caught up in the next wave and got taken down to the bottom (it was shallow) and scraped up her elbow and back on the ground. We carried her to the first aid station, where as luck would have it, Stitch (of Lilo and Stitch fame) was wandering by. He came in and made her feel better. And then ice cream was eaten later, and we all know that fixes everything.

No pictures, please! Haven't you invaded my privacy enough?! Please, just leave me and my family in peace--we just want to eat a quiet dinner. With the dog.

Not a lot of evidence of such in the photo, but we're sitting in an outdoor cafe in New Orleans there. It was relatively late for dinner (like 8 or so,) and we'd driven all day long, and Moe's brand new bag of very expensive dog food broke open and spilled out all over my feet at the check-in desk of the hotel, and we'd listened to all the Miss Piggle Wiggle (a book on CD) that we could stomach, and my husband and daughter and dog had trustingly followed me on foot through the French Quarter, where I stayed for a few days 15 years ago. And I found this restaurant! It was a surprise to me, even.

There was a jazz combo playing, and having been cooped up all day, the kid's energy overflowed and we and the rest of the restaurant were given a free floor show. Okay, even if she hadn't been cooped up all day, she still would have been out there dancing. More and more I find myself wondering just where this child came from, because there is NO WAY on God's green earth you would have caught me doing that. EVER. Anyway, she looks a bit like a ragamuffin here, but that's not so unusual. We purposely put her into her grubby clothes for the trip. Just in case. But everyone was liberally dosed with Dramamine (Moe included) and all stomach contents stayed where they belonged. Hallelujah. Seriously.

Now, normally I'm not all that enthused about meeting characters (although at the point this photo was taken, we'd already queued up for Winnie the Pooh and Tigger and Darby--or "Darvy" in Zoe-speak.) At any rate, we were in Agrabah, and I was wandering the marketplace while Zach and Zoe rode the flying carpets (because they're only big enough for two people! Hmph.) Jasmine was standing in some shade, and when Z & Z got off the ride, I directed her over there, thinking she'd be excited about it. Know what she said? "That isn't really Jasmine, Mommy, that's just a lady dressed up like her." My daughter has always had a bit of a lack of wonder, I've noticed. Once, when she was really small, I picked up an acorn cap and said, "Look! A fairy hat!" Her response? "Oh, Mommy! It's just the top from a NUT!" Bah, humbug to you, too, little fart! Anyway, I did have to admit that this particular Jasmine looked quite a bit like a white girl with a good tan. I've seen better Jasmines. Ethnic Jasmines. Hell, a Mexican Jasmine would've passed better. But Zoe was willing to suspend her disbelief enough to get a picture.

I just need to say: I wish I had one of these contraptions at home, sometimes. I wouldn't use it very often, I promise! Plus, it would have to be tighter around the ankles and wrists.

This is the cool hat we got at Margaritaville at Universal Studios. This, and the following umpteen photos. The one directly below has the added bonus of something called a "Blood Pop" (it's a Harry Potter candy) giving her a red grin. Cool.

Her first day of Kindergarten!

Yes, there was a little bit of crying, but I didn't let her see it. She already thinks I'm a bit on the weird side, and I have to agree with her. Unfortunately, what I'd REALLY like is to have her think I'm magic and can do anything. But I blew that out of the water about 59 months ago. (That's when she was born, for those of you who hate math the way I do.) She's been attending for two weeks now, and it's been an interesting ride thus far. She seems to be enjoying the classes--she's come home knowing some new stuff that I'm impressed by. For instance, she can tell me what phalanges are. And how grasshoppers bathe. Apparently, for that last lesson, she had her own two grasshoppers, a clean one and a dirty one, to observe. She has Spanish twice a week, PE once a week, art, music and all the usual stuff. I must say, I personally am loving ACE Academy. It seems to really be a good place for her--even though she's in a group of kids of similar age to herself, (one other student even has the exact same birthday!) they're also similar in intelligence levels, which is nice for her. Of course, I can talk all I want about her intelligence--this is the same kid who whines and stomps when I remind her to flush the toilet. Whatever.

So school is going well for her, and I am pleased. Of course, one other rite of passage has been gone through, too. On Saturday, after her first two weeks of school, she came down with a stomach bug. There were two episodes of vomiting, and both of them happened on our upholstered couch. At least it was the same couch, and not both of them. Then, of course, comes the inevitable next question: how does an avowed emetophobe deal with a barfing kid?! By letting her husband do the clean-up, that's how. However, (and you can ask Zach about this) I really surprised myself by actually staying in the same room with her and talking to her and acting basically like I wasn't screaming inside to be let out of this hellish den of infection. And that made me realize that I might actually BE a decent enough mother because when it came down to it, I was able to push way, way waaaaaaaaay past my comfort zone to be around for her. I can't lie and say I was as THERE as I could have been, but I didn't freak out, which is basically what I've been trying to say. And she's feeling much better today, thank goodness.

Finally, when Moe recently went for his quarterly urinalysis, more blood was found in his urine, and he had an ultrasound that showed something in his bladder again. The oncologist says it could be a new tumor or just inflammation, and so we're waiting a few weeks and repeating the ultrasound to see if it has grown. Right now, I'm just going with the assumption that it is inflammation from the previous surgery, because I don't want it to be anything scary. So again, keep Moe in your thoughts. Poor guy.

Oh, also, I got an email about birthday/Christmas ideas for Zoe and the rest of us. I'll do some thinking about that, and post it here.

It's nice to be home again after all the vacation, and nice that our new routine of getting up going to school and coming home is in place. I like it this way.

Oops

2008-08-14T19:41:00.000-07:00

My awesomeness took a little dip today. Just got on to check my e-mail and get a message from my instructor, to whom I sent my take-home exam yesterday. It says, basically, "Looks good, but where's the rest?"

Ummmm, the rest?

Yes, the REST. The NEXT 10 questions that magically appear when you TURN THE PAPER OVER.

Crap.

Just in case

2008-08-14T16:23:00.001-07:00

3 Israeli Gas Masks Youth w/Drinking Hose & Filter -- $49.99

And keep in mind, that's for THREE! Too bad I only have one child. Found them here. And why, exactly, was I there? In my travels today, I happened upon a radio station that seemed to be made up of conspiracy theorists, anti-government involvement, bla bla bla people, and this was a company that I hear two commercials for in about an hour. I couldn't help myself. Really, you've got to love a company that has a whole subcategory for "Kids guns." Sign me up!

Deep cleaning

2008-08-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today I used something very much like this (same brand, different model) while cleaning the bathroom. Interesante, no? Let your imagination run wild, because I'm pretty sure it'll conjure up stuff way more exciting and probably less repulsive than reality.

And just to offset the high-tech electronic trend my cleaning jag has taken on, I also purchased a mop today. An old-fashioned, actual MOP, with STRINGS, even, not the sponge kind! Luckily for me, we have the superest of superstores nearby, so it cost me less than $2, if you can even believe that.

You know, I think the only conversation I had with another human today was with the surly checker at said superest of superstores. Oh, and the lady in the cleaning aisle who knocked about twenty bottles of polish off the shelves. I helped her put them back up, because did I mention? I'm awesome.

I've also discovered the unbelievable joy of sleeping diagonally on a California King bed. Wow!

Let me think about that.

2008-08-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

Question #9 on take-home final for Clinical Nutrition:

An adult, male, neutered cat presents to your hospital with a non-healing wound on the top of his head. On your initial assessment, you find the cat to have a BCS of 1.5/5, severe dental accumulation, and an old, draining burn wound. Describe this patient's condition and your initial nutritional concerns.

My answer:

Hmmm. Well, I don't think he'd taste very good.

Positivity! (This is my first attempt, so be patient with me!)

2008-08-11T15:17:00.000-07:00

I am completely awesome. (And "awesome" is a word I almost NEVER use, because it conjures up surfers way back in the 80's and one would think that after 25 years or so, it would've ceased being used constantly, but it hasn't, and so I hold it in reserve for things that truly ARE awesome--that is, worthy of awe. Which is what I am.)

Behold.

I have recently become the recipient of a nice bit of swag from the Hill's people, the makers of Science Diet doggie food. The anatomy atlas above is full of drawings of common issues and diseases seen in veterinary practices. It doesn't SOUND particularly exciting, but it really is. The the part about it that makes ME awesome is that I won it. On our last day of class, we were given a sheet of questions we needed to answer about various dog foods. I had the highest score and was able to choose between this book and a CD with feeding stuff on it. Actually, this book is pretty coveted among tech students--we like pretty pictures of spleens.

Now, all this stuff came in the mail today. A mouse pad, a t-shirt, a bandanna for Moe (which he won't wear, because it doesn't mesh with his fashion aesthetic,) and a cool hardback book that I have looked at bunches of times at Half Price Books and never bought because even at half price, I am too cheap. These goodies are rewards for taking an online nutrition course that Hill's does, called the VNA, or Veterinary Nutritional Advocate. There are three modules, and for each one you finish, you get some stuff! The above stuff is for modules 1 and 2. We didn't have to do 3, but I'm wondering what I'd get if I did it. I might, just for kicks. I think it might be a tote bag, because a friend of mine who took the course last semester, had one.

It really is nice to get something tangible, something other than a grade, for doing well in a class. I mean, hopefully, doing well in these classes will get me a JOB, and subsequently some money, so that's not so bad, either.

So while I think we can all agree of my insane level of awesomeness, let us turn to something less festive but much more intriguing (at least in my opinion.) It is the fact that I can spend 75% of the average day with the girl, lamenting that I just need time to myself, and will you please quit hanging all over me, and can we quiet down for JUST A SECOND!? and I need time off, and then when she's been gone for less than 12 hours I'm already in a cold sweat wanting her back! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ALL ABOUT! Will someone please explain this dichotomy of motherhood to me? Please? Because it makes very little sense.

And speaking of mothers, visited mine today. I got there around lunchtime, so I fed her, and then rubbed her hair until she fell asleep. Yesterday, I was standing in line at a store where a teenage girl was talking to her mother in a way that made me want to walk up to her and very politely knock her teeth down her attitude-spouting throat, and I wondered what she'd say if I said to her that I wished I had a mother I could talk to at ALL. Probably would have rolled her eyes and called me a bitch. But I do wish that.

Boy. This "dealing with stuff" thing is so difficult sometimes! But for those of us gifted with an abundance of awsomosity--a mere trifle!

introspection

2008-08-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

This is what I want.

I find that nothing makes one sit and take stock better than the ear-buzzing shock and subsequent all-day barely-contained squalling freak-out caused by a small girl vomiting on her bed.

First thing in the morning.

And the squalling freak-out? That's ME, by the way. Zoe's fine.

So my first question is: am I a bad mom? . . . okay, no. My FIRST question is: Holy Christ on a crutch, how fast can I get to a hotel?! THEN that bad mom thing. . .

So, am I? Just for the record, I did NOT go to a hotel. I DID, however, fish out the surgical mask I wore during my anatomy and physiology cat-dissection adventure, and slap it onto my face. Wore it for several hours, but took it off when I walked Moe. I didn't want to look crazy to anyone OUTSIDE the house, see. As luck would have it, when Zoe vomited, she immediately started yelling for Daddy, and as I lay there in bed hearing this, I somehow KNEW what was going on. Just a visceral, in-my-bones knowledge that stomach contents were going to figure prominently in the next hour or so.

Zach, because he is so very normal, has taken charge of the girl for the day, knowing full well that my ability (however puny it normally is) to be an okay mother was blown the frick out of the water. I did my part by going to the store and buying Pedialyte freezer pops.

Naturally, Zoe is acting perfectly normal, and ignoring the fact that her mother is just a pale husk of the normally neurotic-but-at-least-present woman she usually is. I must say that even though I acknowledge here that I am completely a dumb-ass when it comes to barf, I am quite proud of myself that I managed to stay in the house and NOT lose it as much as I anticipated I might when I imagined what would happen should vomiting occur. (Which I did think of, on occasion.) I think this is in large part because she vomited once and then stopped. If it was an ongoing thing, I might have reacted differently.

So I really do need to think about so many things! Like, at 41, who/what do I want to be? Seems like an odd question to be asking so late in life, doesn't it? But I really haven't BECOME anything, despite years of schooling and being alive and stuff. If I have to answer the question, there are a few things I want to be.

1. A good mom. That's the first one, no doubt. I want Zoe to grow up thinking fondly of me, and not wishing I'd been someone nicer. I catch myself getting impatient with things she does because I'm forgetting she's a very small girl and not a grown-up. Yesterday, we made cookie-mixes to give to her teachers on the last day of school tomorrow. We ended up with flour and sugar everywhere because her pouring abilities are not yet as developed as mine. And I finally just said, "Who the hell cares!" and swept all the flour and sugar out the back door when we were done. Nobody died because we spilled stuff. And it was much more fun. I want to be able to live my whole mothering life like that. Letting stuff roll off my back more. Less sighing, less eye-rolling, less whining. (And by whining, I mean ME. Again.)

2. A happy person. Most people who have known me longer than a year or so (I won't out you here,) know that I tend to come at things from the negative side. (I can TOTALLY hear a chorus of people saying, "Who, YOU? Nooooo!" very, very sarcastically.) I don't like it either. Is that surprising? I don't actually enjoy being like this. I should stop it. Is there a "Happiness for Dummies?"

3. An effective doggie nurse. This one stands a chance. Not that the others don't, but this one seems a little more attainable to me at the moment, because I've been consistently tested on this stuff, and I'm doing well. If only I could get an A on the "Nurturing a Kid" quiz.

4. NORMAL! Yeah, that's a lot to ask, given what I consider my abnormalities. Let me list for you my various abnormalities, and then perhaps together we can formulate a plan to get me on the path to normalosity.

A: The vomit phobia. Bleah.

B: The anxiety disorder. Suckful.

C: The stomach issues.

D: The vague depression I suspect I've had forever.

E: A propensity to procrastinate, even when what I'm putting off is something I want to do.

F: My slovenliness.

G: My inability to sleep longer than an hour and a half at a time.

H: My whininess and complaining.

I: My constant worrying about what COULD happen.

J: My feelings of inferiority.

K: My vague dissatisfaction.

Okay, I'm going to stop there, because I'm making myself more of D, H, J and K just reading this over. So the question is: what to do about it?

Hmmm. Well, medication seems like a good idea, doesn't it? As a matter of fact, I can imagine that medication could address EVERY SINGLE ONE of these issues. So why am I not taking bucketloads of Prozac? See E and I.

Really, I think the first thing I could do is stop using this blog as a place where all I do is whine about my various issues. Really I should be using it to tell everybody about the cool stuff. Which I do, from time to time, yes. But what good does complaining do? I ask this of Zoe all the time, and I suppose I should listen to my own questions, maybe pose them to myself. I'm telling her to act like a grown-up, but acting like a child, myself.

Pooh.

*sigh*. . . okay.

Next up: positivity! (I'm not kidding!)

Awww, man!

2008-06-23T08:21:00.001-07:00

George Carlin died yesterday of heart failure at age 71. I remember sitting on our old green velvet couch listening to his comedy routine on tape as a teeny kid, even though I had NO idea what he was talking about. I remember asking Mom if I could listen to the tape "with the bad words."

I hate it when a part of my childhood dies. It reminds me that I'm closer to death, too, and I'm not particularly LOOKING FORWARD to the end (although you might think I am to listen to my bitching and whining sometimes.) Actually, we've had a few lessons about death recently. A few days ago, a possum got hit by a car on the other side of our block. We've walked by each day and watched how it changes. Yesterday the maggots came. I explained about the flies and how the possum made a good dinner for the fly babies. We also regularly "rescue" dead chicks who have fallen or been pushed from their nests. We have a special spot under a bush where we put them. Zoe's been very interested to see that they slowly (or not so slowly) disappear. The sweet thing is that she likes to say a blessing over the things she finds. She asks God to take care of them. I know it might not be a popular thing to do to some, but it can't hurt.

So yeah--George Carlin is dead. And Richard Pryor died awhile ago. The way I see it, Neil Diamond should watch his step.

(Oy, what GUILT that last statement dredged up! I say it hoping that Mr. Diamond is hale and hearty and NOWHERE near death! Go, Neil!)

Happy doggie!

2008-06-17T20:12:00.000-07:00

Taken on the banks of the Colorado River the day before his surgery. (While I was focusing my camera on Moe, Zoe was frolicking IN the Colorado River, and I was paying NO ATTENTION! My odyssey as a mother continues. . .) However, both are fine, and even better, both are currently healthy, and I'm praying it stays that way. Moe is on a long-term non-steroidal anti-inflammatory, and will need quarterly urinalyses and twice-yearly ultrasounds for the rest of forever, but that's fine with me!

Here's the fun news right now. Zach and I have TENTATIVELY decided to send in some photos of the kid to a local talent agency, for a few reasons. One, she looked at me the other day, and with the utmost seriousness said, "Mommy, I want to be on TV." Two, if I don't hear the phrase, "Look at me!" at least 20 times in a day, it isn't a normal day. The girl lives for the spotlight, and I live in dire fear that that need will lead her in unsavory directions. Better she be guided in her need to be the center of attention than let her forge her own way. We have agreed that it would never interfere with school, though.

Also, David Sedaris is going to be at Book People (YES! RIGHT HERE IN TOWN!) this coming Thursday, and I am blowing off school to be there. I have to be one of the first 500 to be able to have the privilege of standing in line for several hours for his autograph, but damned if I won't do it! Now all I have to do is find someone to watch the kid. . .

Speaking of whom:

Clear margins and drag queens

2008-06-06T09:03:00.000-07:00

FINALLY got the pathology back on Moe--it was indeed transitional cell carcinoma, BUT, the margins of the excised lesion were clear--we are cancer-free! There's a follow-up exam on Tuesday with the oncologist, and I don't know if there will be a recommendation for chemo or not, but I'm feeling very much relieved. Thanks for all your thoughts, phone calls and cards! Very sweet, all you people.

So tonight Zach and I are going with some friends to an Eddie Izzard show. http://www.eddieizzard.com/ My thought is to go with a sort of drag queen look, myself, and I'll tell you, that's not as easy as one might think. Especially since I'm female. But I did manage to find a pair of hot pink, patent leather(ette) pumps with an ankle strap. If THAT isn't drag queen, ain't nothin is. I'm almost 100% sure my friend Dana will take a million pictures. I'll post one at some point, if I don't end up looking like a clown instead of a queen.

Yay, Moe!

Cleanliness (actually, the lack thereof)

2008-06-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

If I could subtitle this entry, it'd be:

"Crust and bodily functions."

Today is Tuesday. Zoe's last bath was Friday night. On Saturday, she spent the whole day outdoors sweating. Sunday night and Monday night, she was out late and didn't get home at a decent time for a bath. Today, I am halfway ashamed of being seen with her.

First, on Sunday, she used a brown, what is turning out to be semi-permanent marker to draw lines and large blotches on her legs and "paint" her toenails. Last night, she had some chocolate pie and today still has some chocolate remnants on her cheek and forehead. (I'm not certain how she did that, either.) Today, she crawled around on the floor at Half Price Books, making her knees brown, and then when we went to an unnamed place*, she got chalk dust all over her hands and clothes. (*the purpose of this place may or may not have something to do with a possible upcoming "holiday" during which gifts are given to a parent.) She has been sweating in the Central Texas heat the whole time. And today, after sitting on my lap, there was a pointedly unpleasant aroma when she arose and her butt wafted past my nose.

What I wanted to do: Hold her down, spray her gently with a firehose, scrub her with lye, and and hang her on the line to dry. What I did: proposed a spa day, wherein she was bathed with fragrant soaps, her hair washed and conditioned, her skin clarified and toned with a masque, her fingernails and toenails done, a massage given with berry-scented lotion, her hair done, and a spritz of perfume given, followed by lovely clean clothes. So we went to the beauty supply place nearby, bought some nail polish (clear with gold flecks,) stick-on jewels for her nails, berry-scented lotion, and spray-on, hot pink hair highlighter. On the way home, she fell asleep, so she is now in her bedroom contaminating her sheets.

Moe is back at the doctor today, but only for a check. Today was supposed to be the day we maybe heard back on the pathology, but so far, nothing. I'm thinking maybe when the doctor calls, we'll know more. He has had a few issues in the past few days, but nothing horrific. There was blood and a few clots in his urine, and a bit of blood on his first two poops after he got home. The scar on his belly pulls his winkie off to one side just a tiny bit, so he pees slightly to the right, and very often on his right rear foot. He has had two episodes of tinkling in the house, but I think this has more to do with a small bladder than anything else. He is also not particularly happy to go out into the backyard to do his business and now prefers the front. However, he is also happy to simply squat on the front porch. It's charming. I am hope-hope-hoping that the pathology comes back benign, since he seems pretty full of energy and happy right now. Keep him in your thoughts, still.

Talked my doctor into giving me an EKG yesterday because I worry that my heart races, and it came back normal. I'm also scheduled for an ultrasound of my liver and gallbladder this Friday, as that seems to be where I have pains quite often. Finally, he looked in my ear and found that I have fluid built up somewhere in there, which explains why I can hear my heart beating in my right ear, and keep feeling dizzy. (Before yesterday, I suspected the heartbeat in my ear thing was the thinning of an important artery that was combining with increased cranial pressure to soon produce an aneurysm that would shoot my brains out my right ear.) Fortunately, I was wrong.

Update: Moe

2008-05-30T08:50:00.000-07:00

Surgery was yesterday, and according to the doctor, she's very pleased with how things went. There were several factors that make the prognosis better, which I think I already mentioned, about not showing clinical signs, and a good surgical site. Add to that the fact that the lesion was pedunculated, meaning that instead of being flush with the mucosa of his bladder, it was more of an encapsulated thing on a stalk. She was able to excise a decent margin, too, go Dr. Caplan!

Moe came out of anesthesia well, and according to the woman I talked to today, is up and around, and is peeing on his own with no problems. Go, Moe! I get to pick him up today around 2 pm. He has to wear an e-collar, but aside from that, I'm hoping he's himself.

Catching this lesion has, as far as I'm concerned, made every single penny Zach has put into my tech education worth it. Remember I mentioned that there was a lot of backstory? The gist of said backstory is that because I knew what I was talking about, I had my regular vet's office do a follow-up urinalysis after they told me his urine looked great. I knew it didn't. If I'd taken their word for it, I would have waited an entire year for another urinalysis on his yearly checkup, and I don't want to think what it would have found at that point. Go, me! Go, Elizabeth Warren, RVT, who has taught me so well!

Of course, we're not out of the woods, but the trees, they are a'thinning. And I can breathe again. And maybe tonight, I'll be able to sleep.

Oncologist, redux

2008-05-27T09:05:00.000-07:00

Well, we've been and gone. Surgery is scheduled for day after tomorrow, Thursday.

The oncologist says he doesn't want to give us lots of false hope, but there are many things in our favor. One is that the growth is in a nicely operable area, and another is that he has shown absolutely NO clinical signs that are normally seen with a transitional cell tumor. He also mentioned that since Moe had a bladder stone, there are sometimes growth associated with those, but that it was much safer to assume a tumor.

At any rate, they're going in on Thursday to see what it is. His bladder will be resected and he'll be in the hospital overnight.

So right now, we're being hopeful. Yay!

Tomorrow

2008-05-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

9 a.m.
Oncologist.
Shit.

I've checked whether or not the oncologist has had any disciplinary actions taken against him--none. I checked our regular veterinarian just for good measure--none. So far, so good.

I don't know what I expect. I doubt I'll know anything of grave import tomorrow evening, except when Moe's surgery is.

Good thoughts, all, good thoughts.

Please?

Crap.

2008-05-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

There's a whole long backstory with this, but the bottom line is that Moe went into the veterinarian's office this morning for an ultrasound, and it is more likely than unlikely that he has a transitional cell tumor in his bladder. We are being referred to an oncologist, and it looks like he'll have to have surgery to find out for certain that's what it is (because there is a slight possibility that it's just a polyp.) He also has a nodule in his spleen, which was relatively unconcerning to the doctor who did the ultrasound, but which will be biopsied during his bladder surgery. He is currently having a lung x-ray done to see if it has metastasized.

Being me, I did a quick bit of research and found that even after surgery in which there had been no spread of the disease, survival rates were less than a year. Our veterinarian did say that there is an actual cure rate for this, since his tumor is in an operable area of the bladder, which is unusual, with the addition of chemotherapy. She also told me that she herself had a dog with transitional cell carcinoma who had a great quality of life for a year on medication alone. I guess the thing that's bothering me most is that there is an actual possible end in sight for him, and I don't like being able to see it.

And seriously, can we even afford this? We have Zoe's tuition to pay and all the other things that cost money, but I just can't seem to make myself pragmatic enough to opt for euthanasia until I know in my heart that it's the best thing to do for him.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Hopefully we'll be able to get him an appointment with the oncologist early next week, and Dr. Parker just called--his lungs are clear! So that's one hurdle we've gotten over. We see the oncologist on Tuesday.

Okay. Gotta go pick the old boy up. Say prayers for him if you're the praying sort, and if not, a good thought will do. Thanks.

London Dragons

2008-05-17T20:15:00.000-07:00

Who remembers the old-school Dungeons & Dragons game? In my neck of the woods, with the 4 other people I used to play with, it was an utter good time. It was really more about the socializing than the actual game, but play the actual game we did. There was ALWAYS Coke in the tall glass bottles, Cheetos, (the crunchy kind,) nacho cheese Doritos (mixed in a bowl with the Cheetos,) and a box of donuts. There was generally more food after all that had been consumed, but those four thing were indispensable.

The game started in the early evening, and often went until the wee hours of the morning, until everyone was giddy with exhaustion and the thrill of the game which we, as a group, did NOT play totally according to the rules. We didn't worry much about encumbrance, we didn't give a crap about which spells we were and weren't allowed to have at which level, we just dove in and had a great time.

Fast forward now--it's approximately 26 years later (holy crap.) Four grown couples are sitting on a living room floor, with all their geek supplies in front of them. Four children, (aged 6, 4 1/2, 2 and about 9-10 months) running around, and two 9-week-old puppies are thrown in for good measure.

For some wild reason, it just wasn't the same.

I really do find myself pining for earlier times quite often these days. Not that I don't like my NOW, but things were so simple back then, even though at the time I thought it was so hard. There were no bills that I saw, I wasn't responsible for much, I was relatively healthy and slept well, my thighs and upper arms, while chunky, didn't make "flappity-flappity" noises every time I moved them. My hair was thicker, my teeth were in better shape, without the weird slight underbite I've developed with two teeth. Yeah, I was fat, but really, things weren't that bad. My mom was as normal as she ever got, and she and my dad lived in the same house. Sometimes I'm just surprised to wake up and find that I'M the mom, the adult, the responsible one. It's weird. I still feel like I'm 18. (In my head, at least. My body is about 60.)

I never thought I'd be one of those mothers who lives vicariously though her children, but I find myself wanting things for Zoe that I wanted for myself--stuff I never had. Like summer camp. I remember wanting to go to summer camp, but I never did. I thought back then that I was being deprived, but I realize now that we probably couldn't afford it. And even though ballet classes are going to be more expensive this year because of being part of the company instead of just taking classes, I'm all about it! I wanted to be a ballerina, too. (I can still remember mom taking me to ballet classes at UOP--where I would sit on the floor underneath the barre and refuse to come away from the wall. Those classes didn't last long--I was far too shy.) I was always too shy and too scared of everything to be any of the great things I aspired to, but Zoe is my polar opposite--outgoing, fearless, lousy with self-esteem. And so I want to push her to do all these things, because I didn't do them. I WANT to push her, but I don't. She loves ballet, so she goes, and she wants summer camp, so she goes. If she were to tell me she didn't want to go anymore, I would be disappointed, but I'd never force her to go.

When I look at her, though, it's like all I can see is this little bundle of potential. I suppose all parents feel that way.

So speaking of parents and polar opposites and stuff, let me tell you about tonight's experience at the house were we played D&D. (And let me preface it that we have a few rules that Zoe follows and that are almost never broken. One is that she doesn't drink soda. She has water, milk, juice and the occasional lemonade. That's about it. Another is that there are certain things on television that aren't appropriate for her to watch. Spongebob Squarepants is one of those, as it has no redeeming qualities for people in her age-group, in my opinion.)

The couple that was hosting has two kids, the 6- and 2-year-old. When we got there, it was the first time I really met the mother, although I know the father pretty well. She took me through the kitchen and said that she had chips and rootbeer for the kids. I didn't say anything thinking that I could deal with that when we came to it. Well, pretty soon, one of her kids hands Zoe a big bottle of rootbeer. Zach and I kind of gave each other looks, wondering how to go about taking it away without offending anyone, and the mother picked it up, and was great about it, but offered instead milk with strawberry Quik in it. So yeah, it still was jam-packed with sugar, but at least it was milk. Later, as the kids were playing, the little girl comes out to ask if it's okay if Zoe watches Spongebob Squarepants. Jeez! I just said to go ahead, because I already felt like the strictest mom alive. The other two kids, in the 6 hours we were there, drank nothing but rootbeer and ate nothing but tortilla chips and frosted animal cookies, and a few crackers with cheese. The mother told them they could have ice cream later, and I forced Zoe to eat some chicken before the ice cream was trotted out. (Which, by the way, it never was, thank goodness!) Until tonight, I felt guilty when I made Zoe one of those frozen Kid Cuisine dinners, or made her a grilled-cheese sandwich or mac and cheese, but now, not so much. It felt almost like they had seen my list of rules and figured out a way for my daughter to break every one. And the thing is, they're nice people, and they were very nice and understanding about how we raise our own kid, but still, it was a struggle with the other kids around her get stuff she can't have. And just as an aside, I am astounded by the number of mothers who can't wrap their brains around Zoe not having had a soda at her age.

I guess I just assumed everyone parented the way I do, unless they were completely deficient. Not so! These are not deficient people! It was weird.

I will just need to come to terms that not everyone can be a 10th level Mommy like me.

One week

2008-05-15T14:17:00.000-07:00

Today marks one whole week without caffeine (at least from soda-type sources) and not much has changed healthwise, but I didn't expect it to so fast. I have also begun to rethink my whole gluten-free idea, because I went to our tree-huggiest grocery store and there really is a dearth of gluten-free stuff out there, and what IS out there cost about three times as much as the gluten-lousy stuff. Plus, I don't have any hard evidence I have an issue with gluten, but I DO have evidence of a milk intolerance, so I'm going to start there. I'm going to start by RESTRICTING dairy, first. We'll see if I live through it.

Cool thing #1: a dove with two fledgelings is living right outside my computer window. Those chicks better learn to fly pretty soon, though, because the nest is getting mighty small.

Cool thing #2: today's afternoon activity, if Zoe hasn't fallen asleep on the couch, will be to empty a bag of native Texas topsoil into a tub, add some water, and let her have at it. I think that'll be a huge hit.

Cool thing #3: Zoe has lately taken to telling me that she can't sleep in her room alone at night, and wants me to stay with her after her books each evening. One night last week, I told her I couldn't, but I'd be right outside her room on the computer. Her response: "But, Mommy, I just feel so cold and alone when you're not here." To my credit, I didn't laugh OUT LOUD.

Oh, gross. Those two fledgelings are practically tearing their mother's throat out eating. Bleah.

Day 1 sans caffeine--and still I live

2008-05-09T19:44:00.000-07:00

So I did it--no caffeine today, and I'm here to tell about it. I can't take too much credit, though, because I spent a significant portion of the day snoozing on the couch (heaven!) while Zoe was at school and I had a protracted (2 WEEK!!) vacation between the end of spring semester and the beginning of summer semester.

What happened was that after writing yesterday's entry, I was up till about 4 am with a stomach that was doing some eevil things to me, leaving me tired today, otherwise even though I may have wanted to, I probably wouldn't have spent the whole day sleeping.

So I did have a huge urge for a Coke at one point, and instead had a small glass of grape juice, which actually worked relatively well to relieve my thirst (go figure!) and have thus been able to avoid my drug of choice for an entire day. Go, me!

Tomorrow: Day 2. I think I can do it.

Diet issues--my health eludes me--must go look for it!

2008-05-08T21:26:00.000-07:00

Ack.

(And I mean that with all the angst and anguish it can hold. Really.)

I believe that today, May 8, 2008, I officially grew TOO TIRED of my body's shenanigans to fight against it any longer, and have begun to research what I can do WITH it. Bah! So what I know at this time is that I have Gilbert's Syndrome (supposedly benign--my aching BUTT) and mild gastroparesis (slow gastric emptying.) So where to go from there?

I'll tell you where--a gluten-free, dairy-free, beef- poultry- pork-free diet. Yeah, sounds yummy, doesn't it? Plus any vitamins/supplements/voodoo pills that claim to help with liver function and digestion.

Basically, an asian diet--fish, veggies, rice. I suppose I could live on that, but I'll tell you, it's going to hellish giving up Coke and cheese. You know, they make rice cheese. Oh, and my allergist tells me I'm allergic to SOY, of all things, so that effectively wipes out a shitload of substitutes I could be eating. The upside: chocolate rice milk isn't so bad.

So tomorrow, I'll start out slowly by NOT drinking Coke, Dr. Pepper or anything else of that ilk--water only, which shouldn't be too hard until the withdrawal symptoms kick in.

I reiterate: Ack.

Ballet recital photos 2008

2008-05-04T12:29:00.000-07:00

The last weekend in April was the Spring dance recital. Zoe's class was costumed as roses, and their dance was entitled "Cut Roses of the Table." As usual, I can't figure out how to use my camera effectively in low-light no-flash-allowed circumstances, and so they're fuzzy. (Yes, I set them for high speed, but I still suck.) Anyway, here are the "best" ones.

As is no doubt obvious from the photos, she's the best kid up there, which is probably why they stuck her into the front row. I especially like her grande reverence at the end. (Photo #3)

These next photos are just cute.

Does she or does she not look like Jennifer Aniston here? I've never been a huge JA fan, but I really did think there was a resemblance here. Heck, better to look like JA than me! (In my opinion, at least!)

Wow.

2008-04-13T22:24:00.001-07:00

I just reread my post from Jan. 22 about algebra, and can't believe I had that much trouble over such a simple equation. I guess doing 50 of them a night makes them get easier. I even have to say that although the homework load in the math department is a bit cumbersome, I am beginning to actually LIKE math, because unlike the stuff I've done in various colleges and universities up until now, it's black and white. Either I get it wrong, or I get it right, and there's no waffling. With English, if I could convince my professor I was right, then I was. There's something to be said for that, but this getting-the-actual-universally-right-answer thing is pretty cool.

So some more nice news--after the summer, I'm pretty much done with my first year of Vet Tech training (and it only took me 2 years!) I'll still have a semester-long practicum to do, but that'll be my only class, and it can be done wherever I might be working. The downside is that the course load for the summer will be relatively intense, but only for about 8 weeks. I'll go to school each evening Tuesday through Friday, and also Friday morning. I'll be taking Nutrition and the big, scary Surgery and Anesthesia. I have thus far kept an A average, but this semester crushed that for me. I'm getting an A in Pharmacology, but most likely a B or even a C in Clinical Pathology, which I find SOOO fun, but Jesus, the tests are ridiculous! When all that is done, I'll most likely enroll at San Juan College, in New Mexico, for their distance-learning program that they run in affiliation with Austin Community College. I'll be able to do my second "year" there, and then qualify to take the Texas state licensing board exams. IF I pass those, I'd be an RVT, which is basically the RN of Dog World. Neato.

Oh, and I know most of you know this, because I couldn't stop myself running to the phone to spew the news everywhere, but for those few who have been waiting with bated breath, yes, Zoe did get into Kindergarten at ACE. Her IQ score on the testing was 145, but the woman who gave her the test said that since she scored as high as the test would go in some areas, it was pretty likely that her score is higher, but the test didn't accommodate it. 145, baybee! Yeah, I knew the kid was a genius the second she came squirting out. . . okay, no. In those early days, I was pretty convinced she was a scourge sent from God for my transgressions, but I've since changed my mind.

And more Brag-fest! I think you all know this, too. Zoe has been invited to join her studio's dance team, which is the team that represents the studio at shows and competitions. So instead of her usual 1-hour a week lesson, she'll also have an additional half-hour rehearsal session a week, plus do three more performances a year than usual. We'll also have to buy her a personalized white satin Dance Discovery jacket with her name on it, and a personalized garment bag for the costumes. Oh, and did I mention that ACE costs money, too? Who does this girl think she is, anyway, to keep expecting us to throw money at her? (Heh, if she's anything like me, she'll get away with that far longer than she should. Sorry, Dad!) Plus--and never, NEVER let her know I've said this--I REALLY like making sure she has the things she wants. Like dancing lessons, and private school and piano lessons and gym class. And lots of shoes and cute little shorts from Old Navy. And sparkles to spray in her hair. And books. And other stuff.

Hey, guess what? I cleaned yesterday. It hurt, but now our living room is pristine. I even painted a wall. Yeah, go figure. Sometimes I do the stuff I'm supposed to.

I am important.

2008-03-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

Therapists would have a field day with this. The labels are mine, as dictated by Zoe.

Also, one of the Assorted Grandparents is actually Moe. Just who is who changes each time you ask, except for herself, Zach and me. I just thought it was cool I'm the biggest one. Either I'm pretty important to her or she just thinks I'm the fattest.

Finally--the explanation

2008-03-14T18:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, I suppose I can tell you now about the apocalyptic signs around the house last month--enough time has passed that I no longer shudder when I think about it.

So over the winter, (I think I mentioned this earlier) we had some rats or something living up in the attic. At Christmas, Ryan installed a humane rat-catcher up there, which caught approximately ONE rat, who Zoe named Mimi. Mimi was released into the wild. Well, I guess Mimi's relatives caught wind of the incident, and nobody else took the bait (pun totally intended.) So without saying anything to ME about it for obvious reasons, Zach then purchased and put out poison, which did the trick.

It did the trick so well, in fact, that pretty soon, we started smelling these weird, stinky, meaty smells in the bedroom, the master bath, then the kitchen and finally faintly throughout the whole house. Dead things in the attic or crawlspace. Ew. But I could live with it, because it soon started to dissipate. However, things then took a turn to the darkside.

One morning, I went into the master bath. We have a long counter with two sinks. I was preparing to brush my teeth when I look down and see what I think is a dead grub on the floor. Upon closer examination, I find a dead MAGGOT on the floor. Again, ew. Then, I find a total of seven LIVING maggots frantically lurching across my floor. I scooped them all up with something and threw them away before I staggered away under the weight of an enormous ICK-factor. We determined that they were falling OUT OF THE VENT ABOVE MY SINK!

If maggots falling from the sky aren't a sign of the apocalypse, they should be.

Apocalypse

2008-02-26T18:51:00.000-08:00

Reeking death. Maggots from the sky.

I expect the water from the tap to turn red any moment now.

When I am able to further compose myself, I shall relate the whole repellant story. Gird your loins.

Are they girded? GIRD them!

Zoe sez:

2008-02-20T08:55:00.000-08:00

"Don't pat my bottom, or it'll make all the magic come out of my underwear! You can rub it, that's okay. . ."

Waaaaaah!

2008-02-12T08:35:00.000-08:00

I have no money.

I need a way to make money.

I need time to do a job that makes money.

Waaaaaaaaah!

Musical sophistication

2008-02-04T18:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, yeah.

Under my and her father's tutelage, the Divine Miss Z is quickly becoming a connoisseur of good music. (And I use the term "good" meaning: stuff we like.)

Example A: While dancing around aimlessly doing 4-year-old girl goofiness, she's humming "Horse's Bransle" a medieval tune.

Example B: She knows the words to the first verse of Heart's "Barracuda."

Example C: While driving around the other day, the first guitar notes of "Oye Como Va" came on, and from the back seat I hear: "Oh! Carlos Santana! He's cool!"

Example D: She regularly hums catchy little Tchaikovsky ditties.

However, I've got to temper all this with the fact that she also regularly belts out the chorus of "The Best of Both Worlds" by Hanna Montana (she heard it in dance class--it wasn't my fault!) But the best part of that is that instead of singing "It's the best of both worlds," she sings, "It's the pays of pope girls."

It's funny how things work in the world. I found myself being the typical mom today, standing around with the other moms at ballet class, discussing schools and summer camps. Unbelievable. The way it looks this year, she'll be going to summer ballet classes, as well as a summer camp at the Austin Nature and Science Center. And THEN. . .we're hoping to get her into Kindergarten this September. Holy shit. I REMEMBER being in Kindergarten, and now my own kid? Since state law for public schools prohibits Zoe from starting school this year due to the fact that she'll be too young (like, six weeks too young!) we're still looking at private schools. Our latest is called Ace Academy, which caters to high-achieving and gifted students. She'll have to be tested, but we'll see how it turns out.

And speaking of school, I'm actively avoiding my homework. Gack.

Never say never. Never.

2008-01-22T23:14:00.000-08:00

Some (okay, one) of you may remember me wailing about algebra that "I don't need to know this crap! When am I ever going to need to solve for X?"

WHEN YOU'RE 40, THAT'S WHEN! (And you've decided to start a whole new career that involves pharmaceuticals and various dosages and calculating fluid and nutrient intake and shit like that. THAT'S WHEN!)

It is 1:16 in the morning, and Zach has just gone to bed after a tearful evening of trying to teach the proverbial old dog (that'd be me) new tricks (solving for x.) Now, I'll be honest. I figured that this time around, because I'm actually serious about my education, I'd be more open to algebra and therefore more quickly figure it out.

No. That's not how it works, as it turns out.

I STILL can't wrap my brain around it without significant amounts of pain and angst. There really were actual tears--I wasn't being hyperbolic in that last paragraph there. I cried. EASY solving for x problems are just fine. It's when we're getting into things like six sevenths times 3 over x = 150 over 17. Yeah, it's totally solvable, but the very sight of it turns the parts of my brain dedicated to such ridiculous shit into stone. And really HARD stone, too!

And so I say to you today: 26 years later, I STILL hate algebra. This time, however, I refuse to let it chew me up and spit me out.

Take THAT, math! Hmph!

Resolutions

2008-01-01T21:44:00.000-08:00

Me: snorting with laughter

Okay, alright. I'm always one to laugh at my own goals because hey! Saves me the time and energy I would otherwise have spent actually trying to ACHIEVE them, see? No so this 30th time around or so! (I don't think I made any resolutions before I was 10. I was not yet completely disgusted with myself. Close, though.) No, this time, I'm SERIOUS, dammit! And here they are, because I know you started holding your breath in anticipation at the beginning of this paragraph, and I want you to continue living!

1. Organize. I KNOW! LAUGH! It's all I can do not to lay down and listen to my guts bust as I howl. I can do it! I can! I CAN! I have a little pink binder and everything!

2. Keep a (relatively) tidy house. Those of you who have lived with me (you know who you are--I won't out you here) know that this is even more ridiculous than #1, and yet, today, I cleared off one of the kitchen counters, did about a hundred loads of wash--AND HUNG UP THE CLEAN STUFF!!--and enlisted Zoe to help me collect Moe poo from the backyard. I am awesome.

3. Eat more healthfully. I went onto mypyramid.gov today to check what I eat daily against the government-sanctioned food pyramid, and I fully expect government agents to knock on the door tomorrow to take me away. Yes, it's that bad.

4. Figure out SOME way to generate an income. I don't have a lot of options, here. I'm open to suggestions. I could give blood and sell my belongings. That leaves me passed out on the concrete.

Can I accomplish these things in one measly year? One would hope. Other people do them in a single DAY. Me? I like to take my time.

Road Rage, Christmas edition

2007-12-17T13:05:00.000-08:00

On the way back from the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar this afternoon, I was driving down 6th Street, heading for Loop 1 to get home. I was in the left lane. In front of me was a car, and in front of the car was a large truck, which just sort of stopped with his left turn signal on, and sat. I waited for awhile, but finally decided that in the interest of ever getting home, to go around him. I check my rear view mirror: no cars for several blocks. So, I pull into the next lane to my right to go around the truck. Now, picture this. I am in a minivan. Minivans are tall. Tiny red midlife-crisis-Barbie-doll cars are not. As I complete my pulling out, a horn squeaks, and this miniscule red car swerves around me. Obviously, it was in my enormous blind spot when I pulled out. "Yikes!" I think, glad I didn't hit the guy. He then pulls immediately back into the lane I'm in and STOPS DEAD. I slam on my breaks, and sit there while a man who looks just like Santa Claus, COMPLETE WITH SANTA HAT (although a much smaller beard) cusses me out! I'm sure he's somebody's grandpa, and I'm also sure that there's a buttload of adrenaline coursing through him, and I know he thinks I'm an idiot, but jeez, that jolly old elf has a candy cane up his butt. I toss him a very exaggerated "I'm sorry" though the window, and he makes a sharp left onto a side street, presumably to find some reindeer to flog.

Ho ho f#*!ing ho, to you, too.

Little Creatures

2007-11-29T08:44:00.000-08:00

Which one do you want to hear about first?

On the top is a reasonable facsimile of what we have establishing a thriving economy in our attic insulation. All the evidence points to a booming business in rat-sized hob-nailed boots. They're all wearing them. And having parties at night. The exterminator who came out today is offering to spray fox urine in our attic to chase them away, and then seal the house with lots of metal to keep them from returning. Nobody has to die, isn't that cool? He also wants $2500. Personally, I have no issues with sharing my home with rats, as long as they stay in the attic (which we all know is a laughable dream) and don't ruin our insulation or chew our wires. So they have to find a new home. It's cold outside, poor things, but I'm certain they'll find solace in the crawlspace of some unsuspecting homeowner nearby.

On the right is, well. . . hmmmm. Not the usual pose one strikes when visiting museums in New York, is it? She's got her own drummer who follows her around, this one. While on a recent visit to Build A Bear to purchase a new outfit for Rina, she picked out a Hello Kitty rock 'n' roll top and some black and gold leggings. When I initially balked at buying Rina a red guitar, Zoe told me, "But Mommy! She wants to ROCK!" And as we all know, ROCKING is impossible without a guitar. I'm a total sucker.

Who I am not.

2007-11-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

In the interest of Getting Shit Done, I sat this evening and made out a list of everything I was going to do prior to going to school, and the one thing I hoped to accomplish AFTER school. But the list wasn't enough. I then listed everything in general that needs doing, and now the list is as long as my arm, and so the person I wish I was today is: Samantha Stevens, from Bewitched. I would like to be able to look at something, wiggle my nose, and have it go where it needs to be, with minimal energy expenditure on my part. I would not like to be married to Darren.

Made $60 today selling Zoe's toys. Won't she be surprised when she comes home to find I've turned her room into a storage closet! I cleaned out two of her three toyboxes and found crap that she CAN'T remember having, and so took it to one of the local kid's resale shops. I have another load or so tomorrow, which is good, considering I have to buy a Hemnes nightstand and two sets of sheets at Ikea tomorrow. (Oops, forgot to put that on the list!) The sheets are ridiculously cheap there. And I am nothing if not totally into ridiculously cheap!

I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you!

2007-11-04T21:21:00.000-08:00

I have a real love-hate relationship with Ikea. One the one hand, cheap=good, right? And also cute, so the equation is this: cheap+cute=waaaay good. And the best part? Here, just look at the final formula: cheap+cute+store only about 30 minutes away=words cannot adequately express the goodness.

Then again, subtract instructions that have no written words in them, because Ikea writes all their stuff in 18 languages. And contrary to popular belief, I am for once NOT exaggerating. English, Deutsch, Francais, Nederlands, Italiano, Espanol, Portugues, Svenska, Dansk, Norsk, Suomi (huh?), Polski, Cesky, Slovensky, Magyar, and three other languages my keyboard doesn't have keys for--Russian, Japanese, and Chinese. EIGHTEEN. So instead, I get this:

For those of you not fluent in Ikean, let me translate.

Ideograph 1: "Aha! In order to easily put together this beautiful Hensvik bookshelf, the only tools I will need are my phillips head screwdriver, my regular screwdriver, and a hammer!"

Ideograph 2: "I will not drop this lovely Hensvik bookshelf onto the cement floor, for that would crack apart the corners, and I would cry. Instead, I will make sure to construct this furniture on a carpet, which will make me happy!"

Ideograph 3: "If I am unable to read one of the eighteen languages in which this 16-page instruction manual is written, and am upset that my fabulous Hensvik bookcase might get put together incorrectly, I will simply telephone my nearest Ikea store, to talk to one of the minimum-wage earning, surly high school students who work there! Surely, they can talk me through it!"

As luck would have it, I was able to get through the process without having to call a surly high school student, but I did have to rip the backing off of the almost-completed piece and switch out two shelves. And as I was crawling into the book shelf in order to screw a little connector into a most unlikely spot, I started to wonder. Do famous people build their own Ikea furniture, or do they hire people to do it for them? You know who I can guarantee you doesn't put together her own Ikea furniture? Oprah. Oprah's Ikea furniture is put together by an elite cadre of Ikea specialists, people who can read one of the 18 languages and translate it into actions that eventually result in a Hensvik bookshelf! Someone like me.

I have successfully built a Hensvik bookshelf. Yesterday, I made a Snille desk chair to go with the Vika Amon desktop and Vika Curry desk legs I built into a WHOLE desk! In the next few days, I will also be making yet another Hensvik bookshelf, and a Hemnes chest of drawers and nightstand!

I'll bet Oprah's never heard of Ikea.

Fall, birthday party, and Halloween. Also my midterm grade.

2007-11-01T14:22:00.000-07:00

I love October. That's when, at least for me, the very best part of the whole year starts. I love autumn (especially here in Texas, where autum MIGHT mean a break from the blistering heat, and a little opportunity to sit outside without your skin crisping up off your head or mosquitoes doing the rhumba up your shins.) It means I'm planning a big ol' birthday party, buying presents, thinking about Thanksgiving dinner and wondering how I'll decorate for Christmas. AND there's Halloween. Zoe has been, in order, a woodland fairy, Carmen Miranda, a floral fairy, and a retro Jane Jetson-type space girl. (Kelly, I had to laugh, because Madonna was one of my choices, too, but Zoe's too old and has too many of her OWN OPINIONS to let me decide what she'll be anymore. Big, hairy rats.) I will, of course, now slather this blog with photos of the above events.

Oh, and before I forget, I got an A on my midterm. Came as a pretty big shock to me because I was expecting more of a B-ish type grade. I rock. Seriously.

Anyway. . .

Around these parts, it wouldn't be fall without our annual trip to the pumpkin patch at Sweet Berry Farms, about 45 minutes away. They have buttloads of stuff to do--pumpkin painting, face painting, a corn maze, horseback rides, hayrides, games, you name it. Plus you get to pick a pumpkin for carving.

I was surprised and pleased that this year, when she painted her pumpkin, she chose colors other than black, which was what her first pumpkin looked like. I suppose black is apropos, but it just didn't seem very kid-like. Well, it was kid-like if the kid is Tuesday Addams. This photo makes it look like I wasn't dying from the heat, but I was. (You can't tell because I'm BEHIND the camera, see) but it was just way too hot to be October. However, I'm willing to take "too hot" instead of "snow." "Snow" would just suck.

Pony ride! She sat on top of that horse hollering about how fun it was, much to the amusement of the woman leading the horse. I had to explain that we were city girls, and didn't own horses, and that it was Zoe's first real ride.

So the birthday party descended on us and I was actually ready! Our theme was Monsters, and so I undertook to make some monstery snacks and treats. First, the fruits and veggies:

In the back are green apple, peanut butter and slivered almond "monster mouths." In front, celery filled with cream cheese, and covered with little bandages of deli turkey to make mummies. The eyes are made of bits of dried currants. I fear I ended up making them mostly for show, though, because not too many got eaten. I think this may be because they had actual vegetables involved, or because they were just plain weird looking. At any rate, I thought they were cool. So cool, in fact, that they warranted a photograph.

This is one of the spider pizzas I made. (Before baking.) They were just cheese pizzas made with refrigerated dough, jarred pizza sauce and an industrial-size sack of mozzarella. I made the spiders out of Pillsbury garlicky breadsticks in the tube. Everyone thought I was so creative! Got the idea from a magazine, so it was someone else's creativity, but I didn't mention that. Those garlicky breadsticks are really good, by the way. They remind you how good they are every time you burp, though, for the next 24 hours.

The day's entertainment was Staci Gray, the Austin-based kid's entertainer who Zoe thinks is too cool for school. As you can see, she was able to keep a roomful of a dozen four-year-olds not only occupied, but actually involved, so that the adults could sit around and talk to each other. There was quite a bit of dancing, not a little bit of yelling, and very often, one could hear Zoe hollering out to the crowd that "This is my favorite song!" She said that about all Staci's songs. But really, her REAL favorite is Tom Tom T-Rex.

I absolutely HAD to include this photo, because I didn't notice until just this morning what's going on in it. I thought it was a cute picture of Tennyson, on the left, really dancing up a storm. But look to the right of Tennyson. Zoe is in the off-white and burgundy dress. It's hard to tell, but all her hands and feet are off the ground. The girl is in mid-air. This is an integral part of her dance style, this leaping up into the air to land on her knees or bottom in a way that looks to me to be horribly painful, but apparently isn't.

Four of the six types of cupcakes I made for the party. These involved actual Wilton cake decorating stuff--pastry bags and tips and one of those cool frosting spatulas that make frosting a cake or cupcake about a MILLION times easier than with a dinner knife! Who knew? So--three-eyed monster, monster with wheaty hair, fuzzy green tongue monster, and spider in web. Coconut, M&M's, Shredded Wheat cereal, Fruitabu fruit leather, black licorice, candy corn, marshmallows--you name it. It was a carnival of candy and sugar, and one mommy told me it looked like the cover of a magazine. Indeed it did. That's where I got the ideas! Naturally, I stayed mum about that.

And also this guy. (I forgot to group him with the other four.) The one design I didn't get a photo of was a green cupcake with a cookie stuck in it with RIP piped onto it, and rock-colored Jelly Bellies around it with more piped grass to look like a tombstone in a graveyard. I'll be honest with y'all--I was so impressed with myself I can hardly express it, and I hope someday Zoe looks back fondly on the birthdays her mom threw for her. When she's 16 and hates me, maybe she'll remember this little cupcake.

And finally, Halloween. This costume was a Grade-A pain in the ass to make, but it turned out SO very cute, it was worth it. She's already telling me she wants to be a belly dancer next year, which should be completely painless in comparison. The party line is that she was an alien, but I lean more toward a Jane or Judy Jetson type space girl. (With antennae, of course.)

MY FAVORITE MARTIAN!

I hope she's your favorite, too!

No. . .

2007-10-24T06:54:00.000-07:00

lupus! Yay! And also no toxoplasmosis! Yay! I am now cleared, healthwise, to sail a one-man boat around the world!

Upper right quadrant pain and the guest list

2007-10-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

Yay! We're up to 10 attendees, with a tentative 11th. Now, we can't get any more, because I only made a dozen goody bags, and if Zoe doesn't get one, she'll probably--well, not be pleased.

I had a midterm in my class tonight--4 solid hours of test taking. Yes, it was fun. I predict a decent grade, as it seemed I knew more than I thought I did. Of course, that bit of confidence usually precludes a C-, so we'll see. Took skin scrapings, did an ECG reading on a little black doggie, palpated a suspicious lump on a cat, auscultated yet another cat, and hugged a big friendly pit bull. Next week: ear examinations! Moe could use some help, there. One of his ears is stinky and weird.

No word yet on whether or not I am riddled with an autoimmune disease that could ruin my already stellar quality of life--I'm in no hurry to find out, honestly. Ignorance is bliss. I have been, however, beset today with sharp little upper righthand quadrant pains. Gall bladder? Possibly, but I've had an ultrasound done, looking for them, and they found nothing. I am going to assume it is a crampy large intestine, just where it turns into the transverse colon. That's not too horrifying.

Plus I need a haircut. And a maid. As usual.

The Big Bang! -or- Zoe's 4th birthday party

2007-10-19T10:52:00.000-07:00

We have of late been taking delivery of some enormous boxes coming in the mail, addressed to Zoe. One wonders if the senders of said boxes has given much thought to where we'll put BIG things! Actually, I kid. We've opened them up and know what's inside, and nothing looks like it'll take up much room. Just, each time I see a box bigger than the recipient, I have to wonder.

I thought I'd post some of the details here, with a few photos. Which means I have to scan some stuff, and I haven't done that. Hold on a minute. . . okay. Scans done.

Here is the outside of her invitation.

The graphic was unashamedly swiped from someone who I HOPE will not mind it being used for a few dozen invitations for a 4-year-old. They are attached to the front of the card with a bit of puffy stuff so they stand out a bit.

Inside:

It appears red here, but is really a Halloween orange. I drew the spiders and glued on googly eyes. By the way, the actual invitation looks better when it isn't scanned.

And here's Staci Grey, Zoe's favorite live performer in Austin. (She has all of Staci's album!)

For refreshment, children will be given a pizza that has been made to look like a big scary spiderweb, complete with spiders on it, celery sticks filled with herbed cream cheese and covered with strips of deli turkey to look like little mummies (their eyes are dried cranberries) and apples, peanut butter and almonds arranged in such a way that they look like monster mouths full of teeth! Adults will be allowed to eat these things, certainly, but I'm also making a big pot of chili for them. Dessert is cupcakes individually decorated to look like monsters and graveyards and spiderwebs. (Note to self: buy cupcake stand!)

My biggest concern is that nobody will show up. About 35 invitations went out last week, and we have (I think) TWO rsvp's. I'm not expecting 35, of course, but more than two would be good. We'll see. It isn't like Zoe's hurting for presents.

Speaking of which! I've gone a bit crazy. I think that buying for and giving to Zoe is the most joyful thing in my life (other than Zoe herself, of course.) If I could get paid for it, I'd be the happiest person on earth. Barbies! Barbie clothes! My Little Pony playset! Moon Sand! Games! Books and more books! Clothes! A veterinarian kit with medical instruments and a stuffed doggie you have to make feel better! A set of pink poodle scrubs (made by Mom) to go with it! Hello Kitty socks! Hello Kitty and Barbie underwear! Fake hair! Crayons! A Furberry! (I really debated about that one. She seems to REALLY want one, but I suspect it's one of those toys that'll be fun for a day, and then maybe get forgotten. We'll see.) I'm pretty sure there's more, but I can't remember it right now.

What we're hoping to do is not mention that tomorrow is her ACTUAL birthday, since her party is a week from tomorrow. We're going to let it pass like any other Saturday, and go to a birthday party for her friend Tennyson. I bought her a calendar a few weeks ago, and we've been crossing days off and stuff, and I did write in that her birthday is tomorrow, so maybe we'll hide the calendar for a week or so.

Have I mentioned the school saga here? Turns out that the school at the top of our list, St. Gabriel's, doesn't accept kindergarteners who are under 5, even if they're only 6 weeks under 5. So I'm thinking that if we don't get her in to Kindergarten next fall, since she'll be home anyway, I'm going to homeschool her for Kindergarten, and then see if we can't send her straight into 1st grade the year after that. I've been hearing a lot, though, from people who say keeping kids out for that extra year is a great thing because it lets them have more leadership skills when they eventually DO go to school. My thing is, Zoe's leadership skills are already there. That girl knows what she wants. We're still not sure of anything yet, but she's beginning to read (3-letter-words are her current forte!) and I know that intellectually, she's already ready. Emotionally, not so much.

Finally, in closing, I might have Lupus. Will have some preliminary results from Dr. soon. Yay, me.

More soon!

Christmas list, Installment #1

2007-10-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

And it's all about me.

Go to this site:

http://www.theanimalrescuesite.com/clickToGive/home.faces?siteId=3

They have a store there from which anything would make me happy. HOWEVER, they have a lovely set of purple paw scrubs that are mighty fetching, and by the way, I wear a medium. Plus your cash goes to a good cause.

Okay, Zach has been saving his money for a shawm. With our refrigerator issues, his shawm savings were depleted. Consult him about this.

Zoe wants everything in sight. I'll try to narrow that down a bit later.

Tell me everything!

2007-09-11T19:24:00.001-07:00

Tonight I learned how to take a medical history. I picked poop out of a chihuahua's cage. I silently seethed with annoyance at the token guy in our class who is a big goofy dummy. (And I mean that sincerely.) At a few points, I felt like I knew what I was doing. That's new! I also have someone interested in my recreating a blingy Celia Cruz/Virgin de Guadalupe handbag I made for somebody. For actual money! Neat!

Fridge gave up the ghost last Friday and I now realize that I depend WAY WAY alot on it on a daily basis. I am dying without a fridge. We're getting a second one tomorrow to use while the warranty on our old fridge is activated and the thing is fixed. We'll be keeping it in the living room. Yes. The living room. We're also going to put a couch on the porch, a washing machine in the front yard, and put at least one of the cars up on blocks. Then I'm going to start calling Zach "Paw." Or maybe Clete.

Gift giving. Photos. School. Holidays. L'chaim!

2007-09-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

I just really like this photo. However, I hate the wallpaper.

The "beginning-to-condense-all-the-stuff-she-wants-down-into-a-realistic-list" blues have hit. With Zoe's birthday coming up, I have a simple Yes/No list for those who may be considering buying a gift.

Bratz anything. Period.
V-smile or V-tech stuff.
Dora stuff.
Diego stuff.
Backyardigans stuff.
Care Bears stuff.
Cabbage Patch dolls.
Spongebob Squarepants stuff.

YES

Barbies are okay, EXCEPT for the My Scene Barbie line, which is almost as slutty as Bratz.Toys R Us has a line of Dream Dazzlers stuff--any of that would be well-received, especially the Dream Dazzlers Stylin' Guitar (I think it's about $10.)
Princess things for her to wear, including jewelry, shoes and tiaras.
BOOKS! BOOKS! BOOKS! We are big Berenstain Bears fans, and like beautifully illustrated books. We like to avoid books about the popular characters listed in the NO list, above. We also like the books that are for very beginning readers, with a few simple words on each page. Most books like that are marked as "Level 1."
Music CD's--possible artists are: Dan Zanes, Laurie Berkner. Any kid music is good, though. Folk music is good, and world music for kids is good, too.
Anything ballet is still a huge, guaranteed hit.
Cat stuff. (Inexplicably, she likes cats!)
Fairy stuff.
Clothes! Please no pants without elastic waists because she won't wear them. That means jeans are usually out. You're safe buying a size 5. In shoes, she wears a size 10.

So now that I've gotten all the shameless begging out of the way, I'll give you photos--that's the fun part!

This is often what happens when Zoe runs into our bathroom, saying, "I'm going to put on makeup!" Usually, she only goes for lip gloss, though. This time, she found a lipstick. I think her hand is a bit heavy, and the color is all wrong for her. But I didn't say anything about it. She's very sensitive.

Many, many ponytails.

Art. If the colors and stylized rendering are all above your head (plebian!) this is a cat.

Face painting. As you can see, her abstract designs are not just limited to statuary.

There is great joy in cupcakes.

Hello Kitty. Shirt, skirt, shoes. Also, she's wearing braids.

First Barbie. Her name isn't ACTUALLY Barbie, it is Summer. And her first outfit is a wedding gown. I have taught her well, my daughter.

New bathing suit and a complete inability to NOT strike an avant garde pose when she sees a camera pointing in her direction.

Just so cute! Ack!

THIS is the lip gloss she usually wears. It has sparkles in it.

I'm thinking this will be the first photo in her modeling portfolio. Have I mentioned how cute she is? Forget about cute! GORGEOUS!

Princess.

School is going well for everybody. Zoe is now going two full days a week, and although on the mornings of school days she yells about not wanting to go because there are monsters at school, she always has a great time, and recently completed her first embroidered wall hanging there. As for me, I had to get my instructor's permission to take an advanced class that I don't have all the prerequisites for, Clinical Management. We'll be spending several hours a week at the Humane Society on the days that the veterinary students from Texas A&M come down from College Station to do surgeries on the animals. We'll be doing most of the aftercare, which will include fun things like possibly lab testing, cytocentesis, monitoring vital signs, taking blood, administering medications, checking dressings, mopping up various bodily fluids, all that. I'm very excited.

Also, on the subject of schools, we're currently considering three for Zoe's upcoming education. Check out these websites--let us know what you think:

www.sgs-austin.org

www.kirbyhallschool.org

www.thegirlsschool.org

I'm announcing here that the holidays this year are going to be spent in Austin. Everybody who reads this and is in some way related to Zach, Zoe or myself, is invited to spend time here, for as long as you may want. I'm just pretty tired of not being home for Christmas, and have not been with Mom on Christmas for two years now. Considering how things are going with her, I'd like to be here for her this year. PLEASE come visit if you are able. We're totally happy to have you--it gives me an excuse to cook more!

The only other big thing going on right now is the planning for Zoe's birthday party. We've hired Staci Gray, a local popular children's entertainer, to come play for the kids. We'll also have a lunch after, and that's about it. Much easier than thinking of games for 4-year-olds! We're thinking of doing a Monster theme, since we had to book Staci for Oct. 27 instead of the weekend before. Which reminds me, I've got to go look up good cake decorating ideas!

Hugs to all!

Nature

2007-08-14T21:21:00.000-07:00

We were walking to the mailbox. (Does anybody else remember a time when each house had it's own mailbox, on the same actual property as the actual house, or was that just a dream I had?) Passing a house, Zoe notices movement at the base of the Happy Tree (it has a face nailed onto it) which we investigate, only to find a cicada sort of staggering around. Zoe wants to hold him, and since it is my crusade to raise a girl-child who does NOT run simpering around when a BUG shows up, I figured, what the hell, I'll go pick up this freak of nature and let her hold it. Which I do. But then she doesn't want to hold it. So I go to put it back down, and notice as I try to pry it's feet from the ridges of my fingerprints, that it doesn't look quite RIGHT. I bring it closer to my face to study it. Oh, now I see!

IT HAS NO HEAD.

Holy shit. Must've been staggering around because a bird nipped his noggin off! Using the surge of adrenaline provided by an overwhelming case of the willies, I got him off my finger and we resumed our mission to the mailbox.

Bleah.