Day 4 of Migraine Week...
Ouch. Whimper.
It's Getting Dark in Here
Somewhere between waking and sleeping this weekend, a horrifying realization crept into my head. You know that letter The Molester gave to #1 Son recently, detailing his crimes against the boy? It's not just a confession and a key to his freedom. Oh, no:
It's a blueprint for future child molesters.
Puberty right around the corner, that letter in his hand, and children in the house. Of such things a mother's nightmares are made. And this mom can't seem to wake up.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Still Here, Send Help
A quick update to say I'm still alive and stuff. The kids are alive, too, which sometimes does not go without saying. I feel like I've been unconscious for most of the past week, but I'm certain I remember doing something lately, mostly trying to stop the kids from killing themselves and each other.
I've been worrying, too, but not as much as I'd expected-- probably because of the aforementioned lack of consciousness, which was induced by some meds my doc gave me to lower my blood pressure. You know, that wasn't on my list of ailments, doc. You really didn't have to. He says, "This stuff will probably make you tired." Oh, yeah, add that to the Percocet, the anti-anxiety pills, and the pain. How will I be able to tell? I wondered. Well, not waking up, ever-- that's a sign. That and not being able to move or even talk for the first hour after I wake up.
So here's the score: 3 rowdy boys, 1 comatose mom who's supposed to be watching them, 1 frantic man who has to somehow go to school, fix dinner, do homework, see to evening baths, clean the house, and run errands-- oh, and maybe get his homework and stuff done-- but who decides that we absolutely need to bake 3 dozen loaves of banana bread during the middle of the hottest days of the year... a mortgage and half a dozen other bills that need paying and a nice notice from our bank gently nudging us to please put some money into our account, and that nice fat check I was supposed to be getting has turned into vaporware...
So unconscious is a nice place to be, but I'd rather be capable of independent movement and rational thought about now. How about you?
I've been worrying, too, but not as much as I'd expected-- probably because of the aforementioned lack of consciousness, which was induced by some meds my doc gave me to lower my blood pressure. You know, that wasn't on my list of ailments, doc. You really didn't have to. He says, "This stuff will probably make you tired." Oh, yeah, add that to the Percocet, the anti-anxiety pills, and the pain. How will I be able to tell? I wondered. Well, not waking up, ever-- that's a sign. That and not being able to move or even talk for the first hour after I wake up.
So here's the score: 3 rowdy boys, 1 comatose mom who's supposed to be watching them, 1 frantic man who has to somehow go to school, fix dinner, do homework, see to evening baths, clean the house, and run errands-- oh, and maybe get his homework and stuff done-- but who decides that we absolutely need to bake 3 dozen loaves of banana bread during the middle of the hottest days of the year... a mortgage and half a dozen other bills that need paying and a nice notice from our bank gently nudging us to please put some money into our account, and that nice fat check I was supposed to be getting has turned into vaporware...
So unconscious is a nice place to be, but I'd rather be capable of independent movement and rational thought about now. How about you?
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Picking Up the Pieces
It's been such a day. I'm so glad I posted that 13 list last Thursday 'cause I need to have it in front of me while I sort things out. The notice that our bills aren't getting paid this week is just one of the last little touches that came in with The Man (TM) when he arrived at 10 p.m. with #1 Son. Sigh.
Last night, TM was pretty upset because he'd found the letter from the Molester and read it all the way through. This was supposed to be the final step in the Molester's getting "rehabilitated" (i. e., given a "get out of jail free" pass from the law and going back to a normal life, including contact with the victim). He had to write a nice letter, admitting everything he'd done, admitting that he knows it was bad, and saying "Gee, sorry." Why doesn't every teenager go out and commit crimes, I'd like to know?
So anyway. The court system in the county where the crime took place called and asked TM a while back if it would be OK to have #1 Son meet with the Molester and have him read the letter and whatever. TM said he'd have to see the letter before passing it along and would feel better not having him meet with the guy. So they said OK and sent him the letter. That's what we found last night, and with #1 Son coming home today, he was going to see it. TM spent all night lying awake in a cold sweat, thinking about the effect this would have on #1 Son. I did, too, having been through a similar trauma and knowing that even if it doesn't affect him much now, it will eventually. And it will make such a mess of his life.
Today, TM was still tied in knots, so I tried to be as supportive as I could, despite feeling very, very sick. I had a sharp pain parked right over each kidney most of the day, which made everything just a little more difficult. I worried that it was the worry doing it, and I worried that it wasn't. I tried really hard to keep the little pirates in check all day, but as hyper as they were and as sick as I was, it didn't really work well. But I didn't want to worry TM, so I didn't say much. He spent a few hours at school and then most of the rest of the day and night on the road to get #1 Son, and he had worries of his own.
I'll give just an example of how my day was going while I worried about my husband. At bath time, I persuaded Pirate Boy to go first in the tub (yes, we do the old-fashioned "use the same bathwater" trick; I've mentioned how poor we are). Once he got into the warm, bubbly water, he was feeling pretty good about the whole bath idea, and so was his little brother. I tried to keep Punkin Boy out of the bathroom while his brother was bathing, mostly because he tends to try to add battery-powered toys to the bath water. But just briefly, the boy got away from me. I could hear splashing, which at our house is never good, and was on my way down the hall to stop the mayhem when the phone rang. It was a call I'd been waiting for, and it wasn't the news I'd hoped to hear, so that distracted me for a minute.
Then I heard the splashing again. I hurried to the bathroom and was halfway to the tub when my feet flew out from under me and lodged in various uncomfortable places (e.g., wedged under the cupboard) and at really uncomfortable angles. I was so shocked at the pain radiating from my hip that I forgot to yell for about 2 whole seconds. It took me just a little longer than that to figure out that no, I would not be getting up anytime soon. (At this point, TM was about 3 hours from getting home, so there would be no help.)
As maddening as the situation was, part of me was glad to have an object lesson that maybe the kids would remember for more than a minute, about why we don't splash water all over the bathroom floor. Punkin didn't care, of course. He climbed on my legs and sassed me when I asked him to step out of the bathroom. But my sensitive little Pirate Boy cried because of the consequences his actions had had for his mama. He not only buckled down and actually finished his bath, but he promised to get dressed immediately afterward and clean up the mess he'd made in the bathroom. He was as good as his word. I hope this lesson sticks, 'cause I really don't want to have to give the object lesson again.
So OK, you get the point: We had a challenging day today. At about quarter to ten, Henry Morgan (instead of Mama) went into the boys' room and threatened to keelhaul any pirate, no matter how small, who did not immediately stop fighting, put away his sword, and lie quietly for the rest of the night. They obeyed and were asleep before TM and #1 Son arrived maybe 20 minutes later.
And do you know what? All that worry was for nothing. Well, sort of. The evil maniac who calls herself #1 Son's "Mommy" had already reintroduced the Molester into our boy's life during his visit this summer without so much as mentioning it to anyone who would, say, have to cope with the fallout. 'Cause they've got to be a family, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong... She wouldn't know what "family" means if an open dictionary hit her in the face.
The Man will be posting about his day soon, I can feel it. Go read it. I'll link here when it appears.
[Update: Here it is. Heartbreaking.]
Last night, TM was pretty upset because he'd found the letter from the Molester and read it all the way through. This was supposed to be the final step in the Molester's getting "rehabilitated" (i. e., given a "get out of jail free" pass from the law and going back to a normal life, including contact with the victim). He had to write a nice letter, admitting everything he'd done, admitting that he knows it was bad, and saying "Gee, sorry." Why doesn't every teenager go out and commit crimes, I'd like to know?
So anyway. The court system in the county where the crime took place called and asked TM a while back if it would be OK to have #1 Son meet with the Molester and have him read the letter and whatever. TM said he'd have to see the letter before passing it along and would feel better not having him meet with the guy. So they said OK and sent him the letter. That's what we found last night, and with #1 Son coming home today, he was going to see it. TM spent all night lying awake in a cold sweat, thinking about the effect this would have on #1 Son. I did, too, having been through a similar trauma and knowing that even if it doesn't affect him much now, it will eventually. And it will make such a mess of his life.
Today, TM was still tied in knots, so I tried to be as supportive as I could, despite feeling very, very sick. I had a sharp pain parked right over each kidney most of the day, which made everything just a little more difficult. I worried that it was the worry doing it, and I worried that it wasn't. I tried really hard to keep the little pirates in check all day, but as hyper as they were and as sick as I was, it didn't really work well. But I didn't want to worry TM, so I didn't say much. He spent a few hours at school and then most of the rest of the day and night on the road to get #1 Son, and he had worries of his own.
I'll give just an example of how my day was going while I worried about my husband. At bath time, I persuaded Pirate Boy to go first in the tub (yes, we do the old-fashioned "use the same bathwater" trick; I've mentioned how poor we are). Once he got into the warm, bubbly water, he was feeling pretty good about the whole bath idea, and so was his little brother. I tried to keep Punkin Boy out of the bathroom while his brother was bathing, mostly because he tends to try to add battery-powered toys to the bath water. But just briefly, the boy got away from me. I could hear splashing, which at our house is never good, and was on my way down the hall to stop the mayhem when the phone rang. It was a call I'd been waiting for, and it wasn't the news I'd hoped to hear, so that distracted me for a minute.
Then I heard the splashing again. I hurried to the bathroom and was halfway to the tub when my feet flew out from under me and lodged in various uncomfortable places (e.g., wedged under the cupboard) and at really uncomfortable angles. I was so shocked at the pain radiating from my hip that I forgot to yell for about 2 whole seconds. It took me just a little longer than that to figure out that no, I would not be getting up anytime soon. (At this point, TM was about 3 hours from getting home, so there would be no help.)
As maddening as the situation was, part of me was glad to have an object lesson that maybe the kids would remember for more than a minute, about why we don't splash water all over the bathroom floor. Punkin didn't care, of course. He climbed on my legs and sassed me when I asked him to step out of the bathroom. But my sensitive little Pirate Boy cried because of the consequences his actions had had for his mama. He not only buckled down and actually finished his bath, but he promised to get dressed immediately afterward and clean up the mess he'd made in the bathroom. He was as good as his word. I hope this lesson sticks, 'cause I really don't want to have to give the object lesson again.
So OK, you get the point: We had a challenging day today. At about quarter to ten, Henry Morgan (instead of Mama) went into the boys' room and threatened to keelhaul any pirate, no matter how small, who did not immediately stop fighting, put away his sword, and lie quietly for the rest of the night. They obeyed and were asleep before TM and #1 Son arrived maybe 20 minutes later.
And do you know what? All that worry was for nothing. Well, sort of. The evil maniac who calls herself #1 Son's "Mommy" had already reintroduced the Molester into our boy's life during his visit this summer without so much as mentioning it to anyone who would, say, have to cope with the fallout. 'Cause they've got to be a family, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong... She wouldn't know what "family" means if an open dictionary hit her in the face.
The Man will be posting about his day soon, I can feel it. Go read it. I'll link here when it appears.
[Update: Here it is. Heartbreaking.]
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Thursday 13: Counting My Blessings
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What are you thankful for?
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Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Updates and Stuff
I have updates on some of the things I've mentioned lately.
- I got some results back on my diabetes test, and yes, it looks like I've got the early stages of it. I'll be talking to the doc again on the 21st about what to do next. I won't be giving up chocolate. That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it.
- Ta-da! Dorothy and her family got their house, by virtue of a last-minute miracle. It's quite a relief for everyone who cares about them. I can't wait to go visit.
- My Geocities site is still missing. They say they're working on it. Whatever.
- I was just about to send an invoice for the white paper I worked on this spring, billing by the hour, when the guy in charge of the project sent me a note. "Please invoice me for $400 per page" he said. Holy freaking cow. That'll more than double the bill. All righty then...
That's the news and I...am...outta here!
Little Loves
I've been a little stressed and cranky this week for various reasons, including my inability to afford those little hormone pills anymore, and I've been hurting worse than usual for similar reasons. So, by the end of the day I'm often completely wiped out.
Such was the case Monday night. When it came time to put the kids to bed, I was half-dead, and they were wound up. My painkiller was fading in/out between doses, and although I knew it was only a matter of time before I felt better, this was the time I was dealing with.
So after some struggle to get the boys to calm down for prayers and lullabyes, I was about this far from smacking someone, and that wasn't going to be OK. On impulse, I said to Pirate Boy, "Would you like a hug?" He stopped bouncing on the bed and looked at me intently. "Do you need a hug, Mama?" "Oh yes, baby, I do," I quavered.
As Pirate Boy plopped on my lap and squeezed me, a little voice reached my ears. Punkin was playing on the floor with some plastic people, and he was saying, "Are you all right, sweetheart? Is everything OK?" Puzzled, I asked who he was talking to. His response? "You, sweetie. Are you all right?" "Yes, baby, I'm fine now."
Such was the case Monday night. When it came time to put the kids to bed, I was half-dead, and they were wound up. My painkiller was fading in/out between doses, and although I knew it was only a matter of time before I felt better, this was the time I was dealing with.
So after some struggle to get the boys to calm down for prayers and lullabyes, I was about this far from smacking someone, and that wasn't going to be OK. On impulse, I said to Pirate Boy, "Would you like a hug?" He stopped bouncing on the bed and looked at me intently. "Do you need a hug, Mama?" "Oh yes, baby, I do," I quavered.
As Pirate Boy plopped on my lap and squeezed me, a little voice reached my ears. Punkin was playing on the floor with some plastic people, and he was saying, "Are you all right, sweetheart? Is everything OK?" Puzzled, I asked who he was talking to. His response? "You, sweetie. Are you all right?" "Yes, baby, I'm fine now."
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Arrgghhhhh!
No, I'm not being particularly piratical; that was a scream of frustration. My pirate Web site has disappeared, and Geocities/Yahoo is claiming it no longer exists. I had just posted a new entry! I'd been doing various things on it for nearly an hour, and suddenly it doesn't exist? Grumble, grouse.
I was already feeling cranky because of the rigamarole I had to go through this morning. I was getting my blood tested to see if I have diabetes yet, or if we have to look elsewhere for the cause of my feet hurting all over, all the time. It wasn't so bad at first; even though I had an empty stomach (except for the pint of exceedingly sweet soda syrup), I felt fine and I had a book to read for the 3 hours I was (supposed to be) there. The first couple of blood draws weren't bad, either. After the second, I had cotton taped to the inside of both elbows, but it wasn't painful. The third one came and went; I had a second poke on one of my elbows, but again, not too bad. At this point, I was getting pretty thirsty, and the lab assistant said she'd bring me some water. Well, she didn't, and before too long, I was feeling dizzy and sick. When they called me in for the fourth blood draw, I was so dehydrated they couldn't get into my veins-- any of my veins. And believe me, they did try. The backs of the hands are the worst, and they didn't work either. Eventually, they managed to find some blood in my forearm and sucked it out quickly while I fought back the tears.
Then and only then did they offer (and mean it) something to drink. I slurped down some orange juice and staggered to the door. The lab techs had left me alone-- and they'd left my last vial of blood on the counter. I told them about it as I left, but I didn't stay to see whether they went back for it. I was too anxious to get home. It was nearly noon, and I was near fainting. Considering that, I did remarkably well when, a mere 50 yards from my street, a train decided to park across the road for half an hour.
So anyway, it really wasn't that bad. Really. But in my attempt to keep my stomach empty for this test, I didn't take my anti-depressant meds this morning (nor, may I add, my painkiller), and as a result, I'm a bit moodier than usual.
I guess I need to focus on my blessings and caring more about others. Like my dear soul-sister Dorothy, whose family might be out on the street tonight because some people (including her own biological family members) refuse to pay their bills to the point that Dorothy and her husband and kids are about to lose their new house. I could just scream. Arrghhhh! Ah, that's better.
I was already feeling cranky because of the rigamarole I had to go through this morning. I was getting my blood tested to see if I have diabetes yet, or if we have to look elsewhere for the cause of my feet hurting all over, all the time. It wasn't so bad at first; even though I had an empty stomach (except for the pint of exceedingly sweet soda syrup), I felt fine and I had a book to read for the 3 hours I was (supposed to be) there. The first couple of blood draws weren't bad, either. After the second, I had cotton taped to the inside of both elbows, but it wasn't painful. The third one came and went; I had a second poke on one of my elbows, but again, not too bad. At this point, I was getting pretty thirsty, and the lab assistant said she'd bring me some water. Well, she didn't, and before too long, I was feeling dizzy and sick. When they called me in for the fourth blood draw, I was so dehydrated they couldn't get into my veins-- any of my veins. And believe me, they did try. The backs of the hands are the worst, and they didn't work either. Eventually, they managed to find some blood in my forearm and sucked it out quickly while I fought back the tears.
Then and only then did they offer (and mean it) something to drink. I slurped down some orange juice and staggered to the door. The lab techs had left me alone-- and they'd left my last vial of blood on the counter. I told them about it as I left, but I didn't stay to see whether they went back for it. I was too anxious to get home. It was nearly noon, and I was near fainting. Considering that, I did remarkably well when, a mere 50 yards from my street, a train decided to park across the road for half an hour.
So anyway, it really wasn't that bad. Really. But in my attempt to keep my stomach empty for this test, I didn't take my anti-depressant meds this morning (nor, may I add, my painkiller), and as a result, I'm a bit moodier than usual.
I guess I need to focus on my blessings and caring more about others. Like my dear soul-sister Dorothy, whose family might be out on the street tonight because some people (including her own biological family members) refuse to pay their bills to the point that Dorothy and her husband and kids are about to lose their new house. I could just scream. Arrghhhh! Ah, that's better.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
It's Still a Little Glitchy...
...but I've started a pirate Web site, just for fun. Visit me there if you want. I'll get it polished up when PageBuilder decides to work again, but meanwhile, I've posted a few things. Let me know what you think.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
On a Lighter Note...
To lighten the mood a bit and celebrate my FINALLY being done with that awful technical white paper I've been working on since February, I give you:
Meaningless Memes!
My aura is bruise-colored:
My Inner European is...
I'm BATMAN
You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause.
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com
...and Einstein
So, what are my ideal careers?
Strange, not a single action hero on the list.
Meaningless Memes!
My aura is bruise-colored:
| Your Aura is Violet |
 Idealistic and thoughtful, you have the mind and ideas to change the world. And you have the charisma of a great leader, even if you don't always use it! The purpose of your life: saying truths that other people dare not say Famous purples include: Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Susan B. Anthony Careers for you to try: Political Activist, Inventor, Life Coach |
My Inner European is...
| Your Inner European is Russian! |
 Mysterious and exotic. You've got a great balance of danger and allure. |
I'm BATMAN
You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause.
Batman, the Dark Knight | 71% | ||
Lara Croft | 67% | ||
Maximus | 63% | ||
The Terminator | 63% | ||
Indiana Jones | 63% | ||
Neo, the "One" | 58% | ||
El Zorro | 54% | ||
The Amazing Spider-Man | 54% | ||
James Bond, Agent 007 | 54% | ||
William Wallace | 46% | ||
Captain Jack Sparrow | 46% |
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com
...and Einstein
So, what are my ideal careers?
Career Inventory Test Results
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