Pic from our Trip

Check this out:

Punkin Boy loves his newest cousin.
We love her too.

Saga Update

It's only fair that I should give a quick update on our week's adventure. First of all, The Man's gone back to that faraway town to pick up our car after repairs. (New axle, anyone?) Great. At least it's not snowing this time.

Punkin Boy has been saying "We're driving this car. Our car is in [Faraway Town Name]" for a couple days now. He's getting a kick out of our rental car, a brand-new (doesn't even have license plates), strangely retro Nissan Altima. Mostly, I think he likes it because he can get into it without a rope harness and pitons. (No, our car's not really that big, but exaggeration is funny, see?)

OK, so what else is going on? Pirate Boy has been giving his younger brother Spanish lessons, which is kinda cool. And Punkin Boy has been studying U.S. geography, which is awesome. He knows at least half of the states by shape, and can place them in the right spot on a map. I love the way these guys just do this stuff with no prompting.

#1 Son is still struggling at his new school. They did warn us his grades would probably drop, but I don't think anyone expected it to be this bad. He's failing two subjects, spelling and science, which is troubling to the editor and scientist who live with him. He is getting a B in math, which was cause for optimism until we discovered that he's in the 4th-grade class. (He's 11 and in 5th grade for those without a scorecard.) Well, at least he's no longer feigning blindness every other day. It's been an interesting adjustment.

Every day is an adventure. Fortunately, I'm a writer always looking for new material. It's everywhere.

Waiting and Wondering

If anyone's reading this tonight, I need your prayers. The Man is out there somewhere in this cold, icy storm, and I don't know when or how he'll get home. He crashed our only car 100 miles from here this evening and eventually managed to let me know about it when some good samaritan came by and lent him their cell phone for a minute. I haven't started worrying (too much) about what will happen in the morning when #1 Son has to get to school or how much the repairs are going to cost or any of the practical stuff. Right now, I only want my sweet husband back home safely.

Places to Do

My cousin sent us a link to this game a while ago, and recently my kids have really gotten into finding the states. On the intermediate setting, most educated adults score in the mid-90s; the Pirate Boy gets about 65-75% correct, and the Punkin can make about 50%. Not bad, considering the littlest guy can't even read...

Pilgrims Progress

When I was a young teenager, I read the John Bunyan classic The Pilgrim's Progress out of some misguided belief that it would inspire me or enrich my life somehow. Even then, the most memorable thing about the whole experience was how unutterably, intensely, and excruciatingly boring it was. But my point (and I do have one) is that this past weekend was so non-boring as to possibly rate as the pinnacle of non-boringness. It was, in fact, an interesting time.

Road to Nowhere
Well, mostly interesting. Actually, it was quite boring driving 10 mph through the lower part of the Rocky Mountains. For more than an hour. For no reason that we could discern. There were some bloody great semi trucks along the side of the road getting tire chains put on, sure. But hey, they were well off the road and besides, the sign said that chains were mandatory. OK, not a great beginning, but sometimes these things happen. I figured our trip was going to be a little longer than usual, but we could probably make up the time later. Pah.

The snow got heavier, and the roads got slushy. No sweat; that happens every time we travel that route in the winter. It never takes us too long to get through. Sigh.

Actually, I was very cheerful and positive, even as the visibility fell to maybe 20 feet ahead, so I was going probably faster than I should have been when suddenly the fog lifted and there, maybe 50 feet ahead of me, was a line of cars nearly a mile long. Stopped. Dead. And those were the words that occurred to me, sort of: "If I can't stop, we're dead." As I thought this, and as I pressed gently on the brake, I knew for a certainty that I wouldn't be able to stop. With my precious babies in the car, I began to feel terrified even as I considered my options. My car slid sideways as the brakes failed (they didn't lock; we have ABS-- they just felt like they were locking), and I realized what I needed to do.

I plunged over the embankment into a ditch full of snow and slid (eventually) to a halt in front of a large, vicious-looking bush. I took a deep breath and looked over at The Man. I smiled. "We're alive." Our little guys were still playing happily in the back seat (#1 Son was riding in the second car with his cousins; we waved to them a few minutes later when they passed). Then I had a heart attack. Well, maybe it wasn't, but it sure felt like what I expect one to feel like. At the same time, my sciatic nerve went all twangy on me. I clutched the armrests for a few minutes until things subsided, then gave The Man another (slightly shakier) smile. "Still alive."

We held hands for a while and watched the cars pass us. Eventually, a trucker called out an offer to call a tow truck for us, and we waved gratefully. There seemed to be a large tanker blocking part of the road up ahead, and when I noticed the flow of traffic seemed to have stopped, I guessed (correctly) that the material in it was hazardous. OK. So, stop and evaluate situation. No traffic coming: Does that mean no tow truck? Well, we had 3 hours to wonder, as we sat there in the snow-- comfortably warm, I must add, because I kept the engine running and the heater on.

Eventually, Pirate Boy looked up from his coloring. "Are we in Utah?" he asked. "No, honey." He looked puzzled. "Where are we, then?" "In a ditch." "A ditch?" But he didn't ask why. He sat and did his homework, then decorated it for a his teacher. We had snacks and sang songs. Eventually, I introduced him to the concept of roadside "bathrooms." It gave him quite a kick to make yellow snow, and I was glad, momentarily, that I had only boys. I don't know how a daughter would have taken this.

Spanish Lesson
Throughout all of this, I wasn't particularly frightened or worried. My husband has the strongest and largest reserve of faith I've ever encountered, and he was calm and assured that we'd make it through just fine. I've learned to trust that. Besides, we were on a pilgrimage. More about that later. For now, you can peruse The Man's version of the story for a lot funnier take on it. He goes into detail about what happened once we got to our destination. I hate to even mention it, because I don't want to give La Quinta (slogan: "Spanish for... whatever we want it to be") more press than they deserve.

But then I realized, there is such a thing as bad press for service-based companies. (Of course, in this case, I'm using the term "service" in the loosest possible definition.) So let the slaughter begin. First read this gem from my dear sister in spirit, Surrender Dorothy. Her dear husband was driving the second car in our caravan, and she was riding along bravely, trying so hard not to give in to the stress. And to cope with 3 children of pre-adolescent age, which I didn't try to do. She's my hero, and not just because she gave up her chance to pass out at 3 a.m. instead of 6.
She's my hero in part because she didn't rip off the head of the manager of the La Quinta (Spanish for "your problems are none of our concern") at which we had 3 rooms reserved, prepaid, and with our names on but somehow which weren't available when we got there, despite our having called ahead earlier that night to tell them "We'll be there in a little while; please keep our rooms." Oh yes, they had said. We will.

Well, technically they still had the rooms. They just didn't have them available and ready for us to sleep in. In fact, they were occupied by people who were shortly to join us in being very put out with the management of La Quinta (Spanish for "I'm sure there's no one in that room; OK, this one"). I don't know how many people they called at 3-something in the freaking morning (yes, the "freaking" is necessary there)-- one room they actually broke into at something closer to 4 a.m. because they wouldn't believe that anyone was really inside, despite the security bar being across the door. Hello? Anybody seen a brain around here?

However, I missed the break-in and the reason for strangling the manager because SD and her family had graciously given us the one room that the La Quinta (Spanish for "total incompetence") desk clerk could scare up. It was, as TM notes, the worst one in the place and probably the one they save for only the absolutely desperate, because they are the only ones who will tolerate it. Them and the ones who've been driving through a blizzard for 19 hours and just want a bed to crash on, even a straw pallet in a barn, anything. Somewhere soft to land. So we got our little ones to bed around 3 and managed to grab about 20 winks, despite the presence in the hallway of (I kid you not) most of a high-school marching band enjoying a trip away from home.

After 4 hours' sleep, I was awakened by the squeals of my little sons bouncing delightedly on the hotel bed. Ah joy. TM and #1 Son were still sound asleep, so I began to get ready for the day. The contents of my stomach having clogged up the toilet, I went to the phone to call for maintenance. Except the phone didn't work. Sigh. OK, I'll talk to them when we're down for breakfast. I'll pass over the flimsy bowls that wouldn't hold cereal and milk. The waffle irons that lacked any batter to pour on them. The other stuff.

TM in his post was outraged beyond speech that the morning desk person at La Quinta (Spanish for "do it yourself; what am I, your maid?") had simply handed me a plunger when I informed her that our toilet was stopped up. That part didn't bother me; I can deal with muck. It was the fact that the plunger she handed me was in no way capable of unclogging the toilet in our room (and possibly in any other room in the place) that really got my goat. Baah! The toilet drain was square; the plunger, of course, round. And flimsy. REALLY flimsy. It had no more chance of forming a vacuum seal on that drain than my left sock.

I admit it was unkind of me, but at this point, I woke up The Man. "Good morning, honey; hope you don't need the bathroom." The phone still being out of commission, I ventured back downstairs and informed the already-sobbing desk clerk (who was probably bearing the brunt of several guests' anger for the night shift's unbearable incompetence) that I needed something more. No problem, she said, and a while later, she and another person came up with a drain snake and eventually got things sorted out. Oh, by the way, I said, our phone doesn't work. In fact, it was in pieces. She put the pieces back together and managed to get Line 2 operative again before cheerily making her way back to her front-desk purgatory.

The next time we used the toilet, it clogged up again. I swear, we did not eat the mountains on our way through.

Oh, Give Me a Home...
Eventually, we found out what had happened to our traveling companions. After another 2 hours of waiting in the lobby of La Quinta (Spanish for "Who cares?") for the management to do the right thing, they were sent to a Quality Inn a few miles up the road. To the King suite. With grapes on the canopy and piles of fluffy cushions and a fancy jetted tub. Of course, they only got to enjoy sweet blissful oblivion for 3 hours before the incompetents at La Quinta (Spanish for "inconsiderate in the extreme") called them up and told them that their stay would be gratis. They called us, too, but at this point, I was starting to feel like they'd need to pay us to stay there another day, so wretched was our accommodation.

However, we had other things to do. Our day was packed with fun and family and such special experiences that I can barely put into words how happy I was. To see my sweet little sister and her husband finally make their baby girl part of their family forever was almost overwhelming in its sweetness. And the faces of all the family gathered around, smiling-- how wonderful. You could feel the love in that room very tangibly, and I was so grateful to be there.

Afterward, I picked up the croup medicine for #1 Son-- it was the first free hour I'd had since Thursday afternoon when I took him to the doc. The croup itself was a blessing because it made his Mommy (Spanish for "wicked witch of the South") not want to have him with her for Spring Break, so he got to come on our trip, visit with the relatives, and see his dad baptized. That was the other incredibly wonderful event that happened on this trip. I think I'll keep my feelings about it private because it was so special, but I will say that it was the best thing that had happened to me in a very long time.

The baptism was also a social event, filled with I don't know how many dozen family members and even several friends from the other side of the mountains. (One on vacation, and a family who had moved a while ago.) And in true fan-boy form, TM also invited Howard Tayler, the creator of Schlock Mercenary (one of our favorite Web comics). Howard graciously attended and witnessed the event, then presented TM with an autographed portrait of him done in Schlock style. He's a classy, intelligent guy, and we'd both like to have the opportunity to spend more time around him.

If there's anyone still reading this (hi, Jack!), thanks for listening. I just had to get it off my chest. When we were sitting in Grand Junction eating burgers and thanking God for the lack of mountains and snow, SD's Beloved Husband said, "I can't wait to see the blog entries about this trip!" Rebelliously, I thought, "Oh, I won't be blogging about this. Not even the 3 hours in a ditch." But we didn't know the horrors of La Quinta (Spanish for "It's not Hell-- but you can see it from here") yet. So here it is, in all its glory.

For SD's take on the car trip, click here. She does a great job. I like the split-level effect particularly.

Rhyme Time

You know that scene in The Princess Bride where Inigo and Fezzik are playing their rhyming game and you discover that Fezzik isn't all muscle but has something upstairs after all? (If not, go back and watch the movie again. You know you want to anyway.) Well, my boys like playing that game. Especially Punkin Boy (still 2 years old). Pirate Boy has been studying poetry in kindergarten (I love the Core Knowledge program!), then comes home and plays school with his brother.

So you get little exchanges like this throughout the day:

Pirate Boy: Water tower!
Punkin: Eisenhower!

They play variations on the game, too. The other day Punkin was getting all Gertrude Stein on us, saying things like "a rose is a rose" and "a nose is a nose." #1 Son decided to get in on the action, throwing out similar phrases to see what rhymes his brother would respond with. It went on for a few rounds, then #1 Son decided to get tricky.

#1 Son: A horse is a horse--
Punkin: Of course, of course!

Smirk. Not much gets past that kid.

What a Trip

Back from a whirlwind trip to Kansas City (hi, Filegirl!), where I met some really lovely people who are thinking of maybe just possibly hiring me and where I saw some really unbelievable houses and some others that might even be in my price range if I ever get a job again that pays anything...

OK, stop and breathe. I picked up a cold or something on my trip and did a couple quick rounds with Montezuma's Revenge. Yuck. Oh, and got maybe 4 hours of sleep before my interviews, 'cause my plane had mechanical problems and I didn't get to my hotel until 2 a.m. local time. Ech.

However, I also picked up some great characters and situations for future writing, which is how I live my life now and have a blast no matter what. For instance:

• The woman obviously returning from a ski trip, wearing crop pants and 4-inch heels. Oh, please, honey. Don't you know that this airport is larger than most cities?
• The orange-haired woman wearing rust and brown clothes and a red tie-dyed cowboy hat. I thought this was the weirdest thing I'd see that night until I noticed another woman in a pink felt cowboy hat. Good gravy, people.
• The man(probably on a business trip) who waited in line for the security check semi-patiently for 10 or 15 minutes, then burst out with, "I showed up 15 minutes early and now I'm going to miss my $&%$*# flight!" Ooh. Y'know, even before 9/11, I wouldn't have cut it that close. Not even in a reasonable-sized airport, which this one is, as I've mentioned, NOT.
• The cute young Japanese couple who hugged goodbye outside the security line; he watched longingly for several minutes before leaving the terminal. A few seconds later, I saw her on the phone. I bet it was him.

People are fascinating. Here's another interesting thing. When I got to security, I didn't take off my shoes because I can't really walk without them and I can't bend over to do anything with them without hurting myself. After all, the sign only says "We recommend that you remove your shoes." Well, the security guy told me to do it anyway. When I explained why I hadn't (hoping that they could just do the wand-waving thing around my feet), he said, "I'll have to send you for a secondary check because you fit our profile."

Um, excuse me? <-- See that picture? Does that look like a terrorist to you? Well, unless you're doing reverse profiling, maybe. "Fat white female, rapidly approaching middle age, obviously married, professional, and terribly sedentary." What the heck? Last thing I want to do is blow myself up, along with a bunch of weekend skiers and college students.

Did I mention people are weird? Oh yeah, fascinating. That was it. Hee.

Hyper Haiku

Just for fun. I call this one New Mall.

Stupid, overpriced,
Inconvenient heap of-- wait.
Is that P.F. Chang's?

Ahhh, That's Better

Fixed the earlier post that was messing up my display. Finally!

Had a great interview this morning with a giant megacorp and a little band of environmentalist crusaders (yes, at the same time). It was fun, and they were really impressed with my editing. (Hooray!) I probably won't hear until the end of next week whether either of them wants me, so I can relax (HA!) and prepare for my big interview coming up Monday in the frigid Midwest. (What am I, crazy?)

Apparently, yes, I am crazy, because I have recently taken on a freelance project to write a technical white paper for a certain software company which shall remain nameless (unless this whole thing turns out really well). What on earth could have possessed anyone to ask me to do this? Well, my still-wonderful former boss (not the PHB) had been asked to do it (again, why?) but had way more work than hours in the day to accomplish it. And (unlike other bosses with more angular hairdos), when she needed someone who could do a good job, she thought of me. So maybe she's crazy too. Anyway, I've committed to it, for her sake, and am diligently working away into the night on this thing. And if (when?) it turns out well, I'll have one more thing to add to my portfolio.

And I have Girl Scout cookies. Thin Mints make everything all right.

Headline News

So today on the Web site for the local news station (OK, one of them), the big headline is:


Blizzard warning; storm expected to get worse

Right, OK, I've been out and I know it's ugly out there. But when you check whether you have to shuttle everyone to their various destinations this awful morning, you get this news from the same source:

No Closings Reported

Crazy place.

Because I Love You

Just a couple of quick fun things:

First, I had a phone interview this afternoon for a job in Kansas City. I felt pretty positive about it, but that's fooled me before. At the end of it, the Executive Editor told me that they were going to interview other candidates and would probably get back to me next Tuesday. Whew, I could relax and get ready for my Friday interview. Imagine my surprise when, 2 hours later, the KC people called back and said, "Come out to meet us in person-- next week"! I managed to push it to the following Monday. They're even going to fly me out. Holy cow. I guess I did OK.

Second, have you seen this? I got it from PK, who got it from Phantom Scribbler, and it's making the rounds. I've got a Nohari page, too, if you want to tell me how awful I am instead. But I'll probably never check it.

And finally, I just thought you ought to know

I'm a Dodge Viper!

[The image has been removed for maliciously making my blog unreadable; if you want to see the thing, click above.]

You're all about raw power. You're tough, you're loud, and you don't take crap from anyone. Leave finesse to the other cars, the ones eating your dust.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Thanks, Kory.

Up to Something

Yes, I'm still alive, for anyone who had bets going. So what has been going on in my universe for the past 4 weeks? Among other things:

• I have taken several editing tests that resulted in job interviews for this week. (One of them is even in the state I live in-- imagine that!)
• I have also had several freelance projects keeping me busy, and I'm collaborating with a friend from writers' group on writing a musical.
• The Man has started a new semester of killer classes and is already hitting the wall in calculus (for the third time).
• Pirate Boy has produced a series of drawings, titled "Dark Hole in the Mist," "Dark Hole in the Sea," and-- "Ten Thousand Pigs." Must be art.
• The aforementioned artistic buccaneer hand-made valentines for everyone in his class, but especially for his best girl A-b-b-y, who warranted a flower and a heart-shaped box of chocolates. He's only 5, but he's already got the hang of romance.
• Punkin Boy has plummeted off the couch, off several chairs and a table, and down the stairs, each time onto his face. His little nose is looking extremely beat up.
• Punkin has also taken to carrying a "purse" and calling himself a pirate girl. I don't make it up, folks, I just report it.
• The Man has decided that my religion is the right way to go after all. And there was much rejoicing.
• #1 Son's name came up in the lottery for the best school in the state (I mentioned this last year when we signed the kids up for consideration). Satan of course refused to even consider the possibility of allowing the boy to attend (did I mention-- yes, I did-- that it's the best school in the entire state?) and threatened to call the police (among other things) if The Man dared to enroll him against her wishes. Because, you know, there could possibly be another school that's better somewhere, and this one is a whole 10 minutes further away than the one he's been attending all year... Obviously, TM was just doing this to inconvenience her, and she wasn't going to stand for it and... blah blah blah, yell, threaten, foam at mouth...
• #1 Son cried all night after being yelled at for an hour by his psychotic excuse for a mother, who tried to convince him that it was his father who was standing in the way of his going to this school. An eternity of smoldering coals and brimstone is way too good a fate for her.
• The Man had the inspiration to offer to split the transportation with her (picking him up from her house two Sundays a month) in exchange for her agreement.
• #1 Son, with much joy and celebration, began attending his new school last Monday. He has already learned some Latin and karate, begun enjoying art class for the first time, and made friends with someone called "Sing"; he wears a tie every day and LOVES it.
• Because his big brother is now enrolled in this school, Pirate Boy has an automatic place for the fall. He is SO excited.
• The new school starts about an hour earlier than the previous one, and it is about half an hour away from us. So we're all a little cranky from lack of sleep. But it's a good cranky.
• Except for last Friday, when the two youngest woke up at 4:30 a.m. and WOULD NOT go back to sleep. Argh!

OK, that's about enough of the bulleted list; I'm getting a headache. And speaking of headaches, Satan's been at it again. Tonight she calls up, ostensibly to talk to #1 Son, but actually of course to pester The Man. No, strike that, make it "give the man nightmares." Again. In her role as "World's Most Loving Mother," she has decided that it is time (because apparently the restraining order has run out) to reintroduce #1 Son to his stepbrother, the molester. Specifically, the guy who molested him. Just 2 months before Mommy Dearest married the guy's dad. Because you want to cement that relationship, you know. Don't give the kid a chance to escape the nightmare. Now, 18 months after the guy was taken away in handcuffs for what he did (and would have continued to do if #1 Son hadn't been brave enough to tell), Satan Herself wants to force a reintroduction. Because it's important that these boys (one of whom is nearly-- if not already-- 18) should have a close relationship. Or in other words, she can't afford a babysitter this summer.

So, she makes this statement to the effect that she wants to get them together and restore the relationship. The Man says no, he thinks that would be very harmful to #1 Son at this time and that if he wants to have a relationship later (i.e., after he's 18 also), that will be his choice. Satan says, tough luck, I'm doing it anyway. The Man bites his lip to the bleeding point and hands the phone to #1 Son, who is standing waiting to talk to his beloved Mommy. Then he goes down the hall and screams very quietly.

After much consideration (well, a short while to calm down and a LOT of ranting off-camera) and a nudge from his wife, The Man sends an email to The Evil One: "I do not approve of your plan to do X with #1 Son. If you insist on doing it anyway, I will pursue all options available to me through the legal system." It was a masterpiece of restraint. And, I hope, of menace. She loves to use the threat of legal/police action when things don't go her way. I can just imagine her going to her lawyer and complaining about this one:

Devil's Advocate: No, sorry; I'm evil, but I'm not omnipotent. No court on earth would buy that one. That'll be $50.

Sick, twisted, evil waste of human life. The worst thing is, she'll do it anyway. And get away with it. Can someone tell me why?

By Popular Demand

A year ago, when I started this blog, my first entry mentioned an idea I'd had for a novel. I began that one and made some good progress, as you might remember. It remains to be finished. Then National Novel Writing Month came along, and I started the book I'd been meaning to write for several years. It's still not finished, either, but it's a lot closer. Some of you have asked for an excerpt, and I've finally worked up my courage to post the first page, in which we meet the main character.

Baltimore Crier

Rrrrrrrinnnng! Rrrrrrrinnnng! The woman on the exercise bike removed one earphone to listen, but made no move to answer the phone. Puffing a wayward ringlet of chestnut hair out of her face, she kept pedaling, her eyes firmly fixed on the middle distance ahead. Despite her unchanged manner, she could feel her heart rate increase much too quickly—too high, too high.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s stupid to feel this terrified of a stupid phone call, she told herself. Biting her lip, she revved up her pedaling speed, adding a little more tension for challenge. And, she chided herself, I make a living with words. I ought to be able to think of at least half a dozen more interesting words for “stupid”…

Rrrrrrrinnnng!

Need to remember to turn on immediate pickup when I’m actually home… she mused. OK, how’s this? “It’s completely asinine to be afraid of a meaningless phone call from an idiot.” More apt, anyway.

Click. “Hello, you’ve reached Thessely and Smedley. We can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message…” Here it comes.

“Thessely? Are you there?” She stiffened visibly, then pedaled harder. “It’s me, Thessely. You know, your husband.”

Her face purpled and twisted into a snarl. “EX husband, if you don’t mind.” Whir-whir-whirwhirwhirwhirwhirwhirwhirwhirwhir! went the bike as her legs pumped more viciously with each word.

The voice continued plaintively, “Why do you still have my name on your answering machine? Do you want me back?”

“Idiot!” she roared. “Can you clean the wax out of your ears long enough to tell the difference between Smedley and Jerry? Geez, what a wet sack!”

“I don’t know why you won’t take my calls. I can't believe how rude you are!”

“How about ‘cause you’re a psycho stalker who doesn’t know when to SHUT UP.” Whirwhirwhir…

The voice wheedled on. “I just know that you’re only avoiding me because you still care, and you’re just afraid of your feelings…”

Whir-crack-zip-zzzzzz…. “Ouch!” She yelped and jumped off the bike, rubbing her injured calf where the pedal had smacked it. “OK, that was pretty funny there, Jerry,” she groused, half-laughing through the sting of the growing welt. “When I said ‘psycho’ I meant psychotic, not psychiatrist, you know.” She made a face to the world at large. “Jerk. Loser. Wannabe. Cretin.”

Still muttering, she rolled to her feet and headed to the bathroom. The voice droned on, alternately protesting undying love and hurling vicious epithets at the unfortunate sufferer. Bright gold eyes watched the proceedings from under a chair.

“You’re lucky, Smedley," she addressed the chair. "You don’t have to worry about weddings, divorces, emotional troubles, jealousy, or the other ugliness of human relationships.” She winced as she rubbed alcohol on the scrape that adorned her left calf. “With cats, it’s just ‘wham-bam, thank you ma’am’—or whatever.” She fumbled with a sticky bandage, then, feeling much better, she headed for the computer desk. “Some days it would be so nice to be a cat.”

Mixed Bag

Well, rats. The great job didn't pan out, which has its good and bad points, and now things are getting tight. I've actually been doing freelance work lately-- which means I'm making even less than usual with this unemployment thing. This is how it works, apparently. One job I got paid for up front and spent the money before Christmas, and the other one I won't get paid for until February, but I report it all to the Unemployment people when I do the work, and they take out the amount of money I would be paid for that amount of work. I know it all evens out in the end, but this month is slim anyway because we're not getting the money for The Man going to school. So I can pay my mortgage, car, insurance, credit, health, and all other payments on, what, $600? Sure I can. And don't talk to me about the utility companies! Our gas bill alone more than doubled in December. Bother.

And just as a little aside, I finally went to the doctor this week. I had to stop using those nifty little patches because they were giving me welts (and besides, they cost like $10 apiece). I had to stop the anti-inflammatories because they made my stomach sick, so all I had left was the Percocet. This is lovely stuff of course, unless you have to do grownup, responsible things like, say, drive or hold down a job. It was OK for the month that The Man was out of school, but now he's going back and I need something else. 'Cause it turns out that under all that lovely painkilling stuff, there's still a lot of pain. Hmm. So I went to the doc and explained my situation. He gave me another prescription to try, but I think we're scraping the bottom of the barrel. This pill might give me a fatal seizure, but it's safer for driving than the codeine-based stuff? While I was there, he asked what else he could do for me, and I mentioned the numbness and swelling in my hands and feet, respectively. In about a minute, he had diagnosed carpal tunnel (yes, I really have it) and (worse) probable insulin resistance. He says when I get health insurance again (if ever), I should have myself tested for sleep apnea. Oh joy. Well, that would explain a lot. I didn't even mention the tendonitis in my right arm. At this point, it's a minor irritation in all its inflamation. Besides, I know I've got a brace around here somewhere...

Good thing this all makes for interesting story fodder. And so far, we're surviving.

A Quick Update

Sitting by the phone, waiting for the ring that will tell me whether I get a third interview for a very cool job. In fact, at this time of year, it's positively Arctic. Location: Omaha. Good grief. If this wasn't the best job in the country right now, I wouldn't be after it. But after all these months of burnout and shell shock, this opportunity has me interested in having a career again. Interested enough that I'm actually considering how to pull off a move to Nebraska. And liking it. I don't need to go into the complications of the whole situation, I'm sure. You remember what happened when we tried to move to Utah last year. This time we have a bit better chance, seeing as how it's survival and all. But it's still pretty dicey.

Sigh. And on a completely different note, my adorable little redhead, wearing a pirate hat and brandishing a sword, just grinned at me and said, "Shiver me timbers! We must have taken a wrong turn at Bora Bora!" Hee. More later. Must take video.

Picture Time!

We finally got our photos from developed from this past fall and early December. Somehow they ended up out of order on the blog and I'm not patient enough to try and sort it out at this time of night. But I think they're darned cute. What do you think?

Pirate Boy and his adoring fans. (His official fiancee is not in this picture, however.)

Ah, the buccaneer goes a-piratin'. Halloween 2005. Arrrr.

These handsome fellows are ready for their first day of school.

Pirate Boy prepares for his Winter Program. How beautiful is this guy?