I'm Here!

OK, just so you know: I'm back from St. Louis, I had a good birthday and anniversary, my husband is awesome, my kids are mostly healthy, I'm having bloody awful migraines, and I will write again soon. Much to do, no time at all.

And you...

Purple Elephant passed this meme to me a couple weeks ago, and I'm finally getting around to posting it. I've seen it around the blogosphere before, and felt tempted to do it then, but I was waiting till a day when I was wearing the red velvet pants-- er, trousers-- that I'm so fond of. But nevermind. I'll get this over with now.

The Meme of Three
Three things you like about yourself:
My eyes
My brain
My singing voice (on occasion)

Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
My fat
My chemical imbalances
The aches and pains all over

Three things that scare you:
Dying before my husband can take over supporting the family
My children dying before I do
People who don't understand why I don't want my children to be around child molesters

Three of your everyday essentials:
My husband and kids

Three things you are wearing now:
Black pearl ring
Cat-eye glasses
Burgundy top with a flattering neckline

Three of your favorite bands or musical artists:
Duran Duran
Tom Lehrer
Joan Jett

Three things you want in a relationship:
Honesty
Supportiveness
Attention

Two truths and a lie:
I have as many children as my siblings put together.
I was pregnant four times in the first 5 years of my (current) marriage.
I like Brussels sprouts.

Three physical things that turn you on:
Dark hair
Deep, intense eyes
Slender, sensitive hands

Three of your favorite hobbies:
Reading
Writing
Traveling

Three things you really want to do right now:
Write 15 pages on my novel
Be pain-free
Read all night-- something totally fluffy

Three careers you'd consider:
Writer
Literary Agent
Full-time mom

Three places you want to go on vacation:
Scotland
Prague
Denmark

Three things you want to do before you die:
Get The Man through college
Have a book published
Raise my boys to treat females respectfully

Three people to pass it on to:
The three people in the blogosphere who haven't done this one yet, whoever you are. Fuhzzy? Kory? Bueller??

Quotes of the Day

I love that my kids enjoy Dr. Seuss; reading those books tickles me just in the right spot: my thesaurus. Here are some favorite quotes from the stories Pirate Boy picked out for bedtime reading tonight:

"I will not, will not with a goat."

"I'll blow you," he said, "into pork and wee beans. I'll butter-side-up you to small smithereens!"

The Butter Battle Book became even funnier to me when I discovered that people in England during WWII were encouraged to eat their bread with the butter side down to help them taste the meager amount they could afford to spread on it. Well, OK, not funnier; it actually made more sense, which isn't always the point. But I see it all in a new light. And that's fun.

Comfortably Numb

I can tell the time by my pain level-- if I take the meds right. My afternoon dose of narcotic is due just in the middle of several of my weekly meetings. As you can imagine, this can be a bit awkward, especially when (as this week and last) the PHB is visiting and sitting in on everything. Today went something like this:

12:58 p.m.: I'm starting to feel a little achy in the base of my spine; I glance at the clock, grab the Percocet bottle out of my desk drawer, and take bottle & a big glass of water to my 1:00 meeting.
1:15: The pain is increasing; I check the clock & decide I'd better wait just a little longer. I try to keep my hands from fiddling with the medicine bottle, or at least keep the glass between them and the PHB. Wonder if that glance my way was at all threatening.
1:25: Pain is seriously strong now. I wish I could take my spiffy othopedic chair into meetings, but there's barely enough room for the folding/stacking monstrosities that half the attendees sit on. Consciousness is becoming more difficult to maintain; black spots appear in my peripheral vision.
1:29: I decide it's about time. I start to open the bottle very, very gently...
1:30: I've got the pill in hand. Can't hold out much longer. Curse words start forming and a scream starts in the back of my throat. I pop the pill to stifle it. Then I hold my breath and try to stay upright.
1:45: Ahhhhhh.... that's SO much better... Mmmmm... Oh, hello pain, my old friend. Still at it, I see. That's nice... Ooooh, what a nice floaty feeling... Warm. Comfy. What's that, PHB? Oh yes, that project. Mmm-hmm. I've got it covered. (If only I could form coherent sentences.) Understand? Yes? Lovely... Just lovely...
2:00 Meeting's over and I'm feeling just ducky. What? We can't stay another hour? Darn it. How 'bout a chat? Anyone?

And now:
10:30 p.m.: Heart flutters; stutters, even-- I cough to normalize my heart rhythm, but it starts again. Must be time for my anti-anxiety meds. Not to worry. At least I have them. Every 12 hours, like clockwork. And I'm done with my day's work and it's not even midnight yet. It must have been a good day.

Out Comes the Soapbox...

This was on CNN.com for about 5 minutes today. I'm sure that to many people, it's a minor incident: A kidnapped girl was found alive and returned to her mother. Newsies tend to prefer the perpetually missing/horrendously killed endings to kidnapped-child stories, but they did run this one briefly.

Being a mom who's probably a little paranoid, I read this article from start to finish, and I have to tell you that by the end of it, I was sick to my stomach. It's a peeve of mine, as some of you know, the way the U.S. legal system treats child molestation as if it were a minor peccadillo instead of a horrific, brutal, selfish act that harms only the innocent. Terrorism, in short.

So why don't we treat it as seriously? The man who kidnapped the girl in this article had been convicted before of child molestation. He served one year, got out of jail, started dating a woman, then kidnapped and raped her daughter. In this country, he might get a whole 3 years for the second count. But the kidnapping, ah, that carries a life sentence. Can somebody please explain to me why torture (because that's what it is) is so much less offensive than the means taken to get someone into your hands for the purpose of torturing them? Well, as long as that person is a helpless, trusting child.

I think that the jail time for molesters ought to equal the sum total of all the therapy/recovery/general misery time their victims will have to spend (estimated, unless we can just hold them until everyone's feeling much better). At the minimum. You ruin someone's life, you get yours ruined. The guy in this article got his: he made the mistake of taking his victim to Mexico, and the U.S. authorities are leaving him there. Sure, he may only get 38 years instead of life, but it'll be in a Mexican prison. Hasta la vista, @$$#*!&.

Please Stand By...

I'd like to post something fun and sassy here tonight, but I've decided to use my creative energy to work on my novel.

(Raises a root beer in memory of her newly departed coworkers.) Here's to people who follow their dreams...

Bueller? Bueller?

Hey, um, I know you guys are out there somewhere. More than 50 people have stopped by in the last week, which I kinda feel bad about because I've been sick in bed for days and haven't posted anything. So maybe that's what's going on with everyone else, too. 'Cause, um, nobody's commented in weeks. Do I have to post something controversial just to get a peep? Maybe you're all on vacation.

I'd like to say I'll post much more often now that people are stopping by, but the next couple of weeks are going to be hellaciously busy, and I just don't know what kind of time and computer access I'll have.

We'll see how that turns out. Bought my tickets to St. Louis; trying to figure out how to make my writers group meeting on the 10th before I zoom to the airport. Have many doctor appointments, school arrangements, and meetings out my ears in the next 3 weeks, plus my anniversary (7 years!) and my birthday (more than 7 years) and my babies starting school... It just gets busier from there. Life's an adventure, and I'm enjoying the ride.

Kid Quotes: Baby Babble #2

I love that my Punkin Boy is so verbal. He's picked up his daddy's habit of quoting from movies and books, and has even developed the ability to improvise to fit the situation. Example: Today at lunch, he took a look at his peanut-butter sandwich, poked it experimentally, then exclaimed:

"Honey! Honey? Let's not be so silly... Now lemon, that's different."

Anybody catch that quote? He's never even seen the "Alice in Wonderland" cartoon. But he does a good impression of the Mad Hatter nonetheless.

And Now, the Status Report...

I probably committed a terrible breach of netiquette with my last post. Go ahead and tell me I'm a jerk; I'll probably just laugh like a cheap drunk. 'Cause I probably haven't mentioned it lately, but I'm still on heavy drugs.

Yep, I am. Ibuprofen: 800 mg, 3 times a day. Percocet, 5-10 mg, every 5-6 hours. I try not to use the higher doses more than necessary. I've seen Rush Limbaugh. (Ever notice that his name ends in "ugh"? For good reason.)

I'm also still in heavy pain. But fortunately, my manager and the HR director were able to get me a comfy new orthopedic task chair (available by prescription--who knew?), so now I don't hurt nearly as much as I used to after sitting for 6 hours. (Oh, my achy-breaky back!)

#1 Son is gone to "Mommy's" for the last half of summer, and we're trying not to worry too much. I hope she doesn't leave him with child molesters again, but you just never know. So far, the plan is for her to bring him back the day before he starts at a totally new school. Does this strike anyone as reasonable? Well, we wouldn't want her to have to take a day off work for him. That would be inconvenient. What a stinker.

Pirate Boy is geared up and SO ready for kindergarten. Punkin Boy has no idea what's about to hit him: daycare is a foreign concept to him, and I don't think he's gonna like it. We're looking around for decent places, but this town is a bit short on useful items like safe and affordable childcare. OK, forget the affordable. Just 4 days a week for him & 4 before-kindergarten days for his brother are going to run us something like $1200 a month. How do people manage to afford daycare AND food? After a while, I bet eating the children starts to sound reasonable...

OK, going back to the subject of foreign concepts, take a minute to read this beauty of a rant from Kory O. Lovely, darling.

And now I'm off. Y'all come back, now, ya hear?

I'm Watching You

You might have noticed that I got a spiffy new visit-counter over there in the sidebar. Nearly 40 people have stopped by in the last week, which would be cause for suicide among the "real" bloggers (not mentioning any names and not that I'd call them self-aggrandizing megalomaniacs, 'cause I'm just jealous). But it's actually better than I thought, so I'm doing the little happy dance and blogging more often. Maybe that's how the mega-maniacs got that way. I don't know. Will keep you posted. Watch this space.

On the Road

OK, I may be insane, but it's official (unless the PHB finds out and decides to sabotage our year's budget by cancelling): I'm going to St. Louis in August. On the 10th and 11th, specifically. Anyone who lives in the area and feels like dropping by for a chat, or dinner, or lunch, or whatever, drop me a line and I'll tell you where and when.

Hooray!!!

I got my piano cover back! I was getting worried; Punkin Baby ripped several keys off this weekend, and I almost couldn't get them back on. The cover is still marred, but fortunately, it's in a spot that doesn't show-- unless you have it down over the keys. Sigh. But that's just typical for this shop. Never, ever buy a piano from a guy who talks like Wolfman Jack.

Fun-demented

OK, I've changed my mind: I can live without the frilled lizard. (I mean, where would I keep it?) I want one of these for my birthday! To see a close-up of the graph on the back of the shirt, read this open letter to the Kansas School Board. My husband and I laughed till the tears streamed down our faces. OK, it happens a lot when we deal with people who confuse public education with religious instruction. But this one's intentionally funny.

Go. Go now. Read the letter. Browse the merchandise. Bust a gut. Hee.

In the Mood for Another Meme

All righty, people. Just for a change of pace, here's something the cat dragged in: What book am I?

You're The Handmaid's Tale!

by Margaret Atwood

An outraged feminist, you have been oppressed and even silenced in your life, fueling your fury against the society as it stands. Your role has been strictly defined by society and you are almost certainly unsatisfied with it. You have some vague idea of how this has come to be, but insufficient power to stop it, let alone reverse the trend. And somehow you blame yourself for everything because people ask you to. Beware people renaming your nation a Republic.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Surprise, surprise. Here's another good one: My husband is Lolita. Oy.

We Can Be Heroes

Huzzah! Hoist the mizzen, Mister Cavendish! Our little men at bedtime.



Me putting Pirate Boy to bed tonight: "That's right: no swords in bed... oops, found some treasure; please put it away in the treasure chest... OK, hats off now..." And so on. I love being a pirate mama.

I Am NOT a Redneck, My Neighbors Are

I never realized how much our cul-de-sac looks like a used-car graveyard until I got this picture of Pirate Boy developed. And the next-door neighbor's Camaro isn't even home. But at least they've put the wheels back on their pickup.


-- Just sign me "High-class dame trapped in low-class neighborhood"

More Birthday Fun

Pirates capture the king and queen, and my punkin plays dragon.



The Man, of course, is my knight in shining armor.

Punkin Pictures

As promised, here are a couple of photos of Punkin Baby's birthday a whole, what, 6 or 7 weeks ago? Here's our bouncing baby boy-- now a big boy of 2:


So energetic, this boy. I still don't know why this balloon didn't pop one of the many times he flung his whole 30 pounds onto it with all the force his massive muscles could muster.

He really seemed to understand the whole "birthday" concept this year. And he was so cute about everything. "So much birthday goodness... where do I start?"

No shameless plugs or product placement was involved in the making of this photo. Honest.

Baby Babble: Quote of the Day #2

Punkin Boy is quite a talker. Yesterday he was reciting "Green Eggs and Ham" to himself; today it was "Labyrinth" quotes. But my favorite baby babble (which is a totally unfair appellation, since he's a quite coherent 2-year-old and not really a baby) happened recently during a conversation he had with The Man...

TM: Punkin Boy, stop jumping on the bed.
PB: But Daddy, I'm a monkey!

We oughta be more careful about our pet names.

Quote of the Day

In all my birthday postings, I didn't mention the funniest thing that happened that day. I was in my room, so I only heard it; the boys were playing with something in the living room. The item in question was certainly something belonging to Pirate Boy, something special for his day, but #1 Son was barging in and taking over in that "I'm twice your age and twice your size/a 300-pound gorilla sleeps where he wants" way. Pirate Boy stopped and said in his hands-on-hips/ever-so-exasperated voice, "No, [big brother's name], it's my birthday-- I'm the main character. You're the sidekick."

Yeah. Bravo, little man.