Showing posts from April, 2011

Pee and Party

The party of the year is coming up on Saturday. Now I remember why we only throw a birthday bash for our daughter every other year. It's a whole lotta work. My pre-fete to-do list is as long as my forearm. My husband's to-do list: show up at the party. There are goodie bags to be filled, name tags to be made (21 kids and counting), decorations to be hung, cupcakes to be made, and so forth. I need to bring games for the kids who don't want to touch snakes, juice boxes for thirsty young'uns, and a flask so that I can make it through the whole thing. Just kidding - I would not bring a flask to my daughter's birthday party (to be held at a library).  I don't actually own a flask, but don't think I haven't thought about it, sister. As I mentioned in my previous blog post, the kid got sick during Easter weekend and developed a significant fever. We took her to the doctor on Monday. I was very concerned about a possible kidney infection.  She has been peeing

Easter Fever

I think the tattoos on her hands really make the ensemble Literally.  The kid spiked a 102 degree fever today. She is sick in the photo above, but we hadn't figured that out yet when I took it. I've given her some Tylenol and her temperature is down to 100 or so. She's in her bed now, reading quietly and not wanting any of her candy (which is a sure sign that she is under the weather). The weekend started off well enough. After dinner on Friday, we dyed eggs. I set everything up and let her do most of the dyeing. Once I pointed out that she could use more than one color on a single egg, she went a bit overboard. The end result: several grey eggs. It's all good. She must be growing up because this is the first year that she didn't toss an egg into the bowl filled with eggs, thereby cracking half of them. On Saturday, I went to Weight Watchers (I weighed the same as last week, right down to the ounce) and then took the kid to an egg hunt at a local wildlife san

The Fine Print

As you may recall, I've been fighting the whole "I need bi-focals" thing tooth and nail . I feared that getting bi-focals would in turn cause me to start playing bingo on Tuesday nights, talking about the weather way too frequently (and in far too much detail), and possibly start yelling at neighborhood children to "STAY OFF MY LAWN!" Well, I gave in. The beginning of the end came two weeks ago when I purchased some seed packets so that my daughter and I could get our summer flower garden started (start the seeds indoors).  I had this grand plan for choosing flowers that are short enough for the planter that sits on our deck. So, as further proof that I was in need of optometrist-type intervention . . . P was looking at the Morning Glory packet and said, "Hey, you know these grow to twelve feet, right?"  Doh!  I thought I had chosen a 12-inch plant.  I guess 12" and 12' looked just the same to my old lady eyes. I have no idea what I'm go

Two girls on my mind

When P and I were impatiently waiting for our daughter to be born (she was a week late and had to be induced), I never allowed myself to think about the possibility that the baby could have health issues. Her birthmom took care of herself during the pregnancy, but sometimes it doesn't matter what you do - a genetic roll of the dice can deliver a blow to anyone.  Fortunately, A was born completely healthy. Her body and brain both worked as expected. Like most moms, I spent the first year freaking out over the specter of SIDS and fretting about each milestone, making sure she rolled over on schedule and all that jazz. We've had a few issues with her ears (she now has tubes) and some sort of recurring urinary tract dealio that we're still puzzling through, but by and large the kid is healthy. God knows her mouth works just fine. When A was a baby, I met lots of other moms through a "birth club board" on (and still stay in touch with many of them on F

Dogs and cats and children, oh my

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about a pup named Patrick.  Patrick continues to thrive and is gaining weight steadily. He is doing well, and his fans are doing some pretty amazing things in his name. Shortly after Patrick's story became known, this article came out.  My take: it's a cheap shot and fails to use basic logic. People who care deeply about animals (and their rights, or lack thereof) are often portrayed as being a few bricks shy of a load.  This may be because some of them are. The writer of the article essentially makes the case that people who are concerned about animal rights do not care about children.  Gah! I think I first became fully aware of child abuse when the Lisa Steinberg case hit the news (I was in high school at the time). She was adopted illegally, apparently knew nothing but abuse during her few short years on the planet, and then died after a fatal blow to the head. To this day, I am still haunted by the image that was all over the news at the

In 30 years, I shall talk about . . .

I work in a business park with precious few lunch options nearby. My home is 20 minutes away from my office, so it doesn't work well to go home at lunch. So, I usually just bring my lunch and eat at my desk. However, the other day I felt like getting out of the office, so I went next door to the hospital. Now, before you think I've lost my mind ("who eats at a hospital on purpose?!"), this particular medical facility has a kick-ass cafeteria. I took my daughter there one time after one of her ear appointments and she has been begging me to take her back ever since. Anyway, I grabbed a salad and settled at a table with the magazine I'd brought along.  I felt like kind of a tool for sitting at a table for four, but that's all that was available.  So, I was fairly relieved when an elderly couple came along and asked if they could sit at my table. "Absolutely!" I responded.  They were a lovely twosome, she with her silver hair piled into a loose bun

You don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do?

With the heartbreak open So much you can't hide Put on a little makeup makeup Make sure they get your good side good side I'll confess it here and now: I am a goody-two-shoes from way back. One day in sixth grade, a classmate named Debbie turned around in her chair, leaned across my desk, and said, "Claudia, you don't even cuss!" I don't remember my reaction but it was probably something along the lines of . . . "I'm supposed to be cussing? I'm eleven!" When the Adam Ant song came out a couple years later, some of my friends called it my theme song. My mother tells people that I raised myself and that she didn't have to do much. I think it had a lot to do with me being the oldest child. There was a lot of turmoil in the house when I was growing up (until my parents divorced), and maybe I just had to mature faster than expected. I'm not fully certain.  Maybe this is why I act like a big kid at times now - I mean, I do get inordi

How I know it's truly springtime

I've spotted a few of these: The return of the red-winged blackbird - always a sure sign that winter is gone for good. The snirt is almost gone: I've recently enjoyed an adult beverage in this: A gift from my mommy - I've got a pink one, too Up with spring!

Addiction update (and whatnot)

I am happy to report that I did indeed kick my Diet Wild Chery Pepsi habit.  It has been four weeks since I enjoyed the sweet, bubbly, caffeine-laced beverage that I so love. I really wanted to get rid of the ones I have left in the refrigerator (give them away at work or something), but my husband refused because he "might want to mix them with rum."  Ever the supportive one, that guy. I have had a couple of rough days where I've wanted to open the fridge and lick one of the cans.  I say that with no pride in my voice, believe me. After my break-up with Pepsi, my immediate challenge was: what the hell do I drink now?  On a typical work day, I would drink Crystal Light until 10 or so and then grab a soda. Now I just keep the Crystal Light on my desk the whole day (for what it's worth, I do realize that Crystal Light has chemicals in it, as does soda, but at least I'm ahead in the caffeine and carbonation categories).  I also keep a jug full at home.  It's sa

A Pooch Named Patrick

Because the heart beats under a covering of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason, to be of no account?   - Jean Paul Richter Have you heard about Patrick the pit bull? Patrick (so named because he was found the day before St. Patrick's Day) was starved to the brink of death, placed in a garbage bag, and then tossed down a garbage chute.  It is worth mentioning that the person who allegedly tossed him down the chute lives on the 22nd floor.  A maintenance worker spotted the slightest movement inside that garbage bag and opened it.  Inside he found a skeleton, a skeleton that was, miraculously, still breathing. Thanks to the immediate medical attention he received after he was found, Patrick is alive.  He has many weeks (if not months) of recovery ahead of him, but he lives.  His Facebook page currently has well over 70,000 members.  His bony red head is all over the internet. My Facebook news feed is typically full of animal-related new stories, pleas, and pe