Things I need to do, in no particular order and on no particular day, just stuff that needs doing soon-ish:
1. Get Oz to dump the entire contents of the attic into my house (well, except for the Halloween stuff) to the point that my living room looks like the North Pole threw up. The dining room won't be far behind. And then the cats and children will dismantle it all.
2. Ponder seating in the living room and debate the merits of having two single chairs versus a loveseat, especially when a bookshelf is factored in. A reading nook sounds uber-cozy. Unfortunately, they don't make living-room-safe fire pits.
3. Buy unscented bath soap for the children. I don't know how it works, but M1 and M2 can both go take a bath or shower, and yet M1 will come out hardly smelling of anything and M2 will come out smelling so strong that it actually gives me a migraine. I suspect the boy may not be using soap, and I suspect the girl may be OD-ing a bit. Happy medium, there is not.
4. Ask myself whether it's worth the money and effort to try to find a Christmas dress for the girl who will only wear it once. Right now I'm leaning toward no. In fact, if I leaned just the tiniest oonch more, I'm pretty sure I'd fall off the fence. I just have to procrastinate enough that OOPSY, we're out of time. Crimes of omission are the best.
5. Buy tickets to go see a local children's ballet performance of the Nutcracker. We have a couple of friends who are performing.
6. Pray that if it does snow next week that it'll snow enough to cancel school. There's nothing good about snow AND school at the same time. It's just an awful combo, and I'm not even talking about the roads.
7. Try to find side-dish recipes that I can fix for Christmas Eve lunch for my mom, sister and brother-in-law, and grandmother. And my family. No gluten, no nightshades, no bananas... and I'm not sure what else. I need to get a list.
Amazing how December gets away from me before it even starts!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Survival of the... Everything
Because it's the Monday after Thanksgiving, which technically makes it part of the Christmas season even though I refuse to decorate my house for Christmas before the calendar actually says December, and because IDAWANNA get back into a school routine because it means waking up at 6:48 a.m. (well, 6:30, but the snooze button and I are bestest friends at 6:30 a.m.), I'm going to rehash my holiday weekend for you.
Thanksgiving was fantastic. The associated colds sucked. M2 came down with it first, a few days before the actual holiday. *I* thought it was just allergies at first and wondered why the blinking Zyrtec wasn't working like it ALWAYS HAS. Derh. You'd think I'd be smart enough by now to be able to discern the difference between allergies and Death by Virus, but no. Anyway, by Thanksgiving Day, she was wheezing and coughing and hacking so much that when we got to my dad's house, I gave her a puff of M1's inhaler and felt horribly guilty when that helped the coughing fit. I then promised her a breathing treatment with the nebulizer when we got back home. I could do this because I have a stash of albuterol that I keep on hand for these things, mostly because M2 has already had two bouts with pneumonia in her itty-bitty life and I really don't need to deal with Round Three. Plus, the pediatrician must have a code for "in bulk" when she prescribes it because the boxes are humongous.
Anyway, I gave M2 round-the-clock treatments for the first 24 hours (round-the-clock meaning that I told her if she woke up coughing to come get me, which meant that she arrived in my room at 4:30 a.m. on Black Friday, which is an even more ungodly hour than 6:30, which is the reason I was parked in my bed sound asleep rather than fighting the galloping hordes for deals on stuff I didn't want or need anyway. But if I had wanted to go shopping, M1 beat M2 to the punch and had poked me at 4 a.m. asking for a sinus rinse, and I told him that I didn't run a 24-hour facility and to go back to bed and that his sinuses would wait till there was daylight and coffee). After the first 24 hours, she started hacking up the good stuff, which I know you want to know, and now she gets excited whenever she starts coughing because she wants to know what color of the rainbow the phlegm will be this time. Her favorite answer so far has been green.
Which all sounds well and good and happy until *I* came down with The Crud, too, which meant that on Saturday when M2 and I were snuggled on the couch under a huge red and green bedset-in-a-bag comforter that we've had for ages and I suggested that we go take a nap in my room instead, and she agreed, that *I* fell asleep and didn't wake up till about 3 p.m. when my bladder gave the warning twinge. Oops. I felt like poo for a good chunk of that day and the next, and now I sound somewhere between Joan Rivers and a frog (is there a difference?), but hey, it's progress.
Oz was a very good husband all week. He humored me, mostly. He hung the wallpaper in the bedroom when it came in (so short of wall art, the bedroom is officially done). He watched the kids and fed them and entertained them when I did my sleep thing. He put up the last of the outdoor Christmas lights so they're ready to go on Wednesday. He even went to his mama's house and helped his brothers hang a garage door. So when he went to Sam's Club for creamer and cat litter for me on Sunday morning and saw The Perfect Christmas/Birthday gift that he's Always Wanted (and it was $81 cheaper than the cheapest price he'd seen all weekend), I let him buy it. And set it up, even though it's not even December yet and Christmas isn't for another 26 days and his birthday isn't for another month-ish after that.
We now have surround sound. It's been highly entertaining. Cats + surround sound = Hilarity Unsurpassed. I put on "Hot Fuzz" because I knew it'd make the subwoofer happy, and when you have a subwoofer on a wooden subfloor, the floor kinda shakes a little. Not as much as in an earthquake, but still. There's a rumble. And when the rumble is accompanied by sirens screaming round and round the room, cats awaken. They sit up straight and their eyes get black, and they become quite alarmed. Some of them will actually go and look out the window and wonder where the H-E-double-hockey-sticks that sound is coming from. Others will sit in front of the speakers and stare at them.
Just like the cold virus, this newness shall pass, but as I sit here trying to avoid the four loads of laundry that four people can generate in three days and sip my raspberry tea with extra raspberry syrup and ignore the boy who is having a horrible rant about having to WRITE, heaven forbid, it's the best I've got.
Hope everyone had a great holiday!
Thanksgiving was fantastic. The associated colds sucked. M2 came down with it first, a few days before the actual holiday. *I* thought it was just allergies at first and wondered why the blinking Zyrtec wasn't working like it ALWAYS HAS. Derh. You'd think I'd be smart enough by now to be able to discern the difference between allergies and Death by Virus, but no. Anyway, by Thanksgiving Day, she was wheezing and coughing and hacking so much that when we got to my dad's house, I gave her a puff of M1's inhaler and felt horribly guilty when that helped the coughing fit. I then promised her a breathing treatment with the nebulizer when we got back home. I could do this because I have a stash of albuterol that I keep on hand for these things, mostly because M2 has already had two bouts with pneumonia in her itty-bitty life and I really don't need to deal with Round Three. Plus, the pediatrician must have a code for "in bulk" when she prescribes it because the boxes are humongous.
Anyway, I gave M2 round-the-clock treatments for the first 24 hours (round-the-clock meaning that I told her if she woke up coughing to come get me, which meant that she arrived in my room at 4:30 a.m. on Black Friday, which is an even more ungodly hour than 6:30, which is the reason I was parked in my bed sound asleep rather than fighting the galloping hordes for deals on stuff I didn't want or need anyway. But if I had wanted to go shopping, M1 beat M2 to the punch and had poked me at 4 a.m. asking for a sinus rinse, and I told him that I didn't run a 24-hour facility and to go back to bed and that his sinuses would wait till there was daylight and coffee). After the first 24 hours, she started hacking up the good stuff, which I know you want to know, and now she gets excited whenever she starts coughing because she wants to know what color of the rainbow the phlegm will be this time. Her favorite answer so far has been green.
Which all sounds well and good and happy until *I* came down with The Crud, too, which meant that on Saturday when M2 and I were snuggled on the couch under a huge red and green bedset-in-a-bag comforter that we've had for ages and I suggested that we go take a nap in my room instead, and she agreed, that *I* fell asleep and didn't wake up till about 3 p.m. when my bladder gave the warning twinge. Oops. I felt like poo for a good chunk of that day and the next, and now I sound somewhere between Joan Rivers and a frog (is there a difference?), but hey, it's progress.
Oz was a very good husband all week. He humored me, mostly. He hung the wallpaper in the bedroom when it came in (so short of wall art, the bedroom is officially done). He watched the kids and fed them and entertained them when I did my sleep thing. He put up the last of the outdoor Christmas lights so they're ready to go on Wednesday. He even went to his mama's house and helped his brothers hang a garage door. So when he went to Sam's Club for creamer and cat litter for me on Sunday morning and saw The Perfect Christmas/Birthday gift that he's Always Wanted (and it was $81 cheaper than the cheapest price he'd seen all weekend), I let him buy it. And set it up, even though it's not even December yet and Christmas isn't for another 26 days and his birthday isn't for another month-ish after that.
We now have surround sound. It's been highly entertaining. Cats + surround sound = Hilarity Unsurpassed. I put on "Hot Fuzz" because I knew it'd make the subwoofer happy, and when you have a subwoofer on a wooden subfloor, the floor kinda shakes a little. Not as much as in an earthquake, but still. There's a rumble. And when the rumble is accompanied by sirens screaming round and round the room, cats awaken. They sit up straight and their eyes get black, and they become quite alarmed. Some of them will actually go and look out the window and wonder where the H-E-double-hockey-sticks that sound is coming from. Others will sit in front of the speakers and stare at them.
Just like the cold virus, this newness shall pass, but as I sit here trying to avoid the four loads of laundry that four people can generate in three days and sip my raspberry tea with extra raspberry syrup and ignore the boy who is having a horrible rant about having to WRITE, heaven forbid, it's the best I've got.
Hope everyone had a great holiday!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving Gift?
I think so.
My novel now has a loose working name. It is called "Two-Faced."
-----
I have also worked up the nerve to offer you another excerpt. I'll need help with this part if I ever get around to finishing the general body of the novel and try to edit it, but for now, this is what I have. The setting is that the main character, Catherine, is now 10. (She was 7 in my previous post.) She is now being admitted to a psychiatric facility after going off her medication and experiencing a severe backslide. She's still quite emotional and is about to meet her in-house therapist for the first time.
-----
I shut my eyes against the din of two people talking at once. It was overwhelming, and my emotions were rising. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to scream or cry. I clenched my hands and gritted my teeth and then realized that all around me was silent. The noise had stopped. I exhaled before I even realized that I had been holding my breath.
I peeked through one eyelid. Regina and my mother were holding stock-still, watching me. My mother didn't look happy; she had her mouth set in its typical line of anger, and every couple of seconds she would shoot Regina a look of daggers. Regina never turned to see it, though. She was holding one hand up for silence, not moving at all. She was just watching me and breathing steadily in and out. I relaxed my fists and unconsciously matched my breathing to hers. My eyes opened, and I faced the women again. Regina lowered her hand and took one last deep respiration. My mother still kept her lips pursed, but she remained quiet.
"Catherine," Regina stated my name slowly and clearly. Her voice was low. She kept her eyes on mine. "I'm sorry that we frightened you. Would you like to finish your nap?"
I kept still and watched. This woman intrigued me with her ability to defuse a situation. I felt calm inside, which almost scared me. I'd never met anyone before who could calm me down so thoroughly and so instantly. Even my own father usually had to go through several attempts before he could reach me through the fog of emotion. Kevin, for all he had been helpful, had never seen me at my utter worst, on the verge of meltdown, ready to damage things and others and myself. Regina was something else. Her tiny frame didn't matter. She was powerful.
"Cather-," my mother started to say, but she got cut short by another abrupt movement of Regina's arm.
"Catherine, I'm Regina Martin," she fully introduced herself this time. Her voice was still low and slow, and I almost had to strain to hear her. "I'm your therapist here at Boyd. I'll be back for an actual session after supper, but I wanted to come by and say hello, and I'd like to know if you need anything right now."
She paused. I felt the silence lengthen, but it wasn't a tense, heavy silence like the one between my mother and me. It was simply silence, a quiet that let me hear the fluorescent lights burning. She meant to wait me out, I thought, so I determined not to answer, despite the growing grimness in my mother's face. Suddenly Regina nodded. "I can see you're doing well. Excellent. I'd be happy to get you anything you need, or if I'm not available, someone else can do it. There are several wonderful members of our nursing staff on the floor at all times, so if you just press this button here" – she indicated the nursing button on the bed – "we'd be happy to help you out. Okay?"
Another deep, patient silence. I wanted her to get irritated, but those dimples never dimmed. How frustrating. Suddenly she nodded again. There seemed to be a certain amount of time that she had set before she nodded, and I wondered how many patients had tested her patience, how many silent children she'd seen and dealt with. Clearly I wasn’t a threat. She could afford to wait. It wasn't like I was going anywhere. She turned to my mother.
"Mrs. Beatty, would you like to wait for Mr. Beatty in here or in the atrium? You'll need to leave at or before 4 p.m., but till then, you're free to be in either location."
I noticed how neatly Regina pinned my mother to one location to another. Boundaries were set, but she tried to make it sound like freedom. I wondered how often she did that, too. I decided to be unpredictable.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Random Factoids
Because it's the night before Thanksgiving, and because I'm avoiding writing the last 5000 words of my NaNoNovel (OK, the last 5K before I 'win'), and because Mythbusters and Storm Chasers are on and I really can't focus on anything productive whatsoever, here are 25 random things about me:
1. My favorite breakfast pastry is a bear claw. This probably has to do with the fact that they're huge. My second favorite thing is an apple fritter, probably for the same reason. I can't process the carbs like I used to, but I can still eat the whole thing.
2. I've never tried to do it, but I am one of those people who, if I work it right, could eat the 72-oz. steak and all the fixin's in one sitting. I have no 'full' sensor. I blame my teen years.
3. I had never tried sushi until a couple of years ago. Now I have a minor addiction to it.
4. I really really really dislike clowns. - I stole this one from my friend Kelley. It's true, though. And I've never even read the book "It."
5. I still have two stuffed animals. One is a blue rabbit Care Bear Cousin. His name was Swiftheart, but he'll always be Swifty to me. The other is a pink calico kitty who is more two-dimensional than three, and there's no stuffing in her neck. Her name is Floppy.
6. I used to be technophobic. Then I married Oz. He cured me.
7. I have a fear of going over bridges and having them crumble underneath me. Doesn't help that I've had (distant-ish) relatives die this way.
8. When I married Oz, I could. Not. Cook. Seriously bad food karma. There are still days that my subconscious reminds me of that, like the day recently when I forgot I was hardboiling eggs and exploded them instead. That is a funky smell.
9. I've never had a cavity. Knock on wood.
10. The whole 2012 thing worries me. I'm a tad paranoid, though.
11. Whenever we did genetics tests in middle school for dominant versus recessive traits, I came up with recessive on all the most common tests. I have blue eyes. My hair is blonde. I don't have a widow's peak or a hitchhiker's thumb. Etc.
12. When New Kids on the Block first came on the scene, I thought Donny was the cute one, but every other girl in my class liked Joey. I still think they're wrong.
13. I used to like acting/drama. Then, in third grade, I had to play a boy in the school play. That killed any passion I might have had.
14. I was once told I would be really, really good at corporate espionage. That made me proud somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my soul.
15. I like sweeping the floor with a broom. I hate vacuuming. I'd love to have tile and/or wood through my entire house and sell the vacuum.
16. I am a compulsive list-maker, and doing this note is making me ever so happy! (I stole this one from Kelley, too). :)
17. I want to attend a driving school. Not a defensive driving school, a Richard Petty/stunt driving school. I want to be able to do a controlled spin into a parallel parking spot, do synchronized driving stunts for TV commercials, and otherwise drift into a 180 whenever I darn well please.
18. I want to learn to square dance. If M1 takes up banjo like he's contemplating, and if M2 continues to learn violin/fiddle, I could do quite a bit with that.
19. I love sunglasses, but I hardly ever wear them because I can't wear my contacts any more and I don't like driving without glasses on. Stupid double astigmatism.
20. Whenever my mom gave me art supplies/office supplies/stickers, I hoarded them and refused to use them because I didn't believe she'd buy me more. My children do not suffer from this mentality. They held StickerFest 2010 today. My son brought me a paper that had stickers with my name on them and said, "Look, Mom! It's your name!" and I was secretly proud that someone had used them after all these years. I was also a little amazed that the glue still worked.
21. I love thunder.
22. My eyes change color, sometimes depending on my mood or the color of shirt that I'm wearing. (Hey, Kelley, me too!)
23. Even though I only lived in my house in Kansas until I was 9, I can still tell you exactly how it looked, how the carpet felt, and the color of my Crayola crayon alarm clock. I can also still recite the address and phone number.
24. I can hold my own when it comes to belching contests, I have put many a man to shame. :) (This is why Kelley and I are really good friends. Dr. Pepper is the best for belches, btw. I once out-belched an entire room of men during a Super Bowl Party. I've always been one of the guys.)
25. I love Thanksgiving because it's such a chill holiday. Literally and physically. I'm not even cooking this year. I made a cheese ball and am bringing two jars of home-canned dill pickles. Yay for lazy!
Happy Thanksgiving to all y'all in the US of A!
1. My favorite breakfast pastry is a bear claw. This probably has to do with the fact that they're huge. My second favorite thing is an apple fritter, probably for the same reason. I can't process the carbs like I used to, but I can still eat the whole thing.
2. I've never tried to do it, but I am one of those people who, if I work it right, could eat the 72-oz. steak and all the fixin's in one sitting. I have no 'full' sensor. I blame my teen years.
3. I had never tried sushi until a couple of years ago. Now I have a minor addiction to it.
4. I really really really dislike clowns. - I stole this one from my friend Kelley. It's true, though. And I've never even read the book "It."
5. I still have two stuffed animals. One is a blue rabbit Care Bear Cousin. His name was Swiftheart, but he'll always be Swifty to me. The other is a pink calico kitty who is more two-dimensional than three, and there's no stuffing in her neck. Her name is Floppy.
6. I used to be technophobic. Then I married Oz. He cured me.
7. I have a fear of going over bridges and having them crumble underneath me. Doesn't help that I've had (distant-ish) relatives die this way.
8. When I married Oz, I could. Not. Cook. Seriously bad food karma. There are still days that my subconscious reminds me of that, like the day recently when I forgot I was hardboiling eggs and exploded them instead. That is a funky smell.
9. I've never had a cavity. Knock on wood.
10. The whole 2012 thing worries me. I'm a tad paranoid, though.
11. Whenever we did genetics tests in middle school for dominant versus recessive traits, I came up with recessive on all the most common tests. I have blue eyes. My hair is blonde. I don't have a widow's peak or a hitchhiker's thumb. Etc.
12. When New Kids on the Block first came on the scene, I thought Donny was the cute one, but every other girl in my class liked Joey. I still think they're wrong.
13. I used to like acting/drama. Then, in third grade, I had to play a boy in the school play. That killed any passion I might have had.
14. I was once told I would be really, really good at corporate espionage. That made me proud somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of my soul.
15. I like sweeping the floor with a broom. I hate vacuuming. I'd love to have tile and/or wood through my entire house and sell the vacuum.
16. I am a compulsive list-maker, and doing this note is making me ever so happy! (I stole this one from Kelley, too). :)
17. I want to attend a driving school. Not a defensive driving school, a Richard Petty/stunt driving school. I want to be able to do a controlled spin into a parallel parking spot, do synchronized driving stunts for TV commercials, and otherwise drift into a 180 whenever I darn well please.
18. I want to learn to square dance. If M1 takes up banjo like he's contemplating, and if M2 continues to learn violin/fiddle, I could do quite a bit with that.
19. I love sunglasses, but I hardly ever wear them because I can't wear my contacts any more and I don't like driving without glasses on. Stupid double astigmatism.
20. Whenever my mom gave me art supplies/office supplies/stickers, I hoarded them and refused to use them because I didn't believe she'd buy me more. My children do not suffer from this mentality. They held StickerFest 2010 today. My son brought me a paper that had stickers with my name on them and said, "Look, Mom! It's your name!" and I was secretly proud that someone had used them after all these years. I was also a little amazed that the glue still worked.
21. I love thunder.
22. My eyes change color, sometimes depending on my mood or the color of shirt that I'm wearing. (Hey, Kelley, me too!)
23. Even though I only lived in my house in Kansas until I was 9, I can still tell you exactly how it looked, how the carpet felt, and the color of my Crayola crayon alarm clock. I can also still recite the address and phone number.
24. I can hold my own when it comes to belching contests, I have put many a man to shame. :) (This is why Kelley and I are really good friends. Dr. Pepper is the best for belches, btw. I once out-belched an entire room of men during a Super Bowl Party. I've always been one of the guys.)
25. I love Thanksgiving because it's such a chill holiday. Literally and physically. I'm not even cooking this year. I made a cheese ball and am bringing two jars of home-canned dill pickles. Yay for lazy!
Happy Thanksgiving to all y'all in the US of A!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Endodontist
M1 and I went to the endodontist today.
The good news: The tooth won't have to be pulled (at least not right away, if ever).
The bad news: Boy has funky teeth.
The funky news: A little past medical history is in order first. I am missing teeth. My mother is missing teeth. She has a cousin who is missing a TON of teeth. We're all girls. Specifically, all of us are missing our lateral incisors on the top. Those are the little flat ones right next to the big middle teeth. My mother never had her baby teeth OR her adult teeth there. I had baby teeth but no adult teeth. I'm also completely missing my top two wisdom teeth, but that's irrelevant to this blog post, so we'll get back to that another day.
My boy did wonderfully. We got to the endodontist's office, filled out the paperwork, and he got ushered back to a chair. He parked his carcass and waited, and the front office girl/technician came in and took a couple of x-rays. She stared at them and asked if we were 100% sure this was an adult tooth we were talking about.
No, no we weren't.
She stared at it again, went to the endodontist, came back, and shot a couple more x-rays of the space where his other lateral incisor should be (he lost it a few months ago). Pause, stare, consult. She came back in and told us the endodontist should be right with us.
Cool.
The endodontist came in, stared at the photos, and said she was pretty sure that the tooth that was having the resorption issue was a baby tooth and showed me why on the x-rays (it had to do with the roots being fully developed instead of still growing like his obviously-adult front teeth were).
It was about that time that the light went on inside my head, and I asked, "Could he be missing that tooth?? Because I am."
I saw the matching light over her head as well. It all instantly made sense to her.
Here's what we have: The boy is totally missing his left lateral incisor. It simply isn't there. If he's lucky, then his canine tooth, which is HUGE on the x-ray, should go ahead and shove out this lateral that's just resorbing in an odd way because there's really nothing above it to give it the proper shove. If he's not lucky, then the tooth will have to be removed, but I'm not too worried about that right now. Que sera sera and all that... that's a plain ol' dental issue in my mind. The issue is that on the right side, where he's lost his lateral incisor, there IS a tooth bud up in the gums that looks like it's supposed to BE a lateral incisor. But there's no root, and between his canine and his big, honking front tooth, there's not much space for it. So we don't know what this thing is going to do, whether it's going to develop a root and come down (which would look funky if he had a lateral incisor on one side and not on the other) or resorb or just sit there and maybe have to be surgically removed one day. Hence the orthodontist visit potential.
Funky teeth, I tellz ya. At least we're out of there and can play the wait-and-see game for the next six months. Yay for procrastination!
The good news: The tooth won't have to be pulled (at least not right away, if ever).
The bad news: Boy has funky teeth.
The funky news: A little past medical history is in order first. I am missing teeth. My mother is missing teeth. She has a cousin who is missing a TON of teeth. We're all girls. Specifically, all of us are missing our lateral incisors on the top. Those are the little flat ones right next to the big middle teeth. My mother never had her baby teeth OR her adult teeth there. I had baby teeth but no adult teeth. I'm also completely missing my top two wisdom teeth, but that's irrelevant to this blog post, so we'll get back to that another day.
My boy did wonderfully. We got to the endodontist's office, filled out the paperwork, and he got ushered back to a chair. He parked his carcass and waited, and the front office girl/technician came in and took a couple of x-rays. She stared at them and asked if we were 100% sure this was an adult tooth we were talking about.
No, no we weren't.
She stared at it again, went to the endodontist, came back, and shot a couple more x-rays of the space where his other lateral incisor should be (he lost it a few months ago). Pause, stare, consult. She came back in and told us the endodontist should be right with us.
Cool.
The endodontist came in, stared at the photos, and said she was pretty sure that the tooth that was having the resorption issue was a baby tooth and showed me why on the x-rays (it had to do with the roots being fully developed instead of still growing like his obviously-adult front teeth were).
It was about that time that the light went on inside my head, and I asked, "Could he be missing that tooth?? Because I am."
I saw the matching light over her head as well. It all instantly made sense to her.
Here's what we have: The boy is totally missing his left lateral incisor. It simply isn't there. If he's lucky, then his canine tooth, which is HUGE on the x-ray, should go ahead and shove out this lateral that's just resorbing in an odd way because there's really nothing above it to give it the proper shove. If he's not lucky, then the tooth will have to be removed, but I'm not too worried about that right now. Que sera sera and all that... that's a plain ol' dental issue in my mind. The issue is that on the right side, where he's lost his lateral incisor, there IS a tooth bud up in the gums that looks like it's supposed to BE a lateral incisor. But there's no root, and between his canine and his big, honking front tooth, there's not much space for it. So we don't know what this thing is going to do, whether it's going to develop a root and come down (which would look funky if he had a lateral incisor on one side and not on the other) or resorb or just sit there and maybe have to be surgically removed one day. Hence the orthodontist visit potential.
Funky teeth, I tellz ya. At least we're out of there and can play the wait-and-see game for the next six months. Yay for procrastination!
Monday, November 22, 2010
If You Buy a Mom a Bed Set...
If you let a mom buy a new-to-her bed set...
... she might decide that she's really, really sick and tired of staring at green shag carpet in her bedroom.
And if she decides that she's really, really sick and tired of staring at green shag carpet in her bedroom...
... she MIGHT... just *MIGHT* be really, really happy with her "new" bedroom.
P.S. We're not done yet. We still have to contend with THIS:
but there's a new red damask wallpaper on order. It'll be in before Christmas. And hopefully there will be wall art, too.
Yummy.
Thank you, dear, for all your hard work, and thank you, too, to my children for putting up with a busy, cranky mommy! Muah to you all!
... she might decide that she's really, really sick and tired of staring at green shag carpet in her bedroom.And if she decides that she's really, really sick and tired of staring at green shag carpet in her bedroom...
... she might make you rip it out on a Friday night...
... to reveal about a ton of dust that contains god-only-knows what sort of crap from bygone eras...
... and gorgeously finished wood floors underneath.
And if she finds that there are gorgeously finished wood floors underneath the really, really ugly green shag carpet...
... she might also decide that she needs a new light/fan combo to go with the color scheme of the room that no longer includes gold...
... and she also might decide that the dark wood paneling on the walls needs to be painted.
And once she gets the new light/fan fixture that no longer includes gold...
and gets the dark paneled walls painted...
and gets new trim put around the floors to hide the ugly edges and new electrical outlets and light switch installed that actually match (instead of the outlets being chocolate brown and the light switch being black with a white faceplate)...
and gets a headpiece attached over the closet door that's been sitting in said closet for years, and gets the closet door rather attached to the floor rather than swinging freely, and gets a new rug that matches the aforementioned bed set...
... she MIGHT... just *MIGHT* be really, really happy with her "new" bedroom.P.S. We're not done yet. We still have to contend with THIS:
but there's a new red damask wallpaper on order. It'll be in before Christmas. And hopefully there will be wall art, too.Yummy.
Thank you, dear, for all your hard work, and thank you, too, to my children for putting up with a busy, cranky mommy! Muah to you all!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Story of Tom
My boy hates writing. He has tons of difficulty with it thanks to a significant lack of motor skills.
Or maybe I should say "HATED" and "HAD."
We use a writing program called Writing Strands every other week. On the 'off' weeks, we do basic writing instruction with a simpler curriculum that involves some copy work and simple practice of writing, making the shapes of the letters properly, going over punctuation and capitalization, etc. Since he still occasionally flips letters and is still learning the rules for the other stuff, it works out. But he really likes Writing Strands.
This week, the goal was to write a story. An entire story. He freaked out when he first heard the assignment because OMG lots of words means OMG lots of writing means OMG flip out NOW NOW NOW. Thankfully the book gave lots of parameters when it came to this story. For some kids, that might be too restrictive; for my boy, it eased a lot of the "What am I going to write about???" anxiety. It was perfect. He spent the first day brainstorming about exactly how the story should go. He answered questions about his potential story on the second day and ironed out the kinks in his mind. On the third and fourth days, he wrote and illustrated his story. It is his masterpiece. He's incredibly proud of it, and I'm incredibly proud of him, too.
I now humbly present to you "The Story of Tom," as read by its author. Please enjoy.
Or maybe I should say "HATED" and "HAD."
We use a writing program called Writing Strands every other week. On the 'off' weeks, we do basic writing instruction with a simpler curriculum that involves some copy work and simple practice of writing, making the shapes of the letters properly, going over punctuation and capitalization, etc. Since he still occasionally flips letters and is still learning the rules for the other stuff, it works out. But he really likes Writing Strands.
This week, the goal was to write a story. An entire story. He freaked out when he first heard the assignment because OMG lots of words means OMG lots of writing means OMG flip out NOW NOW NOW. Thankfully the book gave lots of parameters when it came to this story. For some kids, that might be too restrictive; for my boy, it eased a lot of the "What am I going to write about???" anxiety. It was perfect. He spent the first day brainstorming about exactly how the story should go. He answered questions about his potential story on the second day and ironed out the kinks in his mind. On the third and fourth days, he wrote and illustrated his story. It is his masterpiece. He's incredibly proud of it, and I'm incredibly proud of him, too.
I now humbly present to you "The Story of Tom," as read by its author. Please enjoy.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sleeping Beauty? Hardly.
My children and sleep have always had an interesting relationship. I suspect that most parents find this to be true, but just for the sake of argument, let me offer a few examples:
When M1 was two (and three and four and part of five), he got up. A lot. We would put him to bed when he got tired, which was (is still sometimes) around 7 p.m., and he would bounce out of bed like a jumping bean on crack until he literally crashed at his doorway, usually sometime around 11. Since he needed (still needs sometimes) about 12-14 hours of sleep a day, this was a problem.
M2 quit napping WAY earlier than M1. He would still nap on almost a daily basis in kindergarten, assuming he was separated from the other kids so he'd shut up for the five seconds it took him to sack out. She hasn't napped since she was barely 2. The days were few and far between when M2's preschool teacher would tell me that they *think* she *might* have slept, though sometimes they weren't entirely sure if she was sleeping or just actually being quiet for a few minutes.
Today, sleep has been an interesting challenge. M1 woke up grouchy this morning. We didn't have anywhere to go today, so when we got back to the house after dropping M2 off - SHE was as cheerful as the Flight Attendant Barbie on Toy Story 2 - I asked him if he wanted to nap. He said yes. He went to his room and tossed and turned for 45 minutes before *I* got sick and tired of listening to him thrash and came and told him to get moving, boy, we got school to do. And he did fine. After we finished our work, he asked if he could get his sleeping bag out of the top of his closet. Eh, sure, why not. He asked if he could put his pajamas back on. I saw no harm in this. He burrowed into his sleeping bag and cinched the top shut (I kept a close eye on this process, by the way) and told me he was a worm and was going to hibernate under the soil for the winter.
Peachy keen, jelly bean, let me know when spring arrives.
Except the worm never did hold still. I finally sent him to his room because again, the thrashing. He kicked and squirmed around in there for 'rest time' and became cranky again by oh, say, 4:30 p.m.
He got sent to bed at 5:30 after a light dinner of a banana and granola. He'll wake up in the morning and want to eat everything in sight, but I'd rather deal with a starving, happy, well-rested boy in the morning than a not-so-hungry, grouchy, tired boy at night.
Then there's the girl. She's back to fussing every evening and bargaining for a spot in my room (read: bed) at night. She had stayed in her own bed for the required five nights and demanded her reward this evening. Didn't ask; demanded. And she didn't want Daddy to tuck her in; she wanted Mommy. She was prepared to scream to high heaven till she got what she wanted. I'm amazed she didn't rouse the boy. She was squalling much like the weather around here. She didn't win, but she's in my room, on the floor (she lost that battle, too), talking to herself. If she sleeps, I'll be content.
The only question remaining is, can I go to bed yet?
When M1 was two (and three and four and part of five), he got up. A lot. We would put him to bed when he got tired, which was (is still sometimes) around 7 p.m., and he would bounce out of bed like a jumping bean on crack until he literally crashed at his doorway, usually sometime around 11. Since he needed (still needs sometimes) about 12-14 hours of sleep a day, this was a problem.
M2 quit napping WAY earlier than M1. He would still nap on almost a daily basis in kindergarten, assuming he was separated from the other kids so he'd shut up for the five seconds it took him to sack out. She hasn't napped since she was barely 2. The days were few and far between when M2's preschool teacher would tell me that they *think* she *might* have slept, though sometimes they weren't entirely sure if she was sleeping or just actually being quiet for a few minutes.
Today, sleep has been an interesting challenge. M1 woke up grouchy this morning. We didn't have anywhere to go today, so when we got back to the house after dropping M2 off - SHE was as cheerful as the Flight Attendant Barbie on Toy Story 2 - I asked him if he wanted to nap. He said yes. He went to his room and tossed and turned for 45 minutes before *I* got sick and tired of listening to him thrash and came and told him to get moving, boy, we got school to do. And he did fine. After we finished our work, he asked if he could get his sleeping bag out of the top of his closet. Eh, sure, why not. He asked if he could put his pajamas back on. I saw no harm in this. He burrowed into his sleeping bag and cinched the top shut (I kept a close eye on this process, by the way) and told me he was a worm and was going to hibernate under the soil for the winter.
Peachy keen, jelly bean, let me know when spring arrives.
Except the worm never did hold still. I finally sent him to his room because again, the thrashing. He kicked and squirmed around in there for 'rest time' and became cranky again by oh, say, 4:30 p.m.
He got sent to bed at 5:30 after a light dinner of a banana and granola. He'll wake up in the morning and want to eat everything in sight, but I'd rather deal with a starving, happy, well-rested boy in the morning than a not-so-hungry, grouchy, tired boy at night.
Then there's the girl. She's back to fussing every evening and bargaining for a spot in my room (read: bed) at night. She had stayed in her own bed for the required five nights and demanded her reward this evening. Didn't ask; demanded. And she didn't want Daddy to tuck her in; she wanted Mommy. She was prepared to scream to high heaven till she got what she wanted. I'm amazed she didn't rouse the boy. She was squalling much like the weather around here. She didn't win, but she's in my room, on the floor (she lost that battle, too), talking to herself. If she sleeps, I'll be content.
The only question remaining is, can I go to bed yet?
Numbers
NaNoWriMo update:
40,269 words.
78 pages.
Nowhere near done.
Methinks this novel is going to take a tad longer than November to finish, although now that I'm started, I'm rather obsessed with seeing it through to the end.
40,269 words.
78 pages.
Nowhere near done.
Methinks this novel is going to take a tad longer than November to finish, although now that I'm started, I'm rather obsessed with seeing it through to the end.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I Need HELP.
First it was the orthopedic surgeon for my 3-month-old's extra toes.
Then it was the pediatric ophthalmologist for my 2-year-old's strabismus.
Then the ENT for my 9-month-old's tubes and 5-year-old's tonsils and adenoids.
Last month, it was the ENT again for the Earberry Incident.
Throw in the psychiatrist and psychologist, and I have a plethora of phone numbers in my contact list that aren't in the phone book of a "normal" parent.
I took the kids to the dentist today for their regular six-month check-ups.
M2 came out with flying colors. No cavities, all beautiful, great brushing, yadda yadda yadda.
Poor M1.
The hygienist stuck a small camera (seriously tiny, it looked like just another suction tube) in his mouth and took a photo that instantly appeared on the TV screen at the foot of the chair. There were a couple of dark spots on the back side of one of his front teeth which I just assumed were cavities.
"Is that a cavity?" M1 asked nervously.
"I'm not sure," said the hygienist as she checked the x-rays.
I figured she was just being nice. When the dentist came in, though, she said something about "#10" and "looks like reabsorption."
"An adult tooth?" he asked, sounding rather confused.
He asked if the tooth had recently had trauma (no, not that I'm aware of). He checked it out, muttered something, and proclaimed, "You're going to have to go see an endodontist. This is really rare in kids. [This doctor] is the only one in [town] that deals with kids, which I don't get because they're just little people, but anyway, she's really good, good with kids, good with teeth, really good. We'll get you here number up front. She'll have to look at it to diagnose it, but it looks like the tooth is reabsorbing itself."
Oh, gawd.
So now I get to add "endodontist" to my list of doctors.
Our consultation is next Tuesday. I'll let you know how it goes.
-----
P.S. If you have a second, could you go to this web site (News On 6 Kitchen Makeover) and vote for the photo by elise1mds? I could use a kitchen makeover right about now. Thanks.
Then it was the pediatric ophthalmologist for my 2-year-old's strabismus.
Then the ENT for my 9-month-old's tubes and 5-year-old's tonsils and adenoids.
Last month, it was the ENT again for the Earberry Incident.
Throw in the psychiatrist and psychologist, and I have a plethora of phone numbers in my contact list that aren't in the phone book of a "normal" parent.
I took the kids to the dentist today for their regular six-month check-ups.
M2 came out with flying colors. No cavities, all beautiful, great brushing, yadda yadda yadda.
Poor M1.
The hygienist stuck a small camera (seriously tiny, it looked like just another suction tube) in his mouth and took a photo that instantly appeared on the TV screen at the foot of the chair. There were a couple of dark spots on the back side of one of his front teeth which I just assumed were cavities.
"Is that a cavity?" M1 asked nervously.
"I'm not sure," said the hygienist as she checked the x-rays.
I figured she was just being nice. When the dentist came in, though, she said something about "#10" and "looks like reabsorption."
"An adult tooth?" he asked, sounding rather confused.
He asked if the tooth had recently had trauma (no, not that I'm aware of). He checked it out, muttered something, and proclaimed, "You're going to have to go see an endodontist. This is really rare in kids. [This doctor] is the only one in [town] that deals with kids, which I don't get because they're just little people, but anyway, she's really good, good with kids, good with teeth, really good. We'll get you here number up front. She'll have to look at it to diagnose it, but it looks like the tooth is reabsorbing itself."
Oh, gawd.
So now I get to add "endodontist" to my list of doctors.
Our consultation is next Tuesday. I'll let you know how it goes.
-----
P.S. If you have a second, could you go to this web site (News On 6 Kitchen Makeover) and vote for the photo by elise1mds? I could use a kitchen makeover right about now. Thanks.
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