Today's update:
1. Took off a big chunk of my fingernail with a butter knife. Sweet God in Heaven, a butter knife. Pathetic doesn't even begin to describe me.
2. Found out it will cost $635 to fix the damage on the van. <sigh>
3. I made an appointment today with a new doctor. She can see me tomorrow morning. I like her already.
*****
Last night during dinner, Juliana managed to spill her burrito all over herself. (Where does she get that?) We'd been going around the table having each person share the best and worst parts of the day. Juliana's worst part was "having burrito lap". Her messy state inspired her to write a poem:
Isn't she awesome? For those of you who aren't fluent in 7 year old, here's what it says:
Whether I'm Clean
Whether I'm clean or
not as you've always
seen I'll lay on
yellow deedee and dream
Yellow deedee is a crocheted yellow, green, and white blanket that her grandmother made for her before she was born. She's used it every day of her life and loves it more than anything else in the world. If her love for deedee were an SAT question it would read like this: Transitional Object is to Yellow Deedee as Marijuana is to Crystal Meth. You can see how she represented deedee in the picture, the circles being the holes made by crocheting.
I love the illustration she drew. I love the blissful smile on her face and the closed, dreamy eyes. I love the thinking bubble above her head. I love how she's imagining herself as a princess with a crown. I love how my husband (who has known her just as long as I have, it turns out) looked at the picture and asked, "Why are you dreaming about a chicken?"
First of all, thank you for all the feedback on the bedding. Although, I must say you people are ever so slightly maddening.
Me: Which do you like best? A or B?
You All: C! D! E! F! G!
I'm guessing you don't do well on True or False tests.
However, I think Tina may be on to something with the following link: Simply Wild.
Target seems to have the same bedding, but the Sears link shows it in purple as well. This is a compromise I may be willing to make.
*****
As you know, I am terrible about making phone calls. But I've had this pain in my left shoulder/arm/elbow/wrist/hand for about three weeks now. Sometimes I'll wear my splint and that helps, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I'll spend 3 or 4 days taking Aleve and that helps. Sometimes is seems like it's coming from my neck, sometimes it feels like it's a repetitive stress sort of thing because typing aggravates it. Sometimes it involves really dramatic tingling in my fingers. It took me a while to make the connection that this may be the cause of it all. I discounted that idea because I'd fallen on my right side and all the pain was on my left. Turns out both sides are connected. Der. Today I finally put in a call to my doctor. We had the following conversation:
Me: I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. So-and-So.
Receptionist: Oh, she isn't at this office any longer.
Me: Where is she now?
Receptionist: We don't know. We're waiting to hear from her.
Me: You mean you lost her?
Receptionist: She hasn't been with us since February 1st.
They offered me an appointment with a Physician's Assistant that I politely declined. I don't have a problem with Physician's Assistants. I have a problem with doctors who disappear and leave their patients in the dark about it. This was the first primary care doctor I've had in years. With all the moving we've done, I went maybe 7 years with only having OB/GYNs. That combined with a physician husband who could sneak me into the Emergency Department as needed worked for awhile, but I was thrilled to have a doctor of my own.
Looks like I'm starting from scratch again. I'd really like to bitch some more about this whole thing, but my fingers are starting to tingle.....
"I know how to get a burp out. If you have a bathrobe with a tie, take it, put it on, and pull the tie really tight and it will squeeze the burp out."
Good news! I did no damage to myself or others today.
Now, a little of this and little of that:
In our master bathroom we have a big ol' jetted tub. As far as I can tell, the jets don't work. Nobody in our family takes baths on a regular basis so our tub's job is mainly ornamental. Since no one uses it, I sometimes forget that it needs to be cleaned. I'm guessing it's a sign you've waited too long when the act of cleaning it actually makes it dirtier. Turns out that when you add liquid of any kind--even a cleaning liquid--to a totally dusty tub, it makes mud. Well, mud and giant wet lint balls. Then you have to let it dry until eventually you can kind of sweep it clean. I guess I really should just vacuum the damn thing in the first place. Do other people vacuum their bathtubs? Does Mr. Clean make a vacuum?
*****
Ritu and I went out to lunch the other day and as we were walking across the parking lot, I grabbed his arm and said, "Make it stop!" He followed my gaze and saw the source of my horror. There was a woman wearing a flouncy knee length denim skirt over--shudder--fishnet leggings. Let that sink in for a moment. They were a wide fishnet pattern and there was a band of solid black around her ankles. They looked like this. I can't begin to describe how wrong it was. Especially given the fact that this woman had to be as old as I am. We're talking Autumn Chicken here, people. The Fug Girls would've lost their shit had they seen it. Sure, I know I'm supposed to celebrate the fact that she didn't care what other people thought, but--no. Just NO.
*****
I'm thinking of buying some new bedding for Juliana. Which of these two do you like best: Cats or Dreamsicles? She just turned 7 if that helps with your decision making. My mother (Hi Mom!) saw the cat one and said it might be too "young" for her. Juliana likes this one, but I think it's both too grown up and too ugly.
1. While cleaning the kids' bathroom, I straightened up and hit my head on the underside of the towel bar.
2. While backing out of my garage this afternoon, I swung wide to get by Ritu's car which was parked in the driveway and scraped the front left side of my van on the edge of the garage opening. In addition to the scrapes, something in the wheel well looks cracked and the driver's side door now makes a funny rubbing side when you open it. Did I mention that the van had spent the entire morning at the shop having the brakes and power steering repaired?
<sigh>
On Monday as I was getting breakfast ready, David came to me with a serious look on his face and said, "Mom, something very, very important happened on Thursday and I forgot to tell you about it".
Well, shit. Here we go again, I thought. I had heard from David's teacher on a handful of occasions last fall about things he was not getting done in class or at home. It seemed to be a matter of organizational skills and his ability to focus on the kinds of details that allow you to say, bring home the papers you need to do your homework. (She's a terrific teacher and really knows David well, but she doesn't sugarcoat anything with the parents. In one of my favorite parent-teacher moments, she gestured at his messy desk, overflowing with loose papers and referred to it as "a cry for help". )
Last fall, we'd had a number of conversations with David stressing his need to communicate with us. To avoid getting in trouble, he'd taken to not telling us the things he'd forgotten to bring home or get done and that part of it made me crazier than anything. Let me give you an example. David does the Worldly Wise spelling program. That means that each week he has to learn the spelling and definitions of 15 words. The test is given on Fridays. It's an independent study program and we've developed a great system that breaks it down into a week-long process. But some weeks if there is a lot going on, his class doesn't have spelling. It's David's job to know when there is or isn't spelling. A few days after one of our talks on honesty and open communication regarding schoolwork, and after denying that he had spelling that week, he tearfully admitted on a Thursday morning that he did indeed have a spelling test the next day. My head nearly blew off. I debated letting him just fail the test, but I didn't like the idea of letting him off the hook for doing the work. Instead, he came home after school that day and worked on them all evening. The next day he aced the test. Still not exactly sure the lesson learned by that experience...
So, even though this issue hadn't come up for months, I braced myself to hear about some looming deadline or undone assignment. Instead, this is what he said: "On Thursday during P.E., Hannah held a hockey stick and tried to hit the ball with it. It's the first time she ever tried to use the equipment."
Hannah is a girl in his class who has a severe disability. She and her younger brother have a genetic condition in which they are missing a part of the corpus collasum which connects the two hemispheres of the brain. The condition is so rare that it doesn't even have a name and Hannah and her brother are thought to be the only two people in the world who have it. Hannah doesn't talk at all but when she's happy, she smiles and flaps her arms to show she's excited. David loves Hannah. His favorite classroom job is to be Hannah Helper which means escorting Hannah to and from the classroom to her structured learning room or to recess. (Another reason why I love his teacher is the way she introduced them to having Hannah in their class. She told the class that the principal thought long and hard about which room would be right for Hannah. He looked until he found a class that was filled with kind and caring children and that's where he placed her. Not surprisingly, with a build up like that, the class has embraced her in a big way.)
The next time I was at school, I took a moment to speak with the aide who works with Hannah in the classroom. She said it was indeed the first time Hannah had participated in any of the activities. She and the P.E. teacher were thrilled. The aide was amazed that David had even noticed, much less bothered to tell me.
Something like this makes up for a lot of whistling.
Here are a few of my recent proud moments:
On Monday, I was retrieving laundry from the washer. Unbeknownst to me, the cabinet door above the washer was slightly ajar. I straightened up and cracked my head so hard on its edge that my teeth actually collided with a loud clackity sound. I had to put an ice thingy on my head. Also, I had to think long and hard about crying.
Last week I was slicing an apple for David when I managed to slice right into my thumb nail. My friend Jimmy recently sharpened some of our knives. Originally I took it as a thoughtful gesture. But providing me with sharp knives? I'm thinking this may be his attempt to get away with the perfect crime.
This morning I was using the sprayer to rinse out the sink. I used my right hand to replace it in the little holder and somehow sprayed cold water directly onto my right elbow. Underneath two layers of long-sleeved shirts. My wrist and cuffs were perfectly dry. How is that even possible?
In other news, David took the right shoes to soccer this morning. And pancakes were enjoyed by all.
