Kiss Me, It's Beginning to Snow

That has nothing to do with this post. I'm just listening to the soundtrack for Rent. I love that line.

But we saw NO snow! Total bullshit, right? Right! I hear it snowed in f-ing ORLANDO on Wednesday, but I spent four days up north and barely saw frost. Grrr. Oh, sorry Binsk... I really wanted to meet up with you, but we were barely in the Great White North -- barely.

We spent Thursday traveling to Buffalo and Saturday returning home. In between -- the Aunts.

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband's family? I really do. I didn't get to grow up in an Italian home. I missed out on all the Italian traditions... the food, the conversation, the guilt. "Eat. Eat. Where were you? Why haven't you called? You saw my sister first and not me? You didn't see me the last time you were here? Eat something. What, you don't like olives? Eat some more cheesecake."

I love those ladies.

But no snow. None.

I took some photos, but most of the good ones are on film (real film, for sure!) I'll post some when I get them scanned (most likely over the next few days). But here's me, The Husband, The Step-daughter, and one of The Aunts at Buffalo Chophouse.


She didn't like the steak. Too salty. "Why would they salt a steak? Ronny says this restaurant is for rich people. Don't order dessert. I have cheesecake at the house."


Oh, and I totally scored a 65 year old mink stole in mint condition. The Aunt likes me ;)

Gone to the Great White North

We're leaving in the morning for Buffalo, New York. Photos and stories to follow!

Have a great Thanksgiving! I'll be back on Monday the 27th (or Tuesday the 28th, depending on how frazzled I am from the flight and such)

It's Not Something, But It's Not Nothing Either

That's pretty much the end result of a very long doctor's appointment yesterday. I endured three mamograms, each one more squishy and painful than the first. After an eternity in the waiting room, I was treated to some KY jelly and a boob ultrasound. The young nurse told me that she would take the video to the doctors, and either she would return, the doctor would return, or a counselor would return. So I stared at the door for a million hours, and almost came out of my skin when the very young nurse came back through the door.

She said the mamogram showed "something" in my boob... something that was different than the tissue surrounding it. The ultrasound however, was clean. "So it's nothing?" I asked her? "No, it's something, just not something threatening or dangerous. Come back in six months for another mamogram and ultrasound so we can see if it changes."

Yeah -- I know, she could have said cancer... or sent in the "counselor". So it could have been worse, right? I guess it would be nice to know that the something that isn't something is really just nothing at all. Stupid doctors and their stupid protocol.

In other news...


The Daughter and The Son board a plane for Indiana tomorrow. The Husband scored us tickets to Vodka Fest in Tampa tomorrow night. There will NOT be a repeat of Wine Fest. I will not be vomitting in the front lawn. I will, at the very worst, be vomitting in the parking lot of the hotel we've booked... just in case neither of us should be on the road after sampling "100 kinds of vodka."



Sunday I go see The Madre. More on that later... most definitely. My relationship with my family is fodder for a millenium's worth of blogging.



Finally -- I am sitting at 146.8 lbs -- 4/10 of a pound away from having lost the BIG 5-0! I'm sure Vodka Fest is not going to help me achieve that any time soon... unless I vomit in the parking lot again... but if I do, I'll wake up craving steak and chocolate again too... so yeah, it might be a few more weeks before I can do my 50 lb happy dance and get my celebratory tattoo!

Have a great weekend. I promise to write a lot more next week while The Children are freezing their collective arses off in Hoosier-ville.

Countdown

Tomorrow is Booby Doctor Day. Wish me luck.

The Captain

It's been a few days since they told me my boobs were dense (here's where I wish that I were a guy, and the docs told me my dick was dense, then I could say, "So you're saying I'm thick headed?") As the days pass from announcement to verdict, I'm finding a bit of my old self returning, but as that happens, I find strange places in me that I never knew I had before.

Case in point -- I had a dream that I was on a cruise ship, returning from a brief tour of the world. As the ship is cruising to port, I find myself with up front with the captain. He looks at his stop watch and there are only 13 seconds left. So he stops the watch -- stops time -- so we can finish the cruise and still arrive at our destined time.

The Husband says it's a dream about facing my mortality. He says I'm afraid of growing old, afraid I won't get to see and do everything I want to... afraid to accept the fact that there's only one cruise, and when it's over, it's over. I say it's a dream about facing the fact that time may be running out... will in fact run out sooner or later, regardless of my boob... understanding that the captain is the only one with the power to stop the countdown so I can finish my cruise.

My kids toy around with not believing in God. I've always told them that it's okay to say, "I don't believe what you believe" because faith is personal -- it's not something someone can TELL you that you believe. If you believe because Mom and Dad say so, then it's not faith, it's rule. So deny what you've been taught so that you can find it for yourself -- believe it because you feel it, know it, live it. But lately I've been asking them to curb their questioning and just let me have my peace with the captain.

In other news:

We went to an art show last night. It was ... bizarre. I'm beginning to think that if I buy a paint brush, throw up on a canvas, then paint over the pattern of vomit, I too can be an artist. The Daughter says I have no appreciation for abstract art.

The Husband just called and said that he has found the solution to my photography project -- it awaits me. So I have to go load up Diana and Holga and head out on an adventure now.

Have a pleasant Saturday, friends, and I'll touch base with you later on.

Most Awkward Moment Ever

It's no secret, even to The Husband, that I have a terrific crush on my photography professor. So it is with great fear and trepidation that I must ask him the following question next Thursday night:

"Did you find my pants after class last week?" or "Did I leave my pants behind after we were through last week?"

It's innocent, I swear. I wore just the cutest outfit to work tonight, but we were supposed to be developing film. So I ran into an outlet and bought a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt, and changed in the bathroom on campus so the chemicals wouldn't ruin my new knickers.

When I unpacked my bag tonight, I discovered the pants were missing. Deductive reasoning insists they fell out of my bag before I left the classroom.

Still... asking that question... well, I'll just say it's a damned good thing I have a damned good man who finds this as funny as I do.

One Down, One to Go

It's been a long day, so I'll make this quick because I'm really really tired.

Long story short, The Husband is fine. He had a CAT scan done that showed some cysts in his kidneys, but nothing alarming or abnormal. They also ran a camera up his peen to look at his bladder, but that looked good too.

Other than walking kind of funny, he's fine, and he'll be fine for a long, long time.

Me? We'll find out soon enough, I suppose.

By the way... good job yesterday, voters. You made me proud.

Does it Come in Threes? Does it?

Got a phone call at work today. That's unusual because we switch desks monthly, so usually I get calls on my cell phone during the work day.

But this one came to the office phone.

I thought only two places had that number: The Daughter's school, and The Son's school.

"Oh boy," I said before picking up the phone, "this can't be good news."

I was right.

"This is Janice from the mobile screening unit regarding your mammogram last month. We're going to need to schedule you for some more testing. Can you come in next Thursday morning?"

I asked what the problem was, and she transferred me to the nurse at my doctor's office.

"Honey, don't panic. They found some areas of density. Now, it could be nothing, but we suggest you don't put these tests off. How soon can you come in?"

I told her as soon as they could see me.

"We'll put you on the list for cancellation fillers. If no one cancels, we'll see you first thing next Thursday morning. It's just further testing, you know, to rule anything out."

Yeah -- I know. To rule "anything" out. Except "anything" could be anything. It's the something that scares me the most.

So tomorrow we get through The Husband's tests and get the results, then I get to sit another week to find out if my boob is behaving the way a nice boobie should.

Tourette's -- The Longer Version

I was kind of tired last night when I made my post. In looking over the comments, I think I did a disservice to the history of The Daugther and Tourette's. Let me back up and try to make a long story as short as possible.

When The Daughter was nearing her fifth birthday I began to take notice of some jerky movements, specifically a quick side to side twitch, sort of like you do when you shake your bangs out of your eyes. I remember my first thought was that her twitch was involuntary and reminded me of the Tourette's Syndrome people I saw on the morning talk shows. So like any good mother in denial, I took her to get her hair cut -- a short bob with short bangs. Of course this didn't help, but I played ignorant out of fear.

One Sunday evening while I was sitting in church, the nursery worker pulled me aside and shared with me her concerns. During her lesson she noticed The Daughter rolling her eyes from side to side, or back into her head in sharp, rapid, jerking motions. Having a daughter with a seizure disorder, she was fearful that my daughter may be suffering from something more severe than "twitches."

I left church and rushed straight to the emergency room. They ran a CAT on her and scheduled a follow up with a neurologist. After ruling out any abnormal brain activity he said, "Put her on Haldol, she has Tourette's Syndrome." I remember my first thought here too. I thought that if something could fix her, I'd do it.

While we waited for her follow up with the pediatrician (who would write the prescription) I did some research on my own. I found out that Haldol was a relatively new treatment for Tourette's. I also discovered through my research that the side affects of Haldol are permanent. Regardless of how long Haldol is taken, and how long it is not taken, a loss of tongue control is quite common and cannot be regained. If she displayed tongue dysplasia (akin to the tongue wagging outside the mouth), it would never go away. I told the pediatrician I would not put her on that medication while her symptoms were mild. He agreed that a follow up with the doctors at the childrens' hospital was in order.

They did an exam, agreed that Haldol would be a terrible thing to put her on at that stage, and sent a two page letter back to the pediatrician. I quoted some of that letter to you in yesterday's post. "Tourette's Probable."

But they also said it might NOT be Tourette's. They said she might grow out of it, or it might kick into full gear when she entered puberty.

So we watched, and we waited. We prayed a lot, had lots of people pray for her, and we played around with her diet, specifically we omitted red dye (a common food additive) from our home. In six months her symptoms went away. It was nothing short of a miracle, and I'll never credit anyone or anything with her improvement outside of God Himself.

Things went fine for almost ten years. Two summers ago her dad called and said he noticed she was "tic-ing" again, this time making harsh jaw movements like you might do if your jaw was locked and you were trying to loosen it. I fell back on the red dye and asked him to stop buying her Code Red Mountain Dew. She came home a few weeks later and was still displaying the new tic, but not as much as before. Removing caffeine seemed to calm her, and I chalked it up to "nervous energy." Still, "Tourette's Probable" remained in the back of my mind. Eventually the tic went away again.

It's been two years since I've seen anything that looked remotely like a tic. It wasn't until I found the third doctor's letter and read "...demanding/aggressive personality" that I remembered all the symptoms, not just the tics.

Does she have it? One in ten does. But for a diagnosis to be made, she must display three tics, one of which must be vocal, over the course of five years. We don't have that, and believe me when I tell you that she's well into the "onset" of puberty. But a demanding/aggressive personality, that she has in spades. OCD tendencies? Possibly.

So we continue to watch, we continue to wait. In the meantime, we try to make concessions for what might be a symptom of something that Mommy couldn't get the hair stylist to fix ten years ago.

The Closet

I'm sorry Prada.
I never meant to hurt you.

I never meant to make you cry,

But tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet.

Remember how I said my desk was WAY messy? Well, I today I did something about it.

I cleaned out my closet.

Now, hear me out. If I'm cleaning out my closet (which is in my bedroom) then I am NOT looking at my desk (which is in the office off the garage). Ipso facto, I have done something about it.

I can't believe the years' worth of crap that has fallen into the bottom of my closet. I enlisted The Husband and got him to go through his half (okay, make that eighth) of our shared closet. As of tonight, it's totally organized and full of clothes that we'll actually wear. The local charity is getting a trunk full of stuff I never knew I didn't need.

Sorry Prada... I never meant to buy you and then lose too much weight to wear you. But in my defense, I bought you at a designer consignment shop and didn't pay all that much for you anyhow. Plus, you're used to being discarded. Imagine the smiles on the faces of the clerks if they realize what you're worth. Imagine the glow on the face of someone who actually picks you up for 4.95! It's not that I don't love or appreciate you... it's just that I never intend to be that size again.

I also found loads of papers that I had to spend time perusing. I found the earliest of love notes between The Husband and I. So sweet and new it was! I found school papers from the kids' elementary days. I found medical records from The Daughter's time at the childrens' hospital. "Diagnosis: Possibly Tourette's Syndrome.... may present in puberty or may continue to display periodic tics... have discussed symptoms with mother, including...OCD... demanding/aggressive personality..." I had completely forgotten that time in our lives, me and The Daughter. Maybe I didn't want to remember. But it's pretty undeniable that while she isn't displaying tics right now, she may be dealing with other symptoms of the disorder. Remind me to cut her a break the next time I want to break her neck.

Random Nature of Weekends

It beats sleeping -- this blogging thing.

I hate going to bed on the weekends. It feels like I'm cheating myself out of something that might happen in the middle of the night.

Which is stupid, considering that most of what happens in the middle of the night on weekends is my kids staying up and breaking things. And I'd really rather miss that.

Yesterday was a bad day. Fridays are supposed to be lovely. Mine sucked. The Husband went for a follow-up doc appointment and they scheduled an CAT scan to find out why he has trace elements of blood in his urine. This is not a happy thing to face.

So I dropped about 200 miles inward and stayed there. I'm a bit better now, but not really. I keep asking him if he's feeling okay. He is, of course. Healthy as a horse that one. But I can't shake the image of him dropping to the ground with no one around to help him.

I took The Daughter out today. Being grounded, it's important to get her out of the house so she does not fall into despair. We went to the spa this morning, then went to see Our Town at her high school, and then went rummaging through a consignment shop. I bought a crocheted poncho. She laughed at me and said it looks like something a fat woman would wear after a Richard Simmons workout.

The Step-daughter is staying with us again this weekend. Her madre flew out of town for a hook-up.... sorry, "date." The Step-daughter said, "I might come back next weekend too." That would be four weekends in a row, which would be lovely. "I like having internet on the weekends," she finished. Teenagers suck.

The Son is glued to his Playstation. This is the life of a boy in a house full of girls.

There are exactly seven wine glasses on my computer desk, two coffee cups, one styrofoam coffee cup, six water tumblers, two water blottles, two empty yogurt containers, and four spoons. I hate cleaning.

There are three songs that I cannot listen to.
Mack the Knife -- it just scares me.
The Girl from Ipanema -- it's just stupid.
My Way -- I had a bad experience.

And that is just about enough randomness for tonight. Anything to keep my mind of The Husband's upcoming tests.

Why I'm Still Awake With Nothing to Say

I'm waiting for him to come home.

Nothing else to say about that.

He's been gone all week.

He's gone a lot.

Look at my eyes. I know they're closed, but look at them anyhow.

No one else in the entire world has ever made me feel like that.

And the way he holds my face... no one else in the entire world has ever held my entire being captive by placing a palm to the side of my face.

He quiets me.
He soothes me.
He ties the frayed edges of my sanity together to keep me whole.


It sucks when the half of you that is the best part of you is gone for the better part of your week.

I hear the garage door.

Kissing, commence.

Hurdles and Huddles

When I scrapped the old blog I also mentioned WWIII in my home. That battle had to do with a... shall we say... relapse in the faulty judgement related skills of The Daughter, this time where school was concerned. After her first nine week report came out, The Daughter decided it was time to exercise her right to skip classes... A LOT. After several weeks of missing 7th period, her teacher called and alerted me to the problem. Once I got all the information from the teacher, I called the dean of discipline and the guidance counselor and found out that she'd been skipping several classes, and was rarely turning in her homework. THIS from a kid who is the top one percentile of the nation in standardized testing!

I took care of matters on the homefront immediately. She is severely restricted from any social activities, including Internet and phone priveledges. With her freedoms squashed, I set about trying to help her put together a plan to get her shit together before the final grading period.

The good: The Daughter admitted to me a week later that she was relieved to have finally gotten caught. She had skipped so much that she was scared to go back to class. When she was busted and the jig was up, she had no choice but to fall in line. I was relieved to hear that from her.

The bad: Her grades definitely suffered. Though she wasn't failing any classes, she got two "Ds" on her report card (this from a consistently straight A student)

So today I had my appointment with all of her teachers and her guidance counselor. More good: Since being busted, she's really stepped it up. She's participating in lectures, answering questiongs, and doing remarkable work. More good: They all adore her. They described her as bright, electric, creative, a natural leader, a drama queen, random, charismatic, capable, delightful. The bad: They all agree that she is not working to her potential, and she's far too interested in socializing. The good: The damage can be undone. All her teachers are willing to give her at least partial credit on the assignments that she didn't turn in, and all are willing to work with me on a daily basis to make sure that she doesn't slip one centimeter unnoticed.

Two of her teachers stayed for an extra 30 minutes to tell me stories about The Daughter. And I have to say that these two teachers really get her. They see what I see, good and bad, and they have an abundance of faith in her while still seeing the dangers that might be just around the corner if she continues this path. It's sort of like having two more parents to help me help her.

As I said, I realize that parenting is a day by day job. There are no hurdles that are jumped once and for all. You jump each hurdle, catch your breath, and then gear up to jump the next. In between the hurdles you will laugh a lot. Then you will cry after the next jump. And I think it stays this way until that child decides for herself how she will channel her energy towards success.

Parenting is just running, jumping, and resting. Maybe seeing that will make life a little bit easier in the end.