being sick sucks

This week has been a rough one on the ol' family. Blake's had a bit of a cold, and I've developed one myself. He's also pretty much refused to nap all week, getting out of bed to very quietly play with his little action figure guns or something equally distracting.

Now, I know that he's growing out of his nap. It is clear he doesn't need one every day, but when he also refuses to go to sleep at night until 9:00 or later (despite being in bed by about 8:00), there are obvious signs to me that he has not, in fact, outgrown it all the way. Exhibit A: the 5:00 meltdowns. Exhibit B: him displaying the attitude that life's just handed him a poopy-flavored lollipop. Exhibit C: I need that quiet time myself! We've been adapting to a mid-day rest, where he can read quietly, but this week, it was just so EVIDENT that naps were needed. And yet, my ornery, stubborn-ass kid (where DOES he get it?) was non-compliant.

On Thursday night, I heard him crying - the lament we call "the beluga whale" for its sing-song quality - at 9:30 pm. I went in to talk to him about what on earth was wrong, and he mumbled something so disoriented and unintelligible that I assumed he was delirious with exhaustion and still fighting it, and I crisply told him "If you can't tell me clearly why you are crying, you're going to have to just work it out. Good night, Blake," and left the room. At 11:30, as we were getting ready for bed, he tuned up again, and when I went in, bewildered by this, he was fevered and trembling in a way that made me wonder"did he just have a seizure?"

Upon getting some ibuprofen in him for the fever, he began wailing in earnest and practically drooled it all out on me and down his face and jammies, and I was flummoxed. He wasn't speaking, so I asked him to point to where it hurt, and he finally pointed to his throat. I peered in with a flashlight and saw two enormous tonsils, spotted with large white patches, looking AWFUL and PAINFUL, and I died inside. Rob took one look and went off to look up tonsillitis while I soothed B as best I could with ice water and a cold pack on his neck. I stroked his head and he conked out cold within moments.

The nurses and doc exclaimed in pity at the sight of his poor throat the next day, it turned out to be viral tonsillitis (noncontagious, but no antibiotics to make it better), and my claim on the "Mother of the Year" award was hotly contested by our nurse, who regaled me with a story of her own, making me feel moderately better about my initial response to his tears.

Nothing's really improved except that his body appears to have claimed martial law today, in essence saying: "HEY, Mr. No-Sleep! You cannot be trusted to take care of me. YOU ARE FIRED!" He decided to take a rest at 3:30, declined my offer of reading books and passed out, refused to be woken at 5:00, and finally stumbled out for dinner at 8:00.

Also, he has the cutest throaty voice as a result of his vocal chords being squeezed to a bloody pulp. Now if he could just sleep through the night again - I'm being woken once or twice nightly to replenish his body's supply of Tylenol or ibuprofen, which is really helping my cold in its efforts to set up exploratory colonies in my sinuses and start up a little viral Industrial Revolution.

I think I just choked on the stick of my poopy-flavored lollipop, but I get to go see Travis tomorrow. He'll adjust my back, not my attitude, but that attitude is what all the coffee is for!

double-whammy

We've accepted an offer on the Spokane house! Now our prayers are for a good inspection and for everything else to go smoothly and quickly. I won't breathe a sigh of relief until all the papers are signed, but this a is a glorious first step for which I'm praising God.

Rob's been given a trial-period change in schedule at work that gives him THREE DAYS OFF... IN A ROW! And they are the slowest days, so he hopefully won't miss much in terms of sales. He's also excited about this coming week, where they'll send him to Seattle for training in Apple (as in Macintosh) certification. I'm thrilled for the time off - we might get to leave town now! Or at least I can leave town and he can actually come with me! - and for the Apple stuff, because if you know my husband, you know he's an Apple junkie. I think he'd like me even more if I had a bunch of cool, cheap apps to go with my other wifey skills... also, I'd probably need a touchscreen installed somewhere.

Thanks for your faithfulness in thought, word, and deed - we continue to covet your prayers as we move forward, believing in God's goodness even when it looks an awful lot like God is crazy.

Maybe that's where I get MY crazy?

things i'm loving right now

I need a post like this, to remember what I have that's wonderfully awesome and makes me happy. You need a post like this, so you know that, regardless of how hard a time I have been having the last two months, I am not remotely close to suicide, murder, anorexia, or coloring my hair all by myself.

Seriously, there should be a law that forbids the sale of do-it-yourself hair dye after 9:00 pm, because you KNOW that's not going to end well.

• Polkabats and Octopus Slacks, by Calef Brown. We read this at bed or nap time, and the words this guy strings together are adorably nonsensical and almost tongue-twisting, but you can find the cadence and read it aloud and it's mesmerizing. I enjoy it almost as much as Blake does, because who doesn't love a poem called the "Kansas City Octopus" about a guy with four arms and legs and seventies disco glasses?
• The meal-planning recipe guide by my friend. I got it over a year ago and am JUST giving it a try, but they are simple, nutritious, and FAST. My house is full of the smell of fresh rosemary and fresh bread, and I love it. I only worry that getting everything for seven days' of home-cooked meals is too much for my small family to eat, and I'll just have to tailor down the fresh ingredients so they don't go bad before we get to them (one week of meals will take us through about ten days).
  
• Artisan bread in five minutes a day. I got the recipe from a friend and the whole book from my mom, and I have baked bread ALL BY MYSELF for three months now. Haven't had anything store-bought other than for sammies. Also, I made the caramel rolls that were insanely delicious and not good for you at all, but done to a turn and easily released from my
  
• DeMarle pan. Because it is AWESOME.
• Psych.
• Friends who tell me it's going to be okay, even as they tell me they're not sure what that will look like. Sometimes I just need the reminder!
• Sweet kisses from sweet boys: husband, son, nephews.
  
• Rob being willing to make some sacrifices to be here for me right now, because he knows I need it.
• Crossword puzzles.
• Jigsaw puzzles.
  
• Parties 'R' Us with Blake and lots of our friends and their kids.
• Gym and swim Fridays (partnered with the Daily Coffee shop gift card I got for Christmas!).
• Losing ten pounds since September, thanks to Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred, even though she has a bit of the "crazy eyes" going on there.
• Blake sounding out words and wanting to be called "Shock" for his beat-boxing skills, all because of The Electric Company.
• Blake being careful to leave the table during meals in order to toot - so as not to offend my delicate sensibilities - and inadvertently having them be monster-sized rippers. It's so disorienting, and I can't help but laugh.
  
• Cheese. Beer. Wine. Buffalo wing potato chips.
  
• Getting creative in the kitchen and discovering I can make tasty meals out of what was in my fridge and head - no recipe required.
• Queen's Fat-Bottomed Girls. I think I'll crank it now and finish my ironing.

Doesn't that just make you smile?! Don't you want to come over and iron for me? Not even Queen can make me actually LIKE ironing. I mean... it's still ironing. Blerg.

a hard truth that i can't sugarcoat right now... but i will probably try to later

We've engaged in a little back-and-forth with a couple that is interested in the Spokane house. Their initial offer wasn't good, and we gave them our absolute rock-bottom price, hoping they would take it and we'd be done. Our realtor would be making far less than usual, we'd get just enough to cover the loan and closing costs, and that's it. We honestly cannot go lower.

They lowballed us again. Our kind realtor told them that, by law, he was required to inform us of their offer, but that he knew we couldn't accept it, explaining that we would not be making any money on the house at the price we were asking - we were merely covering costs and getting it sold. He then said that he'd be filling it with renters one way or another - for us or for them - that would take good care of it because the renters would be Moody students and would have a very strict code of conduct that forbids alcohol. He told them that, should they take it at our price, he would personally see to it that they would be able to rent it until their son could move in (about a year and a half away).

"Sounds good," they said. "Let us talk it over and run the numbers on our end. We will let you know by Saturday."

Our realtor is cautiously optimistic, and when Rob relayed all this information to me last night, immediately after he got off the phone, I sat down, put my head in my hands, and burst into tears. I don't dare hope, and yet I don't dare embrace cynicism in this latest go-round.

I've been a bit of a mess this week (for a bunch of reasons, all too dull or personal to go into here), but my response still surprised me. I didn't realize I was so emotionally caught up in this place, but it makes sense. Until that house is dealt with (sold or rented), we won't be able to move ahead with selling the condo. Until the condo is gone and we've found someplace else we'd like to live with slightly more room and - dare I hope? - a yard and figured out the financing, we can't really think about adding to our family. And while babies aren't all that I think about, I worry that I am running out the time on the famous "Myers Girls' Fertility," that Blake will be so old he'll miss out on the companionship that siblings can bring and just be relegated to babysitter, that we'll only be able to afford a home if I continue to work (or even work more) after having kids.

For me and my heart, it is all revolving around this one house and how, no matter how scrupulously I try not to make eye-contact with the fact, my life looks so very differently than I ever imagined.

Rob still handles me well, still carries on with grace and humor and "Dear Lord, what did I get myself into?!" We're doing our very best, and while I know that God's promise of abundance for my future did not begin and end with a husband after big Blake died, I feel like I'm back in survival mode, just getting by. It is hard not to be discouraged.*

*As I proof this, Blake is in his room, watching Looney Tunes on his little DVD player and giggling a bunch... So there's a bright spot for us. I am in love with that boy far more than I ever experienced during my last survival mode when he was first born. He is a joy, except when he's got a case of the grumples.

"mom, this is not great news..."

Toilet water is one step above fecal matter when it comes to things I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR!!! No really! NOT EVER! I mean it this time!

And yet, due to the magic of an almost-five-year-old, I have gotten to see first one, then the other! On subsequent nights!

I suppose the upside is that the floor in there hasn't been so clean since it was installed. The downside is that I now have to burn the skin off my hands (and feet! and knees!) with carbolic acid. And burn some throw rugs and the odd article of clothing. It's just this thing I have, I don't know - maybe you share it?

I DON'T "TOUCH POOP" AND "DEAL WELL." Not at the same time, anyway.

because arson is right up my alley!

I have a friend who is very good to me. She managed to caulk most of the house in Spokane, single-fingered. She got a blister on that finger, she caulked that much (if you read this aloud or aloud in your head, do not forget to pronounce the "l" in caulk!). She is a caulking FOOL.

And she laughs at my jokes, which I like rather a lot.

This friend is a self-professed fan of tequila. So much so that, when me and both our husbands were slumming with beer (a micro-brew, but still) after working on the Spokane house, she mixed herself a margarita with the goods she'd brought from home. It made me happy in a way that only someone else for whom alcohol is important enough to take seriously, but not so important that fun cannot be had without it, can do. She and I take our booze seriously, except that we totally don't. Because I will get frustrated at work, at home, while running errands, or blinking and declare to anyone in earshot that I'm about to start drinking heavily.

It is funny only because I never actually do this.

Well, almost never.

Anyway! Back to my friend!

I was so grateful for all her help that I made her a CD. It had a theme that began with the Barenaked Ladies' Alcohol and ran through every song in my playlist that had the word "tequila" in it. Otherwise, there was no rhyme nor reason, and I didn't tell her the theme, only that there was one.

She figured it out. I got a CD entitled "Songs of 924 E. Illinois" that mystified me. Was it songs we'd listened to while painting and caulking? DEAR LORD, THE CAULKING! Was it a play on that? Would I have to listen to it alone so Blake wouldn't pick up on any new bad words?

Track One
Track Two Lyrics: I live all alone in a little blue house by the side of the road / Look in the window and you'll see me crying in that little blue house of mine / Nobody comes to visit me. It's like the blues is a fatal disease / I spend my time just cryin' and moanin' in that little blue house, oh!
Track Three

And so on. It kind of made my day. L, I miss you!

my fancy mover

The thing with Queen is that they cannot go uncelebrated in our home. Ever. Fat Bottomed Girls is my particular favorite, and I taught Blake well.

To show how far he's come:

my face-washing friends

There's something about people laughing at my jokes that makes me funnier. I am convinced of this. If you roll your eyes or just patiently endure my mania, I calm right down and get less exuberant, more serious, more socially appropriate. You know... BORING.

Two former roomies and I got to go out together the other night (one lives far, far away, which is sad, but her being in town is an event to celebrate, so we do!), and while our living together was not always harmonious because that is how girls roll, our not living together and being grown-ups in three very different life situations makes for some great conversation. Sometimes it's achingly funny, sometimes it just aches - like life - but we always leave happier for our time together.

Also, now that they don't have to live with me, they choose not to rein in my crazy. The ensuing chaos (I am a loud laugher - did you know?) probably disrupts most of the people around us, but at least we keep the inappropriate parts of the conversation quiet for their sake (Right, K & J? I wasn't TOO loudly explicit?). I am so blessed and cheered to have women in my life who know me and like me anyway. Coming together to love on each other and deepen relationships is one of the joys of friendships - because we pull no punches. The three of us have each weathered some pretty shitty stuff, and we are brutally real about life with each other, even when it is less perfect than we'd like.

We are the face-washing friends. They get to see me without my makeup, without my hair styled, without my glossed over, fit to be seen in public veneer. Granted, they got to see that when they lived with me, when J taught me the expression "My eyes look like two pee-holes in a snowbank" upon seeing her bleary reflection in the wee hours of the morning, and when K and I had cats that would NOT get along. It was harder to be face-washing friends then, because they had to put up with me a LOT MORE. But now, the foundation has been laid, and we get to just jump right into each other's lives and love one another there. In the mud and the muck.

In the reality.

These are friends who come from afar for a wedding, a funeral, another wedding. These are friends I call at 1:00 a.m. with a devastated heart who drive right over to hear me weep and shake my fist at God. These are friends who cat-call me in church and make time for me whenever they can. These are friends who laugh at my jokes and make me feel witty, engaging, and loved. I am enormously fond of them as well.

that's what he said

B: I have a pretty bad cough. I should have the medicine that makes those green blobs go away.
A: Green blobs? Like mucus?
B: Yeah, like mucus in my tummy.
A: Well, it's actually in your throat and maybe lungs, but we only have cough syrup.
B: Do we have that medicine that makes the green blobs float away?
A: Mucinex?
B: Yes. That one. And they float away out of my mouth.
A: SICK.

*****
B: I drew a onety-one!
A: That's an eleven.
B: Same thing!

*****
(because he chose shorts for his clothing that day, I overheard this while he was eating breakfast)
My legs are freaking freezing.

*****
(as I sat down on the edge of his bed to get him up and at 'em, I see he's awake and tightly wrapped in his blanket)
B: I'm a taco! You can eat me now.
A: NOM NOM NOM NOM! MMM, delicious!
B: That's because I put sauce on me. Someone made this taco and made a kid taco! There's no meat, just a kid and sauce! (lifts his head) SEE? That's a KID HEAD!

honeysuckle, riotous color in the flowerpots, hot days, and cursing out grasshoppers and slugs

It's now January. That means I'm ready for spring. Springy-spring-spring. There's nothing good left of winter now that Christmas is over, so let's get straight to the thawing wonderfulness of bulbs poking through the ground and the glory of an aggressive clematis vine right out my back door.

In fact, as I noted on Facebook, I got porn in the mail on Saturday. GIRL PORN. I lusted after things within the glossy pages and have yet to really sit down and give it my full, undivided, drooly attention.

It was the Burpee seed catalog.

SWOON!