This evening, I got out to acquire Malcolm some "potato Pringles." This is just regular, original, unflavored Pringles. He calls them "potato-flavored." Because, you know, it's potato sludge. Which is why they have to be called "crisps" instead of "chips," because the chip lobby didn't like that and made sure there was a law. Whew! We're safe.
Anyhoo... I also went to Petco while I was out, because they generously sent me coupons for the very cat food we use. The coupons were: $5 off a bag of dry food at least 13 pounds, buy two/get one free cans, and $3 off of any variety pack of canned food. I got a 13-pound bag, three cans, one 12-can variety pack, a big box of litter, and 2 3-packs of pinkie mice for D's snake. $10 in coupons... and I still spent $91! Our cats have to have urinary tract food because they're old and Aish specifically has issues with getting infections. The vet said just to feed them all the same thing because they're all going to have problems eventually. What I bought... the wet food will last ONE WEEK. The dry food will last a month or more because they only eat that when they're desperate; we free-feed it and they're rarely motivated since we started feeding them the WAY-more-expensive wet food (which we started for Carol, to help her gain weight... she hasn't but Rudy definitely has).
THEN I went to Randall's for the aforementioned crisps. I got 4 cans (2 plain, 2 flavored, on sale if you bought 4); I also bought two boxes of chocolate for the kiddos for Valentine's Day (I'm not always this early, but Russell Stovers was buy one/get one free) and 3 bars of boutique Christmas soap that had been $8 a bar but was 75% off. So the stuff I got for our family was $23. I feel like we're getting fleeced here.
I also don't think the cats realize how great they have it. They start making a LOT of noise around 8 AM if no one's gotten around to portioning out their wet rations yet. Even though they have food available. It's not the *good* food, and they must complain. It's usually mostly Rudy, and sometimes I can quiet him by opening the door so he can get up on the bed and snuggle. However, lately, Carol has accompanied him in and started banging (that cat-swiping they do when they're marking their territory) on the mirrored closet door.
But I love the people who love these cats, so...
Friday, January 31, 2020
Sunday, January 26, 2020
Some Things Never Change
As we've mentioned ad infinitum in the past, I have a history of weight fluctuations, AKA yo-yo dieting, though the peaks and valleys have been so spaced out, it didn't feel so much like a yo-yo as a sloth climbing several mountains.
To review, here are some pictures from various times in my adult life, in chronological order:
After that, my first ex-husband indicated that I was fat and he'd never liked it but didn't say anything because he thought I wouldn't marry him (sadly, he was mistaken; my self-esteem wouldn't have let me walk away).
To review, here are some pictures from various times in my adult life, in chronological order:
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| 1992, about my "normal" size. |
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| 1993/1994 |
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| June 2001, a few months before D was born. |
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| November 2002, just before my second ex-husband told me I was too fat. |
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| November 2004, after I'd lost some weight and put some more weight back on. |
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| October 2005, after I'd lost a lot more weight. |
Basically, it's been about 15 years since the last time I seriously tried to lose weight. It "worked" and I kept the weight off for about 7ish years? But once I got bored with constantly working out (more and more as my metabolism slowed) and "being careful" with what I ate (read: bordering disordered eating behavior), weight started creeping back on.
Here's what I look like now.
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| Well, in December 2019 |
Okay, that was fun. So what?
So, there are a lot of things people assume about health and weight that are garbage. I wanted first to demonstrate that I understand the concept of "calories in/calories out," working out, etc. blah blah blah. And I wanted to tell you several things that have been true whether I weighed 148 pounds (at 5'7") or... a lot more than that. I have basically not had scales for the past 15 years, and so except for when I've been pregnant, I've been blissfully unaware.
Anyway, no matter what I have weighed:
1) I drink copious amounts of diet soda. My mom made me a Diet Coke cake for my 16th birthday, so we can safely assume my passion goes back at least 31 years. #consistency
2) My blood pressure is low. I'm 47 years old, and a big person, and when I was discharged from the E/R a couple of weeks ago, my blood pressure was 106/68. It's usually around 112/70ish.
3) I love sweets. You can eat a lot of candy corn on a 1500-calorie-per-day diet, and it's fat free! (This is not health advice; I feel a little nauseated thinking about it, actually.)
4) I hate running.
5) I can walk from sun-up until sun-down. Very enjoyable. A 12-mile Disney day? Bring it on!
6) I eat a mostly vegetarian diet.
7) My body does what I want it to do.
8) I despise clothes-shopping.
9) I am worth the same amount. I wasn't worth more when I had less mass nor am I worth less with more mass. This is a ridiculous calculus that serves no one.
10) My actual "health" level has remained the same. When I was at my smallest, I was no "healthier" in terms of eating or exercise than I am at my largest. I can say this because I know what food goes into my gullet. When I was depriving myself of calories and fat, I made up for it by making those few calories things I'd LOVE, which wasn't always nutrient-rich, minimally-processed food. I eat more now, and that gives me room to eat nutritious food I love as well as things like pizza and ice cream. It isn't either/or. In that battle, I'm going to pick what I prefer to have every time... even if I look totes skinny doing it. You cannot tell what my personal habits are just by looking at how thick my upper arms might be. To think that you can is fatphobic.
11) I have asthma. I had asthma when I was running 5 miles a day (and, yeah, HATING every minute of it). Against all odds, I have asthma with a house full of cats, to which I am allergic. It's ponderous.
12) I eat carbs. Lots and lots of carbs. When I was at my skinniest, just after college, and DURING an actual eating/exercise disorder, I ate Little Caesar's Crazy Bread at least three days a week. I still love those things, though they're not quite the dietary staple they used to be.
13) I love cooking good, beautiful food. Let's end with that, and a few pictures of our home dinners.
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| Roasted cauliflower risotto with a side salad. |
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| Goat cheese veggie burger with arugula and cranberry sauce, side of roasted green beans. |
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| Salad with broiled brie and roasted cauliflower. |
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| Veggie "chicken" broccoli homemade hot pocket and feta salad. |
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| Peanut stir fry. |
Friday, January 24, 2020
Welp, That Sucked
Aaand, I think we're back.
We were all on the mend, but then last weekend, I CRASHED hard. I was nauseated, fatigued, and just felt "not right." I mean, it was worse than when I was actually sick.
Mal and I made it to church Sunday, but I had to cradle my head, and when I walked, I felt like my legs were melting out from under me. I was dizzy and exhausted, even though I'd "slept" almost 12 hours. I was sleeping most of the time, actually. I stumbled in the house after church, fell into bed, and slept all day. Mal took a little nap with me. Then we went to bed at like 8. And I never felt rested. Just gross and off and wrong and like I was going to die.
A little research and I think I figured it out: Steroid withdrawal. I was only on them for 5 days, which isn't supposed to require "tapering." But I think my body just stopped producing cortisol, and it took three good days for it to get back up and running. NEVER AGAIN.
So that's two things I'll never do again: 1) Flu "swab"/stab. 2) Oral steroids.
I've had a steroid shot before when I couldn't kick an asthma attack; that's still on the table. But, man, it was NOT worth it to take the pills. Big "no" on that. Do not recommend.
We've spent the week easing back into life. It's weird to have "lost" so much time. I don't like it. Plus, it was really overcast and the air pressure felt too high, though that might have just been a residual headache from the meds.
I think we're back to 100%. I hope so. I rarely get sick, and this was not a nice, quiet way to while away a quarter of a month.
Now I'm trying to get our taxes done so we can pay off our solar panels. The life of a home-owner is super glamorous (read: expensive).
The houses on both corners around us are almost complete, and I'm looking forward to it being quiet around here again. Also looking forward to the tax assessment this year, because so many vacant lots have sold in the past 12 months, we'll have a much easier case arguing that our lots are worth about 3/5 the amount the county has assessed the past two years.
We were all on the mend, but then last weekend, I CRASHED hard. I was nauseated, fatigued, and just felt "not right." I mean, it was worse than when I was actually sick.
Mal and I made it to church Sunday, but I had to cradle my head, and when I walked, I felt like my legs were melting out from under me. I was dizzy and exhausted, even though I'd "slept" almost 12 hours. I was sleeping most of the time, actually. I stumbled in the house after church, fell into bed, and slept all day. Mal took a little nap with me. Then we went to bed at like 8. And I never felt rested. Just gross and off and wrong and like I was going to die.
A little research and I think I figured it out: Steroid withdrawal. I was only on them for 5 days, which isn't supposed to require "tapering." But I think my body just stopped producing cortisol, and it took three good days for it to get back up and running. NEVER AGAIN.
So that's two things I'll never do again: 1) Flu "swab"/stab. 2) Oral steroids.
I've had a steroid shot before when I couldn't kick an asthma attack; that's still on the table. But, man, it was NOT worth it to take the pills. Big "no" on that. Do not recommend.
We've spent the week easing back into life. It's weird to have "lost" so much time. I don't like it. Plus, it was really overcast and the air pressure felt too high, though that might have just been a residual headache from the meds.
I think we're back to 100%. I hope so. I rarely get sick, and this was not a nice, quiet way to while away a quarter of a month.
Now I'm trying to get our taxes done so we can pay off our solar panels. The life of a home-owner is super glamorous (read: expensive).
The houses on both corners around us are almost complete, and I'm looking forward to it being quiet around here again. Also looking forward to the tax assessment this year, because so many vacant lots have sold in the past 12 months, we'll have a much easier case arguing that our lots are worth about 3/5 the amount the county has assessed the past two years.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
The Other Side of That Coin
I'm well aware that my last post, though full of thrilling twists and turns, was also extremely whiny and self-serving. So please allow me to put here another truth I know to be equal to my own feelings of loneliness in terms of keeping the house and the people in it: I do not pay for it. And THAT responsibility lies solely on the shoulders of my husband.
Simply: I do not possess the earning ability to maintain our current living arrangements, and in that way, James is our only hope of staying here in this place that we love (when there isn't machine-operated construction going on both across the street and across the other street, many days simultaneously, resulting in it sounding like it is IN our front rooms). I cannot imagine the weight of that stress.
If James does not like his job, that is unfortunately not the only thing he has to think about. He can't get fed up and just quit. And if he does ever seek out another job, it has to be a certain type of job, mainly exactly what he's doing now and has done since we got married, in one form or another. I think he'd be an amazing educator, but unfortunately, he simply could not bring home the kind of money we need to pay for our relatively inexpensive (for the Austin area) home on a teacher's salary.
Fortunately, he really likes the company he works for now. I definitely want him to be happy with where he spends so much of his time! They feed him two meals a day, too, which actually takes some of the burden off of me in terms of meal prep. Shortly after Mal was born, I was still making breakfast, packing James lunch, and then putting dinner together. I can't imagine doing that now (much less when Mal was SOOooo much... and I was so frazzled).
I've never been a good "business" person. I've been a "show up and try to do more than they expect" person at any job I've ever had, but I've never worked somewhere that I developed a deep passion for what might become a career for me... except maybe TCBY when I was in high school, but a different shop turned me sour on it when a bunch of weird stuff happened, like my being framed for stealing money, which I quickly disproved by having the manager look on the counter and see that I hadn't even taken the key home and someone else closed up after I left. And NOW, most TCBYs are self-serve, so... well, I'd still probably work there if I needed to make some extra bank. Again, though, that'd be a minimum wage job. I'm basically worthless.
I appreciate James's work ethic, and that he's good at something that lets me stay home with the kids and do what I love to do. I guess it'd just be nice to have an au pair or something who would only come out of their hidey-hole a couple of times a week, and who would work for free.
Now I have to go finish watching them install this septic tank. It's truly fascinating stuff.
Simply: I do not possess the earning ability to maintain our current living arrangements, and in that way, James is our only hope of staying here in this place that we love (when there isn't machine-operated construction going on both across the street and across the other street, many days simultaneously, resulting in it sounding like it is IN our front rooms). I cannot imagine the weight of that stress.
If James does not like his job, that is unfortunately not the only thing he has to think about. He can't get fed up and just quit. And if he does ever seek out another job, it has to be a certain type of job, mainly exactly what he's doing now and has done since we got married, in one form or another. I think he'd be an amazing educator, but unfortunately, he simply could not bring home the kind of money we need to pay for our relatively inexpensive (for the Austin area) home on a teacher's salary.
Fortunately, he really likes the company he works for now. I definitely want him to be happy with where he spends so much of his time! They feed him two meals a day, too, which actually takes some of the burden off of me in terms of meal prep. Shortly after Mal was born, I was still making breakfast, packing James lunch, and then putting dinner together. I can't imagine doing that now (much less when Mal was SOOooo much... and I was so frazzled).
I've never been a good "business" person. I've been a "show up and try to do more than they expect" person at any job I've ever had, but I've never worked somewhere that I developed a deep passion for what might become a career for me... except maybe TCBY when I was in high school, but a different shop turned me sour on it when a bunch of weird stuff happened, like my being framed for stealing money, which I quickly disproved by having the manager look on the counter and see that I hadn't even taken the key home and someone else closed up after I left. And NOW, most TCBYs are self-serve, so... well, I'd still probably work there if I needed to make some extra bank. Again, though, that'd be a minimum wage job. I'm basically worthless.
I appreciate James's work ethic, and that he's good at something that lets me stay home with the kids and do what I love to do. I guess it'd just be nice to have an au pair or something who would only come out of their hidey-hole a couple of times a week, and who would work for free.
Now I have to go finish watching them install this septic tank. It's truly fascinating stuff.
More Adventures in Medicine
Friday while I was driving Mal around, I was feeling a bit of stomach unease, and I could tell that a cold sore was trying to crop up. I take acyclovir daily to prevent cold sores, so when one sneaks by, it's a big deal. In the entire year I've taken acyclovir, I haven't had a cold sore make it that far yet. I took a couple of extra doses, then some Lysine, and put Abreva on a few times, and ended up stopping it before it got all the way to the point of no return. And Saturday, I felt mostly normal.
Sunday afternoon, I was starting to think that I wasn't going to escape cedar fever this year, after all. By 8:30, I was beat. I went to bed by 9:30, and James mostly distracted Mal until he was wound down and "ready for bed."
One cool thing that James has been trying to tell you as he's worked on his blog entry about his and Mal's trip to San Antonio -- AT THE BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER -- is that, since they returned, James has been Mal's go-to for the nighttime tooth-brushing routine. It's super sweet, and, of course, I love being out of that loop.
However, after Mal brushes his teeth, he often watches videos for a while before he goes to sleep for the night. Usually, that's okay. But Sunday night, I felt like garbage. Mal kept saying, "I'm going to watch one more video, then I'm going to go to bed." "Okay." After the third round of this, I said, "Mal, you can watch as many videos as you want; I'm trying to sleep so you don't have to tell me."
When he DID go to bed, he managed to plug his iPad in himself, but when he laid down, he was frustrated because I had pulled back both of his blankets and his sheet, and he prefers just the top blanket. He was fussing about it, and kicking the superfluous sheet and blanket down to the foot of the bed, which he often does, even when it's absolutely freezing outside (and super cold inside because we live in a 13-year-old house with crappy insulation and crappier windows).
After he did THAT, he was still fussing, "Next time, the top blanket only! I'm so uncomfortable!" I asked how he was uncomfortable. He said, "I don't know," kick, kick, kick, "I'm just UNCOMFORTABLE!" And I LOST. IT. I sat up and started pulling his other blankets into the floor with way more force than was necessary. I said, "I JUST WANTED TO GO TO SLEEP EARLY BECAUSE I AM SO TIRED!" Then I announced that I was going to pee and left the room.
I guess I "said" this louder than I maybe meant, but probably about as intensely as I felt, because James was in Mal's room when I got back from the bathroom. He'd come in to see if Mal was okay, and I have to tell you... it feels like crap when your baby daddy has to check up on his kid because he's afraid you might have upset or hurt him. This has happened a couple of times since Mal was born, mostly when he was a baby and I was chronically sleep-deprived and on the edge.
Then, also, D asked me the next day, "What happened last night?" So I had to tell her that I had a temper tantrum because I was so exhausted and kept being awakened. By then, I had apologized to both James and Mal. But still. Geez.
Monday, I got up and took a shower with some eucalyptus sinus soothers. After that, I felt like I just needed to spend the day in bed. James is in his last week on his current team at work, and I didn't think asking him to stay home was a great idea (it looks like "senioritis"), so I decided I could make it. Mal got up, and fortunately was an absolute gem.
First, when he woke up, he called to me. I said, "I'm right here." He said, "It's not really you." I asked, "If it's not me, then who am I?" He said, "You just lost control, and then you got sick." I asked James if they'd talked about this, and he said they had not. I told Mal, "Aww, you're so sweet to me." He said, "You're sweet to me, too... And I'm a party blower so I can do anything." Kind AND weird. That's my kid.
I spent most of Monday in the master bedroom, because they were jack-hammering rock to try to make room for the septic tank across the street. In all, it's taken them about two weeks to dig that hole. I'm over it.
As I mentioned, Mal was amazing. He played Number Blocks and with his Sonic characters. I think he was just happy to have me not up and running around, but lying there with him, listening and interacting as much as I could all day. Then he'd run off to watch videos or play a game. I made him some food and tried to sit at the table with him, but needed to get back into bed after a few minutes.
I kept using my albuterol inhaler. Like a lot. And it wasn't working for more than 15 minutes. I have a nebulizer and used that once, also to little avail. I decided to make use of Teladoc, and after an hour or so had a prescription for several things: Tamiflu, an antibiotic, a steroid, and an inhaler than I learned would have cost $600 if I didn't have insurance.
Having kicked around in a stupor most of the day, I tried to get it together to take D to banjo lessons and to pick up my medicine. I was obviously not operating at full capacity, and D said, "We can stay home if you need to." But D missed a lot of classes after surgery, and then during the holidays, so I wanted to make sure we kept the routine up. And I neeeeeded meds.
We successfully made that trip, and I got the kids food from Sonic. I told James he'd need to pick up something on the way home, because I knew I couldn't cook dinner. As it got later, a couple of hours after I'd taken the first doses of everything, I started feeling worse. The uber-expensive inhaler was not helping me breathe. My head was killing me. I was exhausted. I was worried that I'd not be able to breathe during the night, and one thing the Teladoc had told me was that the flu wasn't likely to kill me, but that if I was gasping for air, I needed to get to the E/R.
I texted James and told him that when he got home, I wanted him to take me to the hospital, but within half an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack, so D agreed to hang out with Mal while they waited for James to come home, and then I drove -- in James's car, which was recently pulled over for having a headlight out, which is why James had driven my car to work -- to the hospital.
I'd checked in online, but they were busy. It was quiet, but they didn't have any rooms, so kept sending me back to the waiting room after triage and then an EKG. When I arrived, my pulse/ox was 95, which isn't optimal, but not bad enough that I was going to beat anyone else out for a room. My pulse was 132, and my blood pressure was like 134/72, which is WAY HIGH for me. My temperature was 99.7, and my norm is around 97.5.
I guess the EKG was fine. I didn't see or hear anything about that.
Oh... when I was initially waiting, I felt so nauseated, I sped off to find a restroom. I got into the stall just in time... for a dry heave. I'd eaten a bag of chips, a box of Yoo-Hoo, an apple, and half a corn dog earlier in the day, but had nothing in my stomach at that time. I knew I was supposed to have taken the antibiotic with food, but was feeling so yucky that I could not. So I went to the vending machine and picked the only thing I felt my body could handle: a Snickers bar. Protein and chocolate and some calories. It's better than nothing, right?
So there I was, being triaged while putting away a candy bar. I'm sure the nurse was impressed with my overall health and wellness plan.
By the time I got into a room, my pulse/ox was shifting from as high as 98 to as low as 92. My pulse began to slow, and eventually dipped below 100. And my blood pressure was 168/64 by the time I was released.
The doctor was critical of the Teladoc who had both prescribed Tamiflu without a positive swab for influenza, and also prescribed antibiotics, as well, as they treat the same things. He also told me that Tamiflu reduces flu symptoms by approximately 18 hours, which is the kid of crap that is exactly why I stopped taking antibiotics for my chronic (and now absent for nearly 13 years) tonsillitis. He said that the reason I'd gotten sick in the waiting room is that, ya know, meds you don't need make you sick.
I did test negative for the flu, and I have to tell you: If I had the choice to get another flu swab OR go through the birthing process from when I had Mal but not end up with anything to show for it, I'd rather do birth. That flu "swab" (which would more rightly be called a "painful sinus stab") was easily the most painful medical thing I've ever had done to me. I mean, I will NEVER consent to one again, and I will NEVER EVER consent to Mal's having one. He would never leave the house again. We can just operate under the assumption that we do not have the flu because even if we do, I'm not taking useless meds when we'll just get over it anyway.
After three hours, a couple of chest x-rays, some blood work the results to which I guess I'll get later, spilling my Route 44 Diet Coke all under the E/R private room bed, and who knows how much out-of-pocket expenses, I was discharged with an "unspecified bug" (disappointingly referred to as an upper respiratory infection, AKA "the common cold" in my paperwork), and instructions to ditch the Tamiflu and antibiotic, but stick with the steroid.
I drove home with the hazard lights on the whole way, and kept the hospital bracelet on so that, if I got pulled over, I could tell the police, "I KNOW, but it was an emergency, and we're getting it fixed ASAP." It was also foggy and eerie, and I tend to turn on my hazards when visibility is that low sometimes.
By the time I got home, I felt a little better, but could still feel my heartbeat so noticeably for the next 16 hours or so. I slept mostly sitting up, and slept better than I had the night before.
I don't know what that was, but I have never felt as terrible as I did on Monday. Maybe the colitis or whatever I had as a teenager was worse, but then I had people to take care of me. I could stay home from school. I could pass out and someone would help me up.
I almost never get sick, and even when I do, it tends to be some low-grade mehh sickness that passes in a couple of days. Getting really sick made me feel, honestly, very alone. And resentful of that, even though there's really no one to be resentful of. But it just makes me aware that there's no back-up plan for me. Like, I don't "get" sick days. I guess most moms feel this way? Or I'm just a really bad patient.
Anyway, yesterday morning, my parents came down to play with Mal so I could get some more rest. I knew something was up when Dad offered to take Mal to McDonald's, and Mal said he didn't want to go.
About an hour into their visit, I called Mal back into the bedroom with me. I held him, and he was burning up. Five minutes later...
I sent my parents home (after they'd had some of the cheeseburger macaroni lunch I'd promised them), but they left me Lysol wipes and a loaf of fresh bread my dad had made.
Mal woke up after a bit, absolutely baking and inconsolable. He wanted to go sit at the table, drink some soda, and watch videos. He sat there for a minute, then said he needed to use the restroom. Half way there, he "threw up" in the floor, but he hadn't eaten anything so it was just stomach acid and caramel coloring. Sorry, folks. This is real life. Also the ugly part where one of the first things that ran through my head was, "Welp, glad I'm at 85% because someone has to clean this up and nurse Malcolm."
He immediately went back to sleep in the back bedroom, I got things cleaned up, and I was especially grateful that my mom had given me a pair of house shoes for Christmas because the ones I had been wearing needed to be washed, as well.
I followed Mal around with a barf bag all day, and he hated it, swearing he'd never throw up again. He was highly disappointed that this was "The first time I ever barfed when I was 5!"
After Mal woke up from this nap, he was ready for a bath. He had refused one earlier, because he said, "I don't want to have the problem again!" His problem is when he is finished taking a bath, but doesn't want to get out. I told him that if he lets the water drain out of the tub, it's easier because you cool off gradually, and then there's nothing left to do but get a towel and get out when it's over. Since he'd been using a damp rag on his face all day to cool his "cheek burn," he decided that trying a bath to cool his fever might be okay.
He successfully bathed, we washed his hair, and I noticed that even in the water, he was covered in goose-bumps. He went straight from the bath back to bed.
James got home pretty early last night and, wouldn't you know it, looked like an absolute train wreck. James gets sick more often than I do (he's around more people more often, so this makes sense), but here's the deal: EVERY time I get sick, he follows me within a day or so. And this, of course, plays into my whole, "I'm the only hope" mentality, of which I am not proud.
James went straight to bed (Mal's bed, since Mal was in his), and except for moving back into his room because Aish both wanted to be in Mal's room with James, and out of Mal's room when I shut the door because who knows why cats want to do anything, but I guess 5 repetitions of this was plenty. He slept basically 12 hours and looked a lot better this morning. He's working from home today, though, as he scared himself driving home last night (I know the feeling!), and he doesn't want to taint his cow-orkers.
I washed Mal's bedding while he watched videos and napped on the trundle bed. Then he got into his bed and I brushed his teeth with training toothpaste, so he didn't have to spit it out. He did want to rinse with water, but didn't feel up to standing at the sink, so I finally got to use that barf bag!
I laid down with Mal at about 9:30 and then finally discovered something that stupid $600 inhaler is good for!
Often, I wheeze when I lie down. There's something in the back of my throat, or down my windpipe, that, even when my lungs feel open and clear, it makes cat sounds. After half an hour of that regardless of my sleep position, I decided to do my final dose of that otherwise useless inhaler... and there was silence! YAY!
I'm going to stop taking it four times a day, as prescribed, and use it instead only when I'm wheezy at bedtime. It worked all night, and I don't think I snored, either. There appear to be about 180 doses left, so it's conceivable that it could last me a year. Fingers crossed!
Mal had a restless night, waking up and saying things like, "Where's the lava?" and going to the restroom a couple of times, always burning with fever. He woke up at around 6 AM, asking, "Mommy, tomorrow can I have some canned oranges?" I figured he was starving after his Tuesday diet, which consisted of half a bowl of cereal, and apple, and one bag of fruit snacks, so asked if he wanted some right then. He ate about 1/4 of the can very ravenously, declared himself stuffed, and dropped right back off to sleep.
He woke up a little bit later and asked, "Why can I see things in here?" I told him it was because the sun was coming up. "But I'm still tired!" I assured him he could continue to sleep.
It's almost 2 PM on Wednesday. I'm pretty much 100%; I managed to vacuum today and that was something I could not have done yesterday. Mal has slept on and off, eating most of the rest of the oranges. He asked for some milk and an apple and is working on that. He keeps watching these LEGO Star Wars play-through videos, and dozing off. He's less hot than he was a few hours ago.
James is working and still coughing, but we kind of all are. Hopefully D missed out on it. I did go around and wipe down all of the appliance handles, light switches, door knobs, toilet handles, faucets, etc. with the Lysol wipes my parents left. Oh, and last night I managed to make dinner for D and me with the bread my dad made.
Sautéed mushroom, spinach, and garlic with Alfredo sauce and mozzarella cheese. Very good. D especially approved.
Looks like we're all on the mend.
I'm operating under a working theory that Mal is actually "teething." He had a hard time teething as a baby, and yesterday I noticed that his front top right tooth is visibly longer than the left tooth. The dentist who did the fillings did a very poor job, but the teeth were at least even. I think that one is trying to come out. This news, of course, upsets Mal, who does not desire change, especially one that is evocative of aging, which predicts eventual independence. He refuses to wiggle it around to see if it is loose. So I guess we just wait.
Sunday afternoon, I was starting to think that I wasn't going to escape cedar fever this year, after all. By 8:30, I was beat. I went to bed by 9:30, and James mostly distracted Mal until he was wound down and "ready for bed."
One cool thing that James has been trying to tell you as he's worked on his blog entry about his and Mal's trip to San Antonio -- AT THE BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER -- is that, since they returned, James has been Mal's go-to for the nighttime tooth-brushing routine. It's super sweet, and, of course, I love being out of that loop.
However, after Mal brushes his teeth, he often watches videos for a while before he goes to sleep for the night. Usually, that's okay. But Sunday night, I felt like garbage. Mal kept saying, "I'm going to watch one more video, then I'm going to go to bed." "Okay." After the third round of this, I said, "Mal, you can watch as many videos as you want; I'm trying to sleep so you don't have to tell me."
When he DID go to bed, he managed to plug his iPad in himself, but when he laid down, he was frustrated because I had pulled back both of his blankets and his sheet, and he prefers just the top blanket. He was fussing about it, and kicking the superfluous sheet and blanket down to the foot of the bed, which he often does, even when it's absolutely freezing outside (and super cold inside because we live in a 13-year-old house with crappy insulation and crappier windows).
After he did THAT, he was still fussing, "Next time, the top blanket only! I'm so uncomfortable!" I asked how he was uncomfortable. He said, "I don't know," kick, kick, kick, "I'm just UNCOMFORTABLE!" And I LOST. IT. I sat up and started pulling his other blankets into the floor with way more force than was necessary. I said, "I JUST WANTED TO GO TO SLEEP EARLY BECAUSE I AM SO TIRED!" Then I announced that I was going to pee and left the room.
I guess I "said" this louder than I maybe meant, but probably about as intensely as I felt, because James was in Mal's room when I got back from the bathroom. He'd come in to see if Mal was okay, and I have to tell you... it feels like crap when your baby daddy has to check up on his kid because he's afraid you might have upset or hurt him. This has happened a couple of times since Mal was born, mostly when he was a baby and I was chronically sleep-deprived and on the edge.
Then, also, D asked me the next day, "What happened last night?" So I had to tell her that I had a temper tantrum because I was so exhausted and kept being awakened. By then, I had apologized to both James and Mal. But still. Geez.
Monday, I got up and took a shower with some eucalyptus sinus soothers. After that, I felt like I just needed to spend the day in bed. James is in his last week on his current team at work, and I didn't think asking him to stay home was a great idea (it looks like "senioritis"), so I decided I could make it. Mal got up, and fortunately was an absolute gem.
First, when he woke up, he called to me. I said, "I'm right here." He said, "It's not really you." I asked, "If it's not me, then who am I?" He said, "You just lost control, and then you got sick." I asked James if they'd talked about this, and he said they had not. I told Mal, "Aww, you're so sweet to me." He said, "You're sweet to me, too... And I'm a party blower so I can do anything." Kind AND weird. That's my kid.
I spent most of Monday in the master bedroom, because they were jack-hammering rock to try to make room for the septic tank across the street. In all, it's taken them about two weeks to dig that hole. I'm over it.
As I mentioned, Mal was amazing. He played Number Blocks and with his Sonic characters. I think he was just happy to have me not up and running around, but lying there with him, listening and interacting as much as I could all day. Then he'd run off to watch videos or play a game. I made him some food and tried to sit at the table with him, but needed to get back into bed after a few minutes.
I kept using my albuterol inhaler. Like a lot. And it wasn't working for more than 15 minutes. I have a nebulizer and used that once, also to little avail. I decided to make use of Teladoc, and after an hour or so had a prescription for several things: Tamiflu, an antibiotic, a steroid, and an inhaler than I learned would have cost $600 if I didn't have insurance.
Having kicked around in a stupor most of the day, I tried to get it together to take D to banjo lessons and to pick up my medicine. I was obviously not operating at full capacity, and D said, "We can stay home if you need to." But D missed a lot of classes after surgery, and then during the holidays, so I wanted to make sure we kept the routine up. And I neeeeeded meds.
We successfully made that trip, and I got the kids food from Sonic. I told James he'd need to pick up something on the way home, because I knew I couldn't cook dinner. As it got later, a couple of hours after I'd taken the first doses of everything, I started feeling worse. The uber-expensive inhaler was not helping me breathe. My head was killing me. I was exhausted. I was worried that I'd not be able to breathe during the night, and one thing the Teladoc had told me was that the flu wasn't likely to kill me, but that if I was gasping for air, I needed to get to the E/R.
I texted James and told him that when he got home, I wanted him to take me to the hospital, but within half an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack, so D agreed to hang out with Mal while they waited for James to come home, and then I drove -- in James's car, which was recently pulled over for having a headlight out, which is why James had driven my car to work -- to the hospital.
I'd checked in online, but they were busy. It was quiet, but they didn't have any rooms, so kept sending me back to the waiting room after triage and then an EKG. When I arrived, my pulse/ox was 95, which isn't optimal, but not bad enough that I was going to beat anyone else out for a room. My pulse was 132, and my blood pressure was like 134/72, which is WAY HIGH for me. My temperature was 99.7, and my norm is around 97.5.
I guess the EKG was fine. I didn't see or hear anything about that.
Oh... when I was initially waiting, I felt so nauseated, I sped off to find a restroom. I got into the stall just in time... for a dry heave. I'd eaten a bag of chips, a box of Yoo-Hoo, an apple, and half a corn dog earlier in the day, but had nothing in my stomach at that time. I knew I was supposed to have taken the antibiotic with food, but was feeling so yucky that I could not. So I went to the vending machine and picked the only thing I felt my body could handle: a Snickers bar. Protein and chocolate and some calories. It's better than nothing, right?
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| Yes, I have a run in my sweats. But I LOVE these sweats and can't find them new anywhere. |
So there I was, being triaged while putting away a candy bar. I'm sure the nurse was impressed with my overall health and wellness plan.
By the time I got into a room, my pulse/ox was shifting from as high as 98 to as low as 92. My pulse began to slow, and eventually dipped below 100. And my blood pressure was 168/64 by the time I was released.
The doctor was critical of the Teladoc who had both prescribed Tamiflu without a positive swab for influenza, and also prescribed antibiotics, as well, as they treat the same things. He also told me that Tamiflu reduces flu symptoms by approximately 18 hours, which is the kid of crap that is exactly why I stopped taking antibiotics for my chronic (and now absent for nearly 13 years) tonsillitis. He said that the reason I'd gotten sick in the waiting room is that, ya know, meds you don't need make you sick.
I did test negative for the flu, and I have to tell you: If I had the choice to get another flu swab OR go through the birthing process from when I had Mal but not end up with anything to show for it, I'd rather do birth. That flu "swab" (which would more rightly be called a "painful sinus stab") was easily the most painful medical thing I've ever had done to me. I mean, I will NEVER consent to one again, and I will NEVER EVER consent to Mal's having one. He would never leave the house again. We can just operate under the assumption that we do not have the flu because even if we do, I'm not taking useless meds when we'll just get over it anyway.
After three hours, a couple of chest x-rays, some blood work the results to which I guess I'll get later, spilling my Route 44 Diet Coke all under the E/R private room bed, and who knows how much out-of-pocket expenses, I was discharged with an "unspecified bug" (disappointingly referred to as an upper respiratory infection, AKA "the common cold" in my paperwork), and instructions to ditch the Tamiflu and antibiotic, but stick with the steroid.
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| I tried to clean up, but I was attached to machines, and throwing paper towels on the floor spiked my heart rate to 123! |
By the time I got home, I felt a little better, but could still feel my heartbeat so noticeably for the next 16 hours or so. I slept mostly sitting up, and slept better than I had the night before.
I don't know what that was, but I have never felt as terrible as I did on Monday. Maybe the colitis or whatever I had as a teenager was worse, but then I had people to take care of me. I could stay home from school. I could pass out and someone would help me up.
I almost never get sick, and even when I do, it tends to be some low-grade mehh sickness that passes in a couple of days. Getting really sick made me feel, honestly, very alone. And resentful of that, even though there's really no one to be resentful of. But it just makes me aware that there's no back-up plan for me. Like, I don't "get" sick days. I guess most moms feel this way? Or I'm just a really bad patient.
Anyway, yesterday morning, my parents came down to play with Mal so I could get some more rest. I knew something was up when Dad offered to take Mal to McDonald's, and Mal said he didn't want to go.
About an hour into their visit, I called Mal back into the bedroom with me. I held him, and he was burning up. Five minutes later...
I sent my parents home (after they'd had some of the cheeseburger macaroni lunch I'd promised them), but they left me Lysol wipes and a loaf of fresh bread my dad had made.
Mal woke up after a bit, absolutely baking and inconsolable. He wanted to go sit at the table, drink some soda, and watch videos. He sat there for a minute, then said he needed to use the restroom. Half way there, he "threw up" in the floor, but he hadn't eaten anything so it was just stomach acid and caramel coloring. Sorry, folks. This is real life. Also the ugly part where one of the first things that ran through my head was, "Welp, glad I'm at 85% because someone has to clean this up and nurse Malcolm."
He immediately went back to sleep in the back bedroom, I got things cleaned up, and I was especially grateful that my mom had given me a pair of house shoes for Christmas because the ones I had been wearing needed to be washed, as well.
I followed Mal around with a barf bag all day, and he hated it, swearing he'd never throw up again. He was highly disappointed that this was "The first time I ever barfed when I was 5!"
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| Custom blanket by Grandma! |
He successfully bathed, we washed his hair, and I noticed that even in the water, he was covered in goose-bumps. He went straight from the bath back to bed.
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| Yes, this is the mermaid towel from D's childhood. They've both loved it. |
James went straight to bed (Mal's bed, since Mal was in his), and except for moving back into his room because Aish both wanted to be in Mal's room with James, and out of Mal's room when I shut the door because who knows why cats want to do anything, but I guess 5 repetitions of this was plenty. He slept basically 12 hours and looked a lot better this morning. He's working from home today, though, as he scared himself driving home last night (I know the feeling!), and he doesn't want to taint his cow-orkers.
I washed Mal's bedding while he watched videos and napped on the trundle bed. Then he got into his bed and I brushed his teeth with training toothpaste, so he didn't have to spit it out. He did want to rinse with water, but didn't feel up to standing at the sink, so I finally got to use that barf bag!
I laid down with Mal at about 9:30 and then finally discovered something that stupid $600 inhaler is good for!
Often, I wheeze when I lie down. There's something in the back of my throat, or down my windpipe, that, even when my lungs feel open and clear, it makes cat sounds. After half an hour of that regardless of my sleep position, I decided to do my final dose of that otherwise useless inhaler... and there was silence! YAY!
I'm going to stop taking it four times a day, as prescribed, and use it instead only when I'm wheezy at bedtime. It worked all night, and I don't think I snored, either. There appear to be about 180 doses left, so it's conceivable that it could last me a year. Fingers crossed!
Mal had a restless night, waking up and saying things like, "Where's the lava?" and going to the restroom a couple of times, always burning with fever. He woke up at around 6 AM, asking, "Mommy, tomorrow can I have some canned oranges?" I figured he was starving after his Tuesday diet, which consisted of half a bowl of cereal, and apple, and one bag of fruit snacks, so asked if he wanted some right then. He ate about 1/4 of the can very ravenously, declared himself stuffed, and dropped right back off to sleep.
He woke up a little bit later and asked, "Why can I see things in here?" I told him it was because the sun was coming up. "But I'm still tired!" I assured him he could continue to sleep.
It's almost 2 PM on Wednesday. I'm pretty much 100%; I managed to vacuum today and that was something I could not have done yesterday. Mal has slept on and off, eating most of the rest of the oranges. He asked for some milk and an apple and is working on that. He keeps watching these LEGO Star Wars play-through videos, and dozing off. He's less hot than he was a few hours ago.
James is working and still coughing, but we kind of all are. Hopefully D missed out on it. I did go around and wipe down all of the appliance handles, light switches, door knobs, toilet handles, faucets, etc. with the Lysol wipes my parents left. Oh, and last night I managed to make dinner for D and me with the bread my dad made.
Sautéed mushroom, spinach, and garlic with Alfredo sauce and mozzarella cheese. Very good. D especially approved.
Looks like we're all on the mend.
I'm operating under a working theory that Mal is actually "teething." He had a hard time teething as a baby, and yesterday I noticed that his front top right tooth is visibly longer than the left tooth. The dentist who did the fillings did a very poor job, but the teeth were at least even. I think that one is trying to come out. This news, of course, upsets Mal, who does not desire change, especially one that is evocative of aging, which predicts eventual independence. He refuses to wiggle it around to see if it is loose. So I guess we just wait.
Friday, January 10, 2020
Yes, Yes It Is
My chill totally ran out when Mal woke up and almost immediately started complaining about his knee hurting. I called the pediatrician's office, and they were able to fit him in at 1 o'clock this afternoon.
We headed out pretty much first thing, going first to Bricks and Minifigs, where we browsed a bit before Mal settled on getting Asajj Ventress and Sabine Wren. Then we went to Chick-fil-A. Mal played with a kid there for a while before she had to leave. I was hoping we'd kill enough time to go straight to the doctor's, but we still had about an hour. So we went to Urban Air, where they have a Homeschool Jump every Friday from noon until 3 PM. Mal met a little kid he enjoyed for a bit, then we went to the office.
Mal cried and refused to do anything (although he eventually did everything; they just had to take his temperature under his arm, and he stepped on the scale even as he declaimed never stepping on the scale ever). He insisted, "This is the worst day ever!" The nurse was super patient with him, and our pediatrician is just the best. After having Mal push against with his feet, and then moving Mal's legs and ankles around, the doctor had him lie down (again, with many tears and much protesting). Eventually, the doctor pulled Mal's legs up at a 90 degree angle, held him by the ankles, and had me come look.
I blushed, "Oh, I know. His heels are super dirty; he was playing at Chick-fil-A." "No, this." When I looked closer I saw it: Mal's left leg is about half a centimeter longer than his right leg. The doctor said this is normal, that the long bones in the legs don't grow at the same rate. So right now, his left leg is longer, and that explains why his left knee has been bothering him more. The doctor said it was likely to alternate for the next ten years, though he might not experience the "growing pains" in this manner.
That's a relief to know for sure!
And after the "worst day ever," Mal wanted to go back to Urban Air for a few, so he jumped some more, then we went to pick up a half price pizza at Papa Murphy's. We walked over to HEB, per Mal's request, where he found a very on-sale Mario squishy blind bag (it was a Koopa shell) and was an instant winner at the HEB Buddy Bucks machine (foam putty). He cleaned up pretty well, with cushioning all around the HORRIBLE, VERY DEVASTATING doctor's visit.
Methinks he'll live.
PS Mal is 51 pounds (98th percentile) and 47.5 inches (91st percentile).
We headed out pretty much first thing, going first to Bricks and Minifigs, where we browsed a bit before Mal settled on getting Asajj Ventress and Sabine Wren. Then we went to Chick-fil-A. Mal played with a kid there for a while before she had to leave. I was hoping we'd kill enough time to go straight to the doctor's, but we still had about an hour. So we went to Urban Air, where they have a Homeschool Jump every Friday from noon until 3 PM. Mal met a little kid he enjoyed for a bit, then we went to the office.
Mal cried and refused to do anything (although he eventually did everything; they just had to take his temperature under his arm, and he stepped on the scale even as he declaimed never stepping on the scale ever). He insisted, "This is the worst day ever!" The nurse was super patient with him, and our pediatrician is just the best. After having Mal push against with his feet, and then moving Mal's legs and ankles around, the doctor had him lie down (again, with many tears and much protesting). Eventually, the doctor pulled Mal's legs up at a 90 degree angle, held him by the ankles, and had me come look.
I blushed, "Oh, I know. His heels are super dirty; he was playing at Chick-fil-A." "No, this." When I looked closer I saw it: Mal's left leg is about half a centimeter longer than his right leg. The doctor said this is normal, that the long bones in the legs don't grow at the same rate. So right now, his left leg is longer, and that explains why his left knee has been bothering him more. The doctor said it was likely to alternate for the next ten years, though he might not experience the "growing pains" in this manner.
That's a relief to know for sure!
And after the "worst day ever," Mal wanted to go back to Urban Air for a few, so he jumped some more, then we went to pick up a half price pizza at Papa Murphy's. We walked over to HEB, per Mal's request, where he found a very on-sale Mario squishy blind bag (it was a Koopa shell) and was an instant winner at the HEB Buddy Bucks machine (foam putty). He cleaned up pretty well, with cushioning all around the HORRIBLE, VERY DEVASTATING doctor's visit.
Methinks he'll live.
PS Mal is 51 pounds (98th percentile) and 47.5 inches (91st percentile).
Growing Pains?
The other day, Mal and I were leaving somewhere when I decided to have him try to buckle his own seatbelt. To say that he was not excited about this exercise would be a gross understatement. He immediately started crying and insisting, "I can't do it! You have to do it!" I assured him I'd help whenever he needed it, but just wanted to see if he could try it.
He grabbed a hold of the fastener and pulled it across his chest until the belt choked him. "See?!" he spat, "It's choking me!" "Okay," I pulled it away from his neck. "Now pull on the belt part with your right hand, THEN pull the fastener down where it needs to be." "I CAN'T DO IT! YOU HAVE TO STRAP ME IN!"
Again, I assured Mal that I would strap him in if he needed me to, and I'd check the belt for him if he did it himself. Again, he just cried and refused to make any real effort. I turned around and just sat in the driver's seat, waiting for him to calm down.
Eventually, I got the belt as far as clicking it in and asked him to push down on it to see if he could click it in place. He laid his hand on it and exerted no pressure. "It won't work!"
By then, he was just so upset, I finished up and we drove away. As we did, he wailed, "I'll never buckle my own seatbelt!" I cheerily predicted that by the time he was 7, he'd be able to do it. "No, I won't! I'll never ever do it and you'll have to do it forever!"
Malcolm has often expressed numerous times in the past two years his disdain for independence. He still hasn't cleaned up after himself when using the restroom (but, honestly, he's not ready... we still have issues with his going to do the sit-down business before he's generated some preparatory skid marks). He often has us follow him to the bathroom, when he's thinking about it. He can go alone, but then psyches himself out sometimes because he had a dream once that the toilet in what he calls "D's bathroom" bellowed, "Hello, Malcolm!" when he approached it... and he's intimidated by James's Boba Fest bathrobe in our bathroom; I think he's afraid it will magically spring to life and attack him.
Then last night when I was getting ready to go to bed, I asked Mal, who was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen table from me, if he could plug my computer in for me. Immediately, he said, "No! I can't! I'm not a big boy yet!"
However, he'll also tell us how he's "clearly an adult" because if he wants a spoonful of sugar, he can get it without assistance. (Yes, this happens. I don't tell you how to parent, you don't tell me how to parent.)
But mostly, he wants to stay little.
He cried the other day so much just at the thought of visiting Hop N' Happy, because one of his favorite bounce houses there is designated for ages 4 and under. "I hate being 5! I just want to stay 4 forever!"
In fact, before his 5th birthday, he used to say it would be the last one he had, then he'd just stay 5. He's since changed his tune a bit, I believe because he's already planned where he wants to have his parties the next two years: Urban Air for 6, and Bricks and Minifigs for 7.
Regarding literal growing pains: I think we might have 'em. Malcolm often hyperextends his knees, so wears knee braces when he's going to be jumping on a trampoline, which is the most predictable time it tends to happen (and has only occurred once or twice outside of the jump parks). But earlier this week, he was complaining of his knees hurting when we were walking around the outlet mall. And last night when he came to bed, he was in a lot of pain, as well.
I made the mistake of looking up "knee pain in kids" and, of course, there are tons of articles that go the way of "I thought my kid just had growing pains, but it was actually arthritis." I'm going to give it a couple of days and see if we need to make a doctor's appointment. He doesn't seem to have any swelling or limitation of movement, so I'm hoping it is just that his tendons and muscles are trying to catch up to his bones.
When we saw our friends at the library story-time on Wednesday, after a long holiday break, a couple of the moms commented on how they thought Mal was taller than the last time they'd seen him, so growing pains is a plausible reason for his discomfort.
And, finally, I'll leave you with a couple of funny Mal things:
1) The other day, Malcolm was looking for something that I'd just seen in his closet. I reminded him that they were in a white bag, and told him to go look for it. Later, I went in his room, and he complained that he couldn't find it. I said, "Mal, I saw it earlier today! Look for the white bag!" Malcolm opened the closet door, turned to me, and asked, "Okay, where is this {{air quotes}} 'white' 'bag' {{close quotes}} you're talking about?"
2) Last night, Mal was watching TV and asked, "Can I try one of those weird-os?" James and I exchanged confused looks, then a lightbulb went on in my head about a seasonal item I'd purchased earlier in the day. "You mean a Ding Dong?" "Yeah! That!"
So now our family calls Ding Dongs "Weird-os." Naturally.
He grabbed a hold of the fastener and pulled it across his chest until the belt choked him. "See?!" he spat, "It's choking me!" "Okay," I pulled it away from his neck. "Now pull on the belt part with your right hand, THEN pull the fastener down where it needs to be." "I CAN'T DO IT! YOU HAVE TO STRAP ME IN!"
Again, I assured Mal that I would strap him in if he needed me to, and I'd check the belt for him if he did it himself. Again, he just cried and refused to make any real effort. I turned around and just sat in the driver's seat, waiting for him to calm down.
Eventually, I got the belt as far as clicking it in and asked him to push down on it to see if he could click it in place. He laid his hand on it and exerted no pressure. "It won't work!"
By then, he was just so upset, I finished up and we drove away. As we did, he wailed, "I'll never buckle my own seatbelt!" I cheerily predicted that by the time he was 7, he'd be able to do it. "No, I won't! I'll never ever do it and you'll have to do it forever!"
Malcolm has often expressed numerous times in the past two years his disdain for independence. He still hasn't cleaned up after himself when using the restroom (but, honestly, he's not ready... we still have issues with his going to do the sit-down business before he's generated some preparatory skid marks). He often has us follow him to the bathroom, when he's thinking about it. He can go alone, but then psyches himself out sometimes because he had a dream once that the toilet in what he calls "D's bathroom" bellowed, "Hello, Malcolm!" when he approached it... and he's intimidated by James's Boba Fest bathrobe in our bathroom; I think he's afraid it will magically spring to life and attack him.
Then last night when I was getting ready to go to bed, I asked Mal, who was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen table from me, if he could plug my computer in for me. Immediately, he said, "No! I can't! I'm not a big boy yet!"
However, he'll also tell us how he's "clearly an adult" because if he wants a spoonful of sugar, he can get it without assistance. (Yes, this happens. I don't tell you how to parent, you don't tell me how to parent.)
But mostly, he wants to stay little.
He cried the other day so much just at the thought of visiting Hop N' Happy, because one of his favorite bounce houses there is designated for ages 4 and under. "I hate being 5! I just want to stay 4 forever!"
In fact, before his 5th birthday, he used to say it would be the last one he had, then he'd just stay 5. He's since changed his tune a bit, I believe because he's already planned where he wants to have his parties the next two years: Urban Air for 6, and Bricks and Minifigs for 7.
Regarding literal growing pains: I think we might have 'em. Malcolm often hyperextends his knees, so wears knee braces when he's going to be jumping on a trampoline, which is the most predictable time it tends to happen (and has only occurred once or twice outside of the jump parks). But earlier this week, he was complaining of his knees hurting when we were walking around the outlet mall. And last night when he came to bed, he was in a lot of pain, as well.
I made the mistake of looking up "knee pain in kids" and, of course, there are tons of articles that go the way of "I thought my kid just had growing pains, but it was actually arthritis." I'm going to give it a couple of days and see if we need to make a doctor's appointment. He doesn't seem to have any swelling or limitation of movement, so I'm hoping it is just that his tendons and muscles are trying to catch up to his bones.
When we saw our friends at the library story-time on Wednesday, after a long holiday break, a couple of the moms commented on how they thought Mal was taller than the last time they'd seen him, so growing pains is a plausible reason for his discomfort.
And, finally, I'll leave you with a couple of funny Mal things:
1) The other day, Malcolm was looking for something that I'd just seen in his closet. I reminded him that they were in a white bag, and told him to go look for it. Later, I went in his room, and he complained that he couldn't find it. I said, "Mal, I saw it earlier today! Look for the white bag!" Malcolm opened the closet door, turned to me, and asked, "Okay, where is this {{air quotes}} 'white' 'bag' {{close quotes}} you're talking about?"
2) Last night, Mal was watching TV and asked, "Can I try one of those weird-os?" James and I exchanged confused looks, then a lightbulb went on in my head about a seasonal item I'd purchased earlier in the day. "You mean a Ding Dong?" "Yeah! That!"
So now our family calls Ding Dongs "Weird-os." Naturally.
Sunday, January 5, 2020
How My Frugality Now Looks Different Than a Decade Ago
Right about the time our Instacart came up for renewal, Walmart Grocery started offering delivery to our address (which isn't exactly out in the boonies, but seems like it is to townies). I have no particular affection for the WM, which I partially blame for destroying my first marriage, but... their apps are so reliably functional and the product prices are so much less than Instacart's partner stores'. As what I'm certain is an intentional dig at the grocery delivering giant, Walmart also placed their annual delivery membership at exactly one dollar less than Instacart's.
All of this means that I have not gone to the store to buy ingredients for our cook-at-home meals (5 a week, more or less) in at least a year. It's probably even less, because I was doing Walmart Pickup or HEB Curbside and awful lot before that.
When D was little, I LOVED going grocery shopping. Whereas now, I pick meals from eMeals' offerings and get that stuff, supplementing with snacks and cereal, etc. back then, grocery shopping was a game that I played with great relish.
I clipped every coupon from the Sunday paper, even if I didn't think I'd use it. That was actually pretty cool, because if I were in line behind someone who was getting, say, a particular brand of cat food when I didn't have a cat, I could pass the savings on to them. People knew I couponed (though I was never an "extreme couponer"), and often gave me extra inserts.
When the grocery sales papers came out on Tuesday, I'd look through and choose which store to visit. We had an Albertson's and a Kroger in Sherman, and I almost always chose Kroger. It was not as "nice," but it was a lot less expensive. Also, Kroger doubled coupons up to $.50 and tripled coupons up to $.35.
I'd look at what items were advertised as on sale that corresponded to my coupons. I'd make a list on the outside of an envelope, and stick the coupons that I definitely planned to use in there, taking the other coupons with me in case I found something in the store that wasn't advertised.
I headed to the store with an open mind, sure that if I found, say, hamburger on sale, I could find some cheap tomato sauce and pasta, and supplement that with a head of lettuce and some boiled eggs as a side salad.
Using this method, I went years without paying for toothbrushes, deodorant, salad dressing, or yogurt. For some reason, those were often both on sale and had coupons that meant I could stock up on several at a time.
I never shied away from perishable clearance items: meat, dairy, prepared produce. If it looked okay in the store, I knew we'd use it before it went south.
At the time, I had an "allowance" of about $400 a month for groceries. I'd try to spend $75 or less during any grocery run, and then have some left over in case we wanted to grab a soda or eat out sometime when I didn't have a mystery shopping job.
When I'd arrive home with a giant haul for just $75, I was proud. I wanted to tell everyone how I'd gotten 4 2-liters of soda for $.50. I know no one really cared, but it was exciting to me.
The main differences between then and now is that, first of all, stores (including my beloved Kroger) stopped bumping the value of coupons. That made the somewhat labor-intensive process of couponing -- some parents got absorbed in their phones when their kids were playing; I often used the down time to go through my accordion wallet of coupons, extracting the expired ones and fronting the ones that were about to run out -- less valuable.
Secondly, I started working, and really had to choose between couponing and mystery shopping. I still wanted to take my kiddo out to a restaurant on a single-parent budget, and got more mileage out of the shops than the coupons.
Thirdly, and most importantly now that I have nothing but leisure time anymore (have you noticed this is the fourth blog post this year??), going to the grocery store with Mal, with the intent of buying a lot of specific products off of a list, is just not fun. When he was little, he was just fussy. Now, he wants to look at toys... and, actually, he's at the age when I could just tell him to look at toys and I'd find him when I was done, which is what I did with D, but substitute "books" for "toys."
However, spending an entire hour in a store with a to-do list and that child is not the leisurely romp it was when I had a more compliant and self-entertaining child. Oh, memories are coming back. I distinctly remember listening to "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" on my Walkman, using a splitter and two pair of headphones, when D was much too old to be sitting in the cart but was, anyway, and laughing so hard at Hermione sputtering through happy tears, "You boys... are so... STUPID!" What's funny about how memories work is that I know I was reaching into the freezer for veggies when that happened. (I was in the produce section solo, listening to "Forrest Gump" once, and blushed, grateful that other shoppers couldn't hear what I was hearing. The book is way grittier and more sexual than the movie!)
Mal and I went to Walmart last night, and all I needed to get was some make-up remover and a couple of frozen meals for D. We can handle that. We spend about 20 minutes looking at toys, and he's content to ride "like a trash man" on the cart so he can jump off when something catches his eye. Short trips without a strict agenda, we can do. Otherwise, I'm grateful for grocery delivery. I'm not engaging in hyperbole when I tell you that it's changed my life.
All of this means that I have not gone to the store to buy ingredients for our cook-at-home meals (5 a week, more or less) in at least a year. It's probably even less, because I was doing Walmart Pickup or HEB Curbside and awful lot before that.
When D was little, I LOVED going grocery shopping. Whereas now, I pick meals from eMeals' offerings and get that stuff, supplementing with snacks and cereal, etc. back then, grocery shopping was a game that I played with great relish.
I clipped every coupon from the Sunday paper, even if I didn't think I'd use it. That was actually pretty cool, because if I were in line behind someone who was getting, say, a particular brand of cat food when I didn't have a cat, I could pass the savings on to them. People knew I couponed (though I was never an "extreme couponer"), and often gave me extra inserts.
When the grocery sales papers came out on Tuesday, I'd look through and choose which store to visit. We had an Albertson's and a Kroger in Sherman, and I almost always chose Kroger. It was not as "nice," but it was a lot less expensive. Also, Kroger doubled coupons up to $.50 and tripled coupons up to $.35.
I'd look at what items were advertised as on sale that corresponded to my coupons. I'd make a list on the outside of an envelope, and stick the coupons that I definitely planned to use in there, taking the other coupons with me in case I found something in the store that wasn't advertised.
I headed to the store with an open mind, sure that if I found, say, hamburger on sale, I could find some cheap tomato sauce and pasta, and supplement that with a head of lettuce and some boiled eggs as a side salad.
Using this method, I went years without paying for toothbrushes, deodorant, salad dressing, or yogurt. For some reason, those were often both on sale and had coupons that meant I could stock up on several at a time.
I never shied away from perishable clearance items: meat, dairy, prepared produce. If it looked okay in the store, I knew we'd use it before it went south.
At the time, I had an "allowance" of about $400 a month for groceries. I'd try to spend $75 or less during any grocery run, and then have some left over in case we wanted to grab a soda or eat out sometime when I didn't have a mystery shopping job.
When I'd arrive home with a giant haul for just $75, I was proud. I wanted to tell everyone how I'd gotten 4 2-liters of soda for $.50. I know no one really cared, but it was exciting to me.
The main differences between then and now is that, first of all, stores (including my beloved Kroger) stopped bumping the value of coupons. That made the somewhat labor-intensive process of couponing -- some parents got absorbed in their phones when their kids were playing; I often used the down time to go through my accordion wallet of coupons, extracting the expired ones and fronting the ones that were about to run out -- less valuable.
Secondly, I started working, and really had to choose between couponing and mystery shopping. I still wanted to take my kiddo out to a restaurant on a single-parent budget, and got more mileage out of the shops than the coupons.
Thirdly, and most importantly now that I have nothing but leisure time anymore (have you noticed this is the fourth blog post this year??), going to the grocery store with Mal, with the intent of buying a lot of specific products off of a list, is just not fun. When he was little, he was just fussy. Now, he wants to look at toys... and, actually, he's at the age when I could just tell him to look at toys and I'd find him when I was done, which is what I did with D, but substitute "books" for "toys."
However, spending an entire hour in a store with a to-do list and that child is not the leisurely romp it was when I had a more compliant and self-entertaining child. Oh, memories are coming back. I distinctly remember listening to "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" on my Walkman, using a splitter and two pair of headphones, when D was much too old to be sitting in the cart but was, anyway, and laughing so hard at Hermione sputtering through happy tears, "You boys... are so... STUPID!" What's funny about how memories work is that I know I was reaching into the freezer for veggies when that happened. (I was in the produce section solo, listening to "Forrest Gump" once, and blushed, grateful that other shoppers couldn't hear what I was hearing. The book is way grittier and more sexual than the movie!)
Mal and I went to Walmart last night, and all I needed to get was some make-up remover and a couple of frozen meals for D. We can handle that. We spend about 20 minutes looking at toys, and he's content to ride "like a trash man" on the cart so he can jump off when something catches his eye. Short trips without a strict agenda, we can do. Otherwise, I'm grateful for grocery delivery. I'm not engaging in hyperbole when I tell you that it's changed my life.
Saturday, January 4, 2020
Adventures in Frugality and the Home Arts (?)
After the money-hemorrhaging late fall, I made a deal with myself when we got back from our trip to Arizona that I wasn't going to buy anything superfluous (i.e. other than groceries and medicine, basically) until after the New Year. It was sometimes a challenge, especially because Mal doesn't understand that kind of thing. But it was nice to reset and reflect on purchases I thought I wanted to make during that time.
For instance: I'd done a trial subscription to Grove, and like the products... but decided that now that I have the glass dispensers, I can buy the cleaning products at Target and save a bunch of packaging and the delivery as well as some money.
Another thing I really wanted was a very large suitcase for times when we fly and can check bags, or even when I'm traveling alone with Mal and it would be nice to have one big bag to maneuver instead of a couple of smaller ones. I had looked online, and am enamored with hard-sided luggage, and Away's specifically. There's also a luggage store at the outlet mall that is always having sales. But even for soft-sided suitcases, I wasn't seeing anything under $100, and mostly over $200, for the size I wanted.
I spoke with my parents about borrowing one of theirs, but our next trip is scheduled within a week of their travel, and I didn't want either one of us to have to make the return during that time either pre- or post-vacation.
I also looked at Goodwill, which seemed to have gotten an influx of off-brand, new soft-sided bags in three sizes (carry-on, regular, and large) just in time for Christmas. Even those were $50 for the biggest.
After perusing Craigslist for a bit, I found an ugly, brown, 30-inch American Tourister suitcase for $25. It sells for about $160 new, but I'm sure they don't sell it in that color anymore, because why would they?
I arranged to get it, then had the idea that we could personalize it a bit with a few patches. When I mentioned this to Mal at the craft store, he took charge and picked out enough patches that I almost could have bought a new bag at Goodwill, but at least this is a brand I know and trust, and it will be thoroughly ours.
We picked it up yesterday, and the cats were interested.
Mal got bored with the affixing process after deciding where everything would go. After ironing the whole lot, I realized that apparently the backing did not want to adhere to a synthetic fabric, so... I used super-glue.
Now our bag is ready for its inaugural outing as part of Team Dave's. Too bad it will have to wait a few months.
As you can see: Cat hairs already.
I'm not remotely a crafty person, but this was fun, especially since Mal took ownership of the design and was super excited about getting it together.
For instance: I'd done a trial subscription to Grove, and like the products... but decided that now that I have the glass dispensers, I can buy the cleaning products at Target and save a bunch of packaging and the delivery as well as some money.
Another thing I really wanted was a very large suitcase for times when we fly and can check bags, or even when I'm traveling alone with Mal and it would be nice to have one big bag to maneuver instead of a couple of smaller ones. I had looked online, and am enamored with hard-sided luggage, and Away's specifically. There's also a luggage store at the outlet mall that is always having sales. But even for soft-sided suitcases, I wasn't seeing anything under $100, and mostly over $200, for the size I wanted.
I spoke with my parents about borrowing one of theirs, but our next trip is scheduled within a week of their travel, and I didn't want either one of us to have to make the return during that time either pre- or post-vacation.
I also looked at Goodwill, which seemed to have gotten an influx of off-brand, new soft-sided bags in three sizes (carry-on, regular, and large) just in time for Christmas. Even those were $50 for the biggest.
After perusing Craigslist for a bit, I found an ugly, brown, 30-inch American Tourister suitcase for $25. It sells for about $160 new, but I'm sure they don't sell it in that color anymore, because why would they?
I arranged to get it, then had the idea that we could personalize it a bit with a few patches. When I mentioned this to Mal at the craft store, he took charge and picked out enough patches that I almost could have bought a new bag at Goodwill, but at least this is a brand I know and trust, and it will be thoroughly ours.
We picked it up yesterday, and the cats were interested.
 |
| Looks like poop! |
 |
| Too bad it doesn't smell like poop. |
Now our bag is ready for its inaugural outing as part of Team Dave's. Too bad it will have to wait a few months.
Mal picked out: A "Minecraft" heart (really it's just pixelated, but whatever), BB-8, and a slice of pizza for the front. The heart came with a "full battery" patch, too, which I think is a cool allusion to how you should feel recharged after a good vacation. I used it to cover the scuffed-up logo; we'll see if it sticks!
I am the one who picked the "seek adventure" patch. And we affixed the luggage tag we formerly had on Mal's now-too-tiny backpack to the handle of the new case.
Mal's second food pick, French fries, on the side mean we should be able to locate our otherwise boring brown suitcase from any angle.
Also, there was a slight tear in the back (disclosed in the sales post), so I taped it up inside and the outside, and added a little flair to that, too. Mal said, "Thank you for giving me a heart!"
As you can see: Cat hairs already.
I'm not remotely a crafty person, but this was fun, especially since Mal took ownership of the design and was super excited about getting it together.
Friday, January 3, 2020
Fashion-no-sta
There is a 23-year-old young woman I follow on YouTube and I'm not entirely sure why since I'm certainly not her intended audience, and most of her videos are about fashion in some way... But I think I ended up on her channel because she'd done something I think is fun, which is that she took $100 into ten different stores in a mall to see what she could buy with the same amount from, say, Forever 21 (a lot) to Kate Spade (nothing). Then I saw one where she tried on a similarly-styled pair of size 12 jeans at a bunch of different stores, and noted how much the actual sizes varied. Ger effervescent personality is just uplifting, plus she employs a bunch of her high school friends, so that's awesome and fun. Anyway, I watch a lot of her videos while I'm doing other things, like paying bills or making dinner.
I realize, though, that she has a seemingly innate sense of fashion. Like she talks about using this belt with this outfit because the belt provides texture as a contrast to the rest of it. These are things I've never even considered. I mostly feel like if I like an article of clothing and it's comfortable, I'll wear it. Because of this, there are many outfits I've only retired after having seen pictures of myself and realizing that somehow what I think I look like based on my mirror and how the outfit actually wears are vastly divergent and this is not a look I want to continue.
The video I watched yesterday was one where she recreated her "worst" outfits from adolescence. None of them was particularly awful, though her friends and mom could tell exactly what time frame she was referencing with her clothes. Part of this is because she was born in the mid-90s so her adolescence wasn't so long ago. But part of it is that she dressed stylishly (or her interpretation of stylishly) for the day, and it was easily identifiable to her peers.
She asked the question: What fashion decisions from high school do you think are your worst? Well, I don't think I made ANY "fashion" decisions, per se, when I was... um, ever, actually. Since I always felt ridiculously large (false) as a youngster, I just wanted to look not huge and didn't try to replicate anyone's "looks," except maybe Bill Cosby's sweaters. And I hate that I still think "Cosby sweater" when I see one, because I LOVE THEM STILL. John Boyega wore one on the cover of People Magazine recently, and I think we should call them Boyega sweaters now. (I know, he's not incredibly tactful at times. Grace on that one. I get it.)
Anyhoo, maybe it's because my family didn't have a lot of money, so we were pretty utilitarian about clothes? Or maybe it was because, again, the plus size clothes movement just had not gotten started in earnest so I didn't have a lot of choices. You can definitely look at old pictures and say, "80s!" but that was because... that's what they sold in stores at that time. And I was definitely a "buy the first thing that fits" gal, ask my mom, rather than a "let's shop all day until I create the perfect outfit for me."
I will say that the one thing I think we ALL wonder about the late 80s and early 90s is: bangs. You didn't have to have money to have big bangs. White Rain cost $.94 a bottle, and so even when you went through ONE BOTTLE A WEEK, it wasn't super expensive. Why did we do this? Who can say.
But you know what hair trend I think we'll look back on later and wonder, "Why?" The partial bun top knot. I do it, and I think it's cute as heck.
This is (k)not nearly as smack-dab on top of the head as I sometimes wear it. This young lady to whom I refer on YouTube also does this, and often accents it with what looks like a quarter-size bandana. And I love it! But I also feel like it's weird, and in 20 years, our kids and maybe grandkids will look at the pictures and wonder, "Why did we do this?" and "Why did you do that?" What is it about having a tiny cinnamon roll on your noggin that seemed like a viable look to you?
Then again, if I have my way, the concept of fashion and looking "nice" or "hip" or "hot" or whatever will have been totally demolished by then, and everyone can wear whatever they want and not feel self-conscious nor will anyone judge anyone else's choices with what they do with their bodies, and all the wars will end, and everyone will just bake brownies to share with their neighbors. If that happens, just remember that we vision-casted it first right here.
Nowadays, even with my ability to choose clothes that are more plentiful and varied, I don't really feel like I have a "style." I just get things I think are cute and that I won't have to fuss with, and that's it.
On a related note, I've been going to a lot of open houses lately. I enjoy keeping up with what real estate in our neighborhood is doing, and any time a house goes up then on the market, if it's open, we go tour it. What seems to be the deal right now is sealed concrete flooring (not stained; just the normal grey concrete color), black or slate cabinets, and light fixtures that look like recycled bottles, even if they aren't. The upper floors are mostly dark wood or laminate, with wet areas having black and white or something in-between tile, either mosaic or subway.
Clearly, this kind of blank slate is the deal and lots of people demand it. I understand minimalism but also think the interiors feel kind of cold, even when they're staged with furniture. Maybe earth-toned neutrals are just as blah, but at least they feel warmer to me. And I'm sorry, but I love carpet. I know it's bad for my allergies and you just cannot keep it clean. I know the cats are bound and determined to destroy it. I LOVE cool area rugs, too... but it's cheaper to carpet a room than to buy one or two good-sized nice area rugs, and then you have to pull them up and vacuum under the edges or they're pretty gross, as well.
So once again, I have zero sense of any particular style, but I know what I like. Our house is packed with garbage, basically. Gloriously colorful garbage that we got handed down or bought second-hand. There is nary a headboard in the building. I'm a cheapskate and the only "furniture" in which I have invested has been the outdoor structures we have (playscape, storage shed, pigeon loft, and solar panels). I do like the aesthetics of our kitchen chairs, but they're intentionally mismatched and inexpensive, and when one breaks, I can replace it without much concern.
Oh, and I bought a fake plant at IKEA yesterday to fill a "wtf" niche beside our fireplace in the living room. It was twice the price of a real plant, but with the cats, our odds seemed better with this thing. I know enough to know that fake plants are widely panned by people who have taste, but... *shrug*.
I know what I like, and I can look at a professionally-designed interior and think, "That looks really nice," but I don't know the names or origins of styles, and I don't think I'd be able to (or want to?) recreate them on my own.
Maybe that's just a thing: not having a sense of style and kind of just being fine with whatever. Like some people can camp and just not be bothered by the elements. Or some people can eat anything, even if it's cold food that's supposed to be hot or really too-old snack cakes (looking at James). I recognize when people look put together, and think it'd probably be cool to look so nice, but also... I love Crocs (way pre-VSCO, so I think we should credit ME and my tenacious fandom with forcing them into pop culture). And I love buying 3 shirts for $25. Or mattresses for $300. So maybe being fashionable just isn't in my future.
I realize, though, that she has a seemingly innate sense of fashion. Like she talks about using this belt with this outfit because the belt provides texture as a contrast to the rest of it. These are things I've never even considered. I mostly feel like if I like an article of clothing and it's comfortable, I'll wear it. Because of this, there are many outfits I've only retired after having seen pictures of myself and realizing that somehow what I think I look like based on my mirror and how the outfit actually wears are vastly divergent and this is not a look I want to continue.
The video I watched yesterday was one where she recreated her "worst" outfits from adolescence. None of them was particularly awful, though her friends and mom could tell exactly what time frame she was referencing with her clothes. Part of this is because she was born in the mid-90s so her adolescence wasn't so long ago. But part of it is that she dressed stylishly (or her interpretation of stylishly) for the day, and it was easily identifiable to her peers.She asked the question: What fashion decisions from high school do you think are your worst? Well, I don't think I made ANY "fashion" decisions, per se, when I was... um, ever, actually. Since I always felt ridiculously large (false) as a youngster, I just wanted to look not huge and didn't try to replicate anyone's "looks," except maybe Bill Cosby's sweaters. And I hate that I still think "Cosby sweater" when I see one, because I LOVE THEM STILL. John Boyega wore one on the cover of People Magazine recently, and I think we should call them Boyega sweaters now. (I know, he's not incredibly tactful at times. Grace on that one. I get it.)
Anyhoo, maybe it's because my family didn't have a lot of money, so we were pretty utilitarian about clothes? Or maybe it was because, again, the plus size clothes movement just had not gotten started in earnest so I didn't have a lot of choices. You can definitely look at old pictures and say, "80s!" but that was because... that's what they sold in stores at that time. And I was definitely a "buy the first thing that fits" gal, ask my mom, rather than a "let's shop all day until I create the perfect outfit for me."
I will say that the one thing I think we ALL wonder about the late 80s and early 90s is: bangs. You didn't have to have money to have big bangs. White Rain cost $.94 a bottle, and so even when you went through ONE BOTTLE A WEEK, it wasn't super expensive. Why did we do this? Who can say.
But you know what hair trend I think we'll look back on later and wonder, "Why?" The partial bun top knot. I do it, and I think it's cute as heck.
Then again, if I have my way, the concept of fashion and looking "nice" or "hip" or "hot" or whatever will have been totally demolished by then, and everyone can wear whatever they want and not feel self-conscious nor will anyone judge anyone else's choices with what they do with their bodies, and all the wars will end, and everyone will just bake brownies to share with their neighbors. If that happens, just remember that we vision-casted it first right here.
Nowadays, even with my ability to choose clothes that are more plentiful and varied, I don't really feel like I have a "style." I just get things I think are cute and that I won't have to fuss with, and that's it.
On a related note, I've been going to a lot of open houses lately. I enjoy keeping up with what real estate in our neighborhood is doing, and any time a house goes up then on the market, if it's open, we go tour it. What seems to be the deal right now is sealed concrete flooring (not stained; just the normal grey concrete color), black or slate cabinets, and light fixtures that look like recycled bottles, even if they aren't. The upper floors are mostly dark wood or laminate, with wet areas having black and white or something in-between tile, either mosaic or subway.
Clearly, this kind of blank slate is the deal and lots of people demand it. I understand minimalism but also think the interiors feel kind of cold, even when they're staged with furniture. Maybe earth-toned neutrals are just as blah, but at least they feel warmer to me. And I'm sorry, but I love carpet. I know it's bad for my allergies and you just cannot keep it clean. I know the cats are bound and determined to destroy it. I LOVE cool area rugs, too... but it's cheaper to carpet a room than to buy one or two good-sized nice area rugs, and then you have to pull them up and vacuum under the edges or they're pretty gross, as well.
So once again, I have zero sense of any particular style, but I know what I like. Our house is packed with garbage, basically. Gloriously colorful garbage that we got handed down or bought second-hand. There is nary a headboard in the building. I'm a cheapskate and the only "furniture" in which I have invested has been the outdoor structures we have (playscape, storage shed, pigeon loft, and solar panels). I do like the aesthetics of our kitchen chairs, but they're intentionally mismatched and inexpensive, and when one breaks, I can replace it without much concern.
Oh, and I bought a fake plant at IKEA yesterday to fill a "wtf" niche beside our fireplace in the living room. It was twice the price of a real plant, but with the cats, our odds seemed better with this thing. I know enough to know that fake plants are widely panned by people who have taste, but... *shrug*.
I know what I like, and I can look at a professionally-designed interior and think, "That looks really nice," but I don't know the names or origins of styles, and I don't think I'd be able to (or want to?) recreate them on my own.
Maybe that's just a thing: not having a sense of style and kind of just being fine with whatever. Like some people can camp and just not be bothered by the elements. Or some people can eat anything, even if it's cold food that's supposed to be hot or really too-old snack cakes (looking at James). I recognize when people look put together, and think it'd probably be cool to look so nice, but also... I love Crocs (way pre-VSCO, so I think we should credit ME and my tenacious fandom with forcing them into pop culture). And I love buying 3 shirts for $25. Or mattresses for $300. So maybe being fashionable just isn't in my future.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Collaboration Overload
My younger child has a new passion: Sharing information.
Malcolm likes to tell us (and especially me) what is going on. At. All. Times.
For instance, Mal was watching Mickey and the Roadster Racers last night. After watching a couple of episodes "with" him while I cleaned up the kitchen, I went into the back room to take out my contacts and get dressed for bed. While I was back there, he hit pause and ran back to tell me something amusing he'd enjoyed at least four times.
When we were at my parents' house last weekend, every time my Dad would say something funny, Malcolm would run into the room where I was (which, in an open floorpan, is basically the same room) and repeat it.
Mal plays a lot of Lego Star Wars right now, and he was already pretty big on the "Watch this!" then monitoring that our eyeballs were pointing at his screen at all times. But now, he stops playing to ask which characters we think he should play (and sometimes he does play them, but usually he already knows who he wants to utilize); he also will wonder out loud, "Who can use the force for this part?" even though he knows the answer... and will wait until one of us chimes in to proceed.
Adding to some frustration and exhaustion here is that he still just doesn't not know (or care?) about conversation etiquette in any fashion. James and I will be mid-sentence in an involved conversation, and he'll just say, "Hey, um, also..." and tell us something about what he just saw on TV or something funny he thought of.
Beyond interrupting is that he can't seem to listen in order to have an actual 2-sided conversation. He's been to Bricks and Minifigs (a neat, unauthorized LEGO reseller) a few times, and the people who work there seem impressed with his knowledge of characters and vehicles. They've tried to engage him with their own cool tidbits, and Mal just doesn't seem to be able to accept information instead of saying, "I know but, this is..." and going on with what he wants to talk about.
After I started this blog post, he decided that he wanted to play with his Sonic characters, and I told him I'd join him as soon as I was finished. He's been standing by me ever since, talking to me about his dad's Rubik's cube, or asking if I remember something that happened yesterday... even though I tell him I'll be ready a lot faster if he leaves me to finish this one thing and play alone a few minutes.
I'm trying to pull back and see a "big picture" concept where I can help him steer this "strength," whatever it might be, into a constructive and not annoying path.
But right now, I'm just too tired. My brain hurts.
Malcolm likes to tell us (and especially me) what is going on. At. All. Times.
For instance, Mal was watching Mickey and the Roadster Racers last night. After watching a couple of episodes "with" him while I cleaned up the kitchen, I went into the back room to take out my contacts and get dressed for bed. While I was back there, he hit pause and ran back to tell me something amusing he'd enjoyed at least four times.
When we were at my parents' house last weekend, every time my Dad would say something funny, Malcolm would run into the room where I was (which, in an open floorpan, is basically the same room) and repeat it.
Mal plays a lot of Lego Star Wars right now, and he was already pretty big on the "Watch this!" then monitoring that our eyeballs were pointing at his screen at all times. But now, he stops playing to ask which characters we think he should play (and sometimes he does play them, but usually he already knows who he wants to utilize); he also will wonder out loud, "Who can use the force for this part?" even though he knows the answer... and will wait until one of us chimes in to proceed.
Adding to some frustration and exhaustion here is that he still just doesn't not know (or care?) about conversation etiquette in any fashion. James and I will be mid-sentence in an involved conversation, and he'll just say, "Hey, um, also..." and tell us something about what he just saw on TV or something funny he thought of.
Beyond interrupting is that he can't seem to listen in order to have an actual 2-sided conversation. He's been to Bricks and Minifigs (a neat, unauthorized LEGO reseller) a few times, and the people who work there seem impressed with his knowledge of characters and vehicles. They've tried to engage him with their own cool tidbits, and Mal just doesn't seem to be able to accept information instead of saying, "I know but, this is..." and going on with what he wants to talk about.
After I started this blog post, he decided that he wanted to play with his Sonic characters, and I told him I'd join him as soon as I was finished. He's been standing by me ever since, talking to me about his dad's Rubik's cube, or asking if I remember something that happened yesterday... even though I tell him I'll be ready a lot faster if he leaves me to finish this one thing and play alone a few minutes.
I'm trying to pull back and see a "big picture" concept where I can help him steer this "strength," whatever it might be, into a constructive and not annoying path.
But right now, I'm just too tired. My brain hurts.
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