Mal's been sick pretty much all week.
Laura said she blames the MMR shot she got him 3 weeks before it started, even though we both know the symptoms are all stomach flu. The anti-vaxxers have done their work well: it's tempting to blame the vaccine.
He seems to have gotten mostly over it, but he's still really wiped out. He was awake for 8 hours this morning/afternoon (I think that's the longest stretch since this started), then napped a couple.
I've worked from home the past couple of days, because the bathrooms at work have been broken.
It's been pretty intense work, since I'm behind schedule, and we have our cruise coming up in just a week.
I finally got a break for lunch around 2 this afternoon. Laura mentioned that she'd like to go out for a walk around the neighborhood. She'd suggested that Mal ride in his stroller, but that didn't appeal to him. So she asked whether I'd be okay with her leaving when I got to a stopping point.
(The fact that she feels like she needs to ask is something we both have to work on, but that's a different story for a different day).
Somewhere around 6:30 [yes, I was still working furiously], she dropped back by to warn me that daylight was burning, so she needed to leave soon.
Mal was sleeping *hard* at that point.
I told her to go ahead. We both figured he'd just stay asleep.
On her way out the door, Carol made a run for it. Laura blocked her, but she gashed open the back of Laura's leg. Laura grabbed a towel to rinse the cat gunk out of the wound. Then she tried to toss the towel in the laundry.
The washer was full of clean clothes. Laura switched gears to move them to the dryer, which was also still full.
She spends a lot of her life dealing with this sort of thing and got frustrated.
I told her to get out of here and promised to take care of it.
Mal woke up about 2 minutes after she left, crying for her.
She was supposed to take him with her. I offered to take him to try to find her.
He was down with that. Except that he didn't want to look at our neighborhood. He wanted to go to the lake instead.
I offered to take him to the lake.
He didn't want to leave.
I started to suggest something else, but he just wagged his finger at me and headed back to his room.
He got upset that I was following him.
I claimed that I was just getting some water to drink and then going to the bathroom.
He was OK with that and started talking before I had a chance to do either (I really was hoping to do both).
He collapsed on his floor and cried. I used some stuffed animals to try to break him out of the cycle. He took the first and threw it away from me. He gestured frantically to keep the second away. He told me to quit having ideas, because nothing could make it better.
Then I grabbed Skye and played her "Grandma loves you, Mal" recording, and that did the trick.
He laughed for about 3 seconds, which was long enough to break the loop.
He cried a little longer after that, but those tears were less "heart broken" and more "getting over it."
Pretty soon after that, he showed me a new Lego set they bought at Wal-Mart earlier. It includes a Powerpuff Girl, with some villain I don't recognize (not that I recognized the hero) and a merry-go-round and slide. And a bunch of other little random pieces that I couldn't figure out. (Laura explained all about them later: he missed all the best parts).
Oh, and there's some kind of music thing with wheels that spin. I figured it was a reel-to-reel boom box.Laura thinks the spinny things are a DJ's turntable.
I'm bowing to her wisdom on this one.
Thursday, April 18, 2019
This is the Life
This has been a week, guys. Mal probably had the stomach flu, and it SUCKED.
But that's not what I'm here to talk about, for the most part.
It's this: Sometimes, I resent my husband.
It's true! I love him, but sometimes, when he sleeps until noon on the weekends; or when he disappears to heat up his knees after having been gone all day and just having dinner with us; or some other thing he does or gets to do that I think, "I could NEVER just..." whatever... You know, stinkin' thinkin' (tm) sets in, and I can go to a pretty ugly place.
Fortunately, those times are few and far between, often suspiciously aligned with specific points in my, let's say, lunar cycle. Also, I love my husband and I want him to be happy, so that tends to mess up my pouty martyrdom, anyway.
However, today, I was overwhelmed by the reality that the stuff I do on a daily basis is totally amazing, and I'm very fortunate that I am able to do it.
Back to Mal's illness: He was actively ill on Sunday, like 5 instances of his being sick enough to warrant a full load of laundry (five different times) in 7 hours. After that, though, he was just spent. He's known his body can't handle much food, which is cool in that it has suppressed any more symptomatic barfing, but it's also meant he has basically zero energy.
Between Sunday at 1 PM and Monday night, he ate a hashbrown (bye bye) and about 1/4 of an apple. And he had a fever for much of Monday. So he slept. A lot. Tuesday, his fever was gone, but, again, he couldn't think about food. He had a bag of Minion fruit snacks (except for the 3 that were either yellow or orange) and a few more apple slices. And he slept a lot more. Tuesday night, he did ask for a Sonic vanilla shake. He drank maybe 1/4 of it that night. Then yesterday, he was pretty up and at 'em, comparatively, while my parents were here. But he's still been super low-energy, especially for himself, and I've had it pretty darned easy.
Today's responsibilities have basically been making some lazy breakfast for James (deviled eggs and coffee); chatting with D at length about our pigeons; and then taking Mal to Walmart for one thing but finding a sale on Powerpuff Girls Legos, and putting those together at home. Now Mal is watching TV, James has gone to lunch at Quetzal (his office's restrooms are jacked up and as long as they're having to use porta-potties, James is working remotely... incidentally, there are 20+ mph wind gusts, which I can only imagine adds to the "fun" of using an outdoor temporary toilet), and D is asleep for the day.
I do work hard. I often do so many things in one day, it makes me tired to think about it. And I feel guilty for feeling like I don't have time to sit and hang out with Mal as much as I want to. And I feel bad that I'm often very exhausted and heading for bed about the time D is ready to chat. But even the tiring stuff that I do... it's all good stuff. It's all here at home, making it a comfortable place for my people to land.
I don't get to sleep until 11 ever, but I do not have to set an alarm and wake up to be on the road by a certain time 5 days a week (or fewer, if the facilities are messed up to the point that employees wishing to avoid pooping in a box elect to stay home). I have had a nice, albeit a little sad, break most of this week as Mal has rested and recovered; like, I've read the majority of a book. Accomplishment!
My job involves things like potential apples and birds who hold freaky mysteries and lots of flowers and photographs and the lake and watching construction and demolition and adventures to places of recreation. I get to see almost everything my kids do in real time. I am surrounded by ridiculous cats. I can do a bunch of stuff in one day to give myself some slack the next day, and no one complains. If I don't feel like doing something, I can just not do it. My job security is rock-solid.
Back to Mal's illness: He was actively ill on Sunday, like 5 instances of his being sick enough to warrant a full load of laundry (five different times) in 7 hours. After that, though, he was just spent. He's known his body can't handle much food, which is cool in that it has suppressed any more symptomatic barfing, but it's also meant he has basically zero energy.
Between Sunday at 1 PM and Monday night, he ate a hashbrown (bye bye) and about 1/4 of an apple. And he had a fever for much of Monday. So he slept. A lot. Tuesday, his fever was gone, but, again, he couldn't think about food. He had a bag of Minion fruit snacks (except for the 3 that were either yellow or orange) and a few more apple slices. And he slept a lot more. Tuesday night, he did ask for a Sonic vanilla shake. He drank maybe 1/4 of it that night. Then yesterday, he was pretty up and at 'em, comparatively, while my parents were here. But he's still been super low-energy, especially for himself, and I've had it pretty darned easy.
Today's responsibilities have basically been making some lazy breakfast for James (deviled eggs and coffee); chatting with D at length about our pigeons; and then taking Mal to Walmart for one thing but finding a sale on Powerpuff Girls Legos, and putting those together at home. Now Mal is watching TV, James has gone to lunch at Quetzal (his office's restrooms are jacked up and as long as they're having to use porta-potties, James is working remotely... incidentally, there are 20+ mph wind gusts, which I can only imagine adds to the "fun" of using an outdoor temporary toilet), and D is asleep for the day.
I do work hard. I often do so many things in one day, it makes me tired to think about it. And I feel guilty for feeling like I don't have time to sit and hang out with Mal as much as I want to. And I feel bad that I'm often very exhausted and heading for bed about the time D is ready to chat. But even the tiring stuff that I do... it's all good stuff. It's all here at home, making it a comfortable place for my people to land.
I don't get to sleep until 11 ever, but I do not have to set an alarm and wake up to be on the road by a certain time 5 days a week (or fewer, if the facilities are messed up to the point that employees wishing to avoid pooping in a box elect to stay home). I have had a nice, albeit a little sad, break most of this week as Mal has rested and recovered; like, I've read the majority of a book. Accomplishment!
My job involves things like potential apples and birds who hold freaky mysteries and lots of flowers and photographs and the lake and watching construction and demolition and adventures to places of recreation. I get to see almost everything my kids do in real time. I am surrounded by ridiculous cats. I can do a bunch of stuff in one day to give myself some slack the next day, and no one complains. If I don't feel like doing something, I can just not do it. My job security is rock-solid.
So, yeah, some days I think it'd be nice to be able to go to sleep when I want (it happens sometimes!) and then wake up when I want (again, occasionally) and do whatever I wanted for a few hours (extremely rare), but for the most part, my life is a whole dream, and that includes the husband part.
Happy weekend, folks! <3
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Random. R-r-r-rrrandom
I keep making plans to attend alt school open houses, then when they get close, find reasons not to go. I'm sure not the least of these reasons is that tuition even for a part-time unschool-y place would finance a REALLY NICE and a couple of plenty good vacations per year. So maybe we'll just keep homeschooling. I need to find a good source for friends for Mal, though. At this age, D already had a core group of kids we knew would be homeschooling, so when we started a co-op, we already knew a lot of families.
Then again, I'm NOT doing a co-op again, and so if I want Mal to have that same sort of social stability, I'm going to have to pay for it. There are unschooling meetups, but we went to several when he was smaller, specifically preschool groups, and it was obvious that some people had been meeting for a long time, and we'd often not talk to anyone else the whole time we were there.
Besides that... we took a one-off "art class" recently at Mess-Maker Studios. It's a great place, and the facilitator doesn't make the kids do anything; she "strews" and lets them do whatever moves them. Still, Mal flitted from the sensory stuff to three seconds of painting, to playing with toys, and announced it was time to go half an hour into a 1.5 hour session. He WAS the only kid who showed up (it was an afternoon class rather than a morning one, which was packed, but... mornings), and he DID end up finding stuff to do for another thirty minutes while I talked to the owner.
But I am not certain that even in a year and a half, we could commit to a 5-hour day, even in a really laid-back, choose-your-own-adventure kind of place.
In other news: Tonight, we took advantage of a $4.11 per serving cheese fondue at Melting Pot. Mal and I got there before James, who got hung up in traffic. As we sat in the lobby waiting, Mal was obsessed with the real actual oil candle on the table in front of the bench. He was waving his hand over it to see the flame flicker, and having one of his Sonic toys fly over it. After observing how the flame really wavered when he swung his hand pretty hard in the air above it, he thought for a minute and blew lightly. It blew the candle all the way out.
"We were supposed to bring our lighter so we could light a candle if it goes out!" Mal told me.
I said I didn't have a lighter, and they'd just have to light it again later.
Mal looked panicked, and said, "But I don't want to go to jail!"
As we were seated, I told the host that Mal had blown out their candle, but really didn't want to go to jail. She said, "It's a first offense, so we won't press charges."
Later, after we'd had our cheese course (Mal enjoyed playing but ate only some bread and green apples; he didn't even try the cheese), we ordered dessert. Mal told the server he'd like marshmallows, and when she brought the trays out, she had made a special (non-communal) one for Mal and pointed out the graham-cracker-covered marshmallow and the Oreo-covered marshmallow.
As she went on to say what everything else was, Mal interrupted loudly, "Excuse me! Sir! I'd like plain marshmallows, please." She brought him 4.
This weekend, I was thinking about a lot of the things that I'm sorry for in my life. Here are a few:
1) I'm sorry I ever believed the lie that parents have to win the battle of wills against their kids, especially when they're small, so it sets the precedence of who's boss.
2) I'm sorry I used to think that there were certain bodies that could "get away" with wearing certain articles of clothing, and others to which the clothes would be off-limits.
3) I am sorry I never really listened to my next-door neighbor's dad practice guitar because I thought he was going to hell for playing an instrument in church.
4) I'm sorry I was so ignorant that I didn't know the pain it would cause when I did the "Pointer Sisters" lip synch in our high school contest in 1987/88, when I was 15. And I'm very sorry that when a black girl, a neighbor of mine, complained, that the school didn't bring us all together to talk about it. It didn't matter that I LOVED the Pointer Sisters, or that I meant it as a tribute, or that I was just trying to be as realistic as possible, or that I didn't even know the history. I needed to learn. I needed for her to be able to look me in the face and say, "You hurt me. This is wrong." And I needed to be held accountable for finding out why.
5) I am sorry I ever intentionally lost weight.
6) I'm sorry I never offered to mow the yard or wash the cars or do jobs that weren't "mine" when I was in high school.
7) I'm kind of sorry I got an undergraduate degree; not only in theater, but at all. Not sure what else I might have done with my time (and parents' money), but it couldn't have been MORE wasted.
8) I'm sorry for all of the things I missed out on because I was "busy" trying to make some guy like me. I'm sorry I ever tried to date at all before I turned 30, although I'm glad I had D.
9) I'm sorry for any rumor I've ever listened to without speaking up. Same goes for racist or otherwise abusive jokes.
10) I'm sorry for any aggressive beliefs I've held that I believed were justified by the Bible but that did harm to other people and, ironically, the Gospel. I'm growing to hate the term "sincerely-held religious beliefs" because it sounds so innocuous, but I see how it's weaponized. It's heresy.
11) I am so sorry for people I hurt when I was hurting. There's a list, and I think about them often, and I am learning to sit in the sorrow and discomfort, because my "bent" is to try to fix things... even when there's no fix.
I've been thinking about things for which I'm sorry because of freaking Joe Biden, who might/might not be running for President in 2020. For posterity's sake (because sometimes I read decades-old blog posts and don't get the pop references), several women have accused him of approaching them physically in a way that made them uncomfortable. He's gone out of his way to "apologize" by saying social norms have changed, and that he will never apologize for his intentions, and that he always tried to build a human connection.
But, golly, Joe, all you need to do it take responsibility for your actions. Tell the truth: You never thought about how your physical advances might be taken by women because it's just not a thing you think about. It doesn't matter if "society" taught you not to worry about that kind of thing... The fact that it never occurred to you that someone might not like being hugged or kissed or having their shoulders rubbed shows, first and foremost, male privilege/assumption of space/rights to others' bodies, etc. Acknowledge that. Apologize for hurting people. Stop centering yourself by talking about intentions. That's not the point here. If someone accidentally steps on my toes in a crowded place, it's still appropriate for them to apologize. You're more culpable than that, so you owe it to these ladies.
If you asked me, and I rarely get political on here, but this kind of crap is a big reason I'm super over the old white guy President. We need someone with a different outlook on life. Not because old white guys necessarily are compromised or evil or anything like that; just the inability to conceive that your default way of thinking might be able to be improved upon is a liability, as far as I'm concerned. Let's try something different, can we please?
Taking another turn: We were supposed to get our new just-weaned pigeons yesterday, but the supplier caught a cold, so we're waiting one more week.
Mal's awake, so that's it for now. Enjoy your week, internets!
Then again, I'm NOT doing a co-op again, and so if I want Mal to have that same sort of social stability, I'm going to have to pay for it. There are unschooling meetups, but we went to several when he was smaller, specifically preschool groups, and it was obvious that some people had been meeting for a long time, and we'd often not talk to anyone else the whole time we were there.
Besides that... we took a one-off "art class" recently at Mess-Maker Studios. It's a great place, and the facilitator doesn't make the kids do anything; she "strews" and lets them do whatever moves them. Still, Mal flitted from the sensory stuff to three seconds of painting, to playing with toys, and announced it was time to go half an hour into a 1.5 hour session. He WAS the only kid who showed up (it was an afternoon class rather than a morning one, which was packed, but... mornings), and he DID end up finding stuff to do for another thirty minutes while I talked to the owner.
But I am not certain that even in a year and a half, we could commit to a 5-hour day, even in a really laid-back, choose-your-own-adventure kind of place.
In other news: Tonight, we took advantage of a $4.11 per serving cheese fondue at Melting Pot. Mal and I got there before James, who got hung up in traffic. As we sat in the lobby waiting, Mal was obsessed with the real actual oil candle on the table in front of the bench. He was waving his hand over it to see the flame flicker, and having one of his Sonic toys fly over it. After observing how the flame really wavered when he swung his hand pretty hard in the air above it, he thought for a minute and blew lightly. It blew the candle all the way out.
"We were supposed to bring our lighter so we could light a candle if it goes out!" Mal told me.
I said I didn't have a lighter, and they'd just have to light it again later.
Mal looked panicked, and said, "But I don't want to go to jail!"
As we were seated, I told the host that Mal had blown out their candle, but really didn't want to go to jail. She said, "It's a first offense, so we won't press charges."
Later, after we'd had our cheese course (Mal enjoyed playing but ate only some bread and green apples; he didn't even try the cheese), we ordered dessert. Mal told the server he'd like marshmallows, and when she brought the trays out, she had made a special (non-communal) one for Mal and pointed out the graham-cracker-covered marshmallow and the Oreo-covered marshmallow.
As she went on to say what everything else was, Mal interrupted loudly, "Excuse me! Sir! I'd like plain marshmallows, please." She brought him 4.
This weekend, I was thinking about a lot of the things that I'm sorry for in my life. Here are a few:
1) I'm sorry I ever believed the lie that parents have to win the battle of wills against their kids, especially when they're small, so it sets the precedence of who's boss.
2) I'm sorry I used to think that there were certain bodies that could "get away" with wearing certain articles of clothing, and others to which the clothes would be off-limits.
3) I am sorry I never really listened to my next-door neighbor's dad practice guitar because I thought he was going to hell for playing an instrument in church.
4) I'm sorry I was so ignorant that I didn't know the pain it would cause when I did the "Pointer Sisters" lip synch in our high school contest in 1987/88, when I was 15. And I'm very sorry that when a black girl, a neighbor of mine, complained, that the school didn't bring us all together to talk about it. It didn't matter that I LOVED the Pointer Sisters, or that I meant it as a tribute, or that I was just trying to be as realistic as possible, or that I didn't even know the history. I needed to learn. I needed for her to be able to look me in the face and say, "You hurt me. This is wrong." And I needed to be held accountable for finding out why.
5) I am sorry I ever intentionally lost weight.
6) I'm sorry I never offered to mow the yard or wash the cars or do jobs that weren't "mine" when I was in high school.
7) I'm kind of sorry I got an undergraduate degree; not only in theater, but at all. Not sure what else I might have done with my time (and parents' money), but it couldn't have been MORE wasted.
8) I'm sorry for all of the things I missed out on because I was "busy" trying to make some guy like me. I'm sorry I ever tried to date at all before I turned 30, although I'm glad I had D.
9) I'm sorry for any rumor I've ever listened to without speaking up. Same goes for racist or otherwise abusive jokes.
10) I'm sorry for any aggressive beliefs I've held that I believed were justified by the Bible but that did harm to other people and, ironically, the Gospel. I'm growing to hate the term "sincerely-held religious beliefs" because it sounds so innocuous, but I see how it's weaponized. It's heresy.
11) I am so sorry for people I hurt when I was hurting. There's a list, and I think about them often, and I am learning to sit in the sorrow and discomfort, because my "bent" is to try to fix things... even when there's no fix.
I've been thinking about things for which I'm sorry because of freaking Joe Biden, who might/might not be running for President in 2020. For posterity's sake (because sometimes I read decades-old blog posts and don't get the pop references), several women have accused him of approaching them physically in a way that made them uncomfortable. He's gone out of his way to "apologize" by saying social norms have changed, and that he will never apologize for his intentions, and that he always tried to build a human connection.
But, golly, Joe, all you need to do it take responsibility for your actions. Tell the truth: You never thought about how your physical advances might be taken by women because it's just not a thing you think about. It doesn't matter if "society" taught you not to worry about that kind of thing... The fact that it never occurred to you that someone might not like being hugged or kissed or having their shoulders rubbed shows, first and foremost, male privilege/assumption of space/rights to others' bodies, etc. Acknowledge that. Apologize for hurting people. Stop centering yourself by talking about intentions. That's not the point here. If someone accidentally steps on my toes in a crowded place, it's still appropriate for them to apologize. You're more culpable than that, so you owe it to these ladies.
If you asked me, and I rarely get political on here, but this kind of crap is a big reason I'm super over the old white guy President. We need someone with a different outlook on life. Not because old white guys necessarily are compromised or evil or anything like that; just the inability to conceive that your default way of thinking might be able to be improved upon is a liability, as far as I'm concerned. Let's try something different, can we please?
Taking another turn: We were supposed to get our new just-weaned pigeons yesterday, but the supplier caught a cold, so we're waiting one more week.
Mal's awake, so that's it for now. Enjoy your week, internets!
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
April is Upon Us
Hey, guys, what's up?
Today's been kind of a slow one for us. Mal had the MMR vaccination last week and it hit him hard yesterday afternoon and today.
Mal wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday, and he burst into tears right before we got there because he saw Dave and Buster's and decided he wanted to go there instead (alas, D&B didn't send me a coupon, and CEC did, so...). Mal ended up having fun, but abruptly announced, "I'm tired of playing games. I want to go home and watch TV and drink soda."
Last night, he did get out and play at the park. But he was ready to go to sleep around 10 PM, which is about an hour earlier than usual. This morning, he woke up an hour earlier than usual, very chatty, then went back to sleep and woke up 45 minutes later. I made him cinnamon toast, which he was in the middle of eating when he just laid down on the floor and konked out.
When he awoke a couple of hours later, he was still pretty listless.
He hadn't eaten any breakfast, and later asked to go to Sonic to get a vanilla shake. He said, "We won't get out. Just bring it home." Because he didn't feel like getting dressed.
He came home and sat at the table for a few minutes, but didn't really eat the fries he'd requested.
He quickly went back to lie down and chill.
Basically, this has been our day. I thought this might happen, because D became extremely ill for two weeks after getting this particular immunization. Until yesterday, he showed no signs of sickness, which was a relief; D's was instant and lasted a week before a rash broke out torso-wide for the next painful and miserable week.
We were supposed to meet a new friend today, but will get together later in the week. I'm trusting he'll be 100% by tomorrow.
In other news, I am on pins and needles waiting for the tax appraisals to go out for this year. We had been paying extra on our mortgage, trying to knock it out earlier, but are stopping that because, honestly, we're not going to live here in 20 years. When the kids move out, we will sell; it's too much house and land. And it seems likely that extra we were paying will be necessary for tax stuff eventually, anyway. There are so many houses going up in this neighborhood, and they're all priced a lot higher than I would have believed; it's almost like Austin, but a few years ago.
We've had the pigeons now for six weeks... well, we've had two of them for six weeks. After we'd had them three weeks, I let a couple of them out to explore, and they did. Sigh. D's handled it extremely well, and we're getting to "squeakers" from the same gentleman who gave us the first four birds. The two that stayed here (I opened the flight deck for them all, but they weren't interested) are Riddick and Cinnamon. Here's hoping those dudes are friendly enough to the youngsters.
The birds we're getting are so young that we won't know the sex until later. They just left the nest last week and should be weaned some time later this week. Squee! And no flying for them. I've learned a lot since the unfortunate incident, and have a better plan for letting our feathered friends soar... it's just going to take a while. Like maybe the better part of a year.
That's it for now. Thanks for tuning in! Chat again soon!
Today's been kind of a slow one for us. Mal had the MMR vaccination last week and it hit him hard yesterday afternoon and today.
Mal wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday, and he burst into tears right before we got there because he saw Dave and Buster's and decided he wanted to go there instead (alas, D&B didn't send me a coupon, and CEC did, so...). Mal ended up having fun, but abruptly announced, "I'm tired of playing games. I want to go home and watch TV and drink soda."
 |
| Exhausted kid. |
When he awoke a couple of hours later, he was still pretty listless.
He hadn't eaten any breakfast, and later asked to go to Sonic to get a vanilla shake. He said, "We won't get out. Just bring it home." Because he didn't feel like getting dressed.
 |
| Waiting for the shake. |
He quickly went back to lie down and chill.
Basically, this has been our day. I thought this might happen, because D became extremely ill for two weeks after getting this particular immunization. Until yesterday, he showed no signs of sickness, which was a relief; D's was instant and lasted a week before a rash broke out torso-wide for the next painful and miserable week.
We were supposed to meet a new friend today, but will get together later in the week. I'm trusting he'll be 100% by tomorrow.
In other news, I am on pins and needles waiting for the tax appraisals to go out for this year. We had been paying extra on our mortgage, trying to knock it out earlier, but are stopping that because, honestly, we're not going to live here in 20 years. When the kids move out, we will sell; it's too much house and land. And it seems likely that extra we were paying will be necessary for tax stuff eventually, anyway. There are so many houses going up in this neighborhood, and they're all priced a lot higher than I would have believed; it's almost like Austin, but a few years ago.
We've had the pigeons now for six weeks... well, we've had two of them for six weeks. After we'd had them three weeks, I let a couple of them out to explore, and they did. Sigh. D's handled it extremely well, and we're getting to "squeakers" from the same gentleman who gave us the first four birds. The two that stayed here (I opened the flight deck for them all, but they weren't interested) are Riddick and Cinnamon. Here's hoping those dudes are friendly enough to the youngsters.
 |
| And then there were two. |
That's it for now. Thanks for tuning in! Chat again soon!
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Review: Clear Lungs Herbal Supplement
This is just a cut-and-paste is a review I left on Amazon, but I needed to share it with you! The link to the product, called “Clear Lungs” is here https://www.amazon.com/Clear-Lungs-Classic-Label-Capsules/dp/B00014CZV2: . You’re welcome.
I'm one of those people that doctors constantly scold about over-using my Albuterol rescue inhaler. I do this because the maintenance asthma inhalers are ridiculously expensive, even on my insurance. So, though I'm typically skeptical of herbal solutions, between the effectiveness of Lysine when I feel a cold sore coming on and the strength of these reviews, I tried this.
I took it for a week and felt a little difference, but still had to use my inhaler twice a day (down from about 6 uses), first thing in the morning, and right before I went to bed. Otherwise, I was wheezing through the night. I decided to try to add back in a daily allergy pill (in this case, the CVS version of Zyrtec), which hasn't been effective as an asthma deterrent in the past. After a week, I wasn't using the inhaler on a daily basis, or even at all.
I have three cats, and I'm allergic to cats; I live in central Texas and between the "cedar" and other beautiful but pollen-rich greenery around here, every season is allergy season. But I'm able to do strenuous housework, go for a brisk walk, and even clean out the pigeon loft with the dusty straw and not require a puff to finish the task! It's amazing!
Two weeks ago, I went out of town for one night and forgot to take the pills with me. By the time I got home, it seemed too late in the day to take the pills, so I decided to wait and take them again the next morning. The following two days were BRUTAL. I sneezed, my chest seized up; it was actually WORSE than it had been before, or maybe that's what I had gotten used to? It took three days for the supplement and allergy medicine to build back up in my system, but now that I'm back on track, I'm NEVER going to miss another day again!
It's truly incredible!
I'm one of those people that doctors constantly scold about over-using my Albuterol rescue inhaler. I do this because the maintenance asthma inhalers are ridiculously expensive, even on my insurance. So, though I'm typically skeptical of herbal solutions, between the effectiveness of Lysine when I feel a cold sore coming on and the strength of these reviews, I tried this.
I took it for a week and felt a little difference, but still had to use my inhaler twice a day (down from about 6 uses), first thing in the morning, and right before I went to bed. Otherwise, I was wheezing through the night. I decided to try to add back in a daily allergy pill (in this case, the CVS version of Zyrtec), which hasn't been effective as an asthma deterrent in the past. After a week, I wasn't using the inhaler on a daily basis, or even at all.
I have three cats, and I'm allergic to cats; I live in central Texas and between the "cedar" and other beautiful but pollen-rich greenery around here, every season is allergy season. But I'm able to do strenuous housework, go for a brisk walk, and even clean out the pigeon loft with the dusty straw and not require a puff to finish the task! It's amazing!
Two weeks ago, I went out of town for one night and forgot to take the pills with me. By the time I got home, it seemed too late in the day to take the pills, so I decided to wait and take them again the next morning. The following two days were BRUTAL. I sneezed, my chest seized up; it was actually WORSE than it had been before, or maybe that's what I had gotten used to? It took three days for the supplement and allergy medicine to build back up in my system, but now that I'm back on track, I'm NEVER going to miss another day again!
It's truly incredible!
Thursday, March 21, 2019
Our 6th Anniversary
Our 6th anniversary is in about a week and a half, and I only thought of it (like since our last anniversary) last night. We don't have plans; I don't remember what we did last year. I'm afraid we might be the worst at creating big celebratory traditions that our son will remember forever.
It's interesting, because I see this happen in so many facets of our lives: The way we live, "big" things can be challenging. What do we get the kids for Christmas when we pretty much get them everything they need and most of the things they want when they ask? How do we differentiate this birthday cake from the cake I made two weeks ago? How do we mark a day to celebrate our marital union when we live every day with so much love and partnership and sometimes even cool meals out?
(On a personal level, the borderline obsession I used to have with menus and novelty food is much diminished now that I feel free to eat whatever I want whenever I feel like it.)
Six years. Sometimes it seems fast, and other times it feels like we've been together (and raising a second child) FOREVER.
It's longer than my first marriage... of which I remember very little. When you don't have someone with you to share your memories, they disappear. So much of my 20s is a blur. It's weird.
It's about half as long as my second marriage. We did hit 13 years, but it was already over by then.
Much like Ross Gellar, I never wanted to be "that person." You know, the one who was divorced twice. And every time I hear people (I admire very much, usually) bemoaning how some Christians can support Trump (I'm not a fan) when, among other things, he's "twice-divorced" or on his third spouse, I'm like... welp, that's me, too. Guess I'm just a big old slimy scumbag.
That was sarcasm, actually. I know my life; I know what I've done and why I did it. It wasn't always pure and blameless.
However, while there are individual things I would be tempted to tweak if given a do-over, where I've ended up is pretty spectacular. In a quiet, comfortable way.
I'm sitting at my dining room table while Mal watched a video and D sleeps. There are two pigeons out on the flight deck of the loft, and about 4 birds (a cardinal couple, a Carolina chickadee, and a house finch) at the bird feeder in the back yard. I can see it all from here (except D). Dinner is in the oven and there's a dog barking outside. I'm vacation planning as I blog, and I'm ready for James to come home.
It's pretty great.
Granted, marriage can be challenging at times. James and I feel like ships passing in the evening/morning in ways that never happened when D was little; Mal just requires more of everything, so it can be a trick even to have a conversation, much less alone time. But there is no drama. There is no waiting for the other shoe to drop. To put it in Harry Potter terms: My scar hasn't hurt in more than six years; all is well.
Happy anniversary, baby! Here's to another year or two, minimum.
It's interesting, because I see this happen in so many facets of our lives: The way we live, "big" things can be challenging. What do we get the kids for Christmas when we pretty much get them everything they need and most of the things they want when they ask? How do we differentiate this birthday cake from the cake I made two weeks ago? How do we mark a day to celebrate our marital union when we live every day with so much love and partnership and sometimes even cool meals out?
(On a personal level, the borderline obsession I used to have with menus and novelty food is much diminished now that I feel free to eat whatever I want whenever I feel like it.)
Six years. Sometimes it seems fast, and other times it feels like we've been together (and raising a second child) FOREVER.
It's longer than my first marriage... of which I remember very little. When you don't have someone with you to share your memories, they disappear. So much of my 20s is a blur. It's weird.
It's about half as long as my second marriage. We did hit 13 years, but it was already over by then.
Much like Ross Gellar, I never wanted to be "that person." You know, the one who was divorced twice. And every time I hear people (I admire very much, usually) bemoaning how some Christians can support Trump (I'm not a fan) when, among other things, he's "twice-divorced" or on his third spouse, I'm like... welp, that's me, too. Guess I'm just a big old slimy scumbag.
That was sarcasm, actually. I know my life; I know what I've done and why I did it. It wasn't always pure and blameless.
However, while there are individual things I would be tempted to tweak if given a do-over, where I've ended up is pretty spectacular. In a quiet, comfortable way.
I'm sitting at my dining room table while Mal watched a video and D sleeps. There are two pigeons out on the flight deck of the loft, and about 4 birds (a cardinal couple, a Carolina chickadee, and a house finch) at the bird feeder in the back yard. I can see it all from here (except D). Dinner is in the oven and there's a dog barking outside. I'm vacation planning as I blog, and I'm ready for James to come home.
It's pretty great.
Granted, marriage can be challenging at times. James and I feel like ships passing in the evening/morning in ways that never happened when D was little; Mal just requires more of everything, so it can be a trick even to have a conversation, much less alone time. But there is no drama. There is no waiting for the other shoe to drop. To put it in Harry Potter terms: My scar hasn't hurt in more than six years; all is well.
Happy anniversary, baby! Here's to another year or two, minimum.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
"Losing" Ourselves as Women
Maybe it's the new(ish) year? Maybe it's the cabin fever? Whatever, I'm noticing an extreme uptick in "inspirational" social media posts (Twitter/Instagram; that's all I'm on) about women, moms specifically, forging a path to "find" themselves amidst the business of being a parent.
This idea that becoming a parent (again, typically this is exclusively a mom thing) pulls you away from your true identity, or that it takes over so much that who you were is gone is... actually, that last one is fairly accurate. But not in a way that requires re-calibration.
Most of the women I know personally who post things like this are people I know to love their children immensely. These are women who thoughtfully pursue ways to connect with their children and expand their lives. They might work outside of the home, or they might be at-home parents... but they all value motherhood and their children's well-being as paramount.
So why do we feel "lost"? Why do we feel the need to take concrete steps to "self-care"? Why do we feel that, in order to connect with our truest selves, we necessarily must separate from our children?
Don't get me wrong: My second child is A LOT (my first child is a lot, too - most kids are - just in a less hands-on way). I am tired A LOT. I put my hands over my fact A LOT. EVERY DAY. I shoot James "the look" about a dozen times a night, as if to say, "See? This is my life. This is the entire ten hours you are gone. This is what I do. This is what I handle."
So I get the fatigue. I get the need for a breather. I usually take showers in the morning when Mal is asleep, just after James has left for work. I took a shower last night, though, after James got home from work, because I needed like four minutes where I wasn't trying to filter out a loudly-babbling preschooler or becoming dizzy and stressed from his constant whirlwind of movement and potential injuries.
But do I feel like, in the business of caring for him or my teenager, that I am somehow "losing myself"? Do I feel that, in not having huge swaths of child-free time, I am unable to connect with who I truly am? NO.
Because, even though I like to write, and I love making videos, and I wish like crazy that I could sing, and I enjoy spending a lot more time and effort on baking than I can right now, and none of those is available for me to do in any capacity as much as I'd like, the fact is what everything I do, everything that occupies any given moment of my day, IS, necessarily, part and parcel to who I am.
And being a mom is not a compartment within my identity, something to be shoved aside as somehow "less" than the sum of my parts. I AM a mom. Even if I take a cooking class, it's not bringing me closer to who I truly am, apart from being a parent. I'm still a parent. I am, and it's not a thing that is in competition with other hobbies or passions I have for the soul of my truest self.
It IS my truest self.
I am often tired and cranky and hungry and not doing what I'd rather be doing (which is likely pushing my kid on a swing instead of sitting on my butt, my truest passion). But in those moments of "sacrificing" my own preferences to do what needs to be done, I am definitely my best and most honorable self.
When I hear people urge women (why don't they urge men? That's a whole other conversation) to make time for "self care," or I hear "You can't pour from an empty cup," I feel like we, as moms, are acting an awful lot like martyrs. Like we're doing this thing that is so draining that we have earned a "clock out" to pursue something that's not as mundane.
And I feel for the special needs moms, who might never have the luxury. And for the moms grieving lost children who would give up every outside interest they have to have their child back. And for moms who have to work two jobs, and feel guilty that they have so little left over for their kids at the end (or beginning) of the day.
I don't know.
On social media, a take is that your kids will thrive, seeing you pursue something you love, as an actual whole person. But I wonder what that says to them. I mean, you're still their mom. You can't separate from that. They can't separate that from the other stuff you do, and you wouldn't want them to.
When I was younger, my mom was in a local singing group. They practiced once a week or every other week or something. I don't think she ever thought, "I've lost myself as a mom and teacher; I owe it to all of these kids to take time for self-care." I think she just liked singing, and it was something our family was able to swing.
That might not sound different, but, to me, the semantics are important here.
Do what you like. Make time for things you care about. But maybe stop holding it up in contrast to your being a mom? Why can't we be moms who like having dinner with our girlfriends? Or moms who make YouTube videos? Or moms who climb rock faces?
Why is it insulting to be "Mom"? Why do women want to be known for "more"? If it's a sexist thing, then society needs to work on valuing moms more; in the meantime, we need to find a way to get over that, and honor ALL of ourselves.
This idea that becoming a parent (again, typically this is exclusively a mom thing) pulls you away from your true identity, or that it takes over so much that who you were is gone is... actually, that last one is fairly accurate. But not in a way that requires re-calibration.
Most of the women I know personally who post things like this are people I know to love their children immensely. These are women who thoughtfully pursue ways to connect with their children and expand their lives. They might work outside of the home, or they might be at-home parents... but they all value motherhood and their children's well-being as paramount.
So why do we feel "lost"? Why do we feel the need to take concrete steps to "self-care"? Why do we feel that, in order to connect with our truest selves, we necessarily must separate from our children?
Don't get me wrong: My second child is A LOT (my first child is a lot, too - most kids are - just in a less hands-on way). I am tired A LOT. I put my hands over my fact A LOT. EVERY DAY. I shoot James "the look" about a dozen times a night, as if to say, "See? This is my life. This is the entire ten hours you are gone. This is what I do. This is what I handle."
So I get the fatigue. I get the need for a breather. I usually take showers in the morning when Mal is asleep, just after James has left for work. I took a shower last night, though, after James got home from work, because I needed like four minutes where I wasn't trying to filter out a loudly-babbling preschooler or becoming dizzy and stressed from his constant whirlwind of movement and potential injuries.
But do I feel like, in the business of caring for him or my teenager, that I am somehow "losing myself"? Do I feel that, in not having huge swaths of child-free time, I am unable to connect with who I truly am? NO.
Because, even though I like to write, and I love making videos, and I wish like crazy that I could sing, and I enjoy spending a lot more time and effort on baking than I can right now, and none of those is available for me to do in any capacity as much as I'd like, the fact is what everything I do, everything that occupies any given moment of my day, IS, necessarily, part and parcel to who I am.
And being a mom is not a compartment within my identity, something to be shoved aside as somehow "less" than the sum of my parts. I AM a mom. Even if I take a cooking class, it's not bringing me closer to who I truly am, apart from being a parent. I'm still a parent. I am, and it's not a thing that is in competition with other hobbies or passions I have for the soul of my truest self.
It IS my truest self.
I am often tired and cranky and hungry and not doing what I'd rather be doing (which is likely pushing my kid on a swing instead of sitting on my butt, my truest passion). But in those moments of "sacrificing" my own preferences to do what needs to be done, I am definitely my best and most honorable self.
When I hear people urge women (why don't they urge men? That's a whole other conversation) to make time for "self care," or I hear "You can't pour from an empty cup," I feel like we, as moms, are acting an awful lot like martyrs. Like we're doing this thing that is so draining that we have earned a "clock out" to pursue something that's not as mundane.
And I feel for the special needs moms, who might never have the luxury. And for the moms grieving lost children who would give up every outside interest they have to have their child back. And for moms who have to work two jobs, and feel guilty that they have so little left over for their kids at the end (or beginning) of the day.
I don't know.
On social media, a take is that your kids will thrive, seeing you pursue something you love, as an actual whole person. But I wonder what that says to them. I mean, you're still their mom. You can't separate from that. They can't separate that from the other stuff you do, and you wouldn't want them to.
When I was younger, my mom was in a local singing group. They practiced once a week or every other week or something. I don't think she ever thought, "I've lost myself as a mom and teacher; I owe it to all of these kids to take time for self-care." I think she just liked singing, and it was something our family was able to swing.
That might not sound different, but, to me, the semantics are important here.
Do what you like. Make time for things you care about. But maybe stop holding it up in contrast to your being a mom? Why can't we be moms who like having dinner with our girlfriends? Or moms who make YouTube videos? Or moms who climb rock faces?
Why is it insulting to be "Mom"? Why do women want to be known for "more"? If it's a sexist thing, then society needs to work on valuing moms more; in the meantime, we need to find a way to get over that, and honor ALL of ourselves.
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