Smellyann Strikes Again

Swann Dive

I am the worst mother in the world, and do you know why?

Because my five-year-old son is going to kindergarten next week, and we met his new teacher and his new classroom today, and I did not remember to bring my camera!!!!

What is it with me and the camnesia lately??

After Stephanie returned with my van this morning - she needed it to go get her car keys from home! - the Littles and I headed to Jack's new school - and Chloë's all-along school - for the Back to School Picnic.

We didn't actually have time for all that picnicking stuff, though. Mommy had an appointment to get to up in Newport News.

So we made our way to the free t-shirt table, and collected one for Jack. They didn't want to give me one for Chloë since only kids present at the picnic were supposed to receive a shirt, but since everyone at that school just adores that child, they made an exception. I didn't even have to ask!

Wherever we went, it was, "Where's Chloë? Where's Chloë?" I swear everyone in school knows her. It amazes me. I was never popular, but my kid? Universally loved.  Of course, then they all looked at the three of us and wondered what the heck we were doing there without her, so I pointed out Jack as the new kid on the block to everyone. He was thrilled about this recognition. Ever since we bought his supplies and new backpack, he is dying to go to school!

We headed straight for the kindergarten wing of the school, to meet Mrs. Swann, Jack's new teacher. She was young! Way young. After Mrs. Meltzer's ancient teaching methods when Chloë was a kindergartner, I was thrilled to see this. She should have plenty of new tricks for getting the children to accomplish their goals, surely. Rote drilling? Not my style, not good for my kids.

Oh, let this be a wonderful new year of learning for Jack. I hope so.

Then, even though Chlo is still at camp, I wanted to meet her new second grade (OMG) teacher, Mrs. Duke. She turned out to be a lovely lady, and I liked her right from the start, just as I did with Mrs. Pfeiffer  last year. I hope that is a good sign. She already knew who Chloë was, so she was disappointed not to see her today.

We visited the art teacher, music teacher, and gym teacher, too. Jack won't have art this year, though - they do that right in the classroom. Oh, and the principal, Mr. Timlin. He and I know each other well from my work on the PTA board and from me pestering him to put out more recycling cans in the school, so his first greeting to me was, "You dyed your hair blond on me!" He's a Chloëphile too, so he seemed thrilled to meet my little guy, giving him high-fives and handshakes.

Because the kids were begging for something to eat, then, I bought them each a snowcone. We don't do hot dogs and  hamburgers, and I didn't want to buy them chips and sodas. It was super hot today, so a snowcone seemed like just the thing. And it was. I know, because Jack ate three bites of his and declared himself finished, and I tore into that thing. So good. Refreshing. Perfect.

We went home after that, making this the first year I didn't sign up for the PTA at the picnic. I'll do it when the papers come home next week. I just had to get out of that crowd, and I had to get ready for the drive up north. I was just looking up the address when Stephanie returned to babysit, toting her freaking adorable little niece, Carolynn. (Forgive me if I spelled her name wrong, Steph; I just know SO many Carolines right now!)

So.

I gave her a few quick instructions and then took off for my visit to the gastric bypass surgeon in Newport News. My appointment wasn't until 4:30, and I left just after 2. But I had to take their computer questionnaire first. I ended up being wicked early and finishing the test over an hour early. I was all set to take a snooze in my van when they called me back early to see the doctor. Yay! I wouldn't have to wait after all.

Dr. Clarke was very nice. He spent as much time as I needed, going over my questions and issues, and he never made me feel like a gross, disgusting fatass - not once - unlike the doc from Bariatric Surgery in the Naval hospital. I am glad I made the choice to stick with him; it was the right thing to do, I believe. Long drive notwithstanding.

I talked to the insurance lady about my upcoming hoop-jumping fest after that, and then I was on the road again, before my actual appointment time. Nice. I will have to do a lot of the same things I did for the other doc, and they could probably use the same tests, but I feel like I should just do them all over again in case things have changed. As soon as I get that - and the daunting psych consult (Lord, give me strength not to break down this time!) - out of the way, we'll be ready to schedule the surgery. I am excited! Skinny-me, come on down!

The drive home was excruciatingly slow, made worse by the fact that I was suddenly exhausted and doing touch-and-goes all the way home. The bridge and tunnel are always backed up at that time of the day, and this was no exception. If I could pulled over to take a nap, I would have. But, I made it home in one piece. Maybe I should store some No-Doze in the glove compartment.

I really wanted a nap when I arrived home, like Rob and the kiddies were doing, but Sam the Schwan's guy was due to be there in a half-hour. And I hadn't yet gone through the catalog to see what I wanted. So I grabbed it, and my pen, and lickety-split came up with a good list. We still had a lot of food from the last time, actually, so I just replenished the few things I knew we liked. A lot of it was ice cream. Hey, it's summer, and I don't mind if the kids eat a lot of it right now.

Well... I'm suddenly out of words. That's a good stopping point, I think. Tomorrow, we go pick up Chloë! I am beside myself with excitement!!!

Fin.

The Itchy & Scratchy Show

Yesterday's episode is late because I fell asleep shortly after Rob left to go back to work at 9 PM. The kids went down for bed, Rob had to go stand overnight watch, and I had planned on an evening of movies and knitting. Well, no sooner did I sit down than I was dreaming, and I didn't wake up until some hair regrowth informercial started blaring from my TV at 0400. I'm covered in hives, my hands and knees are huge and swollen, my eyes are bleary... and here I am, looking so pretty just for you.

Friday was a day full of futile pursuits. I nearly - but not quite - ruined my perfect record for the week of getting the kids to school on time. I woke up late this morning, with just ten minutes before Chloë had to be on the bus. We raced into some clothes and shoes and shot down to the corner just in time. Then I went back to sleep on the couch, after being up until at least 4 AM the night before because... I'm like that.

But then, I woke up five minutes after Jack's bus normally stops at our house, and I ran to the front door just in time to see it returning in the opposite direction from which it came. Gah. Jack was ready to go, so I had him go wake up his sister, and we jumped in the van to head to his school. We were there fifteen minutes before his bus arrived and had to wait for his teacher to come out and get him, but he was on time! We made it. Whew.

So Soap and I headed home for breakfast, some piddling around, and a shower.  She had her usual 18 bananas for breakfast. Girl can eat some nanner.

We headed to the Navy base clinic so I could see about getting my shots for the trip to Europe. I have a long list I need to get, because I was never vaccinated against anything in childhood. I did get a tetanus shot in college after a particularly nasty sunburn, and I had to get the MMR for grad school, but that's all I've had. So we picked up my medical record and went to Immunizations.

After waiting an eternity, during which Sophia "read" every book in the waiting room about five times each (which consisted of her flipping through the book and saying, "Once upon a time, {mumble, mumble, mumble}, The End!"), we were taken to the back. I was given the third degree about why I wanted these shots, where was my shot record, why haven't I received them before, who told me I needed these, blah blah blah. Finally, I was told there was a special travel clinic at the Naval hospital in Portsmouth, and I needed to go there to get my shots. UGH! Why not just tell me that in the first place?

We managed to get home just three minutes before Jack's bus arrived, thank goodness. I had forgotten my cell phone and had no way to ask the neighbors to watch for them in case we were late. I timed myself to make sure we left with plenty of time to get home, but there was a big accident on the return. Anyway, we made it.

I buckled Jack in, and our next stop was to the bank to see about exchanging some money into Euros for the trip. I know it's a bit early, but I wanted to find out about doing that, and getting traveler's cheques, with plenty of time to keep an eye on the exchange rates. The man I entered with was particularly chivalrous about holding the doors open for me and the Littles, and then letting me go first in line, and he was amused about their antics during the long wait. Not so much, I. They, like most kids, have this instant attraction to the containment rope-thingies; fortunately, for once, they didn't knock any down.

Well, I didn't get any Euros. Turns out you can only get them at the airport nowadays, not at the bank. After waiting so long and stressing about the time in order to get back for Chloë (shoulda left her a note! She can read now, after all!), I completely forgot to ask about the cheques. Oh well, there's plenty of time.

Turns out Chloë's bus was late, and we beat her home by a few minutes as well. In fact, I turned the car around and drove to her bus stop to wait at least five minutes before they showed up. She was very surprised to find me there waiting like that, and the fifth graders were so sweet in helping her across the street safely. Our fifth graders are all Safety Patrol members, so I guess it's just second nature to them to help the small fry.

Off we went for our weekly trip down to the Farmer's Market. On the way there, I remembered a radio commercial I'd heard for birthday parties at the Hunt Club Farm, so I asked Chloë where she might want to have her 7th birthday party. It's her "golden" birthday, which we may or may not make a big deal of. Have you heard of this, this "golden" birthday business? I never did until a couple of years ago, and Rob never did until today. Apparently it's a big deal to turn the age of your birth date, and Chloë will be 7 on the 7th this year, so... this is it. I don't know exactly what one is supposed to do, so we shall see.

Well, after I asked her, her response was, "Hmm, why don't we go to China for my birthday?" Ahahaha! China! Yes, that's exactly what we'll do, we'll all hop a jet to China for a 7th birthday in lavish style. Yes, yes.

After informing her that this was not going to come to pass, she decided she might like Build-a-Bear instead. And then for her eighth, Gymboree. (Huh? Too old, dear.) And then for her ninth... "Wait a minute! We're not even going to be here for your ninth birthday, my love, and aren't we getting a wee bit ahead of ourselves?" I laughed.

Down at the Market, I parked across from Uncle Chuck the Fishmonger's shack, and there was no sign of the always-charming Uncle Chuck. Instead, there was Young Niece So-and-So. "Where's Uncle Chuck?" I asked. I guess he had the nerve to go on vacation! I looked at the menu of goodies for this week and picked out eight very nice-looking crabby patties, a pound of ocean scallops for moi, and a bag of littleneck clams for the Bob. Yum.

We packed our fishies into the van and then headed to our favorite produce stand. The kids kept calling out what they wanted. "Apples! Watermelon! Strawberries!" So we picked out each of those, along with more red new potatoes and some delicious-looking sugar snaps. "What are those?" Jack asked. "Beans," the man told him. "What's inside there? Peas?" Chloë wanted to know. Yes. Inside beans are peas. That's how it works! Everything looked so fresh and inviting, I couldn't wait to get home and cook up some grub.

Daddy was home when we arrived, a little early because of having to go back in just a few hours. Yay! After seven-plus years, it's still always a thrill to see his car in the driveway when I come home. He came out and helped unbuckle kids and carry in our packages, and smooched the wife. Everyone was in a great mood, and we were all salivating over the fresh food.

While the huge crab cakes cooked up in some EVOO, the children dove into their apples. Really crisp, sweet apples at that stand. So good. But when the crab cakes were finished a few minutes later, the girls quickly abandoned their fruit in favor of the jumbo lump goodness. Jack had no interest in the crab cakes, as usual, so he just danced around shout-singing, "Strawberry Shortcake! Strawberry Shortcake! I want Strawberry Shortcake! Strawberry Shortcake!" over and over and over.

We gave Chloë her own crabcake, and she ate about a quarter of it before passing it to the two of us. Not because she didn't love it - she did - but she is teeny-tiny and has an appetite to match!

With Sophia, we just fed her off our plates, and we should have given her the whole patty. She ate at least that much and loved every bit of it. Oh well, we'll figure our kids out eventually!

After we finished the crab cakes, I set to work hulling the strawberries. I bought three quarts instead of two this time, because it looks like they are already starting to turn, and I wanted to get in as much as I could before then. I'll have to buy them from the grocery soon. Rats. I could barely keep any cut-up strawberries in the bowl for the kids to eat; they ate almost the entire quart without blinking. I had to sneakily pop a few in my own mouth to get any, and I think Robert was lucky enough to score one, too!

The second and third quarts, I sliced up and sugared for the strawberry shortcake. The kids, especially Jack, were going gonzo thinking about that! We decided apples, strawberries and crab were enough for dinner, so we popped in the special movie I ordered for them from Netflix to give the strawberry syrup time to set up.

While Rob was setting up the movie, the kids were in a silly-goose mood! Jack finally attempted one of the sugar snaps, although he didn't end up actually eating it. The girls and we ate a bunch of them raw, though. They were so sweet and tasty!

You can see Sophia is starting to tower over her older bro!

Modeling her sunglasses from the Dollar Tree photo shoot (the ad comes out on Sunday - don't forget to pick one up and look for Sophie!) and remembering to pose with her hands on hips, Sopapilla looks exactly like what her shirt says - Cute.

What sibling rivalry??

Chloë's turn to be in the middle - but Sophia has to pull all those curls up out of the way and mars the picture!

We watched Bee Movie, the Jerry Seinfeld-created flick, together as a family. Eh, it was entertaining enough. The kids sat through it for the most part, especially Chlo. Sophia came over to me and admitted to being tired and wanting to go to bed at some point during the movie, and I asked Daddy to bring her upstairs, but then she started sobbing about her strawberry shortcake. Poor baby, torn between sleep and food. In the end, Daddy just cuddled her on the couch until it was time for yummies.

Sophia contemplates the enormous dessert I set in front of her. She doesn't even know where to begin! Normally I only give them half a shortcake, with half as much strawberries and cream, but they were so antsy about it tonight, I thought I'd let them go to town. And they sure did! But none of them finished, so back to halvesies it is.

Jack kept wanting more whipped cream on his, so Daddy got silly and decided to pour it directly into his mouth. We all thought this was pretty hilarious - especially the greedy boy!

Good times. Good times.

Right after that, the kids went to bed and Rob left for work. But now it's 0534 on Saturday morning, and he should be on his way home anytime now! I can't wait to see him walk in the door, looking all cute in uniform.

{Confidential to Stephanie-Canada: You're in my prayers, dear! I can't wait until you return...}

Until tonight, my dears.

Fin.

Part II: Sleep Study

After the birthday party, I had to quickly rush to pack my bag and head for Naval Medical Center Portsmouth for a sleep study. What was I thinking, scheduling it for Jack's Birthday-Easter weekend? But no matter, it was done, and I had to go.

My gastric bypass surgeon thought maybe I needed CPAP and that my sleeping problems could help explain some of my weight issues. Hey, if the fact that I've snored all my life is the answer instead of my ongoing love affair with chocolate, well, what are you going to do? So I had to do the sleep study as one more step on the way to surgery.

I first walked in and was greeted by a nurse with a heavy Eastern European accent, telling me to sit in the lobby and fill out a long questionnaire, and then she'd be back after setting someone else up with their equipment.  Then she came back and walked me down to my room, and oh, boy. I thought, for the first time of many last night, What am I getting myself into?!! There were wires and straps and machines all over the bed. I just stood there and stared at them while she told me to get dressed for bed and leave the door open when I was ready.

She returned and asked me to sit down in the chair. I did, and she began feeding wires up my shirt and then pasting and taping more wires to my legs. Then she dug around and wrote (hard!) on my head with a pen, and pasted more wires on my head, through my hair.  More wires were stuck to my face. Straps were tightened around my chest and belly. Am I supposed to be able to sleep like this? With that camera on me the whole time?!

During the process, I asked the nurse all about herself. She told me she was from Europe. I resisted the urge to tell her I did not think she was Asian or Australian, so I just said, "Yes, but where?" She said, "I am born in Bosnia!" with a big grin. I love the way foreign people speak English. I am born in Bosnia. How adorable is that? I love it.

She loves Dubrovnik, Croatia, where we'll be visiting on our cruise, and told me all the wonderful things about it. She described the cold weather and interesting marketplaces and buildings when she lived in Vienna, Austria, for a while before coming here. The thing she likes best about living here is the warm weather, and her kids like living near the ocean.  We chatted on for a while until she started sticking paste to my face, and then I just hooted out a surprised, "Oh!" and fell into silence.

Then she told me I had an hour to do whatever I wanted, and she would come in at ten and turn off the lights for me to go to sleep. Yeah, right. Ten? You must be joking. These days, I generally fall asleep between midnight and 0200. The last time I fell asleep at ten, I was probably in high school. Well, I'm sure there are certain times I have like after a big final exam in college, or after giving birth, but not on an ordinary day, no way. I was worried.

I had brought my Good Housekeeping magazine with me, and my huge bag of knitting for my cotton afghan. I had assumed that I would be able to sit up as long as I needed and do whatever I wanted until I was tired. Wrong-O. Lights went out at ten, and I could only get up to go to the bathroom - after signaling for assistance.

I read for an hour and never touched my knitting. Around ten, Fatima checked in with me over her P.A. system: "Are you ready to go to sleep? We will start your sleep study now!" although I can't remember how she really phrased it, Bosnianly. I told her no, I wasn't, but she came in anyway and hooked the wires up to some machine, turned off the light, and said good-night.

Um, good-night.  Yeah, right. I'm never going to go to sleep at t...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Next thing I knew, she came back in to change the oxygen sensor on finger, thinking it wasn't working. I fell right back asleep until she came in to check it again.

Then she told me my oxygen levels were very low. She re-positioned me, inserted a nasal canula, and sent me back off to dreamland. I normally sleep on my stomach, but I was forced to sleep on my side or my back. I didn't think I'd ever get to sleep that way, but sure enough, I went right back out.

After two hours, she came in to put me on the CPAP machine, telling me, "You really need CPAP. Your oxygen is terrible. CPAP was made for you. You need it, you really need it."   

Wonderful.

So she put this small mask over my nose and wrapped an ace bandage around my head and jaw to keep my mouth shut, telling me I was a mouth-breather (I know, I've been that for way for 31 years, and ain't nothing changing about it now. I have surely tried many times) and she was going to try to get me to breathe through my nose so I wouldn't have to wear the full mask.  Oh, I hated it. Hated it, and couldn't breathe. I tried so hard to keep my mouth closed and breathe through my nose, but I felt like I just couldn't get enough air - as always when I try that, even with the mask forcing air into my nose - and was suffocating.

After less than ten minutes, I waved my hands at the infrared camera and ripped it off my face, gasping, "I can't do it!! I can't!"

Fatima rushed right in and set me up with the full face mask, which really didn't seem that much bigger or more invasive, and it was a huge relief to breathe "normally" again.  She left me alone (I think?) for the rest of the night, until 0600, and I don't remember having any problems at all.

When she came in in the morning, she told me my oxygen went up from 70 to 95, sometimes 97, and that it was a really successful test. Successful for whom? Now I have to wear this stupid mask and sleep on my back! 

I filled out the morning questionnaire, dressed, and left, waving good-bye to my new Bosnian friend. During the drive home, though it was so early on an Easter morning, I felt surprisingly awake and well-rested.  Although I fretted continuously about having to use CPAP. I don't want it. I. Don't. Want. It!!!

When I arrived home, the bright, full moon was hanging over my house. Ah. The first Sunday after the first full moon after the first day of Spring. That's Easter! He is Risen.

Stay tuned for Part III.

Fin.

It's ALIVE!

Some of you will remember, from the old blog that's now locked & so I can't provide linkage, crazy child-abusing bus stop mom Jillian, who found out I reported her for child abuse and stopped speaking to me? (Duh, who wouldn't?)  Well, that was about eight or so months ago, and nothing has changed.

Until this morning. I said good-bye to Robert-Not-Craig, said good-bye to nice Japanese neighbor lady and the other parents, and headed on my way, when suddenly crazy Jillian looked straight at me and said, "What size clothes do your kids wear?" I was so stunned that she actually looked at me and spoke to me that for a second I couldn't even remember I had children, let alone figure out the answer to her query.

"Uhhh..um... which ones?" which was a dumb question, since she has four children and probably wanted to unload clothes from all but the baby.  But it turned out she had 9 bags of clothes she wanted to give me (me!) and would bring them by on Monday. And some shoes.

Anyway, I was so stunned by the whole thing, and I haven't given some of you the Jillian update in so long, I thought I would share.

********

In other news, I went to my OB-oncology appointment today. (It's just called the OB-Oncology clinic because it's at the back of the OB clinic I guess.) That was... interesting.

In the past, "my" oncologist has been Dr. West, who I liked very much but who could be rather stern with me for forgetting to come back in and be rechecked on time. He has since retired from the military, so today I met Dr. Michael Bidus, whose name I remember by changing it to "Mike'll Bite Us" in my head. He's very tall and handsome except for one wonky eyeball. It makes him lean his head back to look at you, and when he doesn't do that, you know, you check around to make sure he's speaking to you even though you're the only other person in the room.  I liked him, though. He was very straightforward, and he didn't treat me like an idiot - something I absolutely detest in anyone, but especially a doctor.

Since I've had four LEEPs and the bad stuff keeps coming back worse than before, and one LEEP is supposed to be a cure-all, he threw the question at me: "What do you want to do about this? I mean, how many times are we supposed to LEEP you - we're going to run out of cervix and risk damaging something we don't want to touch."

Heck yeah, that's what I've been saying! Cut it all out. Take it. We've made enough carbon copies of ourselves, and y'all have done more things inside of me that I would slap my husband for trying... take it.

So, we scheduled surgery tentatively for April 7th. Why tentative? Because Mike'll Bite Us read my file and saw I'm supposed to have gastric bypass. First he wanted to know if I was having it soon, so I could lose the weight and make things easier for his surgery, but I told him what's up with that, and he said we don't have that kind of time. (Oh.) Then he, on his own, for whatever reason, decided it would be good to have Dr. Mann come in after the hysterectomy while I'm still right there on the table, in the OR, and do the GB!!! {I even told him about the reasons I was denied by psych, and that I could probably get him a letter from my therapist and my prescribing shrink saying they approve me for surgery.} So he's going to email Dr. Mann, who he says he 'knows very well,' and try to get him to agree to this.

I was so excited about the possibility that I forgot to ask even one of my questions about having a hysterectomy. And I have many. Like, will I essentially be in menopause? Do I need hormone replacement? Does it affect my risk of breast cancer, which runs high in my family? And so on.  If anyone can tell me about this stuff, please feel free to email me!

Gotta go pop my last zithromax. Oh, let it do the trick on this damn cough.

Fin.

Trials and Tribulations

Oh, what a day. WHAT. A. DAY.

The one positive thing today was that I at least remembered to put Chloë's absentee note in her folder. I forgot Jack's note, and I forgot to send along the big tote bag full of supplies I bought for his classroom. Well, there's always tomorrow for that.

I had to get into the shower earlier than usual this morning, to make it on time to my psych consult for the gastric bypass. When I was just stepping into the shower, Jack's AM bus driver called to see if he was going to school today. She hates to come out for nothing; I suppose I don't blame her, even if it is her job. Anyway. I didn't realize that meant she was going to come twenty minutes early, when I had just stepped out of the shower, was dripping wet, buck nekkid, and hadn't even packed the boy's lunch yet. Aghhhh!

So what did I do? I calmly went to the bathroom and combed my hair. Don't ask me why. I looked out the window and she was still there, so J and I raced downstairs (at least I had the presence of mind to throw on a robe, although I didn't tie the cord around my waist...), I opened the door and held up my "just a minute" finger at the driver, and threw a jumble of quickie foods into his Cars lunch box. (I know there was an applesauce cup and a box of raisins and a granola bar; I cannot for sure say there wasn't a tin of cat food.) Then I hid behind the door in my half-open robe and shoved him out the door. Whew! She waited. At least my hair was neat.

Then I ran back upstairs and put my contacts in (because no one can tell I've put make-up on when I'm wearing my glasses, and I wanted to wear some to feel more put-together, more confident for this interview), got dressed, did my hair, and put on said make-up. I looked good. Better than presentable. Fat, but otherwise decent. On with it, then.

We got there, like, an hour early. Huh? Wasn't I in a hurry? I know I drove to Portsmouth at warp speed, but I didn't expect to have so much extra time. I had a ton of paperwork to fill out, so that ate up a half-hour. Then Dr. Hain came into the kiddy-friendly waiting area and told me that I couldn't do the appointment if I couldn't find someone to watch "the baby." Um, yeah, let me just drive a half-hour back home and leave her with some random neighbor and magically get back in time. Why didn't I think of that?! So I re-called the Childcare Waiting Center that had turned her down three days ago, there at the hospital, and they accepted her. Okaaaay. I raced her down there and rushed back up, trying not to have an asthma attack from still being so congested and, you know, fat, and I had five minutes to sit down and watch CNN on mute (I hate that; why tease people with TV in the waiting room? Let them at least listen to the program you force on them!).

So Dr. Hain came and took me back. She, like many others in the shrinky profession, is weird. Thin and wiry, she wore her skirt up to her boobs, constantly tucked her hair behind one ear or the other, made odd facial expressions, and just generally fidgeted and seemed uncomfortable in her position. I tried to pay attention to her words and not her mannerisms.

Things were going swimmingly. She seemed to make this connection with me because of the Ph.D. work I'd done. She kept asking about it and did that thing that people do, the head nodding and gesturing as if to acknowledge that we're a couple of intellects here, so we can talk smart talk. I have to admit, I like being in that club, even if I do find it amusing.

Then she asked about 'the cancer thing' as it has become known in our household. I was fine one moment and then tearful the next. Shit. She handed me two tissues. I recovered just long enough before she asked about Robby. Then I really started boo-hooing. She handed me two more tissues, and somehow, I recovered again.  Then she got into things from college that I really don't want to think or talk about, and more things from my childhood that I really, really don't want to mention, and I couldn't stop crying. Let's just say I've been through some ugly stuff in my life. Two more tissues.  I accidentally rubbed one of my contacts out, and I kept unsuccessfully trying to stick it back in my eye until finally it fell on the floor. "I don't recommend you put that back in your eye now," she said. Duh. I asked her if I could throw it away in her garbage, and by doing so I had to reach across her. She seemed totally taken aback by this. I mean, it came out of my eye. How gross.

So by this point, I keep dropping tissues, sniffling into this one or that one, coughing, and am acutely aware that Dr. Hain seems to have germ issues. I am totally freaking her out.

She thanks me for being completely honest with her about everything, tells me I have nice skin (I don't know why this was mentioned, it was out of the blue, but I'll take it) and then says, "I'm not saying no, but I'm saying not right now.  Come see me again in the fall and we'll see how you're doing then."

And then she tells me that she understands the death of my son is always going to hurt, but the pain shouldn't still be this raw. I don't know whether I accept that or not. It seems to me that someone who probably doesn't even have kids - let alone held one while he shuddered his last breath - shouldn't be telling me how to feel about one of mine dying, whether it's been five days or five years or a lifetime.

So I left, dropping and picking up tissues the whole time - to her horror, and went to pick up Sophia, trying not to cry even more about just being rejected for surgery. I failed a little. People were looking at me, so instead of hiding my face, I just stared at them as well as I could with only half the world being in focus. (Maybe I should take out one of my camera's contact lenses...?)

I went into the little playroom to collect my Baby Bubba, and she was nowhere to be seen. The caretakers and the other kids were all over the room, but no Sophie. "Sophia? Sophie?" They pointed out an easel and told me she was behind it, still unaware I was in the room. I tiptoed over and got to watch her for half a minute, coloring away at her masterpiece. Then she looked up and saw me there, hollered, "MOMMY!! YOU'RE BACK!!!" and flew at me with all the force of a three-year-old-to-be. Which is a lot when you've been missed, and the load got a little lighter. We collected her coat and her juice cup and her picture, and she told me that she drawled it for me, and the load eased up some more.  Walking to the van, she burst into song, her own special version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and she kept getting the words wrong and saying, "I can't, Mommy, I can't," and the load lightened even more.  Kids. Just when you think nothing can go right, they show you what really matters.

I don't know what I'm going to do now. I'm not going to give up and eat my way through this, I know that. I'm going to keep working on trying to lose weight and gain more protein. I'm going to see about going to a civilian provider for the surgery, if they'll pay for it (Dr. Hain indicated they would.) We'll see.

After we came home (a bit of a hellish drive, with one functional eyeball, especially in the downtown tunnel), collected the other two from school, and had a nice, big lunch together, the kids went down for naps and so did the Mom. I canceled my evening engagements and slept off the disappointment. Along with my good hair and face day.

Fin.

Can you say "BOOYAH!"

With much trepidation, I just weighed in.

And

I

have

lost

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

13 pounds!!!

Something to that doctor's "controlled starvation" methods, I guess. Now I just have to keep it up...

Serenity Now

Maybe it isn't the nicest, or the most responsible, thing to do, but when I need Serenity Now in the car, I turn up the radio just loud enough so that I can hear it over the kids. There gets to be a point, driving around, where I can't stand to hear any more of Jack's whining, Chloë's tattling, and Sophia's repeating the same thing over and over again. I find a good song, turn it up, sing to it, and then I'm ready to turn it back down again and be cheerful and responsive. I can't decide if that makes me a crappy mother or a smart one who's found a harmless coping mechanism.

********

I very much like this color red. But then, I like the red very much.

********

The top shelf in the fridge door is empty and undesignated-for-now, because I have a lovely husband. Since I can't drink my beloved Caffeine-Free Diet Cokes any longer, he is giving up sodas, too. I keep telling him he doesn't need to do that, but he is sweet and says that if I need to sacrifice, he will do it, too. Not that he doesn't go to work and chug a gallon of coffee, but there's something so stimulating and satisfying about carbonation, isn't there? I'd complain about his still drinking beer, but I'm not all that upset about having to do without alcohol. I'm not in college anymore, after all!

********

I finished the Wisp last night with just barely enough yarn to spare for sewing on the buttons.

It took me longer than I expected, mostly because it was so simple and repetitive that I kept falling asleep while making it!

One of the many variations for wearing it. I absolutely love it. It's impossibly soft and buttery, and for someone who is not into girly-girly, I really love the colors. Doesn't it just look - lush? I love it. But I said that already.

********

Today was another warmish day in Hampton Roads, which was great for the Brownies. After making signs for selling cookies at the booths, they went outside and played a game of - The Hen and The Hyena? Something like that. There was a lot of running and laughing involved.

Our troop leader and baby Margaret, the sweetest little baby girl ever on the planet

Brownie mom Tiffany and brand-new baby Vivian, who is such a cutie-pie

And this little girl, who was a crankmeister desperately in need of a nap at this point of time. And she took one, too. And came down frowning miserably at us when her little brother woke her up. Alas, I love her anyway.

Rob took this last one of Sophia modeling his new t-shirt from Aunt Gail (the real one, not the blow-up doll). Our Christmas presents arrived from Louisiana today! We received an awesome photo journal from the family reunion in Missouri this past June, which I love, and a seafood cookbook for me. We haven't yet opened the kids' presents; not quite sure why. Sophia took a nap in Daddy's shirt, with pannies and no diaper, and she woke up quite dry. Yay, Soap! Thanks, Aunt Gail - more pictures to follow tomorrow!

And last but not least, at 2300, I went to the hospital for an abdominal ultrasound, yet another step (or 'chink' - can I say 'chink'? I want to say 'chink') in the process toward getting my surgery. No, I haven't talked to OB/oncology yet; I've left a message every day and have yet to hear back from them confirming that YES, I have cancer and YES, I need a hysterectomy. Amazing lack of expedience there. I have an appointment at the end of the month for my psych consult, and I have to call tomorrow to schedule the nutrition consult (I keep calling, but their system is messed up. Ha! The nutritionist's system is irregular...okay, it's funny to me), and in March, I'm doing a sleep study to see whether I need to be on CPAP. He thinks I do. We'll see.

Hasta la pasta.

A Kitty On My Foot and I Wanna Touch It

"...Little bag of bones been out all night..."  I'm listening to the Presidents right now, can you tell? Good stuff.

Well, today was an interesting day, to say the least. I had my consult for bariatric surgery, which I've been hoping to have soon so I can start getting skinny for the cruise in June. It's probably not going to happen by then, now. I found out today I have cancer and need to schedule a hysterectomy ASAP. I pretty much wandered through the rest of the day in shock after hearing that. It's not so much that I'm worried about things - I'm really not - but I would have expected to hear that from my OB-Oncologist shortly after my exam in December, not the drastic bypass surgeon almost as an aside! The first he said when he came in was, "Well, first we have to get this cancer thing out of the way..." What?! What cancer thing?!! Totally threw me for a loop, especially since the doc I saw on Monday looked at my file and told me everything was good.

So, mostly out of surprise and dismay, I burst into tears and couldn't seem to stop crying while we talked, which was embarrassing. Then he told me we would still proceed with getting me ready for the surgery, and I'd need to make my appointments for nutrition and psych since it looked like there were major issues in both areas. Dammit! I said, "I'm not always this weepy, but for one thing, I'm extremely hormonal right now, and I just wasn't expecting to hear that from you today!" So, great. My therapist thinks I'm going to do well with the surgery - now it's just a matter of convincing them.

As for the nutritional issues, he confirmed what I was told on Monday, that my iron levels are abyssmal - and so is my protein. I basically have none. He said being a vegetarian was going to be a big problem for me with the surgery if I don't start getting some major protein in now, because I would fail the nutritional consult as it stands right now. And, he pretty much put me on the post-op diet - starting Monday, after our NYC trip! ;) - so I'm going to be a grumpy, starving little bitch for a while, y'all. No more chocolate. No more eating-out mystery shops. No more of my beloved Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. No more spaghetti dinners. Bring on the chicken and beans and gallons of water.

Sigh.

But I can do this!! I'm very good at following doctor's orders. Trying to do something on my own - very difficult for me. Being told by a doctor that I must do something - not a problem. I'm the obedient type, when it comes to authority. I can do this.

After New York. Don't mess with my bagels.

Fin.