First, let me say how glad I was to see someone else's blog post when I arrived on site - though I'm sorry to hear the circumstances. Twinks, here's hoping you and Twinklette make it through the remaining daddy-free time without committing hara-kiri.
Y'all know the big bad sad news about the passing of the grandmama. The finality is hard but I can't miss her any more than I already did. I'm not going to get into that because I already have the dehydrated/tears headache. I'd rather talk about this.
I pop on the Facebook this morning for the love and support of condolence notes (thanks, girls), and what do I see but a status update from War Bride, whom y'all will recall dropped out of college this summer to marry my 23-year-old cousin and move to Mississippi for his Air Force pilot training. We all know what's coming, don't we?
Yes, War Bride and Pilot are expecting. This is not exactly a shock - as Little Sis said earlier today, "Think how fresh those eggs must be, she's only been through puberty for about three years." Here's what slew me: she's due October 27. Some of you may be furrowing your brows to do the math, as I was this morning, so let me save you the trouble. Forget the first trimester, I'm not sure she's even out of the first month. Evidently War Bride peed on the stick and posted on the Facebook at the same time.
She is a sweet girl, and I'm sure she's excited about being a mama - what else does she have to do in Columbus, Mississippi? And God bless her, I sincerely hope they do have a happy healthy baby on or around October 27, without any complications. But as we all realize, there is good reason to keep these things to yourself for a little while. I guess when you're 20, the only sad pregnancy stories you know are the ones about girls who got knocked up after prom.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Twinkle: The Cough from Hell and the Worst Timing Ever
Most of you know that for the past few months I've been living the life similar to that of the teen moms on a certain MTV series: lonely, pregnant, with an absent babydaddy and (as in the case of some of the more wayward girls) another small child at my hip. The only difference between me and gals of Sixteen and Pregnant is home decor. I'll say it: mine's better.
Anyway, forgive me but I just have to rant. It all started when Twinklette developed a violent cough two weeks ago. Here's a concise timeline, which is really boring, but shows you just how long this has been going on and how incredibly annoyed I am with her doctor right now.
* Two weeks ago: Twinklette coughs so violently she barfs on herself and on the floor. We immediately visit the doctor but are happily dismissed and sent on our merry way without any medication or real diagnosis.
* All that week and last week: the cough persists.
* Last Friday: just as Mr. Twinkle is about to leave town, Twinklette becomes incredibly hard to deal with and complains that her ears are hurting. The cough has become an ear infection.
* Last Friday night: Twinklette spends the night with my in-laws, where they blithely watch the verboten Sesame Street and are under strict orders to call me if she gets sick or needs me. I know they will not do this, but she has to spend the night because Mr. Twinkle has an early flight to Florida and it's just better for everyone this way. I am already p*ssed at her doctor at this point.
* Last Saturday: Twinklette comes home with broken blood vessels around her eyes from violent coughing (which, shockingly, went unreported by my inlaws*). The pediatrician's answering service and I both mistake this for an allergic reaction to the antibiotic, so we spend hours that afternoon in the Pediatric Acute Care center on Poplar Level Road, which is filled with the dregs of society and is pretty much the free clinic of pediatric services. (I told you I was like one of those teen moms). The ear infection has become a double ear infection.
* Monday: Twinklette's school calls to report nasty stomach issues that have ruined an outfit. (I was on the phone with Lola when all this went down). They give her a t-shirt and someone else's socks (yes, apparently this episode affected even her socks) but when I arrive to pick her up, they say she seems fine and is having fun, so I let her stay.
* Tuesday (today): I try to have a fun day with Twinklette but it's filled with drama, tears, whining (and also more stomach problems), and I start to wonder if she's just going through a really unpleasant phase or what. I Google the side effects of her drug. As suspected, they include stomach issues and diaper rash, but also the complete inability to listen and cooperate, as well as whining, crying, ignoring one's mother, and having an overall b*tchy attitude from dawn 'til dusk. (This was officially listed as "hyperactivity and irritability," but we know that's just code for "royal b*tch").
So. Here we are. And I'm glad I Googled the side effects so now I can be a little more understanding of where all the drama is coming from. But DEAR LORD could it be worse timing? Mr. Twinkle skipped town the day after the medication started, and she has to be on it for 10 days--6 of which he will be gone. I do realize that he's working hard and that we will all eventually benefit from his tireless dedication, so I can't really be mad at him.
You know who I'm mad at? The d*mn doctor. If she had given us some d*mn cough syrup two weeks ago, we would not be in the downward spiral of unpleasantness we're in now.
Anyway...that's my rant, and I feel better. Thanks for listening!
* Oh, and it'll be a long, long time before Twinklette spends the night over there again.
Anyway, forgive me but I just have to rant. It all started when Twinklette developed a violent cough two weeks ago. Here's a concise timeline, which is really boring, but shows you just how long this has been going on and how incredibly annoyed I am with her doctor right now.
* Two weeks ago: Twinklette coughs so violently she barfs on herself and on the floor. We immediately visit the doctor but are happily dismissed and sent on our merry way without any medication or real diagnosis.
* All that week and last week: the cough persists.
* Last Friday: just as Mr. Twinkle is about to leave town, Twinklette becomes incredibly hard to deal with and complains that her ears are hurting. The cough has become an ear infection.
* Last Friday night: Twinklette spends the night with my in-laws, where they blithely watch the verboten Sesame Street and are under strict orders to call me if she gets sick or needs me. I know they will not do this, but she has to spend the night because Mr. Twinkle has an early flight to Florida and it's just better for everyone this way. I am already p*ssed at her doctor at this point.
* Last Saturday: Twinklette comes home with broken blood vessels around her eyes from violent coughing (which, shockingly, went unreported by my inlaws*). The pediatrician's answering service and I both mistake this for an allergic reaction to the antibiotic, so we spend hours that afternoon in the Pediatric Acute Care center on Poplar Level Road, which is filled with the dregs of society and is pretty much the free clinic of pediatric services. (I told you I was like one of those teen moms). The ear infection has become a double ear infection.
* Monday: Twinklette's school calls to report nasty stomach issues that have ruined an outfit. (I was on the phone with Lola when all this went down). They give her a t-shirt and someone else's socks (yes, apparently this episode affected even her socks) but when I arrive to pick her up, they say she seems fine and is having fun, so I let her stay.
* Tuesday (today): I try to have a fun day with Twinklette but it's filled with drama, tears, whining (and also more stomach problems), and I start to wonder if she's just going through a really unpleasant phase or what. I Google the side effects of her drug. As suspected, they include stomach issues and diaper rash, but also the complete inability to listen and cooperate, as well as whining, crying, ignoring one's mother, and having an overall b*tchy attitude from dawn 'til dusk. (This was officially listed as "hyperactivity and irritability," but we know that's just code for "royal b*tch").
So. Here we are. And I'm glad I Googled the side effects so now I can be a little more understanding of where all the drama is coming from. But DEAR LORD could it be worse timing? Mr. Twinkle skipped town the day after the medication started, and she has to be on it for 10 days--6 of which he will be gone. I do realize that he's working hard and that we will all eventually benefit from his tireless dedication, so I can't really be mad at him.
You know who I'm mad at? The d*mn doctor. If she had given us some d*mn cough syrup two weeks ago, we would not be in the downward spiral of unpleasantness we're in now.
Anyway...that's my rant, and I feel better. Thanks for listening!
* Oh, and it'll be a long, long time before Twinklette spends the night over there again.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Julep: Surely You Jest.
I just got home from a SuperBowl party at Mr-Sister's house. Mr. J is out of town but she invited me to come without him, which was awfully nice of her. I've gotten to know several of her friends well over the years, and I enjoy them. So off I went, and who ended up sitting beside me but her good friend S.
S is a sweet girl; I like her very much; she is also pregnant. This is not too big a deal - y'all know I am not one to begrudge, and although she is seven years younger than I am in fact S has been married longer. So although I didn't start asking her any happy baby questions, I was fine. Until ...
J, another gal pal of Mr-Sister's, is getting married in July, and it seems that they have already scheduled the weekend for J's bachelorette festivities. The girls discovered this evening that there is some fabulous music festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama on J's bachelorette weekend. Excitement ensued with great discussion of whether they can go to Gulf Shores for the bachelorette. S's husband called from across the room, "I don't think the doctor will OK that for you!" She said, "Well, maybe I can go ... when is it?" May 22. "I could maybe go. I'll see, anyway." Much joking from the room. She seemed annoyed.
So I asked her, quietly, "When are you due?" June 11, she said. I laughed and said, "I think you will have to sit this one out, no doctor will let you take a road trip to Gulf Shores at that point." And she said, "Well, you know, I'm planning to do a natural birth and all, so the doctor really isn't the final say."
Honey. I don't care if you are planning to spawn this child from your cranium like Athena from the head of Zeus. When you are TWENTY DAYS from your due date, you cannot be driving across three states to spend a weekend in the hot sun wandering around a music festival. I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but this will be the first of many fun times that your single, childless girlfriends will be having without you. Deal with it.
Oh, and at halftime, her husband stepped out to the backyard to smoke some weed.
Is it possible to call Child Protective Services before the baby is actually born? I would like to exercise eminent domain on that fetus.
S is a sweet girl; I like her very much; she is also pregnant. This is not too big a deal - y'all know I am not one to begrudge, and although she is seven years younger than I am in fact S has been married longer. So although I didn't start asking her any happy baby questions, I was fine. Until ...
J, another gal pal of Mr-Sister's, is getting married in July, and it seems that they have already scheduled the weekend for J's bachelorette festivities. The girls discovered this evening that there is some fabulous music festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama on J's bachelorette weekend. Excitement ensued with great discussion of whether they can go to Gulf Shores for the bachelorette. S's husband called from across the room, "I don't think the doctor will OK that for you!" She said, "Well, maybe I can go ... when is it?" May 22. "I could maybe go. I'll see, anyway." Much joking from the room. She seemed annoyed.
So I asked her, quietly, "When are you due?" June 11, she said. I laughed and said, "I think you will have to sit this one out, no doctor will let you take a road trip to Gulf Shores at that point." And she said, "Well, you know, I'm planning to do a natural birth and all, so the doctor really isn't the final say."
Honey. I don't care if you are planning to spawn this child from your cranium like Athena from the head of Zeus. When you are TWENTY DAYS from your due date, you cannot be driving across three states to spend a weekend in the hot sun wandering around a music festival. I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but this will be the first of many fun times that your single, childless girlfriends will be having without you. Deal with it.
Oh, and at halftime, her husband stepped out to the backyard to smoke some weed.
Is it possible to call Child Protective Services before the baby is actually born? I would like to exercise eminent domain on that fetus.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Julep: This says it all
I keep meaning to mention this - thought of it this morning as I was getting dressed.
Mr-Mama bought me these darling boots for Christmas. She shopped for ages to find the near-perfect match to the gorgeous little suede jacket she purchased for me on our shopping trip back in October. So considerate, truly. She was so pleased to find them and wanted to be certain that I had the right size, so she bought two pairs with plans to take back the pair that didn't fit. She bought a 7 1/2 and an 8.
As she knows, I wear a size 7 shoe. But, she said, the 7 looked so tiny! She was sure I would need something bigger. (For reference, what with being 10 inches taller than I am, Mr-Sister wears a size 12 shoe.) As it happens, the 7 1/2 fit ... a trifle roomy but boots can be worn with thick socks, so all's well that ends well.
Who is so determined to get the right size that she is willing to buy two pairs of shoes, but doesn't buy the size that the gift-recipient actually wears?
Mr-Mama bought me these darling boots for Christmas. She shopped for ages to find the near-perfect match to the gorgeous little suede jacket she purchased for me on our shopping trip back in October. So considerate, truly. She was so pleased to find them and wanted to be certain that I had the right size, so she bought two pairs with plans to take back the pair that didn't fit. She bought a 7 1/2 and an 8.
As she knows, I wear a size 7 shoe. But, she said, the 7 looked so tiny! She was sure I would need something bigger. (For reference, what with being 10 inches taller than I am, Mr-Sister wears a size 12 shoe.) As it happens, the 7 1/2 fit ... a trifle roomy but boots can be worn with thick socks, so all's well that ends well.
Who is so determined to get the right size that she is willing to buy two pairs of shoes, but doesn't buy the size that the gift-recipient actually wears?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Overheard: Dibbs
From our receptionist: "My sister-in-law has six inches of snow. She lives somewhere near California."
To self: "Why do I care?"
Receptionist: "Carroll County, I think."
Self: "Bless."
To self: "Why do I care?"
Receptionist: "Carroll County, I think."
Self: "Bless."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Julep: Stay on the happy side
Thought I ought to give you girls a bit of an update. As you know, we had dinner last week with my friends who adopted a daughter from China after having two biological sons. It also happens that my friend is the daughter of our town's biggest adoption lawyer, and they are both lawyers themselves who have worked with her dad at least a bit. So they know a lot about adoption, from the personal side and the legal side.
They were so incredibly positive and encouraging, with so many good things to say about their own experience. Even though we won't follow their same road (Mr. J feels strongly about domestic versus international), they gave me a lot of comfort that although this will be a difficult process, someday it will be over and we will have a child of our own even if not a biological child. So although we are still working through the process, we are getting some traction. Planning to contact the adoption-lawyer-dad next week when he returns to town from vacation, and maybe also the local non-profit agency.
Meanwhile, we are continuing to lay ground work. We dropped something off at Mr. J's parents' house last weekend and took the opportunity to broach the subject with his folks. Of course my own mom has been in the loop the whole time, but evidently Mr. J had been somewhat less forthcoming ... no surprise there. Mr-Mama was sort of aware that we had gone to see the fertility doctor but that is all she knew. So we gave them the details on the lack of success, and explained that we were turning our attention to adoption.
They were pretty quiet, mostly, and what little they did say was supportive. Mr-Papa was all "however it happens, it will be a good thing." Mr-Mama referred to a good friend of hers whom I did not realize has two adopted children, and I was glad to hear that because I think it will give her a helpful frame of reference. And then she asked me in a concerned voice, "What does your mom think about this?"
I said something vague about how my mom thinks we should do whatever we need to do, but it struck me as odd ... not that she asked, but the sort of ominous tone she used. I asked Mr. J later what he thought she was getting at, and he said, "She's so different from your mom, it's hard for her to know what your mom thinks about anything. I'm sure she was just curious." Well, maybe.
What I think is that Mr-Mama wanted someone to give her an opening. What with Mr-Papa being all power-of-positive-thinking, she didn't want to head out on the limb as the naysayer. She was hoping my mom would have already voiced some concerns, so that she could get on board and start throwing out her own issues. But my mother's parenting credo is: "whatever makes my kid happy is great with me." As I said to Mr. J, we could tell my mother we are never having kids - great! we are doing IVF and hoping for triplets - great! we are adopting an alien baby - great!
I'm expecting Mr-Mama to have all sorts of things to say once she gets warmed up. I just hope she decides to land on our side ... Mr. J doesn't need any more stress.
They were so incredibly positive and encouraging, with so many good things to say about their own experience. Even though we won't follow their same road (Mr. J feels strongly about domestic versus international), they gave me a lot of comfort that although this will be a difficult process, someday it will be over and we will have a child of our own even if not a biological child. So although we are still working through the process, we are getting some traction. Planning to contact the adoption-lawyer-dad next week when he returns to town from vacation, and maybe also the local non-profit agency.
Meanwhile, we are continuing to lay ground work. We dropped something off at Mr. J's parents' house last weekend and took the opportunity to broach the subject with his folks. Of course my own mom has been in the loop the whole time, but evidently Mr. J had been somewhat less forthcoming ... no surprise there. Mr-Mama was sort of aware that we had gone to see the fertility doctor but that is all she knew. So we gave them the details on the lack of success, and explained that we were turning our attention to adoption.
They were pretty quiet, mostly, and what little they did say was supportive. Mr-Papa was all "however it happens, it will be a good thing." Mr-Mama referred to a good friend of hers whom I did not realize has two adopted children, and I was glad to hear that because I think it will give her a helpful frame of reference. And then she asked me in a concerned voice, "What does your mom think about this?"
I said something vague about how my mom thinks we should do whatever we need to do, but it struck me as odd ... not that she asked, but the sort of ominous tone she used. I asked Mr. J later what he thought she was getting at, and he said, "She's so different from your mom, it's hard for her to know what your mom thinks about anything. I'm sure she was just curious." Well, maybe.
What I think is that Mr-Mama wanted someone to give her an opening. What with Mr-Papa being all power-of-positive-thinking, she didn't want to head out on the limb as the naysayer. She was hoping my mom would have already voiced some concerns, so that she could get on board and start throwing out her own issues. But my mother's parenting credo is: "whatever makes my kid happy is great with me." As I said to Mr. J, we could tell my mother we are never having kids - great! we are doing IVF and hoping for triplets - great! we are adopting an alien baby - great!
I'm expecting Mr-Mama to have all sorts of things to say once she gets warmed up. I just hope she decides to land on our side ... Mr. J doesn't need any more stress.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Twinkle: The Epic Swingset Battle
I just waged it, and won.
It happened, conveniently enough for Mr. Twinkle, when he and Twinklette had just left for a little early afternoon sledding in the park. It's probably better that I handled it myself. If I'd sent him out there to deal with the situation, I would have a swingset smack dab in the middle of my back yard right now. I would also have no hope of a garden, ever.
It was a hard-fought battle. My FIL and the handyman, Terry, had the thing set up right in the center, where it would have taken up every square inch of any garden I'd ever hoped to have. They tried to argue that I needed to watch the children from inside the house. They tried to argue that my ideal placement of the swingset wouldn't work because of the trees/garage, and because the swingset is a behemoth. My FIL even said, "Can't you just plant tomatoes in that corner over there?"
And you, my attorney friends, would have been so proud of me. I was not intimidated by these two men trying to tell me how to use my yard. I stood up for myself! I made my case for not needing to watch the children from the house. I argued that I thought it would fit, which was the whole reason why we measured before choosing the swingset in the first place. I said that no, a corner of the yard reserved for tomatoes is unacceptable. (I'm pretty sure my FIL doesn't begin to comprehend my grandiose Carloftis-like vision. And why would he, when he has spent his entire life with a woman completely devoid of imagination?). It was my own little feminist rebellion against the patriarchy. Hands off my womb and my garden, sons of b*tches!
I know my FIL is probably annoyed with me for not just going with what he wanted for the yard and the swingset. (Terry was slightly nicer about it). Maybe I seem like a spoiled b*tch, or some annoying harridan who will not be silenced. But am I really so spoiled for wanting my yard the way I want it? I think it's a pretty reasonable request, and there are worse things to want in life than a garden.
Anyway, I won. After several configurations and a lot of attitude from my FIL, who no one in the family ever stands up to, the swingset is going to be nestled under the trees, behind the garage, in the shade, out of sight from the house, and not taking up any (or all) precious sunny spots in the yard. And it actually doesn't look half bad. It looks like a really nice place for little girls to play...and it'll be even better when I go all Carloftis back there.
I sort of have to now, don't I?
It happened, conveniently enough for Mr. Twinkle, when he and Twinklette had just left for a little early afternoon sledding in the park. It's probably better that I handled it myself. If I'd sent him out there to deal with the situation, I would have a swingset smack dab in the middle of my back yard right now. I would also have no hope of a garden, ever.
It was a hard-fought battle. My FIL and the handyman, Terry, had the thing set up right in the center, where it would have taken up every square inch of any garden I'd ever hoped to have. They tried to argue that I needed to watch the children from inside the house. They tried to argue that my ideal placement of the swingset wouldn't work because of the trees/garage, and because the swingset is a behemoth. My FIL even said, "Can't you just plant tomatoes in that corner over there?"
And you, my attorney friends, would have been so proud of me. I was not intimidated by these two men trying to tell me how to use my yard. I stood up for myself! I made my case for not needing to watch the children from the house. I argued that I thought it would fit, which was the whole reason why we measured before choosing the swingset in the first place. I said that no, a corner of the yard reserved for tomatoes is unacceptable. (I'm pretty sure my FIL doesn't begin to comprehend my grandiose Carloftis-like vision. And why would he, when he has spent his entire life with a woman completely devoid of imagination?). It was my own little feminist rebellion against the patriarchy. Hands off my womb and my garden, sons of b*tches!
I know my FIL is probably annoyed with me for not just going with what he wanted for the yard and the swingset. (Terry was slightly nicer about it). Maybe I seem like a spoiled b*tch, or some annoying harridan who will not be silenced. But am I really so spoiled for wanting my yard the way I want it? I think it's a pretty reasonable request, and there are worse things to want in life than a garden.
Anyway, I won. After several configurations and a lot of attitude from my FIL, who no one in the family ever stands up to, the swingset is going to be nestled under the trees, behind the garage, in the shade, out of sight from the house, and not taking up any (or all) precious sunny spots in the yard. And it actually doesn't look half bad. It looks like a really nice place for little girls to play...and it'll be even better when I go all Carloftis back there.
I sort of have to now, don't I?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)