More. 12-22-13

Here are a few more that have come to my attention: Christmas Share and Christmas Star.

Had a great time with the family today. It's like putting on a nice warm sweater on a cold day. And cold winds have been blowing. They could care less about my work--never heard a word about it, only that I'm too far away :)

Taking Stock at Month 23. 12-18-13

Here’s what’s happening at 23 months:

• One more month and Boop will be 2 years old. It’s pretty amazing to think of. She’s a head full of curls with a definite mind of her own. We made a quick run to the grocery last night to pick up a few things. Of course, she was not content to sit in the cart, even the one made for little kids. She maneuvered her way out, and totally had the shopping thing down. Unfortunately, she didn’t always want to look at the things that I did. We went down the baking isle to get stuff for cookies. I turned around, and she had 3 different kinds of candy sprinkles and was putting them in the cart. Did she know they were for cookies? Probably just a fluke. I reassured her that we already had some at home. I had showed them to her a few days ago.
• Boop sings her ABC’s a lot. She fumbles a bit after G, but if you sing along, she picks back up at O and can just about knock out the rest. She has started to say her numbers and can count to ten, sometimes even “fweven” or “twove”, but she sometimes skips a number in the middle. You know, most kids do these things, but when you’re with one a lot and are just going along, it almost blind-sides you to see that intellectual leap. We’re still a ways from colors. She knows the words and repeats them, but she doesn’t have the concept.
• It cracks me up (and wow a few minutes reprieve!) to see her sit and read. She’ll look at one of her books, I’ll hear some mumbling, and then all of the sudden, a word I can understand. She sits in her little bath and talks to her rubber duckies, ‘no, no duckie,’ she admonishes them. It won’t be long before she’s more independent. A mixed blessing, I guess.
• She’s getting too heavy for me to carry everywhere, and she screams the minute I try to put her down. Her attachment anxiety is so strange, and it was hard for me to understand. She does fine when I get her to daycare, but boy, she does NOT want to get dressed in the morning. Then, she is not anxious to get home, does not want to get in the car seat for the 1.5 minute ride home. Once at home, she will not let me out of her site. The timing is so strange, but I think it is just separation anxiety.
• Winnie did NOT have a UTI, yes, she did NOT have a UTI at our last vet visit. Hurray! Unfortunately, she is going blind—probably already there, poor thing. She’s not a young pup; although she acts like it. Fortunately the constant picking (scratching, biting, licking) is most likely the result of allergies. Annoying, but not serious.

Even My Toys Were Rejected. 12-17-13

Tomorrow, Boop will be 23 months old. I guess I should feel some accomplishment in that, handful that she is. It won’t be any easier with the turmoil of the holidays. I have that chaos to look forward to, but I need to focus on positive things.

Today has been such a downer. I woke up and was reminded by FB that it is my cousin’s birthday. That’s good. Then, I remember that my dad would have been 64. I don’t let myself think about it. I got to work, sent a proposal for a class I’m teaching next year, but then found out that I need to re-do. Next, I found out that neither of my grants will be funded. Just typing it is painful. Such great news right before the holidays, groan. And yesterday, I submitted another smaller one, which I know has no chance. It was down to the wire, and one of the folks didn’t come through. It’s sunk, too. And over the last 3 weeks or so, I’ve gotten 3 manuscripts with revisions needed; some I don’t know if I can manage. One of the manuscripts is on its FOURTH revision. Honestly, just publish it already. We had about 5 people working on the last revision, and I just don’t understand it.

Okay, and so here is the crown jewel. I took some of Boop’s old toys to the firehouse to give to the less fortunate, and they wouldn’t take them. Apparently, this firehouse does not take toy donations. So, it wasn’t exactly as if they were rejecting the toys, but it could have so thrown me over the edge. Very awkward. They at least suggested some other places that might be interested. I want this stuff out of my way. Coming home to my toy-packed house is even more overwhelming. Every time I think about moving, I look at all of this stuff, and it seems insurmountable.

And so tonight, I’m meeting some friends, with little Boop in tow, to have a bit of dinner and hopefully a glass of wine. Then, tomorrow, I get to try to regroup and then be apologetic to those who were optimistic, to those who had also put some effort into this. Maybe I’ll devote a little more time than usual to finding a new career.   

Telephone Call. 12-10-13

"MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA!"
"I'm sorry, Dr. H.<physician who I have never met before, from whom I'm asking a favor>."
"MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA!"
"Boop, you ate all the banana. You cannot have anymore. Would you like a cracker?"
"MY CRACKER! MY CRACKER! MY CRACKER!" She takes the cracker and puts it back down. I try to resume my conversation.
"MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA!"
Grr! Boop is home with pink eye today, and I'm trying to work on a grant. Fortunately, Dr. H. also has a toddler.
I hung up the phone, turned to Boop and began shouting at her, "MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA! MY BANANA!" Boop clearly thought that was fan-tast-ic and started cracking up. Lordamercy.

Christmas Vomited. 12-8-13

What do these all have in common?

Christmas Spirit, Christmas Shoe, Christmas Dance, Christmas Ornament, Christmas Gift, Christmas Song, Christmas Wish, Christmas Choir, Christmas Heart, Christmas Cottage

There’s probably some way to write the answer upside-down at the bottom of the page, but I can’t be bothered. The answer is probably obvious to many of you. Hallmark Channel’s December programming. The Christmas Carol? Not on their programming, that I’ve heard <oops, they do play the 2004 version>. Too obvious, and clearly not to the caliber of, say, the Christmas Shoe. In my mind, I was wondering how a channel with such over-the-top programming managed to air a movie about John Wayne Gacy. But then I remembered that was the last movie I ever watched on Lifetime, EVER! Somewhere I missed the memo about who John Wayne Gacy was. And so I was expecting some inoffensive chick flick on Lifetime, kept waiting for it get better, and waiting, and watching. It didn’t get any better. Two words: crawl space. Not Christmas Space; definitely not Hallmark programming.

And so it is this morning. Christmas was in full swing until my Christmas Tree holder sprung a leak somewhere. This I noticed after the tree was nearly decorated. I have no idea where the leak is from, but I guess I’ll try to get out and get a pan tomorrow as the roads are too snowy today. And then I had to contend with Boop putting on ornaments—which was good—until she remembered how to take them off. I also had fun cleaning up when Boop got sick again. So, I didn’t get much accomplished. Today's title? Christmas Vomited. Also not Hallmark programming.

Strange and Vomit. 12-7-13

Trying to backtrack through my emails to find a membership number, I came across an email. Strange. Some guy I met online before I was pregnant. Not exactly sure why I quit writing him. Okay, so that’s not the strange part. So, I got this friend request on Facebook several years ago, still hanging in limbo. And I’m thinking, “Who is this guy?” I thought it was some sort of advertisement, or something, because the person in the FB photo was holding a cardboard sign that said, “Your ad here.” Now that my email has changed to Outlook, the email showed the same photo as the FB one. The strange part: They had different names. 

This is only a passing blip in the midst of my crazy life. Boop got sick the night before last. Bless her heart, we were up most of the night. I tried to aim her and keep her from getting choked, but she’s her own little person, determined to do it her way. That translates into vomit everywhere. It’s a special kind of love when your daughter spews bile and curdled milk all over you and the bed. Then, she rolls around in it just to be sure she does the deed to its fullest effect. We both had a couple of showers, changed beds twice and the sheets 3 times, and then the last time, I just covered it with a blanket and lived with it, even when she got pee in the bed. Too exhausted. She seemed to feel great the next morning, of course, and my rump was draggin’. 

You'll Poke Your Eye Out. 12-6-13

I can't really see what I'm typing. I just wait for those red squiggles to pop up to give me a hint that I haven't typed something properly. I was so focused on getting everything in order for my 8am eye appointment that I didn't even think about the procedure. I really hate getting my eyes tested, and I had been putting it off. This is the time of life when things start going bad, and with all of the other health issues I've got, I figured it was time for my vision. I've had a lot of blurring; so I figured they would tell me I need glasses.

I do not like things to touch my eyes, and as the tech starting getting all of her little tools together for the eye pressure test, I explained that I would rather have a pap smear than have a glaucoma screen. Seriously. I flinch at even the thought of something going in my eye. And so, as the resident was doing his exam, he hopped up to get something. Behind the door in the hall, I could hear him talking about a sterile q-tip, which gave me pause. He rushed back in and started at me. Er no, Slim, no q-tips to my eye. He explained that he wanted to get an eyelash out of my eye. I asked him if he absolutely had to do it, and with that he tossed it, to my relief.


20/20 vision. No arthritis. Everything fine. If I wanted something for reading, I could pick up some cheap-o reading glasses, but not really needed. He said that I had some blocked tear ducts and had a few suggestions for that. One of them: eye drops. Urgh. So now I just wait for my dilated eyes to return to normal.