Posts from — October 2009

I never realized what an uninitiated medicine taker I am until this plague I have been harboring of late started to stick around for 8, 9, 10 days and counting.  I am less of a proactive symptom problem solver and more of a complainer, is the thing.  Sure I could take the Nyquil, but then WHAT WOULD I TWITTER ABOUT?  My “ignorance is an excuse for whining” approach started to reveal itself through several conversations I had about my cold, during which I would have just ramped up my diatribe against the Snot  Glacier that took just enough sleepless minutes to move from my right nostril to my left for me to feel uncomfortable enough to need to turn over and start the whole process over again when someone would interject to tell me I should just try X! It will clear that right on up!  And later when I do, I realize they were being really nice not to tack a big fat DUH onto the end of that sentence.  Because hey! There are these things called drugstores! And they’re on like every corner!  With shelves full of Snot Glacier remedies!  This is all very exciting and new to me.

I think I have a (naive?) belief that I can just get better on my own, no need to fool with my body chemistry, thanks. I can be passed out on the couch hacking up my spleen and still I think, “ME TARZAN. YOU COLD. TARZAN STRONGER THAN COLD.” But geez, this marathon germ party has had me singing a different tune.  Afrin? Mist me up! Nyquil? Slide it down my gullet! Advil? Two for me please, with a cough drop chaser!

The new one I had not tried until the development of the ever-attractive Body Wracking Cough was Mucinex.  It’s like this Ghostbuster drug: shakes everything loose and then vacuums it all up. Like magic, it is. And my cough had gotten to the point that I was ready to reach into my throat, pull my lungs out by the trachea and give them a good swipe with a sheet of Brawny to get rid of whatever it was that was so desperately and unsuccessfully trying to get out.  So one mention of the Mucinex and I was on board.

I took two in the morning and felt some relief during the next few hours, but as the day wore on into the afternoon, I noticed that I felt strung out and dried up.  Kind of like I had gulped down a venti latte sprinkled with silica.  This feeling hit its apex right around the time I had scheduled myself a hair cut. In the chair I could not stop awkwardly Over- Talking About Inappropriate Things to the stylist and yet also could not seem to focus my eyes on one spot for very long.  And on the list of “States You Probably Don’t Want To Be In Whilst Making Decisions About Your Appearance”, hopped up on cough expectorant/suppressants would definitely be in the top twenty, possibly the top ten.

Because Holy Split Ends, Batman – I chopped six or seven inches off my hair.  DUBYA TEE EFF? I kept looking at the floor towards the end of my cut thinking, “Man, it’s like they sheared a Shetland pony in here.  Ooh, lollipops!”

Only time will tell how I actually feel about this new look.  If I wake up tomorrow and recoil from the mirror in horror, I am going straight to the computer to compose my letter to the makers of Mucinex letting them know that their label needs to include a disclaimer for the new user:  WARNING – MAY CAUSE ALTERED STATE WHICH MAY AFFECT DECISION MAKING WHICH MAY CAUSE SIX TO EIGHT MONTHS OF BITCHINESS WHILE YOUR HAIR GROWS BACK OUT.

L asks that you pray for a miracle.

I don’t know if you are aware, but Rosie will turn one whole whopping year old NEXT THURSDAY.  Holy meatballs. And now that I’ve typed that sentence I’m realizing: this is why I am sick!  My body is using its crafty wiles to create a feeling of misery to commemorate the way I felt this week last year!  Hey body, thanks for the memories! Jerk.

I plan on being snot-and-hack-free for the birthday shenanigans, and I also plan on smiling a whole lot. Because Rosie will have completed one whole trip around the sun, and anyone with kids can tell you that if you make it to the end of that solar journey with most of your faculties intact, you’ve got a hell of a lot to celebrate.

Plus, GAH.  She is adorable to the max.  I know, like your kid and yours and yours.  But no, for serious.  I have plans for a first birthday postravaganza, along with video (this is pending the efficacy of certain bribes to my brother to use his Mac. Did I mention that my brother is awesome?  Also, very handsome.  And tall! DEAR JOE, I CAN HAZ COMPUTER FOR SUM HOURZ?) but I need to just up and say this right now: Rosie rules. She is spunky, she is scrappy, she is hilarious, she is punk rock, she is beautiful. She will CUTCHEW if you take something from her, but she’ll also give real kisses, right on the mouth, complete with smacking lips.  Her devotion to Noah is unwavering, and DA is the first name on her lips in the morning.  When I come in a room she reaches for me, arms up and head flung back in joyful anticipation of the flight to my hip.  She sings along to sound, be it radio or vacuum, and she is fearless in ways that make me enormously proud and terrified at the same time.  She came into this world kicking all kinds of ass from the start, and I love every spiky hair on her head.

I know it seems like I have now brought total ruination upon the Birthday Post, as I clearly cannot help myself when it comes to waxing about my offspring, but FEAR NOT. I have paragraphs more where that came from.  And hopefully, fingers crossed, toes crossed, candles lit, voodoo dolls poked, some photos to accompany them.  Until then, just picture him with a much, much (MUCH) cuter face and the body of a chubby baby, and as a girl, and…oh forget it.  Just know: the Fro lives.

Things I Am Praising Jeebus For:

1. Oh hi look! I blog.

2. I also sit upright! With eyes open! And breathe out of my nostrils!

3.  My mother-in-law, who has now played more games of “hide the cars” than any other person over 12 in the lower 48 states.

4. Nyquil. Sweet nectar of the Gods of Feverish Tossing Sleep.

5. L, single parent extraordinaire for 72 hours and Fearless Cleaner Upper of the Mounds of Crumpled Snotty Tissues Around the Bedroom Trashcan.

6. Hot baths. In my house. In the bathtub. That is in my house.

7. Illness-induced weight loss.  (What can I say, I am a silver-lining kind of gal.)

8.  Faithful readers who continue to come back here day after day, despite the fact that I have not been able to post.

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You watch me post all five days this week.  You heard me. FIVE POSTS, SUCKAS. Bring it, week.

riding to school – noah jabbering questions: coffins, dead bodies, people fossils? rosie: screaming to all passing cars I AM BEING HELD AGAINST MY WILL

noah love of nonsense talk BOSIE SCHMOSIE NOSIE FOSIE DOSIE.  My self lobotomy with spatula.

rabid raccoon on our street OMFG?

sick rosie. native american names: Barking Seal, Running River Nose, Spirit of the Feral Bobcat

ROSIE vs. MY FACE SMACKDOWN

i should have put a ring on this

formula/cocaine parallels.  spill a teaspoon WELP THERE GOES FIVE DOLLARS

[Video of Rosie and Noah hammin' in bathtub]

relishrelish.com (WTF? I am all JuneCleaver McDomesticPants)

hitch in my getalong

sell the right sides of the helices of all my DNA for a full night of sleep

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(Actual post coming soon)

I’ve discovered that writing this blog (and probably just writing in general) is kind of like riding a bike up a steep hill.  You have to come at it with momentum, otherwise you stall out and have to strain against the pedals just to move an inch. Or get off the bike altogether and walk it up to the top.  Right now I’m sitting on my Schwinn, eyeballing Kilimanjaro.

I have computer access in the form of our desktop during the day, but me finding the time to sit still in one remote corner of our house long enough to pound out some words is a dream of the pipe variety.  I have a girl on the MOVE, y’all, and she frankly does not care if Mama needs to get down a couple hundred OMGs for the Internets.  There is steel wool to be gnawed and markers to uncap!  Unfortunately, time at a desk and Master Ninja Disaster Prevention Swooping do not mix.

The other unpleasant side effect of being faced with the decision of Whether Or Not To Purchase A New Laptop With Money We Do Not Have is that it totally screws with my self esteem.  “Sure this has all been fun and good,” the Ugly Voice In My Head says, “but your blog is not worth buying a $1000 computer. It’s not even very interesting or good.  It’s not like it’s a legitimate job or anything. Get over yourself.  Also, those jeans make you look fat.”

Thanks a bunch UVIMH. I AM AWARE OF THE MUFFIN TOPS.  Asshole.

All this to say: if this is a site you have been enjoying, please don’t abandon the Yestertime ship.  We’re (L and I) working on a way to make this something I can do, something I can keep in my daily schedule.  All of it: the writing, the photos, the videos.  Because if I don’t do it, well then the Ugly Voice has won.  And that, my friends, would be a tragedy of Kilimanjaro-sized proportions.