this was the question of the day yesterday, posed by my 13 year old daughter:
What would your ideal life be?
me: this one...with a little more money.
I think she might've been slightly disappointed that I didn't say something like astronaut or supermodel, and frankly, I'm a bit surprised that I didn't mention naps or brownie sundaes.
the moral of the story? I'm exhausted and drained...
but pretty much loving my life.
in other news:
-babies do NOT like having 26 electrodes attached to their scalps for brain wave monitoring. he cried so hard during the set up we started to think he'd never trust us again...then he smiled and fell asleep. regardless of what the neurologist says his EEG shows...at least we know he still loves us.
-got the jogging stroller (that we've been researching for weeks) and immediately realized he's a bit wobbly for it. ordered padding and strap covers rush delivery...only to realize the forecast calls for rain for the next 4 days. prolly coulda saved that extra coin for my brownie sundae in a few months.
-hurt my back. hurt my thumb worse. I've got ibuprofen and ace bandages...just glad to be climbing again.
-I don't love my dogs any more. not at all. somebody please take them. soon. thanks.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
the "s" word
yesterday the Prof had three of what were very likely seizures.
he's scheduled for an EEG on tuesday.
I think he's fine. I feel he's fine. I BELIEVE he's fine...
but it still scared me shitless and left me crying hours later.
protecting babies is busy work.
he's scheduled for an EEG on tuesday.
I think he's fine. I feel he's fine. I BELIEVE he's fine...
but it still scared me shitless and left me crying hours later.
protecting babies is busy work.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
cold french fries
do you feed a hungry man on the street?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently who yells at your daughter and your friends?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies taunting the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently who yells at your daughter and your friends and then goes on to make rather loud assumptions about your political affiliation?
or do you promise to plaster him on the building front with your second hand volvo if he ever threatens your people, again?
I did neither...and I'm actually a bit disappointed in myself. first, I was a bit upset with myself for not just giving the d-bag the food. I mean...if a dood is hungry enough to (angrily) beg for our leftovers in front of his posse...he's prolly pretty hungry.
but something about him rubbed oqui the wrong way and he told the monkey not to give him the food. I didn't understand his motivation at the time, but I trust him so backed him up. three seconds later I felt guilty.
then I talked with the 'pah and the kid about it (separately, cause the convos had decidedly different tones) and got more and more angry every time I thought about it.
this motherfucker punked me. he threatened my family and called out my kid on the street and I didn't fucking stab him. never mind the initial guilt about ignoring a hungry man (oqui was right. he's the wrong kind of hippy)...now I'd like a redo so I can cut this bitch.
so now here I am...thinking I'm all sorts of tough, and I froze. I couldn't decide in the moment how I really felt about the situation and just...walked away.
turning the other cheek isn't exactly my forte and I kinda feel like a lil bitch for having let it happen.
if that particular mallrat sans mall happens to be in our path the next time we go to the Gunks (oh, yeah...we took the prof on his first climbing trip, btw. and besides the cold fry dood, it went FABULOUSLY)...I'm prolly gonna have to be bailed outta jail.
teh suki will not be made the bitch twice.
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies with nothing better to do than taunt the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently who yells at your daughter and your friends?
do you feed a hungry man on the street who doesn't quite ask, but moreso demands your leftovers if he's with a large group of wanna be hippies taunting the police and obviously has the money to get high and drunk and has done so recently who yells at your daughter and your friends and then goes on to make rather loud assumptions about your political affiliation?
or do you promise to plaster him on the building front with your second hand volvo if he ever threatens your people, again?
I did neither...and I'm actually a bit disappointed in myself. first, I was a bit upset with myself for not just giving the d-bag the food. I mean...if a dood is hungry enough to (angrily) beg for our leftovers in front of his posse...he's prolly pretty hungry.
but something about him rubbed oqui the wrong way and he told the monkey not to give him the food. I didn't understand his motivation at the time, but I trust him so backed him up. three seconds later I felt guilty.
then I talked with the 'pah and the kid about it (separately, cause the convos had decidedly different tones) and got more and more angry every time I thought about it.
this motherfucker punked me. he threatened my family and called out my kid on the street and I didn't fucking stab him. never mind the initial guilt about ignoring a hungry man (oqui was right. he's the wrong kind of hippy)...now I'd like a redo so I can cut this bitch.
so now here I am...thinking I'm all sorts of tough, and I froze. I couldn't decide in the moment how I really felt about the situation and just...walked away.
turning the other cheek isn't exactly my forte and I kinda feel like a lil bitch for having let it happen.
if that particular mallrat sans mall happens to be in our path the next time we go to the Gunks (oh, yeah...we took the prof on his first climbing trip, btw. and besides the cold fry dood, it went FABULOUSLY)...I'm prolly gonna have to be bailed outta jail.
teh suki will not be made the bitch twice.
Friday, April 17, 2009
...bitch
I am coming up on just about 8 months without a full night's sleep and a year and some change of my body being completely whacked out and not my own.
first it was the pea sized pregnant bladder and the cold as ice toilet seat...now its the waking up, feeding diapering and strangling of one incredibly stubborn infant several times a night.
I'm coming apart at the seams in every possible meaning (literal or colloquial).
this aint working.
my brain is fried. I'm trying to study for an examination in a few weeks and can't get beyond the first sentence in every paragraph. gonna take a cruise on the fail ship on this one, I'm sure.
my body is toast. sooooooo weak. so so so so weak. no likey. I'm used to being able to compensate for, uhhh...'not so great' technique with brute strength. when you weigh 120 and can do 20 pull-ups with 20 pounds on your back...usually a little thing like shitty footwork doesn't throw you off too much. not these days. I don't have the heart to even attempt a pull-up, let along a sketchy over-hung climb.
it hurts. it hurts bad.
now my daily walks are starting to kick my ass. how can a lazy stroll around the hood pushing a carriage at a pregnant woman's pace (my neighbor and walking partner is 7 months) totally obliterate me? I'm starting to avoid the tiny lil "hill" up the avenue back to my house. going around 4 blocks so I don't get winded and/or collapse?
weak sauce.
yesterday I nearly hit the deck at the grocery store (why's it always the grocery store???). I forgot to eat every 23 minutes and realized while pushing the cart that it was the only thing holding me up. I was shaking, had trouble focusing my eyes and realized after about 25 minutes that I was walking up and down each aisle going, "nope. can't eat that. can't eat this. can't eat that, either. nope....can't...nope. you're killing mommy. mommy's gonna die. can't eat...sleep...nope, nope..."
at that point it finally clicked. no. you CAN'T eat that...so pay for what you've got in your basket and get your nearly hallucinating ass home to have some rice and turkey...bitch.
the problem I'm having with all this...is that I can't push through. it doesn't work. when I get to the push point and give myself a shove...I've got nothing (NOTHING) in the tanks. it's "unnerving" (aka really pisses me off) that my physical and mental states are so far beyond my control that I can't knuckle down and make something happen.
14 months of draining the reserves.
I'm beat. I need sleep. I need more foods. I need a glass of milk and an english muffin with peanut butter.
nursing is seriously fucking me up. i'm over it. emotionally, physically, psychologically...OVER IT. unfortunately the prof is not, and since I'm not in the business of creating intentional psychological scars for innocent and unsuspecting babies...I'm gonna have to suck it up (or let him suck me dry) just a little while longer. (at least I tell myself its only a little while...but in reality...it'll feel like an eternity)
HOWEVER I am taking a hardline with him on the one thing I can. I KNOW he's capable of sleeping 8 hour stretches...so the next time (probably tonight) that he decides to wake up every hour and a half...
I'm not having it.
I've got one word for him:
Ferberize...bitch.
(ok. that's two...but bitch isn't particularly substantive, and was really just an afterthought. I don't usually call the boy bitch...although...I often think it.)
first it was the pea sized pregnant bladder and the cold as ice toilet seat...now its the waking up, feeding diapering and strangling of one incredibly stubborn infant several times a night.
I'm coming apart at the seams in every possible meaning (literal or colloquial).
this aint working.
my brain is fried. I'm trying to study for an examination in a few weeks and can't get beyond the first sentence in every paragraph. gonna take a cruise on the fail ship on this one, I'm sure.
my body is toast. sooooooo weak. so so so so weak. no likey. I'm used to being able to compensate for, uhhh...'not so great' technique with brute strength. when you weigh 120 and can do 20 pull-ups with 20 pounds on your back...usually a little thing like shitty footwork doesn't throw you off too much. not these days. I don't have the heart to even attempt a pull-up, let along a sketchy over-hung climb.
it hurts. it hurts bad.
now my daily walks are starting to kick my ass. how can a lazy stroll around the hood pushing a carriage at a pregnant woman's pace (my neighbor and walking partner is 7 months) totally obliterate me? I'm starting to avoid the tiny lil "hill" up the avenue back to my house. going around 4 blocks so I don't get winded and/or collapse?
weak sauce.
yesterday I nearly hit the deck at the grocery store (why's it always the grocery store???). I forgot to eat every 23 minutes and realized while pushing the cart that it was the only thing holding me up. I was shaking, had trouble focusing my eyes and realized after about 25 minutes that I was walking up and down each aisle going, "nope. can't eat that. can't eat this. can't eat that, either. nope....can't...nope. you're killing mommy. mommy's gonna die. can't eat...sleep...nope, nope..."
at that point it finally clicked. no. you CAN'T eat that...so pay for what you've got in your basket and get your nearly hallucinating ass home to have some rice and turkey...bitch.
the problem I'm having with all this...is that I can't push through. it doesn't work. when I get to the push point and give myself a shove...I've got nothing (NOTHING) in the tanks. it's "unnerving" (aka really pisses me off) that my physical and mental states are so far beyond my control that I can't knuckle down and make something happen.
14 months of draining the reserves.
I'm beat. I need sleep. I need more foods. I need a glass of milk and an english muffin with peanut butter.
nursing is seriously fucking me up. i'm over it. emotionally, physically, psychologically...OVER IT. unfortunately the prof is not, and since I'm not in the business of creating intentional psychological scars for innocent and unsuspecting babies...I'm gonna have to suck it up (or let him suck me dry) just a little while longer. (at least I tell myself its only a little while...but in reality...it'll feel like an eternity)
HOWEVER I am taking a hardline with him on the one thing I can. I KNOW he's capable of sleeping 8 hour stretches...so the next time (probably tonight) that he decides to wake up every hour and a half...
I'm not having it.
I've got one word for him:
Ferberize...bitch.
(ok. that's two...but bitch isn't particularly substantive, and was really just an afterthought. I don't usually call the boy bitch...although...I often think it.)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
the gravity game
there was a time in my life when the term "gravity game" could have meant any number of things OTHER than "fetch, mommy, fetch!"
perhaps a 40 foot upside down, bash your shoulders against the rocks whipper? maybe a "discussion" with the ground just beyond an overly large log? perhaps even a reference to the difficulty with which one stays upright after one too many cosmos?
but these days, it definitely means that the Prof is figuring out physics...and his mother.
just for fun, I'm gonna wait until he's got this whole dropping thing thoroughly figured out...then tie a helium balloon to his ankle.
take that, brand new baby brain!
in other news, the holidays were mostly hilarious. my mother dredged up a lifetime of resentment and drama for which I was undeniably thankful. hearing my mother refer to her own mother as a self-serving, selfish, self-centered whore loving bitch who hates her own grandchildren and is now trying to steal my mothers...worked wonders for breaking up the monotony of oqui's mother's three day visit.
I kinda like the woman, but she WAS in my house, WAS breathing my air, WAS taking up my space and most definitely WAS blow drying her hair at 8 o'clock saturday morning. having ample reason to take a little solo walk to talk to my own crazy ass mother was refreshing.
this isn't a suprise, though. crazy usually is funny.
as usual, holidays or any other social eating is really annoying to me. I got to watch people actually put gravy on gramma's turkey from the crypt, while I had to choke (literally) it down dry. butter on the potatoes? no.
cake, cookies, rice krispie treats, danish, corn, milk, the delicious, fabulous wonder (cause I made it) fruit dip? no. no. no. no. no.
the food thing is starting to be a major point of contention in this house. I really don't know how much longer I can keep eating like this. I'm weak, tired and indescribably grumpy whenever I smell something yummy.
the prof is thriving, though. rashes gone. weight gaining. strong as an ox.
before I know it, he'll be dousing his own turkey in gravy and enjoying the fruit dip.
perhaps a 40 foot upside down, bash your shoulders against the rocks whipper? maybe a "discussion" with the ground just beyond an overly large log? perhaps even a reference to the difficulty with which one stays upright after one too many cosmos?
but these days, it definitely means that the Prof is figuring out physics...and his mother.
just for fun, I'm gonna wait until he's got this whole dropping thing thoroughly figured out...then tie a helium balloon to his ankle.
take that, brand new baby brain!
in other news, the holidays were mostly hilarious. my mother dredged up a lifetime of resentment and drama for which I was undeniably thankful. hearing my mother refer to her own mother as a self-serving, selfish, self-centered whore loving bitch who hates her own grandchildren and is now trying to steal my mothers...worked wonders for breaking up the monotony of oqui's mother's three day visit.
I kinda like the woman, but she WAS in my house, WAS breathing my air, WAS taking up my space and most definitely WAS blow drying her hair at 8 o'clock saturday morning. having ample reason to take a little solo walk to talk to my own crazy ass mother was refreshing.
this isn't a suprise, though. crazy usually is funny.
as usual, holidays or any other social eating is really annoying to me. I got to watch people actually put gravy on gramma's turkey from the crypt, while I had to choke (literally) it down dry. butter on the potatoes? no.
cake, cookies, rice krispie treats, danish, corn, milk, the delicious, fabulous wonder (cause I made it) fruit dip? no. no. no. no. no.
the food thing is starting to be a major point of contention in this house. I really don't know how much longer I can keep eating like this. I'm weak, tired and indescribably grumpy whenever I smell something yummy.
the prof is thriving, though. rashes gone. weight gaining. strong as an ox.
before I know it, he'll be dousing his own turkey in gravy and enjoying the fruit dip.
Monday, April 6, 2009
the lighter side of tired
so, yeah...I'm still tired.
but, at least I'm happy (as long as the lights are on and there's no boogeymen, vampires, werewolves, or other night critters meandering about in my brain).
the sunshine is an amazing thing (I'm tired). It's like the prof and I have emerged from our psuedo-hibernation, are venturing outta the cave and playing with butterflies for the first time.
it's fun...but I'm tired.
today is rainy, and I'm actually thankful for that...if it were sunny, I'd be compelled to take one of our two hour afternoon walks, go climbing tonight and just dig myself deeper into an energy deficit. the fact that its soggy gives me ample excuse to stay in my night shirt (minus the ghost voices, creepy feeling and general scared shitlessness of the actual night).
the sun has melted a few pounds off of me and I can almost see the return of some muscle going on...
perhaps that's why I'm so tired? (nope. I'm going with boogeymen on that one)
maybe I'll take a little nap, sweep the cobwebs outta the corners (highly unlikely, that involves moving about in a controlled fashion), burn a candle or two and throw some sea salt on the thresholds so I can SLEEP without vicious nightmares.
I like my brain. I'd like to leave it intact for a few more years or so. besides, last time I got too scared to go pee in the middle of the night I sold the house only 6 months after buying it.
since the market isn't exactly such that this bitch can be sold...I'm gonna have to find a way to put a lid on the creepies.
out of curiousity...am I making any sense?
nope?
figures...I'm really tired.
but, at least I'm happy (as long as the lights are on and there's no boogeymen, vampires, werewolves, or other night critters meandering about in my brain).
the sunshine is an amazing thing (I'm tired). It's like the prof and I have emerged from our psuedo-hibernation, are venturing outta the cave and playing with butterflies for the first time.
it's fun...but I'm tired.
today is rainy, and I'm actually thankful for that...if it were sunny, I'd be compelled to take one of our two hour afternoon walks, go climbing tonight and just dig myself deeper into an energy deficit. the fact that its soggy gives me ample excuse to stay in my night shirt (minus the ghost voices, creepy feeling and general scared shitlessness of the actual night).
the sun has melted a few pounds off of me and I can almost see the return of some muscle going on...
perhaps that's why I'm so tired? (nope. I'm going with boogeymen on that one)
maybe I'll take a little nap, sweep the cobwebs outta the corners (highly unlikely, that involves moving about in a controlled fashion), burn a candle or two and throw some sea salt on the thresholds so I can SLEEP without vicious nightmares.
I like my brain. I'd like to leave it intact for a few more years or so. besides, last time I got too scared to go pee in the middle of the night I sold the house only 6 months after buying it.
since the market isn't exactly such that this bitch can be sold...I'm gonna have to find a way to put a lid on the creepies.
out of curiousity...am I making any sense?
nope?
figures...I'm really tired.
dear diary,
today I'm tired. yesterday I was tired. tomorrow, I'll most likely be tired.
it's only partially the prof's fault. he does the waking up part, but I'm just incapable of the falling back asleep bit. I'm given this some thought...kinda. the brain is in energy conservation mode...and have come to the conclusion that I'm just too tired to sleep.
every night my dreams get scarier and scarier...and I'm now afraid to leave the bedroom alone in the middle of the night. 31 and a half with night terrors. this is gonna get bad.
I foresee a psychotic breakdown in the near future...
lets hope its a happy one.
Teh (tired) Suki
it's only partially the prof's fault. he does the waking up part, but I'm just incapable of the falling back asleep bit. I'm given this some thought...kinda. the brain is in energy conservation mode...and have come to the conclusion that I'm just too tired to sleep.
every night my dreams get scarier and scarier...and I'm now afraid to leave the bedroom alone in the middle of the night. 31 and a half with night terrors. this is gonna get bad.
I foresee a psychotic breakdown in the near future...
lets hope its a happy one.
Teh (tired) Suki
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
more good news...
psych.
I'm in an abysmal mood.
the prof lost half a pound in the last 5 days (babies are NOT supposed to lose weight btw), he's covered in two separate rashes and we're no closer to resolving his "feeding issues."
in fact, we've just created issues between us in regards to it.
awesome.
I don't know a damn thing about money or taxes other than we missed the boat on assuming this mortgage without paying a shitload of settlement fees by a mere 4 months.
again...awesome.
I still can't eat ice cream, it rained today, my daughter has a pot smoking boyfriend and my boobs hurt.
I'm ready to pack my shit and hit the bricks. let someone else dig out of this god awful mess...
momma needs a tan.
I'm in an abysmal mood.
the prof lost half a pound in the last 5 days (babies are NOT supposed to lose weight btw), he's covered in two separate rashes and we're no closer to resolving his "feeding issues."
in fact, we've just created issues between us in regards to it.
awesome.
I don't know a damn thing about money or taxes other than we missed the boat on assuming this mortgage without paying a shitload of settlement fees by a mere 4 months.
again...awesome.
I still can't eat ice cream, it rained today, my daughter has a pot smoking boyfriend and my boobs hurt.
I'm ready to pack my shit and hit the bricks. let someone else dig out of this god awful mess...
momma needs a tan.
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