Most people that know me understand that I have something wrong with my head. Most people that have known me a long time understand my tendency to get obsessed with stuff.
The list is long and stretches from Rainbow Brite to Star Wars to hippie clothes to Mercedes Benzes to Twilight. Being my friend on any teensy part of this journey will make you believe that I just have unhealthy feelings toward a few things...being someone there for the long run, you'll see that the objects of my affection change, but the obsessive feelings remain constant.
A couple of days ago, my husband and I were watching one of the six Star Wars movies and I said, "Wow, like fifteen years ago, I could have told you the names and types of all those aliens...and what planets they were from."
He seemed a little concerned. "Really?"
I laughed, and told him about my adolescent years, when I lived, ate, and breathed Star Wars. I could almost recite original three movies line by line. I made my parents buy me anything Star Wars that I saw at the store. I read about ten thousand Star Wars fiction books that took place after Return of the Jedi. I dreamed I was a Jedi. I was pretty sick. "It was worse than Twilight," I told him.
Since I am in the middle of the Twilight addiction, he couldn't visualize it.
When I fell into my third Thanksgiving break sickness, a feverish sinus infection coupled with dehydration from the stomach virus and the still present kidney stone, and a huge muscle cramp in my back that I was sure was the beginning of a heart attack, my mom came to visit and make sure the girls didn't set the house on fire.
That day, just to comfort me and keep my mind off of the false heart attack, I had started reading Eclipse again. Lucky for me, the Spike channel was running a Star Wars marathon, so I got to spend the day with Luke, Leia, and Han, and Edward kept me company during commericals.
See, my obsessions are like "loveys," those blankets and toys that two year olds have at their sides to offer comfort and protection. If I'm knee deep in sickness or bad stuff, something that I've come to love will at least hold me over until I feel a little better.
Mom brought Oreos, the new chocolate ones, and although I hadn't eaten in days I wanted them. Bad.
She watched me eat, and then wanted to know what in the world was on TV. "Return of the Jedi!" I said, a little grumpy. When Rob came home from hunting, shocked to find out I thought I was dying and Mom was there, she confirmed what I said was true- my Star Wars obsession was a lot worse.
And this got me thinking, while eating the oreos and reading about Edward professing his love for Bella, about all of my past obsessions. When I was thirteen, I became obsessed with this cartoon called "Bots" or something like it that only came on at 5:30 in the morning. I religiously got up every morning and watched it with my cereal.
And then when I was obsessed with soap. Well, not really soap but the evils of it. I banned soap from my house and spent a ton of money on special bottles of castile soap in order to protect us all from the evils of sodium laureth sulfate. I researched it thoroughly on the internet.
And then I started thinking about what it would have meant to have the internet when I was mid-Star Wars obsession. Harrison Ford would have definitely had an internet stalker, that's for sure.
Why am I like this? I'll never know. I know I can calm it some when I've been taking my meds...I'm able to resist reading Breaking Dawn for the thirtieth time (well, at least straight out- I can allow myself a page a day or something). But it never really goes away, and in times of stress I revert straight into crazy-land.
When I reached for the chocolate creme oreos this evening, I suddenly felt the urge to continue reading about Jacob and Edward fighting over custody of Bella...and there I am. Oreos. Edward. It all connects somewhere in the rusty, oddly working gears of my brain.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Thanksgiving will be a dreaded holiday from this point on
The plan was to go to my Dad and Step-Mom's house for Thanksgiving, with a stop at my Mom's.
Unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
On Wednesday, the day we were going to leave, I had a list of things to do, and I had to pack. Two things happened simultaneously...my husband checked the weather for his Thursday morning hunting excursion and my stomach started hurting. With the weather being bad and me being sick, the decision was made to leave very early Thursday morning instead.
After confirming this with my family, we settled in for an evening of relaxation and TV watching...until Story puked all over me. I convinced myself that it was a fluke...or something bad she ate.
Just to be safe, I ran to the kitchen to grab a bowl after I'd changed her and cleaned up the couch. As I bent down to the cabinet where the bowl was located, I received a searing pain in my left kidney.
Oh. No.
I have a long running relationship with kidney stones. I get one stuck about once a year or less that involves heavy drugs and a trip to the hospital. There's nothing I can do about then, I just won the genetic kidney lottery.
But this pain meant the worst was coming...a trip to the hospital, along with a puking baby. And an impending trip.
A frantic search of the purses in my closet revealed that I had one pain pill left. I took it, and waited for the results to take effect...and as it started to kick in, Story puked again.
This was not just a random puking event. I was pretty sure she had the flu.
So, I stayed up until two a.m. with her puking every hour while Rob and Ivy slept. At two, my drugs wore off, and I had to go to the hospital. A sleepy husband came in the living room to sit with the puking kid while I turned on my hazard lights and made a speedy trip to the hospital.
It turns out the night before Thanksgiving is an excellent time to visit the ER. I was in and out in no time...and then I drove home under the influence of some nice little shot they gave me.
Story hadn't puked any while I was gone, but as soon as I sat on the couch next to her, she puked again.
The next morning, we had a come-to-Jesus meeting about our trip. It wasn't happening. So, we bought a turkey and some other stuff and spent the day cooking turkey dinner by ourselves for the first time ever.
Which our kids refused to eat.
Friday we took the girls to the movies and bought some Christmas decorations. On the way home, I started feeling strange...and have spent the past 24 hours with the stomach flu. Luckily, this wasn't the worst flu I've had, and since neither kid was a baby and breastfeeding, my husband was able to take care of them all day.
Still, I'm waiting for everyone else in the house to get it...and I'm pretty sure I'll have to take Monday off to recover from my vacation.
Unfortunately, fate had other ideas.
On Wednesday, the day we were going to leave, I had a list of things to do, and I had to pack. Two things happened simultaneously...my husband checked the weather for his Thursday morning hunting excursion and my stomach started hurting. With the weather being bad and me being sick, the decision was made to leave very early Thursday morning instead.
After confirming this with my family, we settled in for an evening of relaxation and TV watching...until Story puked all over me. I convinced myself that it was a fluke...or something bad she ate.
Just to be safe, I ran to the kitchen to grab a bowl after I'd changed her and cleaned up the couch. As I bent down to the cabinet where the bowl was located, I received a searing pain in my left kidney.
Oh. No.
I have a long running relationship with kidney stones. I get one stuck about once a year or less that involves heavy drugs and a trip to the hospital. There's nothing I can do about then, I just won the genetic kidney lottery.
But this pain meant the worst was coming...a trip to the hospital, along with a puking baby. And an impending trip.
A frantic search of the purses in my closet revealed that I had one pain pill left. I took it, and waited for the results to take effect...and as it started to kick in, Story puked again.
This was not just a random puking event. I was pretty sure she had the flu.
So, I stayed up until two a.m. with her puking every hour while Rob and Ivy slept. At two, my drugs wore off, and I had to go to the hospital. A sleepy husband came in the living room to sit with the puking kid while I turned on my hazard lights and made a speedy trip to the hospital.
It turns out the night before Thanksgiving is an excellent time to visit the ER. I was in and out in no time...and then I drove home under the influence of some nice little shot they gave me.
Story hadn't puked any while I was gone, but as soon as I sat on the couch next to her, she puked again.
The next morning, we had a come-to-Jesus meeting about our trip. It wasn't happening. So, we bought a turkey and some other stuff and spent the day cooking turkey dinner by ourselves for the first time ever.
Which our kids refused to eat.
Friday we took the girls to the movies and bought some Christmas decorations. On the way home, I started feeling strange...and have spent the past 24 hours with the stomach flu. Luckily, this wasn't the worst flu I've had, and since neither kid was a baby and breastfeeding, my husband was able to take care of them all day.
Still, I'm waiting for everyone else in the house to get it...and I'm pretty sure I'll have to take Monday off to recover from my vacation.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
A Letter to my Shark
Dear Shark Steam Mop,
You have been a faithful friend. I am sorry I have been neglecting you.
When my neighbor recommended you to me, I have to admit, I was skeptical. She said you would make my floors shiny with little to no effort, and that you were very clean, easy, and safe for my children.
I went to buy you at the store, and the first time I used you, I fell in love with you. You were so much easier than spraying a 4x4 square of wood with Bruce Hardwood floor cleaner and scrubbing it repeatedly with a mop. I just filled your little water tank with the funnel, and viola! You were ready to go.
You and I used to spend quality time together once a week while we worked as a team to erase paw prints, kool-aid spills, ketchup, pictures done in marker, and cat puke from the floors.
Sadly, the past month, we've not been able to see each other. You hang there in the laundry room, lonely except for the dustmop while I flit around, go on field trips, teach lessons, and take care of the kids. I thought we might be able to chill again together this evening, but alas, I was only able to hang with the dustmop.
In the meantime, my floors are also feeling neglected. I know there are watercolor paintings in my breakfast nook, some suspicious looking spots left by cats in the dining room, and muddy tracks leading from the front door to the dog bowl.
(Speaking of the dog bowl, the stains around it are amazing. I'm not even sure you can handle it without major assistance. I'm thinking of removing and relaying the tiles.)
I promise, though, Shark, that sometime before Thanksgiving, you and I will reunite. We'll spend double the time together when we do (because it will take double the time to chisel the crud we've accumulated on the floor).
Please don't forget me because I have not forgotten you! (And anything you can do to assist our relationship, such as accumulate some super powers in cleaning or learn how to dust as well as mop would be appreciated.)
Yours truly,
Tracee
You have been a faithful friend. I am sorry I have been neglecting you.
When my neighbor recommended you to me, I have to admit, I was skeptical. She said you would make my floors shiny with little to no effort, and that you were very clean, easy, and safe for my children.
I went to buy you at the store, and the first time I used you, I fell in love with you. You were so much easier than spraying a 4x4 square of wood with Bruce Hardwood floor cleaner and scrubbing it repeatedly with a mop. I just filled your little water tank with the funnel, and viola! You were ready to go.
You and I used to spend quality time together once a week while we worked as a team to erase paw prints, kool-aid spills, ketchup, pictures done in marker, and cat puke from the floors.
Sadly, the past month, we've not been able to see each other. You hang there in the laundry room, lonely except for the dustmop while I flit around, go on field trips, teach lessons, and take care of the kids. I thought we might be able to chill again together this evening, but alas, I was only able to hang with the dustmop.
In the meantime, my floors are also feeling neglected. I know there are watercolor paintings in my breakfast nook, some suspicious looking spots left by cats in the dining room, and muddy tracks leading from the front door to the dog bowl.
(Speaking of the dog bowl, the stains around it are amazing. I'm not even sure you can handle it without major assistance. I'm thinking of removing and relaying the tiles.)
I promise, though, Shark, that sometime before Thanksgiving, you and I will reunite. We'll spend double the time together when we do (because it will take double the time to chisel the crud we've accumulated on the floor).
Please don't forget me because I have not forgotten you! (And anything you can do to assist our relationship, such as accumulate some super powers in cleaning or learn how to dust as well as mop would be appreciated.)
Yours truly,
Tracee
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Ivy's report card
Today Ivy got her first report card. It was a chart of things her class works on, and a letter that symbolized her progress on that item.
Ivy's teacher gave it to me when I picked her up from her room today. He said if we (parents) wanted to talk about it to wait until he took the class to the cafeteria, then he'd be back to discuss it.
So, I sat down in a chair next to one of Ivy's friends, and she sat on my lap. I looked at the chart and say several P's and D's....I immediately think "proficient" and "distinguished," and was so proud of my little girl.
Then I look at the key...P means "proficient" but D means "developing."
On the attitude portion (you know the part that has "listens to directions" and "interacts with peers") she has ALL D'S!!!!
(On a side note, you should know that I'm pretty competitive- and not the good kind either. I tend to imagine that I'm not competitive at all until I notice something is not up to snuff...then I become a pageant mom.)
After playing the high five game with Ivy and her friend (you know, gimme five, up high, down low, too slow), I start to quiz Ivy. I say, "Ivy, do you get along with your peers? I mean, friends?
She says, "Yes, Mommy."
I say, "Well, your report card says that you are only "developing" your ability to do that. What about listening to directions? Do you listen to directions?"
Ivy says, "Yes, Mommy, I always do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Well, that's not what your report card says."
Ivy then bursts into tears and starts wailing at the top of her lungs. In a classroom where 6 adults are sitting in kiddie chairs and 6 little kids are asking, "Ivy! What's wrong? What's wrong?"
I start whispering in her ear to calm down, we'll talk about it later, which only causes her to cry louder. By this time, every parent in the room is eyeing me with suspicion. Who is this strange lady who is making her little girl cry over a report card? It's your kids' music teacher, folks!
I finally get her to calm down, and then I just take her out of the room. What kind of a monster am I? I wonder. One who wants her kid to be the best!! the competitive part of me answers.
After I'd stashed Ivy at the afterschool program, I went back, where Ivy's teacher told me she was doing just fine, and her P's and D's were top of the line.
And then I had to tell Ivy that yes, her Mommy was wrong. She actually was good in school. (She'd better be! that voice whispers again.)
Ivy's teacher gave it to me when I picked her up from her room today. He said if we (parents) wanted to talk about it to wait until he took the class to the cafeteria, then he'd be back to discuss it.
So, I sat down in a chair next to one of Ivy's friends, and she sat on my lap. I looked at the chart and say several P's and D's....I immediately think "proficient" and "distinguished," and was so proud of my little girl.
Then I look at the key...P means "proficient" but D means "developing."
On the attitude portion (you know the part that has "listens to directions" and "interacts with peers") she has ALL D'S!!!!
(On a side note, you should know that I'm pretty competitive- and not the good kind either. I tend to imagine that I'm not competitive at all until I notice something is not up to snuff...then I become a pageant mom.)
After playing the high five game with Ivy and her friend (you know, gimme five, up high, down low, too slow), I start to quiz Ivy. I say, "Ivy, do you get along with your peers? I mean, friends?
She says, "Yes, Mommy."
I say, "Well, your report card says that you are only "developing" your ability to do that. What about listening to directions? Do you listen to directions?"
Ivy says, "Yes, Mommy, I always do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Well, that's not what your report card says."
Ivy then bursts into tears and starts wailing at the top of her lungs. In a classroom where 6 adults are sitting in kiddie chairs and 6 little kids are asking, "Ivy! What's wrong? What's wrong?"
I start whispering in her ear to calm down, we'll talk about it later, which only causes her to cry louder. By this time, every parent in the room is eyeing me with suspicion. Who is this strange lady who is making her little girl cry over a report card? It's your kids' music teacher, folks!
I finally get her to calm down, and then I just take her out of the room. What kind of a monster am I? I wonder. One who wants her kid to be the best!! the competitive part of me answers.
After I'd stashed Ivy at the afterschool program, I went back, where Ivy's teacher told me she was doing just fine, and her P's and D's were top of the line.
And then I had to tell Ivy that yes, her Mommy was wrong. She actually was good in school. (She'd better be! that voice whispers again.)
Friday, November 5, 2010
Ivy's New Awareness of Stuff
Ivy is reaching a point in her life when she is becoming more aware of her surroundings and how things work.
She's also becoming aware of the stuff I listen to on the radio. Which is not always a good thing.
When you're driving your Kindergartner to school, you don't necessarily want to hear them singing from the backseat, "Put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans, I'm your teenage dream tonight." Someone might take that the wrong way.
Last night, I was cleaning up some more hairball cat puke (thanks, sister!!), and I was spraying this carpet cleaner. Ivy picked up the bottle and said, "Oh, good, Mommy, you're using Oxy Clean." I grabbed the bottle and it did indeed say "Oxy Clean" on it.
I said, "Why is this good, Ivy?"
She rolled her eyes and said, "Come on, Mommy, you know it cleans with the power of ox-ee-gen, and it's not clean unless it's Oxy-clean!" So, now she's memorizing commercials.
And to distract her in the car last week, I showed her kudzu. You know, that vine-y plant that covers trees and buildings that's all over the south? I told her the story of how it came from China, and now it takes over because it grows really fast. I showed her examples of trees and buildings covered with it. It did the trick and she stopped crying and fighting with her sister.
But I never dreamed that she'd scream, "KUDZU!!!!!!!!! Look, Mommy, it's KUDZU!!!!!!" as loud as she could every time we passed some. Which is a lot. I'm lucky I haven't wrecked yet.
She's also becoming aware of the stuff I listen to on the radio. Which is not always a good thing.
When you're driving your Kindergartner to school, you don't necessarily want to hear them singing from the backseat, "Put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans, I'm your teenage dream tonight." Someone might take that the wrong way.
Last night, I was cleaning up some more hairball cat puke (thanks, sister!!), and I was spraying this carpet cleaner. Ivy picked up the bottle and said, "Oh, good, Mommy, you're using Oxy Clean." I grabbed the bottle and it did indeed say "Oxy Clean" on it.
I said, "Why is this good, Ivy?"
She rolled her eyes and said, "Come on, Mommy, you know it cleans with the power of ox-ee-gen, and it's not clean unless it's Oxy-clean!" So, now she's memorizing commercials.
And to distract her in the car last week, I showed her kudzu. You know, that vine-y plant that covers trees and buildings that's all over the south? I told her the story of how it came from China, and now it takes over because it grows really fast. I showed her examples of trees and buildings covered with it. It did the trick and she stopped crying and fighting with her sister.
But I never dreamed that she'd scream, "KUDZU!!!!!!!!! Look, Mommy, it's KUDZU!!!!!!" as loud as she could every time we passed some. Which is a lot. I'm lucky I haven't wrecked yet.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Poor Mommy
It really stinks when I get sick.
Now, when any other member of the household gets sick, I add nurse onto the list of stuff I have to do for the day. I administer medicine, put cold cloths on their heads, cover them up or take off blankets per request, change clothes, fluff pillows, and clean up puke in addition to my daily chores.
And I think most moms go through this: when they get sick, nothing gets done, the house goes to ruin, and nobody takes care of them.
I go through that, too, with one addition: everyone in the house rises one or two levels up on the "High Maintenance" scale.
For instance, if I was feeling great, Story would ask to get on my computer to play two games of Max and Ruby Dress-Up. I would set her up, and she'd play her two games, then close the computer.
Since I'm sick, she asks to play on my computer, I get it loaded, and then she starts screaming when: A. The game doesn't do what she wants, B. She wants another game, C. She doesn't understand why she can't dress up every Nick Jr. character, and D. whenever Mommy lies back down.
Ivy, who has had nothing extra to do for weeks, suddenly has 20 places to be and things to do, all of which I will have to cart her to. And she cries constantly, whether I've told her "No" or if Story looked at her cross eyed.
And my husband suddenly has places to go, people to see, things to do. And then he's gone. Or he's got 20,000 things he needs to do......with my help.
One time when Story was a baby, I had the flu....fevers, inability to get off the couch, etc. Rob had to go on a band trip...Story wanted to up her nursing time by 50%, and Ivy had to pull out every single toy in her room, which would have been fine except that I had two house showings that weekend, too. I had the flu for a week!
So, I don;t get to rest. At all. I'm in an extremely messy house, trying to lay down with two or three very demanding people wanting my assistance.
What is it? Are they all wired so they can sense that I'm going to do something for myself (like lay down?) and must immediately work hard to focus my attention back on them? Are they jealous of....me? Of me wanting to take care of.....me?
I might never know, but as a result it takes me twice as long to get better as anyone in the house.
Now, when any other member of the household gets sick, I add nurse onto the list of stuff I have to do for the day. I administer medicine, put cold cloths on their heads, cover them up or take off blankets per request, change clothes, fluff pillows, and clean up puke in addition to my daily chores.
And I think most moms go through this: when they get sick, nothing gets done, the house goes to ruin, and nobody takes care of them.
I go through that, too, with one addition: everyone in the house rises one or two levels up on the "High Maintenance" scale.
For instance, if I was feeling great, Story would ask to get on my computer to play two games of Max and Ruby Dress-Up. I would set her up, and she'd play her two games, then close the computer.
Since I'm sick, she asks to play on my computer, I get it loaded, and then she starts screaming when: A. The game doesn't do what she wants, B. She wants another game, C. She doesn't understand why she can't dress up every Nick Jr. character, and D. whenever Mommy lies back down.
Ivy, who has had nothing extra to do for weeks, suddenly has 20 places to be and things to do, all of which I will have to cart her to. And she cries constantly, whether I've told her "No" or if Story looked at her cross eyed.
And my husband suddenly has places to go, people to see, things to do. And then he's gone. Or he's got 20,000 things he needs to do......with my help.
One time when Story was a baby, I had the flu....fevers, inability to get off the couch, etc. Rob had to go on a band trip...Story wanted to up her nursing time by 50%, and Ivy had to pull out every single toy in her room, which would have been fine except that I had two house showings that weekend, too. I had the flu for a week!
So, I don;t get to rest. At all. I'm in an extremely messy house, trying to lay down with two or three very demanding people wanting my assistance.
What is it? Are they all wired so they can sense that I'm going to do something for myself (like lay down?) and must immediately work hard to focus my attention back on them? Are they jealous of....me? Of me wanting to take care of.....me?
I might never know, but as a result it takes me twice as long to get better as anyone in the house.
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