MFA Mama

poverty shaming, the 261-calorie lunch, and Hotter has oral surgery

I.   So I think maybe I'm still a little raw from the incident with the Old Biddy Neighbor. Today I am off work, because I had to go to traffic court over one of the expired registration tickets I got when I couldn't afford to update the MFA Minivan's registration and got ticketed (the case was dismissed when I showed the judge my registration and I was out the door in ten minutes), and also Hotter had oral surgery (which I scheduled for a day I knew I'd have to miss work anyway, because I am efficient like that) and I had to drive him to and from that and take care of him afterward. I was also thinking that maybe if Hotter was feeling up to it, we could use a movie ticket voucher I've had kicking around for a while and go to see The Hunger Games. Here is an update I wrote on the Facespace earlier today:

Figure One: Yeah, I didn't match the shade on the name-text very well, but use your imaginations.

   Here is the comment addendum I added to the first status (I had already covered this on the Twitter, then forgot I hadn't told the facespace about the ticket voucher and panicked a little), and what a couple of friends had to say about it:

Figure Two: This time I didn't even try. Y'all can tell which one I am, right?

   And now it is kind of bothering me because I wonder if I'm not being a jerk here. My friends are easier on me than I am about pretty much everything, I think out of affection, but...am I being a jerk? Goodness knows I am against poverty-shaming. Poor folks have enough to worry about without judgment from others, and I hate to read about this kind of thing, because I've been judged in the grocery line before and it doesn't feel good (like okay, with Food Stamps? They give you WAY MORE to spend on food each month than I do when I am buying our groceries out of pocket, and when my family received Food Stamps I often used to buy fresh organic berries with them because fresh berries used to be one of the only things Little Child would eat by mouth and with the way he used to be allergic to so many things I wanted to make sure he didn't react to some pesticide or herbicide on the berries and cause us to think he couldn't have the berries themSELVES...more than once I had a cashier look at me like "SERIOUSLY?" and it's not like the g-tube showed when Little Child had clothes on)...but then I see some folks talking about how poor they are but going out to eat frequently, going on vacations where they spend a lot on travel costs and hotel rooms, seeing movies several times per month, and it irks me. Because while I don't doubt that those people FEEL like they're poor, in my reality if I did those things we'd have to go without something really important, like my health insurance coverage (the MFA Children are on the XY's policy), or car insurance (which we did go without for a while, and which I got roasted for openly in the comments one time and remedied as soon as I was able to), or, you know, FOOD or MEDICINE or something. It's been over a year since I saw a movie in the theater. The last time I went on vacation was BlogHer '10 and we've NEVER been on a family vacation. We don't eat out, PERIOD (I think the last time we ate out as a family was Big Child's birthday last year, and when we did that it was because a generous friend had given us a gift card to Red Robin...and Big Child's birthday is coming up AGAIN in a week and a half,* so...yeah. It's been a while. The last time before THAT was over a year previous, too.). Maybe our definition of "poor" and other people's definition of "poor" differ? Or maybe I should feel badly for the folks who are crying poor and still doing all of those things, because maybe it indicates an inability to be realistic about their situation and make smart choices? I don't know. I might be wired a little different in that I've NEVER really had the money to do those kinds of things, and therefore don't miss them--maybe some folks really DO feel like life isn't worth living without seeing movies, eating out, and going on trips (although personally I think if I was feeling that way I'd be more tempted to break the bank on a co-payment to talk to my psychiatrist about it, if anything)? Something about this whole thing isn't sitting right with me, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Ideas?

II. I mentioned on the Twitter that I'd made myself a 261-calorie lunch and it was delicious and filled my belly, and someone asked me to blog about it, so here goes. You will need:

a pat of butter
a splash of milk
five eggs
1 ounce Trader Joe's light feta cheese (most "light" cheese isn't worth eating, but this stuff is a delightful exception--I actually prefer it to the regular variety taste-wise!) 
2 cups baby spinach
a slice of onion
Texas Pete
salt and pepper to taste 

   Dice the onion up and saute it in the butter. Break the eggs into a bowl, separating out all but one of the yolks (discard the four other yolks, or feed them to your pets, or whatever), then add the splash of milk, a few sprinkles of Texas Pete (which adds an excellent flavor and also colors the egg so that it doesn't have that unappetizing white-y look you get when using just or mostly eggwhites), and your spices. Whisk it together. When the onions have clarified, add the spinach, and when the spinach has wilted, add the egg mixture to the pan. Cook until the eggs are the way you like them (I like mine hard-cooked, because runny eggs squick me out). Dish that up, crumble the feta on top, and enjoy. According to Myfitnesspal this has 261 calories.

III. Hotter had oral surgery today. Our dentist did it in his office, but it was kind of gory (Hotter had a tooth that was broken off below the gumline except for one lone splinter that stuck up a little...I couldn't even look at it without gagging and don't know how he stood it, although he said it didn't really bother him). While we were there I went ahead and scheduled the next round of work for the end of May (when my NEXT traffic court date for the expired registration is) (that's the last one though!)...it will be $360. I don't know how I am going to pay for that, but I said that about this month's work and last month's, and I guess I'll think of something. I will be SO GLAD when every month doesn't include a bunch of dental work for Hotter, y'all, you don't even KNOW. In the post-op instructions they said Hotter wasn't allowed to suck on anything because it could cause dry sockets. I turned to him and said "WELL THAT IS JUST GREAT, HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RAISE THE MONEY TO PAY ME BACK NOW?" because I am awesome like that. Also, here are some things I tweeted while I was waiting that people seemed to find amusing:

Figure Three: He doesn't actually have a third nipple. But then I DO NOT ACTUALLY FART IN MY SLEEP, so we're even!

*   And I don't EVEN want to think about it, because a) I haven't gotten him anything and b) he has mentioned several times that he wants to go to Red Robin again this year because he enjoyed it so much last year, but um, NOT GONNA HAPPEN. Crap. 

So. Much. Rage.

*   Today I had The Rage. I keep trying to tell myself it is just the steroids, but you know what? While I am sure they are not helping, and also that I am overreacting to at least a CERTAIN extent, there is also a lot of really infuriating shit going on.

*   To wit: my ex. I don't know if CATHERINE! stopped putting out, or he needs his psych meds adjusted, or he has some kind of post-concussion psychotic break happening or WHAT his deal is, but he has sunk to new lows of sucking at life (which is REALLY SAYING SOMETHING) and also general interpersonal offensiveness. If I told you what he recently did in relation to my children, and the bullshit he threw out to try and deflect my righteous outrage, you would bang your jaw on the floor. It's ridiculous! But I probably shouldn't go into specifics! Even though I'd love to, because even Hotter and I have to laugh at this shit so you would just DIE!

*   Yesterday's work-drama. Oh my word, y'all. It is over with, dead and buried, forgotten, and business as usual except one person CANNOT seem to let go of it. And that person? Is typing this. It's not so much the drama itself as the fact that it clued me in to a certain naivete I had been guilty of when it came to PseudoCorp. And this is so dumb, but see, I had kind of lionized the corporation as a whole and built it up in my mind to the point that finding out it had feet of clay all along is breaking my heart a little. Probably it's for the best that I figured that out or else I would have been devastated not to be hired on permanently, but...well. It's kind of like how the therapist of my formative years used to pry and poke and prod as to why I always defended my father (who was no angel, really, in fact not even remotely CLOSE), until one day two years in I looked at her and my chin started to wobble and I bleated "because SOMEone has to be good in all of this!" And she sighed and said "no, not really, although it's very human to WANT to see it that way."

*   The Twitter. I have put myself in a time-out on there, and haven't even corrected my last (misspelled) tweet. Ordinarily I love the Twitter with every fiber of my social-media-addicted, ADD-riddled being but...lately, dating back to BEFORE the steroids but oh boy, right now ESPECIALLY? Well. It's just a steady stream of 140-character long reasons why a lot of people need to SHUT THEIR HOLES ABOUT THEIR FIRST-WORLD PROBLEMS FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND DECENT. I spent a large portion of my lunch chatting with a very understanding friend, and listing all of our mutual friends who need to shut up and why they needed to shut up and how one in particular needed to shut up and then maybe go and hang themself in a closet and then she, as one of very few people who could say such a thing to me (especially right now) and have me not only not tell HER to shut up but also listen, suggested that I take a break from the Twitter until I was less ragey. And she is right. Because if I do not then I am in serious danger of being abhorrently unkind to a number of mostly-undeserving people, and I am doing an absolutely MISERABLE job of following my self-proclaimed motto of Plato's "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle" inside my head, and I am kind of starting to horrify myself. I don't even like admitting this. But I figured I would, because a lot of the time people are all "OMG I NEED TO TAKE A BREAK FROM TWITTER AND THE DRAMA" and I am all "seriously? TWITTER is stressing you out? Pansy!" If anyone knows how many calories are in one's own unspoken words, let me know so I can plug that into MyFitnessPal, mmmkay? There's no drama with anyone on there, though. I just need to take a powder, possibly until the steroids are out of my system.

*   And finally, and this is probably what's driving all of the above EXCEPT for the mishegas with my ex (who just sucks objectively speaking no matter what is or isn't wrong with me or society as a whole): I am just so VERY goddamn angry about my health right now. A few weeks ago I felt like I was on the way to being healthier than I have ever in my life been, nothing was wrong with me that wasn't being controlled nicely with maintenance meds (except for my eyes but, well, those at least do not HURT), and now? Well, as much as I whine on here about my health, there is plenty that I do NOT go into (largely because my ex has attempted to use my health against me in a court of law and Stalky used to go on and on accusing me of making my medical history UP, which damn, I am NOT THAT IMAGINATIVE OF A WRITER...but also because it's fucking depressing and at one point in my life I laid down in that and wallowed for a bit and it wasn't a good look so I try not to dwell on it), and as of today there are, in addition to the ENT clusterfuck y'all know about, not one but TWO (completely UNrelated, either to the ENT situation or each other) additional issues that surgeons ideally ought to address in the very near future and seriously WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK? I am SO MAD. Even if I had the money to just have this all of this taken care of in an expedient and minimally-painful manner by competent medical professionals like some kind of fancy person it would involve AT LEAST THREE OPERATIONS, one of which would temporarily have a major impact on my motherfucking MOBILITY and I am THE BREADWINNER IN MY FAMILY and can barely make my HEALTH INSURANCE premiums, nevermind afford the 20% coinsurance I'd have to pay to get this shit fixed!

*   I think the above would be enough to give just about anybody The Rage, but as is so often the case, down at the bottom of all The Rage is The Fear. Because all of the last bullet point is just logistics. There is also, time and money and pain and fury aside, the fact that of all the times--and there have been more than I can count on one hand--I have gone under the knife it has NEVER ONCE GONE ACCORDING TO PLAN. There has ALWAYS been AT LEAST one hideous complication, and most of the time it isn't even anybody's fault, and rather something no one present could have predicted or has ever even SEEN, but at the end of the day I end up going in with one problem and coming out with bone sticking out where it doesn't belong, or MRSA sepsis, or a piece of gauze erupting from my scar, or hemorrhaging, or a nearly-lethal drug reaction, or SOME GODDAMN THING to the point that it is like I am CURSED, and while I want as much as anyone in their right mind would to have these things that are currently wrong with me fixed because they hurt and also because intellectually I know that the various situations are untenable in that they will cripple me or cause me ever-increasing pain or rob me of one of my senses or possibly even my LIFE if left unaddressed IT SCARES THE HELL OUT OF ME TO CONTEMPLATE SIGNING ON FOR ANYONE TO HAVE ANOTHER GO AT ME BECAUSE MY MOTHERFUCKING LUCK SUCH AS IT IS IS SURE TO RUN OUT EVENTUALLY.

*   I don't know, y'all. The only other time in my life that I have felt so helpless, and angry, and scared, and dangerously close to straightjacket-crazy was when Little Child was a tiny baby in the hospital for weeks on end and nobody could figure out what was wrong with him. It started to mess with my mind. I started to tell myself lies like "they are only running all of these tests and doing all of these procedures because I told them he did x, y, and z and I will just TAKE IT ALL BACK and tell them I was wrong or hell that I just LIED and they will leave him ALONE!" I literally had to put poor Little Child down in the hospital crib wailing at one point and take a step back, because I wanted so badly to grab my baby and run out of there. But this time it's me. I was talking to Hotter today and saying that maybe I'd just cancel that ENT appointment Monday since I felt a LITTLE bit better and it's not like anybody with a medical license had looked in my ear so maybe I was MISTAKEN about the eardrum and Dr. Anonymous was reacting to my IMAGININGS and...he very kindly said it was up to me, which forced me to admit that that was a bad plan, but my point is that sometimes in a situation like this the ONLY way to not do something utterly stupid is to take a step back, but I can't exactly take a step back from mySELF. 

*   FuckshitcocksuckingsonofawhoregodDAMN!

*   Plus also? Steroids! LET'S GO LIFT HEAVY THINGS AND THROW THEM AT PEOPLE! WHO IS WITH ME?

words with perverts

   I've always said my kids and I don't have much of a sense of community, but last night? A truly touching and special moment occurred between me and my boys and the innernet! I was sitting at the table playing Words With Friends and keeping the littles company while they cut a whitepages phonebook into spaghetti-strips for the worm box, and Big Child came and hung over my shoulder trying to come up with a word for me. Middly and Little Child got up, too, and wanted to see the board, so we all had a look. 

   "Since the game is called Words With Friends, the person you are playing with is your friend, right," asked Big Child, The Literal. I took a breath to say that I often play random strangers because I am addicted to Words With Friends a big fat slut on the innernet, just ask Daddy everyone's friend but then noticed that yes, actually my opponent was someone I "met" online as a blog reader years and years ago, am now Facespace friends with, and who my kids have an awareness of and HEYYYY! "Yep, that's _______," I said. "You know your favorite jammies, Little Child, and your snow boots, Middly? Her son is the big kid who broke 'em in for ya and she is the one who sent me that heavy package full of stuff for you guys."

   "Coool!"

   I think my kids have had a kind of binary view of the innernet. It is made up of our friends who send us stickers and hand-me-downs, homemade hand-balm that soothes eczema and birthday cards, gift cards that have fed us celebratory dinners and good knock-knock jokes, and then there are The Perverts.

   The Perverts are why Big Child wasn't allowed to subscribe to Lego Universe, even if he used his birthday money from the XY's family (because the subscription version had a chat feature, which means The Perverts could get at you!). They're also to blame for people not being allowed to link their DSis and Xboxes and Wiis to the (encrypted, password-protected) wireless router. "What do The Perverts DO, Mommy? I wouldn't give anyone our address or anything! They can't like, reach through the innernet and get me!" They're perverts, I say. They are clever and nasty and good at manipulating kids, and I am not taking any chances with them. When you're eighteen and you get your own innernet you'll see what I mean. The MFA Children seem to think The Perverts are perhaps mythical figures Hotter and I have made up to avoid sharing the innernet or something, but they largely accept it.

   "Heeeey, wait. Your friend just played TITS. IS YOUR FRIEND A PERVERT?"

***************************************************************************

   In the spirit of community amongst friendly perverts, a giveaway of a fabulous product made by a reader:

   YES, A GIVEAWAY. TO ENTER, GO TO @RAINBOWSOUFFLE'S ETSY SHOP AND THEN COME BACK HERE AND LEAVE ME A COMMENT TELLING ME YOUR FAVORITE THING SHE HAS LISTED. WINNER GETS SOME OF THAT FABULOUS BALM, FOR FREE!

   This is the stuff I carry in my work bag and use every day. It really helps keep my cuticles from disintegrating entirely in the winter between food service and virus season and animals and children...that's a lot of hand-washing. If you don't win some you should totally buy some, and that is my unsolicited and honest review of the stuff. I am very happy one of you gets to try it!

MFA Mama, Mickey-slayer (and Little Child, mic-key slayer).

I. Mickey

   Casa MFA has a mouse problem. Not a huge one, and not house mice, but field mice that apparently long for warmer places than fields. Field mice with a taste for Mennonite-ground whole wheat flour, which pisses me right on off.

   So far I've caught two in snap-traps (I originally caught one of those in the Havahart, which has a faulty spring so that when I picked up the trap to take the mouse outside it JUMPED ON MY GLASSES AND RAN ACROSS MY HEAD, at which point I said fuck it, bring on the cruelty and the killing, because some things just WILL NOT STAND) this winter. The one that seems to live inside the kitchen stove, though, is a wily little fuck. It's sprung a snap-trap and licked it clean of peanut butter, and feasted on celery (which Hotter inexplicably left on the stove claiming that it was "bait," only what the fuck kind of mouse passes up peanut butter for celery? Is the mouse on a diet?). It will sit somewhere in the inner workings of the stove (how? I do not know. Of course it doesn't make any sense that a mouse would live inside a freaking stove, that's just STUPID, but it wasn't MY idea and I've seen it run into the rear burner-vent, for fuck's sake) and gnaw loudly at something, and when you walk into the kitchen and stomp around and turn the light on it will pause, probably to laugh evilly under its tiny breath, and go back to gnawing. 

   I never thought I'd say this, but it may be time for glue. Because I'm not willing to go with anything toxic (that's cruel, plus then the afflicted creatures die in your walls and stink) and clearly humane and not-so-humane traps are not up to the task of dispatching this particular mouse. I agreed to give the snap-traps one more night, and if they come up empty-jawed I am buying a glue-trap tomorrow on my way home from work.

   Hotter already isn't speaking to me over that. Hell, I'm not sure I'm speaking to me over that! But it is what it is and when it comes to things effing with my family's food and spreading germs I have a heart that is shaped increasingly like an axe.

 

II. Mic-key

   Last night, after an epic twenty-minute argument over checking the balance in the balloon, I finally decided six months of leaving the thing in "just in case" was more than enough and removed Little Child's mic-key button. For the first time since he was seven weeks old my kid is tube-free. Now everyone go and knock on some wood that he stays healthy for the rest of the cold and flu season and let's not celebrate it too loudly! We don't want to anger the gods.

tell me something good (tell me that you love me)

   Well, it was a lovely holiday but pretty much the moment it was over my crushing depression and sense of imminent doom shattered the chair I'd propped under the doorknob of the closet I'd locked them in and took up their old positions on my shoulders (the better to whisper sinister things in both ears).

   Crap.

   I know what to do with this kind of terror over my immediate and longterm survival; I've felt this way more often than not ever since I can remember. When I was little I'd just shut everything out, curl into a ball, and sort of come to when it was over. As an older child I escaped into books or wandered my parents' neighborhood making lists of places I might be able to sleep for a day or two if need be. As a teenager I did LOTS of drugs. And as an adult I generally take stock, act on anything I can, then remind myself it's temporary and to eat, sleep and exercise appropriately until things get better. I'm already VERY well medicated against the possibility of actual clinical depression, in case anyone was thinking I sounded like I need some happy pills, although my shrink says (and I agree) that anxiety and depression are appropriate reactions to what I'm up against, so there's not a whole lot I can do besides suck it up and get through this. I've always come out on the other side of my life's various disasters one way or another regardless of my coping (or lack thereof), and therefore statistically there is every reason to believe I will this time, too. 

   It just really doesn't seem possible at the moment. Rent is due in less than two weeks, my next paycheck will only be for a one-day workweek, I haven't gotten Little Child anything for the holidays, and Hotter and I both need the dentist and the eye doctor (no, I still haven't followed up with any kind of specialist on the whole "OMG going blind" thing, because I can't afford the co-pays or the anxiety right now) with varying degrees of urgency (just as the MFA Minivan still needs the mechanic). The days are short, the nights are long, the XY is coming for the MFA Children in a couple of hours for his weekend visitation, and the temptation to revert to my earliest way of dealing with this kind of fear and curl up in a ball until this is over or I have to go to work Monday morning is great.

   But I am well aware of how pathetic and unhelpful that would be, so I probably won't. 

   Tell me something good. Tell me an awful joke, a funny story, something egregious your great-uncle Bad Touch did at the Thanksgiving table (or if he's filthy rich, tell him to hit up my tip jar). Drop me a link to something amazing, or hopeful, or hilarious. Share some bad fun. Please?

happy Thanksgiving

   I don't have anything profound to say, but wanted to let y'all know that I managed to drag myself out of my doldrums and get my thankful on in time to bake, cook, and otherwise prepare a wonderful holiday dinner that we all enjoyed a lot. We had our homegrown turkey (she was very slightly tougher than a storebought bird, as we let her roam freely instead of confining her for the sake of tenderness, but moist and with an excellent flavor), ham, mashed potatoes, baked yams with Shebangarang, stuffing, fresh-baked rolls, green brean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, and I baked two kinds of pie (pumpkin and pecan) (I made the pecan one with Agave nectar instead of corn syrup, which I wholeheartedly recommend as a healthier and equally delicious alternative). It was delicious, and I ate way too much (seriously, I've been on a strict diet the past few weeks and not used to large portions or rich foods...both at once nearly made me ill). Big Child was, as always, an appreciative audience for Hotter's and my culinary performance, Middly didn't cry at the table (which is always a victory with that kid), and Little Child was insanely picky with what he'd eat of the dinner but somehow managed TWO slices of pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top. The dogs enjoyed some meat scraps, having had their real Thanksgiving on Tuesday when I killed the turkey (Isis ate the head, neck, and feet while Bumpus got the heart, liver, and intestines). I'm sure the dread of what the future holds will kick back in at some point, but right now I'm still in a tryptophan haze and nearly through with the Hunger Games trilogy (SO GOOD), so I'm going to get back to that. I just wanted y'all to know that we made the holiday a good one and I'm thankful as always for my wonderful friends inside the computer, who do things like leave me wall posts on the facespace saying "pecker UP!" and make me giggle no matter what is going on. Y'all are the best! xox

Thursday blah blah bullets

*   Yesterday I had parent-teacher conferences for the older two MFA Children, and one of them is being tested for the Gifted Program! Wow! Not too shabby for a kid with an IEP! Also Big Child's teacher is so cool I kind of wanted to take her home and make her my sister-wife. She has some of her students reading The Hunger Games. I haven't even read The Hunger Games!

*   As for Little Child, he says he wants to be a mercenary when he grows up "because I love violence!" I asked him what he loved about violence. "The blood and guts!" I said if he was, say, a cardiothorassic surgeon instead of a mercenary he'd get to PLAY WITH BEATING HEARTS FOR MONEY. His eyes lit up and he now wants to be a cardiothorassic surgeon, which I think is preferable to a mercenary. And just like that I've turned into a Jewish mother.

*   The local Occupy protesters marched across the grounds of PseudoCorp this morning; Security felt the need to stand outside looking menacing. I wonder why the local crackhead who does a series of bizarre calisthenics accompanied by singing in tongues doesn't warrant the same level of surveillance as a bunch of peaceful protesters walking quietly? Booo, Security!

*   Work was kind of crazy today. There was a lot of miscommunication going on, although fortunately none of it was my fault. 

*   The XY is being flakier than usual with his visitation and it's making me stabby. GET IT TOGETHER, XY! Also remember how he was going to get married? Like, before his "next" weekend as of three weeks ago? And then didn't? Yeah. That. STILL. I'm kind of curious just what is up with that, but my policy when it comes to his lovelife is "don't ask, because asking implies caring."

*   My leg is still really sore, and it has now been an entire week since I exercised at all. I decided not to even try power-walking until it's less painful, because I don't want to make the stress fracture any worse (I've ignored them before and ended up with a great throbbing lump on the bone, and THAT is a MUCH worse pain) but I'm getting antsy. Regular exercise, along with regular eating and sleeping, is key to avoiding depression and the days are getting shorter. Plus I'm still fat. BALLS!

*   Hotter is going through the same SAHP (stay at home parent) burnout I was suffering toward the end of my marriage to the XY. I'm trying to be a better husband than the XY was, be gracious about it when he asks me to run after-work errands, not grief him if he slacks a little on the housework or asks me to pick up dinner on the way home because he doesn't want to cook, etc. But it doesn't seem to be enough, and my having been in the exact same position doesn't give me any greater insight into how to help him be less crabby. He'd like me to do more when I get home. I get home and I'm tired and ouchy and already sick of people wanting things from me. He snipes at me. I hide because I don't enjoy being sniped at. I know I'm doing better than the XY, because I haven't tried to strangle Hotter or anything, and Hotter is doing better than I was, because he's still upright, but damn. This whole work/life balance thing is one big FAIL.

*   How are all of YOU?

the one with The Fairy Hobmother

   So yesterday and today have sucked with one notable exception: I got a visit from The Fairy Hobmother! She seems to be an exceptionally creative SEO fairy who flits from blog to blog granting small appliance-related wishes (I'd previously commented on a blog and wished in the comments that I had an icecream maker, which I had since acquired...undaunted, the fairy then sent me an Amazon.com gift card to use on the gadget of my choice, asking only that I throw her a link. Fair enough, my fairy friend, fair enough; I certainly have nothing against energy-saving appliances and while I still would have been game had you just gotten in touch and asked to buy a text ad with a link, I love your sense of whimsy! Plus I really enjoy a chance to let my readers win something, and word on the street is that anyone with a blog who comments on this post and makes a small appliance-related wish could be the fairy's next stop. *Ahem*

   Other than that, my finger is still swollen and discolored and gross, but much less painful and so I think the antibiotics are doing their job. Which is good, since I feel pukey and gross from them and they put a horribly bitter taste in my mouth ALL DAY LONG. Which would make me furious if they weren't also helping my finger, although since they are I guess I can put up with them. I'm still feeling pretty damned grateful; I have had MRSA septicemia before and therefore know that this could all have been a LOT worse had I waited to see a doctor and ended up with something systemic.

Figure One: This is the shape of the stricken finger compared to the same finger on the other hand. Clearly it still has some healing to do. I took this picture with my nose!

   Hopefully soon this whole ugly infection dealy (and the associated swelling, because oh lordamercy do I ever puff up when I've got any sort of bacterial infection going on; I forget just how ridiculous it is every time it's been a while and made the mistake of alarming poor Dr. Anon by asking an "at one point ought one to worry when..." type of question where the answer, for a normal sort of person, is "OMG RIGHT NOW WHAT THE HELL WOMAN?" Clearly I not only forget the quirks of my lemon of a body but just what a freak I am...sigh) is nothing but an unpleasant memory, because I fear I won't be very interesting until then. I can't even tell you funny Hotter stories to bridge the gap, because the poor man is pretty worn out caring for all of the animals, especially these two, in my absence while I'm working twelve-hour days:

Figure Two: This is the picture the XY texted me from the pediatrician's office today after Hotter called him to let him know the littles were poorly. They both have strep.   

   How are all of YOU?

chin up

*   I have never successfully done a chin-up of the literal variety (too many broken arms I guess?) (meaning too many breaks to my TWO arms; I do not have any extra ones, dammit), but usually I'm pretty good about the metaphorical kind and so I'm trying. I'm really, really trying with the help of family, friends, and retail therapy. I'm just not having a ton of success.

*   I'm still pretty damn lucky. I crawled into bed and had a good cry, and then when the MFA Children got home from school Big Child knew I needed a hug (suddenly it's like hugging a PERSON--no stooping! THE HELL?) and asked me what was wrong. I explained the bare bones of the situation and my kids set about cheering me up. Big Child reminded me that I wouldn't have to see his ugly Bumpus-hound anymore if I go blind. Middle Child said he'd take care of me--"I'll stay wiv you ALL your life until you die, Mommy, and I'll do everything except wipe your butt!" And Little Child reminded me that sometimes the blind develop super powers ("YOU CAN BE LIKE DAREDEVIL!"). Friends loved all over my comments and Twitter feed. Dr. Anon dragged clinical details out of me via the Facespace and located a clinical trial for treating the second eye condition that came up today that seems pretty promising (and really, that is huge because while the first eye condition is definite and bad and can make you go blind, there are some non-surgical treatments...the second one there was nothing as of when my father was diagnosed ages ago and I was under the impression that that was still the case). And Hotter...well, Hotter did what one of us always does when the other one receives some devastating medical news and reminded me not to be a pussy all my life, and it did in fact make me giggle as did his suggestion that I use Loud and Crazy the turkey as a service animal. Even I with my stupid brokedick eyes can see how loved I am, and that is a beautiful thing.

*   As far as retail therapy, I did in fact choose and order those new glasses, and while it's not much consolation for the prospect of losing my eyesight, the iPhone is still pretty badass. Plus I hit Goodwill to pick up some work clothes (the new, obscenely high-paying job requires business attire and I am sick and tired of popping out of my shirts and wearing Hotter's khakis) and the thrift-shopping gods smiled on me: two pairs of Talbot's slacks with stretch in my size that looked brand new, a very cute dress that WAS brand new (tag and all), and a button-down that ought to contain my rack. Whoo tits! 

*   Tomorrow I start the new job, and it's twelve-hour days six days a week so I might be a sucky blogger for the next month or so (yes, it's a MONTH instead of just three weeks, which means that in addition to making one-third of last year's earned income in one month I'll be eligible for unemployment should I need it after it's over, although I doubt that I will because there'll be a bunch of holiday parties and such needing banquet servers and I've got clients at two of the three temp agencies now who specifically request me when they need a worker). Someone should probably tell my feelings that this full box of Triscuits they're making me eat are going to cause me to crap a two-by-four tomorrow at the office; I've tried but they just gave me a withering look.

*   I'm still so damn sad, and the distractingly compromised vision in my left eye (which I was able to ignore previously because I was certain I just needed new glasses) isn't helping matters. How are all of YOU?

pre-hurricane miscellaney

*   This morning I woke from a bad dream where I was trying to leave the XY all over again (Little Child was a baby on my hip again, and very sick again, and his g-tube, which in the dream was the original pull-PEG, was venting copiously, which it hasn't in ages...also the XY was telling me that I couldn't leave him because I was too stupid to get through life on my own, for example today I had traffic court but would I know that without him to tell me? Nooooo) at dawn and ran to pull up the local court's website. Sure enough, I DID have traffic court this morning and had forgotten all about it! I was awake in plenty of time to get ready though, and got the last of the tickets from the expired registration dismissed. Perhaps my ex-husband is my new spirit animal? Oy.

*   I saw my divorce attorney at court and we exchanged pleasantries. That was kind of weird.

*   My kids are so excited about the hurricane that last night I finally gave them a Mason jar full of heavy whipping cream with a couple of marbles in and set them to making butter by taking turns shaking the jar just to wear their energy out a little. They crapped out when it was still just whipped cream and I had to take over, the little slackers, but seriously this creates the best damn butter you will ever taste and I highly recommend it.

*   Last night I ate too much at dinner but it was soooo good. Hotter made his famous potroast, which is unbelievably delicious, and I made fresh bread rolls that came out of the oven right as we were sitting down, plus we had the fresh butter (which is delightfully spreadable) to put on the rolls and for dessert, homemade strawberry ice cream.

*   Temp Agency #1 called today; they gave me a job on Monday that should take one hour or less, but I get paid for four hours because the contract is a four-hour minimum, plus the job pays 40% more per hour than I usually make. I'm basically going to be someone's stand-in at an important business meeting, like when royalty used to marry from a distance and they'd send a proxy to ceremonially "consummate" the deal by touching thighs with the person they were marrying. This tickles me to no end.

*   At this point, I think the MFA Children are going to be devastated if we don't get to eat shelf-stable foods warmed over Sterno cans for at least one meal. If you're reading this from anywhere along the Eastern seaboard, are YOU prepared for the hurricane? Don't forget a manual can-opener and a lighter for the Sterno cans in your hurricane kit! Honestly I think half the reason the boys are so excited is that we don't generally eat most of the canned and processed foods I bought in order to be prepared for Irene (Chef Boyardee ravioli, Handi Snacks, boxes of shelf-stable chocolate milk, etc.) because I consider them to be junkfood. Someone who shall remain nameless spent a good portion of yesterday evening dancing around the house chanting "CHILI-MAC! CHILI-MAC!"

*   This slays me:

Figure One: Yes, I know, some folks have cracks in their foundations and are NOT AMUSED, and the Washington Monument is damaged, etc. but I don't think Japan and Christchurch feel overly sorry for us right now, is all I'm sayin'.

*   How are all of YOU?