Queen B

Archive for the ‘Big time stuff’ Category

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Hard Labor

In Big time stuff, Nothing to it but to do it, The dog on January 27, 2012 at 1:27 pm

This weekend should revolve around drywall – hanging, taping and mudding. Using objectionable language towards it, probably.

I hear we’re expecting snow, so there will likely be shoveling.

We will also probably be dragging more of our useless or unused crap to the Goodwill. Multiple trips, I’m assuming.

The children shall clean their rooms. I don’t care if it’s begrudgingly, or happily. That should be a fun argument for all involved.

Did I really wait all week to get off of work for this?

So what are you doing this weekend? Cleaning toilets? Yea, me too.

Before I go, somebody wants to say HI!

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Nosey always wants to know what I’m doing.

Speaking of, she needs to be brushed and have her toenails trimmed.  Should be as fun as getting children to clean willingly, or well.  Yea, me!

There will probably be wine involved in all of the above (except for the kids part, obviously).

Enjoy your weekend, all.  Don’t blink, or you might miss it!

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Music therapy

In Big time stuff, The little roomies on January 13, 2012 at 11:58 pm

I just had to post. I’m up unusually late (Portillo’s iced tea induced insomnia, this happens more than you could imagine). I can’t explain why my daughter is still up.

However….

It might have something to do with the DJ-ing she’s doing for me (with the occasional enthusiastic dance). Playing songs of her very own choosing, including Salt n’ Peppa, Right Said Fred, MC Hammer, Radiohead, Sir Mix-A-Lot, Maroon 5, Baha men, Destiny’s Child, En Vogue (My Lovin’ – which needs to be added to my iTunes library STAT because I forgot that I LOVE that song and I need to have it at my disposal at all times), Black Eyed Peas, Taio Cruz, Paolo Nutini, and the Beatles singing their rendition of the song Shout along with the original version by the Isley Brothers (because she doesn’t make a set list that doesn’t include the Beatles, for the record) among others.  Do we do this a lot?  I’m having deja vu thinking I wrote this post before.

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Girl has some skills, and a very eclectic mix of go-to songs.  She is fun, with a capital AWESOME, and the perfect partner when you know you get to sleep in tomorrow morning.

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Santa Claus

In Big time stuff on December 9, 2011 at 2:08 pm

My kids are getting big. My daughter, especially, comes home all the time telling me about this kid or that who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus any longer, and what they tell her and the other BELIEVING elementary kids. I always tell her that it isn’t about what other people believe, but about what she believes that matters.

On that subject, I just read this beautiful little story on Facebook that I wanted to share. I didn’t write it, and I don’t know who did. It was the status update of a friend of a friend (I know that makes the people who expect anonymity and privacy on Facebook cringe). I’m sure that everyone and their brother will be posting it as their status before the end of the day, but for now it’s all mine. And my friend’s, and their friend’s. And of course the person’s who wrote it, along with anyone else who has already read it. Bah, you know what I mean…

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Grandma and Santa Clause

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!” My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” she snorted….”Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.” “Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s. I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.” The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas. That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.” I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were — ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care… And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!

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A newbie

In Big time stuff, Healthy shmealthy, Punishment for what? on November 11, 2011 at 5:06 pm

I did it.

I pulled the trigger and got me a new rheumie.  The bottom line is that I feel like utter crap all of the time and I’m not even so good at hiding it anymore.  So I caved and I’m back in full Dr. mayhem again after a three year Dr. hiatus.  And really, I’m kinda/sorta excited about it.  Well, just a little.

The new guy scheduled my appointment less than a week from the day I phoned his office.  A week!!  That is unheard of in my world.  This has been a whirlwind week of planning, and scheduling, and researching, and making lists of symptoms, and trying to retrieve my old files from the previous rheumie (unsuccessfully, btw… good riddance you crappy old rheumie), getting the insurance on board and dotting all the I’s and crossing all the T’s to pull this off.

I went in hopeful but full of anxiety, and really I liked him very much.  He didn’t make me feel like my symptoms were psychosomatic, he didn’t dismiss anything I said to him, he let me rattle off my two pages of symptoms without making me feel like I was keeping him, he agreed to all of the many tests suggested by my nutritionist and didn’t even flinch when I said that I wasn’t really the medicating type, if it can be avoided.  I even told him that I drink Pond Water and he didn’t seem phased by it.

Here’s a fact:  Rheumatologists have very, very soft hands and a very light touch.  Even my old Dr. had that going for her.  He very gently looked at my joints and fingernails, put my arms through some movements that made me feel like I should be doing the wave or the robot with him, and then felt my spine and back and poked me in my sides in a few places to ask if it hurt (it didn’t).  There were some questions about family history which I only have 1/2 of, unfortunately, and took everything I said VERY SERIOUSLY.

Then he sent me for some additional bloodletting with a “don’t be alarmed at the number of vials” and a “see you in two weeks!” and “oh, here’s a sample of a topical that might help with the extreme pain in your neck.”

My favorite part?  He finished up with “We’ll have you feeling like a human again in no time.”

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Then someone told me there were 16 blood work orders, which is a two digit number, people.

THEN, I plumb lost my mind… on account that I was on the pokey end of that deal.  However, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t bite anyone (yes, I have…), and I lived to tell it, so apparently it all worked out.

The end.

PS.  I’ll let you know when I get my results, I think I’m gonna get some good stuff (info) out of this!

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The life cycle, Frank style

In Big time stuff, Healthy shmealthy on October 25, 2011 at 2:49 pm

The other day my daughter found a dead Robin (#1) in the back yard.  When dear husband went to “help it fly into the woods” the following morning, he found another dead bird (sparrow, he said, but he knows nothing of birds so in reality it could’ve been a wren or chickadee or a damned hawk for all I know) on the back patio.  Sad, for sure.  We wondered if any of the neighbors had recently spread insecticide or something because of a similar occurrence related to insecticide at the old house resulting in mass death of birds and frogs.  It was carnage and it still bothers me.

As a side note, my husband commented that birds do not launch into the woods quite as readily as small critters with fur.  Just so you know.

Yesterday as I was sitting quietly in the kitchen minding my own business, a Robin flew so hard into the glass door that I jumped and yelled “OH GOD!” thinking instantly that I had figured out what happened to the dead Robin (#1) and possibly the “sparrow” as well.  When I looked, the current Robin (#2) was sitting on my deck, right by the slider window looking extremely stunned.  I was shocked to even see it upright, the impact was so loud.  Then it opened it’s beak and started panting (which I’m pretty sure birds don’t actually do) and other things that I can’t repeat and certainly couldn’t watch.

I left the room for the bird to either recover or die, neither of which I could be a part of.  I certainly couldn’t sit and watch it die, if that was the direction things went (and it looked as if that was how it was going).  It made me cry.  I don’t think I’m so good with death.

After I cried it out,  I did one of those peek-between-your-fingers-type looks and I found that the bird hadn’t died.  It actually ended up shaking it off and flying away after about 45 minutes while the kids and I watched in amazement!  Go figure.

This morning I got up extra early for my blood work and mammogram.  I had to fast from last evening.  Not even a drop of water!!  I can’t tell you how many times I woke up with my entire mouth dry and stuck together, needing a drink of water last night.  I know it’s negligent to say that I am not entirely certain what all the blood was being tested for, but they took no less than 7 full test tube vials full.  It was a lot.  In fact, I don’t know that any testing has taken that much blood from me.  Not even all the zillion tests the rheumatologist ordered.  It was confirmed by the phlebotomist today that I have small veins.  Great.

One thing I asked for was the CA125.  I have a friend, you know.

Immediately following the blood-letting, I was led to radiology.  I had my very first ever mammogram during breast cancer awareness month, ironically.  No, I didn’t plan that.  Those images sure can look scary to the untrained eye when you’re standing there half naked and unsure.  The woman told me that she only needed four images, and then she took six with no explanation.  That didn’t help with the uneasiness, of course.  We shall see what comes of it when the Dr. give me a call.

The good news is that I get to make lots of new blood.  The bad news is no cookies.

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Not dead yet

In Big time stuff, Healthy shmealthy on October 21, 2011 at 2:36 pm

I made it through the dreaded Dr. appointment, and it didn’t kill me.  Surprisingly.  Of course, he ordered a bunch of tests that I’m not thrilled about, but only because I’m a big baby and I don’t like to give away any of my blood.  Unless it’s voluntarily, and even then only because I’m sick of that old blood and I’m in the mood to produce some new blood.  OR I see that if I do they’ll give me a cookie.  The LAB never offers me a cookie for my blood, in fact they don’t even graciously accept my compliment when I tell them that they are a good phlebotomist because their abuse on my veins didn’t even actually hurt that much.  Even though I insisted that a baby sized butterfly needle be used, and still appear pale and clammy from the procedure.  You’d think they could cut a sister a break and be gracious.

On Tuesday, I’m going to withhold my compliments (assuming that they don’t hurt me, of course) until they offer me a cookie.  We shall see who cracks first.

(Based upon the fact that they are testing my blood sugar, the odds are not in my favor.)

I’ve been absent, don’t you know?  Maybe it wasn’t even recognized.  I’ve been consumed by my other endeavors.  Some good, such as working on my photography skills (no examples as my practice subject matter is as exciting as photographs of my steering wheel and handicapped signs while my girl kicks a ball) and joining the gym (swimming A LOT), and some not so great such as my previously mentioned doctor appointment and mundane activities including mulching the leaves from the yard with the lawnmower, working, and cooking meals.  Is it me, or do the mundane take up an inordinate amount of time?  Life seems so lopsided sometimes.

With the frost last night, I can safely assume that the sun tea season is officially over.  It has been suggested that I purchase some of those special light-bulbs to combat S.A.D. sad as the dark season closes in.  So far that hasn’t happened, but I have not missed the clues.  I’m star gazing in the morning on my way to work rather than joyfully watching the sun rise.  Also, my right hand is cold all the time and without relief.  But, these things are all tolerable and I’m not sure a special light-bulb will matter.

In related news, my Rheumatologist is leaving the area.  I got a letter from her as I was walking out the door for my doctor appointment, remarkably.  That only means that if I decide to revisit all of that auto immune nonsense again it will be like starting over.  Which… ugh.

What’s that about a continued Dr. hiatus?  Why, yes, I don’t mind if I do.

We’ll let the phlebotomist and lab techs be the judge of that.  I better get a damned cookie.

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In case you were wondering

In Big time stuff on September 19, 2011 at 4:09 pm

My new theme song: Price Tag by Jessie J., featuring B. o. B

It’s a little sad and inspiring all in one. Listen to it.

Miss you guys!

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For those of you who can’t quite make this out, it’s my daughter’s face on the “flyers” posted all over the entry to her disco party last Saturday night.  I think my mom had that left hairstyle in the late 70′s, and CC looks just like her superimposed on that rockin’ style. Of course the middle one could literally be my Senior picture.

And yes, it DOES say featuring DJ Corn Flakes at the bottom, which would be my husband.

If you can’t laugh at yourself….

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Good Morning Sunshine!

In Big time stuff, Photography on August 26, 2011 at 3:54 pm

I work very early.  As in leave the house before sunrise early.  One morning last week I realized that I get to witness the sun rise every single morning.  A stunning realization, and honestly the main reason I am able to get out of bed at 4:30am day in and day out.

I started taking a sunrise pic somewhere along my route every day with my iPhone (which isn’t great for capturing the very best colors or giant red suns low in the horizon, but makes instant sharing far too easy to cast aside in favor of the big girl camera), so that I could share the awesomeness of sunrise with my husband, kids, and mom.  Some days are better than others (depending upon the cloud cover and where I’m at en route when the sun actually starts making its show).  Today, what was lacking in clouds for color reflection was completely made up for in foggy mist.  I heart foggy mist in the morning.

Happy Friday, and I hope that everyone is able to find that magical twinkle that gets them out of bed in the morning!

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A good life

In Big time stuff, Serious Fun on August 6, 2011 at 10:43 pm

Isn’t living a good life the best revenge?  I think it is.

I can do one better.  I have a great life.

Yesterday was my 41st birthday, and I spent it with my absolute favorite people on the whole planet.  Doing fun stuff together which ended up NOT including the Lollapalooza festival.  You know, plans change.

It went down like this:

My husband won two tickets for each of the three days of the festival from a local radio station.  We decided quite some time ago that if it was an either/or situation, he would take our son because the two of them know more of the bands and are more interested in that stuff than myself or my daughter.  If we could swing it, we planned on either winning (hopefully) or buying another three-day pass for me and getting a hotel room for the weekend to have a whole weekend birthday celebration (kids 10 and under are free to Lolla so it would have worked out with just three tickets).  Then we saw the jacked up prices on the hotels.  Ridiculous!!  Plans changed and we instead decided to sell off our Saturday and Sunday tickets, use some of that money to purchase a Friday ticket for me and head down for my birthday proper.  The hubby didn’t want to split up on my birthday.

When we arrived, it was a madhouse.  We hadn’t won a ticket for me, and we couldn’t find anyone selling them, either.  The line to get inside looked like it was taking at least an hour.  AND we could see the crowds inside, and they looked brutal, even early.  Oh, add to that the text I had gotten from my mom about flash mob race riots (against my race, incidentally) in Milwaukee and the levels of alcohol consumption by the people not yet inside the festival (very high) and it was an easy decision to sell off those last two tickets.  For a profit, of course.

Instead we kicked around the city on the $$ made from won tickets.  Hit my favorite vegan diner, an awesome guitar shop, and watched a funny movie.  My husband was sweet to me, and has treated the entire weekend as a holiday.  Lovely.

I got the right one.  For sure.  Not that there was ever any doubt.

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Finally

In Big time stuff, Nothing to it but to do it on July 4, 2011 at 11:14 pm

We have FINALLY gotten the basement refrigerator fixed.

Now we can get some real work done around here!  It’s not natural, this dry method we’ve been forced to become accustomed to.

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