Bridezilla, Part I

I am so glad that I worked today, because, really, could my time have been better spent?
As I merchandised books for the reading public at large, I worked at composing the invitation to our reception. How does one properly do that?
"Announcing the marriage of..." No, that won't work. We won't be married by the time we send it.
How about, "Pretty soon, Tim and Kelly will be married at a ceremony that you are not invited to. As a consolation, we'd love to have you come over to the reception."
Too informal.
Or, "Tim and Kelly and their passel of brats would like to buy you a drink. Come on by..."
It's no easy task. We don't want you to come to the wedding, we just want to have a little shindig. Preferably from 6:00-6:30, and then you can all go home so we can be newlyweds.
Hit the lights on your way out.
Thanks for coming.
This is turning into the party of the century. In my imagination, anyway.
There's cake and decorations and food and flowers and wine and people and discounted rooms at a local hotel for those of you coming from out of town....I'm dizzy. Somebody help me.
Clearly, I have no time for a job.
But I'm tan, and I have a nice ring.
In case you forgot.

Tra-la-la

When I was a little girl at my Grandparent's home during the Summer months, Granny would sing quite early in the morning, "I am happy, tra-la-la, and I'll make you happy too..." Which always sounded meanacing before adequate coffee. She jolly well meant it, though. Never has there been a more boyant personality than my Granny.

My girlfriends are planning my bridal shower. The theme is French bordello; which sounds quite scandelous. I told you this would be a doozy. What could be more appropriate for a bunch of Christian Homeschool moms? I am happy, tra-la-la, and I'll make you happy, too.

The whole real-life-work-and-clean-the-house thing is totally crimping my style. I need to be allowed to sit by the pool, and plan. When I sit by the pool, though, everything but the handsome man in the tan just go right out of my head. I need to focus, but all of the pending excitement have given me a serious dose of ADD.

My tan really is coming along nicely. Thanks for asking.

Today, I have resolved NOT so go sit by the pool. Instead, I am going to work, and thence to clean, and also to shop for invitations. Meanwhile, I was thinking that I owe a few "thank you" cards, and I need to get this house in order, so that Cathy and Asia aren't horrified when they arrive on Friday.

I so need a personal assistant.

Sun Goddess in training

Now that Summer is here with all that heat, I am planning my days around the pool. Tim asked me, in a sincere voice, the other day, how I feel my tan is coming along.
I found that question to be amusing on a number of levels.
First of all, I am not given to emotion regarding the amount of melanin in my skin. I am given to raptures regarding new swimwear, and warm weather, and even leisure time.....but not melanin. And I don't really sunbathe as a goal. Mostly, I lay in the sun for relaxation, delight, warmth, to supervise my children, or to read. The whole tan thing is a lovely bi product.
My Mother used to refer to me a 'mushroom', on account of how I'd hide in a cool, dark corner with a good book all Summer. That was how I spent Summers when I was young. My skin still gets startled every time I expose it to UV rays. I always, every time, consistently burn during the first week of outdoor activity.
Tim's sincerity at asking that question was amusing, too. He's a very thoughtful man, and a very tan one. He sees leather skin as an important part of aging.

I was looking through Scripture this morning for examples of step-parents. Jesus had a step-dad, you know. Are there any step-moms in Scripture that aren't wicked? Why are they always shown as wicked in books and movies? Do I have to be wicked?
Joseph, Jesus' step-dad is shown in all the capacity of a real dad. He protects and provides, he parents, he is the legally recognized father. He's obeyed by Jesus. What other examples of step-parents are there?

Moving right along....Why can't I find a dress to be married in?
I want a pretty sundress. White. Slightly more dressy than your average sundress. I do not want taffeta, empire waist, or double digits.
Kara and I went to the Black market/white something-or-other store yesterday morning to try their dresses. The little sales girl asked what size I wear (6) and she looked me up and down, then kept bringing me 8s. Hate her. The empire waist things look so maternity on me. The strapless things should Not be worn by women over 38 who have forgone plastic surgery. It was a depressing and futile excercise.

Plus, also, too
Have I mantioned that I am overwhelmed at all that I am supposed to plan and pull-off over the next 7 weeks? Homeschool, marriage, moving, homeymoon, reception, and a good tan. All while being a single mom, and working to pay the bills. I kind of putter around the house muttering incoherently, while getting exactly nothing accomplished.
But I have a nice ring. So that's something. And my tan really does accent that large diamond so nicely.

It's finally Summer around here

I got a little sunburned where I sit, because yesterday was the first decently hot day of the year. On the decently hot days, I get a little less decent, and lay in the sun.
There is nothing like a trip to Eagle Island to boost a gal's self esteem. I've told you about Eagle Island in Summers past; it's a local puddle, with sand, and water, and Frisbee golf, and stuff. They even have a single water slide. As opposed to a married one. And very large mothers take their children there to swim. These very large mothers wear bikinis.
When you look at magazines all day, you tend to get the impression that all women are airbrushed and perfect. This is untrue. From what I could tell at Eagle Island, most women eat rather a great deal, and they have no attention to spare for flattering fashion. It's way nicer to hang out there than it is to stand next to my Mother. My mother is slender, fashionable, and stunningly beautiful. She doesn't even have the decency to look like she's in her 60th year, which I find highly irritating. She's far too beautiful. It's not nice.
I have no idea what brought up Mother just now. It was sort of a random hiccup in my thinking. Which is very surprising; no?
Back to the Eagle Island Fashion Parade....That was very amusing. I went with my sister, Dani and my nieces; Kara and her kids; Lisa with her college textbooks; and lots of strangers. Lots. I have never seen the place so crowded. It used to be that we would be the only ones there, but it seems that the public-at-large has discovered our swimming place. I wish they'd all go home and leave us in peace.

Tim and I are accelerating our plans. We picked a date and also began planning the reception. I seriously need to find a dress. I am not going to get married in white taffeta and a veil, not this time. This time I am going to get hitched at the courthouse. I would, however, like to wear a lovely white sundress, and a hat. Keep your eye out for the perfect outfit, k? I'd like to look slender, and 20, so it will take a special kind of dress.

August is going to be flipping insane. The kids start school, and football 2-a-day practices, and we're getting married and moving. How in the world am I going to pull it all together? No idea.
I was just realizing that I need to start planning my homeschool curriculum for next year, and I've no idea how I'm going to get to that. Just add it to the list.

Today is Michael's last doctor's appointment. Praise Be to the Lord Most High. He is so vastly improved! Last week, when we saw the doctor, that boy was in mortal terror of being readmitted. This week, he's just like a healthy person, albeit a skinny one.

O! And one more thing. My dear friend from so very many years is coming to visit me!!! Cathy is going to visit, with her family, for the Fourth of July. Go here to read about her. I have not seen her for 4 years, which is entirely unacceptable. We are going to have a lot to catch up on. I can hardly wait!!!!

On that happy note, I must away. I've got to get ready for the day.

The whirlwind

Besides walking around with a big grin on my face, there's rather a lot going on.

All of the sudden, my mind is racing with thoughts of a new dress, packing my belongings, guest lists, and decorating.
We're working on the idea of a reception, which will be very fun, indeed. And a lot of work.
I wasn't going to do any of this!
I thought we'd jog down to the courthouse, say "I do," and get down to being married.
Now I need to continue thinking about the addition (which is coming along nicely. The sheet rock is in, and being taped today), shop for invitations, think of a proper menu, get hotel discounts for out-of-towners, and also carry on my usual life.
All with a gigantic rock on my hand, marking me as Loved. So, really, I am in no position to sound like I'm complaining.

Is it silly to remark at how Good God is? God has been so Good to me.
He's Good when things are bad, even. I've seen that. I'm totally familiar with trusting Him when things are bleak, and seemingly hopeless.
I must tell you, though that I don't believe I've ever had the opportunity to trust Him when things are so delightfully positive.
My life right now is like a fairy tale, and the knight in shining armor has arrived. Here I have the opportunity to learn how to rely on God when all seems blissfully well.
It's a common thing to lose dependance upon Him during times of prosperity; I've heard that. Do you think it's true? I sure hope I don't do that. I want to continue to grow and learn, even while rejoicing in such happy circumstances.

Things change fast, too. Just a couple weeks ago I was fearing for my son's health, and now I stand exaltant. Life is crazy that way.
God is Good All The Time.

Fourth finger on the left

I opened my presents after we ate cake.
Tim gave me one of those delightful little boxes. I love little boxes. When I opened it, I think I nearly dropped it from surprise. He asked the classic question, to which he already knew the answer:
"Will you marry me?"
I don't know whether I answered quietly, or just nodded my head, but Aaron (who is 7) started hopping up and down, saying, "You're ruining everything! You're supposed to say 'yes'!"
So I spoke a little louder, and I said "Yes."

It was a very happy birthday.

Global Cooling, cool criminals, and also my birthday

I am thinking that tomorrow I will have a mid-life crisis.
Tomorrow marks the end of my 39th year on this planet, and the beginning of my 40th. That's a good time to date a blond, and drive a muscle car. Don't you think? I'm going to get on that.

For my birthday, I am going to work. This is something I haven't done on a Monday for a couple weeks, on account of my child's hospital antics. After work, I am going out to dinner with a handsome blond man, and about four children. He actually owns a muscle car, so there you have it. I'm all set.

Michael is gaining weight like a good boy. He has another doctor appointment this week, and I hope they pronounce him fit for duty. I will then have him mow the lawn. See how devilish are my ways?

Today is Father's Day. I allowed Tim to barbecue for me, in celebration. I may never have to cook again, once I marry this fellow. That's very exciting. Why is August so far away? I so need to be married. I Do.

In other news: I am still tired, which I find very irritating. Also, Spring seems to have cancelled Summer this year. What global warming? It's below 60 degrees, and quite blustery today. This is entirely unacceptable for Birthday Weather.
We must all do our part to stop this cooling trend. Cease carpooling. Cease recycling. Cease public school. Do whatever it takes to bring back Al Gore!

Kara and I went shopping on Saturday, and plus also too, we spent money. Old Navy, Target, Kohl's, this is where we worked our magic. It's the Ghetto Mall, and we had a blast. We totally owned those clearance racks.
She took me out to lunch, and we got carded for ordering Mohitos. You know how happy I am when I get carded. It's why I drink.

Oh, wait! I totally forgot to tell you about Don's run-in with the police. Don and his buddy got questioned by the police because they were accused of a crime.
For real!
It was all very exciting. We had neighbors out in their front yards, a police car in front of our house, and interviews with all the witnesses. It was just like back when I was married, only less stressful.
I suppose the only reason it was exciting was that I knew they were innocent, and that the accuser was drunk or insane. Probably drunk. Grandly irascible, and largely illogical, anyway. The officer could certainly see that the accuser was off his rocker.
So it was kind of fun to have that little adventure. Don wanted to know if he now had a criminal record. I told him that he'd actually have to commit a crime. Hopefully he won't.

Now that we've covered that coherent and cohesive line of thinking, I'm going to bed.

That's a little better

We actually attended a doctor's appointment where we were not admitted to the hospital. I am very excited about this development. We have to go back again in a week, but for now, we'll take the reprieve.
Michael is seeming a little relieved, if not downright healthy. He's still sick, sore, and skinny, but we'll take whatever we can get.
There's no real improvement to point at, but the fact that we're being left alone is progress.

Geez, I hope this doesn't mean I'm going to start putting on weight. Do you see how it's really all about me? This whole crisis thing has been fabulous for my waist.

Mother keeps bring carbohydrates into this house, and everyone else is bringing fattening food, too. You should see the pile of sweetbreads that Mother left on my table yesterday. Just breathing the fumes from the wonderful aroma is enough to make me store fat. I begin to wonder if she's trying to sneakily fatten me up!

Are you all on the countdown to my wedding? Because I am really looking forward to that. 2 months, baby. We could stand a happy event around here, is what I'm thinking. I'm so ready for something new. Something happy. Something that involves neither celibacy, nor sickness.

In which I confess my irritation

This picture is one I just stole from Patsy's blog. She took photos of us in the hospital last week. See how we're smiling?

I have been trying to compose a witty entry to amuse and delight you, but I haven't the energy.
Frankly, I'm worn out, and not a little depressed. Now, you must know that my kind of depression is not really worthy of the title. I have seen depressed people, and I'm not like that. Mine is more like a low-grade annoyance. But I have a lot of the low-grade annoyance.

Work was almost a welcome distraction today. I couldn't think, though. My brain is very sluggish. It's all tangled up in a sort of constant prayer. It's that kind of prayer that doesn't really have words to it, it's more of an ache.
Do you think I have more than the average set of dramatic occurrences in my life, or am I just a melodramatic whiner? It's hard for me to get a clear reading on that. "Forest for the trees" and all that.

Michael is no better. By "no better" I mean that he's lost another pound, and is talking about death. Don wants to know what we'll do with Michael's new room if he dies. This is really not the kind of conversation that I can apply any enthusiasm to.

I want to shop, or get my hair done. Perhaps enjoy a frivolous conversation about gossip. I'd like to think about something that doesn't threaten to crush my heart. That would be a nice change.
I was prattling on about beauty regimens as I was on the phone with Mother today. She sternly reminded me that I ought to be thinking about my Very Sick Child. As if She's so very worried, poor mom. Being a nurse, she knows enough to be scared about out of her wits.

I was reprimanded yesterday, too. A lacrosse person was scolding me for taking Don out of the tournament. "It would be good for him to be a part of that! His brother's sick, but he's not." As if I can't figure out what's best for my son.

Is my annoyance showing? Sorry.

One can't continue to get worse, not indefinitely. It's just not possible. Right? We go back to the doctor tomorrow, and they should say something helpful. If they re-admit us to the hospital, I am going to cry. I'm not a big crier. Mostly, if I get misty-eyed, I feel like I've shown rich emotion. But, if they admit us tomorrow, I am going to full-on sob. Hiccups and all. Of course, I might do the same if they don't.

That's depressing. Aren't you glad you read? I may be getting better at being depressed. I'm getting a bit of practice.

Oh, the excitement

I've been sleeping a lot. That, and wandering from room to room mumbling incoherently. Just tracking Michael's medication is a full time occupation. Trying to imagine some semblance of normal life defies my imaginations limits.

Poor Don. That child has been swept aside to an existence largely dominated by his brother's illness, and his PSP games.

I've been shopping online in a spurt of denial. It's denial on account of the fact that I have way lots to do, and no money at all. I'm shopping for furniture, a dress in which to be married, and also lingerie. Kara and I have figured out how to shop together over Instant Messaging. Last night we effectively wasted about two hours st this pursuit.

Today, I have a checklist designed to keep me productive, without stressing me out. We'll see if it works. My new-found need to sleep 12 hours a day limits my resources somewhat. I've got a list of people to call, and errands to run. There's library returns, a trip to the bank, and lacrosse stuff to attend to.

It's high time I spring into action. It's after noon, for heaven's sake. All I've done so far is feed and medicate my son, and get a little exercise. Stress is great for my waistline, though. I'm down 9 lbs from a couple months ago. Whoo Hoo.

That's all I know. I'll try to be funny next time I write. Or if not funny, then perhaps I'll shoot for interesting. Don't get your hopes up.

There's no place like home

I am most assuredly NOT back to my cheery self. I am, however, home. We were released from captivity last night, and sent home with a U-haul full of medication and instructions for Michael's recovery. Mostly, I have to feed him, and tie him down. He keeps thinking that he wants to go out into the wide world and do something. I keep sending him back to bed. Even were I to allow him out, the child lacks the strength to hike to the mailbox.

Here I am, utterly stunned at all that needs to be done in terms of catching up. Sleep, of course was first upon my list of things to do. I managed 12 hours last night for myself. I intend to do the same tonight. My brother-in-law is on his way over to mow this lawn. I'm doing laundry. There's a car to wash, a house to dust, cooking to do, and bills to pay.

Once I get a handle on all of that, I need to start packing and making plans for the whole marriage/move. The dark roots atop my head will need to be dealt with, and I should look into a vigorous excercise regimen.

If Summer would ever actually show up, I'd work on my tan. Why is it chilly and damp in the middle of June? Who is in charge of that?

Being home has some benefits, though. For instance, people don't walk into my living space unannounced all day long and thru the night. My meal choices are far more varied. I get to sleep in a real bed, and shower whenever I like. It's much more quiet.

The quiet is welcome.

We've a long way to go before Michael is well. Don't stop praying.

Progress

I almost cried today, but it was relief rather than distress.
Michael is better.
His IV is out, because his vein infiltrated again, and the powers-that-be decided that we'll just go with it. He'll take his meds by mouth.
It's rather a shock to see that life continues out in the real world, just as if we haven't been quarentined for most of three weeks. What are all of you thinking, with your normalcy?
I escaped last night for the Romeo and Juliet play that I've been counting down to. Mother was horrified that I would abandon my child to go on a date. That's just the sort of mom I am, apparently.
Romeo and Juliet was performed outside, under the stars. Quite romantic. We sipped white wine, and ate an entire box of crackers. The actor playing Romeo's buddy in the play was so effeminate, that Tim and I could hardly stop laughing. This sword-weilding individual had that lisp that gay men sometimes have. You know what I mean? It was so humorous. Tim was shaking with laughter, and attempting to keep his hilarity under control so as not to distract the other onlookers.
It felt wonderful to laugh.

Tim is making us lasagna for dinner. Anything to fatten that boy up; Michael is still not gaining weight. This is the next hurdle for him. What a problem to have, huh?

I am so tired of this. It's not often these days that people stay in the hospital for such extended periods of time. We're special that way.

I am looking forward to the day that I can blog about amusing stories that do not include worry for my child's life, or irritation with cafeteria food.
Until then.....

More of the same

I actually think he may be no worse today. He's no better, but we'll take what we can get.
I keep coming down to the "playroom" at the hospital to blog. I kick those sick pediatric patients off the computer for my selfish purposes.
The staff here is really wonderful, and they are deeply concerned for Michael. The doctor and nurses are puzzled. Michael's lab work all looks as though he is a strong and healthy kid. The vision before me tells a different story.
He is not gaining weight. He is so thin, and so pale. As he sleeps, he looks like a skeleton, with too little skin stretched over sharp bones. It makes me cry to sit by his bed and watch that.
He is very uncomfortable, too. He's in pain, but there's more to it than pain. It's that sort of discomfort that makes him squirm as though he would prefer to climb out of his skin.
Please pray that we would be able to find out what's wrong.
Please pray that I would stay strong for him. I feel terribly fragile, myself. Sleep deprivation is not making my perspective any steadier.
Just pray.
Thank you, everybody.

The fun continues

We're doing exactly what we've done every single day all week. We're sitting and flipping though the channels on the TV. Hospital stays are boring.
Michael is not feeling well at all, and is feeling rather discouraged to find that he is not yet springing back to life.
The doctor has been unable to offer explaination for the continued pain. Michael is on meds to control the pain, just as often as they can be provided. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be an explaination for the pain that can be pinpointed. We're doing a lot of waiting. I was wondering today if Michael's grumpiness might be a sort of sign of improvement. I'd be downright irracable if I were him. He's far more pleasant than he ought to be.

For myself, I am trying to think of nothing outside of these four walls. In the past three weeks, I've hardly worked at all, and am therefore in no position to contemplate bills. Our exciting trip for the Lacrosse tournament is fading like Brigadoon, into the mist.
I'm not all that discouraged, to be honest. Mostly, I assume I'll panic once Michael is well. For the time being, I am living moment to moment.

I have no idea what to expect next. But I'll let you know.
Thanks for your prayers.

Repeat offenders

I said a very bad word on Monday, just before noon. Michael repeated me, which I could hardly begrudge him. Don wanted to try the word, too, but I forbade him.
It was the moment I finally decided that I needed to head back to the doctor with Michael.....and that likely meant more hospital time.
I am there now.
We were admitted so fast, you have no idea. My boy is still so very sick. Please pray for him.
I've no idea what to tell you. Either he will improve with antibiotics, or he will require surgery again.
That's the cheeriest update that I can muster on no sleep. I'll post as I can.
Thanks for your prayers, friends.

I ate a mastadon, only with less protein

If salt and fat were the keys to youth and slenderness, I would be Karen Carpenter.
Which is a joke in rather poor taste, I'll admit. Poor taste seems to be the operative phrase. I have developed the appetite of my youngest child: French fries and pizza, punctuated with the random candy bar.
What health kick?
You'd think it was some sort of hyperactive PMS, but for the lengthy duration. I suspect that a combination of stress, and tiredness, are to blame. It sure ain't my fault.
If you tell me that you've never eaten an entire bag of chips, I won't believe you. I've been doing the like, daily, since returning from the hospital.
Sleeping a lot might serve me better.

I watched a movie tonight that you so want to go get. It's a feel-good love story that is really quite funny. New In Town. Go get it. It's rated PG. My eldest rolled his eyes at the rating, but he laughed during the movie. I watched it while eating several bags of microwave popcorn, and a healthy dose of a bottle of white. And also an apple. And a Hershey bar.
What?

I was thinking of all of you out there in blogland, just yesterday, as I climbed over Tim's rooftop in a silk skirt and Cole Haan sandles. Ya just never have a camera when you need it! The only ingress to the addition is from the ladder, see. You have to climb
up the ladder,
over the little roof thingy, and
in thru the window.
(Prepositions, you know.)
I was worried about two issues, once I navegated the ladder part.
1.Slivers in my backside from the window, and
2.flashing the neighbors.
I think that perhaps the funniest part would have been where I was trying to mount the ladder for the rickety decent, whilst the man-I-love tried to steady the thing with one hand, and keep the wind from wreaking havok with my modesty, with the other. It would have have been uproarious, were we not in peril of plumeting to our deaths. I managed to be amused, whilst I flirted with death, and his careful hand upon my, er, skirt.

Michael is mostly recovered from his own near-death experience. He does seem to have retained a rather persistant pain in his abdomen, that may warrent a call to the doctor tomorrow. If someone like me complains of pain, it means that I am searching for creative conversation. If My Man-child complains of pain, it means that his body is going to fragment, or develop internal gangrene, or something. It isn't good. I'm certian the doctor will be delighted to receive my call tomorrow.

Now that you are up on my glamour-don'ts, and my eating habits, I shall bid you a very fond goodnight. You should comment, and tell me the most regretable thing you've eaten lately. Or just leave me to my misery. Either way.

Men. Ya gotta love 'em.

I had the opportunity to tell my beloved man about the conversation I had with Heidi the other day.
The one where she suggested that she and I get together after my honeymoon, so I can tell her all about it.
Do you know what the man I love said about that?
I'll see if you can guess:

a. "You'd better not talk to your girlfriends about what we do in private!"

b. "Get me a beer, babe. The game's about to start."

c. "Just tell her we'll post it on YouTube."


Right.
That man didn't even pause a beat, before he replied with the third option, there. Who thought he was a pretty funny guy?

In addition to my lunch with Tim

I'm planning a romantic weekend getaway with Kara. What could be better?
She is coming with me to the illustrious resort town of Park City, Utah, for the lacrosse tournament this month. We have been condo shopping together. I imagine quiet evenings by the pool, or the fire. I'm not picky. The boys are imagining running amok with all the other young lacrosse players who will dominate the otherwise pristine landscape. It's going to be rather different in actuality, than in my sanguine imaginings.
Alas.
I do think that some aspects of my whimsical imaginings are possible. Such as drinking wine, eating good food, and possibly the pool/fireplace. Those dreams can come true.

I spoke on the phone with my good friend, Heidi, today. She is anticipating my upcoming nuptials almost as much as I am. Her thoughts are running to lingerie parties, and after-honeymoon debriefings. Which is an hilarious play on words, come to think of it. The lingerie parties sound appropriate, if somewhat risque.
The debriefing, I expect, will be less of a public spectacle, and will certainly not take place anywhere near my dear girlfriends.
I'm just sayin.'
I was thinking of the amusing conglomeration of people who might merit an invitation to such a bawdy event. The party, not the debriefing. Such a guest list could range from my Mother and Yvonne (who would affect some posture of tolerant shock), to my Christian friends (who would gently amuse themselves with double entendre), to my less restricted friends (also mostly Christian, come to think of it) (who would cause Queen Latifa to blush a deep and becoming pink with their advice.)

Patsy came by for a visit this afternoon. Don't you wonder where I find the time for such a robust social life? It's no wonder I can't get to my yard work. Anyway, she had the brilliant idea of cleaning my house twice a month until I'm married, just so I'm free to focus on the other things I need to tend to. She is out of her ever-loving-mind; I declined. I did manage to talk her into cooking me dinner next Monday, which I figured would be equally delightful. She cleaned my kitchen while we talked. Love her.

Oh, look at the time. I need to go consult my social calendar to see how I might avoid responsibility today. Blogging is a good start, though.

Wednesday, a normal day

I woke up.
This seemed a rather large insult to recover from. But the promise of coffee was enough to pry my eyes open.
That hospital stay seems to have caught up with me. Yesterday I felt as though I were suffering some post-traumatic stress disorder. Actually, I have no idea what that feels like. All I know is that I was so tired that I wanted to weep in the fetal position. I was in bed last night by 8:30. That was after the nap I took in the afternoon.
I'm not really getting much done in terms of productivity.

So, I stumbled to the coffee pot this morning, and began the administration of that lifeblood. My plan de jour involves work, and a return to the gym. I have not worked out for nearly two weeks, and the truth is that I don't care to ever sweat again. Mostly, all I care about is sleep. However, that wedding date is drawing closer, and something needs to be done about my pursuit for the body of a 20-year-old.
I need to go in to work today. Yesterday's nap schedule interfered with my job.
Tim has invited me to lunch today, too. Clearly, I have no time to clean house. I think that Patsy might come over this afternoon to drink Crystal Light and complain about our pampered lives. That should be fun.

This delayed reaction to my hospital stay is inconvenient. It would appear that adrenaline has played a large role in my existence of late, and now I have to recover. Michael is having no such difficulty. Perhaps that's because he gets to lay in bed all day. He has to eat and sleep...and move about from time to time.

He had a follow-up appointment with the surgeon yesterday. She proclaimed him whole, and set him off to address his future, with all the energy he can muster. He even went to Lacrosse practice last night, where he attempted to participate. That kid is skin and bones! He found that the energy required even to jog, was more than he had. He made a gallant effort, though. The result was an increase in his evening appetite, and a really good night's sleep. He has the joyous goal of gaining 15 pounds.

Don has been the social man of late. After spending last week at Tim's house, this home seems rather dull in comparison. Don vastly prefers anywhere but here. He spent his day yesterday with Kara and her kids. He did seem glad to be back at lacrosse last night, though. Perhaps we'll settle into some semblance of our normal routine before too long.

So many of you have left me messages, and offered encouragement to us, during the past week's adventure. I am afraid that I owe rather a lot of phone calls. May I think you en masse? We really do have the most amazing set of friends. No tragedy was ever so surrounded by support! I am grateful, and most assuredly in your debt. Thank you for loving us so much and so well.

On drug use, and my life

Morphine looks like lots of fun. I don;t think I've ever had it, myself. Michael was quite entertaining on the stuff. He was talking about random things that made no sense, but kept his visitors rapt with attention. One such turned out to be a case where he misplaced a word. He was talking about Tennessee, a place he's never been. The next day, when asked what inspired him, he clued us in to the fact that he really had meant "surgery", but couldn't think of the right word. Yvonne brought him a shirt which says, "I Survived Tennessee".

He's eating. It's a good thing, I'm told. That boy is skin and bones. We have a follow-up visit with the surgeon this afternoon. Shall we can her the "Tennesseean"?

I am groggy this morning. It's the allergy meds, I think.
We're all about drugs around here. Zyrtec, Morphine, caffeine... we're fun.

I'm having this sense of falling down Alice's Rabbit hole. Here I am all stressed about finances, working, and trying to pay for my children's lacrosse habits....yet, discussing new furniture, massive home additions, and speakers by the pool. It's surreal.
Have you ever read Alice In Wonderland? You really should. I believe that was something of a drug-induced tale, come to think of it. Opium, or some such. The story is profound, and the applications to real life analogies nearly endless.
Right now I feel like Alice. Life is a parade of fantastical sights, and that elusive white rabbit, and his clock, keep leading me deeper.
As long as the Queen of Hearts doesn't decapitate me, I'll probably come out alright.
It's hard to keep anything like perspective though, with my feet in two different worlds.

5,4,3,2,1

I got new carpet in the living room. Now the entire floor is a coffee stain color, rather than just splotches. I am very excited about this development.
Have you ever noticed that one never gets one's house in good order, until one decides to move? Why is that?

My house, and the piles of stuff, are continuing to instill a sense of panic whenever my mind touches on all that needs to be done. I am moving in two and a half months.

Tim teases me about the way I count down to exciting events in my life. Anticipation is more than half the fun, I think. Remember those construction-paper chains we'd make when we were 5? The kind where you pull off one link a day until Christmas? I would totally do that. I have a little calendar in my bible that counts down the days until I'm married. I cross off each day in the evening. I am seriously like a little kid in that.

The construction job at Tim's is progressing quite rapidly. While I was in the hospital, so much happened! The walls are framed in, the tub is in the bathroom, and the trusses have been perched on top of it all. It's a real, live house. I would count down to the completion of that, but no one really knows when a construction job will be done. Least of all the home owner.

Good thing there's not much going on around here, eh? Additions, hospital stays, moving, marriage, school, work, and general parenting. I'm tired just thinking about being me.

Michael is needing to gain back 10-15 pounds. Once that appetite returns, you should hide your small children, as they are likely to look like a welcome source of protein to this skinny kid. I'd love to give him a bit of my extra. Alas. It's coming off, though. Trauma is great for weight loss.

Geez, what I wouldn't do for a date! I've seen my man most every day, but I have not had him to myself for a long time. Did I tell you that he's taking me to see Romeo and Juliet? I'm counting down to that one. Which should not surprise you at all.

Do you know what word I've been thinking about? "Bovine." I love words. This particular one is slightly random, perhaps. Who can figure out the workings of the mind? Bovine. There is no discernible reason for that, except that the word popped into my mind, and tickled my fancy. I need to figure out how to work that into my conversation today. This should not bee too difficult. I am in Idaho, after all.

Perhaps I could add another unrelated topic. Or perhaps not. I shall release you from my spell. Go in peace.