Two days ago, when we were leaving school, Wallace asked me if I had a baby in my tummy. When I said that I didn’t, but Aunt Mo did, he said that HE had a baby in HIS tummy and the baby was making him tired.

Apparently it was a boy and I think he was going to name it Carolina. When I tried to point out that boys and daddies could not have babies in their tummies, only girls and mommies, he got very, very irate.

That night he found both Baby and Baby Cha-Cha (formerly, and slightly more sanely, named Malcolm) and dug through his room until he also found both their bottles. He then fed both his babies loudly as if to just THROW IT IN MY FACE that I would DARE tell him that he couldn’t do something.

Confidence. My son Loretta has it.

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Monday night at ten I let the dogs out as usual. I wasn’t feeling well (stupid MMR). At midnight Samson started barking at me and obviously asking to go out, which is very unlike him. I looked at the clock and knew that TT would be home in five minutes and decided not to let Sam out until then. He’s an incredibly smart little guy and if I got up and let him out when he barked he’d bark ten times a night just to have something to do.

Big mistake.

Before TT got home he had pooped all over the downstairs. All over. Some of it looked like it had blood in. I cleaned it up and Sam got sent outside with lots of apologies from me. Then he came in and ate and went upstairs with me to bed. Then he puked everywhere.

I cleaned up again and watched him for a while and the worst seemed to be over, but I quarantined him in the kitchen with the easy-to-clean lino just in case. Yesterday morning I woke up to a veritable lake of piss and bloody shit and vomit.

Off we go to the vet and the whole morning Sam was refusing water and sick and sick and sick. At one point I thought he lost control of his bladder.

In the end, it was a simple bacteria that both he and Bruno are now being treated for. Some squirrel or rabbit brought it through our yard and because of the humidity this year things aren’t dying off in the environment as fast as they usually do.

I really thought that poor Sammy was having something major.

Instead he and Bruno have been put on the bland diet, which they both believe must be the diet that they have in heaven for dogs. I’ve made up eight days of portions for two dogs of the rice and hamburger mix and I had no idea how much Bruno ate until I had to boil it all and count it out in cups.

Yesterday I scrubbed the floors countless times and didn’t get more than a half an hour’s uninterrupted sleep after midnight on Monday.

I’m very, very glad Sam is going to be okay. I’m also very, very glad that it was him projectile vomiting and having the runs and not Bruno. Little dog vs big dog.

My hands are raw from scrubbing. Ugh.

Poor, poor Sam. Luckily today he hasn’t had any accidents and has eaten his food and kept everything down. Hooray!

That is my doggy update.

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Sum Sum Summertime

Mountain Head says:  I hope yours is going as well as ours!

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Tell me, dears, that this happens to you as well.   This happens to me constantly, from things as simple as ordering a pizza through all aspects of school.

Say I need someone to fix the whoozits on my car.  I google a car shop that services my model of car and call the garage and say, “Hi!  I need someone to fix my whoozits.  Do you fix whoozitses?”

“Why, yes we do!”

“Okay, my whoozits is blue.  Do you fix the blue ones?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great!  When are you open?”

“Every day, all day.  Bring it in anytime.”

“Wow!  Are you sure I don’t need an appointment?”

“Nope.  Bring ‘er in.  We’ll fix ‘er.”

“Great!”

Two weeks later I get a moment to breathe and make plans so that I can take my car in.  I call juuuuust to double-check because I know how things are when I get near them; that is, they go wrong.

“Hi!  I called two weeks ago.  I’d like to bring my car in today to get the whoozits fixed.”

“Today?  No. We can’t get you in today.  We’re booked solid through 3014.  Also, we do whoozitses, but only if they are red and accompanied by a mark of death.  Without that we can’t do it.”

“What about the guy I talked to two weeks ago who said that you would fix my blue whoozits anytime??”

“Well, MA’AM, I don’t know WHO you talked to but we DON’T DO THAT.”

“Do you know anywhere that does?”

“No.  Bye!”

This is how every friggin discussion involving Getting Things Done goes**; from summer classes to preschools to the aforementioned pizza purchases.  I found out yesterday, after three weeks of quietly heh-heming in the corner, that nobody is going to help me get the observation hours I need before school begins.  Despite them telling us during open house that they would TOTALLY help.  They’ll TOTALLY help!  Right.

The CPR class I was supposed to take today has gone horribly wrong.

I have time.  This is not dire.  These things always work out.  I will start school as planned one way or the other, but for cripes’ sake why is it always like herding cats to do the simplest things??

Is it like this for you?  Do you sometimes order a pizza only to have it not show up?  Or show up ice cold?  Or be missing half your food order?  Or get to the dealership only to find out it’s twice as much as you were quoted?  What has happened to the world?

Now I get to cold-call all sorts of SLPs in my area and not only ask to come and sit in the corner and watch them work, but inquire as to their dues stats.  I have to ask strangers to allow me to impose upon them, and then I have to ask for proof that they have paid their money for 2008 for their certification.  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

It’s like having to call and ask people how old they are, or how much they weigh.  I’m guaranteed to piss somebody off here, and with my luck it will be someone who I need something from professionally later.

Dude.

**With the most recent and very notable exception of the guy who fixed the garage, who showed up immediately, fixed it thoroughly, charged a reasonable price, and rode off into the sunset having earned his place in the heavenly sphere for all time next to baby Jesus.

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TT just called me at work early this morning and told me a story.

He went in at 8:00 or so and opened up the doors to Wallace’s room to get him up for the day.  Sometimes our kid gets up at 7:00 and can’t be got back down, and sometimes we can’t seem to roust him.  These days seem to be the polar opposites of the days we need him to wake up early/sleep late.  At 8:20 after hearing no stirring, TT went in and got up on the top bunk and gave Wallace a kiss and said good morning.  So follows the exchange:

Wallace: Dad?
TT: Yes, Wallace?
Wallace: This is not your room.
TT: I know.
Wallace: I would like you to go lay down on the couch for a minute and have a little snooze.
TT: How about I have a shower and you can sleep a little more?
Wallace: Okay, Dad.

Kid cracks me up.

Heck, it beats crying and whining, though, right?  Although, from what I hear that came later.

Having a kid just totally rocks.

Oh, and last night he was ordered to use the bathroom (he HATES that, but has been occasionally peeing his pants, so…).  TT followed up by beginning to count, “One.    Two.”

Wallace ran into the bathroom and shouted angrily, “I am! I am! So SEE YA, BUDDY.”, and slammed the door. 

 Maybe we shouldn’t let him be so mouthy, but he’s not swearing and we can’t crush every single outlet he has for being pissed off that we’re pushing him around.  He’s got to do what we say, but he doesn’t have to like it.

BUDDY.

Seriously, I cannot fathom a time when someone says “How about another kid?” and I say “Nah”.  They are so fantastic.  I can’t wait for the next one.

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As much as we’re running around with our hair on fire right now, things are actually going very well.  It’s all moving forward.  It may be at a snail’s pace, but it all moves forward.

The biggest happiness right now is Wallace.  He’s three-almost-four in September and my goodness is he a mighty, mighty kid.  He’s got all the usual three-almost-four things going on, including Olympic level dawdling at bedtime, a firm refusal to nap at school and a horror of anything even vaguely vegetable.  He also is developing a sense of humor that, as long as you don’t mind being silly, translates to adults.  Rather than us being funny and getting joy from him laughing, he is now being funny back and enjoying cracking us up.

Last night Wallace and I spent some time laughing while he had his bath.  He would make a face and then I would make a face back and he would collapse in the giggles.  If there is any sound better than the belly laughter of a little one, I don’t know what it is.  After the bath he was being silly and we started repeating the rhyme Humpty Dumpty (which I think they are learning in school).  Wallace calls him Dumpty Dumpty.

At one point we started making silly faces and laughing and reciting and laughing and Wallace got overly excited and fell backward on his but in a heap of towels.  He looked at me with bright, shining eyes and a huge grin and said, “I had a great fall just like Dumpty Dumpty!” and followed it with peals of laughter.

It was, as is almost everything Wallace, awesome.

Also, on the drive home from school I told Wallace that he was my favorite little boy.  He said:

“You are not my favorite little girl!”

“Oh, no!  Can I be your favorite Mommy?”

“Oh!  Yes, Mommy, you can!  You are the best mommy in the whole best wide world!”

Of course, I immediately purchased him a dirtbike.  Not really.  But I totally would have.

This summer has been a wash of fun times, laughter, trips to the zoo and eating outside in the sun.  We’ve had rainy days indoors, impressive storms, sudden bursts of perfect weather, and more ice cream than you could cram into an elephant. 

Dear July, please stay for a while, because we love you.

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Last Friday TT went out to get his car out of the garage.  Our garage door is actually mentioned in the Song of Solom0n and is made of adobe paper mache.  We have “fixed it”, well, we had the neighbor “fix” it, several times.  The word “fix” is in quotes because, while the next door neighbor considers himself to be quite handy and he works making over people’s homes, we have yet to have something he’s “fixed” not wind up worse than it was before he “fixed” it.  What he does is temporarily hold things together until they break even more spectacularly at a later date.

So, a while ago he “fixed” the garage.  Yet, on Friday when TT went out to use the garage door it patently refused to open without threatening to crush both he and his similarly-sad-shaped VW Bug.  This created a problem, because Mr. Troublemaker was due to a teaching gig not long after.  Hmmmmm.

Our solution was for TT to bike to the train station using my bike.  There he would lock my bike with his bike lock (seeing as I have the keys for MY bike lock with me at work).  He would then drive the car to his teaching gig through the city, stopping off at my office to hand me my helmet, Wallace’s helmet, and the keys to the aforementioned lock.  I would take the train home, then bike to get Wallace and bike us back from there.

That bit went swimmingly.  Unfortunately so did the bike ride home because it was raining.  Blerg.

At the same time, I have a friend at work who recommended a magic man who came out to our home while we weren’t home and not only did he fix the problem (broken ancient springs made out of Chinese Porcelain), but he fixed the “fix” we had going with the rapidly disintegrating door and now it works better than it did on Thursday.  He left a bill in the garage and was gone like the Christmas elf he is by the time Wallace and I got home.  Wet, but home.  Huzzah!

An unfortunate side effect of the whole debacle is that I couldn’t get my computer home on Friday, so I was computerless this weekend.  We had a busy weekend and, excepting the occasional rapid strike pirate-like purloining of TT’s computer, I was without email.   This lead to me not responding very quickly to an email and undoubtedly the author now thinks I’m a pig.

Here is the thing (well the two things); the first is that the piggy component in my life is on the rise.  There are plenty of folks who have come to rely on me where, due to the immanent beginnings of school, will no longer be able to call on me as much for support.  I feel a vague sense of disquiet about this because, like anyone, I don’t like being thought ill of.  I dislike the idea that someone is out there right now thinking that I’ve turned into kind of a selfish let-downer person.

At the same time, I can’t even describe to you what this year has been like emotionally and physically.  I’m wiped, and yet at the same time trying to gear up for a marathon of epic proportions.  One I’m not entirely sure I can do, yet one that happily has the entire future of our family riding on it.  Hip-hip hooray.  

I have to get a CPR class, I have to make up seven hours of observations and dear lord I have to start updating my knowledge of neurology because we’re kicking off the Superbowl with that gem along with Anatomy and other happy subjects.  I cannot get the people I need to respond to me and my days are full of follow-up phone calls that go unanswered.  I have only sixthousandhundredmillion forms left to fill out, most of which can be summed up with the phrase “You know that after you sign this we will actually own your DNA, right?”

All this must be done before classes commence and TT and I still operate on primarily opposite schedules.  This means that when I’m not at work I’m alone with a three year old whose needs trump everyone else’s.

So, the crushing weight of all my responsibilities has me turned inward a bit.  I cannot take on the extra work that has previously shadowed my life.  I took it all on willingly when I had the resources, but now that I no longer have them, things must go.  Not because I don’t care or because I’m an asshole, but because it is what it is. 

Part the second involves something a little different.  You see, I’ve changed.  No, I’m not breaking up with you, but I think you should know that I’ve changed.  A week or so ago I started having bad depressive episodes.  Desperate, scrabbling moments where I knew something was profoundly wrong but didn’t understand why. 

Now I know, the integration process continues and I have changed. 

The new me is not quite so into getting a sense of self from service to others.  This has led to a sort of not fitting into my own life.  I’ve gone from someone who defines themselves by making other lives easier and improving life for others to someone who is more interested in a little more self satisfaction.   My life was not made for my new self, and that is okay, but it does create a disconnect between what fills my days and what makes me feel happy, relaxed, content and successful.

Take my job, for example.  Being a secretary always gave me a sense of satisfaction, even when it drove me crazy, because I was making someone’s day easier.  Now it seems like a complete and utter waste of time.  I don’t give a shit about taking orders and putting myself out so that someone has a smoother day.  In fact, not much sounds less fun to me.

I was having depressive episodes because I kept trying to find joy in places where joy can no longer be found.  This is not bad (although, no doubt, those who I am no longer serving will find it so), it merely is.  The moment I realized that I now dislike many things I have always enjoyed, the depressive episodes stopped immediately.  I am who I am, not who I was. 

I think you may find it surprising that the person I am now is even vaguely uncomfortable talking about these changes.  I no longer am a compulsive truth-teller.

On the other hand, the “Victim Here” sign appears to be gone from my neck.  People are suddenly pointedly not bullying me.  I am no longer someone who looks like they give a shit what anyone thinks.  Surprisingly, this is because I’m slowly morphing into someone who is much less bothered to give a shit what anyone thinks.  It’s delightful and disturbing at the same time.

Hi.  My name is Krissy.  You don’t know me, but I’d like to be friends.

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The house can stop breaking down now.

Seriously.

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Yesterday, Wallace played his first real pracical joke.  Also, he’s has gotten the dogs to do his bidding! He’s been getting up in the mornings and letting them out of their kennels, then I think he’s been plying them with treats.

Yesterday morning TT woke up to Bruno standing over his face and barking at him, which Bruno NEVER does. Then Bruno raced downstairs. Even in his befuddled state, TT knew that Bruno was pulling a Lassie, so got up and followed him down.

As he was stumbling around the dining room half blind from exhaustion, from under the table right behind him came a huge “RAOOOOOOOARRR!” and Wallace jumped out at him!

Scared him out of his wits. Wallace had been lying in wait and played a practical joke and it totally worked!

It’s awesome to have a kid.

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If you have a seven hour gig to do and you’re a trombone player and your son headbutts you, hard, in the mouth and splits your lip a few hours before you have to play.

That is not good.

If TT ever offers to armwrestle you, don’t take him up on it.  Because he is a badass.

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