Friday, November 30, 2007

Just to let y'all know...

I'm sorry I haven't been replying to comments. I'm only up for such short periods. Mostly, I'm in bed, dozing, or coughing, depending on which version you prefer. So, I tend to post, then go pass out for a few hours, get up, read, pass out again... you know the routine. So, here's another of my quick bursts.

I got the results of the X-Rays, and so far, it looks clear. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to crawl back into bed and curl up under the quilts and sleep. Or something.

Oh, and just to make y'all chuckle, the Impossible Son has started, for lack of a better term, styling his hair. He wets it, and carefully combs it to look the way he wants. (I'm trying real hard not to giggle here, because it makes me cough, but it's so FUNNY!) So, this morning, I'm driving the kids to school, I had just dropped off the Impertinent Daughter, and Mr. Manzie says, "Mom, we have to go back home."

"Why?" I said, peeking at him in the kid mirror I keep clipped to the rearview mirror.

"You'll see when we get there."

"No. If we go home, you'll be late. Why do we need to go home?" I'm thinking, did you spill your drink on your pants? Are you going to throw up? Is this going to make me want to cry? Because I really wasn't feeling up to dealing with whatever crisis was imminent, you know?

*Big dramatic sigh* "I need to comb my hair ...again!"


"Huh?" was my intelligent reply.

"I need to comb my hair!" he insisted. "It's...messed up!"

I look in the mirror. It looks just like it did when we left. "Nope, sorry, not going home for that, dude. Just fix it with your fingers."

"MOM!! I have to look good for my girlfriends!! DUH!! I can't do it with my fingers!!"

Yes, I almost had an accident while struggling not to burst out laughing, coughing, or otherwise imploding. "Yes, officer, that's right, I ran into the Johnson's house because I was having a coughing fit induced by my struggle not to laugh about my son's hair care issues."

That would go over well. Apparently, the Impossible Son has a harem. This explains why, when I go to pick him up, he's surrounded by a circle of giggling six year old girls. He's very gentlemanly with them, bowing to them when he says goodbye, kissing their hands before he steals their toys... *shakes head*

Okay, I have to go lay down now. Have a good day, y'all!

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

He loves me, really... I think... yeah...

Okay, so... the Husbandly One is understandably worried about me. And he's feeling sort of... helpless. Now, to me, this should translate to something constructive like... a back rub. Oh gods, y'all, I would kill for a good back rub, because you know, with all the coughing, I feel like someone's been whacking my back and chest with a baseball bat! A back rub... yeah... Maybe with warm oil...

*tries not to whimper*

Anyhoo... a back rub would be good. But, THO is also concerned about how tired I've been, and my lack of bounce and feistiness, etc. So... his solution? He stopped at a Walgreens on the way home.

*insert ominous music here*

The first I knew of it, he came into the bedroom with a glass in his hand. A glass of something cold, and fizzy, with a nice, citrusy sort of smell. However, he had this sort of... manic grin on his face. You know, the kind serial killers get when they're giving you the sleeping drug that will knock you out just enough so you're helpless, but not enough to let you be unconscious and not be able to scream when they turn the chainsaw on? Yeah... that one.

He brought it to me in a way that made me think it should have been in a crystal glass on a silver platter, and he should have been in a coat and tails, with white kid gloves on... except, he'd just look so totally wrong like that.

*tries not to laugh*

Anyway, I looked at it suspiciously and said, "What's that?"

"Look!" he said with enthusiasm. "It's fizzy!"

"Yeah, so's nitro," I said, frowning. "What is this?"

"It's good for you!"

"Then I'm definitely not drinking it," I said, getting nervous. "What were those papers you made me sign yesterday?"

He shook his head and said, "It'll boost your immune system! It's got lots of vitamin C and other good stuff in there! Drink it! You'll drink one every day... right?"

Uh-oh, he's using that "I'm the man, you're the woman," tone of voice. And he's got that manic, "I'm doing this because I'm trying like heck not to panic because you're sick and I can't fix you," look on his face, so, I pretty much just suck it up and pick the glass up.

"Okey dokey," I said and took a sip.

It... was... VILE!!!

ZOMG, it was so awful, I almost cannot describe the depths of awfulness it contained. It smelled so good to be so vile!! It was like... drinking flying monkey piss, I swear!! If flying monkeys pissed, that is what it would taste like, I kid you not! It wasn't that it tasted like that immediately. It hits your tongue, and for a nano-second you think, "well, kinda bland, but... not too bad..."

Then the aftertaste hits you, and ...*gag* Like drinking sweat, eau de gym sock, hangover tongue, with hints of grimy armpit...

And yes, I drank the whole damn glass.


The things I do for love. Because he stood there and watched me drink it. I think I'm going to get a plant to put on my nightstand, where I can safely dump the damn stuff... except, I think it might kill it.

It lets him feel like he's doing something to help me. So... *grits teeth* I'll... drink as much as I can, and tip the rest out the window. Or make sure packets conveniently disappear during the day.

To make up for it, he made me a nice, hot toddy. So, I'm pleasantly squiffed right now. Perhaps he did it in the wrong order. Hot toddy first, get Jo squiffed, then give her the vile, nasty, Snape-worthy potion. Better yet, skip the toddy, give the whiskey to me straight and with my extremely low alcohol tolerance (i.e. non-existent, because Jo is the world's cheapest date), I won't care or even notice the vile, nasty, Snape-worthy potion, I'll knock it back and say, "Gimme another! WOO!!"

Maybe I'll just hide the damn box before tomorrow and give him my best innocent look when he asks me if I know where it is.

Yeah, that'll work. Heh...

Friday, November 23, 2007

Thanksgiving Blues....

We were supposed to drive into Houston today for Thanksgiving. I was really looking forward to seeing my folks, and my sisters... okay, well, the Blonde Sister, mostly, but I'm glad to see the Practical Sister, too, though she tends to pick at me... and criticize... I know she means well, somewhere in there, but... it's hard not to bristle.

However, I've been doing a bit too much the past couple of days, and so, I've had a wee bit of a relapse. The good news is, the stuff in my chest is breaking up, finally, so now I'm coughing with purpose! The bad news is... we had to stay home.


The Husbandly One let me think I was going to make a pie today, then artfully steered me into the living room to watch TV. After a while, he came into the living room to look at me and said, "You are feeling bad."

No, I wasn't feeling feisty enough to snap back with sarcasm. I just sighed and said, "How can you tell?"

"You've been sitting still for the past thirty minutes, and you're too tired to snark at me."

So he put me to bed.

I am thankful that...

... sometimes, my kids can get along when they know we need the break, and they will help out, whether it's helping in the kitchen, or helping their sneaky papa make sure Mom stays put by cuddling with her, or asking her to listen to them read a book, etc...

... that my husband is not only a good cook, but he enjoys cooking, and is actually quite efficient at it. He made Thanksgiving dinner without our usual team-cooking effort, and I am not only extremely impressed, but I'm very proud of him, too. It was delicious! (he vacuums, too, and actually picks things up off the floor, rather than vacuuming around them!)...

... that we are living in a house that is sturdy, sound, and snug. Because we have lived in houses that weren't, and though we managed, I have to tell you, living in a house that doesn't have a howling gale of a draft going through it during the winter is a gift in and of itself!...

... that the Practical Sister was too tired after Thanksgiving dinner was over to call me and give me a piece of her mind for being too sick to travel. After which, she would then scold me for not taking better care of myself, remind me that I need to rest if I expect to get better, and what the heck am I doing on the phone talking when I should be in bed resting and giving my poor, abused throat a break?? Yes, Bets is a bundle of contradictions, she drives me nuts, but sometimes, I think I actually love her.

And yes, I am going back to bed now.



Monday, November 19, 2007

We are starving... STARVING!!!

Cats are sometimes the most pathetic creatures on the planet, especially male cats.

I took Miss Yuki in to be spayed today (no, no, I am done with having a herd of cats. Three are just fine, thank you, and I refuse to lose another female to uterine cancer!). This meant no food after 10 pm last night, which mean picking up the food bowls and water dish at 9.

I'd fed them at 8:30, so I figured hey, no problem.


When I picked up their dishes, Calcifer and Muta especially were all like, "Hey, wait, what?? You're picking up the food?? You're not putting more in them? What is this??"

Now, dogs are different. When you pick up a dog's food and water, they're like, "hey, what? Wait a minute..." then they look at you mournfully and go, "well... okay... fine. If you insist. You're the master, and I really, really don't understand why you're doing this but... okay." Then they go lay down in a huff and stare at you mournfully, occasionally going to where their food dish was and look around hopefully, as if it will all rematerialize, then return sadly to where they can stare at you mournfully some more. And that's it. You might get a few hopeful bounces with a lot of tail wagging every time you go to the kitchen, but eventually, they figure out it ain't gonna happen, and stop.

Cats, though, are more... proactive.

Every time you get up, whether it's to go to the kitchen, to the bedroom, the bathroom, or just to scratch your butt is met with cats leaping to attention and prowling around your feet, complaining noisily about their mistreatment. "We're STARVING!! We're DYING!! Can't you see the flesh just MELTING OFF OUR BONES??? We're little kitty-cat SKELETONS!! Oh, you cruel human, how can you do this to us???"

You go in the kitchen, and they are there, swarming your feet, trying to force you to head to the cabinet where the food is, crying and meowing pathetically the entire time in a cat chorale of gastronomic distress. "Oh, please, please, PLEASE!! We are DYING!! You MUST feed us before we whither away, our bodies shriveling into little dried husks!! You will feel MOST GUILTY when we die of hunger! Who will warm your feet? Who will knock over your water glass? WHO WILL LEAVE WHITE HAIR ALL OVER YOUR BLACK SWEATER??"

I can't tell you how many times I was awakened during the night with the intense feeling I was being... stared at, and opened my eyes to see a feline nose inches from mine. I could just hear the kitty hypnosis.


The Husbandly One got up for a late night piss, and I heard muffled cursing from the bathroom, then he said, "Don't let Calcifer get in the bed!"

That was enough to get me up, because I had a feeling what had happened. I grabbed a towel and threw it over the cat as he ran out of the bathroom. Yep, he jumped up on the toilet seat at the wrong time, all while meowing piteously at THO about his situation. Interrupted in mid-yowl, pretty much.

Getting up for any reason, to answer a call of nature, or a call of child, was complicated by felines winding between our feet and trying to herd us to the kitchen, all while meowing in minor thirds about their mistreatment. And having to listen to it all morning long while trying to eat breakfast, trying to make lunch for the kids, trying to just walk through the house without falling... it's a good thing I like cats!

So, when I got back from dropping the kids off at school, and Miss Yuki off at the vet's, I fully expected two very hungry and talkative felines at the door to drag me to the kitchen.


I walk in. "Hey, who's hungry?"


Now, if it had been dogs, I would have been met with noisy, "Yay, food!!" barks, much tail wagging, jumping around, and other demonstrations of canine joy.

I walked into the kitchen to find two feline corpses draped dramatically over the dishwasher door and the floor. Calcifer barely moved his head. "Sorry... can't talk... too weak... so hungry... the end... isn't far... I loved you... goodbye..."

*insert eye-roll here*

I got out the food dishes and set them on the floor. Muta opened one eye. "Oh... now you're going to feed us... when it's... too late. Ah... the cruelty of a she such as you... ah... goodbye, cruel world."


I poured food into the dishes and was nearly bowled over by two feline bodies flying over my shoulders. They pretty much just shoved their entire faces into the bowls and inhaled the food. Geez, maybe you should chew first??

They are now pretty much laying about and sneering at me. "Yes, you finally fed us, but we are not speaking to you, because you have abused us by starving us! So, just for that, we will not warm your pretty little toes as you type, nor will we try to lay on your keyboard. HA!! TAKE THAT!!"

Oh, yes, I am well and duly punished. *snorts* Just wait until it's THEIR turn!!


Monday, November 5, 2007

The Things We Learn...

I can get a snapshot of what's going on in my daughter's life with glimpses into her sketchbook. One day, there might be a sketch of a girl looking at a whirling dervish that's flying around her feet, and she's saying, "Geez, all I said was I ate the last bag of cheddar bunnies! SHEESH!"

Another, there might be a figure that looks suspiciously like me, bent over a computer keyboard saying, "Just one more paragraph, let me finish one more paragraph and I'll make you some chicken nuggets, geez!!"

Today, there was a very irritated looking girl with her hands on her hips scowling at two rather excited looking boys. And she was saying, "Yes, they're real. Yes, they're small, and no, you can't touch them unless you want a broken nose!"

*sniff* I'm so proud!! She's just like her mom!! And yes, she's talking about her schnoobs!

*laughs heartily* I'm going to have to ask her about that one!