Monday, November 22, 2004

If you weren't crazy before...


First of all, let me just say that Craig, my beloved, wonderful, saint of a husband is going to come across looking like an absentee jackass here. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Today's pdoc (that would be psychiatrist for those of you who are out of the loop--you know, doctor for crazy people, or nurse practitioner if you are lucky--they actually take their time and listen) appointment was originally supposed to be in the early afternoon. As in I would take a half day off of school to go become sane and then pick up the kids like nothing had happened.

Well, stupid guilt from being "sick" last Thursday made me feel the need not to miss school again so soon. Wasn't that big of me. Heh. So I changed my appointment time for one that, of course, I couldn't possibly get to on time. (If we had our stupid flying cars like we were supposed to have had by 2000, then I could have. Thanks, astrophysics. Thanks for nothing.)

Ideally, Craig would have picked up Stinker Pants and Dig Dug the Monkey Boy, but since he is quitting his job in two weeks, he seems to feel that leaving early would make a bad impression. {I don't know either.} So that meant leaving school before the busses, racing to the sitter, putting two kids in car seats, and then racing, as fast as possible to the other end of the city. (Have I mentioned that Kansas City is one of the most guilty metropolitan areas when it comes to urban sprawl? Yeah, yeah, environment, highways, health, blah, blah, blah. It's REALLY FUCKING INCONVENIENT is the real problem of urban sprawl. Nice planning, people. Really. Round of applause for making a city so completely spread out you could just about fit Rhode Island in it.)

But alas, mommy managed to weave through the traffic, the construction, the smashed road kill that I was not about to let touch my tires... and all without being "helped" by a police officer, a la a few weeks ago. {A story for another time...}

My pdoc (yes, she's a nurse practitioner, but I'm used to saying pdoc, and she's my "care provider" so I will call her the fucking pope if I want), was really understanding about the kids. I have to say, I didn't expect that. She's got older kids, and she dresses in brocade and wears expensive, exotic jewelry, and make-up. My god, she even wears make-up! (I don't know that Maren quite knew what to think when she saw a woman with make-up on.)

But this woman who appears to be so stodgy and upstanding, was impressively patient as the demon Beelzebub sprang forth from Grant, as Athena from Zeus. My child didn't need to provide the opportunity to show pdoc that I'm crazy... she knows that... that's why I go visit her. That and I like her couch. Beelzebub (formerly known as Grant, formerly known as Dig Dug the Monkey Boy) realized today, because it was most convenient to realize this at a moment when mommy was utterly at a loss to do anything to stop him, that he really IS in charge. The decision to rule ones troops only has to be made and then the ordering, which took the form of screaming fits, toy throwing, and general shrieking (I feel so lucky), commences and the troops fall into place.

Unfortunately for Major General Beelzebub (the very model of one), General Hera, his commanding officer, known for fits of rage, jealousy, anger, and enough sweet hugs to keep MG Beelzebub guessing as to the true intentions, had her own plan for every item in the room (which was hers because, after all, she saw it).

All this while trying to explain to pdoc that, "No, I don't think I want to chop my hand off anymore. But I am feeling some anxiety." You know, she never even asked the cause of the anxiety... oh yes... that would have been during the great pen dual of 2004. The General felt that she was being mutinied, and had somehow managed to not only convince someone with no language skills that he wanted to dual, but she actually managed to teach him HOW to do it. {Hmm... Didn't the US take a gold in fencing this year?}

By the time we left, Florida and pdoc's office had a lot in common. She, naturally, insisted that I leave the mess, she'd get it. I couldn't possibly. It's only right this very minute that it occurs to me that she probably wanted me to get the hell out. I just wanted to clean up after my spawn.

And then, at the appointment desk, I mean really. She heard the shrieking. She saw that every 38 seconds I was running back down the hall to get the Major General, she could hear the General talking loudly about wanting to watch, "Miilawn." I would think that would be something of an encouragement for her to move just a skosh faster, only a teeny, weeny tiny bit. Because I cannot imagine that having the screaming, wiggly, grumpy mob at her little window for TEN MINUTES was any more fun for her or the four phone callers whom I'm certain could also hear the MG and the Gen.

But. The good news. Sometimes there is good news. The next appointment is set for the first day that my husband becomes an unemployed bum! So he's watching the kids and I'm getting some XANAX.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Oh yeah, we got pictures!

Chiron: {sniffle} My fella's growing up.

Not only was the nursery utterly destroyed *gasp*, but the little tike was so tired by the time his swath of destruction had been completed that he couldn't even find his way back to the bed.

And of course, big sister Maren was so incredibly jealous that we were taking pictures of someone other than her that she had to let us know just exactly what she thought of the situation. Heh.

Ahhhhhhhh. Tomorrow's Monday. {grin} That means school. And Shel. THE. BEST. BABYSITTER. IN. THE. WORLD.

{sniffle} My fella's growing up.


Right now, as we speak (well as I speak), my little guy, Grant, is taking his first nap in his toddler bed. {sniffle, sniffle}

This morning he proved to me exactly what I already knew to be true: Grant is not only a dirt-eating Dig Dug, but he's also part monkey. With one leg over the side of the crib and the biggest smile physically possible for that impossibly adorable face... that stinker nearly did a head-plant out of the crib onto the hardwoods! It's amazing how even through Effexor, Abilify, Klonopin, and Topamax I can have the reflexes of a cat when I need to. And a fast cat, too, not one of those cock-eyed cats that holds its head funny because it's been hit by too many cars.

Using the power of rhetoric and the god-given miracle of manipulation, I convinced Grant's big sister, Maren (aka: Stinker Pants, won't she love that in about five years, heh), that taking the front off of the crib to create a day bed is the coolest thing ever because then she gets a high bed. She doesn't even seem to have noticed that this means that we have given her shorter toddler bed with the safety rails to her little brother.

So now it's naptime. Dig Dug the Monkey Boy, Maren the Stinker Pants, and Soccer Ball (stuffed dalmation puppy dog) are all in the room. Toys, books, clothes, a dresser, countless distractions... also all in the room. (Do you have the image in your mind's eye???) Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too.


Maybe I should have seen if he really would have done the head-plant. Maybe he'd have chickened out--that would've bought us a few more days of not having the nursery utterly destroyed. Oh well, maybe we'll at least get some good pictures out of it.


As easy as 1, 2, 3...

That's the biggest load of shit I've ever heard! Sure, once I used our pc laptop (and in this house pc stands for piece of crap) I got this lovely blog set up very quickly--sort of.

But seriously, I'd already used and somehow become unable to use my addresses of choice because on my Mac, my love, my sweet little orange source of inspiration/courage (which, as we speak, I am eyeing my husband as he uses it so that I can finish this), I'd somehow managed to make such a fucking mess of things that I had to just delete the TWO blogs I'd created. TWO. I wanted to put them on my web address, but, holy shit, people!

Are you aware that on the Mac there are NO adorable little "continue" buttons that allow you to know that you have actually successfully submitted information??? That would really help.

Argh. People. Just. Argh.

Saturday, November 20, 2004



So, no, my name is not Georgianna Popplewell. It the name I chose because, frankly, it's the best. fucking. name. ever. I love that name!

The reason I'm writing really isn't to rant about blogspot. Just a little... uh... furious... that the Mac is, yet again, not considered to be important enough to make sure that a process works on it. *sigh*

What I am writing for is to get all of the crap out that needs to get out of my head so that I can sleep every now and then. I am a teacher, a wife, a mom, the comma-splice queen, and I have bipolar (just found that out over the summer, heh).

Between extracting raisins from the noses of small children and helping seventh graders answer the question, "How do I know where I stopped reading in my book?" and other such gems, I definitely find some interesting stories that I always mean to write down.