sueeeus

Poor little Boo. The sniffles started on Thursday or Friday and there was a little bit of fever here and there, accompanied by some tearing eyes with swollen eyelids, but he seemed to be feeling better on Saturday.

There was a bit of a croupy sounding cough which alarmed me, though, and then he started drooling. At that point it was Saturday night and I called the doctor, after having read that with that laundry list of symptoms, one should call the doctor immediately. She recommended Ibuprofen over Acetaminaphen, and plenty of fluids. Sometimes I think those books on children’s health, although trying to be helpful, introduce too much stress on the parents’ part. They seem to put forth the worst case scenario. I don’t want to be the one to freak out over every little thing and thus turn my child into a quivering quaking neurotic mess with little to no self-confidence. On the other hand, I don’t want to ignore or overlook things for which I ought to seek assistance. Sunday he had much more energy and the cough was less croupy. Monday he seemed energetic and boisterous. I gave him some Ibuprofen when we got home that night, just for good measure and not long after he got whiny and drowsy. I took his temperature and it was around 100. I held him and he fell asleep, but he felt very warm, so half an hour later I took his temp and it was 103.5 in one ear and 105.5 in the other. This freaked me out, so I stripped him down immediately and got in the bathtub with him, in lukewarm water. He screamed while I dabbed cool water on him. I held him close but kept gently wetting him, trying to cool him down. When his temp dropped to around 101 I put him on my lap out of the water but his temp rose immediately again, so back in the water we went. Meanwhile, we tried to reach the doctor. Finally, she called back and recommended alternating the Tylenol with the Motrin, every 2 hours, and also giving him some Sudafed. She asked that we bring him to the office in the morning, but if his fever spiked again so high before then, to take him to the ER. The Tylenol brought his fever down nicely, and we made it through an uneventful night. I’ve had the humidifier running with eucalyptus oil since Thursday, which has been somewhat of a help. Meanwhile, the full frontal onslaught of toddler coughs and sneezes has finally taken it’s toll, and today I find myself battling the bug as well.

The doctor confirmed that my 37 lb almost 2 year old has an ear infection, and possibly a throat infection as well, so prescribed antibiotics. His 2 year well child physical is next week. It’s uncanny how he manages to get sick enough to require a doctor visit one week before his regularly scheduled checkup. This has happened for the last four checkups (12, 15, 18, and 24 months). Weird. The nice part is that means he hasn’t been sick for six months.

We went to fill his prescription, but Costco wasn’t yet open, so we went to Target to kill 45 minutes. My poor little guy was whining and crying the whole time. I felt so bad for him, but look what I found! I’ve been hoping to find dishes like these for several years now. They’re never quite right, the dishes I encounter, but these plates! Oh, these plates I adore! They remind me of the Hubble nebulae photographs, which I LOVE! The bowls and cups are a bit off. I love the glaze, but not the shape. I ought to be a designer. It’s perfectly fine to mix round with square. Just because one has square plates does not mean the bowls must also be square. Sigh. Alas, Target didn’t ask me. I bought the set anyway, on the plate merit alone. What a find. They are stunning.

Back at Costco, we arrived 15 minutes after opening time, and it was completely packed. It’s insane. It must be senior citizen prescription filling day, because the wait at the pharmacy was two hours. TWO HOURS!! My sweet little boy fell asleep and I made a nest for him in the cart. Being the prepared mother that I am, I keep a comforter, pillow, and blanket in the car, so I can make a nest for him when he falls asleep shopping. This leaves only the space under the basket for items, which one might think would allow somebody to make it out of Costco without spending a small fortune, but somehow I managed to spend a fortune anyway. I had to kill two hours, after all. No, I didn’t need any more Method soap, but I like it, and it comes in nicely shaped bottles. I also didn’t need the 52 pack of disposable razors that I bought, even though Mr. Gadget assured me that he was getting low. Apparently he didn’t look in his cabinet where I put the 52 pack I got him the last time they had a coupon special. No more razors for at least a year. Diapers cost a fortune, but we consider them a necessity. Wipes as well, and those new Huggies wipes with aloe vera and cucumber smell so nice. Then there were the hand made thank you note cards. 30 for $10. I couldn’t pass that up. It’s easy to spend a fortune in that store, and because I’m one of those brainwashed tried and true dedicated Costco shoppers, I don’t mind. It’s Costco.

I’ve been stumbling through the last few days in a fog of sorts, and I realize that the experience is most likely the manifestation of depression. Real, hardcore depression. Or maybe a form of postpartum depression The awareness leaves me a bit concerned, but I’m confident I’ll come through it without medication and therapy. I know it’s there and I know I need to work through it. Then I’ll be back to my normal ups and downs. There is deep exhaustion, first thing in the morning after a full night’s sleep, continuing on through the day. There is the weight of the facial muscles pulling my expression into a grim frown, where conscious effort is necessary to compose any other expression. There is a sort of dizziness or vertigo — a general feeling of imbalance. There is a void in my mind, where thoughts might normally be. Only quiet and darkness. And there is sorrow, welling from deep within, that washes over me every now and then, that brings forth the sobbing tears. Tears and sobs are good, because they bring release. I can feel myself getting better –a little more so with each passing day.

Two more aprons have joined my collection (one, an artist’s smock style, which I think I like best so far, is in the wash, so no picture; the other is sort of a basic style with a huge pocket and a slightly scalloped hem), and an arsenal of pumpkin pies have made their way from my kitchen to the MIL’s for Christmas Eve dessert. I spent an entire day on those pies, cooking the pumpkin (formerly Halloween decorations, and already cooked once, then frozen for future use). I followed the America’s Test Kitchen recipe to the letter, froze then shredded the butter and cut in the flour, kneaded the dough, chilled it again, rolled it out, formed various and sundry pastry and pie shells, chilled them again, pre-baked them, cooked the spices into the filling on the stovetop, and finally loaded the warmed pie shells with the hot filling for the final bake. ATK didn’t disappoint. The resulting pies had a rich, smooth and creamy filling in a nice flaky crust. Of course, MIL, fully aware that I was bringing and preparing all the food for the family get-together, made 5 pies of her own. All told, there were nine pies at the Christmas Eve meal. Couple that with the no-shows, and there was approximately one full pie per person. At least she didn’t have a meal prepared when we got there. It’s just the kind of thing she would do. She wasn’t happy with the spiral cut ham, because the slices were too thin. She wasn’t happy with the cauliflower, because it didn’t have the family fake Hollandaise sauce that she expected. They mix mayonnaise with mustard and call it Hollandaise. I can’t bear it! At the last gathering, the green beans were criticized, so I prepared them differently this time. Some of the family members are lactose intolerant, so I used milk substitute in the mashed potatoes, and the resulting texture was far from fluffy and altogether disappointing. I made two kinds of gravy, in case people preferred one over another, and I made a special apple cider shallot sauce for the ham, which nobody tried but me (and it was delicious, I might add). I made it clear that we were NOT taking any pumpkin pies back home with us, so everybody had to take a heaping plate of leftover pie home with them. I’m developing a thick skin for dealing with the MIL. She can be abrasive and generally unkind. At least all the cooking, chaos, and general discontent kept my mind off of my broken heart, and helped me get a few steps further from my sorrow.

I was so anxious to see the doctor.  My first prenatal visit.  I wanted to see that ultrasound!!  I have been waiting, with as much patience as I can muster, and the day had finally arrived.  As did the snow.  Unable to confirm my appointment via phone or fax, I decided to brave the roads and go.  Luckily, MG was home and had put chains on the truck.  Enroute, there was one particular ice patch where the cars immediately behind us piled up in a body crunching heap.  We missed that mishap by a mere thread.  It was a very dangerous day to be out on the road.  Needless to say, when we arrived at the doctor’s office, and found a hand written note scrawled on a piece of paper taped to the door, stating, “We’re sorry.  We’re closed, due to the weather,” my patience reached its limit and I was sorely vexed.  Hrumph.  I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, I told MG.  He nodded, in dismissal.  He knows I’m not one to bark or raise a fuss.  Confrontation is not my thing.  Once safely home, I composed a note: 

Dear Health Center,

If in future you are closed due ot the weather, PLEASE change your message to clearly state that you are CLOSED.  To say you are understaffed implies that you are open, at less than full capacity.  I called about a dozen times, and at no point was I given the opportunity to leave a message, which is what your voice recording instructed callers to do.  It would have been nice to get a call telling me my appointment was cancelled.  A clear message on your voice recording would have sufficed.  I drove to your office, only to find that you are closed.  This wasted 2 hours of my time, and was completely unecessary, had you had an INFORMATIVE message on your recording.  Please leave a CLEAR message if this happens again.  It would save your patients a great deal of frustration. 

Sincerely,

Sueeeus

MG read it and asked me if I was going to send it.  Yes, of course I am, said I.  He was skeptical.  But I did it.  I faxed that note.  He was quite surprised at my gall.  (And so was I.)  Now I wonder if I should have just let it be, rather than send it.  But it’s too late for that.

But spilt wine   Now that’s a different matter entirely.

Last night I stopped for some milk and got sidetracked by that most enticing smell of freshly baked French bread.  It was still warm from the oven, so I couldn’t resist.  Once home, I lamented the absence of wine in the house.  How I love a glass of wine with fresh French bread!  After a little foraging, Fortuna smiled upon me, and a bottle emerged from the deepest darkest depths of the pantry.  I was delighted.  Delighted!  But what happened to my wine glasses   Mr. Gadget insists that I donated them in my last kitchen purge.  Honestly, I have no recollection of such a deed.  Especially considering how much I love a glass of red wine in a giant round goblet.  Aesthetics.  So important.  Helpful as he is, he retrieved a heavy crystal goblet from the far reaches of the cupboard.  I’ve kept them for sentimentality’s sake.  They were, after all, my first goblets, purchased twenty years ago in my fresh from poverty transformation to a young urban professional. 

Ah, how pleasant that first glass.  As the second.  Deciding to show some restraint, I tried to replace the cork in the bottle, to save it for a rainy day (i.e., tomorrow).  After a short struggle, the bottle claimed victory, leaping from my grasp and clattering to the counter with a loud clang, the precious nectar of the vine splaying this way and that.  Glug, glug, glug, how quickly the crimson pool spread.

I burst into tears and sobbed like a child.

It wasn’t so much the spilt wine, as it was the accumulation of recent bumbles.  Earlier that evening I had dropped a stack of cooling racks, cookie sheets, and a chartreuse ceramic lasagne dish, the latter which shattered into a thousand pieces.  Disappointed   Yes.  Distraught   No. 

Recently as well, I lost my grasp on a stack of dishes at the edge of the sink, and dropped them all.  They tumbled into the sink with a loud crash.  Surprisingly, nothing broke. 

Earlier in the day, I had some vertigo.  Add to that some tingling in the hands and shortness of breath.  Google is most unceremonious and insensitive as it serves frightening phrases such as brain tumor and bipolar disorder, both which are very real experiences of people I love, neither of which apply to me.  (It’s not denial.  It’s anxiety.  Anxiety is my thorn in the flesh.)

Germane or not, the din and clash of the wine bottle tumbling to its near demise proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The tears were cathartic.  I needed the release.

I’ve had five days off.  Five!  Sadly, I feel as though I need many many more.  The first was necessarily spent cleaning in a sanity-restoring fervor.  Errands, preparations for a wedding, a road trip, a wedding, and a return trip consumed the next three.  The last day I wasted, mainly on the computer, although I did run some errands.  In retrospect, I should have relaxed and regrouped.  But I didn’t, and today, it’s back to the grind.  I managed well for most of the day, but the anxiety wormed its way back in, temporarily.  Luckily, it didn’t take hold.  I’ve kept it at bay, but am distraught that it could so swiftly rear its ugly head.  I wonder if I’m on the verge of a mid-life crisis, or in the midst of one, or if I’m simply tumbling on the waves of hormones gone awry.  Perhaps I’m just full up.  Tired.  I need to find more restorative things to do.  A schedule.  A plan.  Order.  I feel better when there is order in my universe.

On a more positive note, what a beautiful wedding!  The bride arrived by horse drawn carriage.

  The ever-faithful ring bearer stole the show. 

Solemn vows were made.  The bride was a vision in cream fairy tale silk.  The groom emanated love for his bride.

A dapper young man was mostly well-behaved.  For a one and three quarter year old on a beautiful fall day.

There was dancing     and champagne.

A fabulous time was had by all.  My youngest sister.  Married.  It’s a beautiful thing.

The tough stay home. Or, in my case, take a sick day. Yesterday revealed to me that I had not actually dealt with the anxiety from days prior, and I found myself once again unable to breathe, and finally ended up sobbing, silently, in the bathroom at work. Not good. And so not me. I know better than to let others and things get to me, yet I don’t do better. Anxiety is a killer. I live with a great deal of stress anyway, but the shortness of breath and sensations of being trapped or caged are new to me. I had to take a day off, to take care of ME. Otherwise, I was heading for an explosion. Regular exercise is an avenue of release that I am desperately in need of. However, an alternate release is… …for me… …a clean house. I’ve spent the last six hours cleaning house. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, swabbing, scouring, polishing, vacuuming, scrubbing, washing, laundering. Although I’m not so fond of the actual cleaning part, I absolutely revel in the results. Clean and orderly surroundings are good for my soul. They soothe me. They comfort me. They help me feel at home. Grounded. Centered. Strong. At peace. Like the old me. Rock on.

Some people want to forget the eighties, but for me, those were the days of vivacity; the days of unstoppable youth! I never was a rock star, but it was fun to dress up and pretend.

It has been an odd day. I forgot to take my loratadine last night, and spent the morning miserable with a gunked up throat. Dust mite allergy. Bah. I fumbled about in my desk and found some chlor-trimeton, which I know is strong for me, but I took it anyway. I then spent the day in a loopy fog, and felt short of breath all day. I came home a couple of hours early, with the intention of sleeping it off, but as usual, found other things to distract me. The effects of that dose didn’t wear off until 9 p.m., a full twelve hours after ingestion. Bah! The dizziness, anxiety, and shortness of breath were unsettling, and I don’t plan to take that stuff again. Ever.

I heard a knock at the front door. Odd. We never have visitors, and it’s late. A man holding a clipboard tried to explain to me that he was representing a charitable organization that is lobbying for health care improvements for low income people. Fine. I asked questions and he had lots of papers that he rifled through and spoke about, but they didn’t make much sense to me, so I asked more questions and tried to read the things he was pointing out. I asked if the organization was a 501(3)c, and he said yes, so I told him that I give at the office and I can look into designating it through my work contributions plan. He said he was collecting signatures and money, and I said I wouldn’t mind signing the petition, but I wasn’t prepared to give him any money. I barely finished the sentence and he whipped around and left, without even saying adieu. So. I wonder if he was working an elaborate scam, or if he was just tired, cold, and not in the mood to try to beg for donations from a penny pinching engineer. He left me a flyer that looks reasonably legit. The whole time he was standing there, I was trying to keep my son from going outside, and I had horrible visions of the stranger casing my home or nabbing my child. My gut feel was distrust and suspicion. And I am torn between feeling guilty and cheap, and feeling indignant for being treated rudely. Bah. To be able to discern honesty would be a very good thing.

Meanwhile, in other unrelated, or somewhat related news (related only because these things happened today), I wasted the entire evening fiddling with my blog. I found a swanky new theme and tested it on my hard drive, then implemented it on the server. Wouldn’t you know, the server implementation threw an error, and I am at a loss as to how to fix it. And I can’t put any further effort into it, because I am already racked with guilt over the time I’ve wasted. Racked Wracked Bah!

BAH I say.

It’s taken a lifetime of bicycling discontent to reach the conclusion that I am not a cyclist. I’ve had several bikes, and have enjoyed the occasional ride, but not enough to overcome the discomfort of shoulder, head and neck strain, not to mention the pain in the rear. Who designs bike seats   What are they thinking   C’mon.

Since I am now in my forties…  …ahem…   …I am somewhat more humble than I have been in years past, and have embraced come to terms with the fact that I am not a nimble athlete.  It pleases me to learn that there is a bike for riders like me.  Middle aged, sit-at-a-desk-all-day, non-nimble-athlete types.  It’s called a comfort bike.  Comfort!  Now that’s what I’m talking about.  That has me written all over it.  Finally!  I can sit upright with no weight on my shoulders, so I don’t have to strain my neck to hold my head up.  I can enjoy the scenery as I peddle on by.  Not only that, I can put my feet on the ground without having to get off the seat.  And, to put icing on the cake, look what I found –a WeeRide for my wee rider.  He sits safely in front of me and sees what I see.  He’s a part of the action, and we both like that quite alot.

Look at us go!  The bike even comes with a bell.  See   My little smartie is busy letting everyone know that we’re on our way.  Ring-ring!

…or…  …List Friday…   …or…   …catching up…

• It’s Friday.  I’m taking a vacation day today, because I’m in a use it or lose it situation again.  Some time ago, our company switched its vacation accrual policy so that it accrues constantly instead of once a year.  We can have up to two year’s worth of vacation accrued at any time, but it caps off if we don’t use it by the time the hours accumulate.  My number is 320 hours, and yes, I know it’s pathetic that I have that much time saved up.  I had planned to use it up as part of my maternity leave and return to work schedule, but I ended up working from home and the baby slept all day and the job demanded so much at that time, etc etc etc.  So, I didn’t end up using it, and it accrued.  And it keeps accruing.  And Mr. Gadget’s job gives him only one paltry week a year, so it’s difficult for us to plan much of a hiatus as a family.  I treat myself to a day off here and there, during which I do whatever I want.  Which is usually catching up on housework, running errands, and blogging.  Because these things help settle me.  A clean and tidy home.  No loose ends.  These things bring harmony to my life. 
• Today, I plan to catch up on blogging.  I’ve been away for a while…  …Not so much away, but I have a toddler and a full time job and a household to run, so I don’t get much time to blog.  Plus, my husband recently rattled off some statistic that he heard on the radio about blogging interfering with couples, marriages, or some such blather.  (He made it up, but it was his special way of telling me that he thinks I spend too much time blogging, or really, that he wants more attention.)Things I’d like to blog about today:
1. The wonder of feeling connected.  Check.  Did that already.
2. My silly bathroom window situation.  Check.  Did that already.
3. Sleep apnea.
4. Coffee, and, even better, the gorgeous receptacle that holds it this morning.
5. The things that I want or need to do today.

• I have sleep apnea.  What a DRAG!  I have probably been living with it for many years.  Now I’m making cpap a part of my life.  CPAP.  Continuous Positive Air Pressure.  Or something to that effect.  It’s a machine that forces air in, keeping the airways open all night.  It takes some getting used to.  Mr. Gadget lovingly says, “May the Force be with you,” as we drift off to sleep.  It is very Darth Vaderesque.
  
  For the first several days I felt more tired than ever, but have since perused many forums and learned a few things:
1. Sleep debt.  Some people theorize that one’s sleep debt needs to be repayed, and until that is done, one won’t realize the benefits of a full night’s sleep.  Seems like a bunch of hooey to me.  How many mothers have years and years of sleep deprivation, yet function very well on limited sleep   Why would only people with sleep apnea have to repay a sleep debt, and not the general population.  Hopefully I won’t get a tirade of angry comments from the multitude of readers (ha!, do I have readers   I flatter myself, she says, with much sarcasm) about how little I know (which is true, I know very little about sleep deprivation, sleep apnea, sleep debt, and sleep disorders).
2. Humidity.  Aha, that humidifier thingy that is built in to the machine should be used.  Like an idiot, I had it set at zero, thinking I’d get cool air through these hot summer nights (oh, that reminds me, how I love Neil Diamond!), but lo, one needs heat to humidify, so now I have set it to 5, max heat, and amazingly enough, the air is not hot, but nicely moistened, and whodathunkit, I’m sleeping much better.
3. Masks.  People with allergies and general respiratory challenges that accompany germ-laden toddlers who attend day care with other germ-laden children tend to need a full face mask, because sometimes it’s nigh unto impossible to breathe through one’s nostrils.  Now I have two masks.  For bad days, the full face mask.  For days when my nostrils work, a nose-only mask.  Either way, the Force is with me.
• Today I’m drinking coffee from a bowl.  Because these bowls   I love.  And I had to have them, and I didn’t know what I could use them for, but I had to have them.  Because I love them.  They’re from Target, and they’re an exquisite crackled turquoise glaze on the inside, and a smooth matte slate color on the outside.  Zazen, they’re called.  Gorgeous!  There’s a whole line of plates, bowls, mugs (too thick around the rim, they’ll never do).  While I adore them, I couldn’t justify a set of plates.  We have many plates.  Or more bowls.  We have many bowls.  But I had to have something, so I got two of the rice bowls.  I use them for green tea, or today, for coffee.
  
  Sigh.  Coffee.  I have a Senseo machine, which is very overrated.
  
  Here it is in action.  I like the one cup at a time deal.  That works for me, as I’m usually the only coffee drinker in the vicinity.  I like the foamy froth.  That part is aesthetically pleasing.  The problem– is that it requires pods.  And pods have many problems:
1. They’re pods.  Pods.  ??
2. Pods are tres expensive.
3. Pods are too small to hold sufficient coffee to make a decent cup of appropriate volume.
4. Pod manufacturers don’t produce pods that contain good coffee.
5. Inserts that bypass the pod, thereby allowing the coffee drinker to use her own grind of respectable coffee, either don’t hold sufficient coffee to make a decent cup (and make a giant mess), or bypass the frothing effect (which is the only redeeming quality of this machine, rendering it a complete waste of time, effort, and emotion).
6. It takes two pods make a reasonable cup of coffee.
7. See items 2 and 4.
• Today, I have many things to do, besides blog.
1. Find a safe home for my chotchkies.  I still don’t know how to spell that word.  My mobile young man can now reach beyond the barrier that we temporarily placed in front of the glass cube display that they currently call home.
   
   If it looks tres department store-ish, it’s because it is.  In point of fact, when one of the old glamorous department stores of the region closed its doors several years ago, I bought a portion of their display cubes.  I’m not so sure how I feel about them any more, but I’m not quite ready to put them on Craigslist, yet.
2. Return sundry items to Target, and p’raps find others to take their place.
3. Sort through my closet and collect items to donate, as the donations truck is making its rounds next week.
4. Housework.  The usual.  Dishes.  Laundry.  Finding shoes that a certain young man has absconded with and since forgotten.  Water plants.  Dust.  Tidy up.
5. Relocate the surface of my desk, which is buried somewhere beneath a bunch of crappe important papers and whatnot.
6. Learn to use my new camera.  Yes!  I got a new camera.  A video camera.  Oooooh.  It’s a Canon (I’ve been quite pleased with my Canon PowerShot G1 that I’ve now had forever).  Optura S1.  Yes, it was on sale.  The footage taken in daylight is exquisite.  Indoors with low lighting…  Jury’s still out on that one.  I need to read the manual and find out how to use the thing before I judge it harshly.
7. Take a timeout, just for me.  (Oh, I forgot, this entire day is a timeout, just for me.)

…and I’m spent.

A list of lists of lists.  I’m blogged out.  But by the looks of things, I should also spend a little time cleaning up my blog’s style sheet, what with the embedded lists and such.  Perhaps another day.

It’s excruciating.  While waiting to retake the test, I did some research on all the various exposures I’ve had and found some peace in learning that there was very little risk involved.  I breathed a sigh of relief and then tried to reconstruct the time line and the symptoms.  I matched the symptoms against the early symptoms checklist.  I started fantasizing about baby names.  I tried to guess due date.  I came up with January 14, 2007.  Imagine that!  Boo’s birthday.

All for naught.  I couldn’t wait the full week that I’d told myself to wait.  I tested this morning, and it’s very cleary ‘not pregnant’.

Even though I told myself not to get overly excited about the prospects, and even though it might not be the best instant in time for me to be with child…

…I’m still disappointed.  I can’t help but feel that way.

I had myself so convinced.  The nausea.  I never have nausea.  I fell asleep at Cirque du Soleil on Sunday, for crying out loud.  Only for a few minutes, but it’s that same overpowering fatigue that I remember from the last time.

Sigh.  C’est la vie.  Maybe another time.  I hope.