So, as I'm sure you gathered from the other 4 previous posts, I'm sick. "So, get in bed, dummy." Factoid: once I'm up, I'm up. There is no going back to bed for me. Trust me--this has been tested for decades, and with only one result--futility.
Weef has confined me to the downstairs. Her exact words were, "You are to go downstairs, do NOT come upstairs until 11, get some rest, and I'll make sure the girls leave you alone."
So I've been sitting here, staring at the screen. Weef came downstairs with a HUGE glass of V8. "Here. Maybe this will help you feel better. I'm going to make some eggs in a bit. I'll bring them down to you."
Isn't she sweet? I sure do love that girl.
Music for the Masses
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Love and Death, pt 4
Okay . . . hopefully, this will be the last post.
So I left work at 4:30. I felt like crap on so many different levels: physically, emotionally, mentally, professionally, humanly . . . it was just a really, really rough drive home. AND I had to pick up girls 1 and 2 from the sitter.
Weef stopped to pick up some pizza on the way home from her job. That was a pleasant surprise. While we were eating, I realized that I felt a lot better. I looked at the clock--5:30. "Ya know, honey . . . if we hurry, we can be on the road by 6 and to the reception by 7-ish."
"Do you really want to risk going up there? I mean, you've been sick all day. I think your family would understand."
"Yes, they would . . . by I really need to be with them right now. I don't get to see my family very often because of where everyone is; I'm not going to miss this chance."
So we went. And it was great. I felt like death the whole time we were there; the drive up was fantastic. I didn't cough once, and I felt really half way decent.
Without going into a lot of details, once we got to the reception, I had to run all over the place. It was cold and very, very dry, even with the falling snow. Once we got inside, my cough returned with a vengeance. Standing in line to see my cousin, I almost passed out. Sitting at the table, chatting with my mom, I almost blacked out. My back flared up, I was sweating profusely . . . but I was surrounded by loved ones. That's the first time I've seen all 7 cousins from my mom's youngest sister's family in a long, long time. It made me happy, and I *really* needed it. My mom and grandma were there; my brother and his wife and kids were there; all 7 cousins with their accompanying kids were there . . . even my cousin who's fighting the good fight was able to attend, and that just about made me weep with joy. It was just such an amazing experience.
I just hope I didn't get anyone sick. I slathered on the Purell as much as I could, coughed into my elbow as much as possible, etc. If I did get any of you sick, I apologize profusely . . . but I *needed
Funny ha ha . . . here's the summary of the last 4 posts: NEVER choose work over family. You will always regret it. If you have the chance to spend quality time with your family, take it; you never know when you'll get to see them again.
The end.
So I left work at 4:30. I felt like crap on so many different levels: physically, emotionally, mentally, professionally, humanly . . . it was just a really, really rough drive home. AND I had to pick up girls 1 and 2 from the sitter.
Weef stopped to pick up some pizza on the way home from her job. That was a pleasant surprise. While we were eating, I realized that I felt a lot better. I looked at the clock--5:30. "Ya know, honey . . . if we hurry, we can be on the road by 6 and to the reception by 7-ish."
"Do you really want to risk going up there? I mean, you've been sick all day. I think your family would understand."
"Yes, they would . . . by I really need to be with them right now. I don't get to see my family very often because of where everyone is; I'm not going to miss this chance."
So we went. And it was great. I felt like death the whole time we were there; the drive up was fantastic. I didn't cough once, and I felt really half way decent.
Without going into a lot of details, once we got to the reception, I had to run all over the place. It was cold and very, very dry, even with the falling snow. Once we got inside, my cough returned with a vengeance. Standing in line to see my cousin, I almost passed out. Sitting at the table, chatting with my mom, I almost blacked out. My back flared up, I was sweating profusely . . . but I was surrounded by loved ones. That's the first time I've seen all 7 cousins from my mom's youngest sister's family in a long, long time. It made me happy, and I *really* needed it. My mom and grandma were there; my brother and his wife and kids were there; all 7 cousins with their accompanying kids were there . . . even my cousin who's fighting the good fight was able to attend, and that just about made me weep with joy. It was just such an amazing experience.
I just hope I didn't get anyone sick. I slathered on the Purell as much as I could, coughed into my elbow as much as possible, etc. If I did get any of you sick, I apologize profusely . . . but I *needed
Funny ha ha . . . here's the summary of the last 4 posts: NEVER choose work over family. You will always regret it. If you have the chance to spend quality time with your family, take it; you never know when you'll get to see them again.
The end.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Love and Death, pt 3
Now . . . having said all that, I thought that I would make a good-will gesture to my team and show them that I *will* be there for them. I expect them to be team players; I can't do that if I'm not a team player.
Problem: today was my youngest cousin's wedding. My wife and I were invited to attend the sealing, wedding breakfast, and the reception tonight. After the lambasting I took on Tuesday, I felt that it would be better for me to stay with my team and be there for them.
I'm not sure I've *ever* been more wrong.
See . . . as the day progressed and it got closer to 10:30, I realized that work was the last place I wanted to be. I looked around at all these people that aren't as important to me and thought, "My family is 60 miles up the road at a wedding, and I'm stuck here because I made a *really* bad choice." At 11:00 am, I was as grumpy and mad at myself as I think I'd ever been.
Later in the day, as I talked with my branch lead, he asked why I had come in. I told him, and he said that was admirable, but then he asked if I'm going to regret the decision. "For the rest of my life, Barry. For the rest of my life, I'll always think of today--where I chose work over family. I feel sick to my stomach."
Of course, I really was sick in the physical sense. I have this tickle in my throat that produces this incredibly unproductive cough, all the while destroying muscle tissue and nerves spanning my entire back and neck. I cough so hard that I almost black out. Everyone at work yesterday was saying, "Dude . . . go home. You look like . . . . . ." I think you can guess the last word.
Part 4 is on deck!
Problem: today was my youngest cousin's wedding. My wife and I were invited to attend the sealing, wedding breakfast, and the reception tonight. After the lambasting I took on Tuesday, I felt that it would be better for me to stay with my team and be there for them.
I'm not sure I've *ever* been more wrong.
See . . . as the day progressed and it got closer to 10:30, I realized that work was the last place I wanted to be. I looked around at all these people that aren't as important to me and thought, "My family is 60 miles up the road at a wedding, and I'm stuck here because I made a *really* bad choice." At 11:00 am, I was as grumpy and mad at myself as I think I'd ever been.
Later in the day, as I talked with my branch lead, he asked why I had come in. I told him, and he said that was admirable, but then he asked if I'm going to regret the decision. "For the rest of my life, Barry. For the rest of my life, I'll always think of today--where I chose work over family. I feel sick to my stomach."
Of course, I really was sick in the physical sense. I have this tickle in my throat that produces this incredibly unproductive cough, all the while destroying muscle tissue and nerves spanning my entire back and neck. I cough so hard that I almost black out. Everyone at work yesterday was saying, "Dude . . . go home. You look like . . . . . ." I think you can guess the last word.
Part 4 is on deck!
Love and Death (pt 2)
So there's all that. I took it all in stride, listened to their "concerns" (the human resource and politically correct term for a word whose equivalent is vulgar colloquial slang for "complaining" and rhymes with "hitching"), and went about my business . . . but it ate at me. And ate. And ate. And ate . . . until today when I finally had a chance to talk with my branch lead about it. In the "order" of things, he's directly over me--my boss. Team, me, my boss. Anyway, he filled in some additional details, during which a guy who sits in my 4-pod cube farm turned to us and said, "I'm not trying to listen, but I can't help but overhear. Dude, you need to know this: you have a pot-stirrer on your team."
"Really. Who?"
I've had some shocks in my life. Finding out my brother was getting married was a really good shock, but one that I saw coming. Finding out weef's sister was marrying my ex-roommate was another really good shock. Finding out that my dad was dying, very bad shock. Finding out my grandfather was dying . . . very VERY bad shock. This was somewhere just below the very bad shock. Hearing from an outside, unbiased source that someone on your team is berating you in front of the whole office is one thing. Finding out that it is the same person with whom you had a conversation TWO MONTHS AGO (does "two months ago" ring any bells?) about coming to me with any issues or concerns is a flat-out heart-stopping, paddle-gelling shock.
Not to mention I have the cold from hell. Literally. I think Satan has vexed our whole household with colds, sniffles, ear aches, achy joints, spasmadic coughs and general illness, the likes of which have only been told in the Old Testament. And last time I checked, Satan is supposedly from hell. Okay, fine . . . I hyperbolize, but only to emphasize a point--I'm sick. Really sick.
Part 3, coming up!
"Really. Who?"
I've had some shocks in my life. Finding out my brother was getting married was a really good shock, but one that I saw coming. Finding out weef's sister was marrying my ex-roommate was another really good shock. Finding out that my dad was dying, very bad shock. Finding out my grandfather was dying . . . very VERY bad shock. This was somewhere just below the very bad shock. Hearing from an outside, unbiased source that someone on your team is berating you in front of the whole office is one thing. Finding out that it is the same person with whom you had a conversation TWO MONTHS AGO (does "two months ago" ring any bells?) about coming to me with any issues or concerns is a flat-out heart-stopping, paddle-gelling shock.
Not to mention I have the cold from hell. Literally. I think Satan has vexed our whole household with colds, sniffles, ear aches, achy joints, spasmadic coughs and general illness, the likes of which have only been told in the Old Testament. And last time I checked, Satan is supposedly from hell. Okay, fine . . . I hyperbolize, but only to emphasize a point--I'm sick. Really sick.
Part 3, coming up!
Love and Death (pt 1)
Ironically, there was an abundance of desire for both today. A paradox, to be sure. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.
Perhaps an explanation is in order.
To summarize what could quite possibly turn into a doctoral paper on the psychology of "mob mentality," I'll just say that my whole team blew up at me this past Tuesday for "never being at work." According to them, I take off too much time. The hilarious irony of that massively over-blown statement is that I was in the office *while I had scheduled myself to be off.* I had a telecon to attend, and I needed to create an executable for a help file for a guy who was going out of town. I came in because there was work that had to be done. This in light of the fact that my mom is visiting from out of state, and I don't get to see her very much. Anyway, irony aside, there were some other issues they have, apparently, all of which I listened to with stunned incredulity. "And . . . exactly *how* long have you all felt like this?"
"Well, it's been steadily getting worse over the last 6 months, but it's been dramatically worse the last two months."
Please rewind this blog to roughly the beginning of October, when we started fostering our two girls. Now, here we are at the end of Novembe. Roughly two months? HMMM.
In an effort to "head off at the pass" this exact scenario, I told my team immediately upon starting the fostering that there would be times where I'd need to take off to tend to the girls. That might be because they're sick; it could be that a sitter falls through at the last second. We've had enough friends with kids to know that just about anything you can think of won't happen; it's the bizarre stuff you *don't* think of that catches you off guard.
Anyway, I told them that at the beginning of October. I also told them that I needed their understanding and support, which I thought they had all promised. Now, almost two months later, that vague memory has apparently been sucked into the cauldron as part of the evil witch's brew that is the gossip mill.
Stand by for part 2.
Perhaps an explanation is in order.
To summarize what could quite possibly turn into a doctoral paper on the psychology of "mob mentality," I'll just say that my whole team blew up at me this past Tuesday for "never being at work." According to them, I take off too much time. The hilarious irony of that massively over-blown statement is that I was in the office *while I had scheduled myself to be off.* I had a telecon to attend, and I needed to create an executable for a help file for a guy who was going out of town. I came in because there was work that had to be done. This in light of the fact that my mom is visiting from out of state, and I don't get to see her very much. Anyway, irony aside, there were some other issues they have, apparently, all of which I listened to with stunned incredulity. "And . . . exactly *how* long have you all felt like this?"
"Well, it's been steadily getting worse over the last 6 months, but it's been dramatically worse the last two months."
Please rewind this blog to roughly the beginning of October, when we started fostering our two girls. Now, here we are at the end of Novembe. Roughly two months? HMMM.
In an effort to "head off at the pass" this exact scenario, I told my team immediately upon starting the fostering that there would be times where I'd need to take off to tend to the girls. That might be because they're sick; it could be that a sitter falls through at the last second. We've had enough friends with kids to know that just about anything you can think of won't happen; it's the bizarre stuff you *don't* think of that catches you off guard.
Anyway, I told them that at the beginning of October. I also told them that I needed their understanding and support, which I thought they had all promised. Now, almost two months later, that vague memory has apparently been sucked into the cauldron as part of the evil witch's brew that is the gossip mill.
Stand by for part 2.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Much argness
On Friday, weef, girls 1 and 2, and I all took a nice road trip up to Northern Utah. My mom and grandma are visiting from back east, and we really wanted to spend some time with them. So we went up. I brought my camera and camcorder. It was a lovely day of frolicking, resting, chatting, and it was an all-around really good day.
Until I got home.
We got the girls out of the car, got them inside and in bed (it was pretty late when we left, and it's a relatively long drive). I went back out to the car to get the camcorder and camera, which I was pretty sure should have been in the console between the two front seats. The only thing there was my 80GB Ipod and a can of coke. "Ummmm . . . "
Then it hit me: I NEVER PUT THEM IN THE CAR.
So I looked up on the roof. Amazingly and in what I consider to be a small miracle, the camera was still there. 60 miles through canyons, sharp turns, and 85 mph on the highway, and it stayed on the roof. Now . . . not to diminish the miraculous nature of it remaining intact, but we have a ski rack on the roof, and the camera was nestled in the back passenger side corner. Still, the camcorder didn't stay.
Of the two, I'd have to say that I'm glad the camcorder was the one to go. I'm head over heels in love with this camera; It's just a digital PS, but it's the rolls royce of PS cameras. Full manual control, yet I can flip it over to auto, turn it over to Lori, and the pictures are just as nice. It's fantastic.
But yah . . . the camcorder's gone. Every second of video from having the girls so far is gone. It's sad, but I'm glad we have the camera.
Until I got home.
We got the girls out of the car, got them inside and in bed (it was pretty late when we left, and it's a relatively long drive). I went back out to the car to get the camcorder and camera, which I was pretty sure should have been in the console between the two front seats. The only thing there was my 80GB Ipod and a can of coke. "Ummmm . . . "
Then it hit me: I NEVER PUT THEM IN THE CAR.
So I looked up on the roof. Amazingly and in what I consider to be a small miracle, the camera was still there. 60 miles through canyons, sharp turns, and 85 mph on the highway, and it stayed on the roof. Now . . . not to diminish the miraculous nature of it remaining intact, but we have a ski rack on the roof, and the camera was nestled in the back passenger side corner. Still, the camcorder didn't stay.
Of the two, I'd have to say that I'm glad the camcorder was the one to go. I'm head over heels in love with this camera; It's just a digital PS, but it's the rolls royce of PS cameras. Full manual control, yet I can flip it over to auto, turn it over to Lori, and the pictures are just as nice. It's fantastic.
But yah . . . the camcorder's gone. Every second of video from having the girls so far is gone. It's sad, but I'm glad we have the camera.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
randomness
I collect glow in the dark stuff. Most people know that about me. If you didn't, well . . . now you do. :) ANYway, so Lori and I are also into this whole geocaching thing. Part of the fun is finding "trackables," such as travelbugs and/or geocoins. Guess who's found some glow in the dark geocoins. Ebay has a smattering from time to time. On rare occasions, they'll have really good ones, like this little guy. There's also this one, which is much more up my alley.
Anyway, I do that. So far, we have quite the little collection going with these things.
It's Sunday afternoon. I should be at church, but girl 1 has what we think is pink eye, and girl 2 is sporting a neon green/yellow snot-covered nose. Girl 2 has already been to the doctor, but girl 1 really needs to go.
Speaking of girl 1, I think she just had a nightmare. It's not like her to wake up crying for no reason. Typically, it's a nightmare, and only mommy can handle those. Daddy isn't allowed to help, or to talk, or to be in the same room . . . it's sad, but I'm positive that there's a very legitimate reason for all of those "rules" that girl 1 has established for herself. "Well, *you* need to be the one establishing the rules--not her." Yes, that's true . . . except she brings a very special set of circumstances to the relationship that I am not going to just throw out or trump. She has real, valid, serious concerns that need to be addressed. Nothing can help her move forward like respect and space in these kinds of situations. If she's just throwing a tantrum (which, trust me, is more often the case than not), then yah--she gets a talking-to and the appropriate response.
They're such sweet girls, too. I don't know everything about their history, and I'm pretty sure I don't *want* to know, but I feel like we *need* to know in order to help them the best we can. My guess is that we won't get to know anything unless we actually adopt them, but we'll cross that bridge later.
Sweet and sour meatballs tonight. Long live the almighty slow cooker!
Anyway, I do that. So far, we have quite the little collection going with these things.
It's Sunday afternoon. I should be at church, but girl 1 has what we think is pink eye, and girl 2 is sporting a neon green/yellow snot-covered nose. Girl 2 has already been to the doctor, but girl 1 really needs to go.
Speaking of girl 1, I think she just had a nightmare. It's not like her to wake up crying for no reason. Typically, it's a nightmare, and only mommy can handle those. Daddy isn't allowed to help, or to talk, or to be in the same room . . . it's sad, but I'm positive that there's a very legitimate reason for all of those "rules" that girl 1 has established for herself. "Well, *you* need to be the one establishing the rules--not her." Yes, that's true . . . except she brings a very special set of circumstances to the relationship that I am not going to just throw out or trump. She has real, valid, serious concerns that need to be addressed. Nothing can help her move forward like respect and space in these kinds of situations. If she's just throwing a tantrum (which, trust me, is more often the case than not), then yah--she gets a talking-to and the appropriate response.
They're such sweet girls, too. I don't know everything about their history, and I'm pretty sure I don't *want* to know, but I feel like we *need* to know in order to help them the best we can. My guess is that we won't get to know anything unless we actually adopt them, but we'll cross that bridge later.
Sweet and sour meatballs tonight. Long live the almighty slow cooker!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Inner Reflections
So, we've had girl 1 and girl 2 now for almost 4 weeks, during which I've been present for more than 3. It's been an incredibly eye-opening 4 weeks; the learning curve goes for all of us. The girls are learning to adjust to a new home, and we are adjusting to a whole new life style.
We've discovered that, at night, girl 1 really needs to hear "I Am a Child of God" before she'll even consider going to sleep peacefully, so since day 1, that's what we've sung to her at least 5 times a night. There have been some nights where we've sung it about 15-20 times (after which we lost count, so the number could actually be higher).
But it's starting to pay off. Seriously. It's like her little soul *knows* who she really is. The other day, weef was having an especially hard day. Girl 1 picked up on it, and started singing "her song". Weef looked over at her, and she instantly felt better. Yesterday, girl 1 was sitting on my lap, and she spontaneously burst in to chorus: "Lead me, guide me, walk beside me; help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do to live with Him someday." I've had a handful of spiritual experiences that I would qualify as "knock 'em dead"ers; this one was right up there. She sang that chorus while she was looking into my eyes, and it was as if our souls were communicating--not our voices and ears. I looked into her eyes, and I could literally see her soul pleading for help and understanding. I gave her the biggest hug and told her that, indeed, mommy and daddy would walk right beside her and lead her where she needs to be and teach her what she needs to know. It was amazing.
Like I said . . . I've had some 9s and 10s on the spiritual richter scale. This one . . . at least a 9.5. Wedding day: 10. This: 9.5, maybe 9.9. I don't think anything will ever overtake our wedding day, but this sure was close.
God bless these little angels for coming into our home.
We've discovered that, at night, girl 1 really needs to hear "I Am a Child of God" before she'll even consider going to sleep peacefully, so since day 1, that's what we've sung to her at least 5 times a night. There have been some nights where we've sung it about 15-20 times (after which we lost count, so the number could actually be higher).
But it's starting to pay off. Seriously. It's like her little soul *knows* who she really is. The other day, weef was having an especially hard day. Girl 1 picked up on it, and started singing "her song". Weef looked over at her, and she instantly felt better. Yesterday, girl 1 was sitting on my lap, and she spontaneously burst in to chorus: "Lead me, guide me, walk beside me; help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do to live with Him someday." I've had a handful of spiritual experiences that I would qualify as "knock 'em dead"ers; this one was right up there. She sang that chorus while she was looking into my eyes, and it was as if our souls were communicating--not our voices and ears. I looked into her eyes, and I could literally see her soul pleading for help and understanding. I gave her the biggest hug and told her that, indeed, mommy and daddy would walk right beside her and lead her where she needs to be and teach her what she needs to know. It was amazing.
Like I said . . . I've had some 9s and 10s on the spiritual richter scale. This one . . . at least a 9.5. Wedding day: 10. This: 9.5, maybe 9.9. I don't think anything will ever overtake our wedding day, but this sure was close.
God bless these little angels for coming into our home.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Pre-Halloween scare
So, tonight we were trying to go to a pumpkin walk. We had already gone during the day with the girls, but after seeing some of the carvings, we thought that it would be really fun to take the girls at night. We thought we'd be smart and put them in the pjs before heading out so we could just drop them in bed after coming back (rationale being that they'd fall asleep on the way home).
Both girls like to run around crazy-psycho style any time they sense that they're getting ready to leave the house. Girl 1 was in just such a mode when she ran away from Weef and into the kitchen, where we promptly heard a very disturbing *THUD*, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Recognizing this as being way beyond the whiny "Mommy, I hurt my hair!", we both bolted off the couch and to see what had happened. Weef picked up girl 1 and held her, I rubbed girl 1's back and said, "Show daddy where it hurts." She looked up at me, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Her mouth was the deepest, darkest, bloodiest red I had ever seen. Her top two teeth were gone, and she was hemmorhaging from her upper gums. "Pumpkin walk off. Pack 'em in the car; we're going to the emergency room." Weef, not knowing what was going on, asked what was going on. I picked up one of the teeth from the floor and showed her, and then the light of realization flooded down upon her in shocking horror.
So off to the emergency room we went.
Prognosis: reconstructive dental work. The two teeth were knocked back pretty severely. Fortunately, we already had a dental appt scheduled for Monday, so looks like Dr. Dentist dude is going to be pulling double duty.
Anyway, it was awful. Watching a 3.5 year old scream uncontrollably because of some unimaginable pain that you can't do anything about is gut-wrenching enough. Combine that with the frustration of sloth-style traffic that doesn't care a hoot about the trauma that's unfolding in our back seat.
And, of course, since it's Saturday night, no one at DCFS is around to answer any phone calls, nor is anyone at any number listed in the medical binder that was given to us. We left about half a dozen messages. By "we," I mean Lori, which is a good thing because if I had been the one leaving messages, well . . . let's just say they wouldn't have been friendly or polite. I mean, if a number is posted as being for medical reasons, and it says "24-7", I expect someone to pick up the phone and speak--not get some lame recording saying, "Leave a number and we'll call you back." I feel sorry for whomever returns the call.
But the crisis has passed. Girl 1 took a motrin and went right to sleep when we got home.
It's just rough.
Both girls like to run around crazy-psycho style any time they sense that they're getting ready to leave the house. Girl 1 was in just such a mode when she ran away from Weef and into the kitchen, where we promptly heard a very disturbing *THUD*, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Recognizing this as being way beyond the whiny "Mommy, I hurt my hair!", we both bolted off the couch and to see what had happened. Weef picked up girl 1 and held her, I rubbed girl 1's back and said, "Show daddy where it hurts." She looked up at me, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Her mouth was the deepest, darkest, bloodiest red I had ever seen. Her top two teeth were gone, and she was hemmorhaging from her upper gums. "Pumpkin walk off. Pack 'em in the car; we're going to the emergency room." Weef, not knowing what was going on, asked what was going on. I picked up one of the teeth from the floor and showed her, and then the light of realization flooded down upon her in shocking horror.
So off to the emergency room we went.
Prognosis: reconstructive dental work. The two teeth were knocked back pretty severely. Fortunately, we already had a dental appt scheduled for Monday, so looks like Dr. Dentist dude is going to be pulling double duty.
Anyway, it was awful. Watching a 3.5 year old scream uncontrollably because of some unimaginable pain that you can't do anything about is gut-wrenching enough. Combine that with the frustration of sloth-style traffic that doesn't care a hoot about the trauma that's unfolding in our back seat.
And, of course, since it's Saturday night, no one at DCFS is around to answer any phone calls, nor is anyone at any number listed in the medical binder that was given to us. We left about half a dozen messages. By "we," I mean Lori, which is a good thing because if I had been the one leaving messages, well . . . let's just say they wouldn't have been friendly or polite. I mean, if a number is posted as being for medical reasons, and it says "24-7", I expect someone to pick up the phone and speak--not get some lame recording saying, "Leave a number and we'll call you back." I feel sorry for whomever returns the call.
But the crisis has passed. Girl 1 took a motrin and went right to sleep when we got home.
It's just rough.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Good things come to those who wait
Well, I guess there's some good news: the girls now feel so comforable around us that they feel that can say "no" and go unpunished. There's been a dramatic shift in mentality over the last few days. While girl 1 is now much more comfortable around me and doesn't feel so threatened (though she still whines for "mommy" much more often than is necessary), girl 2 is now following her sister's old example and throwing tantrums at every opportunity.
For example:
Me: "Honey, eat your pizza."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
Me: "If you don't eat your pizza, you can't have any more milk; you'll have to have water."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO! WANT MILK!"
Me: "Then you need to eat your pizza."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
Me: "Then you'll have to have water."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
For those with a sharp eye and better-than-average short-term memory, you'll notice a reoccurring theme amongst G2's responses. That was G1's attitude all of last week and a majority of this week. There seemed to be a paradigm shift around Thursday, though. G1 started acting more like a normal 3.25 year old girl instead of how she was acting (which, given her situation, was completely understandable; yea, normal for those of her circumstance). Since Thursday, it hasn't been all rose petals and cherry blossoms with G1, but still--dramatic improvements.
Then G2, who is apparently late to the whine party, decided that it was okay to throw herself on the floor and thrash around when she doesn't get her way. Oh yah--and everything in the house is hers: silverware, couches, toys, CDs, DVDs (no, those haven't been locked away just yet, but we're working on a very nice solution), dog food, dust bunnies, sponges, wash rags, bath-time barbies . . . they're all hers. It's annoying as . . . well, you know.
The running joke between weef and me is that we just look at each other and mouth or flash the sign for "7", which is how many years we spent praying and begging God for the chance to be parents. Now we have to remind ourselves that we did indeed ask for this for 84 months in a row. Yes, ladies and genlemen, you read that right: 84 months in a row. Fasting, praying, begging, pleading . . . and this is the end result. :)
But we're so glad. They're adorable little girls, and we've made so much progress with them in the last 2 weeks. Weef and I also ask each other, "can you imagine what they'd be like if we had had them from the get-go?" It's amazing. G1 will now automatically say a prayer on any food that is placed before her at any meal. We don't have to say, "Fold your arms and close your eyes" or anything like that; she just does it. And G2 is starting to pick up on it, but her articulation is much less than that of her older sister, as it should be. She's not even 2 yet, and her sister is 3.25 years old.
Progress in the forms of hugs and "daddy/daughter" time. Progress in the "mommy/daughter" department. Progess in the number of tantrums G1 throws. Still feisty and fidgety? You bet. What 3 year old isn't?
Good times.
For example:
Me: "Honey, eat your pizza."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
Me: "If you don't eat your pizza, you can't have any more milk; you'll have to have water."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO! WANT MILK!"
Me: "Then you need to eat your pizza."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
Me: "Then you'll have to have water."
G2: "NO, DADDY! NO!"
For those with a sharp eye and better-than-average short-term memory, you'll notice a reoccurring theme amongst G2's responses. That was G1's attitude all of last week and a majority of this week. There seemed to be a paradigm shift around Thursday, though. G1 started acting more like a normal 3.25 year old girl instead of how she was acting (which, given her situation, was completely understandable; yea, normal for those of her circumstance). Since Thursday, it hasn't been all rose petals and cherry blossoms with G1, but still--dramatic improvements.
Then G2, who is apparently late to the whine party, decided that it was okay to throw herself on the floor and thrash around when she doesn't get her way. Oh yah--and everything in the house is hers: silverware, couches, toys, CDs, DVDs (no, those haven't been locked away just yet, but we're working on a very nice solution), dog food, dust bunnies, sponges, wash rags, bath-time barbies . . . they're all hers. It's annoying as . . . well, you know.
The running joke between weef and me is that we just look at each other and mouth or flash the sign for "7", which is how many years we spent praying and begging God for the chance to be parents. Now we have to remind ourselves that we did indeed ask for this for 84 months in a row. Yes, ladies and genlemen, you read that right: 84 months in a row. Fasting, praying, begging, pleading . . . and this is the end result. :)
But we're so glad. They're adorable little girls, and we've made so much progress with them in the last 2 weeks. Weef and I also ask each other, "can you imagine what they'd be like if we had had them from the get-go?" It's amazing. G1 will now automatically say a prayer on any food that is placed before her at any meal. We don't have to say, "Fold your arms and close your eyes" or anything like that; she just does it. And G2 is starting to pick up on it, but her articulation is much less than that of her older sister, as it should be. She's not even 2 yet, and her sister is 3.25 years old.
Progress in the forms of hugs and "daddy/daughter" time. Progress in the "mommy/daughter" department. Progess in the number of tantrums G1 throws. Still feisty and fidgety? You bet. What 3 year old isn't?
Good times.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Thought y'all might like to know
Okay, I know this is the 3rd posting in, oh . . . an hour. I'm just not tired. Please deal. :)
So, there's this song by Rush, called "Hemispheres". It's where I got the title of my blog. Thought I'd share the lyrics with you. Here goes.
================
I. Prelude
When our weary world was young
The struggle of the ancients first began
The gods of love and reason
Sought alone to rule the fate of man
They battled through the ages
But still neither force would yield
The people were divided
Every soul a battlefield
II. Apollo: Bringer of Wisdom
"I bring truth and understanding
I bring wit, and wisdom fair
Precious gifts beyond compare
We can build a world of wonder
I can make you all aware
I will find you food and shelter
Show you fire to keep you warm
Through the endless winter storm
You can live in grace and comfort
In the world that you transform"
The people were delighted
Coming forth to claim their prize
They ran to build their cities
And converse among the wise
But one day the streets fell silent
Yet they knew not what was wrong
The urge to build these fine things
Seemed not to be so strong
The wise men were consulted
And the bridge of death was crossed
In quest of Dionysus
To find out what they had lost
III. Dionysus: Bringer of Love
"I bring love to give you solace
In the darkness of the night
In the hearts eternal light
You need only trust your feelings
Only love can steer you right
I bring laughter, I bring music
I bring joy and I bring tears
I will soothe your primal fears
Throw off those chains of reason
And your prison disappears"
The cities were abandoned
And the forests echoed song
They danced and lived as brothers
They knew love could not be wrong
Food and wine they had aplenty
And they slept beneath the stars
The people were contented
And the gods watched from afar
But the winter fell upon them
And it caught them unprepared
Bringing wolves and cold starvation
And the hearts of men despaired
IV. Armageddon: The Battle of Heart and Mind
The universe divided
As the heart and mind collided
With the people left unguided
For so many troubled years
In a cloud of doubts and fears
Their world was torn asunder
Into hollow hemispheres
Some fought themselves,
some fought each other
Most just followed one another
Lost and aimless like their brothers
For their hearts were so unclear
And the truth could not appear
Their spirits were divided
Into blinded hemispheres
Some who did not fight
Brought tales of old to light
My rocinante sailed by night
On her final flight
To the heart of cygnus' fearsome force
We set our course
Spiralled through that timeless space
To this immortal place
V. Cygnus: Bringer of Balance
"I have memory and awareness
But I have no shape or form
As a disembodied spirit
I am dead and yet unborn
I have passed into olympus
As was told in tales of old
To the city of immortals
Marble white and purest gold
I see the gods in battle rage on high
Thunderbolts across the sky
I cannot move, I cannot hide
I feel a silent scream begin inside"
Then all at once the chaos ceased
A stillness fell, a sudden peace
The warriors felt my silent cry
And stayed their struggle, mystified
Apollo was atonished
Dionysus thought me mad
But they heard my story further
And they wondered, and were sad
Looking down from Olympus
On a world of doubt and fear
Its surface splintered
Into sorry hemispheres
They sat a while in silence
Then they turned at last to me
"We will call you Cygnus
The god of balance you shall be"
VI. The Sphere: A Kind of Dream
We can walk our road together
If our goals are all the same
We can run alone and free
If we pursue a different aim
Let the truth of love be lighted
Let the love of truth shine clear
Sensibility
Armed with sense and liberty
With the heart and mind united
In a single perfect sphere
================
So, there's this song by Rush, called "Hemispheres". It's where I got the title of my blog. Thought I'd share the lyrics with you. Here goes.
================
I. Prelude
When our weary world was young
The struggle of the ancients first began
The gods of love and reason
Sought alone to rule the fate of man
They battled through the ages
But still neither force would yield
The people were divided
Every soul a battlefield
II. Apollo: Bringer of Wisdom
"I bring truth and understanding
I bring wit, and wisdom fair
Precious gifts beyond compare
We can build a world of wonder
I can make you all aware
I will find you food and shelter
Show you fire to keep you warm
Through the endless winter storm
You can live in grace and comfort
In the world that you transform"
The people were delighted
Coming forth to claim their prize
They ran to build their cities
And converse among the wise
But one day the streets fell silent
Yet they knew not what was wrong
The urge to build these fine things
Seemed not to be so strong
The wise men were consulted
And the bridge of death was crossed
In quest of Dionysus
To find out what they had lost
III. Dionysus: Bringer of Love
"I bring love to give you solace
In the darkness of the night
In the hearts eternal light
You need only trust your feelings
Only love can steer you right
I bring laughter, I bring music
I bring joy and I bring tears
I will soothe your primal fears
Throw off those chains of reason
And your prison disappears"
The cities were abandoned
And the forests echoed song
They danced and lived as brothers
They knew love could not be wrong
Food and wine they had aplenty
And they slept beneath the stars
The people were contented
And the gods watched from afar
But the winter fell upon them
And it caught them unprepared
Bringing wolves and cold starvation
And the hearts of men despaired
IV. Armageddon: The Battle of Heart and Mind
The universe divided
As the heart and mind collided
With the people left unguided
For so many troubled years
In a cloud of doubts and fears
Their world was torn asunder
Into hollow hemispheres
Some fought themselves,
some fought each other
Most just followed one another
Lost and aimless like their brothers
For their hearts were so unclear
And the truth could not appear
Their spirits were divided
Into blinded hemispheres
Some who did not fight
Brought tales of old to light
My rocinante sailed by night
On her final flight
To the heart of cygnus' fearsome force
We set our course
Spiralled through that timeless space
To this immortal place
V. Cygnus: Bringer of Balance
"I have memory and awareness
But I have no shape or form
As a disembodied spirit
I am dead and yet unborn
I have passed into olympus
As was told in tales of old
To the city of immortals
Marble white and purest gold
I see the gods in battle rage on high
Thunderbolts across the sky
I cannot move, I cannot hide
I feel a silent scream begin inside"
Then all at once the chaos ceased
A stillness fell, a sudden peace
The warriors felt my silent cry
And stayed their struggle, mystified
Apollo was atonished
Dionysus thought me mad
But they heard my story further
And they wondered, and were sad
Looking down from Olympus
On a world of doubt and fear
Its surface splintered
Into sorry hemispheres
They sat a while in silence
Then they turned at last to me
"We will call you Cygnus
The god of balance you shall be"
VI. The Sphere: A Kind of Dream
We can walk our road together
If our goals are all the same
We can run alone and free
If we pursue a different aim
Let the truth of love be lighted
Let the love of truth shine clear
Sensibility
Armed with sense and liberty
With the heart and mind united
In a single perfect sphere
================
Two for One Night!
Well, as I sit here and rip CDs, might as well write some stuff, right?
I'm going to stop just short of saying it's official because it's not, but the distinct possibility of adopting girls 1 and 2 just became distinctly probable. Weef talked to the previous foster mom tonight for about an hour, and she came away with some shockingly detailed information. Granted, the previous foster mom had the girls for 6 months or so, so yah . . . she probably has some contact with DCFS still. She has a very vested interest. Anyway, she laid some dirt on weef about the birth mom that wasn't really surprising, but at the same time, you hear something, and it just hits you in the gut like a heavy-weight boxing championship.
Let's just say that she (previous foster mom) knows more than we know about what's going on with the hearing on Monday.
The weekend just got a whole lot better.
And today was actually a step forward for daddy. Girl 1 actually came with him to the store . . . ALONE. No mommy, no girl 2 . . . just daddy and girl 1. It was fun. I think she was a tad nervous though. She was really quiet in the store, which garnered the attention of the girl at the register. "Oh, look! She's so quiet!"
"Ohhh, well . . . ha ha. Not really."
"She's . . . not?"
"No. Not normally."
*blank stare from register chick*
"Oh. Hmm."
Guess who made the mistake of walking down the halloween aisle . . . with all the halloween candy. Go ahead. Guess. While you're at it, guess who won't make that mistake again.
Hey. Lessons learned, right?
I'm going to stop just short of saying it's official because it's not, but the distinct possibility of adopting girls 1 and 2 just became distinctly probable. Weef talked to the previous foster mom tonight for about an hour, and she came away with some shockingly detailed information. Granted, the previous foster mom had the girls for 6 months or so, so yah . . . she probably has some contact with DCFS still. She has a very vested interest. Anyway, she laid some dirt on weef about the birth mom that wasn't really surprising, but at the same time, you hear something, and it just hits you in the gut like a heavy-weight boxing championship.
Let's just say that she (previous foster mom) knows more than we know about what's going on with the hearing on Monday.
The weekend just got a whole lot better.
And today was actually a step forward for daddy. Girl 1 actually came with him to the store . . . ALONE. No mommy, no girl 2 . . . just daddy and girl 1. It was fun. I think she was a tad nervous though. She was really quiet in the store, which garnered the attention of the girl at the register. "Oh, look! She's so quiet!"
"Ohhh, well . . . ha ha. Not really."
"She's . . . not?"
"No. Not normally."
*blank stare from register chick*
"Oh. Hmm."
Guess who made the mistake of walking down the halloween aisle . . . with all the halloween candy. Go ahead. Guess. While you're at it, guess who won't make that mistake again.
Hey. Lessons learned, right?
Quote of the Week
Quote of the day:
Michael: "What's the best advice I've ever given you?"
Dwight: "'Don't be stupid.' Changed my life."
That is all.
Michael: "What's the best advice I've ever given you?"
Dwight: "'Don't be stupid.' Changed my life."
That is all.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Mass frustration
Okay, I know we've only had these two girls for about two weeks, but I think that's a fairly decent amount of time to ascertain that, somewhere along the line, something horrible was done to one of the girls. During the day, everything's fine. Mommy and daddy are equals in the butt wiping and toilet helping. Bath time is a joy. Daddy helps with bath while mommy gets stuff done around the house, or vice versa. Bed time . . . not so equal. In fact, bed time is a rotten, horrible, gut-wrenching time for girl 1 if daddy comes anywhere near her or her bed.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to add up simple math. I can't sit next to her bed, put her on her bed, read her book to her, put her blanket on her . . . can't help her brush her teeth, put her jammies on . . . there's nothing I can do except sing "I Am a Child of God" 15 times (after which I lost count, so hey . . . who knows how many times we actually sang it). It's come down to wife helps with girl 1 and daddy helps with girl 2. Once we think both girls are out, we walk out of the room. Tonight, though, I guess we left too early. A few minutes later, girl 1 started bawling. I had already made it downstairs. All of the sudden, there were too many foot stomps to be just the dogs and Lori, so I went up there to see what happen. Both were out of bed, so I grabbed girl 2 and put her on her bed. She began to bawl (which we've determined is okay because it helps get them to sleep faster), but she stayed on her bed. Meanwhile, girl 1 is bawling for mommy, who is sitting literally inches from her. Not good enough. "MOMMY! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!"
"Well, daddy will take you potty, okay?"
"NO!!"
So I took her anyway. Picked her up, carried her to the bathroom, set her down, and said, "Okay, go potty. Daddy will just stand right here."
"NO!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Honey, please just go potty."
"NO!!!!"
At this point, she huddled in what little space there is between the tub and the toilet, sobbing, screaming, and very, very upset.
"DADDY, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"
I won't lie. It hurt. I just want to help and make her feel safe. But her eyes said it all; there was stark terror like I've never seen in any human before. Tears flowing from red-rimmed eyes that were bulging out of their sockets, throat raw from screaming, face flushed red from the pressure of screaming so violently . . . it broke my heart and pissed me off in a way I wasn't aware was even possible. I took her back to mommy, who then picked her up and took her to the bathroom, where she calmed down only a smidgen. She sat on the toilet, did her business, wiped, washed her hands (no, she didn't flush the toilet; daddy did AFTER he asked her if he could help her by flushing for her) , then clung to mommy for dear life, deathly afraid that daddy would touch her somehow. I cleared a path for her and mommy to go back to the bedroom, and I sat down next to girl 2, who was semi-wide awake. I stroked her hair and just stared at her in awe. Then I looked over at mommy and girl 1, who were sitting on the edge of girl 1's bed--mommy on the bed, girl 1 in "the safe lap".
I just looked at her, and I felt a dam burst inside. I sobbed like I haven't sobbed in decades. Even as I type this, I'm misting up from the frustration and pain of wondering what could have been done to her to fear daddy-bed-time help so vehemently. All I could do is tell her that I love her, and that as long as she is with us, she will *always* be safe; mommy and daddy would always take care of her. Wife suggested giving her a blessing. Never in my life have I felt so desperately grateful for the priesthood "gift" (as we told girl 1; "Daddy has a special gift from Heavenly Father . . . it'll make you feel all better! Do want daddy to share his gift with you?"). Of course, she was in no mood to have daddy near her, so I told her, "That's okay, sweetie. Daddy still loves you. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?" She just said "MMMMMmmmm . . ." which typically means, "Go away." So I just kneeled in front of both of them and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. Hard, too.
I don't think I'm quite doing the level of fright enough justice; I wish I could demonstrate or describe it. Those of you who are parents, you'll know what I mean. This . . . this put all other frustration I've ever felt to shame. I've been frustrated with co-workers, family, wife, friends . . . none of them equal the level of frustration of not knowing what to do to help this little girl feel safe. In fact, I don't think the frustration I've ever felt at the rest of the world combined could compare to this. It's such a helpless feeling. All I want for her is to feel loved, safe and comfortable. From the time she bounces out of bed until about an hour before bedtime, she's fine. She comes to me for hugs, play time, flips, help with her car seat, help with her booster seat, seconds at dinner . . . during the day, I'm right there in terms of being able to help her. Bed time . . . it's like she has a different set of eyes and sees some horrific monster that scares her to death. I know I'm not the "monster," per se, but someone at some point was. And I have to believe it was some male because she clings to mommy like gorilla glue.
I detailed in an IM to a friend earlier this evening what I would do if I ever found the person who did this to her. It's . . . . well, let's just say it's not pretty. It actually borders on disturbing. Of course, I wouldn't actually do any of those things. Ever. To anyone, for any reason. But this little girl deserves peace. She's the sweetest thing, and it makes me violently ill to think that someone could ever do something so atrocious to someone so small and vulnerable that would cause such unnatural amounts of fear.
I just want them to feel loved and safe. Right now, I think she's coming around, but she's a long ways off from feeling safe.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist to add up simple math. I can't sit next to her bed, put her on her bed, read her book to her, put her blanket on her . . . can't help her brush her teeth, put her jammies on . . . there's nothing I can do except sing "I Am a Child of God" 15 times (after which I lost count, so hey . . . who knows how many times we actually sang it). It's come down to wife helps with girl 1 and daddy helps with girl 2. Once we think both girls are out, we walk out of the room. Tonight, though, I guess we left too early. A few minutes later, girl 1 started bawling. I had already made it downstairs. All of the sudden, there were too many foot stomps to be just the dogs and Lori, so I went up there to see what happen. Both were out of bed, so I grabbed girl 2 and put her on her bed. She began to bawl (which we've determined is okay because it helps get them to sleep faster), but she stayed on her bed. Meanwhile, girl 1 is bawling for mommy, who is sitting literally inches from her. Not good enough. "MOMMY! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!"
"Well, daddy will take you potty, okay?"
"NO!!"
So I took her anyway. Picked her up, carried her to the bathroom, set her down, and said, "Okay, go potty. Daddy will just stand right here."
"NO!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Honey, please just go potty."
"NO!!!!"
At this point, she huddled in what little space there is between the tub and the toilet, sobbing, screaming, and very, very upset.
"DADDY, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"
I won't lie. It hurt. I just want to help and make her feel safe. But her eyes said it all; there was stark terror like I've never seen in any human before. Tears flowing from red-rimmed eyes that were bulging out of their sockets, throat raw from screaming, face flushed red from the pressure of screaming so violently . . . it broke my heart and pissed me off in a way I wasn't aware was even possible. I took her back to mommy, who then picked her up and took her to the bathroom, where she calmed down only a smidgen. She sat on the toilet, did her business, wiped, washed her hands (no, she didn't flush the toilet; daddy did AFTER he asked her if he could help her by flushing for her) , then clung to mommy for dear life, deathly afraid that daddy would touch her somehow. I cleared a path for her and mommy to go back to the bedroom, and I sat down next to girl 2, who was semi-wide awake. I stroked her hair and just stared at her in awe. Then I looked over at mommy and girl 1, who were sitting on the edge of girl 1's bed--mommy on the bed, girl 1 in "the safe lap".
I just looked at her, and I felt a dam burst inside. I sobbed like I haven't sobbed in decades. Even as I type this, I'm misting up from the frustration and pain of wondering what could have been done to her to fear daddy-bed-time help so vehemently. All I could do is tell her that I love her, and that as long as she is with us, she will *always* be safe; mommy and daddy would always take care of her. Wife suggested giving her a blessing. Never in my life have I felt so desperately grateful for the priesthood "gift" (as we told girl 1; "Daddy has a special gift from Heavenly Father . . . it'll make you feel all better! Do want daddy to share his gift with you?"). Of course, she was in no mood to have daddy near her, so I told her, "That's okay, sweetie. Daddy still loves you. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?" She just said "MMMMMmmmm . . ." which typically means, "Go away." So I just kneeled in front of both of them and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. Hard, too.
I don't think I'm quite doing the level of fright enough justice; I wish I could demonstrate or describe it. Those of you who are parents, you'll know what I mean. This . . . this put all other frustration I've ever felt to shame. I've been frustrated with co-workers, family, wife, friends . . . none of them equal the level of frustration of not knowing what to do to help this little girl feel safe. In fact, I don't think the frustration I've ever felt at the rest of the world combined could compare to this. It's such a helpless feeling. All I want for her is to feel loved, safe and comfortable. From the time she bounces out of bed until about an hour before bedtime, she's fine. She comes to me for hugs, play time, flips, help with her car seat, help with her booster seat, seconds at dinner . . . during the day, I'm right there in terms of being able to help her. Bed time . . . it's like she has a different set of eyes and sees some horrific monster that scares her to death. I know I'm not the "monster," per se, but someone at some point was. And I have to believe it was some male because she clings to mommy like gorilla glue.
I detailed in an IM to a friend earlier this evening what I would do if I ever found the person who did this to her. It's . . . . well, let's just say it's not pretty. It actually borders on disturbing. Of course, I wouldn't actually do any of those things. Ever. To anyone, for any reason. But this little girl deserves peace. She's the sweetest thing, and it makes me violently ill to think that someone could ever do something so atrocious to someone so small and vulnerable that would cause such unnatural amounts of fear.
I just want them to feel loved and safe. Right now, I think she's coming around, but she's a long ways off from feeling safe.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Irony
The other day at work, some friends of mine and I were discussing how lucky we've been to not be sick the last however-long-we-hadn't-been-sick. My last drop-dead date was November of 2005. I remember because I literally thought I was going to die because I accidentally took too much codeine cough syrup. "Accidentally" because the inital "dose" I took did nothing for me, so I took another, equally large "dose". This consisted of basically taking a swig from the bottle, though it was, in my mind, a tiny swig. Twice. The problem was that I couldn't find anywhere in the bottle any justification for what "10 ml" should constitute--the bottom of the lid-cup that came with it, two tablespoons, etc . . . so I just downed a little bit. Well, ha ha . . . come to find out that my two swigs constituted roughly four doses. Couple that with the anti-biotics and other stuff I was on, and I was a walking zombie. One thing I remember semi-vividly was stumbling out of the bedroom the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Lori was talking on the phone to her mom about what we needed to bring, and I thought, "Dear crap . . . have I been asleep that long? Is it really Wednesday?" So I asked Lori, "What day is it?" Well, since she was deeply engrossed with the conversation, she just kind of gave me that "shut up . . . I'll get to you in a moment look," like you would expect from an uppity gate-keeper receptionist. Being in my addled state of confusion, I wasn't happy with that. "HEY. WHAT DAY IS IT?" Lori turned and looked at me with two eyes that, for all intents and purposes, would have had the capacity to bore tunnels from here to Denver. She said, "It's Sunday . . . go back to bed. You look like crap."
"Okay. Thanks honey."
Stumbled back to bed, woke up some time Monday afternoon . . . right around the time Lori was coming home from work. "Hi, honey! How do you feel?"
"Not sure, but I'm guessing this is what a hangover feels like . . ."
"Oh, honey . . . I'm so sorry. Do you need anything?"
"Yah. More codeine."
Took another swig of cough syrup and went back to bed until Tuesday.
Anyway, now that I've strayed so far from the original point of this blog, I might as well finish off my current thought, which in and of itself is rather humorous, but not so much.
So, as you can gather from Monday's conversation, Lori was really sweet and nice when she came home. It kind of irked me that she was so mean Sunday night. Well, ha ha . . . guess what? She wasn't. I had apparently hallucinated that entire conversation. She said that I only asked her one time what day it was, and that was while I was bracing myself between the two kitchen counters, theoretically so I wouldn't fall to the floor in a cellulitic heap of mess. Then she said that I stumbled back to the bedroom, propping myself up on the walls several times as I made my way down the corridor of death (read: 8-foot hallway from living room to bedroom). I had literally no recollection of anything like that. Kind of bizarre.
Okay, so now we're back to a point where I can actually address the original point of this whole blog: irony.
Friends at work. Discussing previous and most recent illnesses. Thanksgiving '05. Flash forward to three days ago. Thursday afternoon at work, I started feeling a little under-the-weathery, so I took some airborne. Helped, but just some. Went home, pounded half a gallon of orange juice, went to bed, got up, went to work. Friday was more of the same, so I took another airborne. It didn't help as much, but I had to stick out the day, so I trudged through everything that had to be done, then went home . . . and then it hit. The runny nose, the insatiable tickle in the back of my throat, the cold spells, achy joints . . . it was official--I was sick. I called my brother and told him that there was a very disticnt possibility that we wouldn't make it down for the party we were having to welcome Shariden and Brookie to the family, and he told me that most everyone in his house had been sick at some point during the week. So we decided to play it by ear on Saturday.
Ironically, I got up the next morning and felt rather okay. Didn't sleep very well, but I didn't have any of the old signs of being sick, so I thought "Great! Let's go to the party!"
In retrospect, what I should have done is stayed in bed all day, drunk another gallon of orange juice, and probably go to the doctor. Saturday night was one of the most rough nights I'd ever had sleep-wise; the cold came roaring back with vengeance like an unpaid mobster, and I literally prayed for death. Clearly, my wish wasn't granted. Pity, too . . . I'm pretty sure the afterlife can't be this bad. From my understanding, it'd be a break from all the maladies and woes we have to go through in this mortal existence. There are days where death would be preferable, but those days are so few and far between that they hardly justify the desire.
Especially when you hear little two and three year old girls scream, "DADDY!!!" and they run up and give you the world's biggest hug. Well, biggest hug as two little girls can muster, which, gotta tell ya . . . ain't much, but they're some of the best hugs in the world.
Crap. I just realized that I was asleep when my wife came home last night. Another long story for another day, but to summarize, her sister left her jerk husband finally. There are much more accurate, colorful words I could use to describe the nature of this boy, but for now, let's just say that most members on this side of the family wish he would die. Or, better yet, get run over by a mack truck and spend the rest of his life eating his meals through a IV hooked into his arm . . . if he has any arms left. That's the short of the long of it. My wife went over to her other sister's place, where everyone seemed to be gathering. Just guessing, but I bet it was really just that rough of a night.
May I please go back to bed now? Blogging from 3:30 until 4 in the morning just isn't the highlight of my night, ya know?
"Okay. Thanks honey."
Stumbled back to bed, woke up some time Monday afternoon . . . right around the time Lori was coming home from work. "Hi, honey! How do you feel?"
"Not sure, but I'm guessing this is what a hangover feels like . . ."
"Oh, honey . . . I'm so sorry. Do you need anything?"
"Yah. More codeine."
Took another swig of cough syrup and went back to bed until Tuesday.
Anyway, now that I've strayed so far from the original point of this blog, I might as well finish off my current thought, which in and of itself is rather humorous, but not so much.
So, as you can gather from Monday's conversation, Lori was really sweet and nice when she came home. It kind of irked me that she was so mean Sunday night. Well, ha ha . . . guess what? She wasn't. I had apparently hallucinated that entire conversation. She said that I only asked her one time what day it was, and that was while I was bracing myself between the two kitchen counters, theoretically so I wouldn't fall to the floor in a cellulitic heap of mess. Then she said that I stumbled back to the bedroom, propping myself up on the walls several times as I made my way down the corridor of death (read: 8-foot hallway from living room to bedroom). I had literally no recollection of anything like that. Kind of bizarre.
Okay, so now we're back to a point where I can actually address the original point of this whole blog: irony.
Friends at work. Discussing previous and most recent illnesses. Thanksgiving '05. Flash forward to three days ago. Thursday afternoon at work, I started feeling a little under-the-weathery, so I took some airborne. Helped, but just some. Went home, pounded half a gallon of orange juice, went to bed, got up, went to work. Friday was more of the same, so I took another airborne. It didn't help as much, but I had to stick out the day, so I trudged through everything that had to be done, then went home . . . and then it hit. The runny nose, the insatiable tickle in the back of my throat, the cold spells, achy joints . . . it was official--I was sick. I called my brother and told him that there was a very disticnt possibility that we wouldn't make it down for the party we were having to welcome Shariden and Brookie to the family, and he told me that most everyone in his house had been sick at some point during the week. So we decided to play it by ear on Saturday.
Ironically, I got up the next morning and felt rather okay. Didn't sleep very well, but I didn't have any of the old signs of being sick, so I thought "Great! Let's go to the party!"
In retrospect, what I should have done is stayed in bed all day, drunk another gallon of orange juice, and probably go to the doctor. Saturday night was one of the most rough nights I'd ever had sleep-wise; the cold came roaring back with vengeance like an unpaid mobster, and I literally prayed for death. Clearly, my wish wasn't granted. Pity, too . . . I'm pretty sure the afterlife can't be this bad. From my understanding, it'd be a break from all the maladies and woes we have to go through in this mortal existence. There are days where death would be preferable, but those days are so few and far between that they hardly justify the desire.
Especially when you hear little two and three year old girls scream, "DADDY!!!" and they run up and give you the world's biggest hug. Well, biggest hug as two little girls can muster, which, gotta tell ya . . . ain't much, but they're some of the best hugs in the world.
Crap. I just realized that I was asleep when my wife came home last night. Another long story for another day, but to summarize, her sister left her jerk husband finally. There are much more accurate, colorful words I could use to describe the nature of this boy, but for now, let's just say that most members on this side of the family wish he would die. Or, better yet, get run over by a mack truck and spend the rest of his life eating his meals through a IV hooked into his arm . . . if he has any arms left. That's the short of the long of it. My wife went over to her other sister's place, where everyone seemed to be gathering. Just guessing, but I bet it was really just that rough of a night.
May I please go back to bed now? Blogging from 3:30 until 4 in the morning just isn't the highlight of my night, ya know?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
News of the Century
Well, for us, anyway.
*insert drum roll here*
We are now the proud foster parents of two beautiful little girls--Sheradin and Brooklyn. They're adorable, sweet, and very much 3 and 2. Well, almost 2.
Pictures to follow . . . as soon as I figure out how.
*insert drum roll here*
We are now the proud foster parents of two beautiful little girls--Sheradin and Brooklyn. They're adorable, sweet, and very much 3 and 2. Well, almost 2.
Pictures to follow . . . as soon as I figure out how.
Late to bed, early to rise . . .
Definitely does *not* make a man healthy, wealthy and/or wise. In fact, it makes this man feel like death, which can't be good for going to work and earning a living, and really . . . it's kind of stupid.
Yet here I am again, at the tender hour of 6 am, wondering why I'm up this early. There's a very specific, good reason why, but there isn't enough time to write a full story on that just now. Probably won't be until late tonight.
I'll say this much: at least now I have a reason to write. Before, there wasn't really anything to say. "Ohhh . . . today, I went to work, came home, ate dinner, checked email, watched some tv, did some shopping, came home and went to bed." Big. Frickin'. Deal. I mean, I know wife and I do more than that, but it sure doesn't seem like it when you look at the last 7.5 years of marriage.
That all changed last Tuesday. Hopefully, this'll be a permanent change. More on that later. For now, it's "nose to the grindstone" time (read: gotta make a living).
Yet here I am again, at the tender hour of 6 am, wondering why I'm up this early. There's a very specific, good reason why, but there isn't enough time to write a full story on that just now. Probably won't be until late tonight.
I'll say this much: at least now I have a reason to write. Before, there wasn't really anything to say. "Ohhh . . . today, I went to work, came home, ate dinner, checked email, watched some tv, did some shopping, came home and went to bed." Big. Frickin'. Deal. I mean, I know wife and I do more than that, but it sure doesn't seem like it when you look at the last 7.5 years of marriage.
That all changed last Tuesday. Hopefully, this'll be a permanent change. More on that later. For now, it's "nose to the grindstone" time (read: gotta make a living).
Thursday, May 10, 2007
On the blogging radar
Blogging. Look at me. I'm "blogging".
It's incredible how many words and acronyms have either been created or taken on new meaning because of computers. "Blog," "LAN," "burn," "rip," "RAID," "drive," . . . that's just what I came up with off the top of my 6:30-in-the-morning head.
Whatever. Now that I think about it, I wish I had looked into this a little more before going with this website. Half of the internet is blocked where I work. I'm going to guess that this one will be too. Guess we'll see when I actually get in to work.
It's incredible how many words and acronyms have either been created or taken on new meaning because of computers. "Blog," "LAN," "burn," "rip," "RAID," "drive," . . . that's just what I came up with off the top of my 6:30-in-the-morning head.
Whatever. Now that I think about it, I wish I had looked into this a little more before going with this website. Half of the internet is blocked where I work. I'm going to guess that this one will be too. Guess we'll see when I actually get in to work.
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