This speaks to me...
Amelia Curran
28 October 2008
27 October 2008
Come Back Snuggle Bear!!
I am so, so, so tired of politcal advertising that I actually miss the little fucker.
Oh wait. It's not really that bad. I can handle a few more days.
Must.Be.Strong.
Oh wait. It's not really that bad. I can handle a few more days.
Must.Be.Strong.
22 October 2008
I Ain't Got Much
After all the excitement over the last week or so, and now the subsequent relief of knowing my child is heathly - my brain is mush. I have nothing of interest to say - not that I really ever do anyway. But now? I'm just empty. I guess I need some time to recharge and refocus.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
One thing:
I get an email every day from veryshortlist.com
If you haven't heard of it, I highly recommend it. I have been turned on to some amazing books, music, movies and websites that I don't know I ever would have found otherwise. Today's VSL was for a website called englishrussia.com - Very cool. I hope you'll check it out and find some interesting things as I have.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sorry. That's all I got.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
One thing:
I get an email every day from veryshortlist.com
If you haven't heard of it, I highly recommend it. I have been turned on to some amazing books, music, movies and websites that I don't know I ever would have found otherwise. Today's VSL was for a website called englishrussia.com - Very cool. I hope you'll check it out and find some interesting things as I have.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sorry. That's all I got.
20 October 2008
It's The Same in Any Language
отрицательно, negatief, 消极, négatif, 消極, negativ, αρνητικός, negatiivinen, שלילי, negativo,否定的, negatibong, 부정, negatīvs, नकारात्मक , негативний, negative.
No matter how you say it, Finn does NOT have CF.
My heart says hallelujah.
17 October 2008
Soap Opera Wisdom
Pain is like a dog.
It's got to be let out - taken for a walk.
Else, one day you come home and your couch has been eaten.
Heard on Days of Our Lives
It's got to be let out - taken for a walk.
Else, one day you come home and your couch has been eaten.
Heard on Days of Our Lives
15 October 2008
14 October 2008
Where We've Been
I have several blogs that I read every day. Most, like me, tend to post during the week so a weekend without a post is common. What scares me though, is when a blog goes quiet with no prior warning of a vacation or some other planned absence. I worry about you gals even though I don't "know" you.
Well, my blog hasn't been updated in a week and I'm here to apologize to any of you who might have been concerned. We're OK. Or at least we're getting there.
Finn developed a cough last Tuesday, but it really wasn't concerning. Wednesday he had his cast removed in the morning and then I dropped him at daycare for the remainder of the day. By the time I picked the boys up, however, he had taken a down turn and looked miserable. Just before dinner his coughing got so bad that he threw up. That continued through the night.
We kept him home on Thursday and he was obviously not well. By afternoon I noticed he was breathing oddly and we decided to call the doctor. At 6:00 pm we brought him to the Emergent Care facility and after lots of pokes and prodding and a chest X-ray we were transferred (much to his delight) by ambulance to the hospital where we were admitted with double pneumonia/viral respiratory crud/asthma.
We spent three nights at the Hotel Barbara Bush otherwise known as the Barbara Bush Children's Hospital (OK, there's one good the Republicans have done in Maine... Really though, she's a lovely woman.) Finn in a wonderfully entertaining mechanical bed, me in a surprisingly comfortable cot next to him. Once we got his breathing under control he adjusted well, only once complaining Mama, I miss my home... Thankfully, the drugs helped him feel better almost immediately and then we just had to wait it out and try to entertain ourselves until he no longer needed help maintaining his O2 levels.
Imagine a four year old hooked up to an oxygen tank, all hopped up on Albuterol and Prednisone riding a tricycle around and around the hospital corridors while his sleep deprived, stressed out Mama chases him trying desperately not to take anyone out with the portable tank - Yeah, good times that.
We were sprung on Saturday and have been settling in to our regular routines while trying to keep Finn from overdoing it. He has a follow up with his pediatrician tomorrow, and here's whats keeping me awake still - he will be tested for Cystic Fibrosis on Friday. It's a long shot that he has it but still...If you're the praying type we could use a couple extra if you could send them our way.
Any how, that's the update and let me tell you, it's good to be home.
Well, my blog hasn't been updated in a week and I'm here to apologize to any of you who might have been concerned. We're OK. Or at least we're getting there.
Finn developed a cough last Tuesday, but it really wasn't concerning. Wednesday he had his cast removed in the morning and then I dropped him at daycare for the remainder of the day. By the time I picked the boys up, however, he had taken a down turn and looked miserable. Just before dinner his coughing got so bad that he threw up. That continued through the night.
We kept him home on Thursday and he was obviously not well. By afternoon I noticed he was breathing oddly and we decided to call the doctor. At 6:00 pm we brought him to the Emergent Care facility and after lots of pokes and prodding and a chest X-ray we were transferred (much to his delight) by ambulance to the hospital where we were admitted with double pneumonia/viral respiratory crud/asthma.
We spent three nights at the Hotel Barbara Bush otherwise known as the Barbara Bush Children's Hospital (OK, there's one good the Republicans have done in Maine... Really though, she's a lovely woman.) Finn in a wonderfully entertaining mechanical bed, me in a surprisingly comfortable cot next to him. Once we got his breathing under control he adjusted well, only once complaining Mama, I miss my home... Thankfully, the drugs helped him feel better almost immediately and then we just had to wait it out and try to entertain ourselves until he no longer needed help maintaining his O2 levels.
Imagine a four year old hooked up to an oxygen tank, all hopped up on Albuterol and Prednisone riding a tricycle around and around the hospital corridors while his sleep deprived, stressed out Mama chases him trying desperately not to take anyone out with the portable tank - Yeah, good times that.
We were sprung on Saturday and have been settling in to our regular routines while trying to keep Finn from overdoing it. He has a follow up with his pediatrician tomorrow, and here's whats keeping me awake still - he will be tested for Cystic Fibrosis on Friday. It's a long shot that he has it but still...If you're the praying type we could use a couple extra if you could send them our way.
Any how, that's the update and let me tell you, it's good to be home.
06 October 2008
Mousetrap
The shelves in the cubby room are filled with toys, puzzles and games and lots of art supplies. When we arrive at daycare in the morning, the boys will choose something from the shelf and bring it out to the tables. They usually choose a puzzle to start and I always have lots of drawings to bring home at the end of the day.
There are a few “big” toys on the top shelf – one is called “Hullabaloo” and another is “Elefun” or something similar. These are games which require space as there are lots of pieces to spread about and butterflies that fly out of the Elephant’s snout. Thankfully there’s lots of room in the old church basement that is our daycare.
Finn and Owen wanted to play Hullabaloo this morning, but Alice the daycare owner told them it was too “involved” and “needed adult supervision” and to put it back and choose something else.
This isn’t the first time she has not let them play with something. I’ve kind of brushed it off before – painting does require some preparation and planning. I get that. But I don’t understand what is wrong with letting the kids spread out on the floor and play a game together. If you don’t want them to play with something take it off the shelf!
But I didn’t say anything. I never do. It’s easier to just redirect and find something else the boys will enjoy.
I don’t remember my drive to work this morning. I got lost in a space in my head that I hadn’t visited for a long time.
When I was nine I stopped talking. My parents had divorced more than 4 years previous, but apparently when I was nine I finally decided it was a big deal. This was my silent scream for help. The school psychologist analyzed the situation and suggested to my mother that I see a professional to help me through my issues.
The picture I have in my head of Dr. Parmet is of a stodgy old curmudgeon of a man, dressed in tweed and sporting thick dark glasses. He smelled of cigarettes and books. After our initial formal “get to know you” meeting we settled in to a small room lined with shelves full of toys and games - many of which I had never played before. He asked me what I wanted to play. I scanned the shelves and meekly said, “I don’t know”.
He suggested Gin. I don’t know if I already knew how to play or if he taught me, but for an hour every Monday we would sit in that nearly silent room and play Gin.
Weeks went by and though I got very good at Gin I secretly longed to play “Mousetrap” – a game I had never played but had seen on TV. Oh how I wanted to play it. But every time the doctor asked me what I wanted to play I’d say “I don’t care” and we’d play Gin for an hour.
Time went by and I slowly gained enough confidence to tell him I wanted a change. I remember trying to psych myself up and get ready for that day. And finally it arrived.
We went in to the game room and, as usual, sat at the little yellow table.
"How are you today?" Fine.
I don’t remember anything we ever talked about that was of any substance.
"What would you like to play today?" {pause.} {deep breath.} {throat tightening}
Mmmousetrap. I’d like to play Mousetrap today.
Without skipping a beat, the doctor replied, "No, that’s a stupid game. Let’s play Gin".
I don’t know why I didn’t scream and give him the reaction I know he was looking for. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I didn’t stand up and push the table away like I wanted to and say But you asked me what I wanted to do and I want to play Mousetrap!
No. I quietly accepted his answer and we played Gin.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for not pushing me to speak my mind. I wonder how I would have dealt with certain events in my life if I had gotten mad that day. I had a lot to say, but I was afraid. I still have a lot to say, but it’s easier not to. And really, it just doesn’t matter that much any more.
There are a few “big” toys on the top shelf – one is called “Hullabaloo” and another is “Elefun” or something similar. These are games which require space as there are lots of pieces to spread about and butterflies that fly out of the Elephant’s snout. Thankfully there’s lots of room in the old church basement that is our daycare.
Finn and Owen wanted to play Hullabaloo this morning, but Alice the daycare owner told them it was too “involved” and “needed adult supervision” and to put it back and choose something else.
This isn’t the first time she has not let them play with something. I’ve kind of brushed it off before – painting does require some preparation and planning. I get that. But I don’t understand what is wrong with letting the kids spread out on the floor and play a game together. If you don’t want them to play with something take it off the shelf!
But I didn’t say anything. I never do. It’s easier to just redirect and find something else the boys will enjoy.
I don’t remember my drive to work this morning. I got lost in a space in my head that I hadn’t visited for a long time.
When I was nine I stopped talking. My parents had divorced more than 4 years previous, but apparently when I was nine I finally decided it was a big deal. This was my silent scream for help. The school psychologist analyzed the situation and suggested to my mother that I see a professional to help me through my issues.
The picture I have in my head of Dr. Parmet is of a stodgy old curmudgeon of a man, dressed in tweed and sporting thick dark glasses. He smelled of cigarettes and books. After our initial formal “get to know you” meeting we settled in to a small room lined with shelves full of toys and games - many of which I had never played before. He asked me what I wanted to play. I scanned the shelves and meekly said, “I don’t know”.
He suggested Gin. I don’t know if I already knew how to play or if he taught me, but for an hour every Monday we would sit in that nearly silent room and play Gin.
Weeks went by and though I got very good at Gin I secretly longed to play “Mousetrap” – a game I had never played but had seen on TV. Oh how I wanted to play it. But every time the doctor asked me what I wanted to play I’d say “I don’t care” and we’d play Gin for an hour.
Time went by and I slowly gained enough confidence to tell him I wanted a change. I remember trying to psych myself up and get ready for that day. And finally it arrived.
We went in to the game room and, as usual, sat at the little yellow table.
"How are you today?" Fine.
I don’t remember anything we ever talked about that was of any substance.
"What would you like to play today?" {pause.} {deep breath.} {throat tightening}
Mmmousetrap. I’d like to play Mousetrap today.
Without skipping a beat, the doctor replied, "No, that’s a stupid game. Let’s play Gin".
I don’t know why I didn’t scream and give him the reaction I know he was looking for. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I didn’t stand up and push the table away like I wanted to and say But you asked me what I wanted to do and I want to play Mousetrap!
No. I quietly accepted his answer and we played Gin.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for not pushing me to speak my mind. I wonder how I would have dealt with certain events in my life if I had gotten mad that day. I had a lot to say, but I was afraid. I still have a lot to say, but it’s easier not to. And really, it just doesn’t matter that much any more.
03 October 2008
The Gift That Keeps on Giving?
The dreaded, and I mean DREADED, Hand-Foot-Mouth-Disease is making it's way through our daycare. It's highly contagious.
O came down with it last weekend and spent most of the week at home. The poor kid has been miserable. He'll wake from a sound sleep howling and point to his mouth saying "Ow, Ow, Ow..." Tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks. Oh my poor sweet love!
I get some pretty serious canker sores from time to time. His pediatrician said Imagine having a mouthful of them... No.Thank.You.
And there's nothing you can do but try to make them as comfortable as possible and wait it out.
Thankfully he's better now.
This morning Finn said his mouth hurt. I took a look but didn't see anything but a little red spot on the roof of his mouth.
I'm praying he's just hungry for some attention too.
O came down with it last weekend and spent most of the week at home. The poor kid has been miserable. He'll wake from a sound sleep howling and point to his mouth saying "Ow, Ow, Ow..." Tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks. Oh my poor sweet love!
I get some pretty serious canker sores from time to time. His pediatrician said Imagine having a mouthful of them... No.Thank.You.
And there's nothing you can do but try to make them as comfortable as possible and wait it out.
Thankfully he's better now.
This morning Finn said his mouth hurt. I took a look but didn't see anything but a little red spot on the roof of his mouth.
I'm praying he's just hungry for some attention too.
02 October 2008
What Color Are Your Eyes?
I fully expected the test to reveal that my eyes should be a different color, but my eyes are blue... Interesting. Thanks to Sunset Zaguán for this afternoon fun.
I wonder how many times this test is correct? Was yours?
I wonder how many times this test is correct? Was yours?
Your Eyes Should Be Blue |
 Your eyes reflect: Innocence and sweetness People find you to be: Attractive, adorable, and irresistible Your best trait: You truly love to make other people happy What's hidden behind your eyes: A calculating mind |
01 October 2008
I Hate My Job
Not really. Just today.
Being the IT manager, part of my job is to "tune up" computers. You know, clean out all the Internet cookies and other garbage that clogs up computers these days. Today I cleaned up a PC only to find that this particular user has been surfing porn.
Yep. That's right. Today I learned my friend and colleague is an Ass Man. That's just not something I ever wanted to know. I saw more disgusting stuff on his computer than I thought I'd see in a lifetime. Eeww. Just eeww.
Come on people. Who the hell surfs porn AT WORK?
I feel dirty. And now I have to report him. He'll probably lose his job.
Being the IT manager, part of my job is to "tune up" computers. You know, clean out all the Internet cookies and other garbage that clogs up computers these days. Today I cleaned up a PC only to find that this particular user has been surfing porn.
Yep. That's right. Today I learned my friend and colleague is an Ass Man. That's just not something I ever wanted to know. I saw more disgusting stuff on his computer than I thought I'd see in a lifetime. Eeww. Just eeww.
Come on people. Who the hell surfs porn AT WORK?
I feel dirty. And now I have to report him. He'll probably lose his job.
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