Posts tagged this is my life
Me: Where does there exist a place where there is a “last alpaca” to get?
Richard: I don’t know but I’m sure you’d find it.
(via caracaracara)
Oh, just drinking my dinner (smoothie), watching Battlestar and clipping coupons.
Cause I’m classy like that.
Also, H pooped in the tub tonight. Not cool, baby H, not cool. The only thing that makes me (occasionally) reconsider my career choices is the poop, seriously.
PS: I really love having a laundry chute because not only do I not have to carry a hamper downstairs (ha) but I can open it to listen for the washer so I don’t have to go downstairs before it’s finished.
After a weekend of running around like mad and fixing all the things I’m ready to just sit down for a while. But the truth is that I’ve already gone on a mile walk with Wicket to tire her out before I have to head to work in less than an hour and I’m trying to motivate myself to unpack just one more box before I have to leave.
So of course I thought to myself, why not just open up the computer and putz on it for a while? I’m a wreck. And I know if I say I’ll just get to it after work I won’t get nearly as much done as I could have today. But you know what? I’ll only be gone for a few hours today and I’ll probably be much more motivated to get shit done when I’m not worried about making sure remember to eat before I leave for work, and get my bag together, so I guess what I’m saying is that I will putz for a while, then pack up my nanny bag, eat a sandwich and leave. Because that will be better for everyone involved.
This has been a pointless post.
Things I can be heard saying as paint splatters across my face: “I’m a smooth operator.”
Of all the things I have yet to find in Milwaukee a good tattoo artist is one of them, but really, I haven’t been looking all that hard, and I like personal recommendations as opposed to reviews online.
I need someone who can at the very least clean-up the wreck on my hip, and possibly someone who works with white ink because I’m really getting more excited about a white pair of scissors at the top of the long white scar on my back.
And someone to go dumpster diving curb shopping with (I’m really not physically capable of jumping in and out of dumpsters again yet), please note that I do not need to find all of these things in one person, but if I could I’m sure that person would be awesome.
sammy davis jr. jr.
Do you know what I do whenever I put on a Sammy Davis Jr. album?
I quiet-yell “SammyDavisJuniorJunior!” and then hope that no one has overheard.
When I did it last week I startled the dog.
(via whineandbeer)
I went to my appointment at the Spine Care clinic yesterday. It was good, and I managed to luck into a promising doctor.
She showed me my MRI (the one from February 2010) and I almost cried, I take that back, I did cry. Every other doctor I’d been to would hold up a plastic spine replica and explain what was happening, but no one had ever shown me the scan. It wouldn’t take a medical professional to see something wrong in that scan. The rest of my back in “perfectly healthy” until you get down to the disc that’s causing the trouble. Every other disc was white, and the one troubled disc was pure black, and bulged into the spinal column. Frankly, it scared me.
She put me on my “last ditch” steroid treatment, gave me a prescription for a stronger painkiller since all I’ve been using is Aleve (and it isn’t really working anymore), and scheduled me for an MRI tomorrow.
Basically it’s come down to this oral steroid treatment, possibly one more epidural if she thinks that will push me over, and after that the next step is surgery.
The thought of surgery is nerve wracking, but the thought of living on in this kind of pain or possibly wrecking my body is terrifying.
When I write a memoir about my life* this chapter will be entitled “Adventures in Poo.”
The three-year-old (her birthday was Monday!) is still working on potty training, and I’m spending at least half an hour every day reading a book to her, while balancing the baby in one arm, on the floor of the bathroom.
Frankly, I think my entire nanny career could be chronicled in absurd bathroom situations.
Like the time six years ago when I told Hannah (five) not to eat the play dough because it was the real stuff, and not homemade. I kept her away from it till I left at four o’clock that afternoon. The next day around 11 am I heard Hannah’s screams coming from the bathroom. I threw Michael (two) up on my hip and ran to her only to discover the source of her distress was bright blue poo. Bright, bright blue. After I’d left the previous day she had managed to eat THE ENTIRE CONTAINER of blue play dough. So, yeah.
*ha!
1) We made an offer on a house! (again!)
2) Lots and lots of dirty diapers. (this event not nearly as exciting.)
Concerning #1 - the house is within blocks of Richard’s school, and his parents, and his grandfather. And is an entire 15 minutes closer to my work and my parents than the place we live now. We put a time limit on it, so if the seller doesn’t have their stuff together enough to close in 45 days we withdraw our offer and walk away.
Concerning #2 - I am really not comfortable with that amount of poo.
