Randomness Beyond Bounds

So, I haven't had much to say in a while - or rather, not much to say in the actual form of words.  My thoughts lately have been centered around a mass of mumbles, grumbles, whimpers, tears, growls, and sometimes the general hollow ringing of an infrequently empty shell of a mind.

Christmas is now, by the time on the clock, officially in TWO F'IN DAYS.  Do you know what we have accomplished in regards to this mockery of a holiday?
Dinner:  Every last bit and piece STILL at the store.  Recipes to be rifled through to make my final determinations as to *which 6* (yes, 6) different cheesecakes I will be making for Christmas.  Greyson has yet to see Santa, because the night we were *supposed* to go, it decided to DOWNPOUR.  I couldn't evenget good photos of the light displays because it was raining THAT hard - I have water orbs filling the entrire foreground of every single shot.  Since that night, the weather here in Chicago has gone WONKY.  It rained ICE, then it froze solid layers of it over our cars that I had to bust through on a FREEZING ASS COLD morning last Monday to get to the Pain Clinic - to be told that, YES, the x-rays on my neck show no structural abnormalities (other than the extra vertebra which in turn causes an extra curve where my thoracic meets the cervical), so *we are discharging you from physical therapy, even though your averages on the pain scale have only decreased by about 1.5.  Go. Me. *thwack*
Oh, and the presents?  *insert maniacal laughter here*  Not only am I in possession only ONE DS game, ONE pair of pants, and a digital microscope for Greyson, but I have NO cards, and the 'Christmas Letters' that I was going to send out to friends and family?  The paper is still in the package, along with the envelopes, in my filing cabinet drawer.  Heh.  They have officially decided to become "New Year's Letters" due to a case of 'Momma is in a Funk-dom'.
We are planning the *food* shopping portion of Christmas today (Tuesday), as well as (hopefully) taking Grey to see Santa.  Though I'm trying to calculate in my head if we should attempt to finish gift shopping today, and Santa tomorrow... I don't know exactly what the final stats will be until I though the idea out to my Mom.
BUT!  You wanna hear the *fun* part?  Here's me, and my mom, with a cane from a bad foot and ankle after three separate surgeries on it, after being dumped on by layer upon layer of ice and snow to what is literally about waist-high on Greyson... with a snowblower whose auger has chosen to stop turning.  In all this mess, the hubby tried to just PUSH the snow with it, and slipped the chains off one of the tires.  And then left it at that.  Neither car is in the driveway, because if we could get them in... we probably wouldn't be able to get them out. 
I was carrying Greyson in from the car late Saturday night (after driving for TWO HOURS to get home from my SIL's house, when my foot slipped and I thought we were both going down.  Luckily, I stayed standing, but I had a sheer streak of pain go burrowing not only down my leg, but all the way across my lower back to the previously UNaffected side.  Today, again, I thought I was gonna wind up on my ass out there, because the snow HAS NOT EVEN BEEN SHOVELED!
I think someone's waiting for Suzy Snowflake to bring her little elves or some shit, because I sure as FUCK am not shoveling all the goddamn snow with pieces of disc sticking out every which way from between my vertebrae!
So, of course, since being discharged from treatment?  Yeah, I've been HURTING.  My GOD, have I.  The cold is NO friend to someone with fibromyalgia, and since it never rose out of the negative digits yesterday, nor above zero today... Eeeeeeh.  Not happy.
I *am* finished* with this term of classes, FINALLY.  I lost 2 friggin points on my PowerPoint final because?  I put too much information into each of the slides.  Oooookay.  I was simply *trying* to meet the "10-slide" format we were given... and STILL went over by 4 slides.  Oh well - class grade going from 100% to a 99%?  So there, and I don't give a damn.
My second class?  Yeah... she said she would have my final paper graded within 24 hours after she sent me a message that she received it...on THURSDAY.  Still don't have it, still don't know my final grade.  *hiss*

Greyson has become a Christmas elf, and is hoarding any and all cards that come in the mail, with an OOH and an AHH and a jubilant burst of "It says MERRY CHRISTMAS!" when he finds one that he can read.  I think he has about 10 in his little pile that just HAS to stay together - so 'Gia' told him we could hang them all up tomorrow.
Me?  I'd rather just stay in my hidey-hole of warmth in bed where there's no further risk of injuring myself.

How SAD is that?  I feel like I'm an at impasse - I'm stuck.  I feel trapped by the weather, because my God, if I were to take one bad fall on the ice?  I might not be able to get back up again.  My son?  I personally cannot do a DAMN thing about gifts for Christmas.  I am just sitting and *waiting* to hear back from this job (as a corrections officer - how funny is THAT?), but that's all I can do on that right now, too.  I feel completely stalled every direction I turn, and my brain is in overdrive, I *think* from the strenuous activities of finsihing these intense, accelerated-pace college classes.  Some days it's hard to turn all that off, and then I wind up researching different methods of evidence recovery, or the stages of rigor and livor mortis, for no explainable reason.  I actually found myself researching the why and how of Santa Claus.  Did I *need* to know?  Absolutely not - but my brain is so geeked-out by this learning again that I literally cannot stop it sometimes.

Greyson has reassured us on several occassions lately about how he IS going to be a doctor when he grows up, with reinforcements of his knowledge about how he KNOWS what is wrong with Mommy's back "see, she has bad discs, down here, between the BONES" and about how "HE can then change Papa's trach for him and help him breathe better with the suction catheter."  YES, he knows all these words, and knows the reasons  behind them.  He wants to "discuss science" every night at bedtime, prying from Mommy every bit of science and medical information I can transform into a three year old's sense of being.  He know knows about his ribs, and his skull, and what they protect, about his heart and lungs and what their functions are...  We have noted on the differences between hearing your voice from the inside as opposed to from the outside, and he knows that your voice is based on your larynx.

I think he really IS gunning towards a medical degree.  Already.  Look out, Doogie Howser!!

Actually, shortly after the new year, he will be scheduled for a developmental evaluation by our school district,so that we can save him a spot in their public preschool in the fall.  Meanwhile, I am going to look into as MANY extracurriculars as I can for him through to then, because this kid NEEDS stimulation and input - and GYMNASTICS.  He is a certified MONKEY, and has started to try and climb the insides of our doorframes, can climb up to my shoulders from the floor (and then proceed to KNEEL on my shoulders once up there)...  He's tall, and he's all lean muscle.  And nothing but ENERGY OHMYGOD.  Nobody warned me about the ATTITUDE that comes with turning three - looking back, two was a BREEZE.  I have honestly threatened to wash his mouth out with soap on a couple occassions.  It just will NOY fly in my house... especially since last week's dinner out turned into me being "the mom with THAT kid" as I carried him out of the restaurant kicking and screaming.  I am completely honest when I tell you that he has NEVER, in his LIFE, acted that way in public before.  I was absolutely embarrassed beyond my limits and ashamed of what had just erupted like Mt. St. Helen's from my little boy.  Yeow.

My stress level is UP, so my sleep level is DOWN again.  Not even a little dosing with the Ambien made it over that chasm that gets ripped open whenever my stress  levels skyrocket.  I do so hope that, maybe, with the drink I am going to pour myself, I will *finally* get some rest tonight.  After all, I have to be a WonderMom tomorrow and tackle three days' worth of activity into ONE.

Have I mentioned my stress?  Heh.

MIGRAINES. SUCK.

Aaaaand what *really* sucks is when your non-napping 3 year old son wakes up after only *9* hours of sleep and stays awake for the next 15 hours STRAIGHT.

You'd be tired, right?  Heh.

Too bad that is when my migraine decided to come back.  Along with a pretty massive backache (thanks, Doc, for taking me off my muscle relaxants!  REALLY.  You're TOO kind.) - GAH.

So, here I am... Stuck because the medication I've been on for sleep hasn't been working all too fantabulously for a while now, and I don't see THAT particular doc again until Monday.  And I can't even go all "free-base" (LOL) and take extra, because then I won't have any AT. ALL.

Yeah, me!!

At least the toilet flushes again without spewing forth gallons of PUTRIDITY into the *laundry room for God's sakes* again.  That?  Yeah, THAT would make my skull *completely* crack in two - instead of just feeling like it is.  Fun.

Of course, I don't think the pain would be much different.  Damn.  Then I'd have something to at least blame the damn headache ON.  *sigh*

Did I mention YEAH ME!!!???!?!

I did?

Damn.

Secret Santa... Can SUCK IT!

Okay, first off... doesn't that title just make you all warm and fuzzy inside?  Ha!!

So, Bee at Bee's Musings decided that, since this year has been OH so less-than-spectacular, and the majority of us are, well, POOR AS DIRT this holiday season, that a gift exchange of new proportions should evolve...  A "post the photos of the gifts you'd give if you actually cared had the money to do so."

Well, Jormengrund, you've been lucky enough to get yours truly as your Secret Satan Santa! Heh.

So, to start off your extravagant gifts aplenty, how about we address your affinity to, um, try and bust everyone else's balls by being just a *little* ahead of schedule with your jumping-the-gun activities...

That's right... a CALENDAR.  You know, so maybe you can remember what day it is - with the threat of, well, "Animals That Will Kill Your A$$."  Heh.

Or, if it's an abundance of freetime that's causing you to rush to completion...

You can just POP your way into submission of the actual date!!  ROFL  (I think I might want one of these myself!!  Woo!)

On a lighter note, Christmas just canNOT be complete without an appropriate tree:

Decked out with enough lights to make you require optic surgery...

And let's not forget, a special ornament to mark the year that has passed.

NOTHING sums up this past year like an octopus smothering the world in all its tentacley warmth.  Am I right??  *chuckle*

Now, we don't want to forget the wife and kids on this momentous occassion, so how about something the whole family can share?

Yum!  I know for me, there's absolutely nothing that rings in the close of the year and fills your gut *HEH!* with holiday spirit like some crunchy insectile snacks.  Hoo yeah!

So, Jormengrund...  I hope you enjoy your ridiculous heartfelt gifts...

And if not, well...

Santa never really did it for me anyways.  *LOL*

And Then the OTHER Shoe Fell...

Right now, we're waiting for a plumber AND septic worker to come out to the house.  Why, you ask?

Because last night, the U-pipe under the floor of the bathroom decided, "Hey!  I have a GREAT early Christmas present for these guys!  I'm gonna SPRAY WATER EVERYWHERE whenever someone tries to flush!"

Y.U.C.K.

So, it's looking like the seal is busted AND it's highly likely that it's that *wonderful* time to have the septic tank pumped out.  Gah.  While I'm *so* glad I don't have to do their job, they will be *much* happier after leaving here, since the costs are likely to offend in the WORST of places considering the complete lack of fundage within these walls.

Yes, Ralph is working.  But he won't get his FIRST check until the 10th.

My mom is looking at what might be her LAST check, and we have NO idea when disability payments will start.

I have to take my *two hour written test* (what in the world is ON this friggin' test?!?) on the 13th.  If all goes well there, I have a long line of psych evals, background checks, drug and alcohol testing... eek.  So, even if I *do* get this job, I have NO IDEA when I'd be starting.  OR what hours I'd be working - because it's a *requirement* to work rotating shifts around the clock.  What joy. *barf*

We *still* haven't heard back on the appeal over Ralph's unemployment denial.  I think I'm liable to tear someone's head off with my bare hands if it doesn't go through.  Keep an eye out for disembodied cabesas, k?  And then point the cops in the opposite direction of me.  Thanks.

I can feel myself becoming more numb by the day...  how exactly am I supposed to handle all of this?  I'm finding it hard to rely on Grey for my little bits of sunshine, too, because lately?  Dear God, this child is seriously asking for his mouth to be introduced to the taste of Dial, or maybe some Softsoap...  All I know is that I did NOT sign up for the elimination of ages three through twelve - because seriously?  I think I have a miniature teenager in my house.  Granted, he's only about 3'3" and under 30 pounds, but GAAAAHHHHHH!!!    Since when did a three year old's vocabulary include the phrases, "I don't EVER want to hear you say that to me again!" and "You know, I *could* have said _____, but I *didn't*, so you can't get mad at me."

*screaming*

*deep breathing*

And now he's watching cats sing Christmas carols online.  WTF?  I think it's time for some Xanax.

*cough cough*

I'm *still* friggin sick.  I've taken my last dose of antibiotics, and whereas I don't feel as close to death as I did, say, three days ago... all I want to do is crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head.

For anyone who was wondering?  OH.MY.GOD.  Fibromyalgia is *so* much worse when you're dealing with all-over body aches from being sick.

And PT?  Oh, how I actually miss you.  What I wouldn't give for some massage without having to drive my happy ass through the near-single-digit weather.  Bah.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
On another, yet similar note:

Last night, Greyson was practicing his role as "Grumplestiltskin, King of all That is Crabby," and decided to try and evade punishment by (DUH!) hiding out in the kitchen solo (which he is NOT supposed to do at ANY time, be in there unsupervised).  My frustration meter was pushing *past* the red zone for the night, and I firmly told him to "Get his happy butt in the den *right now*!!"

The response I got?

"It's NOT a happy butt, it's a MAD butt!!!"

Needless to say, I had to keep an *extra* strict face as I made sure he sat down, because not two feet away, my Mom was LOSING IT with her face buried in her arms, laughing for the both of us... because SOMEONE has to mean business, right?  LOL

Luckily, Greyson's *mad butt* hasn't made a reappearance today.  Instead it has been replaced with a badly swollen lower lip from slipping and falling on the basement floor when trying to escape the bedroom that he had so tactfully snuck into while I was *trying* to get a little shuteye after Ralph got home.

Needless to say, those efforts were cut short, because Ralph started to freak a bit on the amount of blood coming from Greyson's lip.  Lucky for us, Mommy knows quite a bit in the world of general medical knowledge, and once I got a look at the offending "little" wound - just a bad case of tooth versus lip.  A bit of pressure and some ice did the trick, and I am happy to inform you that I did *not* find it necessary to rush the child out for stitches.  LOL

After all, the kid busted his forehead open on the corner of the coffee tables a few months ago, and doesn't even have a scar now.  And BOY, did THAT bleed.  Eww.  Those damn head wounds and their bloody adventures, I tell ya.  Sheesh.

Ha ha ha... I mean, Ho Ho Ho!

The Universe Doesn't Want Gideon's Trumpet to be Read...

Or watched, apparently.  Because of the sheer amount of people asking my CJ Intro professor if there was *any* way to get an extension, my paper (which, durrrr, is about 66% based on Gideon's Trumpet) is now not due until Friday.  Well, the weekend.  SOMETIME BEFORE NEXT CLASS, anyways.  LOL 

I managed to get my hands on a copy of the book... the ONLY copy that my library carries, actually.  They don't even HAVE the movie.  *Waukegan's* library has it, BUT - my house isn't actually IN Waukegan's library "jurisdiction."  What?!?  I can walk north, and be in Waukegan.  I can walk east, and be in Waukegan.  I can walk south, and be in Waukegan.  HOWEVER - if I walk west?  I'm in Gurnee.  And apparently that's enough for Waukegan to tell me to get the hell out of their library.  Heh.

Well, actually they said that I have to go get a card in *my* name at the Gurnee library (which I haven't done because I still haven't gotten my address changed on my license - WHAT?!?  They allow you something like, oh, 4 years or something, don't they?  What's that?  Oh... 60 days?  So I'm about, oh, 300 or something past that - what about it?), THEN come BACK to the Waukegan library with my new card, AND photo ID, AND 2 pieces of mail proving my address... THEN they'll let me check out a limited number of books &/or AV materials.

All I want to do is watch a friggin' movie from 1979, okay?  And apparently, the universe?  She is MOCKING me.  Because last night, I caved and re-upped Netflix at the BARE.MINIMUM.  Because it was either $4.99 for THAT, or $14.99 from Best Buy.  Plus shipping and tax, because ya know, the two closest Best Buys?  DON'T have it in stock EITHER.  Fuuuuu...

So, last night, there I was, all happy and *whew* because not only did my professor hand out an extension, but Netflix!  They get the movie to you the NEXT DAY!  There's no WAY I won't be able to get my paper done now - I *might* even have it in by the original due date (tonight by midnight)!

So sorry, hopeful one.  Here's how my day has gone to this point:

*  Wake up at 9am, trying desperately to breathe through this whatEVER it is that has decided to call my lungs "home."
*  Spend the next 15 minutes or so CURSING Netflix because apparently?  My *local* Netflix distribution center doesn't carry the godforsaken movie EITHER.  It will be shipped from OHIO *tomorrow.*  FUCK.
*  Lug my ass out into the 17-degree weather.  In a sweatshirt AND a leather jacket.
*  Thank the heavens that it didn't snow anymore yesterday AFTER I cleaned my car off to go down to the Waukegan library to be FAILED miserably.
*  Drive the 30 minutes it takes to get to my doctor's office, only the last 20 of which my car was warm for.
*Enter the building, go up in the elevator, walk all the way down two damn hallways to find a PRINTED LETTER taped to the f'in door stating that as of YESTERDAY, my doctor had RELOCATED.  To someplace that is TEN. MINUTES. CLOSER. to my house.  Motherfucker.
*  Wander my way BACK to the car and call the doctor's office proclaiming that I am now *officially late* and will be even LATER because of their sheer lack to inform me that, HELLO!  We MOVED, ya dummy!
*  Drive ten minutes in the general direction of home to the new office... and have to walk down an even LONGER hallway to get there than in the *first* building.
*  Be ridiculed by the fact that I have gained yet two MORE pounds, all the while consuming less calories than my three year old.  Ask doctor about this since, hmm... she is *always* the one to point out that weight loss = less back stress.  Get told that *3* of my medications can cause weight gain.  NICE.  It's a conspiracy, I tell you - especially since one of them is for my fibromyalgia.  Bastards.
*  Get told that I have bronchitis bordering on walking pneumonia.  Doctor sets up Z-Pak and Phenergan Syrup with Codeine to be called in, along with acid reflux medication in the hopes that I won't wake up choking on my stomach acids anymore.
*  Drive home.  Find three year old has been causing trouble, oh, since he woke up.  But he ate a fried egg for breakfast with cheese.  The joy.
*  Deal with same child arguing the issue of non-hunger until late afternoon.  He manages to *destroy* three pull-ups anyways with alarming calamity.
*  Go to Walgreens to pick up all my medications.  Discover that the insurance won't cover the cough syrup, but I *really* need something to quiet the relentless hacking.  Wind up paying almost *$25* for cough syrup.  Make myself feel better by getting a Glade Scented Oil Warmer starter kit for $1.99.
*  Come home to find son still acting like an ass... but finally amenable to eating lunch - at 3:45.
*  Try to brainstorm for places to build my very own padded cell.

You see?  I'm beginning to think that somewhere along the way, maybe one of the behavior-disordered kids that I used to work with, snipped off a lock of my hair and created themselves a little voodoo doll of yours truly.  And then threw it away.  So now it's being demolished by its adventures through the world of waste management.

Maybe?  Okay, fine.  Things just *suck* and I have to suck it up.  Or rather, I *would* if I could breathe.

So, my goals for tomorrow are to hear from Netflix that I *actually* have a copy of the movie I need on its merry way here and to be able to be awake without coughing for at least 50% of the day (though not all in one chunk because, honestly?  I think the excess oxygen from something so dramatic might just make me pass out.).

How Bad is it...

When each coughing spasm I have (I can't say *fit* because it really does feel like my chest muscles and diapragm go on strike more than over-react) makes not only my chest hurt, but my back, my shoulderblades, and my sides?

Hmm.  A *really* bad weekend to be sick during, especially considering that, um, NO doctors are available, and weren't since Wednesday (some of them since Tuesday!!).

Nothing is really helping me feel much better, ie I feel the same before taking my OTC cold meds as I do an hour or two after taking them.  You'd think it would make at least a *little* difference, right?

Ehhhhhhnnnnnn!  The answer is NO.  At least, that's what my body keeps saying to be between bouts of hysteria each and every time I *try* the cold meds again.  Yes, my lungs, they are LAUGHING at me... and then they go on strike, making me sound like a 94 year old man on oxygen.  But, without the oxygen.  Man, it sucks.

Thankfully, Grey got the flu shot on Wednesday.  So if this is indeed the flu, he's all good.  However, I'm thinking more along the lines of HE picked this up first, spun it around in his impeccable immune system for about two days, and then sent its fucking mutated cousin after me, what with his 37 tentacles and 3 eyes...  wait, you mean cold germs *don't* look like that?  Damn.

And there goes entertaining myself with images of the battle raging in what is my pissed-off immune system.

I am Jack's lungs.  I am the virus destroying Jack's lungs.  I am Jack's anger.

Bah Humbug

I got *nothing* in the way of holiday preparation done yesterday.  Zip, zero, zilch.  The tree?  Still in its box.  The outside lights?  Yep, they're still in the box, too.  The cheesecake that I was planning on making?  Still just gingersnap cookies, a can of pumpkin, bricks of cream cheese, and various other ingredients.

My body is fighting hard to not let this cold become bronchitis.  I can feel it in the mornings, especially, as it tries to creep into my lungs while I sleep.  Last night before bed, I think I almost lost one of those precious lungs as I coughed myself to sleep.  I was already up *much* later than intended to due to a sneak-attack of UGLY that made its way into my house (some of you know the details - the rest of you?  Just envision yelling and door-slamming).

This morning, I am feeling no better.  Not enough sleep, due to the fact that Greyson has now not only eliminated naps from his day, but has also started the habit of chopping about two hours off his nighttime sleep time.  YEAH.  And the pediatrician said that it's FINE.  I'm a bit boggled by that, personally, since he just turned three, but, well... I'm not the professional.

My brain feels fried.  I'm looking at the book I am *supposed* to read AND do a paper on by Tuesday night for school... and am finding NO desire to even crack open the cover.  I couldn't find the movie, so I can't even take advantage of that option at this point.  I had visions of trying to make this weekend oh SO productive, and right now, I wish I could crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head.

There are so many things bouncing around inside my head that are making it nearly impossible to think clearly, not to mention actually *act* upon any of them.  I'm listening to an incessant loop of Iron Maiden that Greyson keeps feeding through the computer he is on right now.  Even my bath last night didn't help the pain that was seeping into my bones - this time not from Fibromyalgia or herniations, but from the feeling of an immense weight crushing me from the outside (or maybe rather, the inside, deep, deep inside).

I have cried three times this morning already, mostly in response to a couple of emails I got replying to one I sent out to some people VERY near and dear to me.  And though each and every one said essentially what I *thought* they would say, each one of them said SO much more... bestowed upon me so much more than I ever really do upon myself.  Maybe I just don't see beyond the moment - maybe I have a hard time seeing through the faults and the failures, whereas my loved ones (the majority of them, at least!) were able to bring them to light for me.

Thank you to each of you.  While your words brought tears to my eyes, it was just as much for the good as it was for the realizations that what I was feeling was, indeed, real.  It never fails to amaze me how often I am surprised by the support I recieve, even when I really, REALLY don't even feel like I deserve it at that point in time.

Just, thank you.  Thank you from both me AND Greyson.  Thank you for being who you are and not dazzling me with just what I want to hear.  You are all SO close to my heart...

I Need to Just Attach My Camera to My Hand

It never fails.  The most *wonderful* photo ops arise when I am nowhere even close to my camera, my new beautiful beauty that takes photos 18,372 times better than my OLD digital... like TODAY.  Damn the beauty that I could have captured today.

I was on my way back from the library, after having to locate and (SCORE!) nab the ONLY copy of Gideon's Trumpet that our local library carries... but *failing miserably* at also snagging a copy of the movie by the same title (FAIL!).  I also grabbed a book entitled, Never Suck a Dead Man's Hand written by a CSI which should prove to be filled with examples of what NOT to do once I finish my battle to finally get my hands on my bachelor's degree.

Anyhow.  That has NOTHING to do with the reason I wanted my camera (though the library since its addition does have some rather striking architecture (do you KNOW how many times I retyped that word, fighting with just how WRONG the spelling looks??) (can you use parentheses within a set of parentheses?)).

No.  I am driving down (up?  I was going north) Green Bay Road, when all of a sudden, a Peregrine swoops out of the sky, a mere two feet or so next to my car, landing at the side of the road - I'm assuming to grab dinner of a mouse or mole (maybe even a VOLE!) where the gravel meets the grassy ditches along the side of the road.

OH. MY. GOD.  The beauty that is a falcon just overwhelms me, and even though I was INSIDE my car?  SO the closest I have ever been to a falcon.  It took sheer determination NOT to slam on  my brakes and pull over to try and take a photo with the thing-that-calls-itself-a-camera that lives in my LG Chocolate.  There was another car *right* behind me, and I so completely would have caused a pile-up right before rush hour on one of the busiest roads in this area.

I *did* still contemplate pulling over once I had turned onto my street, since it was only a block from where the falcon had landed.

What??  People get out of their cars to photograph birds all the time... right?  Just me?  Oh.

But, I was still thwarted my the mockery that is cellular phone photography.  Instead, I drove the final two blocks home and raved about how much I *needed* to carry my camera with me and ohmygodthefalcon!!  Even my dad was downtrodden by the fact that I did not, indeed, get a photo (or more like what would have been 872 photos) of the peregrine.

THAT is impressive, that my father even got that invovled in my story of the bird...  I suppose maybe that's what happens when there's nothing better to watch on television for 24/7 shifts than the programming offered by Animal Planet?  Hmm.

So, once more, I have lost what could have been sheer elegance in a photo.  Bah.

On the other hand, my camera is sitting next to me right now, and I have NO desire to take any photos of my son, even with his new adorable haircut.  Because?  His behavior has been borrowed from a rabid badger today, instead of the MUCH more amiable three year that I am hoping will come back soon.

*WHEW*

I am *beyond* full. Yikes! This year I added two new things to the Thanksgiving melange of yummies - homemade garlic parmesan mashed potatoes and a mushroom pasta medley. Add those to the array of already filling goodies, and I'm amazed anyone here can walk.

I *did* have to put off making my pumpkin swirl cheesecake until tomorrow... this cold is beating my ass, and I am just not feeling the full effects of what should officially begin the holiday season. =(

As for yesterday, Greyson had a fantabulous day! His new pediatrician's office... wow. Not only do they have the coveted "sick waiting room," but his doctor is actually REALLY comparable to his original pediatrician that we so sadly left behind when we moved. I don't think ANYONE could honestly fill Dr. Denning's shoes, but Dr. Goldstein? Yes, a very close second. And humorous, thankfully!

Greyson is - are you ready? - a whopping *28 pounds.* Yes. That's IT. The bugger needs a *minimum* of 3T pants to cover those long-ass legs, and yet he's STILL less than 30 pounds. I'm baffled, honestly. No, he's still not a big eater, but holy hell, Batman! I would have put MONEY on the fact that he had finally broken the big 3-0! Damn. I guess at least it just puts that much LESS strain on my back, right? LOL Either way, the doc gladly reassured that head to toe, Greyson registers as *perfect* - he's followed a great growth curve (considering he was born at less than 6 1/2 pounds!), good height-to-weight ratio - the whole nine yards. =)

And his haricut? He actually didn't want to leave! That little bugger plopped himself in a Jeep, settled down with the DVD remote to watch some Clifford, and you would have sworn that LAST week? I had an entirely different child with me at the salon. Not a peep, not a tear... until it was time to try and convince him to LEAVE. That *almost* got him going - until they gave him a lollipop and a balloon for being such a fabulous little man!

Of course, he fell asleep on the way home, so the perfect haircut? Not so perfectly styled anymore. And today? HA! This is the first chance I've had to breathe, so the styling of the three year old's hair?!? Not quite top priority. Heh.

There *will* be photos galore taken tomorrow, however, as I brave my sorry sick ass into the cold to A- go to the library, and B- put up all the FLURKING Christmas decorations. I mean, all the WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL, GLORIOUS JOY THAT IS CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS!! Bah Humbug. I'll be cheerier when this cold goes to HELL!!

How was YOUR Thanksgiving? Are you drunk yet? C'mon, it's eight o'clock! Put the kids to bed and pound it already, will ya?!?!? Heheheheh...

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Once things slow down a bit around here, I'll have more of a post... =P

Today is a day...

Of admission and change.  How?

Today I actually have to come to terms and admit to myself that Greyson *is indeed* three years old - he will be having his three-year checkup in a little less than two hours. =(  Hopefully all goes well - but it's destined to be MUCH better than when we went to see that HACK who told me to shut up and then scrutinized my ability to even FEED my child adequately.  Grr - that still gets me a bit riled. 

Anyways...

It's also a day of change... Greyson is scheduled for a MASSIVE haircut after his peds appointment.  You've all seen the shaggy, ohmygodhowcanthischildhaveSOmuchhair photos of recent...  I was all about trimming it on my own at home, even comfortable with taking off a couple inches when necessary.  However, his hair has now grown out of control - he has more hair on his head than *I* do, and he obviously inherited the thickness of his Daddy's...well, the hair Daddy *used* to have.  Heh.

I've given up.  KidSnips, here we come!  We *tried* a regular salon and it just SO didn't happen, so... I'm caving in to the car-shaped chairs and video screens propped on the stylist's centers, the gaggles of movies that Grey will get to pick from to watch during his new cut, and the random chaos of useless toys that abound just within the entrance... making the haircut?  More like a trip to the movie theater and Dollar Store all wrapped into one.

I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that he will, indeed, let them cut his hair as he has promised... and not scream like his eyes are being gouged from their sockets like last Saturday's attempt to leave Shaggidom.

Not Only am I Sick...

But my meds aren't working... LOOK!  I'm posting this after THREE AM!!  Shouldn't I be out knocked out on sleep & cold meds?!?

But no.

I really hope I catch some sleep since I have *mucho* running around to do tomorrow - AGAIN - as well as a Pumpkin Swirl Cheesecake I have to bake for Thursday night's dessert.  Mmm.

And to prove my latest levels of insanity?  Earlier, my Mom and I were *actually* contemplating venturing to the new WalMart Supercenter in the area for their 5am Black Friday deals!!! 

Oh.  My.  God.  I think this cold is eating up my gray matter...

My Love-Hate Relationship with Photography

Now, ya'll KNOW I *love* to TAKE photos. This is not a problem.

Sometimes, someone will unknowingly take a photo of ME - which generally doesn't make me happy.

Cameras + Larissa as subject matter = APOCALYPSE. End of story.

Which is why I was in utter disbelief at THIS photo that my friend Mike snagged at his son's 5th birthday party:

What exactly happened here? I managed to actually BE in a cute photo WITH my son... for I believe the first time since, um, I have no idea. I normally hold the camera, and therefore unless I DEMAND that Ralph TAKETHECAMERADAMNIT and instruct him to take a *specific* picture? Yeah... pretty much all the ones I have of me since becoming a mother? Were taken MYSELF in some pseudo-personal-photo-CRAP-attempt.

Now this photo? THIS is usually what happens when I see a camera aimed in my general direction:

I think I have about 5 different photos taken throughout my lifetime with this exact same look on my face. It apparently started as a TODDLER.

At least I was having a decent hair day. Heh.

Stho I'b Feelwing a Bid Sthick...

Apparently, I have gotten a cold from... only GOD knows where. PT? The grocery store? Toys 'R Us? The Mall? The obnoxious Greek guy that tried to force me into purchasing a $39 remote control car from Greyson on his birthday???

It started, I'd say, yesterday, when my head felt just a bit... full. You know, the *bad* kinda full - not the good kind where it's just a bunch of great ideas in there, but the kind where you just *know* that if you touched it, it would squish. Eww.

And then this morning? I was a bit woozy-feeling when I got up, but figured, "Eh. Just not enough *good* sleep."

Middle of seminar for one of my courses tonight? WHAMMO! My throat is sore and scratchy, and I feel like someone is pinching my sinuses with a clothespin.

Ooh, yeah... it's a purty feeling, this sick-before-Thanksgiving crap.

And tomorrow? I don't even have time to BE sick! I have to:

• Drop off my paperwork for the Dispatch job downtown, where Human Resources is 13,234 miles away from the City Hall entrance.
• Do all the pre-Thanksgiving grocery shopping (BAH!)
• Go to physical therapy AND pain psychology appointments
• Find some smidgon of time to make it to the library and pick up either the book OR the movie of Gideon's Trumpet for a paper I have due next Tuesday (if I can actually GET to the library? I'll probably get BOTH, just in case. LOL)

And!?! I have to manage all this while juggling a three year old who now currently believes that the age of three is the means to it ALL, tossing out arguments and attitude as if he were in Junior High. Oh, yeah. The boy is gonna go DOWN, and soon, I tell ya!

If it weren't for the *still* COMPLETELY unsuccessful potty training completion (and the miniscule 30lb, 3'3" frame!), I'd honestly believe that somehow or another, I actually DO have a 13 year old. But then I would have had him at 14, and eh... even with *my* morals, that's just plain skeevy. Heh.

Toss in feeling like a conglomeration of wet towels have been stuffed into my sinus cavities while some evil gnomes must have been taking a whack at my throat with a brillo pad? Tomorrow. Will. Be. HELL.

Oh, and Wednesday? Yes, Wednesday will be filled with Greyson's 3-year checkup, then a haircut which is DESPERATELY needed (while I pray to God, Allah, Buddha, and all other variants of divine intervention that he doesn't scream like the hairdresser is SLITTING. HIS. THROAT. WITH. A. DULL. SPORK... AGAIN!). Once we get home? It'll be trying to throw something together for dinner, and then tackling a Pumpkin Swirl cheesecake for Thursday's feast... all before a 7pm seminar for school.

All together now... can we say, "Institutionalized?" Fabulous! Now, who can drop me off there??

Just Say DUH.

I wanted to at least BRIEFLY give a shout out to Bea...  I'm sorry I didn't mention you at the end of my photo post on Grey's birthday...  I think my brain fried out a little, and therefore your card (and gift card - THANK YOU!!) got shuffled around in my waaaay-too-jumbled brain.

So THANK YOU for the card - it arrived ON his birthday!

And THANK YOU for the Target card - his favorite store!

Hopefully, the next time he starts begging me for a movie or game when we're there?  I can just whip out that little nifty and make him pay for it himself.  (For REAL this time, instead of him asking me for money so he can pay, like, IN LINE at the checkout.  Heh.)

Love you!!

And That's the Way the Pumpkin Crumbles.

At least when it's a pumpkin cake.  Heh.

It kinda starts out looking like this:

And then moves on to this:

And finally this:

After something like, oh, THREE HOURS (no joke here, people - whew!), it turned into this:

I TOLD you he wanted a PUMPKIN CAKE.  Totally not joking on that, either.

And he LOVED it.  Even though the writing icing SUCKED (next time, I will just suffer through mixing and piping my OWN, thankyouverymuch) and the hole in the middle of my bundt pans is abnormally large (I had to use *2* pumpkin muffins to try and create that misshapen attempt at a stem)... I guess it turned out cute.  LOL

I must say, though, that any appearance flaws?  They were soooo forgotten once bites were taken. 

If you ever have a hankering for making pumpkin cake?  Add butterscotch pudding mix to the batter.  SO. DAMN. GOOD.

Now, after fifty MILLION years of cooking (I also decided that tonight was the night to make from-scratch Mushroom Chicken Alfredo... I think I'm legally insane), I am SO ready for a TIME OUT.

Too bad Ralph is literally falling asleep sitting up "watching" a WWE Pay-per-View on his computer.  Yeah.  I'm thinking I'm gonna veg in the tub ANYWAYS, damnit.  It's MY time.  LOL

Signs of a Happy Three Year Old!

Thank You to Everyone Who Helped Make

Greyson's Third Birthday

a Fantastic One!!

Much Love, Larissa, Ralph, & Greyson =)

Crystal, Diane & Crew, Angela, Kimberly...

It will never be forgotten.

Three Years Ago Today...

Three years ago today, I went through what SHOULD have been one of the most physically painful experiences of my life... but I remember nothing of the pain.

I remember arguing with Ralph at seven in the morning, the Monday before Thanksgiving, trying to win the permission to take a shower while I was being rounded up to get in the car during contractions every three mintutes.

I lost.  I got in my Monte Carlo, and we headed for the hospital.

Man, I could still TALK through my contractions... I couldn't be THAT bad off, right?

When we got the hospital, I was dilated to 5cm, and I was having a contraction every two to three minutes.  Yep - I had won myself a stay on the maternity floor.

I remember them doing one last little ultrasound to make sure our little man was still positioned correctly.

He got the nickname "Baby Big Head" right then and there, as I realized how much larger the size of his head looked compared to the outline of my pelvis on that little black and white screen.

I remember hanging out in an uncomfortable bed, listening to my baby's heartbeat blip through the monitor.  Realizing that Ralph was *not* going to be awake with be through this process, as he drifted in the chair next to the bed.

I remember a nurse telling me that if I wanted the epidural, I'd have to decide, pretty much, right then and there.  Because they had a c-section scheduled, and they probably wouldn't be out on time to give it to me later.  I was dialated to 7cm at that point, and fully effaced.

I gave in to my fear of not knowing if I could handle the possible future pain, and got the epidural.

I regretted it every minute afterwards.

They broke my water within minutes of placing the epidural, as well as started Pitocin.  I then spent the next two hours having to be turned from side to side as my child's heartbeat decelerated with each contraction.

My uterus was smooshing his tiny little body - his heart was having a hard time battling the strength of each contraction, and they were sometimes literally one after the next, with barely a split second of recovery between them.

I remember a nurse explaining to me that they were going to have to replenish some of the fluid around him - "give hima little whirlpool bath in there" - to try and cushion him from the stress.

A resident nearly went into panic mode with the absolute lows of my blood pressure.  I remember someone thinking aloud about how I was managing to stay so alert with my BP so desperately low.

I never did feel the slightest bit tired - I was too busy listening to that beeping monitor, waiting for any signs of something still going wrong.

I remember being checked again... and being told that I was at 9cm... they were calling my doctor.

Half an hour later, all I felt was that I was ready.  HE was ready.  I sent Ralph off to find a nurse.  Now.  She wandered in, telling me that they had just checked me 30 minutes ago... my doctor wasn't even there yet.

But Greyson?  Oh, he was there.  I mean, RIGHT THERE.

In a bit of a fit, a resident was told to stay with me, and I was told to try NOT to push.  It was no easy feat.

About ten minutes later, my doctor's PARTNER walked in the room.  He hadn't scrubbed in, he literally had just arrived.

After giving him a "little push to see where we are," he immediately told me to STOP - he was scrubbing in.

One contraction in - and the connection between the absolute atrocity of the last few months of heartburn and the tremendous amount of hair on the infant entering the world was made.

We also discovered that my son - my little stinker - had decided to poop on his way out.  Fabulous.  In comes the pediatric team.

In between contractions, we discussed the name we had chosen for our son - and the doctor joked about how he'd neither be "Blackson" or "Whiteson."

Two more contractions - 13 minutes from my first push - and Greyson Raphael was born - six pounds, six ounces of determination and joy, at 2:43pm.  His first cry stole the breath from me - this was MY CHILD.

All was fine in the terms of the meconium birth.  He scored a 9 on the APGAR, followed by a 10.

Just before being bundled and brought to me,  he rolled ontp his side and peed on the nurse.  Little did I know that seemingly insignificant move would outline his tenacity for life.

After what seemed like an eternity of watching that wriggling little life instead of feeling it within me, my son was placed in my arms.

I never believed in love at first sight until that immediate moment in time.  I looked into his wide, oh-so-intelligent eyes, and never wanted the moment to end.

I remember pulling back the blanket to look at his tiny little feet.  I also remember laughing at the crooked second toe on both feet - completely mimicking the toes that I have called my own for a lifetime.

I remember the tears that swallowed up my soul, giving every single breath I would take for the rest of my life to this precious little bundle.  I knew then and there that nothing would ever be more important than the tiny baby I held against my chest.

When they took him for his first bath, it was one of the strangest sensations - the emptiness inside, the lack of kicking and squirming from deep within my belly - and no replacement for its loss in my arms.  I was separated, somehow, from the very essence of me - that baby boy with a head full of dark, dark hair and curious eyes.

I was moved to my room while they cleaned Greyson up - and I remember the absolute light that came into the room with him when he returned.

I remember laying him on my chest, his heart to mine, and him lifting his head ever so slightly to gaze right into my eyes.  Something told me, then and there, that inside this child was, indeed, an old soul... and our bond would be nothing less than a miracle.  NOTHING with this child would ever be less than the world.

Greyson spent the entire first twelve hours of his life studying the new world around him.  He was not content with being solitary for very long periods of time - already he craved that closeness, that connection between a mother and a son - and I eventually caved to the offer of a pacifier for my seemingly starving child.

At the end of those first twelve hours, I also relented to asking the nurses to take him to the nursery for a few hours.  I had been awake since 4am, and it was now closing in on 3am of the following day.

At 8am, they wheeled him back into my room in his little plastic bassinette.  The pediatrician I had selected followed the nurse into the room, bringing with him a sense of dread.  I immediately regretted being so selfish as to want time alone, time to try and sleep, time which I did nothing but toss and turn in my bed thinking about the newest member of my family.

It turns out that my little man was already getting jaundice.  He carried Ralph's bloodtype - A negative - instead of my O negative, setting him up for an ABO incompatibility.

He would need to spend the rest of his stay in the nursery under special lights to try and rid his tiny body of the excess bilirubin.  I could no longer keep my baby at my side until our trip home on the day before Thanksgiving.  In fact, there was an uncertainty that we would be able to bring him home with us that day at all.

I spent the next 34 hours walking back and forth from my room to the nursery every two hours, around the clock.  I was brought a pump to try and facilitate his feedings - they were having to push formula to help the jaundice out of his body.

The first trip to the nursery to find him under the lights with a strange set of black foam goggles over his eyes and across his tiny, tiny face was heartbreaking - the problem at hand was so small, but the heartache in seeing him even more helpless than a newborn should ever be shattered me.

I could only keep him out from under the lights for half an hour at a time to attempt feedings.  Any other contact I wanted with him had to be done through the openings in his little plexiglass incubator... his skin so translucent under the sheer intensity of the lights shining down on him.

Greyson was so sleepy, so sluggish because of the effects of the warm, penetrating lights.  Our tries at breastfeeding were difficult at best.  Each time I left the nursery feeling more and more like I would not be able to nourish my child the way I had hoped, the way I had planned.

Wednesday rolled around like a movie moving frame-by-frame in fast-forward.  Everything was disjointed, somehow, with the relentless mechanical walks to and from the nursery, the syringe feedings of formula after each attempt at developing some sort of success on our own... it started to snow again, just as it had the day Greyson was born.

I was told that the goal was, indeed, to get him going home with us that day - but he would be staying later in the day than the usual 11am discharge time.  I spent the day on edge, wondering what news I would hear each time a nurse came into the room.  Most of the time, it was more of the same - not yet.

Around 5:30pm, we were given the go-ahead.  We could officially return to our little apartment,  now three instead of just two... of course, after waiting about another hour for everything to be finalized.

I remember vividly how lost he looked inside the newborn-sized outfit we had brought to the hospital to bring him home in.  How the hat seemed to swallow his head, and how his hands and feet disappeared into the sleeves and legs of the pale blue velour.

I remember thinking about how absolutely NOTHING at home was purchased with anything less than a seven to eight pound baby in mind, how the rough estimate we had gotten on his size was on the higher end of that range.

I remember the snow falling, ever so gently, around us as I was wheeled  out the hospital doors with Greyson in my arms.  The difficulty trying to persuade myself that yes, this tiny being would be safe in the seat that made him seem just that much smaller.  The drive home with my hand never breaking that bond of touch between me and my new reason for being.  The phone call to my parents who were still on their way to our apartment, their distance to their grandson closing in minute by minute.

I remember bringing Greyson into the apartment, and just... watching him.  Breathing in the essence of him.  Counting his tiny fingers and toes, and just cycling through the disbelief that I had carried someone within me that would so unknowingly complete me.

I also remember sending Ralph and my Dad out to the store to buy not even newborn diapers, but preemie ones.  The newborn-sized ones sent home with us from the hospital covered so much more than a diaper should.  The plans being made between my mom and myself to go to the local Babies 'R Us on the Friday after Thanksgiving to buy some clothing that actually FIT my little munchkin.

2005 was the fist year that Thanksgiving meant so, so much more than it ever had before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Here's to my laughter, my tears,
My heart and soul,
My reason for being and the reason I feel like banging my head off a wall,
My light and my darkness,
My source of everlasting joy,
My source of wonder and astonishment with every waking hour...
Here's to my son, my world, my life,
The one I wouldn't give the world to change,
And the one who has single-handedly changed my entire world.
My Munchkin, my Boo-Bear, my little big man...
Happy, happy birthday, Greyson...
As I watch you grow, you amaze me more than I ever thought possible...
Nothing could ever mean more to me than the way your smile lights up your entire face,
The way your laughter spreads to everyone in the room,
The way you wrap your arms so tightly around my neck as if you'll never let go...
I love you beyond the capacity of the spoken word,
More than even my soul can capture.

Happy Third Birthday, My Little One.
Happy days into the future forevermore.