Well, THAT Got Me Nowhere...

I had my psych appointment yesterday morning. Well, at least it was SCHEDULED as a psych appointment...

Let's recap, shall we?

I arrived at 9:30am, a full half-hour before my actual scheduled appointment, because me, in my ULTIMATE wisdom (heh) figured I wouldn't waste THEIR time or my own by arriving early to fill out the usual new-patient pre-visit paperwork that you are ALWAYS handed upon arrival. Here's where things get fun. Really.

I went to sit down in the waiting area, along with approximately 11,234 of the department's apparent GREATEST fans. I didn't even have the chance to write my NAME at the top if the first page before a woman sitting next to me piped up with, "Are you here to see Dr. So&So? Are you first?!?" and continued to bounce her legs for the next 30 minutes, while also simultaneously rocking a bit in a rather UNROCKABLE reception chair. Hmm. Okay.

I then spent the next 20 minutes reminding myself that, DEAR GOD! I have carpal tunnel! by completing a form-style biography on my name, birthdate, address, phone number, medical conditions, medical history, mental status, what color my toenails were painted, how many pennies I happened to have in my wallet at that EXACT moment... well, you get the point. There were LITERALLY *8* pages that I had to fill out... all with ITTY BITTY lines and NOT enough space to appropriately answer their questions... so I found myself "margin cramming" my answers in - in order to avoid anything that I could POSSIBLY miss that may affect my visit.

Ten minutes after turning in my paperwork, I was called in by intake. She basically repeated EVERYTHING back to me that I had written to verify accuracy before getting me into the system. Fab. Great. Glad we're clear on things, okay? She gave me a handout on "What to expect while in treatment." Nice. A little reading material. Okay, swell.

Meander BACK to the waiting area, where luckily, twitch-tap-rock lady is no longer seated. *WHEW* Heh. After another ten minutes, I was called again, this time by some woman who I *think* I recall her name as being Janet, but...? Not so sure, as I have built a wall of flame between me and any exact memories of HER at this point now. Let me explain why...

Before I even had the chance to sit down, she asked me *why* I was there. Um... hello? Paperwork? Do you NOT look at what I just wrote out, making my right hand crawl up into a tiny ball for?? Apparently not. I told her that I am ON medication, but felt it had NOT been doing it's job. I summarized just the last 6 WEEKS - in the super-condensed version - and why my depression has simply gotten the better of me.

Towards the end, she CUT. ME. OFF. To ask if I had any friends. WTF!?!?! Nice, lady. Nice.

Then, she accused me of my TRULY occasional beer negating the ENTIRE competency of my current medication. Ummm, okay. If you say so - though that's not what my DOCTORS HAD TOLD ME PREVIOUSLY.

I was asked if I had any feelings of hurting myself or others. FOUR TIMES. Do you think she was concerned? LOL After the last inquiry, I finally told her that, if she wanted total, BRUTAL honesty, I'd say yes. Heh. But only in a spur-of-the-moment, ohmyfuckingGODwhereisthenearestspeedingsemi kinda way... but would never ACT upon those thoughts because, well? They're *passing thoughts* - not IMPULSES. I'll show her, right? Eh.

I got asked if I finished high school. Now, you tell me - what EXACTLY dooes that have to do with ANYTHING regarding the fact that I feel I need counseling and a change in my already-prescribed medications? Not coming up with anything?? Yeah. Me either.

After a few more questions, she looked me dead in the eye and asked/stated, "So, you're basically just here for medication?" Umm, apparently she was too busy DOODLING in the margins to have acknowledged my need for an outlet, for guidance, for support... all of which I felt I just wasn't getting in the form or quantity I needed outside of seeing a therapist. I was honestly appalled, because in that moment - I felt like she labeled me as a "drug seeker." Why, on the planet, would I WANT to put myself through taking anti-depressant medication (which I was ALREADY ON, so the need had obviously ALREADY BEEN ESTABLISHED PREVIOUSLY) if I DIDN'T NEED IT? Gah.

And after all the LOVELY indications in the reading I was given PRIOR to speaking with this woman, about how the most intensive therapy would be in the beginning, for about 8-12 weeks, etc... She told me that I should go to a Pain Clinic with on-board psych. Ummmm, okay? I'm not HERE because of my physical pain, lady... I'm here because of mental and emotional anguish. A point that she apparently did not grasp.

She literally SCRIBBLED down a phone number onto the back of a "Missed Call" pink slip out of her rolodex for me. No name of the clinic, no location, nothing. Just this mysterious "Pain Management" title which was barely legible above the hastily-written number. The ethereal boot kicked my ass out the door with a quick, "Good luck!"

I cried in the elevator on the way back to the parking garage, while clutching this little piece of pink paper that was now my apparent only hope.

My car decided to yell at me on the way home, threatening to run out of gas. And I had forgotten to get my debit card back from MetalliDad's last use, since we are back to *sharing* a card while he waits for his new one to be issued after the whole number-stealing extravaganza. Luckily, I made it. Obviously.

I called the mystery number, letting them know that I had *just* gotten back & being referred to them. The woman I spoke with was, well? A bit dumbfounded. Because typically, they refer to THE PLACE I JUST WAS. Durrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. But! She transferred me to one of their intake counselors to discuss my situation and determine that I was, indeed, qualified for their services. HALLELUJAH!

They gave me an appointment this Friday afternoon. But! they want me to bring my medical records and the medications I am currently on. Ummm... I'm not going to be able to *get* my medical records that quickly. MAYBE the ER records, but not the doctor's office. They're CLOSED today. That would leave Thursday for them to make copies of EVERYTHING from the last year in my chart? Oh HELL no. LOL I guess they are going to have to deal with what I can get.

I'm glad to finally see a specialist... while at the same time, I'm just NOT looking forward to it. Their goal, obviously, is to avoid any narcotic pain medication if at all possible. Great! If you can find me something else that WORKS, I'm all for it. I will bow in your greatness. However, the ONLY time I felt like ME before the back pain, before the knee pain, before the hip and neck and shoulder pain... was after my last ER visit with a hefty dose of injected Morphine, and an Rx for Dilaudid and Valium. Yum!! The mild stuff that I HAVE tried in the past? Before the pain even got WORSE? Yeah, might as well have been Flintstones. So, I guess I'll have to be apologetic for my lack of enthusiasm and optimism when I get there on Friday.

By all means, I hope they can prove me wrong. I want nothing more than my LIFE back... the one where I could sleep, I had energy, I could stand or sit or twist even the slightest bit without a hiss escaping through my teeth. I want to be able to feel like I am living in my own skin again, rested and clear-headed and ready to take on whatever lies in front of me. I owe it to Greyson. Damnit, I owe it to myself! But, I haven't been able to GET there other than that week of medicated in August. *sigh*

Do I have high hopes? No. Am I going to go in there with an open mind? HELL YES. A THOUSAND times yes. Because I'm just plain worn out. When you have taken literally EVERY prescribed medication for insomnia, and not a single one of the five helps you in any way... when you have been on 6-8 different pain medications and 4-5 different muscle relaxants in the last YEAR... when the act of crawling into bed can sometimes take up to 10 minutes at the age of *27*, and you have to, once again, try to explain to your adoring two-year-old son that, no, honey, Mommy CAN'T carry you right now... it's just been enough. It's more than enough. If I didn't even HAVE the other shitstorms that have rained upon me in the last six months, it would be enough.

I just can't bear to look into those big, brown eyes of Grey's anymore and have to tell him that I can't pick him up for "big, squeezy hugs" anymore. To have to deny him even the simple pleasure of walking around the block hand-in-hand, because by the end of it, I'm walking like my GRANDMOTHER did with severe osteoporosis and the old-lady hunchback. In her SEVENTIES.

At times I think it's not even so much about the physical pain anymore (as I have somewhat grown accustomed to it, no matter how difficult it is) as it is about the emotional pain I have from it all. And the emotional pain I *don't* want Greyson to bear because of it.

I need this to work. There has to be SOMETHING, right?

I'll be walking into that clinic with my head held as high as I can )and hopefully, it's NOT a bad day for me, or else that head will be chest level to anyone over 5 feet tall)... but still with a broken heart. I need to heal... everything. If you have the time, can you send a happy thought my way on Friday? I'll take anything you've got. =)

Another Happy Birthday Wish...

I know.  I'm terrible.  I'm AWFUL.  I, once again, have not gotten around to posting an important birthday wish to a dear one until the day AFTER the actual event...  but I *did* at least wish him a Happy Birthday on HIS blog yesterday!  Heh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dave,  for many, MANY years, you have been an inspiration, a leader, a strong shoulder to cry on... over the last *gasp* 12 years, we have gone through numerous trials and tribulations, to Hell and back again, and still came out, somehow, not bloodied by the wounds we have at times inflicted on each other.

As things have changed in their numerous ways, you have been, at some point or another, a lover, a fighter, a friend; a source of hope and a source of heartache; someone to look up to and someone who I've never caught looking down upon me without due cause; a healer, though also sometimes a blade in the side; someone to bring laughter to my otherwise tear-strewn face, and also, at times, the cause of those same tears.

You're someone who has changed my world more than you may ever know.  You've proven to be a master at many things, all the while carrying the torch of humility.

So, here's to you... one of my favorite friends, fathers, and *brothers* without blood...  Happy 30th Birthday Dave.  I truly hope that this one turns a brighter page for you and your world.  You deserve NOTHING less.  Love ya, man!

Close to the Heart

Times are tough. The economy is in recession, and jobs aren't exactly a dime a dozen at this point.

If there's any of you that have even the smallest amount to donate to a charitable cause, I'd like to bring one to light.

Spinal Cord Injury Research

As with the title, this one hits very close to home. In early June, 2006, my dad tripped and fell in the hallway at home, landing in such a way that it fractured 3 cervical vertebrae and compressing his spinal cord.

He was air-lifted to Froedert Hospital in Milwaukee, WI and underwent two surgeries on his neck in two days time. He was hospitalized for three months while undergoing an immense amount of recovery and physical therapy.

When discharged, he could even walk again with assistance.

However, due to a number of circumstances, both known and unknown... he has been completely bedridden for the last year and a half approximately. He has no functional use of any limbs, and has a catheter. He relies solely on the attention and support of my mom, my aunt, me, and the nurse that comes biweekly.

With deeper research into the nature of spinal cord injuries like my dad's, this may never have to happen to another person. My dad could have kept on walking, maybe even eventually without someone else's assistance. He certainly could have continued to use the motorized wheelchair he had sent home with him - the wheelchair that now does nothing but sit in the garage.

Please, no matter how miniscule... if you can, do. I know that times are tough (YES, believe me - Heh.), but even if all I do is get the word out and educate a few people a bit on this... My job will have been done.

Greyson loves his Papa, and knows his limitations... he doesn't remember the short amount of time when Papa could hold him, could carry him, could do much of anything with him. Someday, maybe there won't need to BE a dividing line like that in any other children's brains. Maybe they can all revel in their parents or grandparent's abilities, and not know that in order to see them, they have to climb up on the bed to visit, and crawl over to give kisses.

Thanks everyone.

Not Quite Hot Enough

Well, folks... I don't know how many of you (ANY of you?!?) were aware there had been a "Hot Blogger Calendar" vote, with an ENORMOUS number of us not-quite-mainstreamed-and-apparently-SO-not-hot bloggers ignored in the melee.

So, HappyHourSue & McMommy have created... the Not-Quite-Hot-Enough Calendar!!

So, be sure to check it out - and hell, even enter YOURSELF (unless, ya know, you're one of the elite that was in the *first* round... ahem... heh).  I'm in that long-ass list of underacheivers.  LOL

Punk.

I am not EVEN going to try and compound all of the obscenities in my brain out here onto this page - but you can SURE imagine them after reading this next little bit.

Some punk ass little hacker shit swiped the hubby's credit card info - the card that links DIRECTLY back to our checking account. The checking account that currently has NO INCOME being added to it. The account that is our SOLE support until he gets his first unemployment check, supposedly, next week.

This worthless little shit spent over $200 on - what? Multi-Player Online Role-Playing Game subscriptions and multiple accounts at Yahoo! Voice. WTF!?!?! Sorry, but PROOF POSITIVE that it's most likely either a 16-year-old little FUCK, or a 37-year-old cheese face that has never moved out of his Momma's basement.

Now, don't get me wrong - I myself have played RPG's in my life. I've actually even played one or two of them ONLINE. I, however, have NOT stolen someone else's DAMN INFO in order to do so. Fucker.

Yahoo, however, DID manage to give MetalliDad the email address that the purchases were registered to. Of course, the email was listed as non-existant by that point when he went to look it up. Duh. Of COURSE it was- skeevy little bastard.

I *am* hoping to find out SOMETHING, though, because apparently those purchases are also tracked by an IP address. Let's just hope that shithead has his own little dungeon of technology set up with a static IP, and doesn't just wander on down to the local Starbucks for WiFi when hacking. UGH.

So, I'm thinking of looking into Voodoo curses. Because, my GOD, the friggin insanity that has become my life?!? Just NOT enjoyable. Bah.

Anyone have any hints towards locating the squirmy little prick that stole our dwindling cash?!?!? Asshole.

ANOTHER ONE! Aaaah! Heh.

In as many days, I have been tagged for two different memes... While I feel *special* that I'm being thought of (even if it IS just for 'memeing' - is that even a word?!), I will silently clench my teeth a moment before I complete this one.

Because while if you ask any number of people, I'm sure they will spew forth TONS of quirks about me. But when asking myself? I tend to ponder it and not come up with much. LOL

So, thanks to Ravingly Lucid, here goes my *6 Quirks* Meme.

The Rules:Link to the person who tagged you
Mention the rules on your blog
Tell 6 unspectacular quirks about you
Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them
Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they've been tagged

1. I am UNFAILINGLY addicted to House, M.D.
2. I've let my son watch more horror movies than the average 10 year old gets to watch.
3. I used to be *very* athletic... and now can barely keep up chasing after Greyson.
4. Whenever I manage to actually get some sleep, I get MORE tired because I realize what I've been missing out on for so long.
5. I tend to wear my pajamas CONSTANTLY unless I have plans outside of the house that day - for the simple reason that sometimes it hurts to change clothing. =(
6. I'm beginning to think that, as ridiculous as it sounds, I've been cursed by someone or something. Grr.

So! The *fun*/evil part - that TAGGING! I think this time around I'll tag Kari, Val, Moo, iMommy, Alessia, and Tanis. Have fun, ladies!! ;)

Meme... meme... MEME

So, I've been tagged... which is fine, considering the only thing I have in me right now is a whole hell-load of frustration at my sleepless state - combined with a TOTAL lack of patience for the world as it stands and a brand, SHINY new pain location along my spine that has been coinciding with nausea for the past 2 days. FUN STUFF, I tell ya!

So, here they are. The ABC's of Me. Hold on to your hats!! Heh.

A-Attached or Single: Attached
B-Best Friend: Bea
C-Cake or Pie: Cake
D-Day: Saturday
E-Essential Item: Camera!
F-Favorite Color: Black, Coral, and Red (but *definitely* NOT all three together!)
G-Gummi bears or worms: Bears
H-Hometown: Waukegan, IL
I-Indulgences: Nights out, chocolate truffles, and hot baths
J-January or July: July - NO SNOW TO DRIVE THROUGH.
K-Kids: Just ONE... for now, at least (and NO, this isn't foreshadowing. Heh.)
L-Life is incomplete without: My SON.
M-Marriage Date: March 19th, 2005
N-Number of Siblings: None. My parents didn't want to risk ANOTHER one like me. ;)
O-Oranges or Apples: Oranges
P-Phobias or Fears: Glass elevators, bridges, and boating
Q-Quote: Freak.
R-Reason to Smile: The way Grey's eyes twinkle when he laughs, a decent night's sleep!
S-Season: Autumn
T-Tag Three: Bea, Bee, & whoever else wants to do it!
U-Unknown fact about me: I can pick up an orange with one foot because I have friggin' BARBIE FEET arches. Eek. I apparently have also passed on my highly-useful "monkey toes" to my son. Heh.
V-Vacation destination of choice: Scotland
W-Worst Habit: Smoking
X-X-Rays or Ultrasounds: Ultrasounds - because they are USUALLY for much better reasons than an x-ray would prompt
Y-your favorite food: Italian, Japanese, and Thai food... though I think my current *specific* favorite is Chicken Marsala
Z-Zodiac Sign: Aries. I am VERY much an Aries. LOL

Defensive

I wanted to share something that I just typed out on a message board that was created uniquely due to the fact that Metallica has now surpassed, in the number of albums to debut at #1, every other band in existence, with the only exception being Led Zeppelin.

Now, YES.  There have been some angry issues between the band and fans (which, honestly, to this DAY still makes no sense to me) due to "Napstergate."  In my opinion, *true* fans to anything or anyone wouldn't look for ways to rob those they idolize, but should and would pay the money necessary for receiving a copy of what their talent has produced - but, hell, I will be debated until eternity on that one, I am sure.

Many claim that they are no longer "true to form."  And what form is that, may I ask?  Were we all poured into plaster casts that I was unaware of, unable to change and evolve and GROW wherever life may take us?

There are numerous other ASSpinions out there, and you know what they say about THOSE.  Obviously, I tend to agree - however, the follwoing is proof that, if you don't have a FANTASTIC argument on your side, along with every *ounce* of data you personally can use for your case?  Don't bother throwing your nonsense MY way.  Unfortunately, I'll either ridicule you for not even being able to explain or back up your own supposed beliefs - or I'll just lay things out on the table, simple as that, with a HELL of a lot more backbone than your "throwing stones."

Don't criticize if you have nothing to back yourself with.  Because you WILL place your *own* head on my chopping block - especially when you challenge me and something I actually DO have an opinion on.

Case in point:

~"Where as I agree with Lars being a deterrent at times to something far greater, due to his ego and self-centeredness... that is ALL that I can agree on regarding the debates going on here.

What most of you people aren't realizing is that, as a musician, singular or in a band, if you don't PROGRESS, then you are at a stalemate, and essentially UNDO yourself as a musician. Through time and turmoil, personal growth and experience, you WILL change as a musician. To NOT do so is essentially sacrilege - UNLIKE those of you who pointed out that where they have evolved to being this fact.

I'm sorry, but stating that they have lost "most or all of their TRUE fans" is a laugh. Because seriously? If you are a TRUE fan, then with that comes the understanding of what is BEHIND the music, not just what those first few notes hit you with. You follow and perceive the many layers that are put into each and every song, and from there, and THROUGH this process, you are a TRUE fan. To claim to be a true fan and NOT be able to accept and grow along WITH the band makes you nothing more than a "fairweather fan" - no different than those who only root for their "favorite" sports team if they are winning. It's selfish to think that they have nothing within them other than the desire to put down on paper and in recording anytihng other than what *YOU* want or need to hear. It's a shame, really.

Would you rather that the entire music genre become filled with the always-increasing population of so-called "cookie cutter" bands, where the only things they produce are what is popular in the here and now? I, personally, ESPECIALLY being a musician myself, both in hobby and in trade & education, would much rather explore the depths behind where life issues have taken the music, and analyze much more than the simplicities of "Oh, Lars sucks," or "Fuckin' Napstergate."
To attack their MUSIC as a result of Napster hitting the fan as a FREE site? It's insane and absolutely SELFISH of YOURSELVES. Tell me that you wouldn't be upset if say, you produced a beautiful, one-of-a-kind painting, and then you discovered someone was standing on a streetcorner handing out "master replicas" of your work - FOR FREE? I don't think so. This is their LIVELIHOOD, and where, YES, they make much more than most of us can ever dream of, believe it or not, people - they have EARNED it. Just as you and I have *hopefully* earned every dollar that we have laid our hands on and claimed as our own.
It just goes to show how immensely shallow the majority of the "music community" is. And if you are going to base your opinions of their music on any of the things I have stated above - good riddance. Because none of the REAL Metallica fans, nor do Metallica themselves, need anyone with such an empty sense of fulfillment claiming to be one of their own."
 
I think I *may* have gotten my point across.  It'll be amusing at the least to see who tries to bail themselves out after this one. =)

Belateds

With all that has been transpiring around here, between personal chaos and also that of the community & economy... I had LAGGED in my posting recently.  And for that, I apologize - not only to those of you are kind enough to read here frequently, but ESPECIALLY to those two people I write here for now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
September 15th, 1968 - 40 years ago!  My husband was born into the world, a PEANUT of a child, weighing less than 7 pounds,  into a family filled with half-siblings, as he was the only child between his parents as ONE.

Since then, he's proven himself to be many things... initially?  A troublemaker, like most children are, of course - but considering the stories I have heard from both my late mother-in-law and my sister-in-law... well, let's just say he seemed to enjoy driving his immediate family crazy a little *too* much.

He then decided that, through the inspiration of AC/DC, that he wanted to be a guitarist.  At this day, he has been playing guitar for longer than I have been alive - and playing on stage for the majority of the last two decades.  He's played lead, rhythm, bass guitar, and sung - all to the credit of his somehow humble ability to listen to a song a handful of times and then transform it into near-perfection - with never anything more than an "If you say so," when being told of this wonder.

It was actually because of this that we met.  I was dating my ex at the time, and we went to see the band he was playing in, Battery, out in Rockford, since the ex had known the other members for a number of years.  That was the first meeting, and beyond seeming like a nice guy, that was that.

A few months later, my ex actually joined Battery, filling in for their now-open position as "Hetfield."  So, obviously, I got to form pretty decent friendships with all the guys in the band, as well as the drummer's rather... INTERESTING... stripper girlfriend.  Hmm.  I'm still compelled to this day to shake my head whenever I think of Nikki.

Ralph and I got to be better friends than I did with the rest of the guys, maybe simply because of the fact that he lived the closest to us (the other guys were in IN), and when on the road, the ex & Ralph would always get a shared hotel room, while the others got the second room.  So, needless to say, when I was on the road every so often, as well, I also wound up hanging with Ralph until the wee hours of the morning when everyone could finally catch some rest.

When the ex and I split up, a good 3 years later, there were a few people that I was determined not to lose out on as MY friend simply because I had initially met them through the ex.  Ralph was one of them.  I asked for his number, and was DENIED by the ex - which of course, simply made my stubborn streak take a stronger hold on was I was set out to do.  I called Ralph's WORK - and just caught him on his way out the door for the night.  I told him what had happened, blah blah blah... and that HEY!  We should go grab a few beers sometime.  Cool.  Friendship saved - take a breath, and chalk one up for me.

Well, when I told the ex that Ralph had said "Hey" - I got the reaming of a century (ya see, due to financial reasons, and apparently SHEER insanity, it was initially intended that we still live out the end of our lease under one roof... and after 6 weeks, I BAILED 2 months earlier than initially agreed because, DAMN.  It just made.me.want.to.kill.him.more.)

Anyways, pretty much at the end of my personal Hiroshima - he looked me in the eye and told me, "I know you two.  If you guys start hanging out, all by  yourselves, SOMETHING'S going to happen.  I just know it."

My response?  I BURST INTO LAUGHTER  so deep that I felt my sides would tear open.

After wiping the tears from my eyes, I looked back and told him that I SO didn't see Ralph that way, and that, hell, since WHEN does me having a male friend mean anything beyond that.  He was NOT convinced - but to make the last of my time, um, TOLERABLE, under the same roof - I didn't plan to hang out with Ralph until I was OFFICIALLY out of there.

Good thing, too.  Our bar-babble session apparently turned into our first date.  Heh.  I still to this day don't *quite* know how that happened - only that it just WORKED.  And the following cat-and-mouse games that followed regarding my ex pleading for my return or else he was destined to plummet into a brick wall in his car, save for his son - and me ducking the accusations that I was already dating someone else... followed by his sudden realization of WHO I was dating?!?  Pretty damn funny, if you ask me.  Never have I seen more pitiful attempts at trying to turn around a situation on both sides of the spectrum, meanwhile trying to get back something that was lost long before I moved on to someone else.

That was at the end of August, 2004.  We were engaged in December that same year.  And married on March 19th, 2005.

I found out that we were expecting 5 days later, and had the doctor's confirmation on my birthday, March 29th.

Now, Ralph - you've been my rock & my rainbow, my perilous cliff & my hurricane... my source of support, and sometimes my source of the deepest critique... the father of my child & the destroyer of many things... We've ridden a roller coaster that not only has it's ups & downs along the bumpy ride, but also seems to have its course set through a hailstorm, where we are constantly bombarded by outside forces, testing not only the riders, but the ability of the track to keep guiding us.

We've made it through just over three years of marriage, and four years of being a couple.  While there have been times where I have VERBALLY threatened to suffocate you in your sleep (I honsetly have, everyone.  LOL), I would never take back the decision to be with you... we've survived.  If nothing else, we have survived a LOT and have an almost-three year old miracle to remind us of that every day.

Maybe someday, we'll find ourselves in the sancitity of a tunnel on this ride, where the only things that affect us are US, and not the constant barrage of the outer world.  Until then, I promise to try and hold on tight, and keep myself buckled in.

Thank you for being a husband, a friend, a father, a worker, a musician... for being you.  Because otherwise?  Well, hell - who else would you be?  And you never thought you'd wind up married, needless to say, a parent.  Heh.  I guess you just needed some fiesty redhead to come and whoop your ass a bit.  ;)

Love ya, MetalliDad.  =)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
September 16th, halfway (seriously!) between Ralph's birth and my own, my mom was brought into the world, a TINY, premature baby.  Born to parents that had emmigrated from Latvia, she spoke only Latvian until the age of four, and then learned English from the upstairs neighbors who *blessed* her with a southern accent along with the gift of another language.  Heh.

For as long as I can remember, however, you would never know that she hadn't learned English from day one, right in the heart of Chicagoland.  And it's not even "southside" english!!  LOL

She's a fighter - that I can say without a doubt.  So many times have passed where she could have thrown in the towel and called it a day - but did not.  She skipped a grade in school, and graduated high school at only 16.  Graduated college at 20, and began teaching for the SAME district she is STILL in now, so many years later.

She went back to school and get her Master's degree, taking on the job of a coordinator for a number of years (yes, same district THEN, too!) before deciding that dealing with the chaos of students was MUCH more bearable than the idiocy of most adults.

She's gone through surgeries.  Some of which have now left her with daily pain, in levels not easily controlled.  And yet, she fights.  She is my Dad's primary caregiver, and  has been since he came home from the hospital just over two years ago, after his traumatic paralyzation - one that has left him bedridden and unable to do, well, pretty much ANYTHING without full assistance or complete takeover by, who else?  My mom.

She's not a superhero.  She has her moments that are all too human.  But she is a hero, simply for doing what she does, and still managing to be there for ME when I need it, even though I have my own family and most parents wouldn't just be eager and willing to remake room in their nest for their adult child (especially one who is married and has a child of their own) - but quite possibly would have relocated that best completely.

I am grateful beyond what I know I've even been able to express to her, for all that she has done for me.  Did I have a perfect childhood?  Absolutely, beyond a doubt, NOT IN YOUR LIFE.  But it doesn't make her anything less than a woman, a mother, and now a grandmother, who has put herself on the line, many times, to try and secure those around her.

Thanks, Mom.  For being who you are.  For doing what you do.  For fighting along side me.  For being "Gia."  For showing me the light in Greyson's eyes when he sees you enter the room.

I could never repay what you have done for me, for us all.  I just hope that someday, somehow, you know just how much it all means.

Love you, Mom.  =)

Um, HELLO in There! Brain? Could Ya Shut OFF For a Few Hours. Thanks.

I managed to get Grey asleep by 11.

I'm MEDICATED, since the suffocating dampness in the air has clamped my back with a set of rather *large* vicegrips.

Hell, MetalliDad is even playing a show in Palatine tonight, so I had EVERY chance in the WORLD to get some sleep that wasn't being threatened by his snoring that could wake the neighbors down the block. For real. I can hear him with EARPLUGS in - I've TRIED them on several occasions.

I was all set. Only 30 minutes of sleep in the last 41+ hours? Ha! I was going to put a stop that, here and NOW, damnit!

But... it's after 5 am. And the sandman? Is. Laughing. In. My. Wide. The. Fuck. Open. Eyes.

Do you think some pretty intense pain meds would react unkindly to a few shots of Tequila Rose? Hmm.

However, Bee, in the midst of her still-filling World of Water, has found it in her gorgeous lil' heart to show me some love with my *first* little bloggy award!

Now, I believe there are supposedly some rules about passing it on and such.. but DAMN THE MAN! Heh. I'll do as I please with it. Like maybe tuck it under my pillow and hope it comes with an infusion of tryptophan. =P

But! I am enamored with a few people whose tasty blogginess brings laughter to even my gloomiest (and as of today, practically DROWN-IEST) days, so Moo, Pinki, Crystal, Happy Hour Sue, and Chelle B - I now don you with a dahling little graphic honor because you give me hope that maybe I *will* have laugh lines as I age. Heh.

I just hope that the oh-my-god-the-window-is-PEEING repair job I managed on the oh so OFFENDING basement window that has flooded out BEDROOM a good handful of times in the last 6 months doesn't decide that now is a good time to poke me in the eyes (that are STILL open - HELLO? Brain? I think we need a *serious* chat here) and make me find myself floating out the back door before I have the chance to bask in the glory that is Bee's generosity.

Though, if it does, she and I might collide somewhere in the middle of the Des Plaines river. Hmm. That could be interesting... but most likely, NOT sleep-inducing. =P

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On a serious note, my heart goes out to all the Ike victims right now, all the people involved in the LA train collision and their families, and now the families of those killed in the Russian jet crash. Being barraded by a few days of rain is bad, but them? I hide in your shadows, because the one my suffering is casting? Oh so miniscule in comparison. Hugs to them all...

Swimming on the Lawn

It's been raining for *3 days.*  Now, if we were in the South, or up near Washington state, I could see this happening pretty easily.

But Chicago?  In September?  It's not even doing an effective job of cooling things off - it's just making it feel like a broken sauna outside... the temperature isn't hot enough to feel GOOD - just enough to be YUCKY.  And it feels like walking through butter, because the humidity is so desperately high.

There's a *river* now running through our front lawn, and essentially all the way down the block starting right at our corner... and most of the rest of the yard?  Why have that pool set up for Grey?!  I should just let him loose in the puddle-riffic depths that are accumulating that have it at that.

We're under a flood warning until sometime tomorrow, and I guess it's not going to let up anytime too soon.

At least I can say that the weather matches my mood lately.  Maybe if I got a little sunshine it would actually help me smile a bit.

The only nice thing about today is the fac that after dragging out in the rain to head to Walgreen's for a few (cartful) of things, Greyson ran to me before I could even put the bags down, and wrapped himself around my legs.

The best thing in the world to hear at the end of a blahzo day is, "Mommy!  Thank you SO much for coming home!  I missed you so much, I'm SO glad to see you again!"

*MELT*

It's Official.

I am completely, through-and-through, EMBLAZONED with Metallica all over my musical determination.

Their newest album, "Death Magnetic," just hit shelves today (okay, technically yesterday, but there's that "I haven't slept yet" rule thing again) - and already, I am ADDICTED.

And honestly? My first reaction was all, "This is a trippy cover. What the hell?!? Unforgiven *III*?!? PuhLEEZE don't let this go down the road of the friggin California Trilogy by RHCP!!"

And then I actually HEARD the above-mentioned song on the radio in the car a couple hours later. And I fell in love. I think there's just always SOMETHING that they manage to pull out of my soul and toss into what turns into a GREAT song.

Besides the fact that James is NOM. Heh.

I Don't Even DARE Ask Anymore...

After the way this week had gone up to that point, when the news about my grandma arrived, my mom and I *dared* to ask, "What ELSE?!"

I'm never doing that again.

MetalliDad walked through the door, a mere 90 minutes after the start of his shift at work, and announced that he lost his job.

Which means, as of right now, as OUR little family goes... we are INCOMELESS.

Karma's supposedly a BITCH... but I'm really wondering what I did that's making her kick my ass so frequently - and then kick me when I'm still down.

Who Would Have Thought?

Well, I've become a geneaology-aholic. I guess it stemmed from REALLY wanting Greyson to have a grasp on the depth of his roots, from England and Ireland, Scotland and Latvia, Italy... and a few others I've found - like LIBERIA. I don't know. Either she was born there while her English settler parents were there basically running trades, or, a long, long time ago... there was a little bit of African blood introduced into my dad's side of the family. Heh.

Even more interesting is that this woman, the one born in Liberia... is President Thomas Jefferson's great-grandmother. Yes, that's right folks, you heard it here - apparently I am the 10th generation granddaughter of Thomas Jefferson. Ha!!! First I find that I have distant grandfathers that were part of the signing of the Mayflower Compact, now this. It's all VERY interesting... from where you find your roots seeking their homelands to where branches just. stop. branching. Because records were burned and traces of ancestry was purposely destroyed, as is the case in many instances of "the white man" marrying or simply fathering a child with a Native American. Hence the NUMEROUS instances of not being able to find birth records, etc. on quite a few of the people on my Dad's side.

My Mom's side? Sheesh. You'd think they would have kept better immigration records. As far as I can tell, even though I even have copies of their photographs from their citizenship completions... they never came from anywhere, because there's no ship records from their actual immigration. So, I can only get a VERY limited distance there, since my mom was the first generation born HERE, and not in Latvia.

Hence why English is actually my Mom's *2nd* language. Though you'd NEVER know it - especially that she didn't speak English until she was 4, and learned it from playing with neighbors from 'down south' - so she first spoke it with a drawl... Maybe that's why she married a man from North Carolina? ROFL

We were actually talking to my dad's *little* brother earlier tonight, the three of us (and sometimes Greyson), me, my dad, and my mom, hanging out around the speakerphone - while my mom and I quietly argued as to whether or not my Dad's drawl still exists in the depth that *I* say it does.

Hell, some of you KNOW my dad. How can you NOT know his roots?!?? LOL

Only time and more sweat and tears delving into these records will show just what else I may uncover for Greyson to stumble upon in his obviously INTERESTING family history.

If only I could uncover more about MetalliDad's side... but that's a WHOLE other post, and probably could spawn a good 10 or more stories all on it's own. Ahh, the wonders of being DEEPLY Italian. Heh.

Wow.

I have just determined that, via my playlist alone... I come off as having approximately 8 different people living inside my own brain.

Am I well-rounded? Or am I a FREAK when it comes to the ABSOLUTE variety of music that I will call GOOD?!?

EEK. Too much thinking for almost 3am...

And One More Example of How Much of My Brain Has Fallen OUT of My Ear Since I Became a Parent...

I had COMPLETELY had the intention of sharing my *weird* experience of the day with you all.

When my parents were first married, they had next to nothing. My dad, being a southerner, and Cherokee, and all that jazz... well, their first wedding bands were sterling bands inlaid with a pattern of triangles inlaid with crushed turquoise.

Mind you, these rings have *not* been worn for a MINIMUM of 15 years... since they have since 'upgraded,' or what have you.

Until today, I had NO CLUE (and neither did either of my parents, honestly) where my dad's ring, especially, was. If it was even in the HOUSE, since he used to be a jeweler on the side, and all the equipment was in the garage...

Anyhow, this evening, I stubbed my toe, like DRAMATICALLY so, on what seemed like the edge of an area rug in the upstairs livingroom.
Looking down, there's a *tiny* amount of a dark grey metallic-looking thing peeking out from under the edge of the rug.

I crouched down, lifted the edge, and lo and behold... my dad's first wedding band from his marriage to my mom was literally EMBEDDED down in the carpet fibers of the actual carpeting UNDERNEATH the area rug.

This area rug has only been there for... a year, maybe???

Total DUH moment, but uh, we wouldn't have laid the rug on TOP of my dad's ring.

I contemplated if Greyson SOMEHOW had discovered it and stuck it under there... but it was SO pressed into the underlying carpet that it would have been there for a LOOOONG time to be *that* deep, in my opinion. And to be honest... um, WHERE DID HE FIND IT, if that's the case??

What do you think?

Most of you know, I'm big of the spiritual aspect of the world... do you think maybe, just maybe, Mamaw decided, in her own little way, that she was okay... and since the woman was always DRIPPING in her sterling & turquoise... this was her way?

Or am I desperately grasping for some knowledge that she is at peace now?

To End My Day of F'ing Days

Yes, I know, it's technically tomorrow already.  But ya know, that's the way it tends to go here in MMM Land.

It's currently 1:10am as I type this sentence and Greyson has only been asleep for...... wait for it...... 8 minutes.

Yes, my friends, he, for the SECOND NIGHT IN A ROW, has managed to hit the 1am mark without a nod-off.  However, today... he didn't even take a *NAP*.  Nothing.  He was even WOKEN UP this morning by the phone call that prompted the gathering of myself and my parents communally to speak with the doctor in charge of my grandmother's care at around 10:15 this morning.

So, if anyone needs, I mean REALLY desperately needs to be kept awake for an all-nighter, say you're studying for mid-terms, or you just have some sick, twisted desire to know what it's like to be me and function on 20 hours (or less!) of sleep a WEEK!??  CALL ME.  I will be right on over with the Amazing Autonomous Child, that apparently would rather make his mother *cry* out of sheer frustration that, gasp! go to SLEEP after a solid 14 hours of wakefulness.

He uses EVERY excuse in the book. 
*I'm hungry (if you were SLEEPING like you SHOULD be, this wouldn't be an issue!).
*I'm thirsty (see answer above - still applicable here).
*I had a bad dream (When?!  While you BLINKED??!!?).
*I can't sleep on this pillow (or apparently any OTHER pillow besides the one MOMMY is currently using... oh wait, that one's not good either).
*I'm hot (we're in the basement, and you're wearing a tee and shorts... with no blanket).
*I'm cold (at this point, while covered with *3* friggin COMFORTERS).

I'm at my wits end.  Not only do I have insomnia ALL ON MY OWN... but the nights I think that I may *actually* have a chance at dozing off for a bit... he pulls one of THESE out of his back pocket.

He's only TWO.  Shouldn't he still be needing, like, 13-14 hours of sleep per DAY?  I mean, on a GOOD DAY, he gets about 11, counting nap time... on the rare occassions I can even GET a nap out of him anymore.  If he DOES nap, it's usually LATE after he's proven himself to be WAYYYY too crabby to function on anywhere resembling a *normal* level, and he passes out.  Seriously.  We'll be all, "Where's Greyson?" - and find him crashed, face-down, in the bedroom at like, 5 or 6pm.  Even THEN... I only let him sleep for about 30 minutes, and just deal with the tirade that typically ensues upon trying to roust this madman out of an apparent sleep-coma.

Do they make Ambien for kids???  I mean, I know it didn't help me, but C'MON NOW, Momma needs at least a SMALL grasp on what's left of her sanity!!

*sigh*

On the upside of things... I did manage to catch a couple episodes of Criss Angel.  Mmm.  AND, who would have thought, one of the assistants for his finale stunt on the show *almost* outdid him on the "Hotness Scale."  Too bad he was a professional rodeo rider / bullfighter... pretty to look at, but you just KNOW he's gotta be rattling between the ears every time he takes a good, hard step.  Shame.

I hope, at the close of the day, you can all say that yours was better than mine.  Because right now, and I am FREELY admitting this... I am *so* looking forward to the appointment I booked for myself with a shrink in 10 days.  I'm almost envisioning it as a vacation...  yuck.

Rest in Peace, Mamaw...

Lola Mae Carter, my grandmother, passed away this morning at 11:49am CST.

She was a fantastic woman in my book.  A wild Cherokee woman, and always seemed to never let to go to that little bit of "edge" that she had in her.

She was known for riding motorcycles, racing cars - hell, she even wrestled teh Fabulous Moolah in her younger days.  We have a photo taken of her, in her late 30's or early 40's by my estimate, wearing a white cowgirl hat and boots... and probably the skimpiest bathing suit you could have found at the time, all 'posed' up like she was in it for a magazine spread.

She was, in NO way, a dull woman... nor did she leave this world without a heavy trail of memories.

Hell, she gave herself the gift of a boob job for her 70th birthday... while dating a trucker about half the age of my FATHER.

She never called me by my name... it was always "Angel" or more specifically, "her Angel."  Every phone call, every card or letter, even on the envelope, was addressed to Angel... signed with love, from Mamaw.

I'll never, EVER forget you, Mamaw...  you keep on riding, you keep on racing, you keep that jet-black hair that just never seemed to age when you did flowing behind you in the wind.

And you join the ranks of women who have passed before you, in becoming yet another watchful eye over your great-grandson.

She is being cremated, and yes, we will receive some of her ashes.  And she will join the others, in our own little odd sanctuary here, with my other grandmother.  I think we'll be adding my mother-in-law to the same shelf... where maybe they can share a story or two... and conspire as to what ELSE they can inspire in my son to make those of us who are left here a little more crazy, yet just a little more inspired... by how much they truly meant to us all.

I love you, Mamaw.  We'll all miss you, always.

Lola Mae Carter
March 17th, 1931 - September 10th, 2007

Spiraling

It's 1:19am.  Greyson has been asleep for 14 minutes.  Apparently, while I was ready to run out the back door and straight into the woods that border our yard, we received a phone call from Florida (apparently, the hubby has turned the ringer off in the basement, once AGAIN).

My grandma was coding... and they wanted to know what to do.  I guess her heart had stopped, and she was not breathing on her own, either.

My dad told them to keep working on her.  This call was at 11:19pm, two whole hours ago, and my Mom is sure that it was made clear to them that we wanted a return call no matter what the outcome was - whether they were able to bring her back, or... well.

As strong of a sinking feeling I have in the absolute recesses of my gut, medically I know that they have not been working on her, continuously, for the last 2 hours.  It just doesn't work that way.  You can only preserve live unnaturally for so long before a time is called.

Whether all is clear, for now, or it's been and on and again and off again process, I don't know.  I don't even know if they'll talk to me if I call, because it's my Dad who has the apparent medical power of attorney... since he's the oldest sibling, and one of the apparent only 2 of her 5 children that give a rat's ass.

I *still* don't know why that is.  It hurts me more than I can even fathom putting into words right now.

I just now wondered if the reason Greyson was acting like a chimp being cut cold-turkey off heroin at bedtime tonight was because he somehow, in that 6th sense of his that seems to just KNOW things that he should not and technically COULD not possibly know... did know that something, somewhere was wrong.

Should I take solace in the fact that he is sleeping *now*?  Or should I just take it at face value that he finally succumbed to the eventual grasp of sleep?

I am sitting here building up the courage to make the call to some unknown medical building in Florida, to see if someone, in their heart of hearts, will at least tell me if my last living grandparent is still alive...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I got through to them, after being transferred to 3 separate women - all the way to the head nursing supervisor for the Cardiac Care Unit.

Things are grim.

She's there.  Physically.

But time will only bring another code... and her quality of life scale is listed as nil.

To anyone who knows anything in the medical field... she's posturing.  If you DO know, you know that means that she, in essence, is already gone.

I don't know what to do right now.  I think, even with as little as I got to see her growing up... I probably have the most pleasant memories of the little bits of time I spent with her.

Hell, I have a vivid memory of running through her home with a flyswatter to get flies to feed to her angelfish... ones that would jump clear up out of the water to get the food from your fingertips.

I'll be holding on... as long as she is holding on.  And even when she can't anymore... I'll still be holding on.

It's all I have left.

Nothing has been heard as of yet. 

Parlez-vous Francais? Habla Espanol?

Thank GOODNESS I am multi-lingual, or else my husband my never be able to comprehend another electronic device in our home AGAIN.

I must be attempting to apply one of those "Language Immersion" techniques on Greyson, right?  Ohhhh no.  Though the kid knows how to count to 20 in English, 10 in Spanish, and 5 in Chinese.  We were working in Italian, but since I don't speak it (not that I speak Chinese, EITHER, but... well... he taught himself THAT - honestly), I kinda gave up on it a bit, and have since moved on to many, MANY other things than counting in other languages.

No, my son has REPROGRAMMED practically every technological device in the house that has a laguage option other than English.  Which, hehe, living in the United States, is pretty much EVERYTHING.  The television - it's been both in French AND Spanish.  The DVD player?  Both again.  Our cordless phone no longer says "TALK" when you turn it on - it says "PARLER."  *I* can't even figure out how to GET to the place he was to change it BACK.  He frequently likes to watch a movie with French subtitles and Spanish over-dubbing (sometimes with English tv-provided captioning as well).  Or vice-versa.  He plays one of his various 'Calliou' games (does NAYONE have an explanation as to WHY that child has such an ODD name when NO ONE ELSE ANYWHERE does?  No?  Oh, you've never even questioned it.  Oh, sorry.  Heh.) in one of the above-mentioned languages.

And when you ask him, "Why?"  He tells you he doesn't know, laughs, and continues along his merry way, working through the game in a language that I have to drag out of the cobwebbed confines of my brain that was HIGH SCHOOL and try and keep up with what they are saying.  Ya know, in case he needs help along the way.

Which, somehow, he rarely does.  Because this child now owns his own friggin LAPTOP and can even walk himself through an INSTALLATION PROCESS fro a game that isn't on his computer yet.  Yikes.  I know.  I don't wanna know what Kindergarten is going to be like for his POOR TEACHER, my GOD.

So, while he programs his brain to function in multiple languages not even spoken in our home... does anyone have a clue how to get my phone to speak English to me again?? 

Side story:  I misplaced my cell phone last week.  I was wandering through the house, calling it from the home phone, KNOWING that it had charge because of the 5 rings before it hit voicemail... yet hearing NO significant "All the Wrong Reasons" being sung from the location of my phone.

I *finally* remembered where it was... and also why I couldn't hear it.  It was, indeed where I had left it... but a certain *someone* had taken it out, turned off everything BUT the alarm sounds, and PUT IT BACK.

Thankfully, I had not missed any important calls!  (But, that would incinuate that I actually EVER get important calls, so... hence why my phone was missing for something like 4 days before I actually REALIZED it was missing.  Heh.  Go me!)

My son is "One-Up"-ing my Husband

Tonight, during dinner, mid-bite of rice & broccoli, Grey let out a gasp.  Immediately, I thought, 'What, hot?  I told you to be careful before your first bite of rice!'

But, no.  He quickly set down his spoon, ran to me and climbed into my lap.  Wrapping those stronger-than-they-look little arms around my neck, (did I tell you that HE put back a 12-pack of tea for me, at ABOVE his waist level, when *I* couldn't do it the other night??) and said:

"Mommy, I almost forgot to thank you for cooking dinner for me!!"

Oh. My. Heart.

I have ALWAYS strived for Greyson to be a polite child.  Coming STRAIGHT out of teaching preschool / daycare / before & after-school care and less than a week later having Grey, I *vowed* to myself that he would NOT become one of those brats who expected everything and was grateful for nothing.  Because, my GOD, I had had enough of THOSE children to last my next 4 lifetimes.  And being a boy to boot?  It seems that somehow, it's almost MORE forgiveable when a rude statement or a forgotten "thank you" is comprised by a child of the male persuasion.  So I.  Was.  ADAMANT.

I think I have done my job.  At least, at THIS point in life.  He thanks EVERYONE.  For EVERYTHING.  Sometimes, for weeks on end.  When we took him with us to see Iron Maiden...  I heard "Thank you for taking me to see Iron Maiden Eddie" multiple times daily for the next 3 weeks.  And then after Kung-Fu Panda?  The same thing.  He's actually RELENTLESS on the level of thanks he dishes out.

Have I mentioned how much I *LOVE* my little man lately???

He really does impress me, in many more ways than one.

Doing the Happy Dance, HOORAY! Doing the Happy Dance!

Tonight, Greyson used the potty for the FIRST TIME EVER.  By *his* request.  And managed to get some of of *both* - LOL - out!  And then he did it again.  And again.  And yet, even again, before the night was over.

This from the child who, until today had thrown me lines of:
~"I'll just use the potty at school when I start."
~"No, Mommy - why don't YOU go use the Diego potty?"
~"I have to poop, but it's okay, because you can just change my diaper when I'm done."

Classic lines from the one and only.

Then while at Target this afternoon, we decided to pick up a toilet seat 'adaptor-thingy' - that just fits on top of your regular toilet seat to accomodate his teeny little boy behind... and right there and then, he stated he was going to try using the potty later.

Now, that statement pretty much meant NOTHING to me at the time, because hell, he has OWNED a stand-alone potty chair since he was about 18-months old, because he was ALL gung-ho about potty, potty, potty WAY back then, but obviously he just could NOT sit on our toilet at that time.  I went out, bought him a chair, he sat on it a total of *one* time, accidentally dribbled a little into it... and it sat in the bathroom from that point all the way until we packed up to move at the end of October '07, doing NOTHING but providing a foot rest, ya know, in case you needed one while hanging on the john.  LOL

And about 4 months ago, we bought him a new, DIFFERENT potty chair.  A Diego potty chair!  One that he CRIED about, because he thought that I was going to leave it in its box, sitting outside on the snowy driveway, because I had to take it out of the car before getting HIM out of the car, but couldn't carry it AND him inside simultaneously.  He LOVED that chair.

It has NEVER been used.  *I* sat on it once (ewww, not for THAT) out of desperation for SOME form  of support one time while crouching down to put on and tie his shoes - and amazingly, did NOT get my ass stuck in/on the thing.  I was in a state of true heavenly bliss at NOT having to explain to a paramedic why there was a blue and neon green potty chair adhered to my ass by the sheer SIZE of mass that was forced upon it.  But anyways.  That was the ONLY time it was ever used, in ANY way.

And then today, something apparently just... CLICKED.  He finally realized, I think, just how big a deal this whole "no more diapers I'm a big boy" thing honestly is!

Of course, he stil had a VERY wet pull-up two of the times he went to go... but once was right after nap, and the other was after he had his head buried in "laptop land" installing every educational preschool / kindergarten level game he could FIND in the house onto the IBM Thinkpad he inherited simply out of the sheer luck that we happened to HAVE an old laptop that worked with enough capability to run the majority of those games racked up over the years by my mom while teaching.

And since we have been living in "Upgrade Land" lately, he will also have our OLD desktop pc set up for his use DOWNSTAIRS in our livingroom, as well.  He has officially beat me - I asked my parents for a computer for Christmas at age *4* - he now owns his own desktop AND laptop before the age of THREE.

Anyhow!  He has now had his OFFICIAL DAY ONE of REAL Pottyy-Training, and I couldn't be more proud of him!!!  The poor kid was REALLY trying to make himself go every time he was on the pot, too... so much that he was giggling because he was MAKING himself fart with the force of *really* making sure if there was anything TO come out - it would.  Silly little guy.

But he made *such* a tremendous effort... I really think that now that he's started, it shouldn't take too much time at all (knock on wood) - BUT hey, I dealt with having to change my ex's son's diapers all the way until I finally left... and he had just turned *4* at the time.  I think his ex-wife told me that it took him until he was a good, solid FIVE until he really was COMPLETELY accident-free.  And even still then had to wear a pull-up to bed at night.

So, to summarize, just one more thing to add to the list that circles the earth ONCE more every time the sun rises as to why I love my son, my Greyson... he is my life, my love, my joy, my heart, and my soul.  He is truly one of THE most generous, polite, and GRATEFUL children his age I have EVER encountered... and I could never have even IMAGINED that this much love could exist for one person until I looked into his eyes... and it just grows and grows with every new gaze, every hug, kiss, giggle... you name it.

I just hope that he goes through life not just knowing, but truly being able to FEEL how much I love him and care for him.  And if he can give even a fraction of that love to those HE cares for... then I will feel I have done something right in this world.

He is truly the greatest thing I have ever done.

Mommy loves you, BooBear... heart, mind, and soul.

My Grandma

Well, we FINALLY got a call on her condition today, and it seems that while yes, she is VERY sick, they are moving her to another facility that apparently focuses on weaning people off of the ventilator.

I guess that she's a *feist* vent patient - JUST LIKE MY DAD - and so she's been sedated pretty much the whole time or else she tries to pull OUT the damn thing, whether that is her actual intent or not.  I just hope that if they choose to give her Ativan to calm her down after sedation, that she does NOT have the reaction my Dad does... or else they will have one CRAZY, PISSED-OFF, EEEEVIL already-feisty little Cherokee woman on their hands.

I guess they had to give her a tracheostomy, and at the time of the call, she had a chest tube in to drain the fluids from the area they found in her lung.  (Whether or not they know now what even CAUSED the mass in there, I'm not sure of.)  So. now she has a trach like my Dad, also.  Though they seem to sound optimistic in it being a non-permanent placement.

I'm assuming that she will still need dialysis treatments, but they were talking about once she is weaned completely off the vent, getting her started with physical therapy to regain a lot of the strength that she lost while basically in a drug-induced coma during her hospital stay.

*sigh*  Even with all this news, it's still MUCH better than expected.  Honestly, since we had been waiting to hear from her doctors down in Florida for so long, I was expecting the phone call announcing that she had passed.

My Mamaw is and always has been a fighter!!  Hell, the woman had a boob job I *believe* for her 70th birthday...  and last we had heard on the "romance" front, she was dating a trucker who was around HALF my Dad's age.  She is NOT your typical grandma... by ANYONE'S definition.

So, maybe Greyson WILL have the chance to meet her.  I'm sure it won't be able to live up to the wonderful scenario in my head, but at least it's looking a lot more possible than it was a mere week ago.

Keep those good vibes coming... SOMETHING'S working!  =)

Right now, my back hasn't really improved much since my ER trip... and I've got a KILLER toothache that's been plaguing me since about 3 this afternoon to boot...  So, I'm going to TRY and call it a night.

Have a fabulous weekend, everyone... don't do anything I wouldn't do!  (Which of course leaves you with WAY more options than restrictions!  HEHEHE)

Just a Quick Update...

Things are in motion... and the wheels of discussion are turning, at least with one person.

Now all I can hope is that it doesn't send this truck slamming into a cinder block wall at 100mph.

Fuck.

No one's life is always composed of the cards they pray for.  But you use the cards you're dealt, or fold.

Apparently, when you chose NOT to fold, and keep on truckin through what's been a bunch of bad hands, all in the same game...  The only thing you'll get is reflections upon how shitty SOMEONE ELSE'S cards were before YOURS were dealt.

Or how much better they are at the game than you are.

Or sometimes, even complaints that you started playing the game in the first place.

Very, VERY recently ago, I was told by someone whom I would have given BODY PARTS for if it were needed to save her life, how great it was that no matter the time, the distance, the topic, the setting... that we could always just be "US" together, and it never mattered.

But apparently, I should have torn my cards to shreds long ago.

Because my "issues" aren't BIG enough, or some shit like that.
Because my life is comprised of one step forward, three steps back.
Because, HELL, it's nice to know that SOMEONE out there has got your back every ONCE in a while.

But, FUCK.

Don't come storming at ME when I bring those facts to light.  Because I was NOT the one to start them.
I did NOT choose to make it ugly.
I NEVER in my LIFE had vile words to say.  And if they had come out that way, up to this point, I was ALWAYS man enough to apologize.

You make your comment here sound so peaceful, like a mere stone in the path that tripped us up, just a bit, along the way...

And then you unleash VENOM in the confines of YOUR sanctum.

I don't know who, what, where, or when to believe in much of ANYTHING anymore, except for what I see and hear and live EVERYDAY.

And for quite some time, that hasn't been interjected by even a "Hey, how are ya?" by you.

No, instead my days consist of severe physical pain, a two-year-old that doesn't always understand why I can't carry him around so much anymore.  I have a husband, who may not have BEEN my husband anymore if we hadn't come to some agreement, who struggles with his diabetes, and has an open wound that hasn't healed in over a YEAR.  And is now on medical leave due to issues in the other foot.  I see my father, in bed, EVERYDAY, where he has been for about 18 months, because he CANNOT move anything lower than his hands... and even that is MINIMAL at best.  I watch my mom deal with her mental, physical, and emotional pain, from past surgeries, medical afflictions, a job that literally tries to force her quit every time she turns around, and having to care for my father's EVERY NEED basically every OTHER waking minute of the day.  Oh, and the newest part is waiting for a phone call from Florida to either ask my dad if he wants to pull the plug on his mother, or that it's too late to make that decision.

I *thought* I had people that understood.  That CARED.  That truly felt that I was part of the extended family that I had placed THEM into.

Grossly mistaken is how I know feel.

How and WHEN the hell was the wool pulled over my eyes?!?

And for god's sake, WHY?

So, now after just reading a blog post very OBVIOUSLY directed at me, in one of the nastiest tones I have ever been addressed in, I'm trapped between tears of anger and ones of true sadness - and actually, neither one of those sounds as good as just shutting down for a while.

So, maybe I should just STOP sharing things that I need to get off my chest.  Maybe I should shut the hell up for a while, and just let the world think that I'm living a parade of perfection.

Or maybe some people should take a look in the mirror and realize that, GEE, maybe some of what has been bothering me is NOT  COMING FROM ME.

I'm done.  For the night.  Maybe for the week.  Maybe longer.  I don't know.

Moo has been a post inspiration, AGAIN.

Except this time, it has nothing to do with silently lusting over celebrities of the same gender. LOL

Nope, this time around, it's in regards to baby names. And in general, for me, just some of the most DAMNED funny names I have ever heard spoken, spelled, whatever - especially those that came through the school district that BOTH my parents, myself, and a couple close friends have all worked (or are STILL working) for.

Name Number One: Female. Oh no, people... it's not FEE-mayl. It's pronounced fe-MAH-lay. The story on this one runs along the trail were non-english-speaking mother thought that the hospital had named her baby FOR her... hence why the infant's ankle bracelet had "Female So&So" typed onto it.

Name Number Two: Vagina. Once again, you all just assume WAY too quickly that they way things are written, oh ho, of COURSE they can be phonetically changed to make up new, INCREDIBLE names to scar your poor offspring for life. This poor teenager was actually IN my freshman biology teacher's classroom. Miller read off the name as she sawit, got a SNOOTY, "No, it's vaj-in-AY." The classic part is that Miller, looking dead at her, quickly replied, "Vagina. Right." And moved on. She refused to call her by the bizarre label her mother had given her ALL YEAR LONG.

Name Number Three: (In this case, the parents pronunciation will be used until the very end... it's SO much better that way.)
Intake routing a new student, the proper way to pronounce the child's name came up, because as we all know (especially after the LAST two names) things are NOT always what they seem. Pronunciation was given as "DOOM-sha-heed."
Ready?
Ya sure?
It was spelled "Dumbshithead."

After living through these and many, MANY more that made my head spin with the simple contemplation... I am not anxiously awaiting children named "Cialis" and "Viagra" someday in my son's school. Or maybe someday, I will run into Batman bin Suparman is he gets tired of his home country and comes to our big CROCK pot of a country. (see, melting pot sounds all, I don't know, too BLENDY - CROCK pot just fits the bill a little better, don't ya think?)