Salt of the Earth and How to Not Kill Your Child

(Currently, I am sitting at the computer because A) I will feel exceptionally lazy if I nap, and 2) Monkey Boy is doing his unfinished homework-reading. And he is draaaaaaaaaggggggggiiiiinnnnnnnngggggg it out. And when I am at the computer, I can peek around the cabinet door to spy him.  Over and over.  Like a meerkat, looking to see if it's safe from whatever likes to eat meerkats.  So I am blogging, so that I do not choke his neck.)

Lately, I have felt totally, completely out of control.

Yes, I am aware that I have never been in control, and all those years I spent trying to control things were years I could have been learning something useful, like knitting.  Or arc welding.

And for someone with the list of physical problems that I have, being in control in any way, shape or form is more of a joke, like prepping for a triathlon, or ignoring a sale on boots at Nordstrom: Not gonna happen.
But I have really, really REALLY felt extra, super-duper out of control. 

Why? you ask.  Well, in addition to my usual complaints, you may remember that I fired my Rheumy, found a new doc that I totally love, and took a bunch of tests. 

I went back, helpful supportive husband in tow. We got the test results: Lyme Disease. Blech.  I freaked out for a week, cried my eyes out, ate a bunch of bad foods to soothe my achy soul-you know, the usual.

Now, we are not-so-patiently waiting for the test results of the additional blood work for co-infections.  Instead of consulting with Dr. Google about whether I have Babesiosis, Bartonella, Ehrlichiosis, or one of the many other co-infections, I have instead moved to obsessing about things I CAN control.  (For the record, it's totally Babesiosis. I know this because I Googled it, and those symptoms fit the best.  Except the weight loss one.  Why is it that I NEVER get THAT symptom?)

What can I control?  Well, the list of things I can't control is growing exponentially, including whether my son runs me completely ragged by looking like he's doing his assigned reading but doing anything BUT reading, making dozens of trips to the kitchen for food he will painstakingly prepare, claiming absolute starvation.  But one thing I CAN control?  Salt.  

Huh? A Little-known fact about FFW, or Aimee, or that crazy-ass sick chick (or whatever else you call me in your mind) is that I love little tiny packets of stuff.  Maybe it's the inner granny with a Sweet 'n Low obsession, but I really REALLY love little packets of things. 

Here are some of my faves:

• Taco Bell sauces, especially when they began putting cute phrases on them, like "Where are you taking me?" and "Ahhhh. We meet again."

(OMFG!!!! This is like, the 7th time Monkey Boy has gone to the kitchen.  It's 1 pm on a Sunday, he's only been up since 10:30, and he has eaten more food than a chubby kid the night before he's sent to fat camp-a microwaved mozzarella quesadilla, two bowls of frozen pineapple-still frozen, 3 individual packets of Pringles (2 regular, 1 cheddar), 2 cups of Keurig hot cocoa, one bowl of double-noodle soup, and he is parked on the fluffy red couch with a 25 pound bag of tortilla chips that he vacillates between munching individual chips super-slowly, and inspecting each individual chip for variances. Then he will remark on these variances, thus testing my ability to keep from murdering him through as-yet-unknown ninja skills.  Sorry, I had to say something, to someone, because I really want to kill him right now.  But I won't. I will just blog about how much I want to choke his neck. And he will live to avoid homework another day.)


OK, where was I?
Oh yes.  Favorite little packets of stuff.

• Taco Bell sauce packets
• The jellies where you have to break the end corner, fold it this way and that, and use the corner to peel back all the wonderful jelly-ness (Side note: the jellies make wonderful blocks for Princess when we are waiting for a meal at a restaurant-she's adverse to playing games on our phones)
• Any packets that squooze out in a thick glop if you manage to rip the perfect 1/4 inch hole in the end, i.e. peanut butter, butter, and mayo
• Salt.  I LOVE the little packets of salt.

I'm not a big salt user.  I sometimes (regularly, actually) forget to add salt when I cook. It's just not on my radar. 
(Holy shit, you guys.  He just made a batch of lemonade.  Then, he stirred and stirred and stirred.  With a skinny spatula, one of the most inefficient stirring devices ever.  All the while, singing, "stir it up, stir it up, la la la".  Then, he spilled a bit on the counter, and the floor.  Which is normal.  But then he cleaned it up.  Diligently.  Arrrgggghhhh!!!!!!!!!!)

(OK.  I just totally lost my shit.  I turned toward him, as he had put some lemonade in a water bottle, had super-painstakingly fastened the lid three times just to be sure, and I yelled, through clenched teeth, "GETTHEFUCKOUTOFTHEKITCHENRIGHTNOW". He moved quicker than I think he ever has.  He just might not die today.  Maybe.)

Ziptop bags seem equally wasteful. So instead, I spend my free time stealing individual packets of salt.  And there are two different kinds.  There's the kind 

(Great.  Now everyone is mad, both Sky King and I have tag-team yelled at him.  Now he's pissy, and I have confiscated all sustenance.  The only thing he has left is to say he has to go to the bathroom, then shit will be getting REAL.)

There's the kind that rips on the corner, and pours out.  Think, movie theatres, KFCs.  

This is crappy, sucky, shitty salt.  (Yes, I'm taking Monkey Boy frustration out on a salt packet.)

What is the best kind of salt packet?  The kind where it has two lovely salt-filled tubes.  You snap the packet in half, which completes the perforation. Both sides then pour out two salty rivets of iodized heaven onto your hard-boiled egg, or your greasy popcorn, or your drive-thru fries.
I recently found these packets at a theme park. They were living at a condiments station, completely out-of-view of people that would judge me by my salt-hoarding.  So I stocked up.  And every time Sky King would access my backpack to retrieve something, he would come across them, and shake his head in disgust.

Later, I had to move the packets to an area in out luggage he wouldn't mess with. I got a small souvenir bag, and filled it with the packets, and added in some salsa packets.  Real, chunky salsa, in packets!  I was in individual-packet heaven! Then, I put the smaller bag into a bigger souvenir bag, and set a reminder on my phone to move them when we got home.  They are now carefully ensconced in our napkin drawer, which is "base" for some of my crazy food stashes-Sky King won't disturb them, that is their home.

I LOVE these packets.  And I HATE the other ones.  I give the crappy ones to the kids-I tape one to the shell of the hard-boiled eggs I put in their lunches.  The lunch-room staff either thinks I'm batshit crazy, or they're jealous.  I prefer to think they are jealous.

(Oh, and in the past two and a half days?  Monkey Boy has read exactly two and a half chapters, and taken three naps.  Lord, help him.)