It's Not Much, but...

Happy Valentine's Day to all those that love me. 


The ones that tolerate me, or worse, feel indifferent, y'all can kiss my ass.

We moved over the weekend, to get away from the House that Mold Built.  It was amazingly non-stressful.  Except for the constant barrage of, "where do you want this?", I did remarkably well.  And, about a dozen or so of our closest friends not only moved my entire house if shit I don't use much, but they hung around for the creation of several fine IKEA monstrosities.  So all my Valentine's gifts were already collected, a few days early.

Now, it's just a matter of figuring out where to put the overwhelming amount of stuff.  We have entirely too much. No, I don't think you quite understand.  Our kitchen is full.  FULL.  And Sky King just said, "You know what's scary?  I just found 3 more boxes of kitchen stuff."  I stared at him, wide-eyed, and realized he was talking about the stack of boxes he was standing by.  NOT the boxes hidden in the craft room.  He doesn't know about those two.  Yet.


Our new place is bigger, with more rooms. When we were orchestrating the relocation of boxes, we had to give quick names to the rooms so that people would know where to put stuff.

Off the kitchen, we have a room full of cabinets with a built-in desk. It goes out to a sauna room that has a hot tub in it. The cabinet room became known as The Random Room.
We have a spare bedroom now. It contains a bed and some extraneous furniture, as well as Sky King's wardrobe (damn you, 1970's house, built before walk-in closets had been invented!). That room has become The Drunk Tank, due to several friends claiming it as their own when the Summer Party Season begins.

We are still working out the name to our wifi. Unfortunately, we have a neighborhood full of wonderful, kind, generous people. Since we don't want them to call the cops on us when the inevitable over-indulgences of the summer begin, we are trying very hard to be nice. Therefore, we want to name the wifi something funny, yet not too risque'. So far, the winner is Surveillance Van #58.

So today, on the day when we are supposed to be our most romantic, I will:

• Finally take a shower
• Put away more shit I probably don't need
• Refill all my pill containers
• Change my address in as many places as possible
• Try to put out before the kids get home from school

Do I know how to spice things up, or what?

Our gift to each other is the new place.  It's amazingly spread out, with tons of property to run amok.  It's already been dubbed, "Walker Ranch".

I hope you day is filled with tons of love, affection, and Nookie.  And wine.  And chocolate.  Yep, that'll do.

Love and Stitches

The other day, I got injured.  And, as you know if you have Fibro, an injury means a flare-up.  The stress of the injury, usually combined with the stuff you take to make the injury feel better (wine, Vicodin....), plus the anger at yourself for doing the stupid thing that got you hurt in the first place, combined with the fact that (insert random number here) years ago, you could have sucked it up, moved on, been good to go in a couple hours.  Not now, nope.  It's payback time.  Maybe the Karmic Gods are getting me for all the fun I had in college....

*** Skip this part if you want to pretend I am a responsible person that makes good choices.  Keep reading if you need affirmation of my non-stop stupidity, or want to spew a beverage onto your keyboard.

So, there I am, at work on a Saturday.  We had planned a work day, and much of the staff was at my child care center.  Also, the janitor was there.  One of the people that was there had put bagels in the oven to toast them.  Then, someone else said, "Mmmmm, what smells so good?".  Just then, two of us went running toward the kitchen, trying to ward off the smoke alarm detecting our failure. I was in the lead, trying to get to the kitchen. My Saltwater sandals, with zero tread, hit the wet floor, and I flew.  My head hit the door jamb, my lower leg hit something equally hard, and my right arm caught my fall.  I lay there for a bit, getting my bearings, waiting for the nausea to subside, when I noticed wetness.  Lots of it, too.  I realize that my head is having some issues. I cover it with my super-absorbent sweatshirt, waiting for the bagels to be saved. I ask someone, "Hey, would you mind peeking to see if I need stitches?"  She says, nope, and digs in. No bueno.
Soon, I am sitting, waiting for the husband, with ice taped to the ankle, and a blood-soaked rag holding more ice to my eye. 5 hours and three stitches later, I am bummed.  Not only because this all caused me pain, but the residual effects.

• I missed a training
• I will possibly (Who am I kidding---"possibly") be in pain for a while
• I have to let my friend down, who's son I was to be watching the next day-because my husband has taken over, knowing I won't say no, and said he forbids me watching extra kids the next day while he's gone with the birthday party crew
• My upcoming week at work is busy already, without having to deal with pain
• I just got to experience a couple good days after a nasty flare up

Also, I feel a little dumb.  Even my daughter said, "Well, you WERE running in the hall...." the same way I might say, "Well, you DID put your hand in the oven....".

See?

Then, to top it off, I see my look has already made it to the runway....

**********************************************************************

Anyways, there I am, at home, laid up with a banged up ankle, stitches on the eyelid, and major pain predicted for the foreseeable future.  It also happened on the day of my son's birthday sleepover. Brilliant, me.
my husband has locked me into one end of the house, and has meds, water and snacks lined up, along with some movies, and lots of extra pillows.  Every time I try to leave the room, I get sent back to bed.  He really knows how to take over when I need it, but fight it.  :::::swoon:::::;

In walks Princess, with her big brown eyes, dressed up like a true princess.  She says, "Mama, I'm going to make you something very SPECIAL."  I say, ('cause this has happened before and her last "something special she named 'vegetable chum') "oh, no, baby, don't do that, I'm just fine." She responds with, "Oh, don't worry, it will be with all the things you can eat. And, (as she scrunches up her shoulders, hands clasped, head tilted fetchingly) it will be made with a special ingredient:  LOVE!"  Crap.  There's no way out of this, unless her ADD steps in the save the day, and a family of squirrels plays tag on the roof......

Nope, no squirrels.  No other diversions.  She even needed help opening some of the ingredients.  no, bear in mind, my daughter is aware I am dieting.  She also knows I like to eat healthy.  So, bless her heart, she incorporated all my favorites, kept into consideration my allergies, AND produced a wonderful concoction:

I am one lucky Mama.  What you see here is:

• Daiya cheesey shreds, both mozzarella and cheddar
• Lettuce, organic of course
• Grape tomatoes
• Low-fat mayo
• Blueberries
• Chunks of fresh-ground peanut butter

And, LOVE.  Lots of love.  Can't you see it?






Yes, I tried it.  How could I not?