itemized

• Fell out of the car again. Considering cleats. 

• Was almost killed by a pit bull: rounded blind curve and veered out of path of careening truck; slavering dog whizzing perilously past my window. If I were to be killed by an animal, being bludgeoned by one would probably be the way to go. Unless it were a hamster, or other very small animal which would require either a cannon blast or hours of effort to finish the job. 

• Got another book project*. 

 • Patron in scanty shorts rested his testicles on my desk.

 • Bought a new pack of red pencils online. Spent almost an hour agonizing over what to add to get free shipping (6 dollars - NEED TO SPEND 6 DOLLARS), stamping out the joy of purchasing precious effing carmine pencils. 

• Ate half a tub of fat free whipped topping. Yes, I know it is made of hemorrhoid cream. 

• Couldn't finish sewing tart dress because there are no zippers on the island. Probably because the governor laid off the zipper inspectors. 

• Swore at governor on television because she is laying off 1,800 more people instead of raising taxes a bit because "it wouldn't be good for businesses". But cutting our pay, furloughing every state agency, closing schools, and laying off thousands of people is JUST GREAT. Now I am going to go close my head in the fridge because I just ranted about politics. 

*  Task: figure out how to wedge prehistoric beasts into a board book format. I'm thinking... 

  

 Still working on concepts.

The House of Sick

Meningitis.

Was told by mom's doctor to watch her and get her to the hospital if anything changes because "she could die." Was not happy with this. Even though her doctor is tiny and cute and I wanted to knock her over and steal her fancy shoes.

Changed ice packs, picked up prescriptions, administered pills, refilled water bottles, and found myself with hours of quiet time to knit on the couch or lay in bed alone late into the night reading. Felt like the old me. Put on a baggy old tee shirt and took off my jeans to complete the effect.

Boob turned into a potato. Breast pump insisted it was doing its best.

The man arranged to fly in on Saturday. I experienced a confused mix of excitement and disappointment. Filled my arms with kissing boys and put jeans back on.

Cleaned the bathrooms, sneaking four garbage bags out behind the house. Said "it had a hole in it!" every time she asked about missing soap slivers/old toothbrushes/that hairspray in the rusted can that we can't use because we're allergic.

Mom started to feel better, as indicated by the fact that I went upstairs and found her disassembling her air cleaner instead of resting. Secured her recovery with a load of Thai food from the restaurant with the old lady who predicted I'd go into labor when I sent my mom for saté sticks.

Went to Target. The man became stressed by city traffic, tried to run 4 people off the road.

While cleaning the kitchen, discovered a cupboard of miscellaneous liquor that was still good. Also a cursed 7 year-old bottle of cheap champagne from our wedding. And a pack of pre-cooked bacon I bought during the divorce, disturbingly normal-looking.

Got a cold. Leif showed his sympathy by sneezing snot down my shirt. Then made Cute Face (exaggerated blinking with tongue between teeth). Forgiven.

I asked him to do it for the camera, and this is what happened:

I threatened to take them to the Sears portrait studio for a babies-rolling-pointlessly-in-flowers photo shoot. Preview of how that would go:

Tomorrow we fly home. My mother is expending all of her new energy in the cheesecake section of Costco. I know she'll be safe now.

Was all of this the sign I was waiting for that it is time to make the move back? Perhaps.

Hits and knits

This month the furlough gods decided to throw us out on Fridays instead of Wednesdays, just to keep the public confused. This means that I can now watch the boy get his teeth knocked out in his Tae Kwon Do classes.

Due to financial woes, the classes are being held in the local homeschool:

To help the kids get back into the studio, a fundraiser is in the works. A poker tournament. I believe the last time I played poker, it degraded into a penny-throwing match. I will not be doing that thing.

Before class, the man had a good snog with Oprah the dog. Afterwards, Oprah ran away to roll in a maggoty corpse. She spent the rest of the morning under the yurt on her rope of shame.

Gavin tried to kick his buddy's face in.

I hid behind the bookcase.

Not pictured: the hour spent chasing the kids through the rain after class and hiding under a tarp while they howled, "I'm the Water God, follow me!" from the top of the play structure. Finally came in, sopping and grumpy, to drag the man out of the poker-organization meeting.

Came home to learn that my mother has been too sick to eat since Wednesday. Talked to her, knitting out my worries on the boy's sweater. Finished it while my mother was in Emergency yesterday afternoon. She's back at home, two IV bags fuller, but still unable to eat or stand. My auntie is being a good sister and dumping Gatorade into her, despite the whining from her husband on the phone, having been forced to watch his own children.

So today I am upset about my mother's mortality, and waiting to see if I need to fly over and beat the doctors into fixing her. But at least the Durrow sweater is done.

And it's really kind of fantastic. The boy kind of likes it, too, despite the fact that I cut off the loose ends, which he had been using as dangly lures to drag the cats around by.