Blizzards and other Very Bad News

Have I mentioned that my sisters, their husbands, and a nice assortment of my nieces and nephews are supposed to arrive at my doorstep on Wednesday to spend Christmas with us? That’s the plan anyway, but guess what the weatherman is promising this week for our little neck of the plains? No, not just a pesky run-of-the-mill winter storm, but an honest to goodness BLIZZARD. What’s up with that? So this is of course VERY BAD NEWS. I mean I know my relatives can be intrepid...because I’ve seen them trudge fearlessly through a red cell just to get to the next gorilla cage at a zoo. But I’m guessing they won’t be like Pa on Little House and craft their own snowshoes and trudge through the blowing snow to get here. Fortunately, I haven’t bothered to bake or cook one thing in anticipation of their coming, so you don’t have to worry that my efforts will be wasted, should said blizzard actually keep said family away.

And I have other bad news. When we decided to dig a basement under our house, I didn’t think about the fact that all my kids could have all their friends over at the same time. So yes, I had a bit of a dilemma last night. I had a pack of middle-schoolers playing in the new basement AND a pack of high-schoolers watching a movie in the living room. As if that weren’t worrisome enough, my husband chose that time to do "home repairs" in the upstairs bathroom. For the life of me, I couldn’t decide where my hovering was needed most. So I mostly sat in the kitchen looking through an atlas and planning our next vacation. And then I went to bed.

And I had more broccoli soup for lunch and a clementine.

Snippets.

Last night I was told by someone normally very sweet that my blog was BORING. After the initial shock (not over her THINKING my blog was boring, but over her TELLING me it was boring) I picked up my bootstraps and determined to try to liven up my posts. Spice things up a bit, you know. Then I remembered my subject, which is my admittedly prosaic life, and decided maybe it wasn’t possible. But I am considering making a concerted effort to shorten my tirades. If that will help.

So what do I have for you today? I have this dear friend who showed me these cute pictures she took of her kids in front of her Christmas tree, so I tried that last night with my children. They were all dressed up in their Christmas concert finery, so it seemed like a good time to capture the moment. But David was uncooperative (as usual) and it turns out I have a kind of proportion problem. I mean either my children are way too big or my tree is way too small, because all you can see behind the giant children in front is the star on top. And so that was a bust.

But the concert was nice, all Christmassy and everything, except for maybe the moment when the band director publicly chastised some kids in the audience for talking, and I noticed my son was sitting in the general vicinity. He later denied being part of the problem, but I didn't buy what he was selling because he does love to socialize.

Then after the concert, I got rooked into buying some seriously overpriced leftover cinnamon rolls from the Band Boosters, which wouldn't have bothered me so much if they had been good, but they weren't. So that was a downer. And okay, maybe this stuff isn't exactly riveting...but it's all I have. At least for today.

And for lunch, I had both chicken soup AND broccoli soup.

Decisions, Decisions.

I’ve just realized that I haven’t updated you on the status of the basement project in awhile. I hope you will forgive this oversight. First, yes Virginia, we have a staircase! And it’s quite lovely, even in its rough, unfinished state. The only real drawback to said staircase is that now when Dave calls to me at all hours of the day to "come have a look" at this or that feature of our new basement, I have no excuse to say no. So I’ve been dutifully climbing up and down the staircase and admiring all the underpinnings of our house with Dave, because that’s what a good wife should do, right? But I don’t like it one bit.

Do not be deceived. The project is far from finished. Fidel has yet to "seal the foundation" which apparently is important because during our last cold snap we had frozen pipes in our kitchen AND laundry room, thanks to said pipes being exposed. And that was a tad inconvenient, because while I love an enforced break from washing dishes and clothes (just like the next person), we all kept eating and wearing clothes so the dirty items piled up. Needless to say, I’m ready for the project to proceed. But the same cold weather that’s doing a number on our pipes, is supposedly keeping Fidel from being able to finish. So it’s a conundrum. (Just wanted to use that word.)

On a more positive note, Fidel told us we could start putting stuff in the basement if we wanted. IF WE WANTED??? So of course I immediately started sending box after box of useless, broken and in-the-way stuff down those stairs with any kid who looked un-busy. And they love that of course. Any normal person would have sorted through the stuff first, but not me. I just wanted my piles of junk out-of-sight and out-of-mind. I wish I could say that all this transfer of stuff to the basement has made a difference in the state of my house, but the more stuff I send down, the more stuff I find. I’m thinking I might have a problem. But for the time being, at least until after Christmas, I’m going to stay in denial.

So how about a brief update on the family?

Emily is sorely trying my patience these days. Yesterday I caught her running up the stairs EMPTY-HANDED even though a boatload of stuff was sitting on said stairs to be taken upstairs. Then late last night, she asks me if we have Velveeta and Rotel because she’s volunteered to make dip for her class, and of course I have the Rotel but no cheese, meaning I’m the one that gets to make and take the dip to her class this morning. Finally, and most annoying, she’s taken to being kind of sweet to me lately. Like I got an email from her yesterday thanking me for something or other. I mean, she knows I’m an emotional basket case, so why would she do that to me?

As for dear little Rachel, we celebrated her 17th birthday earlier this week. It seems like just yesterday that I was holding her in that hospital room for the first time, with those nurses showing and telling me about the big bruise on her head, which turned out to be a birthmark and not a bruise at all, proving once and for all that you can’t really believe anything medical people tell you. But I digress. The birthday party was typical for her...just the family (well, plus the Snow Prince/boyfriend) and a store-bought cake and too many presents...all because her birthday happens to be in December when I am too busy doing too many other things to really concentrate. But she is always (or usually) a good sport about it, and this year was no exception.

David came home earlier this week and told me he’d had a very bad day. I asked all the right questions: Was he in trouble? Did his girlfriend break up with him? Did he get demoted to the b-team? But the answers were no, no and no. In fact, he couldn’t come up with any specifics. Then last night, when we sat down to a supper of roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, salad and bread, he asked if he could fix himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. He said, "Why don’t we ever just have regular food around here?" Who knew that 14-year-old boys could be this much trouble?

Dave continues to toil away trying to please me with this whole house project, bless his heart. Like that can be done. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not him, it’s me. I just do not have it in me to make decisions about stuff and I don’t trust my opinion on anything. Like yesterday, he gets a guy to come to the house to talk about kitchen renovations. And I agree to be present, in the house anyway, but not necessarily in the same room with them, which I’m sure this contractor found odd. But I didn’t care. And beside, I was busy putting bows on Christmas presents. At one point, they called to me and asked where I wanted my refrigerator and stove, and I about came unglued. But the crisis passed, and I’m sure whatever they decided will be fine.

So this is three days in a row for my blog. A personal best.

And I haven’t decided what I’m having for lunch yet, but I’m thinking of a roast beef sandwich, with the leftovers from last night. Yum.

The Rest of the Story...

Maybe I should quit telling people I blog, and just admit that what I really do is rant. Because looking over that last post, well, I might have been venting a bit. But I had to cut it off (because the client was waiting and all) so I think it sounded worse than it was meant to sound. Because I never got around to the POINT of all the ranting and that was to tell you about how my HEALTH has suffered from all the stress I’m feeling.

And even though I vowed early on (to myself) to NEVER blog about my weight or my menopause issues, I feel that you will never fully understand my actions and behavior without some mention of these pesky issues now and again. And now is one of those times. Because I’m pretty sure that my reaction to the whole basketball-Nutcracker-Christmas party thing wouldn’t have been so drastic had it not been for the menopause thing. I hope not anyway.

Because here’s what happened. Right around the time things were heating up with all of those stress-inducing activities, I started waking up with hives. At first just a few, but with each morning, they became progressively worse. Until last Wednesday when I woke up with a swollen eye and lip and neck and pretty much looked like someone you’d never want around your young children. So I go to the doctor, actually Dave takes me because I’m feeling pretty sick. And they give me a steroid shot, and I decide to do that passing out thing I do so well but haven’t done in so many years that it kind of scared me. And at one point I think the doctor and his crew of nurses had me in a wheelchair tilted back so that my head was below my body and they were doing blood pressure read outs that sounded so low that I’m pretty sure I might have been clinically dead. But that part is a bit fuzzy now, and not really important anyway.

What’s important is that Dave is over there telling them that I do this ALL THE TIME. Which totally is not true. I mean, yes, I used to be a fainter. But I haven’t fainted for YEARS now. Literally. So when I finally recovered, I challenged Dave to remember the last time I passed out and he couldn’t remember, so I really don’t think he should have led all those medical people to believe I’m just some flake who can’t bear the pain of a little steroid shot. Not to mention that he also told them all about my fake heart attack from last summer. Which obviously isn’t a subject I like to talk about either. So naturally, I’ve told him I will never let him accompany me to the doctor’s office again.

And anyway, the happy ending is that I’ve been hive-free for the last week or so, thanks to good drugs, but I am keeping an Epipen close at hand just in case. The night I got home from the hospital...yes, they put me in for monitoring and to give me fluids, which must be what they do when someone passes out after a shot...anyway, I sat all of my children down and made them listen while I instructed them on administering the Epipen in case I went into anaphylactic shock. And they all listened obediently and appeared to be eager to jab that thing into my thigh if need be. Which I’m not TOO worried about. But a couple of days later, David asked me where I kept the Epipen, and this was right after I’d grounded him from ALL SCREENS for a week, because he pushed his sister to the ground trying to get to the computer one night. So without even trying to disguise my suspicion, I asked him why he wanted to know the whereabouts of the Epipen, but he just said in case we were alone someday and I started having trouble breathing...and I guess I’ll take that at face value.

I have other tales to tell...including a report on Rachel’s 17th birthday and other scintillating (brilliant and exciting) happenings in our lives...but I have to work now.

For lunch today, I had some of Dave’s fat-free chicken tortilla (like) soup, which might have been quite tasty had it not been for the lack of certain ingredients which would have disqualified it as a fat-free soup. If you know what I mean.

Tis the Season...to be jolly?

Hello.

I know, I know. I’ve been a very bad girl. And I appreciate those of you who’ve missed me. I have a LOT of excuses, but do you want to hear them? I think not. So let’s just jump right into the real news.

First, I feel duty-bound to report on our family’s Thanksgiving festivities. We had a truly lovely four-day-affair, with the traditional CORNUCOPIA (yes) of over-the-top great food and fun. We ate, shopped, and gamed, into the wee hours of each night, and then we got up and did it all over again. I, for one, developed a serious post-holiday hangover, which lasted for about a week after I got home. I’ve never had a true hangover (because I don’t drink) but I feel that my post-Thanksgiving experience was surely close to the real thing. The exhaustion, the headaches, the regret. It was all there in full force. But now that a bit of time has passed, I only remember the highs. Isn’t that why we’re always driven back to our addictions? And so I’m sure I’ll be right back over-eating and over-playing by Christmas.

And while I must confess that our holiday fare was mostly prepared by my hardworking and dedicated sisters and husband, please understand that I was not slack in my contribution to our Thanksgiving festivities. In fact, I had perhaps the most grueling of roles, because I was assigned to write, direct AND produce a holiday family film for my nieces in Zambia. The working title was "It’s a Wonderful Life, Uncle Paul," but you will find the uncut and unrated DVD version styled a bit differently. And I don’t like to brag (seriously) but I must admit it was a first-rate script, and if the acting and camera-work had received the same attention to detail that my script did, the film could probably win some kind of award. Instead it had a few...shall we say...technical difficulties? But we won’t go into that. I’m sure the Zambian screening will go well, and the crass American market has never been known to embrace these international films anyway.

Following Thanksgiving, we hit the ground running with the DREADED basketball games, Nutcracker business, and Christmas parties. Oh sure, these particular activities SOUND harmless enough. But lurking beneath their innocent facades lie all sorts of evils for a person like me. I mean here is my laundry list of personal problems associated with these seemingly nice, normal events:

First, we have basketball. I’ve enjoyed watching Emily play her, okay, not so stellar game for many years now. And at other schools and on other teams, she may have only warmed the bench (prettily, but still) and that would have been only natural given her abilities. But here in our small town, thanks to certain "circumstances", she’s been given the opportunity to play and play and play. And consequently, improve! And sure the team was "0 and what? 0 and 21" last year. But still, she played and I loved watching her.

So now we come to her senior year, and what does she do? She decides to try-out for cheerleader instead of playing ball. And she makes it...and takes her sister’s spot on the cheer squad in the process. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the team decides to get better and actually WIN a game. But we aren’t part of it, the team you know, and so I have to feel angry and bitter. I know I’m sounding hover-crafty here, with the word WE, but I cannot help myself. And of course, Emily says the team is SO much better that she would have been sitting the bench anyway, but I see the pain in her eyes when she says it. Or at least I IMAGINE I see that pain. And that makes me sad, so then I have to cry and carry on. So I think you can see now why the basketball thing is dreaded by me.

Then there’s the Nutcracker. I’m a person who gets conflicted just picking out a can of beans, so imagine how stressed I get when I’m asked to weigh-in on decisions about dresses, hair, makeup, tiaras, and such like? And then I was expected to fix costumes, sew up toe-shoes, and worry about my child being dropped on her head. It’s a wonder I survived and am here to tell you about it. But we did survive (there’s that WE again) and don’t tell anyone but I did enjoy it a tiny bit. Especially the part where Rachel twirled...and looked like an actual ballerina. I mean what mother wouldn’t enjoy that?

And by the way, I also enjoyed the parts of the show where I didn’t have to worry that those safety pins I secured wouldn’t hold those straps up. Like the part where the Mama girl comes out on stilts and little dancers come popping out of her giant skirt. And may I just say that we went down to Amarillo this past weekend and saw the Lone Star Ballet do their version of the Nutcracker, and our mama was far superior to theirs, which may be just my opinion and based solely on the fact that the "mama" in Amarillo had a giant Adam’s apple and therefore we suspected HE wasn’t really a "mama" after all. But that’s neither here nor there.

So back to me (oh how I do love the all-about-me blog)...and the third leg of the triumvirate of stress-inducing events in my life. The CHRISTMAS PARTY. I mean, I love a good party just like all the rest of you, but I can’t seem to get my act together when preparing for them, and I’m afraid it’s showing. For one party, I took the wrong gift, so instead of my friend getting the cute little HoHoHo wall decoration, she opened Rachel’s little black shirt which I’d wrapped for her birthday. Just a tad embarrassing. Then I stress over trying to look festive for these occasions. Because I’ve noticed this year that all of my Christmas garb is either too small or just seems to be screaming "please retire me to the rag pile" because they are either faded or jaded. So what’s a girl to do? I just keep dragging out the old black sweater, which is supposed to make me look "classy" if not Christmassy, but I think the black is looking faded too, so now I just have to hope no one looks too closely at me. Which is probably the case. But I keep getting to these parties and I look around and wonder why everyone looks better than me? And then I remember my role in life...to make others feel better about themselves, by being superior to me, and then I feel pretty good. Seriously.

Okay, I better go. I have a client waiting. Seriously.

And I had one nacho, one chicken tender, and some leftover cranberry salad for lunch. Quite tasty.