This is Weird

On Friday The Child and I went to Trader Joe's for the weekly shopping. I grabbed my purse and it felt too light. My wallet was gone. I knew I'd had it and she'd just seen it when she was frantically digging through my purse to find my cell phone so she could call Radio Disney. So we started searching the car. (We found the wallet...not the point of the story).

I was digging under my car seat and felt a weird prick or sting. I pulled out my hand and the middle finger of my left hand was immediately swollen and stiff...just like when I've been stung by a bee. I didn't think too much of it. The Child scrapped my finger in an effort to remove any potential stinger and then I just walked around the store holding a packet of frozen Dover sole to the ravaged digit.

By the time I went to bed the swelling had started to go down. There was never any fever or nausea of dizziness or other things that signal anaphylaxic shock so all was well.

Saturday morning my finger felt just fine. But it was bruised. Practically the whole finger. No swelling, no pain, I could move it just fine, but it looked like it had been smashed with a hammer. And it's still bruised.

I went on line to check it out...always a dicey proposition because every time you look up anything medical on the interwebs it appears that your condition is not only life threatening but exceedingly rare. I was able to confirm that a) I'm not dying of a mysterious bug bite and 2) bruising is a normal reaction.

But still. It's weird.

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Last night The Child was very busy in her room. She's very excited about the fact that Uncle Buck is going to be here in 3 short days and she's beginning the process of making her room comfy for him. After a while she came out, big grin on her face and said, "Mom, you should blog about this".

"What? That you're cleaning your room?"

"No. That I'm making it super nice for Uncle Buck. You know how when Uncle JP was here all he had to look at were a few High School Musical posters and the Cheetah Girls? Poor Uncle JP. Well, Uncle Buck will have Miley and the Jonas Brothers and all kinds of stuff".

Seems she completely decimated the Tiger Beatish magazine I'd purchased for her earlier that day and donned an entire wall with every pop star currently in continuous rotation on aforementioned Radio Disney.



Yeah. Uncle Buck is gonna love that.

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The volleyball championship game was on Saturday. The Child actually saw a fair amount of court time, all things considered. In fact, Bad Coach even subbed her in to serve in one game. That has never happened before. Probably her most glorious moments were when she was playing at the net. Twice she managed to get to balls that would have just rolled down the net, bumping them straight up so someone else could spike them. Both times they scored the point. Her serves were spot on, too. She did really well. The team won both their games. Guess that makes them the champions. Again.

I'm super proud of The Child for giving her best effort in every game, plus playing with grace and sportsmanship all season. It wasn't easy, what with Bad Coach being his typical bad self. It's hard to keep plugging when you're not getting any positive feedback or encouragement. But she did it, putting up with the negatives because she loves the game so much. She told me that she definitely wants to play CYO in the spring, even if Bad Coach is "coaching" (and really, we have to put it in air quotes because he's so bad) because she really wants to play in the new gym (which is going to be ready by next month).

I love that kid.

*cough*cough *hack*hack*

Oh, dear.

I know you are waiting to hear all the details of the weekend and I want to tell you, I really do.

But I'm still sick. I'm at the stage where I sound worse than I am, although when I'm coughing it sounds like Nicole Kidman in "Moulin Rouge" and I half expect to see the tell-tale red blooms on my hankie while James Broadbent tells me I'm dying.

I have found some red medicine that seems to help quite nicely without making me loopy, which is something I'm very much opposed to -.being made loopy, that is. And I got a very good rest last night. If I can just take it easy today and maybe tomorrow, I'll be right as rain.

I am a little sad, I can tell you that. We had a great time with JP and I don't particularly want to take him to the airport today. I think he should live here. All weekend it rather felt like he did, and not just because he was sleeping in our house. I mean that he liked Seattle and he liked our friends and it felt like he belongs here.

I introduced him with much fanfare, making a huge point of him being the JP for those who read our blogs and also of the fact that he'd come all the way from Omaha to celebrate my birthday. People were suitably impressed.

Later JP asked me why I wasn't fussing about the fact that Payson came all the way from Texas for the same purpose. Of course I loved that Payson traveled up here for my birthday. But he's a jet setter. He travels all the time, for work and leisure.

JP, on the other hand is famous for not travelling. But he did for me. He got on a plane and left the comfort of his home to sleep in my child's purple room with the Zac Efron posters and endured all the late night/early morning bathroom noises (because one of her walls contains all the plumbing- it can be a little like sleeping next to a waterfall). He did all this with good and decidedly unbitter humor because he likes me. He really likes me. And he even says that he'll do it again.

Point is, it's a really big deal that he came out here. Really big. And I'm honored. But now I'm sad because it was so nice to have him here and I don't want him to go even though I know that we'll talk on the phone practically every day once he gets back to Omaha, just like we always do.

Here's the thing I've learned about meeting blog buddies. It doesn't fundamentally change the friendship you began in the ethers. Usually, it just confirms it. But once someone becomes "real" then you can miss them when they aren't around. I'm so going to miss my Poodle.

I promise to tell you all about the party as soon as it doesn't hurt to breathe or the red medicine kicks in, whichever comes first.

JP Est Arrivé

First, the bad news. The Hat isn't coming to my party. She is very, very sick. She is very, very sad. So are we. She will be missed.

(moment of silence)

'K, so having a pretty great time so far, despite the fact that I have a cold which is threatening to turn nasty that caused me, among other things, to sneeze all over the dessert cart last night at dinner. Classy, huh?

JP is here and it is as I thought it would be: it feels totally and completely as if we see each other every day.

I got to the airport about 10 minutes before his flight was to arrive. Got some coffee and stood by the escalators, waiting and watching. Then I decided I'd better 86 the coffee because I knew once I saw him there'd be big hugs and didn't want to scald him the first day in town. I watched and waited and kept thinking my phone was ringing, because he said he'd call me the second the plane hit the tarmac and every time I saw a pair of jean beclad legs on the down escalator I'd think it was him. Until it proved to be some old guy or some young chickypoo. There were people coming up the escalator as well and I'd scan them from time to time. And still no JP.

Then this guy came up behind me and said, "Whatcha lookin' for?"

"A guy".

"Really? What's he look like?"

"He's pretty cute, kinda looks like Bono".

"Oh. Sorry, can't help you there," he replied.

And then the hugs and the squeezes and the kisses and some more hugs just 'cause.

There's more to tell but JP and The Spouse just left for a bit to "run an errand" and The Spouse figured this would be as good a time as any to show JP the nickel tour of downtown. I am therefore going to use this lull to take a nap and see if this contagion can't be held at bay just a little longer. Because even though I will miss The Hat terribly, I am planning on having some serious wang chung fun tonight.

Saturday Stuff

The Child didn't win the election. She's OK with it. We all know that the best person for the job doesn't always win.

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I have to pick up the house. Which is funny because in a couple hours it's going to be torn up by the crew to set the scene for the movie. Oh well.

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The Spouse is still coughing and sniffling. Then this morning he woke up in absolute agony because all his lying around yesterday resulted in a bad back. I massaged it, put muscle rub all over him (mmm...minty fresh) and gave him an ibuprofen. An hour later he came out and did a little dance to show that he was feeling better. Funny boy.

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I get to see the Hat in a few hours. Yay!

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I also have to go pull together my wardrobe for today. We're shooting some fantasy sequences that are going to require wardrobe changes. I have to make sure that what I have in mind doesn't make me look like a pregnant pumpkin. The camera really does add 20 pounds, btw. I hate the camera.

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Last night The Child and I were watching the original "Love Bug". I had such a crush on Dean Jones when I was a kid. Lord, he was yummy. Anyway, despite my interest in the movie I started to fall asleep (it's been a long week). Suddenly The Spouse came in and said, "Honey, the Rabbi is here". I had totally forgotten that I had promised the Rabbi's Wife that I'd come turn off her oven at 8:30. I was barefoot and in my jammies. I threw on a coat and walked over to their house with the Rabbi and their daughter, chatting about the movie and apologizing. The Rabbi's Wife was laughing when I got there and it got worse because I was wearing my glasses and when I'm wearing them, I can't really see to read (usually wear contacts and have reading glasses, dontcha know). I had to take off my glasses and stick my face right up to her ovens to find the right buttons. It was hysterically ridiculous. Once everything was shut down I gave her a big hug and said, "The goyim come through again!" They all cracked up. Nothing gets a Jewish person laughing faster than goyim calling themselves goyim. Oy vey.

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Two hours til call time. Best get on with it.

Thursday Tosh

Thanks for all your good wishes yesterday about what I am now calling the Little Job. It's not that big a deal, really, given the money and the hours but it accomplishes a few things, not the least of which is effectively ending my summer as of tomorrow. But I realize that 99.9% of you work full-time and have 2 weeks, maybe, of summer anyway so whining about that would probably not warrant any sympathy. So I won't.

Pamelamama left a comment celebrating "worthwhile work". I don't know that this qualifies. It's hardly my dream job. The more I think about it, my dream job is building a miniature replica of all the sets for "Battlestar Gallactica" and selling tickets so people can come see my little tiny Play-doh® Laura Roslin and Bill Adama. So I'm looking at this as seed money for that project.

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Here's something else I haven't mentioned yet:

A few weeks ago Seattle Coffee Girl asked if I would be her doula when Buffy comes. Of course I said "yes". One of my dearest friends was with The Spouse and I when I brought forth The Child and I swear it wouldn't have been accomplished without her. There's just something about having another woman there, whose been through it and knows you well, to make the job just a little easier. Plus, I'll have the privilege of being one of the first people ever to see the little beggar and that's exciting to me.

I should point out that the use of the word little in this instance is ironic. He looks to weigh about 9 pounds already and her due date is September 2. Can you say "inducing"? "Yes, miss, I'll have a gin and tonic and would you bring a Castor oil on ice for my friend here?"

It's all terribly exciting. It's been a long time since our circle had a baby around and he stands to become one of the most fawned over babies in history. Do keep her in your thoughts and prayers, won't you?

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People were grumpy in my house last night. That was lame.

Here's what a typical evening looks like. The Child is usually off playing or zoned out in front of the TV. I'm usually in front of the computer. The Spouse comes home. We say "hi". Then he gets in front of the computer. And sometimes, sure, the greetings are a bit more effusive than "hi" but we all stay in our separate little areas until it's time for dinner and I don't know but I'm thinking that isn't optimal.

When we first got back from France, years and years and years ago, we adopted the concept of apertif, having a nice leisurely drink, a little nibble of something and some polite decompression conversation when The Spouse came home. Then he'd be left to further down time while I got dinner ready. That was nice. And we totally got out of the habit because frankly, our culture doesn't really support that sort of thing. We're really just not a "take some time and have a leisurely anything" sort of culture.

Hurry up and get out the door. Hurry up and work. Hurry up and take a break but hurry back because there's work to do. Hurry up and cook dinner and eat it in 10 minutes because I have homework/a meeting/a TV show at 8. Oh! Look at the time! I'd better hurry up and get to bed.

Our family doesn't even really operate at such a frantic pace most of the time but that "hurry up" thing is still at play somehow anyway. I'm feeling a serious need to don some pearls and greet The Spouse with a nice dry martini when he gets home tonight. May sound a little June Clever but Ward and June had it going on.

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And finally, this song has, for no particular reason, been on my mind for days.





"It's My Life" Talk Talk

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Now I have to go put baking soda on The Child's foot. She's sporting her second yellow jacket sting of the summer and she's not happy.

Monday Miscellany

The Child sprained her finger on Friday. She was playing soccer, fell and jammed the middle finger of her right hand straight down into the sun baked earth. She came home in excruciating pain, her finger the size of a breakfast sausage. She wanted me to call the doctor but I told her that they wouldn't do anything different that I would, which was to ice it, give her doses of ibuprofen and lash the injured digit to her ring finger. (Of course, I called them on Saturday and they confirmed my treatment. If it's not improving by tomorrow or Wednesday they'll want to snap some X-rays but even then they won't be able to do anything more for it than we're doing already).

Poor little right handed thing. I had to type a paper for her yesterday because, well, you try typing with 2 of your fingers wrapped in wads of strapping. Poor little hamfisted dear.

This is going to be a crazy day to start off a semi-crazy week. I'll be going back to school in a few hours for a groundbreaking ceremony. Our little tiny school has raised enough money to build a gym. It's all very exciting. Lots of hooha, bishops in tall pointy hats, "gold" shovels and the whole nine yards. It's been quite an achievement and construction will be completed in time, theoretically anyway, for The Child to play spring volleyball in her own school gym before she graduates. After a very hot weekend, rain is threatening. I hope it holds off because mudbreaking ceremonies are not very glamorous.

Then I come home for another few hours before retrieving the children and then go off to meet The Spouse for the premiere of "Fortune Hunters" at the Seattle International Film Festival. This is a very big deal for all involved in the project and I can't wait to see the audience reaction. I hope lots and lots of people come. If you live in Seattle, you should call about tickets. Really, you should. There's nothing on TV tonight anyway.

The Neighbor's Daughter is coming to hangout with The Child. This is very sweet of the Daughter and very exciting for The Child. Mary Catherine, as we like to call her, is the big sister The Child never had.

I must away. I cannot see the top of my desk, there is a stack of ephemera at my feet and I simply must do something about it all because the very thought of it is making me cranky.

An Open Letter to Mr. Cheney

Dear Dick,

I know you are probably feeling really bad right now. Peppering a friend with bird shot? Must have really put a crimp in an otherwise fun day. To top it off, suddenly every one who doesn't like you is talking like you climbed into the bell tower on campus and went postal. There will be lots of jokes, too, like how you were aiming for Michael Moore. (Although, let's face it, even a man in your reduced health could hardly fail to nail a target that big. I give you credit). My point is that I don't know what the big deal is. Dude, accidents happen.

This one time we were having a party out on the deck and I decided to serve dessert. (Probably one of those fabulous apricot tarts I make in the summer. Yum. I'll send Lynne the recipe). Anyway, I get up to go in the kitchen and walked right into the glass door. And I'd had maybe one glass of wine! But there I was, smacking right into the door with my face. And it hurt! Then there was this other time when we were having a cocktail party for our friend, Sarah. I was out in the front garden showing off my prize-winnning roses and felt a tickle on my finger. I looked down and this big honeybee was sitting there, looking a little worse for the nectar, if you know what I mean. My grandpa used to keep bees so they don't really freak me out or anything. I just tried to flick him off, you know? (I'd moved my vodka tonic to the other hand, though. I wasn't looking to spill anything). Anyway, he took it wrong and instead of flying off he nailed me right above my wedding ring. My finger swelled up like a Polish sausage. I didn't have to go to intensive care or anything, but it still hurt.

I know what you're thinking: 'These are stories of how you harmed yourself. I shot a man!' But listen, Dick, I've accidently hurt other people, too. Once I thought I dropped a bottle of syrup on my newborn's head. I didn't actually but you can bet the guilt was just eating me up. And once I was in a really crowded mall (I think it was Christmas time but I can't be sure) and I bumped into an old lady and she dropped some of her packages. I picked them up of course, apologizing profusely. Which I understand is exactly what you were doing when your medical staff was working on poor Mr. Whittington. I mean, why wouldn't you apologize? It was an accident! All I can say is, thank heaven you travel with your own medical detail. That's really good planning.

Listen, I know we don't agree on much of anything. I think you're a putz and if you haven't gotten around to wiretapping me yet, trust me, you wouldn't like me much either. But I think this is one of those times when our common humanity should transcend petty political differences. And what is more human than thinking that your buddy is a quail and letting loose with a round? Could happen to anyone. Heck, I'd probably do the same thing if I was startled and had a bad heart and was carrying a gun and wasn't exactly the most beloved vice president in history.

You can't let this get to you. Compared to authorizing security leaks, ignoring the Weather Service and making up all that stuff about Iraq this is nothing. I suggest you go rest up in one of your undisclosed locations, have a beer and try not to beat yourself up. The media will take care of that for you.

Hang in there, buddy.

Your pal,

Lorraine