I was lolling around on the bed in the wee hours with Mike drowsing in and out of sleep. I was telling him about my childhood on my grandparents farm and all the things I remembered about it between tears and grieving.

As I was talking, I realized I remembered a lot of details. Details make for good writing, so I think I'm going to write the stories down for my kids. I think they don't understand working from dawn to dusk every day. I have always worked like that, but I've lived on or near a farm my whole life and that's just how you do things. You get up early and feed and water the animals in the barn before you eat, so you don't forget to feed them. You do the same thing before dinner each night, too.

For example, I remember tromping everywhere around my grandparent's farm. On the right hand side of the house, there was a garage that the roof had long ago fallen down on. The roofs were made of slate a lot back then. I remember my brother and I sifting through the rubble of that garage looking for large slate tiles to use as chalkboards and taking them home to use chalk on and playing school with them.

I also loved to fish. Mind you, I hate eating fish. I can only stand tuna if you cover it in mayo, cheese and other stuff, so it's a relatively secondary ingredient. I just enjoyed the process of looking for earthworms under rocks and logs in the woods. I enjoyed the accoutrements of fishing, a kreel, a can of worms, and the quiet.

I used to go straight back from my grandparents' house to a dam on a small river there. The pool under the dam was about 10-15 feet deep with boulders around it -- a good place for fat brown trout to hide under in the heat of the afternoon. And there was just not a good, safe way to get to the top of those boulders and the trout could clearly see me, and just ignored my wiggly pink worms.

I once caught a small brown trout, but I had been told it'd better be as long as my forearm, if I were taking it home because otherwise it'd be too small. And this one was more like 6-7 inches long, so not worth keeping, but I remember being fascinated by the difference between that brown trout with its brown speckles and the shiny colorful rainbow trout that I'd occasionally caught other times, and throwing it back. I often went with my brother or my cousin, Harold, and we just played in the water, fished, and hung out.

If Harold hadn't had a motorcycle wreck in his 20s, he'd have been a year older than me. His grave is near my grandfather's and soon, my grandmother's.

So maybe stories are a good way to record a sense of family for my children. Also, I think Mike often doesn't know a lot of this stuff from my life. Even for me, it feels like I'm talking about a movie I saw.

--

Today, we have been working on cleaning our bedroom. Russell's room is spotless, Genny's grounded til hers is about the same. And Mike and I've been plowing through ours.

Mike found out something new about me today, as we dusted off an old wooden cigar box. It was full of my harmonicas in every key. I showed him my box and said I hadn't played in years, so didn't even know if I could any more. I sounded out a few keys from blues songs on the radio and picked up parts of it. I was embarrassed as hell, but my ear is still pretty good, even if my mouth is out of practice. He just watched me with this bemused stunned look. I haven't played since before Russell was born. I used to play with the radio and just play when I went camping.

Maybe if I can clean up my house, I keep thinking that maybe my life will get into order, too.

__

I discovered today that I do better if I take an extra dose of glucosamine. I was standing up and discovering that I was experiencing no pain. It's weird, but you get used to wincing and it was weird bracing for the pain to wince at it. And then, it didn't come.

The side effects of glucosamine is that it can raise your sugars and make you retain water, which might explain why my ankles have been comparable with elephant legs, recently. I took extra metformin to cover for it and am enjoying the absence of pain for a change of pace. It's weird to be pain free and not loaded up on painkillers. I still have swollen ankles, but it's 97 and I took extra glucosamine, so I'm willing to ride this one out.

Imagine that.

My mom and I had talked last weekend and she mentioned how sick my grandma had been and how she seemed to be improving. I immediately thought about how much I wish I could go there to see her and was thinking about creative financing that would get me there.

From January to April, she'd lost 30 lbs, but no one had really noticed. Her doctor felt she needed to go into a hospital for a bit. She had been improving some, but then got really ill with a cold that turned into bronchitis.

She was having trouble eating, but in a week, she went from weighing 92 lbs to 77 lbs! When my parents had been there, my dad got her to drink some ensure and he could here it gurgling into her empty stomach. She seemed to be eating better and recovering from bronchitis pretty well for a 97 year old woman. My Aunt Della, however, forbid anyone from discussing "going back home" with her. She had clearly lost her ability to continue to take care of herself.

This is the grandma that when my folks weren't speaking to me and were treating me like I was some piece of garbage, sent money, cards, pictures, etc. This is the grandma who showed me her poetry when I was writing my own around the age of 10 and encouraged me in mine. This is the grandma who when I said I'd rather be confirmed Episcopalian instead of Congregationalist, started talking about how our family name was on some very old Episcopalian church in Connecticut and that it ran in our family and that I had nothing to feel embarrassed about. My parents were deacons in the Congregationalist church(which my grandma attended), but when I looked at who attended each church, I really felt much more like I'd rather emulate the relationship with God that people at the Episcopal Church had than the folks at Congregationalist church. My mom was at first stunned, but when i started to tell her all the lousy unkind things I'd seen most of the Congregationalists do versus the Episcopalians in town, my mom came down squarely on my side, too. Of course, then I had to attend both church services on the weekend -- Saturday night at the Episcopal mass and Sunday morning at the Congregtionalist service.

This is also the grandma to whom my dad didn't speak for over 20 years. I finally convinced him that his parents were getting old and didn't have much time on this earth and that they missed him. He said in that past year that not a day had gone by where he didn't think about them. He asked me to get their permission to call. My grandmother was positively giddy when I talked to her at the prospect of speaking to her eldest son after all that time and begrudging. Germans are a stubborn bunch!

Recently, I've been missing her very much -- kind of a dull aching for family, where I belong, I think. To some degree, it's because we're struggling so hard financially and I feel so alone and desperate, and to some degree because I know it's hard for the kids to not have lots of family close on either side of the family.

Last night, sadly, she passed away in her sleep. She was a dear person and loved me in spite of my crazy 20s. I know when my grandfather died she kept commenting on how she hoped she'd go very soon because she missed him so much. I guess she finally is getting to be with him. I'm sure you're happier, Grams. I know how much you missed him. I remember your eyes filling up while at the Lakehouse. It made me cry, too.

She was so thrilled that I had dressed his grave with perennial flowers when I went back east after his death-- Sweet William, of course. I hope I can get back there some day and dress her grave with Sweet Alyssum for Alice.

Some of the reasons behind my visit then had been to have my kids meet her. My grandfather's death had driven home how little my children know of my family and I wanted them to meet my brother, see my folks' farm and meet my grandmother and see the family farm. I wanted them to have a sense of family that didn't result in Russell being treated as a second class citizen by my in-laws. I wanted the kids to meet their family and have a sense that there is in the world, a family that welcomes both my children equally. (I think my in-laws have lightened up on Russell since that time, but at the time, it's how I felt.)

When I can stop crying my eyes out, I'll get to a poem for her. Right now, I simply ask God to bless her and my grandfather and am thankful for them being reunited in death.

Amen.

Well, Saturday night, I took the kids outside and we worked in the yard, cleaning up, putting in a few last minute pepper plants and watering everything.

Mike sat down and talked with Mark and told him we can't swing him living here unless he's paying something towards it. We told him what we thought it ought to be and he seemed a little ticked off, but he also said it seemed fair.

Russell's room is a freaking pit. Mark's gonna leave for a couple days to apply to work for a police position in the SF Bay Area. He's going to finally visit his grandparents, who have been impatiently waiting for him to arrive. While Mark is gone, I'm going to basically go sit in the boy's room and help him clean everything from stem to stern. Russell claimed he had no space to put things in his dresser. I found 2 drawers completely empty and 2 with 1 to 3 things in them. I told him I thought he was full of crap. But then I promptly removed an entire trash bag's worth of clothes that he had definitely outgrown.

Then I'm going to make him do the same for me in my room. (yeah, so not gonna happen)

---

Today, Russell was kind of dramatic and whiny and tired from getting to go to Tahoe with his friend. I finally said that if he was going to be a whiny pain in the butt every time he went to a friend's house that I would limit his life a lot. He was not amused.

I was tired and cranky and I felt entirely insecure about how pleasant or unpleasant I was with Russell. I just felt like every time I asked him to do anything he tossed a giant fit and then didn't do half of what I asked anyhow. I felt really frustrated with his behavior. And Genny's been a complete spazz.

Tonight, we put her to bed. And all of the sudden she comes down the hall screeching her head off. Apparently, she'd taken a flying leap into her bed and she split her lip on the bed frame. The line that cut me to the quick was,"my teeth are bleeding!" uttered through heartfelt heaving sobs. I got crushed ice into a ziploc bag and a towel, handed it to Mark who took it to Mike who was comforting her because he get down the hall to her faster than I could. As Mark headed down the hall to her, I told him to have her rinse with flouride. I don't know if it would help if her teeth were knocked a little loose or not, but I figured at least it would give her a sense of having received medical treatment of some kind for it.

I got there as the two brothers tended the princess. Her lip was pretty puffy and split, but looks like it'll heal up in a few days ... definitely not worthy of stitches. I will see what I think when she gets up.

I had Mike sit on the couch with her icing her lip for 10 minutes and then, he tucked her back into bed. We reminded her that we'd told her that she shouldn't be goofing around like that with her bed. She tried to deny that she'd done anything wrong, and I just said, "Geez, Genny, we're not dumb! We were kids, too, once. We know about jumping into beds! Take it easy and knock it off, already. You're giving me a heart attack here!" She kind of giggled and went and sat with Daddy.

I'd been mid-muffin making in the kitchen, so I got the stuff doled into the tins and put into the oven.

Mom's muffins are a source of enormous delight to my family. I mean they're good and all, but I swear, you'd think it was Christmas. The big deal is eating them while they're still hot from the oven with butter. Russell wanted another one immediately and was bouncing around like a puppy on crack to have another.

---

Beyond that, we did this. I was actually in charge of recording all the data. My first comment is that I think that the horse could be decomposing and infected for a truly disgusting splatter effect. I also think that testing water balloon should be next weekend's data collection effort. For one thing, you could do crazy Kool-aid and really go for that biological warfare thing and for another, if you were short of the castle, you'd still nail the front of the building.

The job hunt has come to a standstill. There's like nothing out there...at all. The economy seems to have just taken a really bad nosedive and there's nothing out there. Mike and I are discussing the possibility of struggling through the summer and then I'll just teach again. I've suggested that I could work a couple days a week at the 7-11 and he freaked. He said he didn't want me hurting myself. I don't really want to hurt myself either, but I don't want to lose the house. The thing is if they reduce how much we have to pay each month by even a few hundred dollars we could swing it.

Our ARM is kicking over in August. Basically, if we even got the reduction from that, we'd be better off than we are.

I've put in a beautiful garden. We should have tons of produce by summer's end. I'm really psyched about that. I may start taking laundry to the laundromat though because I'm worried about the well. The thing is when it floods in the midwest, we get droughts.

I love my brother-in-law, Mike's youngest brother. However, I'd anticipated he might stay here a week or two -- not a month or more. He doesn't do anything to job hunt. He just plays games all day and plays with the kids -- which the first week or so, would have been fine. However, it's been more than a month. He refuses to do the things he needs to do in order to apply for a job. He stalls constantly.

And yes, he has helped around the house. He does dishes and laundry periodically. He organized all my cupboards in my kitchen for me. He reorganized my linen closet. He helps with laundry and with stuff, but it's getting much. These are things that are hard for me to do, but that I could do myself. When he does stuff like that it's helpful, but we were getting by before without him around and I'm sure we can again.

Basically, Mike and I talked and as of July 1st, we're going to charge him room and board and he better get a fucking job. We figured our mortgage is about $2200 a month, which means that each bedroom is worth about $733 a month. We have the master bedroom and bath, so ours should be more which we figured at $900, which leaves about $600 per room for the kid's bedrooms. If we split the cost of one room, that's 300 just for the mortgage. We figured with food and utilities, another $250 is appropriate for $550 a month for room and board. It's probably even low-end, but it would also help us out.

If he's going to stay, I want him to move into Russell's room because I want my livingroom back. His blanket, clothes and assorted crud are always out there and I'm sick of it. He needs to stop sleeping on my couch and have his own space. I also need to have a place that people can walk into.

There are some other things...he has to apply for this one position that everyone has told him to apply for. He needs to apply with temp agencies at the very least and look for employment through them. The other thing is that he's up at all hours. Mike and I can't begin to have alone time because he's always around. I'd like to be able to make love with my husband without him out in the livingroom. At least, if he's in Russell's room, if we make noise, he's less likely to hear it.

I know Mike enjoys him being here. For him, it's like one big frat party all the time with his brother. He gets to play games and hang out. But we can't afford to be party animals any more. We just can't. Ideally, I'd prefer he just got on with his life -- job, apartment, girlfriend, the works!! However, if he wants to hang here, he's going to have to pitch in financially.

Wow, there's no work available for a person a step away from a freaking wheelchair, I swear.

I'm applying for everything. I applied for an adult education class instructor in computers. I figure that's a job I can do. As long as it's just the one class a week, I'd be fine. I'd take vicodan that night and swim the next day and be ok. I am applying with Mike for any contract web work we can get our hands on.

I've got several sewing projects for Genny to hit, so I'm about to go scrounge around in my plastic storage boxes and get those out. I also need to find my corduroy and faux wool fabrics in the garage for her and make her a few pant sets for fall.

I also severely need to find out when the blackberries come into season on the valley floor. I have this thing in my head and have had for years. I want to get a little canoe or row boat to take down the Mokelumne river to pick berries off the side of the river. Apparently, there's a lake at the end. So you have to do some driving, but it seems like something I've done in my dreams so many times, that I have to actually do it in real life.

Last night, I was dreaming about biking around the lake here, too. I could smell the pine needles and I had Genny on the back on the pony bike. I need to ask Mike to get my bike out of the shed and clean it up. We've got a stationary bike in the garage, so I figure I can start with yoga and warming up on the stationary bike, so I can get on a real bike and get my stupid leg all the way around.

The range of motion limitations surprise me, but my big old body is freaking me out. I can't hardly get into the pool in the back unless Mike's here to help me. A good ladder costs more than the stupid pool did, so it's hard to justify. And June, my ass. It's way too danged cool right now to swim much -- 70s means that the pool is in the 60's which is cold. 80-90s bring the pool temperatures to 70s which is far more tolerable. I never thought I'd be hoping for hot weather, just so I could swim.

And Mike's brother is still here. I mind and I don't mind, but he really needs to find a fucking job. We can't afford him and he's just kind of dicking around all day playing on the computer all day. I'd be ok, if he was talking about all the applications he'd put out, but that is not happening.

So, in August when it's hotter than Hades, remind me how I wished for it and tell me to stop kvetching.

I'm applying for work, actually rather avidly.

I thought I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but my knee has other ideas. I think God has other ideas for me and I just wish I was in on the plans.

I'm applying for social work kinds of things. The vocational rehab person thinks I'd do well to get a mster's in social work. I actually kind of agree. It fits my "save the world now" mentality probably better than teaching, where there are so many more political toes and I'm a regular sasquatch.

My weight is hideous right now and my diabetes is kicking my ass. I've got elephankles...it's like being pregnant in August. My sugars and food are tight, my water retention is not. I was exercising, but my brother-in-law is visiting and I feel awkward dragging him to the gym with me.

Mike said he felt embarrassed sometimes to exercise in front of other people. I guess I feel the same way. He's a nice guy and incredibly fit and I just can't even face up to the idea of comparing my hideous out-of-shapeness against his holy cow kick-assness. I like exercising with Mike. It's fun. I push him. He teases me. We help each other stretch. My shoulders are so tight and it feels delicious to stretch with him. We perv on each other a little in the pool afterwards giggling if I give him tentage. I feel like a teenager in love with him all the time.

I feel singularly unmotivated to be in a swimsuit in front of his brother though.

I know. I need to get over it, but I also know his family is completely grossed out by the fact that Mike is a a fatty chase and thus, also grossed out by me. This feeds into all of my insecurities that made me a crazy bulimic in high school with my mother.

So my response has been to eat carefully instead. I'm munching on blackberries and blueberries today. He keeps says he's going to leave, but he enjoys playing with the kids and Mike. I bought a scoop catch game in the bargain bins at Target and sent him and the kids out of the house to play it, while Mike and I worked on dinner. Genny came in smelling like a sweaty kid. There's nothing that smells sweeter to me.

Russell said he had to write a two voice poem for English. I thought I'd write one about him and me and how we view poetry. It'd be funny. It involved him plugging his ears and yelling, "What?! I can't hear you!" at the top of his lungs.

Freaking teenager!

Well, I felt pretty disappointed with the appointment with vocational rehabilitation. Basically, yeah, it sucks that I'm not able to get up and around, but there's not a lot available to me.

I'm kind of bummed about that.

I think I just need to be unemployed and go on a crazy diet and exercise program until my hands and feet turn into prunes.

Phlegmatic Humor

Well, I've got bronchitis and the antibiotics are helping, but I'm coughing up yucky stuff from my chest. It just burns and hurts slightly less.

Got the Buzz blankie and doll dropped off on the way back from the doctor's yesterday. Last night, I was falling asleep at the computer because every time I laid down, my chest got bad and I could barely breathe, so I sat up until 2am coughing and playing Runescape because chopping wood on there is easy and requires little attention and I could hold my head up while I did it.

I slept til 11am, got up and made burgers for me and the boy. The boy goes back to school tomorrow unless he wakes up ickier. I think that's darned near impossible, but the pediatrician and I are talking, so we'll see.

My husband is a lazy hog. I went out to the kitchen and thought I would burst into tears. It looked like the Clean House fairy called her sister, the Filthy House fairy,and paid her a whole butt-ton of money to fuck up my kitchen. I put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher and loaded it with dirty ones. I tossed away some trash. Then I felt bone tired.

So I went back to bed where I couldn't get warm. I can't find my thryoid, which I think would help, but I'm feeling too braindead tired to give a darn.

I'm going to bed.

Things I know about Poland...

• I know how to say a few things in Polish from dating a Pole way back when. Among these key phrases are "male milk," "oh my goodness," and "cat."



• Communism sucked for them.



• Most Poles are bi or tri-lingual.



• And now, apparently, Poland has snails. I guess they should. It just hadn't occurred to me. And apparently, someone has a lot of time on their hands in Poland. (The customary adolescent jokes about snail trails may apply).

The boy is pretty sick -- some bug that thinks his chest might be good to move to. I made him homemade soup in the crock pot. I had been planning potato leek soup, but I cut a leek into the chicken and called it good. In an hour or so, I'll toss a cup of rice in it. For now, chicken, leeks, potatoes, carrots, and celery grace my soup.

I'll get to potato leek soup in a few days.

I'm fighting the infection, too. I can't find my byetta which just pisses me off. It's the one thing that will keep my sugars in check, while I'm sick. I know it's in the fridge, but

On the plus side, I will want to sit up with the chest stuff, so I can get pretty far with Genny's dress projects on my machine. :) I'm mid-blanky for a friend's grandkid. Her daughter's family had the most awful November I can imagine.

They'd been living with my friend and husband and finally got their own place and they'd moved in in one day and were in boxes. They had had a baby in July, and brought her to sleep with them. They set up a port-a-crib near a window with the 1.5 year old girl and the 2.5 year old boy -- best buds and sibs. At 6am, they were awakened by the boy screaming his head off and found the girl hanging slumped forward in the crib with the venetian blind cord wrapped around her neck with hardly a heart beat.

Because they didn't have a phone yet, they ran outside trying to hysterically ask the construction guys for help. Husband was sputtering, while wife administered CPR. Wife stopped CPR to scream, "Dial 911!"

After being careflighted to the hospital, the little one passed. Dad had lost his job the day they moved to compound matters. Because my friend is beloved in the community and this was such a horrible tragedy, a fund was started to help this family, so they've been able to pay rent and bury their child.

Remember the little boy? I asked my friend about him. It's not that I don't care, but rather that I already know the parents are in hell. He's taken to some weird comfort behaviors in the absence of his sis, like chewing through the arms of his clothes and gnawing on himself. He likes Buzz Lightyear, so I found a very inexpensive Buzz doll and made him a Toy Story blanket. I'm giving it to my friend tomorrow. I'm hoping that it gives him comfort that gnawing probably isn't.

I am also making a pooh blanket for the baby.

And yeah, I keep smooching on my kids.

It's hard to catch things up sometimes. I got a job, I lost it. I have determined that teaching is too physically taxing on my knee as long as I am this heavy.

I'm looking into vocational rehab. I don't know what I will end up doing with my life, but I'm looking forward to whatever that is.

The house is cleaner which means I feel better. That's a good thing. My sugars are better. I'm taking an hba1c soon, but I already know it'll be better.

I'm hopeful for a change.

I love my parents, but it's definitely a relationship wrought with things I did as a child that my mother has not forgiven me for.

However, this trip, I was extremely fortunate. My folks replaced the tires on my car, gave us a check for $300 and bought dinner a lot.

As soon as they left though, the water tank blew water all over the garage.

ugh.

yay! The kids are gone and I'm done with school.

Yes, we're broke! Yes, we are doing housework, but we're also having a great time hanging out with each other.

Yup. Graduate school is still hard. I was surprised at how hard it was. Summer sessions are for linebackers, I swear it. I haven't taken summer session in 18 years and I forgot how flipping hard it is to contend with the summer heat. I also forgot about having to walk anywhere to get to a class. I had to walk to a building in the center of campus, which if I weighed what I did 18 years wouldn't have been a big deal, but with my big ass and my yucky knee I would hit a the final steps into the building and feel my knee just shift enough to hurt like holy hell and then I'd gimp down the halls to get there. I found I had to leave an hour in advance to get to campus, to give myself time to get to class, which sucked eggs, rotten yucky eggs.

I've been nothing but frustrated trying to get my sorry butt through classes. One professor thinks I shouldn't be in her class because I'm already in special ed and she doesn't think it's a requirement (though the chair told me I should take it) and the other I simply am buried up to my eyeballs in. Every single day is homework. Every. Single. Day. And a lot of it is good for me, but a lot of it makes me want to rip out all my hair in frustration. I'm writing 1-2 page single spaced chapter synopses. What the hell ever happened to letting me catch up on my reading on the weekend? I'm actually supposed to read it on the due date and it just freaking blows.

I just had to write a position paper on inclusion of special education children in regular education classes. Um, yeah, my position was that there isn't enough strategy teaching for teachers that shows them how to work with multicultural factors in regular education settings, nor with special education kids. Being that so-called minorities make up a bigger than they should portion of special education classrooms and that these same minorities and special ed kids are often on referral or suspension at a higher rate than their regular ed and white peers. And that the majority of teachers in the US are white middle class women. Yeah, there's a bit of an issue, in my opinion. It's flipping called bigotry.

erf.

Ok...I'm not even coherent. I just wanted to check in.

All I know is that graduate school is hard. It's only the first week and I'm already clear that there are not enough hours in the day to do all this stuff. It scares me to think about what it will be like the rest of the year, trying to do this stuff around working nearly full-time.

I'm wildly tired. I slept for an hour when I got home yesterday, to recover some missing hours. I slept 7.5 hours last night, but I feel like old jeans -- worn, faded, and with a few tears in the knees.

And lord, I'm so behind. I've done reading as skimming, which isn't bad, but definitely isn't good. *sigh*

Mike commented on the fact that he has to take over everything while I do this. All I could think is, "Welcome to my world!" I put him through engineering school, and I remember it well.

I like my classes, but the things I'm learning overlap so much, it's hard to pull them apart and separate them in my head. I'm hoping that a few days away, i.e., the weekend, will give me some perspective.

I have two classes so far. I have been sure to email a teacher who griped that she was feeling forced into having me in the class by the chair, so I told her she could back out if she wanted.

The afternoon class is a class that could bury a gal. I had 2 chapters, a writing assignment, a form, and notes to take for a quiz tomorrow. I haven't finished, but I'm so damned tired, I'm going to bed and will get up early to try again.

Russell couldn't imagine why I would be so tired from "just school." I explained that I had gone to one class, discovered that the room had been changed to a different building and that I'd had to walk there on my cruddy knee and back again and that my knee wasn't amused. I also explained that on the first day, it's a lot of material to cover, so, I was overwhelmed and that my brain simply shuts down in response to that.

And besides, old people need their naps.

Just shut up, dammit.

I am starting grad school today. I feel like I did in Kindergarten when I stood outside our 60s-70s ranch house on Cape Street in a homemade sack dress of red plaid with my little white tights and black shiny patent leathers -- nervous, vulnerable, and very grown up.

I'd rather be teaching. ;)

Working in the Coal Mines...Going Downtown

I decided I was going to start work again on Thursday. So I called my favorite school and she asked me to work Thursday and Friday and then wanted to know if I'd work tomorrow. I hesitated, but I said, sure. I said, "If I go limping home tomorrow night, we'll know it was a bad idea," and she laughed.

I've bought lots of dresses because I can't stand having anything touch or put pressure on my mid-section. I pull them on, my stomach starts to heave, and I yank them off before I yack like a sorority girl on party night.

I had looked at Lane Bryant, but I swear that store never has decent dresses. They always have jeans, shirts, dress pants, skirts, and blouses, but never decent dresses. They're either dress like a whore dresses or here, have a flour sack to wear kinds of dresses. I had tried on what they had and good God, I don't know what woman would look good in those. And damn, if most of the same old dresses have lingered on that rack for the past month.

I went online to Catherine's and found that they had really nice dresses that fit my style and needs. I kind of need long and sweeping dresses because I run around the classroom like a Football Coach on IV caffeine and something tight and conservative won't do. They had a couple like that and a couple more conservative shirt dresses with fuller skirt bottoms. I also bought some stuff on catalog. I also bought a full slip.

In 80+ degrees fahrenheit, double layers sucks (especially when one is your polyester slip), but as a teacher, you're not allowed to give kids a peep show and there's no way in hell I can stand a half slip touching anywhere along my mid-section. I also wasn't really too thrilled to have to wear my tie dye hippy momma tank dress to conservative redneck country nor the hot fuschia mu-mu. I mean, mu-mu's are great for the beach and duffing around the house, but teaching? And fuschia? Not!

----

Lately, I've been a real hardass with myself about food. Every time I even think of stepping sideways to eat something I shouldn't, I simply tell myself something gross about being diabetic and the consequences of it, and I stop thinking sideways. I tell myself,"Stuff like that will kill you over time and you can choose something else." Then I flail about in my head about what I could do instead and something always seems to come to mind. Last night, I wanted bad stuff and ended up having fat-free ice cream and a banana. I had told myself that I already have enough health risks and that adding to my padding didn't need to happen.

I often have a different conversation where I worm my way out of it, but I'm not doing that lately. I'm horrified by the size of my body at the moment and I'm the only one who can fix it. So I am.

And I can't get exercising heavily because, well, I'm too heavy, but food I can do, until I'm able to exercise better on my cruddy knee.

So, that's all I've got cooking. Well, that and tomorrow night's veggie lasagna. ;)

This is a new Ruby mini-series,"When Gall Bladders Go Bad"

Episode 1: The Surprising Colon

I am drowsing through the colonoscopy in "twilight sleep." When all of the sudden I just I wake up screaming. They gave me one pain shot and I continued to scream. So they gave me a second one, and I continued to scream. The doctor stopped the colonoscopy. Apparently, they were passing my gall bladder at the time.

Episode 2: The Diagnosis

This part of the things included an hour and a half on a slab while they chemically signalled my liver to produce bile and then chemically signalled my gall bladder do dump bile:

Basically, the white indicates bile distribution in the liver and the very white places at the bottom are kind of my small intestine and my gall bladder. My gall bladder shouldn't be bright white. It should look more diffuse like the stuff above.

So, all that yummy delicious radioactive crap they gave me to get my gall bladder to show on the purty picture made me sick as hell from that moment on.

Episode 3: Removal of the Scourge of Ruby's Digestive System -- Gall Bladder Gone

The surgery, I was told would take 45 minutes tops, but mine took 1 hour and 45 minutes. Apparently, the doctor was trying to keep it laprascopic and because my gall bladder was pretty wedged in there and swollen he had a hard time getting to the little bugger. He put some clamps on the bile duct and left a drainage bag in me. After a day or so, my drainage bag began to fill with bile, like instead of my small intestine. Our heroine is rather discouraged to discover, that unfortunately, that was a bad thing. Yeah, like with my healthy history I'm surprised by this? Not even a little.

Episode 4: Change of Venue

So, they transferred me to the hospital via ambulance with about the roughest bastard paramedics I've ever met in my life. I swear they were just freaking pummelling me over every freaking bump they could, just to hear me scream. It's one thing in sex. It's another after a crappy tummy surgery. And they didn't apologize. Not even once. Even the nurse who rode with me was suprised they were such heathens and asked them several times to take it easy. Assholes. When they finally bill me, I'm going to call them up and bitch. And no, I haven't forgiven them. I mean, I had to pay for that fun!

And the fun didn't end there!

Oh, no.

Episode 5: The Stint of the Stent

So in my new bed at the hospital instead of the surgical center, I am told I am first on the schedule to have a stent put in by my GI guys. The stent basically is a tube they put in your bile duct so that the bile goes through that until the place where the clamps were leaking can heal on its own. I go back in to get that removed in a couple months.

So, I'm fasting. I get told at 2PM that my 130 time has been pushed. I'm irritated, hungry, but I suck it up and wait. At 345 PM, they come in to get me. I'm seeing one of guys who was at the colonoscopy and I'm feeling comforted about a friendly face. I'm about to get pushed into a second elevator. An officious lady come up and says, my thing has been pushed. We all piss and moan.

I get my first meal of the day at 430. The doctor originally orders clear fluid diet I beg him for soft foods, and he relents. I snarf what I can...which aint much.

Then I'm mad. I'm paying 10% of that day at the hospital for a delay that was not my fault at all. Piss on them. I call my mother to tell her that things have been delayed and she can't begin to understand why I'm in a bear of a mood. Other than I'm fucking hungry, low sugar and being charged for the fucking privilege? OOoh. No reason. I tell her I don't wish to discuss it further with her and that we'll call her after the stent thing occurs.

I get the stent in the day after at 130pm sharp. The same guy I know is there and and they try to discharge me the next morning. I'm not happy.

Episode 6: Unpleasant Smelling Discharge

Being that I've been on and off vicodan for 2 years, I'm rather resistant to painkillers. Going home scares me on a number of levels, not the least of which is the drugs aren't as good at home! Some idiot social worker comes in saying she hears that I don't wanna go home yet because of issues at home. I say, "No, I would like an extra day for the drugs." She checks with the nurse and comes back and says,"Oh, yes, the nurse says that you're right and that you're planning to go home tomorrow with your doctor's consent." Then she whips out the whopper,"I just thought you should know that your insurance company hasn't approved your stay since Monday." What she omits, but tells the nurse is that that's no big deal and that it'll be handled. I'm hysterical. Then, Mike comes in and cries because I don't want to come home. He misses me. I relent and say that I'll come home that night after I've had a nice fresh dose of drugs.

The Epilogue:

All and all, I had 9 pokes for IVs. My veins couldn't handle the harsh drugs and kept collapsing. And I had the nicest most capable nurses on the whole freaking ward poking me. I was told in the future I should get a pick which is basically an IV spot that is in an artery, so it doesn't collapse. They had to remove my IV early which meant the meds were oral and not nearly as good or as immediate. The doctor suggested I get an IV in my foot for the stent removal.

The next morning is Genny's birthday. And I'm in so much pain, I can barely remember to wish her a Happy Happy. I can only lay on my back and my bed doesn't recline or change position.

Even now, there are locations in my back which are really aggravated and would like to have words with me about this whole sleeping on my back thang.

I got my drain out Tuesday. Um...I'd give that an episode, but it squicks me to even think about it. I'll just spare you and toss that under, "Sensations too Gross to Discuss."

By far the creepiest things, is that I have an abdomen with 5 wounds, not the least of which is the still not quite closed drain hole with a big old bandaid on it. I am still sleeping on my back, which is why I'm up at 330am writing in my blog.

My body hurts and sometimes, drugs aren't enough. Oh, and I still can't lift more than 10lbs for yet another damned week. I can fold clothes one at a time, sit at the computer with good posture, and stand at the sink carefully to do dishes or at the stove to cook.

On the plus side, my knee has had nearly a month to rest, so it's hardly swollen at all.

All I've been doing is working as a substitute teacher for several months. I like teaching. I've been discovering where I'd like to teach and where I'd rather gnaw my arm off than teach at.

There are some schools where the teachers seem disspirited or proud of the wrong things (like cussing out a student in front of the class). There are some schools where the kids are fantastic and the school's fantastic. And there's an elementary school that I refer to in my head as the "Mormon School." Because there are clear signs that the principal and several teachers are Mormons. I actually like teaching at the Mormon School a lot. Nice people and good kids, so it's fun.

I went on Easter Break and on Easter night, I spent the night at the emergency room. My gastroenterologist believes that my gall bladder may be failing. I was off all last week and I'm taking this week off, while I get tested to verify that it's my gall bladder. My diet is low enough cholesterol to where I don't have gall stones, which are made of cholesterol.

I have to undergo one more test to verify that indeed my gall bladder is failing and I get the thrill of a colonoscopy. I asked that they do the two procedures back-to-back, so they could stick me once for the stupid IV and I told them to just give me xanax, so I don't completely freak out while they go spelunking for a vein. My veins are porous, I swear it. They roll, collapse, and generally, act quite badly for phlebotomists. It's a total pisser and at this point, it about panics me to death.

So that's an update. It ain't much, but it's a start.

So we figured out a stop-gap measure on money. We were able to do something with the 401k, so we did.

Also, we decided that for three more months, it was worth it for Mike to stay at his current job through June at a minimum because at that point he'd be fully vested in his retirement monies. The other thing he mentioned is that his company is looking to raise wages to match the way the standard of living has increased here. I think that if it doesn't happen soon, we're out of here. We're essentially living on Nevada wages at a California cost of living, which blows goats. The whole reason we moved here was to escape the California cost of living. We knew housing was cheaper and everything, but now it's not.

The issue is that Russell is in a school situation that is very steady and helpful for him, he has friends, and he's happy. With his issues, I worry about moving. On the other hand, Nevada is ranked 49th in the US for scholastic excellence, so moving anywhere else just about would be a better academic challenge for him.

So that's the most current update anyhow...

Things have been bad.

I haven't quite been able to figure out what I wanted to post here about it, so I guess I'll just say...

...I told Mike that after all the times that I've been there for him, covering things for him when he needed it that I deeply resented that he wasn't there for me when I really needed him over the past two years while I've been ill. There was no excuse, for example, why I should have been trying to pay bills from my hospital bed in March. I had begged Mike for 2 years to take over the bills because I was making stupid ridiculous mistakes and was sick and exhausted and often on painkillers. In retrospect, I understand the looks of horror I got from the nurses when I said my hospital stay from my knee replacement was the best vacation I'd ever had. It really was and that's just fucking sad.

...I told Mike that if he didn't start actively working on house stuff I would move in with Melody in Utah because I cannot do it alone any more. He's started to make repairs, but the house is an unmitigated pit. It's frustrating to be at someone else's whim and at the whim of my body.

...I told Mike that he really needed to pursue support for his depression and that whatever he was doing wasn't working. I also said I realize it's pot.kettle.black., but that I really wanted him to be ok, too. He hasn't done much towards this at all. I think he thinks if he ignores me, I'll go away. What he doesn't understand is that I am seriously considering that.

...I strongly urged Mike to find a job in Utah because we can't afford to live here and because in Utah, I'd have help and support from Melody and her family. I don't get it much from my family and certainly not from Mike's, but whatever. I know Melody would be there for me.

...Things are bad enough financially that we aren't going to make the mortgage this month and a lot of other bills, too. I'm juggling a lot, but it's still pretty ugly.

I put in for substitute jobs, but I haven't heard a thing from any of them. I'm calling this week to find out why.

If I can't get substituting soon, I'm just going to pick up temp work where I can.

My apnea is back, but the leg lifts are helping manage my sugars pretty well. I am back on my cpap machine and have been sleeping delicious sleeps, though my schedule is still completely thwacked, as demonstrated by the fact that it's 630am and I've not slept a whit all night.

I'm panicked and freaked out about the money, but there's not a damned thing I can do about it, except tell our creditors and do my best to pay everyone and hope they work with me. If they choose not to, we'll turn to Credit Counseling and get them off our backs. At worst, if we go into foreclosure, Mike's retirement monies can save us. Hopefully, it won't get to that, but it might. Mike is supposed to take over the bills shortly. Hopefully, that will give him a sense of just how tight we need to be living.

Christmas is a crazy season for me. As the designated Santa of the household, all I feel like I do is spend 2-3 months per year figuring out what to get who and how to afford things. And this year, affording things has been pretty brutal. We told the kids that Christmas was going to be smaller because we were traveling this year, but Russell also knows it's because we're pretty broke.

For the grandparents, I've got kids making ornaments. Genny selected a beading kit that she's apparently decided is a pain in the ass and isn't so sure she wants to do now. Russell selected a craft that's just hard for him to do because it requires fine motor skills he doesn't really have. I suspect that tomorrow night, I'll be sitting at the table with Mike finishing the stupid ornaments. Next year, I'm making wreaths out of handprints on backed felt. It'd be faster and if I'm going to end up doing it anyhow, then I might as well go easy.

And yeah, I could have just bought something, but we're broke and this was cheaper and more meaningful. I'm all over cheap and meaningful, I tell you what!

Yesterday, I set up LaDawn's books for her daycare in excel and started the data entry. I did a sheet for each family and then connected the sheets, so that she can print out a sheet for her accountant. She was stunned that "you can do that?" LaDawn is a typist of the the two-fingered hunt-and-peck variety, so while she said she'd do some, she's smoking crack. I can get done in two hours, what would take her weeks, so I'm going back to finish up today.

And last night, I fell asleep at 1030 and while normal people would sleep at this hour, I'm wide awake because I've had my 6 hours of sleep. Sick, isn't it? Judging from the yawning though, I'm going right back down for a couple more hours, shortly.

Mel and I have talked and have gotten stuff sorted out and providing that the 10-day forecast on the weather channel website isn't a big fat sorry lie, we leave on-time and everything for a couple weeks.

Mike and I started talking the other night about his job. One of the things that came out is that he's getting bone bored. He's a super smart man, so boredom is a bad thing. We're talking to friends about maybe finding him work out near Mel and her family just because we'd be near Mel and her family and because the friend had worked on stuff for ILM of Star Wars fame. Of course, my mother-in-law pointed out that we'd only be a day's ride from them, too. (I'm sure the kids would appreciate that, but I definitely had the "oh shit" thing going on.)

The thing about living near Mel and family is that the housing is decidedly cheaper there. At $500 a month for 6-9 months a year in heating costs for heating oil, we're also looking at a cheaper way to do winters. We like winters, but here the heating oil ranges on $3 a gallon at 100 gallons a month and the heater runs us $200 to burn it. It's expensive. And housing is expensive -- damned near California-expensive. When we refinanced to pull money out of the house while I was sick, it put us in a rather bad place, as well. Three years of crappy raises at Mike's job has kind of fucked us. The past 2 years, he got maybe $2k in raises because they company was in lean years. This year, he got a decent raise, but nothing to make up for the past two years of jack shit.

I've gotten my substitute license and am in the process of getting applications filled out for each district, but we'll have to see how my knee tolerates it on a day-to-day basis, too. On the good news front, a month of doing leg raises and crunches each and every night has trimmed my body considerably and put my sugars into excellent shape. My blood pressure on a med that often raises it, had actually dropped, a little, 110/70.

After a bowl of popcorn the other night, my sugars were 114, so that's good, too.

Ok, now, I'm getting sleepy again, so I'm crawling into my bed again.

I realized when I saw a CNN fluff story on the basics of survival in winter that it was likely that James Kim didn't survive after his departure from his wife and young children, so I looked it up and confirmed my fears.

I have spent a long time reading about herbs and plants identifying plants in the wild and I know a lot of stuff about survival. I also overpack my car.

I often overpack the kitchen -- it's kind of a panic thing. I can't remember half of what I have at home, so I buy it just in case, because you can't ever have too much pasta or spaghetti sauce, you know? My mom did that, too. She is particularly bad with clothing. I always had way too many clothes and I still do, as do my kids. My son makes fun of me for always making sure he has extra clothes. Genny grows so fast that it's not uncommon for her not to get to wear some clothes because she grows out of them before she gets to wear them. I'm getting better. If it doesn't fit, I get rid of it and move on. I used to keep all of my many sizes and now, I keep the size that fits and donate most everything else. I still have stuff I forget about...I pack away summer stuff and forget I did it and then find it mid-winter, cursing all the while.

And I often think about the phrase,"live simply so that others may simply live" and I think about ways to reduce, clean up, etc. And I've gotten a lot better. I could certainly improve even more, and I struggle with my OCD-ness and my missing brain, but I have taken to writing things down. Organizing my life makes more sense and is less wasteful and that's a good thing.

On the good news front, though, (in light of this news story) I always overpack the car on trips. I always have an extra jug of water. I always pack food. I always pack blankets or towels. In winter, I always think of packing for an emergency. I don't know why I do that either, but when we had to drive over the passes on the trip home from Florida, 2 years ago, even though it was on a main drag, I bought a case of water bottles, 2 gallons of water, sandwich stuff, fruits, snacks, and juice. I bring lighters.

And as I read the part of the news story, when the mother was nursing the two kids to get them through, I was thinking about what I would have done. And when I read that they had brought some baby food jars, a jar of jam and some water, I realized that I would have brought more with me because I'm crazy and obsessive and I think about that kind of thing. And I would have been sucking on pine needles for vitamin C and poking around under the snow for any plants I could have located because I know that kind of stuff and I know what to look for.

And it's not a critique of their family at all. Most normal people wouldn't be so freakishly obsessive-compulsive to pack all that kind of crap on a main drag (which is where they started) nor would they have this vast repository of essentially useless information about wild plant identification and usage floating around in their heads (unless they were a freaking lumberjack or a boy scount).

It was just that I was thinking about what would I do? How would I react? And I realized that I would have been better prepared because while my husband bitches about how much I pack into a car, he never questions my logic when I do it.

I had a shivering realization -- even though I drive myself and others up a tree with my ocd behaviors at times, that I'm thankful that I am who I am -- spazz worrywart that I am. Ironically, I then wished that the Kims had been half as crazy as I am because they might have been better prepared, so that they had all survived.

The Mom alert has been put on hold. She and my dad have been sick. Then my dad was going to help my brother re-roof his house because otherwise he couldn't afford to do it. They're coming out in January.

In January, prepare to see Ruby on tranquilizers, as a result.

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So, I'm working on putting together necessary materials for my substitute license. I'm excited about that. I would love the ability to actually get paid for working with kids. I know subbing can blow, but most of the schools here are pretty mean about being nice to subs. If you aren't nice to a sub at the schools here, you can get suspended.

Also, I've seen kids in the classroom with subs, especially in the 6th grade classroom and basically, the bossy girls take the sub under their wing and show them where everything is. It's very sweet.

I don't know that I'd get that lucky in junior high situations, but I can dream. I'm scared to death in some ways to go to the high schoolers because my own kids aren't there, so I don't feel like I'm fully prepared for the myriad of possibilities that are teenagers, but I don't feel totally unprepared, either.

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My danged head hurts. I have no idea why. It just does. It makes me nervous because I haven't gotten my flu shot, yet.

My mom is due out this week. It's kind of horrifying because there's so much wrong with my house and I feel more than a little nettled that she and dad seem to notice all that is wrong and little that is right.

Genny's kind of a twerp when her meds wear out. I think we need to do something to extend her meds past the 10 hours they seem to work, but I would rather deal with her being a pain in the ass than give her more meds. I love her energy and her kind heart, whether or not her meds work. The problem is that her bounciness drives Russell up a tree (that which we hate about ourselves...) and he in turn, bitches and so forth, which in turn makes me pin his ears back, which all kind of blows.

This weekend got away from us. Mike and I have been so tired and the kids are happy not to have to deal with us interrupting their computer and TV time, so we overslept both days, despite an alarm.

Today, we got out this afternoon. I made a run at the bread store and the mall. I got Mike's hair cut. When it's long enough for him to be considering the Prince Valiant hair style, it's time for a trim. Though, holy crap, I like him with that hair style. It makes me want to smooch on him and stuff. I walked in and kind of ticked off the stylist...made her cut it much shorter than he was going to do it. He's just unsure and when he got all done, he was happy.

I got the kids a few things for winter. I got both kids warm robes. I got Genny some jammies, a Christmas outfit, and a nice nightgown. I got both kids a couple of Halloween shirts. I got Mike some jeans on sale and I got a sweater poncho and a pretty blouse and bustier tank top thing. The blouse is supposed to go over the bustier thing, so you see the pretties, without being grossed out too much skin.

Russell was initially refusing to wear a robe and I finally just said that he had to. I said he shouldn't be wandering around in his underwear, that he'd be cold, and that if he had a problem with Genny doing that, that ultimately, it was problematic that he was doing it. He then brought up that Mike frequently puts on a robe and nothing else and isn't careful about what he flashes. He had a good point, so I brought it up to Mike with the kids present and said that both kids had mentioned his lack of underwear and pants under his robe and that he needed to knock it off. I said I'd be glad to purchase or sew him jammie bottoms. He was kind of embarrssed, but the kids were sitting in the back on the verge of cheering when he agreed he needed to knock it off.

I guess he doesn't think about it because he's a guy, who grew up with guys, but thank God, he's willing to address it. I think it's hard for him to comprehend that our kids aren't little any more and that seeing us naked at their ages is something that they're going to remember. I think all that whiteness is bad for their eyes anyhow. Mike could use a little modesty. I learned modesty a few years back, but he's really selectively modest. He locks the door to the bathroom to poop, but he chooses not to shut the door when I'm trying to dress, even if I ask him 20 times. Gah.

The wee hours are upon me. I'm going to sleep before I fall asleep in a pool of drool on my keyboard.

Ok, I'll grant you, I'm fully hormonal about to bleed my panties any second, but I've got a bone to pick.

The school district has taken to a "healthy eating policy" this year I think it's great, way past due, and of course, far too short of healthy.

However, I'm not thrilled with the implementation. LaDawn sent her one of her sons with a bag of chips for lunch one day as a treat. The school informed him that he could not eat it. What the hell is this, the freaking cafeteria police?

What really pisses me off, after reading all of this stuff (see page 8 of the document) is that for their stupid fundraiser, they're having kids sell frozen cookie dough. The only apparent redeeming quality of any of this (no whole grains or low sugar options) is that they have zero trans fat. What the hell? I don't think we could send these cookies baked to school with our kids as snacks, but we're supposed to buy the white flour, high sugar, but zero trans fat by the $14 three-pound vat!

God forfend that they'd actually have whole grain flour, sugar alternatives/reduced sugar, low-fat foods in the cafeteria, either. I bet you they use spaghetti sauce with sweetners added, and they don't bother to grind vegetables into it and serve it on whole wheat pasta! I can about guarantee you that they don't use whole grain tortillas for taco/burrito day and that the beans are loaded with fat. I bet they don't use splenda/sugar blends in pastries, either. I also bet they don't use ground turkey in lieu of high fat poor quality hamburger in their "casseroles" either.

I'm willing to bet any amount of money that the menu my children eat at home would make most nutritionists jump for joy compared to what schools serve and that my children are less likely to develop diabetes, heart disease, and other nutritionally controlled diseases on the food I serve them. I'm a diabetic with 145 cholesterol and well-balanced high and low cholesterol. Even my triglycerides are off normal by only 1 point. I cook one meal for everyone in my house, so my kids eat what I eat. They also love diet soda as a treat.

What ever happened to expensive, thick and beautiful gift wrap, some kind of healthy alternative, or the freaking PTA fundraiser we just pitched buttloads of money to? O having the PTA hold a Christmas craft fair thing for the kids to shop for their families?

I know Genny really really wants to get a "prize" for selling cookies, but I am of a mind to just send a damned check and take her to a few friends and neighbors to sell a vat or two to someone else.

I hate hypocrisy at schools. I know it's rampant, but it's still fucked up.

I love antibiotics when they work well.

I can breathe. I can think. I feel relatively human

Hey, I cooked tonight. I made homemade pesto from fresh basil in the pots out front, roasted pine nuts, parmesan cheese, olive oil, a little black pepper, and garlic. I think that's the surest sign I'm feeling better. I'm cooking and planning meals.

Tomorrow, I think I'd like to make barbecued chicken fajitas. I'll have to change up some of the veggies -- but it'll be tasty.

I am still blanketing. I had a few things to fix on Genny's purple sparkly butterfly blanky. The very expensive lace I special ordered is pretty crappy. There are several places where the lace didn't get sewn into the hem like it should have by the manufacturer, so I'm having to go back and repair those spots and it really ticks me off. And invariably those are the spots that made the lace curl, so that I ended up sewing those parts into the hem. Then I have to spend time with my glasses perched on my face and seeing if my arms can get longer, trying to find those itty bitty stitches to rip out.

It's all pinned and ready to roll.

And Mike and I were talking about my apparent weight loss. There's just less of my body protruding from the spots I loathe, and it's really awesome. It's just plain odd to be this excited about the prospect of going to the doctor's and getting weighed.

And my sugars have come down with the weight loss, which is the most awesome thing of all. I've been sitting on a weight cusp, where my sugars haven't been reacting as I expected. I realized tonight, that things are getting normal again. I don't want to slump into a nap after each meal, for starters.

Yay! Now, if I can just do something with the aquatard. ;p

Despite the fact that I have a cold to beat the band, that just happens to coincide with the blooming of sagebrush, my sugars have been a whole lot better. I'm thinking I may have to go on prednisone and I've already started antibiotics because there's an infection trying to burn into my chest.

So about a month ago, I got back all my labs and they were as expected. Though I'd been eating tighter than a parking space at Costco on a Saturday, my hba1c was creeping up...6.2 to be exact. We are chalking that up to lack of exercise. My meds were increased and it's been better. I've also continued to eat really carefully. I have sugar free everything and if I have a fit for something I shouldn't have, I take insulin beforehand and eat a small portion. I'm losing weight regardless, which is welcome news, of course. I'm not losing it brutally fast as I would, if I were exercising, but I've gotten into the $5 pair of jeans I bought at Walmart in August that I couldn't wear then. I'll take it!

My knee continues to be a sore arthritic pain in the leg. Last time I got a hair up my butt to clean the house like a fiend, I spent 2 days recovering from pain and exhaustion. That would have been a week ago when Russell entertained several friends for his birthday party. I spent the weekend crashed and trashed. I actually spent most of Saturday, napping with Mike. We were both exhausted and just cuddled on the bed and woke up at 5 kind of horrified and startled. With the house, clean the kids just played games and ignored us.

We are so tight financially. I'm maintaining the budget for a change and while I did have one stupid mistake, basically, we're in good stead at the moment. I called and played the pity card with bill collectors because I have the most god awful case of laryngitis ever and sound like I'm barfing up a cat coughing up a furball whenever I go to speak. Basically, I accidentally overpaid one of my medical bills and that threw our entire budget into chaos. I projected the budget until January and it's then, that things start to get dicy. I know that my parents will send us a pretty good-sized check at Christmas, so I'm going to use that and pay for my substitute license and fingerprinting. My hope is that I'll work at least a couple days in January and be able to make up that budget shortfall and even get us ahead.

Frankly, a lot of our budget depends on Mike's raise and on the profit sharing bonus due in November.

In the interim, there's a craft show in a few weeks that I will be sewing for. I'm going to make a mess of blankets and see what I can sell. Mike asked if it would be worth it. I told him, if I sold 2 blankets that it would be worth it. One would pay for my table and the other would give me cash in my pocket. I figure that I've already paid for the fabric and that as a result anything I got back on it at this point would be gravy. I figure I have little to lose by doing this, so I'm going to try it. I'm going to try throwing together a few baby baskets and see if those go, too.

I already made one baby blanket -- Classic Pooh for a PTA auction. I put it in a basket with a bottle of baby soap, some baby food jars, a pacifier and shirt clip(it was the only thing with Pooh that I could find that didn't cost a lot), a box of wipes, a cheap fleece receiving blanket, a bottle, and a set of inexpensive board books.

Just checking in. :)

So, kind of like Mary Chapin Carpenter's song, I feel lucky today.

I got back my pap results and for the first time in 2 years, they were clear. I was so dumbfounded, I asked the nurse,"Are you sure?" and when she reaffirmed it, I asked her,"Really?"

Then I got off the phone and called and emailed everyone I could think of. I have to go back in 6 months and if that pap smear is clear, I just go in for an annual like all the normal women in the world.

Normal. How fucking weird is that?

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Next on the list of fixing the things that are wrong with me is, getting my sugars normal. I've started exercising, so hopefully, that will help a lot. Mike got me the 'tard and I used it on Tuesday, and while it rubs a little on the inside my upper arm, I'm willing to put up with it. It was really comfortable and it was kind of cool having everything held together -- not like a girdle, but more like a body hug kind of thing.

It was nice not to have my jelly belly and my chest flopping in the wind, in particular. It was nice not to have to adjust the tank on my tankini from doing strenuous stuff constantly and it was nice to feel like I looked pretty.

My sugars have been a new kind of porked. I very carefully got myself a regular sleeping hours night and went at the buttcrack of dawn to the lab to get a blood pull. Just from seeing my sugars more recently, I know my hba1c is going to reflect my diabetic decline into Lousy Sugar Land.

I've been eating really carefully for about the past month and a half, when I realized just how bad off I was. Unfortately, lately it's not weird to have sugars well into the 175 range, which is way beyond what is normal for me. I usually have managed to keep my sugars well-controlled -- just within normal, but not since the surgery, I'm guessing because I had so much trouble healing.

Now, I'm keeping watch on my sugars like a security guard in a candy store next to an elementary school. The problem is that I'm always tired and it's always worse after meals. I've got a little bit of neuropathy going down my heel cords from it and the slightest elevation in blood sugars means that walking is more excrutiating than usual.

I'm feeling really desperate about it.

I actually drank an Atkins shake today for breakfast. Choking down that thing should make me a prime candidate for one of those truth or dare TV shows like,"Fear Factor." If I hadn't been hungry, I doubt that thing would have stayed down. It was supposed to be mocha flavored, but I think they confused dog feces with coffee and chocolate.

I was trying to imagine what the strawberry flavor might taste like when my stomach flipped over in complaint at me for the mere contemplation of that. Overall, I had the sense that if the manufacturers poured about 10 lbs of cocoa at it, it might stay down better, but it still wouldn't actually taste "good."

The drag was that I kept tasting that thing until lunch time.*shudder*

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I also decided I had to get out of the house, so I'm volunteering with Russell's 6th grade teacher. She's what I would consider a master teacher and she has a master's in special ed and she's completely and totally awesome.

She has me working with two special ed kids in her classroom, which I just loved. One kid is really severely limited -- not from being retarded or something, but he seems to have severe processing problems. He apparently is also having motivation problems, but he reads worse than Genny. I kept repeating the same information to him over and over again and he never said,"Oh, yeah, I remember." or made any indication that he remembered hearing it previously.

The other kid just is behind in his reading level. I forgot to do any pre reading work with him, but I'm rusty, too.

I'm applying for my substitute license anyhow.