Jenn's Journal

What to get for the person who has everything

 

Available here, but WHY?

The stuff dreams are made of

Last night I dreamt I was at Marvin Gaye's funeral.  It was being held in a rec center football field and all the mourner's took turns passing around a microphone to pray while moving around the field in a conga line.  John O'Hurley drove by in a limo.  Then Metallica performed and ended the funeral by jumping in a swimming pool.

Satus Report

Antibiotics curing bronchitis: FAIL. Still pretty sick.

NaBloPoMo: FAIL. Totally forgot yesterday. I did blog, just not on this blog. Does that count?

Shaming husband into replacing the soap: FAIL. Was greeted with a sliver so thin you could read a newspaper through it. Not that you would read a newspaper in the shower. That would be weird. And messy.

Taking care of laptop: FAIL. Spilled an entire cup of coffee on the keyboard this morning. It's now broken. Have to work tonight and have no idea what I'm going to do.

Feeling sorry for myself: WIN

Part of the problem

Nap time on a day when I'm alone with the boys just isn't a good time for a doctor's appointment no matter how much I wanted to make it.  So I cancelled.  Instead I went to an urgent care facility which is, really, in inappropriate use of resources.  I'm sick, yeah, but not going to keel over sick.  I have a primary care doctor.  I even have a good primary care doctor that I like a lot.  One I like so much I drive an hour to see him.  One who I think I found on Facebook, but that would be totally weird to follow him right?  Right? 

So I walked in and waited with the 100 other sick-but-not-sick-enough-for-an-ER people and felt guilty about going there when I should go see my PCP.  I waited forever, paid my copay, waited some more, chatted to a nice grandmother who was sure she knew me even though she couldn't remember why she was there or what her daughter's name was, and finally got called back.  I figured all I needed was some antibiotics.  In my head I heard my grandmother telling me a week ago to go see the doctor (a doctor who is also her doctor and my stepfather's doctor) and get some antibiotics and me telling her I didn't need them because it was probably viral and would go away on it's own and she was totally telling me I told you so in my head.

He seemed a little concerned that this had been going on for eight days and no improvement.  Then he listened to my lungs and seemed more concerned.  They immediately got a pulse ox, peak flow, CBC, and chest x-ray.  All of which I knew my PCP would never have done.  He'd listen to me, give me some antibiotics and send me on my way.  He's thorough without ordering unnecessary tests.  He also knows me and knows how much of a hypochondriac I can be and when I come in telling him I have leprosy he doesn't mind laughing at me and telling me it's just dry skin.  But I had all those things done, which I suppose I could have refused, but thinking is not one of my strengths right now and besides what if I did have leprosy or something?  But everything was fine and I don't have pneumonia which I didn't think I did until he ordered a chest x-ray. 

I do have bronchitis though and was given a prescription for antibiotics and a steroid inhaler.  He said he didn't want to give me oral steroids because of my diabetes.  For those who have been playing the Jenn's Journal home game, say it with me:

I DON'T HAVE DIABETES.

I had to launch into a lecture about PCOS and insulin resistance and the management thereof, though an abbreviated version because I have a sore throat and productive cough.  He seemed to get it.  I left and went to Target to get my prescriptions filled.  I'm merrily browsing the Christmas section, feeling downright jolly when I hear "Mrs. Raynes, please come to the pharmacy counter" overhead.  They are out of one of the meds.  The antibiotic.  The one that will make me feel better.  The one I was COUNTING on to start tonight so I could feel at least human while Dave is away tomorrow.  When I can I pick it up?  Oh, 6pm tomorrow.  Maybe 3. 

I almost just stopped and cried.  I'm beat, I don't feel good.  I told them to go ahead and order it and I went home and laid down.  Then called my mom who is taking pity on me and leaving work a little early tomorrow to help me out with dinner and bed time.  Hopefully we'll make it till then. 

The recipe, the winner, and the question

Here is my super easy, very delicious pumpkin cheesecake recipe that came from a coupon for cream cheese:

Pumpkin Layer Cheesecake

• 2 pkg. (8 oz. each) Philadelphia Cream Cheese, softened
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup canned pumpkin
• 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
• Dash each ground cloves and nutmeg
• 1 ready-to-use graham cracker crumb crust (6 oz or 9 inch)
• Mix cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla with electric mixer on medium speed until well blended.  Add eggs; mix until blended.
• Stir pumpkin and spices into 1 cup of the batter; pour remaining plain batter into crust.  Top with pumpkin batter
• Bake at 350 degrees F for 35-40 minutes or until center is almost set.  Cool.  Refrigerate 3 hours or overnight.  Makes 8 servings.

Sometimes to shake it up, I'll make my own crust out of gingersnap crumbs instead of graham cracker crumbs, but I have to make at least six of these between Thanksgiving and Christmas and usually don't feel like going through the extra effort.  But it's really yummy that way.

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The winner of the Amazing Baby book is:

Here are your random numbers:

5	

Timestamp: 2008-11-08 14:23:35 UTC

The fifth comment was Kelly from The Miller Mix!  Kelly, email me your shipping address and I'll get it out ASAP.

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Next week on the other blog, I'm going to focus on comfort foods, but that's so subjective, I'd love to hear what YOUR comfort foods are.  Besides vodka.  If you're so inclined, let me know on this post.

I'm struggling.

A little dark cloud seems to be hanging over me and I can't shake free of it.  I feel like Eeyore.  And suspiciously like that rock/blob thing from the Zoloft commercials.  One doctor described it as "squooshy" or feeling like melted cheese.  Well I feel more like melted cheese food.    I'm mostly depressed over the Situation That Can Not Be Named.  I think that's just the catalyst though.  I've had problems with depression since I was a young teenager.  The last few years though I've done a lot better, I've been off medication for about seven years or so, and when I am depressed it maybe will be a few days instead of the few months like it used to.  But I just haven't been able to shake it this time.  If I had my way, I'd lay in a dark room under the covers and sleep 16 hours a day and stare blankly at the wall for the other 8 hours. 

Christmas catalogs have started arriving in the mail.  Usually this is a cause for celebration; I love Christmas shopping.  But I just can't get excited about shopping.  I managed to bounce two checks this month.  We use one account just to pay bills.  I thought a bill was $227 when it was actually $277 and I used that $50 difference to pay two other small bills.  Both bounced and now we have $100 in bank fees because I mixed up a number.  We've had two showings on the house in the last few days, both seemed to like it, neither made an offer so far.  We can't lower the price any more and my guess is at this point even if we get an offer, it will be below asking price and I'm not sure we'll be able to take it.  My hope is that a house we'd want to move to will have a lower price as well. 

The nap situation is improving somewhat.  They still don't sleep much, but there is less destruction.  Mostly because there is nothing in the room.  They do keep taking the vent cover out of the floor.  Are there any child-proofing things made for vent covers?  Dave has already fished out three socks and a nightlight and Nick keeps falling in the hole.  The biggest problem seems to be them bothering each other.  Nick is ready to sleep sooner than William but William then climbs into bed with him.  Nick cries, I have a little talk with them about leaving each other alone, shut the door, and lather, rinse, repeat five minutes later.  Alas, they are two and do not understand the concept of personal space.  If they did I wouldn't have graham cracker crumbs in my hair every day.  They need to be separated but I have no where to put them.  (See house selling issues)  If the house wasn't on the market, I'd empty out both rooms and keep them apart.  But as of now, there is no safe place for one to sleep unsupervised.  And supervision keeps them awake. 

We have a date night tonight which should be fun but all I can think about is how I have no idea if I have anything nice that fits and how the money we'll spend going out could be going towards those bank fees. 

Then I think of how most of these things really do have a positive aspect to them, I just can't enjoy it right now. 

Maybe I ought to change the name on our reservation to Pity Party.

Critters

My family has a long, long history of weird pets.  My great-grandmother had a rooster she called Crooked Toes.  And a pet squirrel.  My grandmother had a pet butterfly named Adam that lived in her dining room.  She would buy a bouquet of fresh flowers for it every few days.  We had our own fair share of odd pets growing up.

The first pet I remember was Whiskers.  She was stray cat that had kittens and would bring us dead birds and mice.  That's about all I remember because she was trapped and killed by neighbors when I was about four.  Oh, and we had two kittens we found in a dumpster around that time because I remember them nursing with the other smaller kittens.

Then there was Silky, named such by my sister because it had no hair on it's back.  Someone had thrown boiling water on it and it was burned off.  I don't remember what happened to Silky.  Trixie was our dog who ate through an electric typewriter cord and electrocuted herself.  Twice.  We ended up giving her away to a police officer.  We had a pigeon that lived on a roll of carpet in our basement for awhile.

There was the newt who one day disappeared.  Time went on, we refinished the basement, and a few years later my brother calls up the stairs, "Uh, I think I found the newt."  On the floor.  The new floor.  Mummified.  Still haven't figured that one out yet. 

Blackie was our cat for about 15 years.  He was a stray and an adult cat when we took him in.  No idea how he lived that long, but he was mean and we were pretty sure he'd never die.  He would stealth yak in your shoe and you wouldn't find it until you put your foot in and felt cold, squishy, feline gastric contents.  My mom would leave a few dollars on the table for my brother's lunch money;  he would yak just on the bills.  One time he had a stroke and couldn't eat, couldn't jump, couldn't meow, and just walked in circles.  I accidentally stepped on his tale and he started meowing again.  He made a full recovery instantly after that.  Several more times he went near death only to recover again.  We were convinced he was immortal.  We eventually had to put him down when it looked (and smelled) like he was melting from the inside out. 

But by far the weirdest pet was one we perhaps had for the shortest amount of time. 

Two houses down lived a man named Jack.  He was in the military, lived alone, and died of a heart attack on his sofa under the front window.  The next man that moved in the house was also in the military, lived alone, and also died of a heart attack on his sofa under the front window.  But this is about Jack.

Jack loved his dog Cub.  The went everywhere together.  He built a thing on the back of his motorcycle so Cub could ride along.  When Jack died, the MPs that went in found Jack on the sofa with Cub next to him, head on his chest, waiting for him to wake up.  Jack's brother came to town to take care of his affairs and knocked on our door to ask if we'd take care of Cub.  My mother says the brother looked just like Jack and there was no way she could say no.  It was right around Christmas time, and she put Cub in the basement so he wouldn't get into anything.  Before she had a chance to tell my dad we got a dog, he opened the door only to be met with two yellow glowing eyes.  He screamed.

Anyway, we went out Christmas Eve and left Cub in the basement.  When we came back, he was out of the basement and in the living room.  The door opened outward, so it wasn't inconceivable that maybe it wasn't shut all the way and he pushed it open.  He was a big dog.  On Christmas we went out again, again leaving Cub in the basement, making sure the door was shut tight this time.

We we returned, the front door to the house was open.  The screen door was shut, but the heavy storm door was wide open.  Thinking we had been robbed, my dad went in to check it out.  Nothing was missing...except Cub.  The basement door again was open as was the storm door.  The storm door, however, opened inward and was locked.  We never saw Cub again.  We have no idea how he got out, but we think he went looking for Jack. 

I hope he found him.

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This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by Burger King Corp.

Shoes

All summer long I've been wearing what my sister has dubbed The Ugliest Shoes on Earth.  I've dubbed them the most comfortable shoes on earth and don't care what she says.  Mr. Softee in brown.  It's like going barefoot but more comfortable.  The problem is that now it's getting cold out and my feet are getting cold. 

Since you all did such a good job making suggestions on what to wear last month, I figured I'd ask.  I'd really like a slip on shoe that my feet won't get cold in.  Can you wear socks with slip ons or is that like wearing navy and black?  Or can you wear navy and black now?  Why don't I get a newsletter with this junk in it? 

Anyway, slip ons, warm feet, for fall.  For winter I have a super warm pair of Uggs which my sister has deemed The Second Ugliest Pair of Shoes in the World, and even though I agree, those boots are so warm I do not care.  The challenge is that I need an 8 wide.  Has to be a wide.  Going up a size won't help, needs to be wide. 

Go forth and shoe me!

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Don't forget the My Baby A to Z giveaway.  I'll pick a winner for that Friday.  The DonorChoice.org Blogger challenge is going on through the end of the month (I think), so if you have a few bucks to spare to help kids get school supplies they need, click on through.

The cat came back?

The first time I just thought I was seeing things.  But twice in a row?  Now I'm not so sure.

Timmy used to run into the bathroom with me every single morning.  He'd sit on the toilet lid while I took a shower and then would try to lick my feet when they were wet when I came out which grossed me out to no end but no amount of pushing him away would deter him.  He just liked to be in the bathroom with me all. the. time.  I think he liked it because it was just me and him with no other cats.  He'd just sit on the rug and stare at me while I...did things you do in a bathroom.

He's been dead for a few months now and I still miss him.  I don't miss him peeing on things, but I do miss my bathroom companion.  Yesterday morning I got up and went to the bathroom.  A black cat darted in front of me like Timmy used to.  We still have Franz who is a black cat, but doesn't usually follow me into the bathroom and general avoids being corned at all costs.  When I turned on the light to shoo him out, no cat.  Figured my eyes were playing tricks on me being as how I'd had a whopping 5 hours of sleep and didn't think much of it.

Until it happened again this morning.  Very clearly saw a dark cat shape run in the bathroom beside me.  The bathroom is small.  Room enough for the shower at the end, the toilet, sink, and then the door.  One way in and out.  Nowhere to hide.  I shut the door behind me, turned on the light, no cat.

I guess as long as I don't start finding ghost cat pee around the house, I don't mind the early morning visitor.

Life has a way of putting you back in your place

I was feeling pretty good last night.  We had a nice weekend away in Williamsburg, VA.  The boys could not have been better in the car.  They were well behaved.  The only incident was when I fell on the playground while carrying William.  I stepped in a hole, twisted my ankle and was down with William flying out of my arms before I knew what was happening.  He was ok within a few minutes, my ankle hurt for a few hours, my pride even longer.  But if that was the worst we had to deal with all weekend, we were in good shape.

I spent the day marveling at their good behavior, enjoying the long nap they took in the car, and just feeling so lucky and thankful to have them in our lives.  I thought about blogging and how blogging has changed so much for me; first was the heart wrenching pain of infertility and loss, then the uncertainties and fear of new motherhood, and now this.  This is nice.  Life is good.  That night I went out to meet some of the bloggers going to BlogHer DC today (sadly, I did not go).  Totally name dropping (way to play it cool), but met Cecily, Sarah, Amalah, Mel, Queen of Spain, Technosailor, a few others that I know I'm forgetting or don't have blogs (yet!), and got to see Sarah and Devra again.  DC traffic sucked, but made up for it with a good margarita and ice cream.  Again, life was good.  Happy, I haz it.

Then the alarm went off this morning.

And suddenly staying out and up late didn't seem like a good idea.  The traveling caught up with me and I had to convince myself to get out of bed.  Only then to be greeted with a three day backlog of emails at work.  Seriously, my job is not hard.  At ALL.  There should not be so much to catch up on, especially over a weekend, so it really caught me off guard.  Then Dave overslept, was stressed with his job and the boys decided now would be a good time to misbehave. 

And suddenly, life wasn't quite the bowl full of cherries (or ice cream) it was yesterday.  I'm stressed, Dave's stressed, I'm mad at him, the boys are feeding off all that, they didn't nap, I had to sit in their room to keep them from destroying it even though I have removed EVERYTHING from the room that I possible can, I got no break, and then they refused to eat dinner, plus I spent all day watching the tweets fly by on twitter really wishing I was at BlogHer like I had planned.  My friend called to ask about Prozac which she's considering and I found myself thinking that's not such a bad idea.

Overall, nothing really bad happened.  Just a series of stresses and annoyances.  I know life still really is good.  I know this will pass.  But in the meantime I'm counting the minutes to bed time and a few beers.