The waster

Well, we now have a diagnosis for Mr. Sickly McLieAbout-- Lyme disease.

When I took him to the doctor on Monday, I had to hold him down forcibly to have his blood drawn for a variety of tests. It was not one of the most pleasant parenting moments I've had, I assure you. Even when he was announcing to the 2 nurses and the lab technician that he was "postponing this! This is postponed!" and everyone was trying to stifle the snickers, it was not pleasant. Only with the promise of seeing the lab and the microscope, and the opportunity to run his own urinalysis, did he relent and allow a couple small vials to be filled.

The initial test indicated that his blood count was normal, so that was good-- no cancer. The inflammation test was high, but was a non-specific test so it couldn't explain the inflammation, only announce its presence. There was also a Lyme test being done, but only because it is summer, and not because he was really presenting with Lyme symptoms other than the exhaustion.

I received a call yesterday saying that if the Lyme test came back negative they might want to do a chest x-ray to rule out juvenile onset rheumatoid arthritis. Ugh! And then this morning we came home from soccer camp (Hey, he still wants to go every day. I'm not a terrible mother.) to a message from the doctor saying the Lyme results were "interesting".

Apparently, "interesting" means "positive" and now Sebastian will be taking 3 weeks of antibiotics. The weird thing is that I never saw his bulls eye rash until today after the diagnosis. Being the 6 and a half year old that he is, I no longer dress him, or wipe his butt, or spend a lot of time around his nakedness. But today I happened to come around the corner when he was seated on the toilet to see a round mark on his hip.

So now I guess I'll go read some frightening information on the Internet so I can feel less relieved that I at least know what the problem is.

What I've feared for 5 years

Ever since we moved here, I have been nervous on one short stretch of a nearby street when I walk there alone at night. I am not afraid of thieves or rapists or thugs. I am afraid of wild animals. It is the only part of the walk that is somewhat wooded and, despite the chain link fence along the sidewalk, I am always convinced some creature is going to confront me.

Tonight, it happened.

As I headed up the hill, exactly halfway through the scary part, there was a loud rustle to my left. I could see people up ahead, so I did not want to embarrass myself by running screaming up the road. (It is a small town after all, and I have hidden my insanity from the general public reasonably well thus far.) I also decided that I should see what was causing this ruckus, as it had clearly gone up a tree, but not high enough to jump onto my head, and it would be silly to be afraid of a cat-- even the feral cats roaming these streets.

I know it isn't a fresh water squid. Nor is it particularly large. So, I turn to look. It is 10:15pm. It is dark. The critter is dimly back lit and clinging to a tree. I squint at it, and although I can only see its silhouette, I know it is staring back at me. It is the size of a large cat. Okay, so it could be a cat, perhaps a raccoon. And I know from experience that yelling "Raccoon!" at a raccoon will make it waddle away in disgust, so I could deal with a raccoon. But upon further inspection by yours myopically, the ears looked rather round, like maybe a bear cub's might. And where a bear cub the size of a cat is, the mama bear is generally not far behind, and I was not taking any chances, knitting needles in my bag or no, so I hustled up the hill.

And nothing chased me. Take that nature!

He's wasting away...

This afternoon I will be taking Sebastian to the doctor for the second time in about 2 weeks as he seems to be suffering from some sort of Victorian era wasting disease along the lines of consumption or melancholia or malaise. The boy took a 2 and a half hour nap yesterday afternoon after having a full night's sleep and slept all night last night as well. He has been subsisting on chicken and rice soup and yogurt and looking deathly pale. It would all be terribly romantic if it weren't sprawled all over my living room couch. Next thing I know I'll have to bring a wheelchair and blankets to the ocean with us next week.

But don't worry too much. He insisted on attending soccer camp this morning where he earned a green card* for winning a dodgeball style game.

* I haven't yet figured out who is letting a bunch of Brits pass out green cards, but when I do, I'll let you know.

What happens when Jeremy is gone

The first day (after crying quietly for a few moments) I take the children for a walk to the farmer's market on the off chance that there will be raspberries. We just get a small container to eat on the spot. No jam today. Then we head to the thrift store and buy a Spiderman comic pajama top for Sebastian and a DDR shirt for me. Who cares that it's a child size shirt? It says, "I can't dance without arrows." We go next door to the discount natural foods store where I stock up on such necessities as organic pop tarts, all natural strawberry daiquiri mix, and cheese filled pretzel sticks.

We stop a couple of times on the way home to gossip about the 16 year old pregnant girl down the street and my neighbor who passed away recently. We arrive at home where I leave Dorian unattended for 10 minutes and come back to find this:

The kids have a minor breakdown later when it is discovered that Wipeout has been postponed by the President's press conference. I put them to bed, then somehow don't go to sleep myself until 1am. I did watch Very Young Girls about prostitution in NYC on Netflix Instant and get some knitting done, so it seemed worth it at the time.

The second day we keep ourselves busy by going out to lunch, enjoying the lake despite an obviously emotionally disturbed child terrorizing us, and then going to the library to pick up Dorian's prize and fill out their reading program cards. Sebastian has read 46 books so far and Dorian has read 18 books all by himself. We go home to have a little dinner which Sebastian proclaims seems more like lunch, and I prepare to take the kids with me to knitting night.

I bring what the shop owner calls "cuptails" that I manage to make taste like liquid Jolly Ranchers. I also bring what I hope is enough workbooks and magazines to keep the kids occupied so that I may actually knit. I do manage 10 more rows on my sleeves before the kids start acting up and then Sebastian finds a way to get his finger stuck in a peg hole in the adjustable table. It almost didn't come out, but it did. We cleared out shortly thereafter. Again I put the kids to bed on time, but stay up until 1am. This time I tried to watch Lisa Kudrow's show The Comeback but it just wasn't doing it for me. So I cut it off halfway through the third episode and wasted time online instead.

Two days down, the last day is a lazy one. Well, for the kids anyway. I puttered about the house doing laundry, weeding, and sanding and spackling the spare room. We played some Memory (I kicked their butts) and they watched some AstroBoy. After they went to bed, I watched Birth, a lame "mystery" starring Nicole Kidman that I would not advise anyone watch. But I got more knitting done, so it achieved its purpose.

And now Jeremy is home and life can go back to normal, ie. my falling asleep around 10:30pm.

de Blob

For Jeremy's birthday, Dustin and Cortney brought him de Blob, a game for the Wii where you have to repaint a world gone gray. It is really cool visually and a good blend of wandering around and actual challenges. But I have a couple of bones to pick with it.

1. You can't just save whenever you want/need to. The only saving happens at the end of the level. This is a problem because
2. The levels are getting progressively longer. Level 1 took me 42 minutes. Level 2 took 75 minutes. And level 3 took me 101 minutes.

The thought of spending over 2 hours completing the next level makes me a little cranky. As much as I like playing, I don't want it to feel like such a huge commitment. I can't have the kids watch me play for that long, nor do I want to waste an entire evening with Jeremy on a game.

Dilemmas, dilemmas... what's a girl to do?

In a pickle

Yesterday I managed to throw yet another monkey wrench into my life by buying a big basket of pickling cucumbers at Walker Farm. It had become quite clear that my own cucumber vines were not planning on being productive enough for me to make pickles from my own garden and I had accepted that fact. So when I saw this half-price basket of cukes, I was tempted. And then Amanda gave me that last little bit of encouragement, and I was on my way home with more cucumbers than I thought and 3 bunches of dill. ($22) We stop at the grocery store for mustard seed, vinegar and quart jars. ($17.70)

When we got home, I put all the boys on cucumber cleaning duty and gathered the rest of the supplies.

Four hours and one emergency trip to the store for more garlic and mustard seed ($4.50) later, I was out of jars, but not out of cucumbers. There were still 7 large and 25 medium cukes mocking me from my colander and a large mixing bowl. So this morning, back I went to the store for another gallon of vinegar, another container of mustard seed, more salt, and more jars. ($19.06)

And now, I am the proud owner of

• 6 quarts of whole dill pickles
• 8 quarts of dill pickle spears
• 5 quarts of dill pickle chips
• 3 12oz jars of dill pickle chips
• 1 pint of dill pickle chips
• and 2 leftover cukes.

I also have a house that smells like a pickle and 3 very happy, pickle lovin' gentlemen who can't wait to crack one of those jars open. And it only cost me $63.26... And to think I could have had a massage for that price.

How much longer can this go on?

While walking in the neighborhood...

Sebastian: [sings]Yankee doodle went to town, riding on a pony...

Dorian: Hey, Sebastian! I know another way to sing it! Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony/He stuck a feather through his nose, and it came out his bu-utt!

Busy busy busy

It has been yet another busy weekend around the Hott Pocket house.

Jeremy and I began painting the garage, which I think is looking pretty awesome, but makes the actual house look poopy. We have less than half to go, but I definitely need Jeremy's help to reach the tippy top because I do not want to tip like a top off the ladder. This is not the best picture in the world, but it is the most accurate color-wise.

Yesterday, I was lured by cupcakes to the yarn store which was hosting an event with someone from a local organic wool company. Marin was very nice and very talented and the cupcakes were very delicious. I found myself a little jealous of her and the yarn store owner who both get to knit all day and get paid for it. However, if I were to be paid for knitting, I know one of two things would happen: a) I would immediately lose my inspiration/resent knitting or b) I would develop a horrible case of arthritis. I was also tortured somewhat by the obnoxious truth that there are more projects in the world than I can ever hope to produce. So, to remind me of that I have more yarn in my possession now as we each got to pick 2 skeins to bring home and they are totally mocking me while I slog through the sleeves for the summer sweater. I am staying strong and not working on anything else, even though I just got all this:

The yellow and the 3 skeins of gray are the boys' future sweaters. The multi-colored ball in the middle is a self-striping yarn I found in the clearance bin which is begging to be a pair of mittens for the boys. And the 2 skeins on the right are the 2 freebies I got which are a cotton/wool blend and very plushy and are asking to be made into fingerless mitts/arm warmers/coziness that I think I may keep for myself.

And today, after painting the garage in the morning, I met Christine to see Away We Go at the matinee. I really enjoyed it. It was very funny and I love Maya Rudolph and her character was very Christine who I also love. I do not love John Krasinski, but I thought he did a good job. The first 2 couples they go visit are way over the top and a bit much, but I have to admit that I have met people like that, so it wasn't entirely unrealistic. Overall, it is a good exploration of family and home and life and how even perfect isn't perfect. I highly recommend this one. And I don't care what Jeremy's wheel has to say about it in the future.

Coming to fruition

Finally, some of my work is paying off. Last night we had a salad that came entirely from our garden. Granted, like some chintzy restaurants, there was only one cherry tomato for each of us, but damn it, I grew those tomatoes. So that was pretty exciting.

And after making some cowboy cookies with Dorian (yum!) I finished the right front of my summer sweater, making a grand total of 3 finished pieces.

And assuming that my plan works out (which, based on recent experience, it will not) I will be going to knitting circle tonight and getting a solid start on the sleeves. I'm hoping this sweater is flattering; I know it is soft and silky, and I know I like the color. But I'll tell you what, for such a simple looking sweater, it has been kind of annoying to knit. I have to note every fucking row on a slip of paper the entire time. There are no stretches of just mindless knitting. I don't like that one bit. This is the second sweater in a row from this book that I have not loved knitting, the other being the orange baby jacket. When Dorian and I were out yesterday, he chose some yarn for sweaters for himself (yellow) and for Sebastian (charcoal gray) which I plan on designing myself for maximum enjoyment.

Plans for some purple UPDATE

Today is going to be all about purple. Well, maybe not entirely, but my purchases today are going to focus on purple.

First, Dorian and I will be heading to the farmer's market to get some raspberries-- I hope enough to make some jam. Every year we get coupons for the market from WIC, which is the awesomest part of that program. I figure I might as well spend them on things I might not normally buy based on their expense. So, first, we stain ourselves purple with raspberry juice.

Then, we are off to buy a wire brush, a sander, a ladder and some purple paint for the garage.

If I don't finish painting our garage in less than a month, we lose our homeowner's insurance. And if I have to paint a garage I don't even use, I might as well paint it purple, right? (The "poolside blue" on the right is the color for Dustin's room.)

UPDATE: I have been totally betrayed by the purported purveyors of purple today. Not only were there no raspberries at market today as I was promised there would be, but the store where I bought my ladder, etc. no longer sells paint for some reason. Boo to all that!

If I were going to adopt or, you know, take someone hostage

It would be two someones and they share a last name and are currently 3,005 miles away and I don't see any other solution to getting them back here than to kidnap them and if I hadn't been so exhausted from staying up late with them I totally would not have let them fly back to their "home" and I'm sure that eventually my laugh muscles in my face would get used to all the exercise so I wouldn't hurt as much as I do right now and that's not why I'm crying but it sort of is.

It's going to be a long two years.

The Quote of the Weekend

Toward the end of dinner at the wedding

Jeremy: Do you think there will be dessert?

And he thinks Sebastian has his head in the clouds.

That extra t should be a capital one

I am considering officially changing my name to "HotT Mama" because I am that tired. However, that is so completely aesthetically offensive that I will not.

Four nights in a row of going to bed way too late, and each one later than the last, is making for one Mole-faced Mama. I'm asking myself why I even bothered going to sleep at all at 3:30 this morning, but I know the answer: because I'd be puking now if I hadn't.

Besides, when you go to sleep on time or (dare to dream!) early, you miss things like this:

Congratulations Rob and Quinn! I think when people simultaneously lift you up on chairs you are officially stuck with each other. Which is totally not the worst thing in the world.

Mr. Tooth

Now, if this child told me he was odd-looking, I'd be less likely to disagree. That snaggle tooth better fall out soon.

A difference of opinion

I'm holding a squirmy little Dorian on my lap, and I say, "You are a crazy monkey."

Dorian: I'm not a crazy monkey!

Me: You're a pretty monkey.

D: I'm not a monkey!

M: Okay, you're a pretty boy.

D: No, I'm an odd-looking boy.

I refuse to agree with that.

Mystery solved!

Many months ago, my darling duo came to me with my camera in hand complaining that it "didn't work". That was probably because the lens, which extends when the camera is turned on, was at a 45 degree angle. Of course, neither of them did it, but Sebastian suspected Dorian.

Well, Jeremy decides to have it fixed as a present to me for my birthday (probably so he wouldn't have to hear me whine anymore about being forced to use the other camera). A month later, it was ready for pick-up. On Friday we retrieved it and, lo and behold, there were a few pictures on the card.

Pictures of what? you may ask. Oh, just pictures of Dorian. Pictures that could only have been taken by one short person I know. And yet somehow I have been convinced to bake that boy a cherry pie from scratch...

A little perspective

You know how the farther away something is, the smaller it looks? Well, today I learned that goes for distances as well as objects. That raft I wanted to swim to, it sure didn't look like it was too far past the last set of ropes that cordon off the swimming area.

And then I decided to swim out there today. And it was totally one of those scenarios where you start to believe that the thing you are trying to reach is actually moving farther away even though it hasn't moved an inch. Couple that with my narrow escape from a panic attack and I was quite out of breath when I finally pulled myself up the ladder and flopped onto the raft.

You see, my water terror all started about 10 years ago. My brother's girlfriend at the time was working at a small aquarium on Chincoteague island (home of the wild ponies). Now, the Atlantic Ocean is pretty murky in those parts, but having swum there my whole life, it never occurred to me to be concerned. Not until I went into that aquarium which was stocked entirely with animals caught close to shore. Animals like seahorses (not scary) and rays (creepy) and sharks (small ones but scary anyway) among other things. I started that trip with the visit to the aquarium and ended it without going into the ocean past my waist for fear of being eaten alive or paralyzed or whisked off to some slimy, oxygen-free lair.

And then a couple of years later, Jeremy and I moved to Vermont, just down the road from a popular swimming hole at a disused quarry. Swimming there did not bother me, even though the water was pitch black and, as far as I knew, bottomless. It didn't bother me until the day that Jeremy and I began joking about releasing a fresh water giant squid* into the quarry. And despite the fact that this was a completely stupid idea that was a joke, when I got in and was pretty much smack dab in the middle of the water, I completely panicked and might have died. I couldn't touch anywhere (bottomless pit) and swam for the wrong side which was a slimy rock wall, impossible to climb without suction cup feet. I kept trying to tell myself that there was no squid, but became tortured by a story my brother told me about the northern pike, a fish he claimed to have seen swallow a duck whole. That story is probably a lie, but if it were true, a pike could certainly make short work of one of my feet, and that possibility was absolutely horrifying. Obviously, I lived to tell the tale and still have both of my feet, but things were pretty dicey there for a while.

I just can't swim where the bottom is black or murky or I lose my mind. Also, I am totally out of shape, which becomes quite worrisome when I am entirely out of my depth and the nearest lifeguard is a football field away and probably not paying any attention to me, which only leads to more panic when I realize that if my crazy squid theories are true, I would never be able to out-swim one. But, as we all know, the only thing I need saving from is myself.

*I don't think these exist, and if they do, please don't tell me about it.

I have hit the wall

Every winter, I listen to people moan and complain about the snow and I internally yell at them, "Why do you f*cking live in VT, you moron?!" until somewhere around mid-March when I finally get completely worn down by the white stuff.

Now I have finally been beaten by the wet stuff. Yesterday was somewhat rough in the morning, but the rain ended in plenty of time for Sebastian's track and field and I got to do a few laps with a friend, so I managed to perk up a bit. Then I woke to the sound of yet another torrential downpour this morning.

I can't take it! It is water torture!

I stood at the window gazing mournfully at the soggy mess until Jeremy asked if I was "waiting for someone to swim by." Then I almost started crying when someone on the radio said "...former President James Garfield" and Sebastian said, "James Garfield?! He used to be President!" and Jeremy made some comment about my prison sentence was being trapped in the house in the rain with a 6 year old.

I have committed no crime. Why am I being punished?

Foiled again!

Yesterday I checked the radar, felt sufficiently confident that we had at least a couple of hours of "sun" and whisked the kids off to the lake. This year, the beach we go to has gotten a raft for everyone to dive from, much like the one that Clockwatcher and her man will remember from our trip to Ossipee.

Ever since I spotted the raft floating out beyond the last set of ropes, I have been dying to get out to it. So yesterday the kids wanted me to take them out there and I said we'd see if we could, but the conditions were not favorable, IE. Sebastian was whining about the cold, the lifeguards had abandoned the chair that is halfway to the raft, and I was smart enough to see the folly in taking 2 small children who cannot swim on their own way out into the water. So I took them back in, bundled them in towels, secured Amanda and Allegra's help in occupying my children and prepared myself for a quick swim out to the raft for one dive, and back to the beach.

That's all I wanted, but it was apparently too much to ask. I had one toe dipped in the water when [rumble rumble] and the lifeguard picks up the megaphone, "Thunder! Everyone out of the water!" prompting Allegra's husband to tell me that God did not want me to go to the raft. Now I know why I should have been going to church all these years.

************
And today's page-a-day calendar says:
If the first of July be rainy weather, ’Twill rain mair or less for forty days together.

Guess what it's doing today.