Too tired to blog — Wacky Boy is a handful. God love him, but he is a handful. He won’t eat. He punches the dog in the head. He leaves a trail of marbles behind him, wherever he goes. He’s like, a marble addict. I finally hid them all from him. He walks down the stairs with a Duplo bucket on his head. He’s had three concussions so far cuz he completely has No Fear. The only creature he loves in our household is Wacky Cat, who crawls into his bed and sleeps, even when Wacky Boy won’t. Here is Wacky Boy, 10 p.m., setting up a train track, overhead light turned on, singing his happy little Music Together songs, and here is Wacky Cat, peacefully snoring in the middle of the Hello Kitty comforter. (He borrowed it from his sister — it’s purple.)

He refuses to go to sleep until 11 at night, then flips out in the morning when you wake him up. Big surprise.

Yes, I get him up early, anyway, and no he doesn’t nap, and yes we do all of our cuddly little nighttime routines, right down to the music quietly playing, the books, the teddy bears, the snuggly blanket… (Although he did fall asleep in the car yesterday and I was so blissed out to not have him SCREAMING AT ME “NO, MOMMY! I SAY NO! I TAKE THE ‘NO’ TRAIN, MOMMY! KNOW WHY? CUZ I SAY NO!” (Direct quote.)

Walk me down, Jesus. I mean, help?

And Wacky Girl can’t breathe. Inhaler is helping a little. Wacky Daddy informed me last night of Report on News (so you know it’s true — ha) that stated the following: “Vacuuming doesn’t help.” Why? Because the little dust mites, the ones that make us sneeze and wheeze, are being eaten up by Bigger Version of Dust Mite, and THOSE are the ones that you vacuum up!

Fantastic news! All these years, I’ve thought I was helping her asthma by attempting to keep the house clean, and now I find I was only killing off the beneficial dust mites.

Everyone can kiss my ass. Present company excluded, of course.

love

WM

Oh — and two quotes of the day, from Wacky Mommy N:

“There are very few personal problems that cannot be solved by a
suitable application of high explosives”

OR

“I don’t have an attitude problem. You have a perception problem.”

I second that emotion.

So, if you tell The Internet about the fibroid tumors, polyps, possibly melon-sized Alien Growths in your uterus… well, you have to follow up.

THERE WAS NOTHING THERE! They did big intrusive owie “procedures” today, and the verdict?

“Your uterus is beautiful.” Awwww, say it again? I am pretty happy about this — over the moon, more like — but what the hell? So it was just this one little Human Oddity, apparently — snip, snip, done.

Fine with me. Hormonal upheaval? Yeah. What else is new?

Sorry for the scare, Internet.

xxox

WM

Contractors almost finished — they just have a railing to put up on the porch and are done.

Have been researching fibroids, ie — calling all my Wacky Girlfriends and saying “WTF?” and looking at scary pictures on the Internet.

Sometimes fibroids get as big as potatoes, sometimes as big as melons. Sometimes you have to have your uterus removed, along with Alien Growth, sometimes you stop growing them when you hit menopause, sometimes they just stay small and “hang out in there,” as one Wacky Girlfriend put it. Yeesh.

I need to go bake cookies now. Too depressed about this. Here’s a recipe:

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It’s not cancer. And the contractors are still here. And it’s started to rain, and the front end of our house is exposed to the elements and how are they supposed to paint the rest of the house, when it’s raining? WTF??? And…This post is not for the weak of heart.

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“Taught from infancy that beauty is woman’s sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.”

— Mary Wollstonecraft, reformer and writer (1759-1797)

My tiny, beautiful daughter has taken to saying “I’m fat!” lately. Not just once or twice, but at least four or five times. And those are just the times that her dad or I have heard her mention it.

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Yes, we have pinkeye again. The pets are not to blame for this one. Don’t read further if you’re eating…

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The Winterhawks lost tonight, 3-2 against the Everett Silvertips, in case anyone was wondering. It is a dark, bleak evening over here at Wacky Hockey House.

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Yes, Wacky Girl refers to “The Star-Spangled Banner” as “that song the girl sings at the hockey game.” This fractures me, as my Granny would say.

My dear friend A went back to school today, working on her pre-reqs in hopes of getting her nursing degree. SHE IS SO COOL! I am absolutely extremely proud of her and you should be, too. She works full-time, has three rowdyass sons (one of whom is my daughter’s Booty Dancing buddy), plus a rowdyass husband, and a household to run, family and community responsibilities, pets to feed, flower beds to weed and yadda-yadda and SHE WENT BACK TO SCHOOL!

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Wacky Daughter was asthma-attacking at 4 a.m., pobrecita.

I was volunteering in her classroom last week, and one of her buddies couldn’t stop coughing.

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What does it take to get over asthma? We’re doing the inhalers, taking our vitamins, trying to avoid flu and colds, which trigger it, and keeping the cats and dog out of the bedrooms (i know, i know, we should get rid of them, but the allergist sez Wacky Daughter isn’t allergic to them, at any rate, so it might not even help). We’ve torn up some of the carpets — and the latest carpet we ripped out lead us to the discovery of the Tilting House (see old blog entry for details), which we’re now realizing will cost us probably tens of thousands of dollars to repair.

because one thing leads to another.

because “as long as we’re at it” are the most dangerous words spoken when remodelling your home.

because we need to have more beams put in under Tilting House, which may crack the ugly stucco, or at least make a space between House and Stucco thus creating an Entryway for Milew and Crap. So, stucco must go. Once it’s down, we will find dry rot (we know we have some, just don’t know how much), thus necessitating repairing that, and then painting the whole house, and while we’re at it, why not knock a hole in the wall of the office and put in the french doors, leading to stairs to backyard, leading to patio (uh, we don’t actually have a patio out there, just grass, so we’ll have to build one) and… there ya go. Tens of thousands of dollars on this old lady of a house.

i love my house. We’ll just eat burritos all the time now, eh? And no more dinners out.