Ruminating about the essence of sheep

 One of my wool dryer balls hopped out of the dryer and skittered back into the no-man’s-land between the dryer and the washer. Into the dust. Into the dog hair. Where I couldn’t easily reach to rescue it. 

It got me wondering, “is it in the nature of sheep to get lost? Is that the essence of sheep, even once they’ve donated to become dryer balls, to determinedly get themselves separated and lost? Wherefore doest thou thinkest that thou is going?”

It reminded me of one of my favorite kid stories. One of our boys was in the high chair at our old house and we were poking Cheerios, chasing them around the tray of the high chair. I’d purposely pop them to bounce a little and say, “hey! Get back here!” It made the little guy giggle and so I kept doing it. Eventually I had to wander off to clean something up and I hear, “hey! Hah-bat-choo! Hey! Hah-bat-choo!” That was as close as he could get to “hey, get back here” and we still use the phrase regularly at our house. 

I confess to exclaiming it to my prodigal dryer ball. 

Don’t be that dude. Stay with your herd. Or flock. Or whatever you call a collection of dryer balls.

That works in life, too, you know. Find your tribe and bless ‘em! And speaking of tribes, a belated very happy 80th birthday to one of my parents’ besties! Thanks for being part of our tribe for decades. We are better people because of your friendship. Love you!

3700

 No, that's not an amount for a bill for any of my surgeries or chemo or insurance for driving Ori onto rocks, though good guesses all. That's the number of posts on this blog! Can you even believe it? It's like I have something to say... or something. Who'd have thought? (Nana, in the afterlife, is chuckling to herself and snarking, "anybody who ever met you! Are you kidding? All those times I had to separate you from Tammy at nap time because you wouldn't stop talking?!" Yes, well, there is that.

I'm sort of just checking in. I miraculously have zero doctors' appointments this week and am on the upswing after mostly a week of chemo crumminess. To say I'm not looking forward to next week's treatment is an understatement of epic proportions. However, it IS nice to know that I will sort of be feeling myself come Christmas, AND the AC part of chemo will be over with. Hooray! Merry Christmas to ME! As they used to say in karate, "LAST ONE, BEST ONE" though I'm not sure that quite applies here as the results are cumulative and I felt like... well, to quote our youngest, "dogwater" would be pretty applicable. I'm not sure if he means dog pee or the scum in their drinking water from their backwash because I'm afraid to ask, but either way, yeah, that kinda fits. To have the inside of your mouth feel sandblasted, to have the chemical roiling of your stomach, to feel like you've been dragged through solidifying cement with the accompanying pounding of your heart when all you've done is climb up a single set of stairs... I'd say dogwater fits. 

Yes, I am taking my anti nausea meds, though I could take more of them, though they come with their own side effects and I'd rather limit all that nonsense. Yes, I'm climbing back into bed (YAY, BED!) at every opportunity. I'm even feeling less guilty about it because my brain knows healing is hard work even though my spirit wants to Go Do Stuff. My Lisa says, "go back to bed for all of us who can't!" I figure I'm taking one for the team. Teehee. I should be drinking more, so if you talk to me, ask where I am water-wise and tell me to go take some sips. *Reaches for her glass of water whilst rolling her eyes* 

No, our Christmas tree isn't up yet, but our wreaths are, so that's progress. At this rate, once we get it up it might have to stick around until my birthday. Those of you who know us are asking, "how is that different from any other year?" Hush, you. 

For those of you asking about meals for us, bless your sweet hearts. As I was telling my friend the other day, food is tricky right now, though this week should be better. Dada is still doing no carbs, the kids are pretty much all carbs, and I am absolutely all over the map like a pregnant woman. I will have a sliced baby cucumber. Then an hour later maybe cheese and crackers. Then another hour after that perhaps a little bit of meat or some peanut butter toast. Last night I was eating single Cheerios out of the box, one after another, while I watched TV. For lunch, I plan to devour an entire head of butter lettuce* with veggies and cheese and croutons (Thing Three is at school so I'll only have to fend off Thing Two since Thing One doesn't emerge for awhile yet) and maybe a can of tuna on it and it is going to be DELICIOUS and then my mouth won't feel like I've licked a salty camel straight from the Sahara. 

*In a text from Dada, that came out "butthead" lettuce so we will be henceforth calling it that.

All in all, and my doc is in agreement with this, I'm doing well. It doesn't always FEEL like that, but as I'm also not praying to the porcelain god, I'll take it. I may look like a drunken sailor on land who is using the wall with one hand to stay stable, but I'm still moving, thank you, Jesus. Today I'm actually on my second load of laundry**, have swept the kitchen floor, made phone calls which I despise (who's with me- where are my "I'd rather die than talk on the phone" peeps?), renewed Pepe's license plate, got some mail ready to go out, and some other stuff. I'm hogging 2/3 of the couch with paperwork and have displaced Thing Two completely. I have a pile of Stuff on the floor in the Old Lady Room that I need to deal with, but we are getting there.

** The second load is dog towels and blankets. Miss Honey, who will be at least 10ish years old this week, relieved herself on the hall rug before Thanksgiving and we didn't have time to deal with it other than baking soda and vacuum it before we travelled, so we lugged it outside where the weather could rain and snow on it to it's heart's delight. We brought it in a few days ago, still smelling of baking soda. The Idiot Bos decided to lick it in a bunch of places last evening while we were having dinner, then proceeded to barf on a different rug when his stomach realized it couldn't digest dog hair, dirt, and baking soda. Hence the load of towels. How he can manage to NOT throw up rat poison when he needs to but CAN vomit other stuff remains a mystery. Dumber than a box of rocks. Seriously. That's insulting to rocks. He's no smarter now than he was when we got him 7.5 years ago. Somebody save us. I am never picking out a dog again. And if Honey doesn't quit pooping on the deck, I am going to ask Santa not FOR a dog, but to kindly take both of ours!

So I'm off to make my salad. Have a wonderful hump day!

As if there weren't enough snacks already in the house

 this one is totally on me. we had fresh cheerios and i'd snagged a big bag of M&M's for multiple recipes (which have yet to materialize, but hush) and since peanut butter is an everyday staple in our house, i made a batch of happy trails mix. 

what is happy trails mix, you ask?

it was discovered by one lisa and one val at camp lambec one rather chilly summer night around a campfire when friends were frying fresh caught fish from lake erie. they offered us some, but as we'd smuggled these ingredients to camp and had pilfered a big metal bowl from the dining hall, we declined. however, there is no chance of pouring m&m's into a metal bowl quietly and we soon had everyone's attention even though the firelight was the only light around. it was delicious out there in the cool of the evening and it's just as good inside.

here is the recipe, which runs much more like old-timey recipes with absolutely no unit measurements that make me nuts than the precision kind i prefer.

step one: dump your m&m's in a biggish bowl (you will need room to stir)

step two: pour in enough cheerios to cover M&M's and then a little more

step three: spoon a fist sized glob of peanut butter in there

step four: get messy. mix with a utensil or your hands

step five: enjoy and refrigerate any leftovers covered. it's also good chilled! it might even hold together better that way.

this is one of my favorite snacks and i'd love to mail it (some assembly required) to loved ones, but to ship peanut butter would be expensive so it's easier to buy and make your own. maybe when there's not christmas cookies hogging every surface, cookie dough in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and candy canes everywhere you turn. 

like in march, say. 

On duty

I came downstairs this morning just after six and ended up face to face with a certain Resident Middle Schooler with an oatmeal cream pie cookie in each hand, one partially eaten. He gazed at me a minute, maybe the slightest bit sheepishly, then held up the unopened cookie as he asked, "can I take this one in my lunch?" 

Maybe I'm hard hearted, but I looked him in the eye and replied, "It looks like you're already having dessert. I'd have said 'yes' if you weren't already having cookies for breakfast."

Wonder of wonders, he didn't complain, but put the unopened one back and didn't even finish the half eaten one until after he'd finished his cereal. Granted, I didn't check the pockets of his pajama pants so there's a possibility that there are other snacks stuffed away, but overall I was relieved with the amount of drama I didn't have to deal with before I'd even made coffee.

I'm pretty sure that my guardian angel was on duty and HAD had their coffee because I came to a full stop before I poured Damon's Cheerios into my full mug of coffee. Full stop. "Wait. That would be bad." As though my angel had slapped a hand over the top of my mug. 

Bos's angel was undoubtedly on duty this morning. We walk Damon out to the bus on leash, then once the bus is gone and we're turned around facing the house, I take the leash off and he runs a bit before we head in to give him his breakfast. I had him sit, like every time, and I turned his head towards the house and towards me three times. Then I unhooked him and he took off sideways, which was fine, but then stopped as if he was trying to decide if he should roll in something. I headed for him, and Cottonballs-For-Brains heads straight for the road.

Our stretch of road is at the very edge of the city limits, so the speed limit is 50 mph. This dumbhead dog ignored me calling him and circled right up to the edge of the road. The car that was coming was just slow enough that it didn't have to swerve as he finished his circle, or perhaps it didn't even see him, but either way he headed towards me with no apparent remorse. I clicked that leash back on and told him his morning run out front privileges have been revoked, which is a shame as he's too fat, but this dog just can not be trusted. I know he's not even two yet, but goodness, I sure hope he grows a brain! Fool. 

In other news, Thing1 has an art show tonight, so eventually there will be pictures of that extravaganza. Have a great day!

It's the End of the World as We Know It...

How did it get to be July already? This year is flying by. We've been out of school for a month now, and the house looks like there are three kids living here. Oh wait...

Yesterday we had a day. I could have sworn it was Monday. We had karate at 10, which means getting Carrie out of bed at 9 (we need to leave at 9:30ish) since she's turned into a teenager this summer. She staggers downstairs, dumps Cheerios into and out of her bowl so that they're all over the counter, didn't hear/ignored the caution that, "it's raining today, so wear your flip flops instead of your good sandals", and makes it into the car...

We make it to karate. Damon puts his flip flops in the locker room, they have class, he goes to find his shoes and- lo and behold- he can only find one flip flop. I know that he wore both of them in there, so I send him back to hunt for it. He comes out again wearing just one. I send him back again, and this time one of the instructors goes along to help him find it. Apparently, it has been tossed over the storage closet. Interesting. And the poor instructor relays the following message: I can get it for you, but it is going to take awhile. It's pretty crowded back there. I said, "we'll be back Thursday. Thank you."

So we leave with the One-Footed Wonder.

Good thing there's a Once Upon A Child right across the street. We found a new-to-us pair of sturdy sandals that strap over the top of his foot and around his ankle, and he loves them.

Proceed to the library. And lunch at Bob Evans with Dada. Then to Kroger. Then to Aldi. Then finally home.

Last night Dada was singing R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)", which you could youtube if you are unfamiliar with the tune, when Damon retorted with much indignation, "you don't know that!" Even though the kids don't know the song, it cracked all of us up. I didn't even know he had been paying attention to what was going on, but he sure mustered up his disgust about the possibility of the end of the world. Yes, it's on the new quote board.

I realize that's all just Carrie and Damon. Let's just say that Thing Two has been out of sorts recently, but it hasn't been his fault as there's been no structure or routine this summer and that's on me. Throw in a holiday weekend to lose any remaining sense I had of "what day is it, anyway?" and a deck that desperately needed stained before the rains began again and the overdue library books because, again, "what day is it, anyway?" ... you get the picture. It ain't pretty.

But hey, it's summer! We're staying up too late and sleeping in (well, Carrie is, anyway. Little Miss slept until noon on Monday) and goofing off. We're reading books, swatting mosquitoes, chasing frogs, rescuing toads*, scratching mosquito bites, running the dishwasher every single day since almost all of us are eating 3 meals here daily, moving from one mess to another to another, getting band aids on our bloody mosquito bites, doing karate, watching movies, finishing The Return of the King, using our pool pass, and arguing with each other while we reopen scabs from mosquito bites.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine. Except for the mosquito bites.

Is it just me, or are they terrible this summer!?

*We've named the toad "Abre" because it means "open" in Spanish. We've found him sitting in the kennel, sitting in front of the inside of the garage door, hiding behind the recycling bin, and sliding across the newly stained deck because the water now puddles on top the way it's supposed to. He always looks like, "someone please let me out. Please? Abre! I don't have opposable thumbs!"