I'm Not Dead Yet

It's been a bleak couple days...scratch that, it's more like five days now...around here. We're all finally through the worst of it, I think. Kind of. I'm wearing actual pants today, at least. 

Jason and I came down with...whatever the unholy hell this was...on Thursday, while the boys held off until Sunday, but it's not like Jason and I were feeling any BETTER by Sunday, if anything we felt worse, since that was our solid third day of on-off fevers and hacking up lungs and headaches and congestion and basically having all of the strength of a pair of newborn, whiny-ass kittens. 

Oh. And then our television -- the good one, the not-at-all-old one, the TiVo-DVD-gaming-systems-connected one broke. Just: Poof. Pfft. Kaput. 

Right? It's downright unconstitutional, if you ask me. 

I called my OB on Friday once I realized that I was possibly suffering from the flu and not a cold, and he gave me a horribly unsatisfactory line-up of drug options, none of which did a single blessed goddamn thing, and eventually I gave up on taking them altogether and have essentially been self-medicating with nothing more than water, saline spray, Chapstick and moaning. 

(And yes, GOOGLE, I'm aware that I should have gotten the stupid flu shot. Thanks for providing me with no fewer than 1,324,029 search results saying just that when I went looking to see if I could maybe borrow some other pregnant-lady-on-the-Internet's doctor's list of better recommendations, because I got shafted, y'all. Tylenol. One punk-ass weak-sauce type of Robitussin. Whatthehell.)

(I tend to react badly to the stupid flu shot, for the record, and usually end up getting sick much more often the years I've gotten it.)

(Oh, fine. I can't even pretend I made any conscious decision about the flu shot at all, because I mostly just completely forgot about it, like two days ago it was September and now you're trying to tell me that it's JANUARY? You are high, good sir. GOOD DAY.)

Yesterday Jason became convinced that he was dying and went to see his doctor, who gave him some Sympathy Antibiotics, or possibly Just Get Out Of My Office You Diseased Person Antibiotics, even though I'm pretty sure none of us actually need antibiotics. We just need to construct a giant antibacterial hamster ball around our house. 

But not until we can get a new TV delivered. 

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Last week, the oncologist told my dad that it was officially time to stop the chemo. It still wasn't working. There was no reason to believe it would ever start working, now that he'd somehow soldiered on through three months of it, only to have the leukemia progress virtually unimpeded in the meantime.

My dad said, "Okay, now what do we try?"  

Tomorrow, "we" try a different chemo with a different drug. A drug my mom won't even tell me the name of, because she doesn't want me to Google it.

Today, I had an entirely different post saved in draft that I planned to publish. Today was always supposed to my the next entry in the series for the American Cancer Society More Birthdays campaign, and last week I decided to take a crack at getting that post written and out of the way ahead of time. "Last week," as in: "probably the day before that oncologist appointment, yeah, good timing, self." 

It wasn't a bad draft, or poorly timed or completely irrelevant -- I mean, when you're writing about your father dying of cancer, there are only so many shades of emotion or variations on not-exactly-good-news you can go with. But I deleted it anyway.

(And then I stared at the page for awhile wondering if I should undo that real quick, since I'm sick with some horrible flu or cold or flu-cold hybrid thing and so is Jason and Ezra is just getting over it but Noah's still running a fever and therefore my capacity for writing new content is pretty significantly diminished right now, Tylenol dipshit popsicle lightbulb.)

I deleted it because it wasn't about tomorrow. Which is all that's looming large right now. Everyone is scared. My mom just hopes the chemo won't do too much damage, and that they'll avoid an ER visit, and I'm skiddish of the same thing, because I don't know how many ER trips and hospital admissions my dad has left before he just won't get sent home, period.

No, the entry was about our visit with my dad over New Year's weekend -- a good visit, and one with a lot of conversation and jokes and I helped him download the new Tom Clancy book onto his Kindle and we talked about the new baby and how handsome Noah is and how Ezra is just as "cute as a button" and then Ezra blew him kisses as thanks for the compliment. 

One day those memories will be it, I know. And I'll probably wish I devoted pages of space to writing every single one of them down in more detail. 

But today, we still have tomorrow. Whatever it might be. The fact is our particular, specific tomorrow might not be that great. But dammit, we still have a tomorrow to write about in the first place. 

Deep breaths. More tomorrows. More birthdays. 

A Pregnant Woman's Ultimate Dream TV Wish List

Or, A List of TV Shows That Don't Actually Exist Yet, But Totally Should

Or Or, Why I Should Be In Charge of a Television Network Already

Or Or Or, Why I Should Probably Never Be In Charge of a Television Network

This post is brought to you by XFINITY from Comcast. Watch all your favorite shows from anywhere with XFINITY TV. The views expressed here are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of Comcast or its partners.

Life With Boys

1. While I cannot sufficiently EXPLAIN what is going on here, I am also not in the least bit surprised.

I mean, that's a toilet paper roll holder. What did you expect? Toilet paper? Bitch, please. 

2. Despite a rumored, God-given ability to AIM, I do not personally believe it. 

(photo of general toilet vicinity not included for the sake of human dignity and/or lunchtime, but SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS, it's not like they're expected to pee into a narrow little test tube here. IT'S A BIG OVALISH ROUND THING THAT I JUST CLEANED YESTERDAY GAAAAH.)

3. Some days, you are just going to feel like you are up to your eyeballs in boy bits. Some of these days may overlap with Laundry Day.

I'm sorry, but if you actually see an excavator on the first try, instead of, I DON'T KNOW, a pair of giant dangling yellow testicles, you are a better person than I am. 

Or maybe you have daughters. 

New Year, Same Crap, Now With Bonus CAPS LOCK

So. 2011. Another year, another realization that I missed my own blog's anniversary about a month or so ago...Thanksgiving-ish? December if we're waiting until I actually started posting anything other than entries that said stuff like TESTING TESTING IS THIS THING ON HA HA IT'S A BLOG BUT I'M TREATING IT LIKE A MICROPHONE OMG I AM LIKE THE MOST ORIGINAL PERSON TO EVER FIGURE OUT HOW TO ACCESS THE INTERNET? 

Anyway. Here I am, about to embark on my EIGTH YEAR of blogging, and I feel like the first entry of 2011 should be a good one. An important one. I should at least attempt to spell things mostly correctly. And I should have a really, really good topic. 

THINGS THAT ARE NOT GOOD TOPICS, PROBABLY

1) Bitching about the person who is selling a set of bunk beds on Craigslist for $150 yet has not responded to my email about wanting to buy said bunk beds. Which means they either enjoy keeping me in suspense OR they have already sold the bunk beds to someone else, someone else who does not DESERVE THEM like I do, who will not LOVE THEM like I will, so FINE, bunk-bed seller person, I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY WITH THAT MEASLY $150, though you should know I totally would have thrown in the extra $50 you mentioned for the mattresses, provided they weren't like, gross or smelly or anything. Nothing but the best for MY preshus ruffians. 

1a) Unless you just haven't checked your email yet today. In that case I take it all back. Pick me! I am not at all the unhinged sort of person who gets completely hysterical over used furniture deals on Craigslist or anything, oh no. 

1b) I can come get them tonight! Just sent me your home address. Uh-huh. Do it. 

2) I have a cold. I would literally crush a set of solid maple bunk beds with my bare hands right now, if it meant I could take some goddamn Advil Cold & Sinus instead of all these various safe-for-pregnancy remedies that are not doing a goddamn thing. 

2a) First person who suggests a Neti Pot gets sold on Craigslist.

2b) Seriously, if it's not used in a meth lab, I DON'T WANT IT. WAH.

3) So remember that time I ran out of gas and didn't have my wallet and did a whole bunch of other dumb shit all in a shockingly narrow timeframe? And still found time to worry about Noah's bus driver getting mad at me because I didn't manage to call the dispatch depot to tell them we weren't going to be home in time?

3a) Well! I WAS TOTALLY RIGHT ABOUT THAT, because today the bus pulled up in front of our house, and waited NOT EVEN 30 SECONDS before pulling away and gunning it down the street. I literally turned away from the window to zip up Noah's coat -- with no bus in sight -- and then turned back around and BAM. There was the bus, hightailing it away from our house. I didn't even hear the brakes squeal, that high-pitched squeal that jolts me awake in a panic every Tuesday morning at 7 am because the garbage truck's brakes make the same squeal and I flip out because THE BUS THE BUS THE BUS IS FIVE HOURS EARLY AND I AM UNPREPARED FOR IT. 

3b) The bus also usually gives us a courtesy honk if we're not out there when it pulls up. But clearly, those days are over, because of That Time I Didn't Call I Just Know It. I shall now totally resume my regular topographical surveys of my backyard to inspect for possible volcano lumps. 

3c) Or maybe because I didn't give the bus drivers a Christmas gift? Are you supposed to give bus drivers Christmas gifts? Don't answer that. I don't really want to know. Besides, there are FOUR OF THEM, including ride-on aides, plus a bajillion alternates, and I don't really know what all their names are and frankly the pick-up people are kind of rude and scary and Noah has five regular teachers PLUS therapists and art and P.E. and I feel like the gift card/cookie basket madness had to end SOMEWHERE, but then they gave Noah a card and a miniature candy cane a couple days before the holiday break and I was like, "BAIT. GIFT CARD BAIT. BAH HUMBUG."

3d) So I had to drive Noah to school. Luckily, I was actually dressed, though it wasn't until we got there and I was mid-rant to his teacher about I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED I SWEAR WE WERE RIGHT THERE BY THE WINDOW THE WHOLE TIME IT CAME EARLY AND THEN DROVE AWAY SO FAST BLAH BLIBBITY CRAZY LADY TALK that I realized I was still wearing my bedroom slippers.

4) Yep. 2011 is pretty much shaping up to be exactly the same as the last eight years or so. Personal growth and development are for suckers.

5) PLEASE PRETEND I HAD A FIFTH THING THERE. WHY CAN'T MY LISTS EVER JUST HAVE FIVE THINGS ON THEM TO BEGIN WITH?  GOD.