That feeling when you've de-fluffed and de-squeaked your favorite toy and haz ragrets.
I suppose it's reassuring that the Internet is still the Internet, even after all these years. Dissecting bloggers' finances when they dare put up a donate button or Amazon wishlist or whatever (LOOK AT THAT GRUBBY FREELOADER BUYING STARBUCKS!) is a tale as old as 2003. I get it! I really do. But...it's my kid. My Ike. I owe it to him to do EVERYTHING I can to get him the best help possible, even if that means being the tacky-ass mommyblogger asking people who also care about Ike or enjoy reading about him would like to help him in this very specific way for this very specific purpose.
(But it's okay if the answer is no! I won't pack up my blog and go home or anything.)
I know I should just be like, whatever, but I found myself arguing with the shower wall this morning: The Vegas anniversary trip had been planned for (and saved for) for almost five full years. (We also tacked it on Jason's business trip to save on airfare and hotel.) We went super-cheap on our beach vacation (hence the whole "getting locked outside by a defective sliding door" incident) and all the home renovations were done with a home equity loan. The tattoos...yeah, you got me there. I spent some of my money on tattoos. Again, though;
We do live comfortably but by no means extravagantly, and also assumed Ike would get similar service levels through the school as Noah. Now we're not so sure, and the private specialized programs around here are similar in cost to the monthly rent on my first couple of apartments and don't take insurance. So, you know, GAHBAHODHDFOENFOJEHFSSHIIIIIT.
(I am also trying to follow everybody's pleading advice about asking for help when I need it. But maybe I'm only allowed to ask for thoughts and prayers? Casseroles? I don't know the rules!)
You MAY ALSO NOTICE, however, that there is no donate button, because in the last 24 hours two of my corporate clients reached out with brand-new projects and asked to gobble up every last one of my outstanding hours. Yay!! So everybody can just chill the fuck out.
(I still love you, everybody, and still think I have the nicest readers just about anywhere on the Internet. Y'all look so pretty, too.)
(Update: The people have spoken. There's a damn button. I'm sorry if it ruins your day.)