life with WE

Oh I will make sure they do not misunderstand!

Monday I went to the dermatologist.  I have some millia on my face that are bugging me and I also have had these spots on my arms forever that are now spreading randomly on my arms and legs.  And when I say forever, I mean it.  The main part is from like when I was 8.  A pediatrician looked at it once and said, "were you burned?"  Nope.  I've had two other dermatologists check it out - they said nothing.  One biopsied it and said nothing, and the spot came back.  This doc looks at it, calls it some latin name and says it's precancerous but no major cause for concern because it is not raised nor is it bleeding.  However, we should try and remove them.  Sweet.

There are two options to go about doing this.  One is freezing them off which is painful and will definitely leave a white spot.  The second is to try and treat them with a topical cream which will take much longer and might not work, but will not hurt and is worth a shot.  Sold.  Then comes the kicker.

"The cream is actually what is used to treat genital warts, but do not worry, it is FDA approved for this treatment as well.  And you don't have to worry, the pharmacists will not think you have genital warts becuase the prescription will be from me and it will say to apply to your arms," the doc said.

I replied, "oh I know they won't think I have genital warts because when I drop the presciption off, I'm going to announce to everyone in the pharmacy that I do NOT have genital warts!"

"Well, that will work too."

So I dropped off the prescription, made my announcement to the gal behind the counter (who giggled) and carried on about my day.  I went to pick it up and my copay was 10 bucks.  I read the pamphlet about the possible side effects and whatnot (you are supposed to do that people!) and then found the part where it says the 'your insurance saved you'.  Yeah.  According to them, my insurance saved me 609 dollars.  Six hundred and nine dollars people for one very small tube of medication.  That speaks poorly to our healthcare system which I will not get into because ugh, who wants to start that discussion?  But it also speaks volumes to those not practicing safe sex.  Because if you are going to sleep around and wind up with genital warts, you had BETTER have some good insurance. 

I'm just saying.

Say cheese!

Today is school picture day.  My kids would refer to it differently.  Elaine would call it 'the day I wish my hair was curly and then pitch a fit because it isn't and my mom won't buy me a fabulous new dress'.  Warren would call it 'the day my mom tortures me by making me wear a shirt with a collar which clearly sucks the life out of me one breath at a time'.  (I didn't make him do it.  I opted for a clean t-shirt.  Mom of the freaking year here!)

In addition to my kids' troubles with picture day, I have my own issues with it.  Have you seen the prices of school picture packages these days?  It's insane!  And the photos aren't that great, but you have to buy something and ohmygawd why do I need three different sized wallets and some of them personalized?  Why do I need giant posters with calendars on the bottom in bright silver?  And the retouching?  Let's not even bring up the retouching.  This is elementary school.  What do we need to retouch?  I'm quite sure you can't retouch the missing random baby teeth and having some adult teeth awkwardness.  If you did, well, it wouldn't look like your kid, now would it?  And not paying for the retouching saves me about a bazillion dollars.

When did I become an old lady who complains about the price of school pictures?  It's not even my birthday yet.  By Monday I'll be old enough to complain on a regular basis.  Oh  my hip is acting up again.  School pictures these days.  Back when I was a kid...

Until then, I'll just take out a second mortgage on the house so I can have the ultimate school picture package for each of my darling children, complete with retouching and whatnot.

Hooray for Wednesday!

Today might be my favorite day in awhile.

It's an ugly, overcast, muggy, hot, rainy Wednesday.  Just a plain old Wednesday.

But today rocks.  Because today, I have NOTHING on my schedule.  Nothing.  No work, no sports, no volunteer commitments, and Mike is not out of town.  As an added bonus, there is no lice to be dealt with.  Today is a true stay at home mom day.  And although the house is dirty, the laundry needs to be done and I have a to do list a mile long; I am sitting here watching my DVR'd shows and drinking my second cup of coffee.  I'm ignoring that to do list.  I'm ignoring that nagging feeling that I need to get stuff done.  And instead, I'm smiling.  And relaxing.  And I feel as if I have found me again.

Hi me.  It's been awhile.  How I've missed me.  Me, the one who laughs and enjoys life. 

I think I might read a book today.  Or scrapbook.  Or take a walk.  Or take a nap.

I love this Wednesday.  Life can wait for me for one day.

It's different, but kind of the same.

At age 25, I found myself in loud bars.  Loud, dark bars with music playing too loudly.  But at that age, I didn't mind.  I thought the music level was just right.  I' was at the bar with my girlfriends for a girls' night out.  We would attempt serious conversation gathered around a table with poor lighting, shouting over the loud music.  We'd complain about our jobs, we'd talk about our significant others, plan our futures.  And after chatting/shouting for awhile and consuming a few drinks, we'd dance our troubles away.  At the end of these nights, I always felt better (if not tipsy).  I belonged to a group.  A group that got me and knew how I needed to unwind.  Those girls got me.

Now at age 35 (for only one more week -yikes) I find myself in the same, yet different place.  Just yesterday, I was not in a bar, but instead in a pizza place/arcade dealie for Elaine's classmate's birthday party.  It was dark.  Almost bar dark, but the lighting was strange.  Flashing neon lights from games, ultraviolet black lights everywhere.  The music was way too loud, and the frequent announcements over the intercom were garbally at best.  The games were flashing, making tons of sound at levels that gave serious challenge to the too loud overhead music.  I fought back the impending headache, and complained like an old person.  "It is soooo loud in here!  Could they stop those flashing lights?"  Elaine siddled up to a girl from her class and they plotted out their path through the games.  First bumper cars, and then bowling, and then let's play the feed the dog game.  They linked arms and led us moms with them.  I found myself commisserating with her friend's mom for the next two hours.  So here I am, again, in a dark, loud place shouting to be heard; to vent, to listen, to understand.  I'm not drinking alcohol, instead I'm drinking an overpriced fountain soda.  We discuss the challenges of raising six year old girls - the highs, the lows.  We smile as we watch our daughters run through the place, laughing and giggling and having a great time.

And somehow, when it's over, and I'm out of there - in the quiet and the sunshine - I realize that I feel relaxed.  Because that woman, who's name I still don't know - she got me.

I'm following you. And no, I don't mean on Twitter.

Looking for inspiration, I found a writing prompt generator.  One of the prompts was:

If you could follow someone around (and remain unseen) for the day, who would it be?

I would love to follow A LOT of different people.  But my first instinct was to follow my kids for a day.  I'd like to see from their point of view what it's like when they get ready for school, go to school and then come home.  I have a fairly good idea of what goes on all day for them, but you know, I'd like to see it first hand.  While following them, I  would want to hear their interal monologues as well.  I'd want to see if Warren ever stops thinking or worrying or wondering.  I'd want to know if Elaine sings pop songs inside her head all day long and daydreams of unicorns and purple and pink fairies.  I'd like to hear what they think as I come in the room to wake them up.  "Wow, mom has horrible breath and crazy hair!  Why does she come in here so dang cheery each morning?"

I'd like to follow my husband around.  I'd like to watch him handle the stresses of his job and see how he changes into relaxed Mike when he comes home at the end of the day.  I alrealy am sympathetic to how hard it must be to manage people, and deal with bosses and customers and employees and whatnot, but I could be even more sympathetic if I witnessed it.

I'd like to follow our school principal around.  I wonder how many calls from parents she gets each day.  I wonder if she ever sits for a minute and just surfs the net to take a mental break.  I don't think she does, there doesn't seemto be much time.

I'd like to follow our president around for a day.  I have no clue the number of tasks he has to do a day.  Do you think he keeps his to-do list in a notebook with a Papermate pen?  Do you think he types emails all day?  Makes phone calls?  Do his kids run into his office after school and can he take a break to chat with them about their day?  When do they eat dinner?  And does he keep his blackberry on the table while he does that?

I'd like to follow Tina Fey and Amy Poehler around for the day.  Are they as funny as I think they are?  Do they giggle and laugh all day and write witty comedy sketches? Are they looking for a new friend?  I am so there!

I'm sure there are more people I'd love to follow around.  What about you? 

Still here.

I'm still here.  Just busy.  And looking for inspiration. 

You got any?

That's two days in a row of being egg free.

Dare I say it?

I think the bugs are gone.  (Knock on wood.)

Those no good lice.  Those head eating, itch causing, egg laying fools seem to be gone.  I would dance a dance of joy, but I'm scared it's too good to be true.

So instead I am quietly celebrating.  And I'm crossing my fingers, saying a prayer, making a wish whatever that the eggs and bugs stay gone.

I'm so doing the follow up treatment Friday just to be safe.

May your children NEVER get lice.  And if by chance they do, email me.  I'll talk you through it.

Now I had best get started on my lice thesis.

I am so done with this, but it is so NOT done with me.

When this whole lice epidimic is done, I'm going to write some sort of thesis paper on it.  Perhaps I will dub myself Queen De-Louser, or offer a support group for mothers of children with head lice.  There will need to be alcohol and brownies at the support group meeting.  Perhaps alcohol-laced brownies?

Yes people, it is still going on.  I think it will be going on for awhile.  I now have gotten prescription medication for my kids, which stank to high heaven but is the only one on the market that kills lice eggs.  But dead eggs do not remove themselves, therefore the nit-picking lives on.  Viva la nit-picking and the lice revolution!

Elaine is out of patience.  I am out of patience.  Warren had three eggs one time and is out of patience.  I am quite certain I have put on about 5 pounds during this lice outbreak because eating is a way of easing the pain!  Normally I would prefer a drink or two or twenty, but you can't see lice eggs if you are intoxicated.  Dangit.

But seriously, the amount of information out there is ridiculous.  Some good, some bad.  Conflicting words of wisdom.  Non-pesticide remedies which may or may not work.  Modern information that totally trumps the older information.  Yet you can't help but want to do all of it just to make it go away!  And yet the main question I have is still unanswered.  Why do I keep finding an egg or two?  Did I miss them or are they growing?  I am confident there are no longer any live bugs on her head.  It seems to me that the egg would need to get larger to accomodate the bug inside of it trying to grow.  Makes sense, no?  And yet - nothing.

I think the title of my paper will be something along the lines of, "So your kid has lice?  No, you are not dirty people!  Remain calm, have a drink and sit for a moment.  You are in for a long ride and right now those lice aren't going anywhere.  And yes, it is horrifically gross to think of bugs crawling on your child's head eating them and laying eggs to hatch more bugs.  Go ahead and puke in your mouth just a bit.  There there, it'll be okay."

It's a working title.  But you get the idea.

But you are smart! Why won't you listen to me?

I have this daughter.

This voracious, in your face, cute as a freaking button, hilarious, fun-loving, thrill-seeking, social butterfly, dancing, singing daughter.  She is not lacking in the self confidence department.  She thinks she's all that and a bag of chips, and we do nothing to tell her otherwise.  "I'm a good singer," she'll say.  "I'm as good as Taylor Swift!  Just listen to me!"  She loves to check herself out in the mirror.  She'd prefer to wear a dress every day of her life, and is saddened that I don't let her because hello?  PE and recess people! 

Said daughter has been mentioning on a somewhat regular basis that she is not smart.  One of the most recent quotes from her was, "God did not make me smart." 

People.  It was like she took my heart out, threw it on the ground, stomped all over it, punched me in the face and then walked away.  (Dramatic, no?  But for real, it stung.)

I insist that she is smart.  I tell her so.  I point out how many things she's learned and what she can do.  She says, "Warren is smart and I am not."  Mike tells her she's smart.  We compliment her on her schoolwork, encourage her, cheer her on.  And still she claims that she is not smart.

I asked her why she would say that.  What could make her think that.  She told me, "people say it.  People say I am not smart."  I asked who.  WHO would dare say that about my  baby girl?  I told her whoever said it was a liar and that telling someone they are not smart is certainly NOT an okay thing to do.  I'm not sure if I believe that anyway.

I had no idea we'd be dealing with this type of thing with her.  No idea.  If anything, I thought I'd have to one day stop her from trying out for American Idol or something and then I would gently let her know that yes, I think she's a great singer, but Simon Cowell probably would not.  And yet here we are.  Age 6, and the self-doubt is creeping in.  My confident diva is not so confident.

Time to build her back up.  But what else can we do aside from tell her a million times a day that she's smart?

The honeymoon is over

Remember the bliss that was cooperative and helpful kids?  If you can't, you can read about that joyous time here.

Yeah, it's gone.  LONG GONE.  As in we must fight and be sassy every morning to each other and to our mother.  We must argue about who has more cereal, who's biting their spoon, and who gets what in their lunch.  Dinner is still relatively okay as is the showering and getting to bed on time.  But the mornings?  Oh the mornings.  They are bleh.

Toss in lice issues and a husband out of town for the second week in a row?

You've got yourself one crazy momma!