Somewhat slow on the home front this week. Boredom is highly underrated. I like boredom. Boredom means no one is having a crises. No one is freaking out. No one is bothering me.
That sounds terrible doesn’t it? I don’t like it when people bother me. I figure, now that I am over fifty, I can concentrate on being eccentric.
****WARNING. MY POLITICAL VIEWS WILL NOW BE STATED. IF YOU DON’T WANT PISSED OFF, QUIT READING NOW ***
There, the legal stuff is dealt with LOL.
As to the fires in S. California. I used to live in California. I remember when the protesting moonbats wouldn’t let the Cali Dept of Forestry do any more controlled burns because the kangaroo rat would have their environment toasted.
So now, WE have OUR environment toasted. I feel bad for those who lost family and homes.
Here’s a thought. DON’T F’ING REBUILD THERE. GO SOMEWHERE ELSE.
And, when you do, get rid of all the underbrush and burnable stuff under the trees. It is a proven fact that clearing underbrush can and will keep a fire from spreading to your home. Put in a freaking rock garden or something to look at. Keep the burnable stuff far away from your home.
As to the VA changing the flag ceremony. STOP IT. Go back to the way it was. Veterans (and I and my husband are both veterans) deserve it. We want it. Leave it the f alone !!!
As to the environment.
Yes, we are getting warmer. Yes, we are probably contributing to it. Did we cause it? NO. Global warming has happened over and over on this green earth, and it was happening long before the industrial revolution.
Here’s a thought. They have already developed the hydrogen fuel cell. Why don’t we send all the research funds to making it affordable and portable. Quit funding shit that isn’t working????
Then why don’t we make the fuel cell affordable for everyone, in cars and in homes. The only product of a hydrogen fuel cell is oxygen. Hellooooooooooo.
As to the Hurricane devastated areas. And the earthquake devastated areas. And the flood prone devastated areas.
You knew before you moved there it would happen. And, then, when it did…OH MY GOSH!! WE GOT FLOODED (QUAKED, WIND DAMAGED, BURNED, TORNADOED).
Can you spell stupid? Move. Don’t rebuild. MOVE. And don’t get pissed at me. I have lived in Florida, Hawaii, California and Texas.
Guess what? I DO NOT live their anymore. They have too many potential threats to my health and well being.
I found a place where I could live fairly safely, barring ACTS OF GOD. Hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, forest fires and floods are NOT acts of God. They are acts of nature and the natural progression of our earth’s changing.
If you choose to live there, then quit bitching and whining when you get flooded, burned, quaked, etc. You bought your ticket, and you knew what you were getting into.
As to the war.
Find Bin Laden. Kill bin Laden.
Take care of Iran. Tell them to straighten up and stop pointing missiles at us. Do not tolerate that from any country EVER.
Terrorists are NOT nice people Rosie O’Donnell. And Rosie O’Donnel is a moonbat.
Tell Chavez to stop or suffer the consequences and do NOT buy Citgo Gas. It comes from Venezuala. Also, do not let him EVER back into our country. And, by the way, tell all the Hollywood idiots who keep going down there to visit the little mini Hispanic Hitler to MOVE THERE and GET THE HELL OUT OF THE UNITED STATES, THEY DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE.
As to the elections.
Please God, do NOT let Hillary be the next president.
Alrighty then. How many of you did I piss off?
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" /> Cows are Stupid and so are Kids
I guess I am wandering down memory lane. Perhaps, raising two more children has brought to mind a few lessons learned in my childhood. Lessons, I might add, that would probably send the lesson teacher to jail today, however, they were GOOD lessons, fair lessons, and lessons which I believe helped me to achieve the status called adulthood.
The year was 1964. I was living with my grandparents. I had a bedroom in the basement, which I absolutely loved.
My bed was lumpy and covered with extremely heavy quilts. Homemade quilts. It was cold in the basement. To this day, I require heavy blankets and cold sheets to sleep well LOL.
My jobs around the farm were many and varied. I had to get up in the morning and milk the cow. Feed and clean the stall, then get ready for school. At nine years old. Doesn’t really seem fair, but I didn’t question it then, nor do I really now. It was not hard work, but it was work.
I arose at about 5:30 a.m. Got my overalls on, boots, and grabbed the two by four piece by the basement stairs.
Any farmer will understand the two by four. You kept it in the back pocket of your overalls. The two by four was roughly 18 inches long.
I would go out to the barn which wasn’t very far from the back door. Go into the stall. Say a gruff good morning to the stupid cow. All cows are stupid. Trust me. Unless they are a calf and want out of the fence. Then they are smart.
She would moo softly back at me in the predawn dark. I would hit the light switch, a bare bulb hanging just north of the stall. Walk through the muck from the night before and grab the pitchfork. Muck out the stall, and then grab the hose and wash both the stall floor and the cow down.
I would grab the disinfectant and the paper towels. Wipe the udders off. Move around the bulky cow and grab the milk pail. Rinse it out with diluted bleach water, then hot water again. Then wash my hands.
Grab the milking stool. As soon as she saw the milking stool, she would get agitated. You’d think (but you’d be wrong) that she would be grateful that I was going to relieve her of the incredible pressure that she must have been feeling. Having breast fed my children, I can certainly empathize with her.
But no, she was never a cooperative cow. Not her. I would place the milking stool down on the side of the cow and sit on it, putting the stainless steel bucket under her udders. She would start shifting her weight.
I would reach up and grab the first two udders. I would milk them for a few, then switch to the other two, figuring I would relieve all the pressure first. A good idea.
At some point, the shifting of her legs would become more pronounced. When I saw her weight shift to the far legs, I would reach into my back pocket and grab the two by four.
No, I wasn’t going to hit her.
But as soon as I saw her start to lean, I would whip up the two by four and place it perpendicular to the stall wall and the cow, thereby rendering the situation safe for me. See, she would consistently and consciously try to smash me against the side of the stall. Every single day.
And every single day I would thwart her efforts with my trusty two by four piece. The 18” of wood saved me from a 2,000 pound squashing.
Then, I would carry the milk pail into the house, go back outside, feed the ungrateful milk producer and go back into the house, where I would clean up and get ready for school.
Leaving for school, I would grab the trash and take it out to the burn barrel and the trash can. Then I would get on the bus.
One night, about 3 AM, I was awoken by a bag of garbage dropped unceremoniously on my chest, in bed.
My grandfather was standing next to the bed. He had done the dropping so to speak.
I looked up at him. He said, “What’s this?”
I said, “the garbage I forgot to take out this morning. I will take it today, I promise.”
He said “NO. You will take it now.”
You didn’t argue with my grandfather. Especially when you were in bed, with a bag of garbage on your chest.
I got up and grabbed the garbage. He stopped me.
“What are you supposed to be doing when you take the garbage out?”
Perplexed, sort of, I answered “going to the bus.”
He replied, “what do you wear to the bus? Your pajamas?”
Sighing, I got dressed for school. Took the garbage out. Came back in and got my pajama’s back on and went back to bed for a quick nap as now it was almost 4 and I had to get back up in an hour for the stupid cow.
I never forgot the garbage again. EVER.
Cows are Stupid and so are Kids
I guess I am wandering down memory lane. Perhaps, raising two more children has brought to mind a few lessons learned in my childhood. Lessons, I might add, that would probably send the lesson teacher to jail today, however, they were GOOD lessons, fair lessons, and lessons which I believe helped me to achieve the status called adulthood.
The year was 1964. I was living with my grandparents. I had a bedroom in the basement, which I absolutely loved.
My bed was lumpy and covered with extremely heavy quilts. Homemade quilts. It was cold in the basement. To this day, I require heavy blankets and cold sheets to sleep well LOL.
My jobs around the farm were many and varied. I had to get up in the morning and milk the cow. Feed and clean the stall, then get ready for school. At nine years old. Doesn’t really seem fair, but I didn’t question it then, nor do I really now. It was not hard work, but it was work.
I arose at about 5:30 a.m. Got my overalls on, boots, and grabbed the two by four piece by the basement stairs.
Any farmer will understand the two by four. You kept it in the back pocket of your overalls. The two by four was roughly 18 inches long.
I would go out to the barn which wasn’t very far from the back door. Go into the stall. Say a gruff good morning to the stupid cow. All cows are stupid. Trust me. Unless they are a calf and want out of the fence. Then they are smart.
She would moo softly back at me in the predawn dark. I would hit the light switch, a bare bulb hanging just north of the stall. Walk through the muck from the night before and grab the pitchfork. Muck out the stall, and then grab the hose and wash both the stall floor and the cow down.
I would grab the disinfectant and the paper towels. Wipe the udders off. Move around the bulky cow and grab the milk pail. Rinse it out with diluted bleach water, then hot water again. Then wash my hands.
Grab the milking stool. As soon as she saw the milking stool, she would get agitated. You’d think (but you’d be wrong) that she would be grateful that I was going to relieve her of the incredible pressure that she must have been feeling. Having breast fed my children, I can certainly empathize with her.
But no, she was never a cooperative cow. Not her. I would place the milking stool down on the side of the cow and sit on it, putting the stainless steel bucket under her udders. She would start shifting her weight.
I would reach up and grab the first two udders. I would milk them for a few, then switch to the other two, figuring I would relieve all the pressure first. A good idea.
At some point, the shifting of her legs would become more pronounced. When I saw her weight shift to the far legs, I would reach into my back pocket and grab the two by four.
No, I wasn’t going to hit her.
But as soon as I saw her start to lean, I would whip up the two by four and place it perpendicular to the stall wall and the cow, thereby rendering the situation safe for me. See, she would consistently and consciously try to smash me against the side of the stall. Every single day.
And every single day I would thwart her efforts with my trusty two by four piece. The 18” of wood saved me from a 2,000 pound squashing.
Then, I would carry the milk pail into the house, go back outside, feed the ungrateful milk producer and go back into the house, where I would clean up and get ready for school.
Leaving for school, I would grab the trash and take it out to the burn barrel and the trash can. Then I would get on the bus.
One night, about 3 AM, I was awoken by a bag of garbage dropped unceremoniously on my chest, in bed.
My grandfather was standing next to the bed. He had done the dropping so to speak.
I looked up at him. He said, “What’s this?”
I said, “the garbage I forgot to take out this morning. I will take it today, I promise.”
He said “NO. You will take it now.”
You didn’t argue with my grandfather. Especially when you were in bed, with a bag of garbage on your chest.
I got up and grabbed the garbage. He stopped me.
“What are you supposed to be doing when you take the garbage out?”
Perplexed, sort of, I answered “going to the bus.”
He replied, “what do you wear to the bus? Your pajamas?”
Sighing, I got dressed for school. Took the garbage out. Came back in and got my pajama’s back on and went back to bed for a quick nap as now it was almost 4 and I had to get back up in an hour for the stupid cow.
I never forgot the garbage again. EVER.
Biopsy of random lung tissue came back negative, no cancer cells. Thank you for all the prayers. Now, I have to quit.
Funny life stories will resume as soon as my stress level realizes it can come down J
Drunk in a Hole
Hi Bloggy Friends !
Sorry about the short little hiatus. Was kind of busy like. I absolutely hate it when that happens.
When I was younger, I pretty much went with the flow. I never EVER followed a schedule. I partied. I ran. I did whatever struck my fancy…and my fancy was fickle LOL.
One time, I remember vividly to this day, is one of the reasons I really respected my mother in retrospect.
Now remember, I am the tag end of both the baby boomers and the hippies. I was born in 1955 and raised all over the world.
At age 15, I ended up in my mother’s home town, a small place in Northern California, famous at the time for making Playboy’s Top Ten Party College Towns across the U.S.
The town was Chico, California. The date was 1970. I lived on the enclosed back porch with my best friend Bronwyn. I am using her real name cause I haven’t heard from her in years, and in fact, would love to find her.
I had a vehicle. Driving while unlicensed wasn’t such a big deal back then. It was a farming community for the most part, college was sort of a sideline.
The car’s name was Leonard. He was a 1960ish Ford Ranchero. Three on the Tree, which for those of you automobile impared means that the vehicle was a standard transmission, 3 speed on the column.
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First gear didn’t work at all, Second gear was kind of iffy, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Third gear however, was just skippy and worked all the time. When I say all the time, I mean all the time, because, well, I had to perfect third gear starts in that vehicle. (something I can STILL do to this day, start out in third gear. Comes in dandy handy when you are driving kids around juggling ice cream cones, coffee cups, picking up things that dropped on the floor and don’t have the extra hand to shift down into first at a stop light. I highly recommend it…)
Bronwyn and I hung out at the Bidwell Upper Park. Bidwell park had two parts. One cool, one not. The lower park was a winding road, paved, that followed the little creek about 2 miles through town. It was spotted with beautiful trees and picnic areas. It’s sole claim to fame was that the ORIGINAL Robin Hood movie was filmed there. My mother, age 4, was an extra in the movie.
The UPPER park however, was the home of every kid of driving age. It started out paved, turned to the right very sharply (I ended up in the ditch coming the other way one very drunk night a few weeks later), went past the CROSS, past Mudslide hill, and wended its way to the shooting range and golf course. There, the paved road ended.
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The gravel road was one well traveled. There were LOTS of swimming holes named cool things like “BARE HOLE” where if you skinny dipped, you were left alone. If you didn’t want your children to see naked bodies swimming, you simply did not go to Bare Hole.
There was Girl Scout Camp. Which crossed the creek with a pulley fed car across the churning expanse. Girl Scout camp, once you crossed the creek, and kept the aircar on YOUR side, was totally unaccessible by things like other people and cops. There was a beautiful meadow and sheer rising cliffs all around. The cliffs were about 2,000 feet tall there. It rocked for all the illegal things we wanted to do.
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Finally, at the end of the gravel road, was the old Oak Tree. Home to many, many keggers.
Even the cops didn’t come there. You had to park at the end of the gravel road, and walk. The keg got drug. It was a bit foamy when it got there, but we never minded.
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It was a Friday afternoon when Bronwyn and I left the house. We headed up to the Oak
Tree for a huge party. Now, you must remember. It was 1970. Gas was about $.25 a gallon, Red Mountain Wine was $.99 a gallon, a pack of cigs was $.50 and a bag of good Humbolt county weed was $10.00.
So, for less than $15.00 you had a party for several people. AND the gas to get there.
Sunday came. We finally ended up trying to go home. Pretty wasted. We could still walk, sort of.
I don’t ever drive drunk. But I did then. I am not proud of it. I was young and stupid.
We made it home. Got out of the car.
Now, WHILE we were busy partying up the weekend, my mother had done some yard work. There was a huge tree in the yard which had root rot.
She had called the tree people in and had it removed. In our front yard where there once was a majestic elm tree was now a HUGE hole. And, very deep. They hadn’t filled it in yet as they were awaiting the replacement tree. Makes sense.
We pulled up in the cul de sac that housed our home so to speak.
We exited the car.
We started weaving our way through the yard.
And fell in.
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It was very dark. And wet. Very wet. There were things like worms in there. Ewwwww. But we were so drunk and it was so dark we didn’t realize that at the time.
We started whooooping and hollering. Loudly, as only drunks can do.
We could sort of see over the rim of the hole. We saw Mom’s bedroom light come on. Then the hallway light. Then the bathroom light. Then the living room light. Then the porch light. Then the door opened.
Then Mom came out onto the porch.
She stood there a few minutes, not saying a word. Just looking.
Then, she slowly turned. Walked back into the house. We heard the lock close. The porch light went out. The living room light went out. The bathroom light went out. The hallway light went out. Then, Mom’s bedroom light went out.
And we spent the night in the hole.
ARRRRGGGHHHHH !!
I’m not totally sure what exactly it is about the male um…hormone level, or psyche, or physiology that makes them incapable of noticing that a dishwasher is NOT a funny looking cabinet.
Today, we had two dentist appt’s scheduled. We ALSO have two young girls who’s mother has a severe bleeding disease called Von Willebrand’s Type II Milwaukee.
For those of you not in the know, that means that the Mom’s body does not produce a clotting cofactor called Ristocetin. Imagine in common language, that you have a computer, and the internet CAPABILITY, but you have no modem.
So this means that you have the ability to send a signal from your computer to the WWW, but there is no way to GET the signal there…
That is basically what the mom has. She has the ability to clot blood, but is lacking the particular chemical that tells the clotting cofactors WHERE to go and WHEN to go there. The clotting cofactors are perfectly willing to go and help the blood to clot, they just have no idea when a bleeding episode occurs, because there is no Ristocetin to tell them “hey, go to the right arm, location right 3rd finger, end of finger, and go to work, there is a cut there and it’s bleeding.”
So, the dentist won’t see the girls.
They have not been tested for this disease because, well, it’s complicated. To test, it requires a blood test. And, for the blood test, a child CRIES. And when a child CRIES, a lot of bleeding co-factors that are normally stored in the cellular WALL for when a bleeding episode occurs, well, the bodies response to stress is to let down out of the cellular wall all the stored co-factors.
And, since a child CRIES when blood is drawn, all the co-factors are then present when the blood is drawn since the child cries BEFORE the blood actually is drawn into the tube because, like the egg and the chicken, the NEEDLE comes before the tube.
So you cannot reliably test for just about any bleeding disease except hemophilia which is a complete lack of Factor 8, until the child is old enough to have a blood test without crying.
So, what? Age 20 something??? LOL.
Anyway, so the Dentist office calls and won’t see the girls until the hematologist clears them.
Cancel dentist appt. But Baby had rode out with her Dad last night after he went in to babysit ¾ Pint. And, she left her truck at her big sister Nursey’s house, and had to be back in town by noonish.
So, I ran her into town anyway. Hey, it’s only like a TEN DOLLAR drive into town and back. What the hell!!
When I left, the dishwasher had just finished washing.
When I returned, the dishes were STILL in the dishwasher, last night’s pots and pan’s were STILL on the stove and nothing had been done in the house.
Well now, THERE’S a surprise. NOT…..
I woke DH this morning. At approximately 7:55 A.M. With the door being opened roughly. And, some banging.
He looked up in his sleeping stupor. WHAAAA? (I am not the one who stayed up till 4 A.M. watching TV)
I said, (and I quote..)
“Remember last week when you said, Honey, I think I am going to start getting up with you in the morning and helping out?”
“JUST WHEN EXACTLY IS THIS SUPPOSED TO START!!”
He immediately got right up out of bed.
And took Monster out.
Good thinking that.
I honestly just don’t get it. It must be in the DNA/RNA of the male of the species. An email cartoon yesterday showed a woman at a wishing well. She wishes for no housework, no dishes, no laundry and no childcare and immediately turns into a man.
That about says it all.
And, before everyone comments, yes, I do know there are men who perform these tasks on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. They are just not in my family.
Smoking
Trying to quit smoking has been not fun. Actually, I wasn’t doing too badly all in all. But DH isn’t taking this well, which is absolutely hilarious. It’s hilarious because, in the past, he has quit a number of times by simply saying, I QUIT and putting them down. Meanwhile, I smoked happily away as he quit.
This time, it is I who is trying to quit, and HE is not doing so well.
Last week, my quit day came. I awoke with clean lungs so to speak, did my regular morning thingy, and was doing quite well.
About an hour after he got up, he started picking a fight with me. No reason, just was as he would call me “Waspish”. After about an hour of this, I went to the store and bought a pack each.
Okay, that turned into a number of packs.
So yesterday was attempt two. I did really well, from noonish until like 9 pm, when he went berserk again !!
Off to the store I went, at his request.
Sigh.
Today is another day.
Just another boring day
I guess I am feeling a bit better today. On average, I don’t really go in to depression a whole lot. It isn’t very productive and I absolutely hate it when it happens.
I don’t often go on the pity party wagon. I guess its not in my nature? I don’t know. I am one of those totally obnoxious people who say things like…
If you don’t want to your life to control you, then control your life.
If I weren’t me, I would probably beat myself to death !!
So, anyway.
I did NOT buy another pack of cigs this morning when I ran into town to get the money for the well test. We have to have our well tested because, well, (I am laughing out loud at that play on words, how sick am I?) we have kids, and ya know, with kids you need to be careful about stuff like that. Of course, we HAVE lived her now for what? Three or four months, and no one is sick, but it was on my list of things I need to take care of.
I have rather overscheduled myself this week with that damn list. I have on Wednesday, two dental appts for the kids, 11:45 DURING school (grrrrrr), ½ Pint’s appt for her last two shots at 4:15 and then a 4 H meeting at 7 pm that night. Somewhere in there is Karate, and they have to go, cause they both test on Friday.
Thursday, there is an appt for ½ Pint to get a recheck from the last ear infection she had, then Karate.
Friday, put the kids on the bus at 8:30, then leave for the hospital, have lung biopsy, then send DH to get kids from school at 3:15, then be at Karate by 4 when they all test. ½ Pint is going for her green decided belt and ¾ Pint and Pint are going for…..
THEIR 1st DEGREE BLACK BELT RECOMMENDED.
Big test. And yes, I will be there. I am not sure how I will feel, but I will be there.
¾ Pint was taken to the eye Dr. by her Mom and Dad. She has an astigmatism. She needs glasses which she got. They are cute as hell, and she has the little cute as heck princess glasses holder that is like a purse, and the little special rag to clean them, and her Daddy made up a little rhyme for her to remember…
On your FACE or in the CASE.
But the glasses have a little flowery pinkish sort of thingy attached to the temple. And they are cool as heck and she likes them so she wants to wear them totally all the time, which the Dr said was unnecessary LOL.
Of course both my girls now are telling me that they are having LOTS of trouble in school seeing anything at all. I am surprised that they can walk down the hallway without running into large objects like, um, walls, other people etc….because according to them they absolutely HAVE to have glasses LOL.
I don’t even remember my first pair of glasses. I was 13 months old. I have the pictures, but have just grown up wearing glasses. I hate them, but what are you gonna do? The option is called being blind… and it doesn’t work very well in real life.
I thought about Lasik surgery? But the idea of something going wrong and being REALLY blind, well, it’s not one I will entertain. DH doesn’t understand this at all.
So anyway, busy week ahead. Run all week long. I actually prefer those kinds of weeks in a backward bizarre way. I get bored easily. You can only clean so much after all. And, truthfully, I am not into cleaning.
I do it. Begrudgingly. I do not enjoy it. I absolutely HATE laundry. Cleaning toilets is also not at the top of my list.
I don’t think I have a list anymore. How weird. Not working is kind of strange for me. I have worked my entire life, since I was 13 years old. That’s a lot of years.
Now, home, I should be doing creative things like um….gardening or something, but it is the wrong time of year, and I don’t have the money anyway.
I guess I will have to invent something to do. Besides regale everyone with the boring details of my life anyway.
Hmmmm. Four hours till the girls get home. I am thinking a nap????
Good week everyone!
Della
I'm Scared
I'm really scared.
Everyone I talk to says (including Nursey daughters) that people who have cancer have SYMPTOMS. I don't. then what the hell are those things in my lungs.
The new doctor thinks I might have cancer somewhere else that moved to my lungs. But he is not sure. this will be a long week waiting to have the biopsy, and then waiting to have the results.
And, I still haven't been able to quit smoking. What is up with that. The stress? Okay, but then why do other people seem to not have problems.
I don't feel any different than I did 20 years ago. I am a bit more tired. By bit more tired I mean, I get up at 7 am everday, and end up going to bed to sleep at about somewhere between 11 and midnight. I am on the go pretty much all day long, running after kids, cleaning, laundry, errands, cooking, etc.
And I take on average, one nap a week if I am lucky.
So, tired? Yes. But not as symptomatology. As more like I am 52 years old and raising two little kids. I have night sweats but I have day sweats too. Hey, I am post menopausal. You'll have that.
I have a cough, it is the same one I have had for over 20 years. No blood.
No bowel changes (I know, too much info there..sorry)
No nausea. No pain. No symptoms.
So, does anyone know anyone who had a cancer with NO SYMPTOMS whatsoever.? I need to know this. NO pains anywhere, no loss of weight, no loss of energy, no headaches other than the usual ones we get, no nothing at all?
Feedback would be appreciated.
Shit
major depression. equal opportunity bigot. i hate everyone today. lung biopsy next friday. panic attacks are pretty much six or seven a day now. wondering how much longer i can go on. no humor in life right now. i'm sure it will come back, it always does.
there is a nerve that runs from the back of your cornea to the top of your colon. to sever this cord is serious stuff, called an optiectomy. it gets rid of that shitty outlook on life you have.
i think i need one.
Today should have come next week sometime.
Well, probably not. I didn’t get anything done yesterday. ½ Pint was home sick. Took her to the Dr, then had an appt with my doctor. A new one.
I hate new doctors. I had a positive TB test. So when I got there, they made me put on a mask. Oh Joy! Yep folks, Typhoid Mary is here….take pictures.
So there I sat, with mask on and cannot breathe through the stupid thing. Had to take in the DVD of my CT Scan.
Get in with Dr. Now the last Dr. I went to said, not cancer, no problem. Told me if it was cancer, I would already be DEAD.
I guess when you have ‘nodules’ and a lot of them, 16 in the right lung, 8 in the left, that’s a lot.
I don’t know as I have never had them before???
So anyway, I meet with this guy. Of course, the first thing he tells me is quit smoking. Nothing like stating the obvious. I am totally oblivious to the dangers of smoking. (not).
Then he tells me, IF it is cancer, it has most likely metasticized from somewhere else. When was my last mammogram? Well, like three years ago. And my last pap smear? More like 5 years ago.
So he wants me to have both, ASAP.
Nursey daughter agrees. Well.
Then he says, I really don’t think it is cancer, and I don’t think it is TB either, you don’t have any symptoms for either. I have a regular smokers cough, don’t cough up a whole lot of anything. I have a constant sinus infection as well.
So then we schedule a Brochonscopy, with biopsy. Dr. is very nice, after I explain that we have custody of two of our grandchildren and I have to put them on the bus at 8:30 am and get them off the bus at 3:45 pm he says he can work it so I can do both and be home in time. Good then. Wonderful.
I get home and realize that Pint and ½ Pint BOTH test (as well as ¾ Pint) for new belts in karate that day at 4 PM. And, ½ Pint and ¾ Pint are both going for …..
1st Degree Black Belt recommended.
Great. So I go in the morning next Friday to get a lung biopsy, and then go to karate for testing. Won’t THAT be fun?
My house is dirty, needs cleaned and ½ Pint is out of clothes and I need to do her laundry.
You know, that isn’t so much. But today, it feels like a mountain!
So then, Nursey calls me after Dr appt. And during the conversation, she says, well you are going to quit smoking arent’ you.
Wasn’t fair of me, but I yelled at her “Of course, I am going to quit smoking but I swear the next F’ing person who asks me that I am going to STAB!” and promptly hung up on her.
My personality is a stupid one. If you want me to do something, ask me ONE time and the shut the heck up about it. Do NOT harass me over it or I won’t do it at all. No one seems to get that. Okay, I know it’s stupid. But like the smoking thing.
When I decide to quit, which I did at first when all this crap came down 4 months ago, I just did it. After 39 years. Put them down and stopped. Lasted three days. Didn’t tell anyone. It took them a few days to notice. I liked that. Don’t ask me why I liked that. It’s because I am a control freak. I don’t want anyone telling me what to do. I have to decide I want to do it, then I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder.
I am sure a shrink could have lots of fun with that.
I don’t know what it is in me. I mean, I know I am a control freak. I left home at age 13 and never went back. I worked illegally (cause I was underage) and supported myself. I made it. On my own. With no help.
If I didn’t control things, then someone else would have, and I didn’t feel comfortable with letting someone else in charge of me.
After so long, it becomes habit I guess. I don’t like stupid people. And I really don’t like whiny people. I have several of the above as children. I am not sure WHY they turned out that way, I am sure it is my fault somehow. Junkie daughter is both. Son is stubbornly stupid, but very intelligent. He just has my stubborn streak, but unlike me, hasn’t learned to say “whoops! That was REALLY Stupid, sorry I did it…” No, he holds on to the wrong point of view or whatever long past where it makes sense LOL.
It doesn’t bother me to be wrong. My family makes fun of me for it. They think it is hilarious when I do something or say something that is wrong. They talk about it for literally YEARS. It’s not really funny and it hurts my feelings a lot, but I let it go.
The thing is, I could make fun of the things they do, and there are MANY. But I don’t.
Gosh, what a rant!!
Sorry guys.
So today, I will stay at home and clean and do laundry. Baby is here and said she would help. That is sweet.
Oh. My. Gosh!!
So last night, it hurt a lot. There we were, sitting at the table. Baby is working on notes for college for her boyfriend. I happen to glance over, her beautiful head is down over the paper, her hair artfully and naturally curling over her forehead, pulled up in a skewed pony tail that looks absolutely adorable…and she is writing away busily.
I happened to see her right arm and hand. Holding the pen. Writing.
And.
It was the arm and hand of a grown woman.
It was not Baby’s arm and hand. Baby’s arm and hand have little rolls of baby fat around the wrist. Little chunky elbows. Cute little rounded forearms.
Not this whipcord, manicured, tight and tanned arm of a woman whom I do not know!!
Where did my Baby go? Where did the years go?
And how did a grown woman slip into her tiny little body and stretch it out into a grown up?
Guess I am in a slump. I haven’t felt like blogging lately, or my life is so boring, there is nothing to blog about!
Dave is building a fence. He designed it and it is basically a ‘good neighbor’ type stockade fence, built out of landscape timbers, which makes it 8 ft tall and very sturdy. It will finish fencing off one side of the property.
½ Pint is sicky girl again. I hate the change of seasons. It seems to hit particularly hard in this part of the country, or at least that is my perception. So, first thing this morning, breathment treatment time. Then Singular, then Zyrtec, then Tyelnol, then cough medicine. YUCK!
I have an appt with lung doctor this afternoon. Oh, F’ing whee.
½ Pint has an appt with Pediatrician 1 ½ hours before my appt.
Child only payments which I applied for when I found out we were eligible haven’t come yet. Bills are paid, we have food, but are otherwise broke. Really waiting on that check which is for 1 ½ months, so will help.
Kids dad is back in jail for a 1 – 15 year sentence. He won’t be out for at least a year.
Junkie daughter’s boyfriend goes back to court Thursday. He is supposed to go to jail then. She and the new baby ¼ Pint will then be homeless as she hasn’t found a job and has no visible means of support if he is gone.
Pint spends almost all her time on the computer. No chat rooms, just playing games. I have to start restricting her computer time. She does NOT like this at all.
She is afraid of bugs, and so will not go outside to play on the playground equipment that we so thoughtfully provided and wasted money to buy.
Junkie daughter is very pitiful. Pastor Dave posted a thingy recently about the face of Jesus. When I got to the one about the 50 year old Heroin addict, I saw, not Jesus, but my baby daughter whom I loved dearly and cherished her entire growing up life.
It was particularly difficult. The image continues to haunt me. I am not sure what to do. Nothing at all. There really isn’t anything we haven’t already done for her. Now, the ball is in her court, and though she will quite probably not do anything productive, we have to be through. Our job is now to raise her children.
I did get my house clean. It lasted one day!!
Now, it’s dirty again. And the laundry needs done.
Bratmom, don’t read this. Ooops, too late. I didn’t want you to get discouraged LOL.
