the things I see when I don't have a gun

A caption on the tvguide channel that started, "follow a blind alligator through the streets of Miami"

I swear to G-d I'm not making that up. I saw it. Scrolling across my screen. And I'm so very afraid of this... I'm going to have to go cuddle my stuffed animals now.

shiver me timbers and blow the man down

We're embarking on a Pirate theme this fall here in Chez Fireflower. Or should that be Casa de Fireflower, given our proximity to Mexico? Anyway. The verdict is in from the eye doc that while her eye looks good in regards to mucus and tearing, she isn't responding as well as he would like. It's still too early to tell how much sight she has, given that she's not talking yet. Aside from "juice". Which doesn't tell us that much about visual acuity but is pretty darned cute.

Instead of trying to patch her good eye he's going to use a certain type of eye drop. This is supposed to dilate the eye and cause the same effect as patching, without my needing to go out and buy up the available black onesies to match the patch. (get it?) Although I'm not looking forward to putting drops in her eye twice a week it sure beats the hell out of forcing prilosec down her throat twice a day as we were doing this time last year. And so I salute her, my little pirate baby. We'll go back to the doc in three months to see what she sees then. We'll see if it's a lazy eye or symptomatic of something far worse -that's 'worse' to a mother's eyes, not 'worse' as it will effect her 'quality of life' which is something I've heard way too much about lately.

Argh. Me Little Pirate Baby. Show Mama the Booty. We'll run a black diaper up the flagpole and start cutting throats. Or at the least poke them in the eye and steal their noses when they won't give up the booty.

technical difficulties

Apparantly last night's link to the amazon site didn't work; at least, I'm unable to actually see the link that I know is supposed to be there. So for all those fans who actually care the title of the book is:
Mommy laid an egg
Author: Babette Cole

And it's still really, really funny.

So we're off to the doctor this afternoon, and I am starting to feel a little nervous about it. I just want this whole thing over, I want the Tiffany to take a nice long nap tonight, and I want to wake up when she's 19 and off in college. If she's anything like me that's when I'll really have to start to worry. Before that- not so much.

my brain is having technical difficulties with life. that's why the title for today's entry... This is subject to change without notice and I'll let y'all know how things go when I have some clue about it.

back in the saddle

While perusing the books available in the library this afternoon I encountered this gem.


You need to read this. Especially all the DotMamas and the IndieMamas. Really. Pay particular attention to the diagrams of how babies are made- I recommend this book for us as parents who need to laugh, not necessarily as the book you want to use to teach your kids about the birds and the bees. And buy copies for your best friends. I'm still laughing.

I wonder if dinosaurs always wore UPS uniforms when delivering babies?

silver and gold

Talked to some old friends today. The same set that mentored me into this lifestyle, who smoothed the way into being a success as a Naval Wife... And it feels good. It's good to hear from them. It is almost as good as Tiff going to bed easily for us. Sort of as good as when the Boy came home from PAC.

To keep in touch is a good thing. Like the old rhyme I learned in girl scouts, lo these many eons ago- Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver, the other is gold.

Staying in touch though the country lays between us. Staying in touch with people even if a world separates us. It's not easy. What's easy is to let people keep going their way. Easy, but lonely. Keeping in touch is hard, but it lets you catch up with little explanation. You don't have to reintroduce yourself. You don't have to learn new faces and new histories and new stories. These are the people who know you, the people who know where we come from and love us anyway. And we don't have to say many words.

midnight blogging

I’m sitting here in the middle of the night, again.

I feel better in some ways and nicely loopy in many other ways. Since the Munchkin is asleep and likely to remain so, and the Boy also, and I’ve got the whole place to myself in this frantic rush of energy and cool ideas that won’t seem quiet so affordable in the cool light of morning.

Drinking my water. Got such a dry throat that water needs to be drunk in large amounts to keep me functioning in the world tomorrow. So I’m sitting on the Net because where else am I going to be when my brain is in that silly loopy stage of medicated fatigue and I can’t quite turn my brain off yet to go back to sleep.

I’ve been sleeping for days now. That’s what it feels like. That I’ve been asleep for days. Emerging only one every couple of hours to grab a bottle of water and growl at whoever asks me questions. And even though it was just what I needed then and thanks to God that I had that option for the first time in months…. I felt only a little bit guilty over asking for the help. I woke up to get another drink of water tonight and ended up on the computer. There are worse things. I fully intend to sleep myself out in the morning. I fully intend to make the most of this now, while I can, because hey- these things aren’t going to come again.

There was an article in Redbook a few days ago that I happened to glance at. It dealt with all those work at home projects, the scams and the real ones that are out there- but since they are real they don’t promise lots of money and there aren’t all that many openings, and it’s a different sort of approach from one that I understood works with MLM. Tomorrow I think I’m going to start looking into this sort of thing. In addition to getting ready for my first craft show. In addition to watching my food and medication schedules and all that- cause I have a goal to be able to figure out how to work my penny-saving and little income from survey sites and blogging into a reliable check every month to pay my car note.

And hey, with all the sickness this week, I’m sure that I’d be in worse shape now had I not been using the ecofriendly cleaning stuff all over every surface in the house. I was a mess, everybody else was a mess, and yet- the house doesn’t smell like the normal post-body fluid explosion mess. You know of what I speak, the stale vomit, the excrement-covered sheets, towels, nightthings. My house may be a tornado disaster area, but it’s a sweet smelling one. And a home that I’m happy to be caring for.

lost in the living room

Remember what happened here back when the ship left on deployment? The sickness, the extruding of bodily fluids out of every possible orifice of my and the Toddler's body? The laundry that threatened to take over Detroit?

Well, it's back. Love-ly. Except it seems to have gone on fast forward, and I'm not so sure that made it better or worse. That summer cold I posted about- it started the puking late Tuesday night. About 90 minutes after that I was in shock and the Boy was calling the paramedics. And the progression of the illness went just like a fast forward button over the whole thing. 12 hours through puking, total lower-body-fluid loss of control, fluids and iv drugs. The works. Then I came home and slept.

The Toddler- she seems to have fared better than I did this time around- thank GOD for small favors. She slept through the ambulance taking mommy away, and didn't seem to realize I was gone until I walked through the door yesterday. Of course then she was a mess for the rest of the day and all night; her tummy hurt, she got clammy and a little bit shocky, and then she had two seriously massive UGLY diapers. But- no puking. And she's tolerating fluids well, and had a nice long nap after those diapers. So. And me? I lost a day out of my life. Literally. I don't have a clue how today became thursday, because the last I knew it was tuesday morning. The house is a wreck.

When I had gotten home last night the Boy sits across from me and we're catching up on how things went on both ends. And he says to me in a wierd sort of voice, "this place *was* clean this morning." By the end of the day, of course, the whole place looks trashed; I hear this happens with small children. I couldn't stop myself from laughing and pointing out that I say the same thing to him every night when he comes home. Cause at the end of the day- well, parents know what I mean and I don't know if anyone else will believe it. I didn't get a chance to clean last night. It may not get cleaned until tomorrow. I'm perfectly okay with that. As long as I get a nap this afternoon.

the littlest things

It’s the little things in life. Those little things that can make you or break you. This morning I’m munching on banana bread and warm rice pudding. There’s a crime drama on in the background, and periodically I break to play with the Toddler for some really in-depth giggling.

We’ve got little summer colds. So little that it doesn’t even qualify except for the tickle in my throat and Tiff’s hacking cough. So we’re staying in, mostly, and hiding from society. Who needs other people when you’ve got cable? And broadband? And warm rice pudding?

We had naps already, and it’s not even 11. This is so out of the ordinary for her that I know she’s sick. She went down without a fight, without a whimper, and I didn’t start whimpering until she started making noises to get back up. Medicine. And a spoonful of sugar. And when Daddy gets home I’m going to ask him to cover so that I can go back and sleep a bit more.

I’m SO glad he’s home from PAC now. I’m so glad, and not just because it means that I get a break this afternoon.

the littlest things

It’s the little things in life. Those little things that can make you or break you. This morning I’m munching on banana bread and warm rice pudding. There’s a crime drama on in the background, and periodically I break to play with the Toddler for some really in-depth giggling.

We’ve got little summer colds. So little that it doesn’t even qualify except for the tickle in my throat and Tiff’s hacking cough. So we’re staying in, mostly, and hiding from society. Who needs other people when you’ve got cable? And broadband? And warm rice pudding?

We had naps already, and it’s not even 11. This is so out of the ordinary for her that I know she’s sick. She went down without a fight, without a whimper, and I didn’t start whimpering until she started making noises to get back up. Medicine. And a spoonful of sugar. And when Daddy gets home I’m going to ask him to cover so that I can go back and sleep a bit more.

I’m SO glad he’s home from PAC now. I’m so glad, and not just because it means that I get a break this afternoon.

the quiet mind

It's something between zen and praying, I think. You hear about it a lot- quieting your soul. Seeking inner peace. That's something that I as a mother am striving for all the time. Along with my crinolines, pearls, and the ability to wear pumps while vacuuming...

Anywho. I was laying in bed during Tiff's nap trying to do this. It worked great. I didn't sleep, but I feel as though I've slept for three hours, and I'm completely refreshed right now. That, and I took a NoDoz when I got up. That probably has a thing to do with it as well.

So why is it that I don't sleep, crave sleep, and pump my body full of stimulants to avoid sleep all at the same time? I whine about insomnia and chronic fatigue. My friends are sick to death of hearing about it. And yet... I still do it. There's got to be a middle ground out there. I'm looking at the quiet mind for a solution. I know there won't ever be a permanent solution. I'm hoping for something a little more permanent than the scotch tape and rubber band macguyvering that I've been accustomed to.

Silver Patterns

This is what happens when mothers and daughters find things to bond over. For years and years we'd wait for the quarterly Betty Crocker Catalogue to come in the mail. As well as the umpteen stitchery and needlework catalogues we were on. And when they'd arrive we'd sit down with cookies and cups of tea and leaf through the pages. We picked out my silver pattern, my china pattern, both everyday and formal. We decorated my future home with pictures and linens and all sorts of knickknacks. It was always "someday".

Last week my mother called. She had gotten the official last catalogue of the Betty Crocker company. They're discontinuing their boxtop point redemption program and the catalogue. That's right- after all these decades, they're not doing this anymore. The stock that's left is ALL that's left. Ever.

And my mom? She gave me her credit card info and told me that now is the time. This is the last and final chance to get stuff. That entire stainless steel pattern of servingware that I dreamed of and drooled on over the years... the chest with the anti-tarnish lining to store them in. All mine. In a short time the UPS man will bring a large package to my door.

That was the day after I had a sober moment, reflecting on my shoddy bargain-discount-basement flatware, that only has 6 settings, that is all bent and dinged and cruddy after only 4 years in use. I thought to myself, this is really time to replace this. And how am I going to manage that in the next year? Well, now I can do this. Now I don't have to think about it anymore. And I'm very happy for that.

99.9% sane, 100% organically grown

...I mean, think about it. I can't really claim to be an inorganic lifeform, no matter how detached I feel from reality sometimes. Isn't that another symptom of my mental illness -and how I hate saying that out loud. Detached. This isn't really happening to me; there's really another woman out there who's living my happily ever after life and raising this child. My daughter is a changeling gifted to me by this other woman. Because this other woman is perfect and wonderful to have produced This Happy Child, and that's nothing to do with me.

Of course I know that line of reasoning is faulty. But that's how it feels inside, sometimes. I just have to remind myself that Tiffany is my daughter. That those china blue eyes came from my blood and that she will share in my legacy. I only pray that I can leave a better legacy for her than my father did to me, in terms of managing this illness, on the flip of the coin that she will one day feel this depressive shadow weighing her down.

My Boy tells me that I'm 99.9% sane. That's it's just that .1% of the time that something little will trigger off the insane parts of me. The short circuits that I still haven't tracked down and tried to hotwire back into place. Most of the time he can rest secure in the knowledge of my sanity. I can be the partner he needs and expects and deserves. It's that other bit that still worries us. That other little bit that will need managing and watching and leashing for the rest of my life.

Do they even make a choke chain for this sort of thing?

meditation on yarn

yarn over hook, slip, yarn over, pull through, twist, twist, and slip the last twisted loop off the hook to leave one lonely loop left. That’s how the blanket gets made, how double crochet sets in… how my mind goes happily blank while I’m working on the blankie.

It’s wonderful, that empty-mind feeling. Meditating, or praying, or just Being there. It makes my blood pressure drop to a steady even rhythm and it is just like the feeling I’ve found can be had by rocking the Munchkin to sleep in my arms in the evening.

All is calm, All is bright…

Mean Mommy Strikes Again

It’s a cruel life when you’re only fifteen months old. When Mommy insists that it’s bedtime, when your eyes won’t stay open more than a minute, and when the sun is setting. So cruel. I predict years of therapy ahead of this child.

Dinner tonight was wonderful. One of the few times in the past year that we’ve gone out to eat, at a nicer restaurant, and Tiff is finally old enough to start grazing off of our plates. She had a great time. She just wanted to crawl around and explore all the other tables. Mean Mommy and Dastardly Daddy thwarted this plan. When Mean Mommy took her on a walk to see the fish tanks and to go to the bathroom, she made her break for it while my pants were down. Luckily no one tried to enter the bathroom at that point, and she couldn’t figure out how to open the big door.

In other news, it’s Payday. (Sound of angel choirs from above in heavenly chorus) Yay. This means that I can fill the gas tank, and buy toilet paper, and lots and lots of feminine hygiene products. Life is good. Laundry has been done this morning by someone other than myself, and that means that right now although my head hurts and I’m cranky I am considerably less cranky than if I had to wrestle the Toddler, the shopping, and five loads of laundry to the Laundromat and back.

She’s still determined not to go to sleep. Really determined. She’s going to give up soon. I know this. And then we’ll all have ice cream sandwiches.

Reviews

I owe you several Reviews, since my brain’s been away from the desk this past week. Let’s see. For the first owed review we’ll do the Sultan’s Seal, by Jenny White, who I discovered on the new book shelf at the library about two weeks back.

What’s it about? It’s a murder mystery. Is it any good? Sorta. I had a hard time getting through the rapid changes of perspective, although normally I’m really good at that. Of course, 0200 is not the best time to be trying to follow a book like this so that may have been my own fault.




The second owed review is that classic tale of struggle between Man and Cow. I talked about it when I reviewd Thud! last month. The book lives up to the hype, and I had a lot of fun making the Hippopotamus sounds. My Boy says that the part that really creates imagery for him is that of Commander Sam Vimes of the City Watch, battling his way through an underground cave, screaming the words to the story at the top of his lungs.

Personally, I’d have agreed with the dwarves. There are cows down here? What? Who IS this man?

All on a summer's afternoon

I'm working on the present for my secret santee through the AltMama gift exchange. It's great- I had originally found the yarn for this project in a clearance bin, and bought it solely because it was soft and felt really good through my fingers. It's going to work up equally lovely. Although it wasn't the right shade for a baby blankie, and there wasn't enough for a sweater, and I had no idea what I'd do with it- just goes to show the power of the stash.

Tiff's asleep. I took a long nap, the Boy is still taking his nap, and Tiff is napping peacefully. My Other Mother is outside reading a book in this gorgeous weather. I'm taking a knitting break to write this and to catch up on some doing nothing stuff. When everybody wakes up will be soon enough to figure out what we're doing the rest of today. I'm guessing it involves getting out to do the recycling. And, possibly, the park.

In other news, what's going on with the greater world out there? Huh? Tell me- what started all this hate and revenge-taking and the thought that violence will solve anything? Who hurt who so badly that the only way they know to deal with it is to dish out the same and greater levels of pain and terror. It's not going to work, you know. Unless they finally go and nuke the hell out of all of us. Only if the whole world is blasted back to subsistance will we stop the cycle of blowing each other up. Will that really be better?

Isn't there something else we could be doing? Getting along? Baking brownies? Golf? Cause it's breaking my heart that my daughter will grow up in this world.

Friday. Home again in time for the weekend.

Has it really been a whole week since my last meaningful post? Wow. Just goes to show where my priorities are, I guess. I got the home ready, and homecoming went as well as expected, and I'm tired. Last night the planes were so delayed and backed up that our Girls arrived three hours later than expected. We got home about midnight and to sleep about 0200. Then the Toddler slept and woke and groused about how she didn't want to stay in the pack'n'play because, well, you know, there's a Party going on! And there's so much to do! And she might miss something!

This trip I'm determined to show my guests a better time than just the inside of my living room and the grocery store. I mean it. I will. My energy levels are higher, I have my brain back, and I have motivation. I can be a grownup again.

In another 6 months or so the Toddler will be walking and talking in real sentences and my life will never be the same. In another 6 months or so the Boy gets new orders and God only knows where we'll end up. That's all right. We'll make the best of it.

Missing Her

My baby is somewhere on a plane that's been horribly delayed. I want her home again. I want this very badly. I want her in my arms NOW. And not even the thought that here I am with my last baby-free hours before me makes me feel any better.

What did I ever do to him?

Sid Meiers has a lot to answer for. Namely, his concept for the Civilization games, which have my Boy so engrossed that his Homecoming went like this:

get off plane, kiss wife, drive home, order pizza. While pizza is being dished up he had to get out his laptop, hook it up, and install the new expansion pack/download the patches already available. Spend the next couple hours playing. Wife goes to bed alone, not greatly surprised.

Wife wakes up in the morning. Boy wakes up. Coffee and breakfast are made and the computer goes back on. Where it's been for the past 7 hours. He just told me that he's taking a nap now.

So yes, I accept it. I'm a Civ widow in the manner of golf and football widows everywhere. But hey, at least I have physical possession of his body even if his mind's a million universes away and five feet to the left. I knew this was going to happen. I even preordered the game for him so that it would be here the minute he got back. I just- well- I hoped that I'd get a little more cuddle time in before the computer went on for this long.

In other news I'm going to take my melaleuca education up to the next level. Now that I've conclusively proved that the prespot stain remover will make the ickiest coveralls smell like clothing again. You don't know from ICK until you've smelled a pair of coveralls that have been worked in, sweated in, worked in some more, and stuffed into a closed seabag for three days.

my depression ate my homework

No review today. Not because I didn't read anything. (Hah, as if!) Because I can't get my brain together for more than a few minutes all told right now. My hair feels all greasy and limp against my head. In 24 hours I'm going to be with my Boy. Emotionally I'm so confused right now that I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

There's got to be a better way than this. There's got to be a way to get past the borderline trait for "intense relationships, fraught with drama". Not that we crave the intensity that much, we just seem to need it in order to function. We've never learned how to cope with normalcy.

I ask myself how this is going to play out in the next week. How am I going to try to make our homecoming more "interesting", how will it work into the movie script constantly playing in my back brain?

I need to watch more old movies. I need to immerse myself in that Donna Reed, that perfect suburban housewife fantasy. That's the drama I want to be playing out; I want to be a good wife and mother that everybody can admire and say "there's a woman with all her shit together." I want my life to keep looking less like Girl, Interrupted and more like Shrek.

Um.

Without the green complexion and the gingerbread frankensteins, and all of that...

daydream of the gilded twilight
purple streaking through the clouds
splintered shards of scattered sunlight
catching on the moon and stars
waves tumbling across the shore
carries my prayer upon the tide
be well my love, my heart sail safe
calm seas bring you home again

Brain Glue

For years and years I used to take a miniscule dose of a certain anti-psychotic drug. It was barely even the minimum dose considered effective, that's how tiny it was. My shrink never took me off it; every time we tried I'd have a major relapse. So I stayed on this tiny little dose for four years or so, and when I moved out on my own and was able to stop all those relapses and medications I stopped this one.

In the past week I've come to realize that I want to be numb. "I want to be sedated" is no longer the name of an old song. I'm standing closer and closer to that emotional borderline edge, and wishing that I could just find something to make all of the emotions go away. It's tempting to escape back into my prior behaviors, which to say the least were not healthy. But I've just got too much to lose by that. When I look back at where I came from I'm amazed that I've got a healthy marriage, and a healthy mother-daughter relationship forming between me and my Girl. The odds are greatly against it. So literally, I've got too much to lose by going backwards and suffering a relapse.

So this morning when my shrink asked, "what can I do to help you?" I looked at him and said, "sedate me." Meaning, of course, that I wanted some miracle drug that would make everything easier to handle. I wanted a Mothers Little Helper. Not so much to make me sleep through everything, just something to make the transitions easier to handle. So I won't do anything to screw up the good stuff. We had a talk about that, and a talk about that long-ago miracle pill that worked so well for me. Turns out that the drug I used to take is so old-school that the pharmacy didn't even carry it anymore. So I've got the next generation.

My previous shrink called it brain glue. I don't need much, I just need a little something to cement the loose shingles in my brain so they don't come off in the rain. Now I'm on brain glue 2.0 and we'll see how it does. And why is it that the most powerful antipsychotics are some of the smallest pills?

At last, the Quilt...

Legacy Star

The quilt (coming soon)

Apparantly the Net is having PMS tonight. I'll try posting this tomorrow. In the meantime, Sarah, I've emailed this to you. And according to my Boy, it got sent out three times.

Can you tell this is a big thing for me?

I'm currently about halfway through the "set" of the Legacy Star quilt. The applique that was giving me such trouble is finished. Yay. Now we're onto the fun that is bias-cut triangles. That make squares. And not just any old squares, but very specific squares that when fitted all together in a big happy family will resemble something pretty. I'll post a picture when this thing is done. I'm running low on motivation this afternoon.

Maybe it's cause I've spent all day in the house. My normal pattern of making up an errand to get out was broken, and I decided to take a nap instead of doing laundry. So sue me. I've still got three days before Homecoming. And what's the point of cleaning before the Wonderful Cleaning Lady gets here anyway? Tonight I'm likely going to sit up late sewing. So right now I'm being a bit -okay, a lot- of a slug. But a Cute Slug, as the Boy reminds me. God, he always makes me laugh. I was laying in bed earlier, trying to convince myself that I wanted to get out from the blankies to make lunch, and it occurred to me that I can barely remember what's it's like to have him living in this house. I mean, I sorta remember, but it's such a distant memory. I guess that means that it's time for him to come home. Or I'll forget why I married him in the first place.

Hah. Not likely. He's still got the nicest eyes and the warmest hug I've ever known.

loosely woven words

I started writing this out the other day, and while it's not in finished form yet I thought it would be neat to post up what I have so far. Since I haven't contributed much of my free verses lately.


knit one purl one
row by row marking lonely hours
breathing steadied thoughts are still
rocking late into the night

jade rimmed eyes painted with gold
have seen six months come and go
steadfast stubborn heart holds fast
waiting on her man

the wide cold sea has taken him
ships underway at dawn
while she slept a kiss left on her pillow
fingers clutching sheets grown cold
silent tears come and go
mostly in her heart hidden deep
sunlight slipping through the shades
cool green boughs bringing thoughts of peace and rest to a torn faith
love letters fly through cyberspace
sealed with a kiss
speak of home, of work
they could be between any salaried career-man and his woman
words floating on the surface
anyone with eyes could read the meaning
a message felt and heard so deeply
it cuts through their hearts every moment
every day of PAC
when did she learn serenity
to wear a calm face when her heart breaks
acceptance of things she cannot change
learned in a harsher school
borne now for love instead of fear
Love is patient. Love is kind.
It is not proud.
waits patiently for her man to return
cooks, cleans, keeps ready.

hold tight to her faith and vows.

ACK

I hate applique. I really, really, dislike it. My dislike for this is only a little weaker than my dislike of spinach, which despite the hype generated by Popeye the Sailor Man never gave me super powers.

It's proven to me that I must be growing up some more. My biggest problem with applique is that of patience. I just don't have the endless patience to sit there and carefully needle-turn under the seam allowance, place countless tiny invisible stitches, and spend upwards of one half hour on one half inch leaf. Yet, over the past two days I've successfully appliqued four flower blocks. Today, if my patience holds out, I'm going to be applique-ing the final, center block of this piece. Which is a complex piecing of many little bits of cloth, several of which are a dark olive green that does not show the water soluble blue marker to good effect. Which may be a problem as I'm sort of counting on that marker to give me a seaming line that will result in a flower with recognizable leaves, calyxes, and buds. Instead of the Creature that Ran Amok in the Produce Aisle.

That would make an awfully cool quilt though. All the best creatures from the b-grade horror flicks. Tentacles of shiny silver lame, carefully stitched down against a matte black background. Something tells me I should stop this post now, before I get into trouble.