The kids have been pretty quiet about anything weird lately. No "wall nut" or "him talking to me in my room." Every once in a while one of them makes a strange passing reference, or they exchange a look if something odd turns up.

I loaded a bunch of pictures from the camera last night, and then cleared the memory. Ez loves to take pictures, so I handed it over and let him shoot the tree. He took two dozen photos of the tree (with the obligatory close-up self-portrait) before handing the camera back.

I was reviewing his pictures on the tiny screen when I saw one that seemed odd.


Who the hell is that kid? I thought. There's the tree behind her, but wtf?

I looked at it for several minutes on the tiny screen, and finally it occurred to me to look at it on the computer for clarity--at which point I realized that he had photographed the television, which I had not realized was on because the sound was down so low and I was busy.

I know it's ridiculous, but it kinda gave me the creeps there for a second when it looked like he'd photographed some random kid in my living room.

The Federal pen down the street is afire.

The people on the news rushed to assure local residents that when they said the prisoners were "evacuated," they meant that they were moved to a different part of the prison.

Let us hope that Shirley's ineptitude doesn't mean that that part of the prison is un-staffed.

Setting: Foyer of Anya's school, waiting to pick her up. I am sitting in a chair. Ezra is walking in circles, then pops into the open doorway of the empty auditorium. I lose sight of him for about ten seconds before he walks back out.

Ezra: I push the button.
Me: Uh, what button?
Ezra: The big red button.
Me: You pushed a button in the auditorium?
Ezra: Uh, maybe no.
Me: Ezra, did you push a button in the auditorium?
Ezra: No.
Me: Can you show me the button that you didn't push?
Ezra: Can I push it again?
Me: No! I thought you said you didn't push it!
Ezra: Oh. Can we go home now?

I have no idea what button he pushed. I assume it was not the fire alarm because there was no alarm, but who knows what it was. He flatly refused to discuss it any further.

Remember that sinus, ear, and respiratory infection I had a month ago? It's not gone. Interesting information: z-packs are no longer considered appropriate treatment for a sinus infection, because they have become resistant. Pretty much the only thing the z-pack cleared up was my ears. I still have a respiratory infection and a raging bloody sinus infection, so now I'm on Bactrim. For fourteen days, no less.

I'm running a fever off and on, which I never do, and if I take sinus pain medication I can't take anything for my hip because that's an OD of acetameniphen. My mother actually took one look at me last night when we were getting ready to go to Anya's Christmas recital and said, "Wow, you look awful," and my mother never even said that when I was semi-comatose in a hospital bed while my hair dreaded itself.

Why yes, I am miserable. I'm going to wallow for a bit. I also need someone to call me around 12:30 to make sure I get up to pick up Ez. Any takers? :)

I'll post a photo of Anya and the Christmas program later. The kindergarten's solo was "Rocking on the Rooftop," and they jammed out with inflatable instruments and Santa hats. She actually did it! I was afraid she'd go shy like she used to, but she did it.

On the radio this morning, they played a clip of Ashley Dupri, the prostitute behind the Eliot Spitzer scandal. She was talking about Tiger Woods (she's an expert on this kind of thing, dontcha know) and how the mistresses were unfair to come forward since he never lied to them or anything. They knew he had kids and wouldn't leave his wife, so it's their responsibility to shut up instead of cashing in. She points out that she did not come forward, but was outed. (The fact that she is now an expert on TV is beside the point, I assume.)

Miss Dupri at one point says that as a mistress or prostitute, you're "helping him keep his marriage together" anyway.

Discuss.

Thank you, Anonymous. :)

My former roommate and I once didn't even look at one of the apartments on our list because, at 920 square feet and two bedrooms, it was too small.

That's 110 more square feet than I have now. Yes, my house could probably fit in most of your kitchens.

Next weekend is the Grant Park Candlelight Tour of homes, and Ez's preschool gets money from it by having volunteers staff the houses. Many of the Grant Park houses were built in the 1910s and 20s, and have been painstakingly restored. I am not volunteering.

I am tired of houses and the people in them.

Remember when Ez was such a tiny baby, and I'd be having a good day until some asshole said wow, he's tiny? I am really feeling that way about the house. I like my house. It's a good house--despite that whole "walnut" spooky thing and the voices and falling out of the attic. It's our house, and we bought it ourselves. We tore out the nasty paneling and replaced the kitchen floor, and we scraped 60 years' worth of lead paint off these walls. We made it bright and cheerful.

But I don't want new people coming over anymore.

I'm tired of hearing, "How do you all live here?" Or "Wow, your house is SO SMALL. How do you manage?"

I laugh it off, but it really pisses me off. I keep having to take Anya to parties at these big renovated or new houses where the people scoured the salvage places for period mantels or andirons. Sometimes when they ask how we manage, I want to say, "Well, clearly we don't have as much money as you, or we wouldn't be making do in our hovel." Perhaps I'll start saying, "We'd love to have you over, but we wouldn't all fit into our yurt."

I love my house. Why does it seem like so many people want to snark it? I'm naturally very social, but it is really making me not want to invite people over anymore.

So, I've been going through this thing for the past week or two and it's been really bugging me that I can't pull myself out of it. So last night I was thinking about it, and I couldn't get my thoughts straight. So I grabbed the notebook I keep on my bedside table for cases like this. (You'd be surprise how often this happens) I started writing what I felt and when I read over what I wrote I realized that I had written something that maybe more people should read. Because maybe they're going through the same sort of thing, or maybe they could help me with what I'm going through. So I decided to post it here, because I couldn't think of any other place.

This is what happens when I can't sleep:

When I read this over this morning, I started thinking about why I had jumped in the first place. Who on earth would want to feel this? But as I thought about it I realized, no one wants to feel this. This is the crappy part. The moments before this and after it are the moments that make it worth it. So now I realize why we jump. Now I know why we take that plunge, why we fall.

Because Life is totally worth it.

Pete: ...so this scientist did brain scans of women and men to compare the differences in stuff, and it turns out that the reason you have to tell men things over and over is that basically they're like large children.

Me: I see.

P: Yeah, and he did scans while women had PMDD, and a couple of them showed scans that looked similar to people with multiple personality disorder. There was this one woman who attacked her husband with a butcher knife...

Me: Did he deserve it? I mean, whether she had PMDD or not.

P: Not sure. Anyway, her scan showed that the reasoning center of her brain was just completely minimized, which is why she attacked him.

Anya: Excuse me? Excuse me?

Me: Yes?

Anya: I'm not sure this conversation is appropriate. There are children in the car. Knife attacks, you know.

Me: Sorry.

Anya: That's okay. Let's talk about breakfast.

Just yesterday, I was saying I don't think Anya's stitches are ever going to dissolve and fall off. The ER doc had said they'd probably last 5-6 days, and then I could wipe them away with a wet washcloth. I've been wiping away and they were still in there. I figured they were becoming a permanent part of her face.

Until I was putting a cereal box into the cart at Target and she moved at the last second, and I whacked her in the eye with the corner of the box, knocking two of the stitches/scabs off. There were tears for a moment before she realized it didn't really hurt.

You should have seen Susan and Pete when Anya announced, "Mommy whapped me in the head with a box and knocked my stitches out." Classic expressions, I tell you.

I can't get my daily maintenance pill yet. I tried to order it on Monday, and the pharmacist told me that only the head pharmacist can order controlled substances. Of course the head pharm wasn't in until today, so I took the scrip in, expecting my medicine in a few days.

Yeah, no.

Embeda was just approved in August, and released in September, so nobody has it. It'll be at least a week before I get it, and probably not until the Tuesday after next. The pharmacist called several other pharmacies, and no one has it. There's one CVS who has a higher dose, but that's not my scrip, so I just wait.

I do have Vicodin to get me through this trying time, and I'm pleased to report that it DOES actually help, albeit with the side effect of making me want a muffin all the time.

If you read that article on the Embeda, it's really interesting how it works. Now, we just all sit back and wait to see if I grow a second head or extra heart valve or something.

Often people compliment my jewelry, and I usually say, "Thanks! Ray made it." Ray Yeremian is our jeweler. Ray makes the most beautiful original designs, and he also will design from a sketch you take him. He made mine and Pete's wedding rings from a drawing Pete did, and he also custom did a bracelet I wanted for mrs__smith after her 9-month pumping marathon for Big Ez. He also has repaired and re-sized many, many pieces for my mom and me, and often does it for no charge since we've been faithful customers since 2001.

While he specializes in custom work, he does also have catalogs and will order things for wholesale prices. With the price of gold right now, that's a damn good deal.

Ray is now operating out of Cumming--he formerly had Bella Fine Jewelers at Perimeter and Northpoint, but got sick of the mall. Since his departure from the mall scene, he mostly designs (and orders at wholesale) for longtime customers, but a referral from us makes you a friend.

My dad sent this email to describe where his shop, RAYCO, is: His store is located at 6020 Parkway North Drive, suite 1200 Cumming 30040. His store hours are 11 to 4:30 Monday through Saturday. It is a good idea to call first as he may run out occasionally to pick up or deliver stuff to large wholesale customers. 404-287-6515. Parkway North drive is on the left about a half mile North (or maybe West) of 400 off highway 141. His building is in the back warehouse on the right. The front of the warehouse facing the road is facing the road but the front of the back warehouse faces the woods behind the buildings. So the front of his building is all the way in the back. That sounds odd but once you go there it will make sense. Look at it on Google Earth also.

So, forward this to your husband, or make an appointment to stop in if you're looking for something really special this Christmas. He did not ask me to make this post, btw--this is a word-of-mouth for my friends thing.

Banana slicer
Dog umbrella on a leash
Bagel guillotine
Burner covers
Barf bag on a plane
Flowbee
Ab roller (or any home gym equipment)

ETA: Regarding home gym equipment--I'm not talking about things like a treadmill or my own much-used recumbent stationary bike. I'm talking about anything As Seen on TV or hawked by that blonde ponytailed man who yells a lot.

I watched an episode of Dateline last night. I have no idea how old it was--Discovery ID reruns them--but it was just so wrong.

A couple couldn't have a child, so their friend offered to be a surrogate. That's not wrong, right? Nope, not wrong.

Here's what's wrong: they figured that insemination might not work, so they decided to just do four private sessions between the husband and the friend to give nature a chance. The fact that this idea ever seemed reasonable to the parties involved should have indicated that there were going to be issues down the road, eh?

Halfway through the pregnancy, the mother decided that she wanted to keep the baby, and refused to hand him over. Obviously, the father and his wife sued for custody, which they were granted--largely because the husband of the surrogate had not been in on the planning and had a history of violence.

I had questions. Why would you get into a surrogacy agreement without telling your husband, particularly if he had a history of domestic problems? Why would skipping the insemination part ever seem reasonable? Why would she think she had more right to the baby than the baby's father?

Anyway, after losing custody of the baby, she gave the multiple fathers of her previous children back to their fathers while she "got on her feet." She didn't contact the kids in that time, and their respective fathers sued for custody, which they were also granted. Now she has custody of none of her kids.

The interviewer was kind of harshing on the baby's father (who got the mom's parental rights terminated after she went two years without contacting the child after she lost custody) for the way he treated "the woman who gave [him] the most special gift." I didn't think that was fair. Granted, everyone involved showed bad judgment at one time or another, but since the mother had no intention of sharing with him his own child, I didn't think he was wrong to take her to court.

What say you?

I went to the pain doctor today. One of the first things he said was that it was a terribly serious injury and I should not expect to be pain-free this early. He has a guy with an injury very similar to mine--which he sustained twelve years ago. The guy is older than me, but damn.

So we're going to try a daily maintenance pain med, with a low-dose narcotic for breakthrough pain. If I hate it or if it doesn't work, we might try an sacroiliac injection. I am also armed with FlectorPatches, which sound like they bestow the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound, no? Those are more to deal with the muscular pain that comes from being out of whack. They don't even come with a supersuit or anything.

I like the doctor. He's also a chronic pain sufferer who understands good days and bad days, and how you feel like you might have to learn to live with it even though it makes you nuts. He got it. I told him that I'm sorry he has pain (his is his back, even after two surgeries), but I'm glad he understands.

So, let's see if this works--although technically we have to wait until Wednesday to see if it works, since the maintenance med is a controlled substance that can only be ordered by the head pharmacist.

Now, I shall compose an entirely unrelated post about something I saw on TV last night.