Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Game On!
So, my Game On Diet team is doing great! We are raking in the points! I lost three pounds last week. Trouble is, all the other teams are doing really well. In fact, even better. We are in second-to-the-last place in the standings. WAY too much good behaviour going on around here. Particularly the lead team. Maybe of one of the members met with a terrible accident..... Yes.....
Monday, January 11, 2010
Letting Off Steam
Poor Nate. I can always tell exactly what sort of day he has had by the way he walks across the playground toward me. I think, to some extent, this is done for my benefit. Today, it was all about stomping; folded arms; thundercloud brow.
"Hey, Pickle! How was your day?"
"Horrible. Is was a horrible goddamn day!!"
"Nate! Watch your mouth!"
"Well, it was! Why does everybody have to yell at me all the time!?"
"Did you get yelled at today?"
"OK, it wasn't yelling, it was teasing! When a person has gas that has to some out, what can he do about it!?"
Turns out that he got in some sort of altercation with another little boy and decided to give him a telling off. Right in the middle of it, with all eyes upon him and respectful silence 'round about, Nate let go a huge one. This could take a while to live down.
"Hey, Pickle! How was your day?"
"Horrible. Is was a horrible goddamn day!!"
"Nate! Watch your mouth!"
"Well, it was! Why does everybody have to yell at me all the time!?"
"Did you get yelled at today?"
"OK, it wasn't yelling, it was teasing! When a person has gas that has to some out, what can he do about it!?"
Turns out that he got in some sort of altercation with another little boy and decided to give him a telling off. Right in the middle of it, with all eyes upon him and respectful silence 'round about, Nate let go a huge one. This could take a while to live down.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Pooh Story?
As a sidebar:
When I got my MA in Linguistics, my intention was to teach English as a Second Language, and I have done this. However, I had a secret passion for the field of Sociolinguistics: regional variety; discourse analysis; language and gender; language change; all that stuff. The research shows that language change tends to originate in young girls, and after hearing some of the stuff my daughter and her friends say, I'm now convinced. From time to time, I'm going to post things I hear Sara and her BFFs say; then, I'd love to hear from anyone out there as to whether you hear girls in your area say the same things. Could be fun.
So, to start, my two for today are:
1. "Whatev's", which is a shortened version of "Whatever."
2. Many times, when Sara or her friends say something, especially, if (they think) it's funny or smart, they will repeat it, like this: "I cleaned my room! Yay me! I'm, like, 'I cleaned my room! Yay me!'" As a mother, I find this one a little annoying. I'm, like, "A little annoying."
*****
I spent today near the phone, hoping to hear good news about my dad. After his initial recovery from his first stroke, he has had a couple of other "stroke-like episodes" that now have him paralyzed on the right side. He still has language, but is having trouble speaking because of the facial paralysis. He has been at the University Hospital in Madison for a a few days, now. The plan after that is to move him into residential treatment: a sort of stroke therapy boot-camp. Mom is under some stress, as they were packing up to move when Dad had the stroke. They need to be out of the house where I grew up by March 1, so she's also taking care of final arrangements for their condo in Oshkosh. My sister is getting there tomorrow; then Mom will call me and let me know when she wants me to come. February, she says. She doesn't think I should travel yet, because of my recent surgery. She's probably onto something there. There are still some things I can't do, but will be able to do in a few weeks.
Friday was a good day. He talked a lot and was in a good mood. Yesterday, he slept a lot. Mom said he was discouraged at not being able to read easily. His Louis L'Amour novel was in his lap, but he is too weak to hold it up (I'm thinkin' "book stand"...).
Mom says, "Do you want me to read to you?"
"I can read."
"Yes, but you can't hold the book, so I could read to you if you like."
"Read me a Pooh story."
Mom was at a loss, not having an A. A. Milne collection to hand, or even remembering the stories very well.
I laughed when she told me this. A couple of visits ago, Dad and I sat on the stairs in their house and took turns reading A. A. Milne poems out loud to each other. They are pretty fun, and I read them to the kids all the time. One of our favorite things to do on a "sleep late" day is to pile into my bed and read "The Knight Whose Armor Didn't Squeak" or "King John's Christmas". My Pooh collection gathers no dust, that's for sure.
Mom and I decided it would be fun for me to get on the phone with Dad today and read him a Pooh story or poems or whatever he likes. The plan was that I would call his room at noon and she would put the phone to his ear.
She called me at 11:30, though, and told me that we should wait until another day. He was barely conscious. He looked terrible, she told me. She was afraid he was dying. She promised to call me if he got any clearer-headed, and that we would carry out our plan; but he did not improve. When she called me tonight, she seemed a little bit encouraged, having talked to his neurologist. I guess the sort of brain damage he has can affect his circadian rhythms, meaning that, as part of therapy, he'll need to be retaught his sleep patterns. I suggested to Mom the possibility that he may be depressed as well. She says that Dad doesn't tend to get depressed, but that he may find sleep to be a pretty good way to avoid the constant harassment of the nursing staff, etc...
I promised her that I would carry my Pooh books around in my briefcase for a few days. If he wanted a Pooh story, she could just call me up, even at school, and I could take a break to be his A. A. Milne request line. Luckily, the entire set is no bigger than a lunch box. Thank goodness he didn't request Winston Churchill or J. K. Rowling.
When I got my MA in Linguistics, my intention was to teach English as a Second Language, and I have done this. However, I had a secret passion for the field of Sociolinguistics: regional variety; discourse analysis; language and gender; language change; all that stuff. The research shows that language change tends to originate in young girls, and after hearing some of the stuff my daughter and her friends say, I'm now convinced. From time to time, I'm going to post things I hear Sara and her BFFs say; then, I'd love to hear from anyone out there as to whether you hear girls in your area say the same things. Could be fun.
So, to start, my two for today are:
1. "Whatev's", which is a shortened version of "Whatever."
2. Many times, when Sara or her friends say something, especially, if (they think) it's funny or smart, they will repeat it, like this: "I cleaned my room! Yay me! I'm, like, 'I cleaned my room! Yay me!'" As a mother, I find this one a little annoying. I'm, like, "A little annoying."
*****
I spent today near the phone, hoping to hear good news about my dad. After his initial recovery from his first stroke, he has had a couple of other "stroke-like episodes" that now have him paralyzed on the right side. He still has language, but is having trouble speaking because of the facial paralysis. He has been at the University Hospital in Madison for a a few days, now. The plan after that is to move him into residential treatment: a sort of stroke therapy boot-camp. Mom is under some stress, as they were packing up to move when Dad had the stroke. They need to be out of the house where I grew up by March 1, so she's also taking care of final arrangements for their condo in Oshkosh. My sister is getting there tomorrow; then Mom will call me and let me know when she wants me to come. February, she says. She doesn't think I should travel yet, because of my recent surgery. She's probably onto something there. There are still some things I can't do, but will be able to do in a few weeks.
Friday was a good day. He talked a lot and was in a good mood. Yesterday, he slept a lot. Mom said he was discouraged at not being able to read easily. His Louis L'Amour novel was in his lap, but he is too weak to hold it up (I'm thinkin' "book stand"...).
Mom says, "Do you want me to read to you?"
"I can read."
"Yes, but you can't hold the book, so I could read to you if you like."
"Read me a Pooh story."
Mom was at a loss, not having an A. A. Milne collection to hand, or even remembering the stories very well.
I laughed when she told me this. A couple of visits ago, Dad and I sat on the stairs in their house and took turns reading A. A. Milne poems out loud to each other. They are pretty fun, and I read them to the kids all the time. One of our favorite things to do on a "sleep late" day is to pile into my bed and read "The Knight Whose Armor Didn't Squeak" or "King John's Christmas". My Pooh collection gathers no dust, that's for sure.
Mom and I decided it would be fun for me to get on the phone with Dad today and read him a Pooh story or poems or whatever he likes. The plan was that I would call his room at noon and she would put the phone to his ear.
She called me at 11:30, though, and told me that we should wait until another day. He was barely conscious. He looked terrible, she told me. She was afraid he was dying. She promised to call me if he got any clearer-headed, and that we would carry out our plan; but he did not improve. When she called me tonight, she seemed a little bit encouraged, having talked to his neurologist. I guess the sort of brain damage he has can affect his circadian rhythms, meaning that, as part of therapy, he'll need to be retaught his sleep patterns. I suggested to Mom the possibility that he may be depressed as well. She says that Dad doesn't tend to get depressed, but that he may find sleep to be a pretty good way to avoid the constant harassment of the nursing staff, etc...
I promised her that I would carry my Pooh books around in my briefcase for a few days. If he wanted a Pooh story, she could just call me up, even at school, and I could take a break to be his A. A. Milne request line. Luckily, the entire set is no bigger than a lunch box. Thank goodness he didn't request Winston Churchill or J. K. Rowling.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Australia
[WARNING! I'm going to talk about S-E-X in this entry. When I made up my mind to start blogging again, I promised myself that I would stop worrying about who my audience is and just write what I feel. So, if you happen to know me personally and don't want to think of me in certain situations, go read a nice, tasteful blog.]
We watched the film Australia last night, and I loved it! As a comedy. Was it meant to be a serious film? There were times at which I thought it was meant to be a parody of itself. Naming the beef company King Carnie? Driving cattle straight down a wharf and into the belly of a ship? The way the Drover kept herding the same herd of horses past the ranch house in scene after scene? It was funny!
There're lots of great make-out scenes as well, between Nicole Kidman (for whom Si has a lot of appreciation) and Hugh Jackman (whose corded forearms made me swoon). I felt unpleasantly jealous during the love scene, though. Not so much because I don't get to fall onto a bed with Hugh Jackman, but because I envy anyone's ability to abandon themselves to sex at the moment. I thought, "Well, when he touches her, she knows she's being touched at least. At least she knows she's all real, and doesn't have to wonder where the fake stops and the real starts." At my house right now, sex is a little more like, "Ummm... OK. Let's see... maybe if we tried...no hold on. That's not going to work. Sorry, my arm won't go there."
I do have a better memory than a codfish, and so I recall that I felt similarly after my last surgery. Pain, numbness, and just (and this is the worst, actually) unfamiliarity with what is supposed to be MY BODY. It's all strange. Again. Where the hell did these boobs come from!?!
Later, I was telling Si about it and he reminded me that we had covered this territory before, and that I would feel better about it soon. I told him that it bugged me to think of these movie characters just being able to flop down and have great sex with no problem.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? OTHER PEOPLE ARE HAVING BETTER SEX THAN I AM!
"Well, that's the disconnect between movies and reality."
"No! I think the opposite! That is what normal people do. The movie is depicting reality." [Yeah, the torrid love scene is the most realistic moment in the whole film.]
"Do you really think so? I think most people are like us. Always trying to deal with some little problem that's getting in the way."
What do I know about other people's sex lives? I suppose he could be right. Or maybe the crux of the problem for me really is that I need to have it off with Hugh Jackman. Men, if you're out there, work on your forearms. The whole corded wrist thing is...veeeeeery nice.
We watched the film Australia last night, and I loved it! As a comedy. Was it meant to be a serious film? There were times at which I thought it was meant to be a parody of itself. Naming the beef company King Carnie? Driving cattle straight down a wharf and into the belly of a ship? The way the Drover kept herding the same herd of horses past the ranch house in scene after scene? It was funny!
There're lots of great make-out scenes as well, between Nicole Kidman (for whom Si has a lot of appreciation) and Hugh Jackman (whose corded forearms made me swoon). I felt unpleasantly jealous during the love scene, though. Not so much because I don't get to fall onto a bed with Hugh Jackman, but because I envy anyone's ability to abandon themselves to sex at the moment. I thought, "Well, when he touches her, she knows she's being touched at least. At least she knows she's all real, and doesn't have to wonder where the fake stops and the real starts." At my house right now, sex is a little more like, "Ummm... OK. Let's see... maybe if we tried...no hold on. That's not going to work. Sorry, my arm won't go there."
I do have a better memory than a codfish, and so I recall that I felt similarly after my last surgery. Pain, numbness, and just (and this is the worst, actually) unfamiliarity with what is supposed to be MY BODY. It's all strange. Again. Where the hell did these boobs come from!?!
Later, I was telling Si about it and he reminded me that we had covered this territory before, and that I would feel better about it soon. I told him that it bugged me to think of these movie characters just being able to flop down and have great sex with no problem.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? OTHER PEOPLE ARE HAVING BETTER SEX THAN I AM!
"Well, that's the disconnect between movies and reality."
"No! I think the opposite! That is what normal people do. The movie is depicting reality." [Yeah, the torrid love scene is the most realistic moment in the whole film.]
"Do you really think so? I think most people are like us. Always trying to deal with some little problem that's getting in the way."
What do I know about other people's sex lives? I suppose he could be right. Or maybe the crux of the problem for me really is that I need to have it off with Hugh Jackman. Men, if you're out there, work on your forearms. The whole corded wrist thing is...veeeeeery nice.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Naturally Sweetened
Refined sugar is not allowed in the Game On Diet, and artificial sweetener is strongly discouraged. I can tell you unequivocally that coffee with maple syrup in it tastes like shit.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Maybe I Should Go Home
Dad had another of what my brother is calling "a stroke-like episode" at the hospital in Madison today. This one has left some paralysis on the right side. I'm trying to figure out how to plan a trip out there at a time that would be useful for Mom. I think my sister is going to go this weekend and spend a week or so. Maybe I should arrange to go as she's leaving, so as to have one of us there for as long as possible.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Perfect Panties
I FINALLY went to see Dr. Perfect today. His nurse pulled the adhesive tape off and I almost had an orgasm. I was so blissed out that I barely noticed when he started pulling stitches. Now I can shower! In fact, this will be a very quick blog entry so I can go do that very thing. The bummer is that I have to wear an underwire bra day and night for 6 weeks. The doctor was very sweet to tell me that I can take it off to bathe. He was in a rare mood, in fact. Complimented my boots, and told me that I was one of his favorite patients. His latte must have been extra foamy today or something.
He checked on my bruised bootie as well and snorted when he saw it, "It DOES look like Panama!" This was an issue for me this morning. My relationship with Doctor Perfect has up to now been all above the waist. It has been almost a year, now, and I realized that we haven't managed to get past second base. I woke to the realization that he was going to need to check out my less familiar half, and I had a hard time choosing the right underpants. A thong would definitely send the wrong message. Thong = wrong. On the other hand, one doesn't want to wear granny panties in this situation,wither. Something middle of the road. And without holes.
Gotta go take a hot shower! Shower! Shower! Gonna wash the purple marker spelling out "No BP, No IV" off my left arm. Gonna shave my pits. Gonna scrub all the black adhesive marks away! Bye!
He checked on my bruised bootie as well and snorted when he saw it, "It DOES look like Panama!" This was an issue for me this morning. My relationship with Doctor Perfect has up to now been all above the waist. It has been almost a year, now, and I realized that we haven't managed to get past second base. I woke to the realization that he was going to need to check out my less familiar half, and I had a hard time choosing the right underpants. A thong would definitely send the wrong message. Thong = wrong. On the other hand, one doesn't want to wear granny panties in this situation,wither. Something middle of the road. And without holes.
Gotta go take a hot shower! Shower! Shower! Gonna wash the purple marker spelling out "No BP, No IV" off my left arm. Gonna shave my pits. Gonna scrub all the black adhesive marks away! Bye!
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