I've fallen...and I can't get up!

Help me, Internet, you are my only hope....

Last Sunday, while on a camping adventure with my family and friends, I threw my back out. Or is that threw out my back? Anyway, I was in so much pain that Monday was spent all day flat on my back in bed and it hurt like a mofo to walk. I was up on Tuesday, well enough to make it to the doctor who said that I have a possible herniated disc. What?!!! He told me not to panic, take some anti-inflammatories and a muscle relaxer, and if the pain has not subsided by Thursday, give a call for some physical therapy. But what about pain meds? Pain meds......

Wednesday I was able to go to work. I did have a physical therapy appoitment for another problem (why, why am I falling apart?!!) and instead of weight lifting, I got to have ice and electrostimulation on my back. What a difference electricity forced through my back made! Oh, I felt like a new woman!! And how did I celebrate? I wore high heels to work the next day. Big mistake, though fashionably speaking it was not.

Friday was not a pleasant day and today is much worse. Sitting at the computer for periods longer than 20 minutes is agonizing and I thank my medicine cabinet for the emergency bottle of percocet.

I have a feeling that Monday will be back at the doctor's.....Oh, the pain!! I have never, ever suffered from back pain until this past week, and goodness...I have more sympathy now than ever for all of you out there who have been through the same woes.

I'm all out of Blog...I'm so lost without you

Ah....look at all the blogging people.....

Her name is J Bo
blogging on line for what feels
like the very first time
Is that not fine?


Been a long time, been a long time, been a blog lonely, lonely, lonely time.

OK, you get the picture. It's been a while since I've visited my home away from home, the Internet, and I am not too sad about it. Hardly getting home computer time and not feeling inspired to put my thoughts in prose, I have set my blog on the shelf for when the time is right to write. Tonight does not feel like one of those nights, sadly. Like I said, I am not feeling inspired.

That's where you, internet, come into play. If you are a regular reader- and I know that there are at least 4 of you out there, not counting me!- leave me a comment/thought about what you like reading on my blog and what you would like to read. More Ellie stories? Not enough Ellie stories? More photos? Let me know!!

Where's my stuff?

I have been faithfully playing Stuff Portrait Friday, and I am sad that I did not play yesterday. I was all set to take photos of my stuff, when my camera flashed the 'Warning: Battery Expired', then shut itself off. I then went frantically searching for new batteries and could not find one pack of double aa's anywhere.

Sexy husband decided to clean out the junk drawer- where all the batteries live- and Ta Da! I have batteries!

So, I will be late again, but sometime this weekend will have some photos up for you all to see.

Bagles & Cream Cheese

Yesterday while Sexy Husband was in the grocery store, he called to ask if there was anything we needed. I rattled off a few items stressing bagels and cream cheese. He was standing right near them, I know because he said so. Naturally when he came home, all the things I asked for were not in the bag. No bagels, no cream cheese.

Today he went back to the grocery store. I thought for sure he would pick up what I requested. He got tortilla chips and dental floss. Dental floss.

I still have no bagels and cream cheese!!!

Allergic to tires

My daughter has a wonderfully vivid imagination. Some of her stories take on a personality of their own, becoming real to those she tells. She can be so convincing. Take for instance the story of her brother.

When we moved into our house 2 summers ago, she told the neighbor kids that she had a brother. No one ever saw this brother, but she would tell them endless stories of how he torments her, how she has to protect him sometimes, and other believable antics, likes/dislikes, and so forth. 'My brother loves Star Wars, too!'. In listening to her, not knowing her, you'd think she was telling the truth. Of course, the kids asked where this brother was and Darian would immediately change the subject. Then one day the neighbor kids asked their mother, if Darian has a brother, why don't we ever see him? Poor mother, not knowing her new neighbor hardly at all, had to explain to her kids that every family is different and it is possible that the new neighbor's parents may have been married before and one of them has a child that only lives with them part time. Or that the brother is just so horrid that they keep him locked in the basement most days. That's maybe why it's hard for her to talk about his actual existence with them.

Imagine how awkward my neighbor felt when she, after *months* of being told by my daughter that she has a brother, but only ever sees one child roaming the yard of Monkey Hill, asks me about my son, or step-son, or other child that is related to mine. And imagine how I felt in telling her that I have no idea what she is talking about, my daughter made up this 'brother', and we only have 1 kid! I finally got to learn about all the drama that goes through my child's head, not like I was ignorant to it all, but still. Good lord, what an imagination this daughter has.

We have a couple of cats that we adopted from the same litter a few months after we moved into our house. My daughter is a definite cat lover- sometimes even thinks she is a cat. I spent a whole summer only hearing her speak 'Kitty', listening attentively to which meows meant 'food' and which meant 'cuddle'. Her favorite pieces of clothing are her cat collar and her Cats (original broadway musical) t-shirt, and some of her favorite songs are from the hit musical in addition to the Cure's 'Love Cats'. Recently, she has announced that she can talk to cats and knows exactly what they are saying. She feels she is the female 8 year old version of Dr. Doolittle.

The other day while riding in the car, she was talking to her friend- a real one, mind you- about our orange cat, Griffin. She said that he finally told her all about his childhood (what a relief!) about how he lived on a farm and his mother work really hard to birth him, but the farmer had to sell his dad. His sister, who was allergic to tires- the rubber made her heart stop- was attacked by a crow who ended up killing her. Griffin had no sister, then Katleen, the pet rescue person we adopted him from, came to his rescue. And that is basically the story of Griffin's childhood. When he was only 2 months old. Here we thought he and his brother Martini came from an abandoned litter here in the city.

Is a tire allergy real, or just vivid imagination? And where was her brother in all of this?

I absolutely love that my child has this creative side. She has countless journals filled with stories that she has written- mainly comic drawings. The weeks this summer when she has not been in drama class, she has spent working on a comic book with a buddy. At night, when she asks me to read her a story, I often turn the tables requesting her to tell me one of her own stories. The child cracks. Me. Up.

Allergic to tires!

Poo Papty

This past Saturday was one of those 'best days ever' days. It started out by sleeping in until *9:30* that morning and being lazy as all that was on the agenda for the day was a pool party. Our first pool party and with the bestest neighbors in the whole wide world.

Arriving in the afternoon at the bestest neighbors in the whole wide world's grandparent's house, one of the children pointed out the the L had fallen off the sign that hung over the cabana. I had not come to a pool party, I was attending a Poo Party. Oh, joy. With all the crap that I had been through lately with my dog, no pun intended, would my day be foreshadowed by the word Poo hanging above my head? Later that afternoon while lounging in the waters of the pool, my neighbor then noticed that the R was not complete- it was a P. Upon further examination, the sign had been constructed poorly and P was part of the manufacturing. We were at a Poo
Papty.

After spending most of the day in Oma and Opop's pool and impressing my family and friends with perfectly straight and sustained underwater handstands, it was time to run home and check on the dog. (I had made sure that all the rooms with doors were closed and that all blouses were in their proper places.) He was welcome to return with me as they have a dog friendly home/pool. (Earlier the bassett hound sat on a pool chaise and was led around the deep end by her master.)

Still wrapped in my towel, suit and ponytail dripping, the dog got a quick walk then a ride in the car. It was late- well after 9pm, and it was dark. I wondered what he was thinking as I was rushing him. We arrived back at the grandparents in record time, the dog shaking in anticipation of what was in the big white house. Making our way to the backyard, he was suprised to hear his family, and the neighbors, laughing and splashing in some sort of pond. You know by the look on his face that he was scared; my fear that he would poop all over the backyard.

I layed down my towel and made my way into the pool, never losing site of Ellie whose eyes were still confused at the whole scene. The kids had a game of shallow end baseball going, so I found my comfort spot in the deep end where Ellie found his comfort spot on the sidelines, hiding behind the grill. I played outfield, enjoying the warmth of the heated pool, the stars above me, and my child having the time of her life with her dear friends. Oma brought out snacks and in attendance appeared the home's dachsund and the visiting bassett hound. Ellie knows the bassett hound well- they basically leave each other alone, but the dachsund was a different story. Once he got a whiff of my dog in the other corner of the yard, he rushed over to see who this new visitor was. The other side of Ellie, the bassett hound appeared. Ellie frightended, with no where to run but ahead ran straight into the pool, dog paddling toward me. As I swam toward him, I swear that the Chariots of Fire music began to play as it was all so surreal and in slow motion. That ended my time of relaxation under the stars, in the warmth of the heated pool, surrounded by good friends and the laughter of our children. It was getting late, almost 11pm, and we all could use a good night's sleep.

I am so thankful there was no poo at all to be at the papty.

Stuff Portrait Friday~ Obsess Much?

Oy, I am so stressed. I could not get any photos up yesterday as this is the first time I have sat down at my own computer. This week's offerings:

* Your Horrible Habit







My bad habit has to do with breaking the law. I am just not able to drive the speed limit, unless of course, I am carting around children. Then I try to maintain the proper speed. Granted, I have gotten speeding tickets, but now I know where all the speed traps are in my vicinity! My husband thinks I need to go to a track and race cars.

* Something you obsess over




It's has to be my skin. I am a lotion freak. The moment after I wash my hands, I must slather lotion all over them. After a shower, I have to have lotion on my entire body else I cannot clothe myself. And my face! Well, I have 2 kinds of face wash (not pictured), then I tone, lift, apply eye cream, then moisturize. I spend more time lotioning up my face than I do in the shower and afterward body lotioning combined. I am a freak for different lines of skincare and currently am using products from Oil of Olay, Arbonne, Clinique, Biotherm, Lancome, and Chanel. All for my *face*!!!

* Something that causes anxiety
(Sorry, internet, no photos to share of this one.)

I had to think a long time about this, thus the Friday posting on a Saturday. I then asked my husband his opinion of what stresses me out the most. He ran the gammit from having a clean house, to being on time for everything, to the refi of the house, but when it came to the one thing that causes me the most anxiety- it's my friendships.

I think about my friends almost all the time. And when I don't hear from them, I get really stressed out. I mean, I make an effort with regard to spending time together, why can't they? Now, the friends who are reading this- please do not get upset! These are my own *perceptions*! Remember how powerful perceptions are and how I had to go on an anti-anxiety/depressant for over a year? Ya, powerful schtuff.

I need to accept the fact that some people don't have a lot of time for in person friendships; some people just prefer to e-mail or use the phone as their preffered method of bonding. For me, I like the in person time. I *love* hanging with my girlfriends. Even if it is just sitting at the kitchen table, listening to the kids'laughter in the other rooms, chatting about nothing in particular. That really adds value to my relationship. I have some really close friends where we can do that often, but I gotta stop stressing about the friends who can't!

I just need a little bit of attention!

That's what my dog was saying as he crapped all over my green silk hand beaded top that lay on my bed. He was singing 'Look at me' as he lifted the duvet with his nose and crapped in between the waves of unmade comfort. The chorus took him into my daughter's room and left a pile of something as large as him on her books that lay underneath her window, crescendoing with a splash of poo on the curtains. There was a break in front of the bathroom and a moment of vomit in the living room.

My dog is loosing his shit all over the things I love in my house cause I have not been taking the time to rub his stinking belly and allow him the pleasure of licking my toes at night. He's mad that I have moved on from being so clingy and cuddly with him. He's understanding when I tell him that my daughter and husband come first when I am doling out the love, then the cats, *then* him. He's sick of being fourth and screamed it as loud as a revenge seeking hound could scream. With the fury of his feces.

I spent an hour tonight cleaning shit off my hardwoods, duvet, silk blouse, and curtains. My daughter is upset that some of her favorite books had to be thrown away and has requested that he do time in the garage, and my husband has more fuel in his fire of hatred for the dog. I was reminded, yet again, of how much they did not want this dog and how they wished for a good old labrador. What a bad choice I forced on them.

I allowed the dog to leave the house tonight in hopes that he would stupidly run into the street and get hit by a car. I'd leave him there, just as he left his runny crap in my bed. But as I was thinking this, my conscious got the best of me. For goodness sake, he is just a six pound, defenseless, little ball of cuteness! How dare I even think such horrid thoughts. I never batted an eye when Darian's diaper leaked, or all the times she ran diaperless and pooped in a corner. I actually laughed when I found her in her room, at 8 months of age, smearing poo all over the dresser. And when she is sick and has to have mommy wipe her hiney, do I want to put her in the garage so I don't have to look at her needy face? The thought would never cross my mind! Why do these mean thoughts come to me with regard to my dog? It's because the actions of my daughter are not spiteful; those of my dog are.

I am hoping that tonight is the last of the fecal frenzies here at Monkey Hill. My delicate hands can't handle all the cleaning and my dog loving spirit is deflating. But then again, we are adopting a new kitten sometime this month. I'll be sure to keep the books off the floor, fancy blouses off the bed, and have learned that a dog can never have too many belly rubs.

It's right on the tip of my tongue

I am so horrible with names. I try to remember who people are talking about, but I just can't seem to associate the face with the name. Or vice versa. I can remember things that happened in their lives, what kind of car they drive, their neighborhood, their *shoes*, but always forget the name. I will see someone I used to work with, say Hello, make small talk, then remember their name an hour later when I ordering dinner. (Oh, his name was *Vincent*!)

Tonight my friend Michele and I were talking about my co-worker's wife, whom she knows. We kept trying to think of her name, but it just wasn't coming to either of us. (She and I grew up together, so this is something of a 'local' thing with us.)

We were snacking on Wasabi Party Mix saying names back and forth:

"Patricia."
"No, Petunia."
"I've never met a Petunia."
"Neither have I. It's Amanda."
"No, Samantha."
"Nah, not quite...it's got a t and a p in it.."
"Tom-pockey."
We both crack up, spitting wasabi rice crackers everywhere.
"What kind of name is that?"
"It's a city somewhere."
"Oh, I got it...Sidhartha!"
"No, but it is sing songy like that."
"God, I love this snack mix!"
"Me, too. I also forget to pick this stuff up when I am at PCC."
"Yeah. God damn it!! What is her name?!! This is driving me nuts."

We part our ways, I take the snack mix and turn up the Coldplay in my car. Thinking aloud:
"Not Samantha. Not Patricia. It's some name like that. Oh! Pygmalion! Guh! Who is named Pygmalion?!"
thinking and driving...thinking and driving....

Her name is Tanya. *Tanya*. The only Tanya either of us has ever known.

I think.