My son has decided that sleep is really unnecessary.
Alas, he cannot just lie in his crib and ponder the mysteries of life ("Why do I have hands?" "Why does Ginger smell like sewer water?" "What makes that rattling sound in my rattle? I can't see anything on the outside...").
No, the insomnia experience is to be shared. And as he gets more and more tired, and less and less able to self soothe, his middle of the night wake ups have gone from gentle "wah, wah, wah" to screams that make my ear drums vibrate. I've stood outside the hangar at what was then McDonnell Douglas as the Blue Angels approached, and it doesn't come near the effect of my baby screaming in my ear.
Now I understand why my great aunt used to give shots of whiskey to her teething babies. All is made clear.
This morning on the way in to work I heard first Queen's "Another one bites the dust" followed by Anything But the Girl's "Miss You". And it reminded me of a story....
So back when I was the Yoko Ono of Chris's cycling team, we headed off to St Catherine's Ontario for a race. The best part with the guys we went with was just getting there. The one guy was....directionally challenged. It added a certain amount of spice to our trips. Anyway, after crossing the border we went the wrong way on the QEW. After a few miles, it became pretty evident. "Should we pull over for directions?" I suggested, hopefully. "No, drive faster!" was the response from the navigator in the front seat. At that point, I abdicated any further input. I wasn't racing after all, and this promised to be good. Somehow Magellan got us there, whirling along at 150 mph (or 300 kmh in Canadian Dollars at the time) down back roads I'm pretty sure weren't on his map. Hats off to him, I never thought he could do it.
When we pulled into the parking lot at the race, you could hear the beats going from all the cars. A little "Rage against the Machine" from the angry looking dude over there. A little techno from the car with about 47 riders crammed into it. Quiet Riot blasting on the old dude's stereo. Beastie Boys from the Hip-Hop wanna-be guys. And then there was the guy who pulled in next to us with the Ontario license plates. He turned on the tunes, and immediately I was lulled into a state of calmness as Styx came on. As "Babe" rolled out of his stereo and he warmed up on his trainer, Magellan turned to Chris with an incredulous look on his face. "Suddenly I want to just call my ex-girlfriend and tell her everything is going to be ok."
And thus came the expression that lives on in our lexicon: Canadian Warm Up music - any soothing mellow song, especially if it's from the 80s.
Good for WKU! Yes, they lost and they're out of the tournament, but they made the sweet 16, and they pushed those city slicker UCLA players to the wall. So good for them - and next year we'll see you in the elite eight!
The surgeon says there's nothing that they can do for him (or maybe it's just too hard on him, that's a little unclear), so it's looking like long term pain management will be the key. I really, really wish it were something that we could just fix, but on the flip side, the rimadyl has been awesome for him. Keep your fingers crossed for no side effects.
As a co-worker and I discussed, financially the good news is we're not coughing up $1500-$2000 for surgery for him. Financially the bad news is we'll pay way more than that over the years. But at least we can budget for that.
9. Key lyric of Martin Greenbaum's hippie-Christian anthem, Spirit in the Sky, changed from "I've got a friend named Jesus" to less-divisive "I've got a friend named Walter" 8. Good Friday officially renamed "Passable Friday;" Ash Wednesday officially renamed "the Day Before Thursday" 7. Placards displaying "John 3:16" outlawed at sporting events; spectators wishing to display their spiritual beliefs may substitute oversized foam-finger bearing the corporate slogan "Dude, You're Getting a Dell!"
Ya know, I'm not precisely what you would call a Hillary supporter. I don't hate her with the rabid passion that seems to obsess a lot of people. But I'm also not going to vote for her in November.
I'm just throwing that out there, because I have to say, asking Chelsea about Monica Lewinsky in order to prove how strong Hillary is, is uncool. That the questioner was surprised that it upset her shows that he's a socially inadequate nimrod. It is not the daughter's responsibility to defend her father's indescretions while campaigning for her mother's presidential campaign. If he really wanted an answer, it needs to come from Hillary, or better yet, Bill. I understand Chelsea's in the public eye, but....c'mon. That's seriously wrong.
So a few years ago, Fred developed a limp. We took him to the vet, who diagnosed him with a sprain and some "crunchy" joints. It took him months to completely recover. And every year since then, he's developed a limp. Back to the vet, sometimes, otherwise continued glucosamine and some aspirin. The limping never made him less happy to get in the car and go to races with us. That is what he lives for.
Fredly, the world's best dog, has been getting crankier as the years progress. He's always been a mellow guy, but more and more he'd started hiding in the corner, away from the family, especially once Ginger, who is all fire and energy, came into our lives. It's hard to watch your dog getting old.
Last week, the limping started again, but with a difference. He was definitely....dragging that leg. So this time he got an x-ray. It appears that those crunchy joints were probably a fracture, and now he has a bone spur that is making that joint incredibly painful. So the x-rays have been sent off to a surgeon, with an answer expected later this week. And we came home with sweet, sweet Rimadyl. It's a doggy pain reliever. Since we've started giving him pain relief, Fred has completely changed back to the joyous guy we used to know. A walk! All Right! Snuggles with mom? All Right! Treats? All Right! Covering Mom with kisses after she takes care of the baby in the middle of the night? All Right!
I can't even begin to express the mixed feelings I have about this. Primarily remorse that he's been in pain for longer than we can possibly imagine. Some relief to see him turn back the clock, and have joie de vivre again. And joy, so much joy, to be able to play with him once again.
Here's hoping that the surgeon can fix Freddy. One potential option which would be a total bummer is surgery to fuse the joint. It would relieve his pain, but we're not sure if that would put an end to his favorite thing in the whole world - mountain biking. But that's a bridge to be crossed once we hear back.
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And in only somewhat related news (related in a "Why do I do this to myself" way) - there's a website for dogs that are in danger of Euthanasia. If you're thinking of a new dog (we are not), please check it out before you check out Petfinder. It's called Dogs in Danger.
I think the only Cinderella stories left are Western Kentucky and the entire Midwest bracket. WKU and Louisville are his two sentimental favorites. So for him I say
On a quiet New Zealand ranch, a genetic experiment has gone horribly wrong, transforming a docile flock of sheep into killers hungry for human blood. Those they bite become ravenous were-sheep. As the body count rises, a desperate handful of outnumbered survivors take a last stand against the ovine onslaught. Who will live, and who will be the next victim of the vicious killer sheep?
I can only hope that there isn't a long wait for "Black Sheep".
It's an interesting question. Your hubby gets caught in a major public scandal - do you stand by him in the press conference? Honestly, I have to say "yes". As devastating as it has to be, as humiliating as that public stand can be, you're still married, and there is a lot to be sorted out. At this point they probably don't even know whether they're going to stay together or not. If they do stay together, taking your lumps in public removes one more bickering point in the future. If they don't, surely that buys her some "loyal and faithful wife" points in the divorce fight. If they do stay together, well she's hitched to his star. It's in her best interest to enhance her husband's high profile.
What about you....stand by your man? Or kick him to the curb?
Ok....just freakish. But the good news is if I get an infection of any kind, I can just head to Philly to down a boatload of amoxycillin, azithromycin, and tetracycline. Who needs government health care when all you REALLY need is a cool glass of tap water.
And not to be insensitive, but quite honestly it's hard for me to get worked up about wildlife when we're still worrying about what this does to humans. One problem at a time, sarge.
Update: Spanky's take is here. While I agree that a major factor that keeps us from cleaning up this mess (so to speak) is engineering, I would quibble with the point that this is only a result of flushing toilets. If you check out this New York Times article, they talk about the steroid level downstream of a Nebraska feed lot is four times higher than the level upstream from the feed lot. It sounds to me that a certain amount of this is our compensating for some pretty crappy lifestyle decisions with a "Better living through chemistry" approach. We need more meat (bring on the steroids), eat like &%(#@ which means we have poorer health, more need for heart meds, and obesity drugs, etc. So while the whole thing is distressing, alas we cannot say it's surprising. We are free to abuse our bodies however we like. Now we know that there are more repercussions than we realized.
My sweetie's birthday is today - a crappy weather day to be sure, but so far we haven't seen the ice pellets and snow that's been predicted. But here's hoping that the next year is a fabulous one.
Sorry kids, that's as gangsta as I get. Maybe these two videos will make you feel better. First...the TSA Gangstaz. Shush the kids out of the room and crank it, it's really funny:
Thanks to my hubby for pointing these out. He's obviously way cooler than I am. But he seems to love me anyway. I'll have to keep drugging his drinks for a long time to come.
It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm…of pish, and crawls insanely up to the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.
-H.L. Mencken
By Ken Levine One of the writers from the TV series M*A*S*H writes about Hollywood, showbiz, etc
Class Factotum She's Baaaacccckkkkk. And as funny as ever!
Cobb I'm fascinated on this man's ponderings on being American. And being black. And being an African-American.
Confessions of a Pioneer Woman She makes me laugh. Any woman who has named her own disease - Low Blood Sugar Cranky Butt Disorder - is ok by me.
Cute Overload OK! I admit it, I love a website which uses terms like "prosh" and "paws-up-itude". I'm pretty sure I will have my engineering degree taken away now.
Fatmarc Mountain Bike, Cyclo-cross...is there anything this man doesn't do?
