We're HOME!!!! She's doing much much better!
more soon.
thank you for all the kind emails.
August 30, 2003
August 29, 2003
the rocky ride with jenna
where do I start? where everything starts and ends: with Jenna. This is my third day at the children's hospital with Jenna. We landed here early wednesday--i think it was wednesday--after three trips to the pediatrician's this week. she wasn't getting better, you see, just worse and worse. by tuesday night she wasn't able to turn her neck at all. the lamebrain 20-something-year-old female doctor sent us home tuesday with the second of two antibiotics to try, which I had to beg her for, the script for which she begrudgingly tossed at me on her way out the door. "I think she should have the opportunity to have what everyone else has--it doesn't have to be something out of the ordinary." This after my saying, "She's getting worse not better." This after her asking me, "What is it that you want?" This prior to me saying, "I WANT you to find out what's wrong and get her better. That is your job."
No, not better. worse. SO back to the peds on weds to see the head doctor of the bunch, who finally did work, who finally announced her white cell count was high, who finally said, "there's something going on here. we should admit her. it's the smart thing to do. she'll be comfortable and they can get the right people on the case."
This prior to me launching into a high gear I didn't know I had, after only three hours sleep the night before, zooming home with her in the back, 102 fever still after days of it, me calling George and having him talk to her while I raced up and down three flights of stairs like a maniac trying to remember what to take to the hospital--medicine, some clothes, the care bear family, some toys. Toss some food out the door to the dogs, hurry hurry. I asked the doctor if I could stop home to pick up some things to take. His words echoed: "Yes, but don't wait too long. Best to get her there. They will be waiting."
This he said before me driving like a mad woman down 75, across 285, her throwing up in our pool towel in the back seat. God, just let me get her there, then I can crumble up.
We made it. She was admitted. This facility is perhaps the most amazing healthcare secret in the U.S. More about that in another post.
To get to where we are...
We've been here for three days, her on antibiotics and fluids via IV, me in the couch bed beside her, them running tests, her turning the corner, starting to get better. Thank you. God, thank you.
Our children are, as parents, all that matters. Really all. Nothing else. No. Not even yourself.
It appears--preliminary findings--that she is responding well to treatment for the BITE (not scratch as I originally thought) Hunter the cat inflicted on her neck three weeks ago. I cleaned it with alcohol. I neosporined it. But none of that mattered. Apparently cat bites are serious things, and apparently this one led to a staph infection. She's been fighting it off for some weeks, but not til yesterday, when the Ancef started working and the fever disappeared, did I notice that she has not seemed this lively, this alert, in a very long time.
So we are, I pray, on the road to recovery. She doesn't know yet, but her daddy is also on the road back to see her. What a surprise that will be for her--I'm having fun today thinking about the different ways I can spring it on her. ;-)
She is off to school today at the hospital. They have a school here. Students get credit for attending class and are marked present for days they miss at their real schools if they attend here. More importantly, she loves going. It gives her something to do. Classes are two hours long. Little kids attend with their IV poles, or just their little tape-and-board-wrapped hands. Jenna calls it her "Ivey."
The hospital, as I said, is superb. An anomalie in today's horrid healthcare scene, which is part of the reason we ended up here. But more on that another time, when I can think, and write. I am so tired.
Prayers welcome. I have no idea of my comments are working or not. Dean said they weren't the other day. Anyway, if not, I'll be on the case as soon as we're home. Hopefully by tomorrow. I'm in no rush as long as they get her better.
Thanks friends. As you can imagine I've been blogging in my head the whole time. But my heart has been elsewhere.
No, not better. worse. SO back to the peds on weds to see the head doctor of the bunch, who finally did work, who finally announced her white cell count was high, who finally said, "there's something going on here. we should admit her. it's the smart thing to do. she'll be comfortable and they can get the right people on the case."
This prior to me launching into a high gear I didn't know I had, after only three hours sleep the night before, zooming home with her in the back, 102 fever still after days of it, me calling George and having him talk to her while I raced up and down three flights of stairs like a maniac trying to remember what to take to the hospital--medicine, some clothes, the care bear family, some toys. Toss some food out the door to the dogs, hurry hurry. I asked the doctor if I could stop home to pick up some things to take. His words echoed: "Yes, but don't wait too long. Best to get her there. They will be waiting."
This he said before me driving like a mad woman down 75, across 285, her throwing up in our pool towel in the back seat. God, just let me get her there, then I can crumble up.
We made it. She was admitted. This facility is perhaps the most amazing healthcare secret in the U.S. More about that in another post.
To get to where we are...
We've been here for three days, her on antibiotics and fluids via IV, me in the couch bed beside her, them running tests, her turning the corner, starting to get better. Thank you. God, thank you.
Our children are, as parents, all that matters. Really all. Nothing else. No. Not even yourself.
It appears--preliminary findings--that she is responding well to treatment for the BITE (not scratch as I originally thought) Hunter the cat inflicted on her neck three weeks ago. I cleaned it with alcohol. I neosporined it. But none of that mattered. Apparently cat bites are serious things, and apparently this one led to a staph infection. She's been fighting it off for some weeks, but not til yesterday, when the Ancef started working and the fever disappeared, did I notice that she has not seemed this lively, this alert, in a very long time.
So we are, I pray, on the road to recovery. She doesn't know yet, but her daddy is also on the road back to see her. What a surprise that will be for her--I'm having fun today thinking about the different ways I can spring it on her. ;-)
She is off to school today at the hospital. They have a school here. Students get credit for attending class and are marked present for days they miss at their real schools if they attend here. More importantly, she loves going. It gives her something to do. Classes are two hours long. Little kids attend with their IV poles, or just their little tape-and-board-wrapped hands. Jenna calls it her "Ivey."
The hospital, as I said, is superb. An anomalie in today's horrid healthcare scene, which is part of the reason we ended up here. But more on that another time, when I can think, and write. I am so tired.
Prayers welcome. I have no idea of my comments are working or not. Dean said they weren't the other day. Anyway, if not, I'll be on the case as soon as we're home. Hopefully by tomorrow. I'm in no rush as long as they get her better.
Thanks friends. As you can imagine I've been blogging in my head the whole time. But my heart has been elsewhere.
August 26, 2003
oh no negro!
Why the hell did they eat in Alpharetta? Don't they still have separate water fountains ova dere?
Okay, we're talking bout bobby & whitney. But still.
Okay, we're talking bout bobby & whitney. But still.
sick kid and too much work to do
jenna's still sick--home for the third day since school started, and as coincidence would have it, my business, which was dry for last three weeks, is now in high gear. I mean really high. I mean I'm swamped. I mean tan is gone.
I would love to have something witty to say, but I'm just plodding through the days and nights right now--working, soup making, lying next to, video watching, researching, typing, stepping out on the porch for con calls, back in, patting the back of, downloading, editing, writing some more, editing some more, emailing, deleting sobig.f, writing again, crying with, giving medicicne to, and commiserating with jenna.
there are bigger problems, yes. but not for me this day. these are them. send get well thoughts to the baby blogger.
I would love to have something witty to say, but I'm just plodding through the days and nights right now--working, soup making, lying next to, video watching, researching, typing, stepping out on the porch for con calls, back in, patting the back of, downloading, editing, writing some more, editing some more, emailing, deleting sobig.f, writing again, crying with, giving medicicne to, and commiserating with jenna.
there are bigger problems, yes. but not for me this day. these are them. send get well thoughts to the baby blogger.
Oh, I see
Exquisite post from Halley about what it's like to see the world through a new and improved eye--one of two that she is having corrected via cataract surgery. This post is simply Halley.
August 24, 2003
see it.
Antwone Fisher.
A review.
And a poem:
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
--Antwone Quentin Fisher
A review.
And a poem:
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
--Antwone Quentin Fisher
Oh, you're Killing Me with this one...
Nathan Newman posts on this study from Northwestern University, which finds, among other things, that, all things being equal (pun intentional), white convicted felons get more job interviews than black non-offenders. That is, corporate America would rather hear from a white rapist than an honest black man or woman.
We've come a long way, baby.
We've come a long way, baby.
August 23, 2003
Virus Conspiracy Theory 101
Okay, so here's my guess. It's a bit hard to follow, but all good conspiracy theories are. They also require some leaps of faith. But that's nothing new to you guys.
So.
SOBIG.F apparently had its genesis on a porn usenet group. (No, it's not a link to the porn. so-so-sorry.)
Okay, you're with me so far--good name: so big / porn usenet site.
Actually, good branding job by the evildoers.
So, here's my theory.
It's the Bushes.
Jenna Bush and Barbara Bush, the President's daughters.
Yes. You see, my guess is that there were some, well, interesting videos of the girls on that usenet site. REALLY interesting. And, you see, my guess is that they were doing a thing or two with a folk or two that could make Monica and Bill look like celibacy poster children.
Uh-huh.
And MY guess is the powers found out--and I mean powers, not Powers, and they planted the SOBIG.F virus to bring down the net and to make it a national emergency such that they could come and seize the computers of every man, woman, and child until government geeks can figure out how to dismantle the GIANT BIG SCREEN Bush Girls Video that's coming to a screen near you (if you still have a screen near you) this September 11th.
So, what'd you think? Has all the good earmarkings of a 21st Century conspiracy theory doesn't it?
Or so it would seeeeem... ;-)
So.
SOBIG.F apparently had its genesis on a porn usenet group. (No, it's not a link to the porn. so-so-sorry.)
Okay, you're with me so far--good name: so big / porn usenet site.
Actually, good branding job by the evildoers.
So, here's my theory.
It's the Bushes.
Jenna Bush and Barbara Bush, the President's daughters.
Yes. You see, my guess is that there were some, well, interesting videos of the girls on that usenet site. REALLY interesting. And, you see, my guess is that they were doing a thing or two with a folk or two that could make Monica and Bill look like celibacy poster children.
Uh-huh.
And MY guess is the powers found out--and I mean powers, not Powers, and they planted the SOBIG.F virus to bring down the net and to make it a national emergency such that they could come and seize the computers of every man, woman, and child until government geeks can figure out how to dismantle the GIANT BIG SCREEN Bush Girls Video that's coming to a screen near you (if you still have a screen near you) this September 11th.
So, what'd you think? Has all the good earmarkings of a 21st Century conspiracy theory doesn't it?
Or so it would seeeeem... ;-)
August 22, 2003
it's just us
When I open my email, I feel if I'm shouting into a deeeep canyon, "Hello?" and I don't even get the echo back to keep me company. I get the feeling it's SOBIG.F, the mother of all bandwidth-hogging viruses. Where'd everybody go? Even the spammers are going easy on me. Have the FBI and Rumsfeld disconnected everyone but me?
Has everyone been knocked back into the real world? If so, where are we meeting and what are we supposed to bring with us?
Imagine being one of the so-called 20 computers that the virus sought out as its host. Personal computers, supposedly in people's homes here in the U.S., in Canada, and in Korea.
Imagine the knock at your door.
If you think they'd bother to knock.
*****************
"We're taking you down, missus."
"Huh?"
"Your PC--please show us where it is. We know it's here."
"Um?"
"YOUR PC--SHOW US WHERE YOUR PC IS AND NOW! JENNA BUSH CAN'T GET TO MTV.COM! BESIDES, THE GLOBAL ECONOMY DEPENDS ON IT!"
"oh. well. um. you mean I'm one of the 20? No. That can't be. All my life I've wanted to win the lottery, but this isn't the right one."
"I'm afriad we got your ticket right here Ms. Sessum."
"Oh. Dear. Well, can I back up some files--I have to get my work files off or I can't send the stuff I have due. It will only take me a couple of minutes. I have a CD burner. Look, you can watch me do it. I have to--my clients are waiting for it."
"I'm afraid not. This computer is now the property of the U.S. Government. You've been infected, and we must quarantine you to ensure this SARS, errrr, I mean SOBIG.F doesn't spread to other unsuspecting victims like yourself or to President Bush's friends in Texas... I mean, global enterprises."
"But I'm an unsuspecting victim. And I have years' worth of work files on this machine--NO PLEASE--don't GRAB it like that!!"
"Woof Woof GRRRRR!" [[ed note: plainted wail of Bando the mutt.]]
"GERRY, GRAB THE WOMAN. TAKE HER DOWN!"
"No, please, I was in the middle of a post. Please just let me finish!"
"Listen, little lady--you may think we're fooling around here, but you got the A-Rabs trying to kill us and those damn Rusians who never got over the cold war--and don't get me started on them 'AfrikanAmerikans' -- don't you see, WE HAVE ENEMIES, and THEY are knocking!"
"But I swear, I'm not the enemy. Please don't take me down--not yet--give me two more minutes! I haven't posted yet! I haven't pressed publi...."
**********
So here we are.
Here.
As the uni-directional flood of email conversation crashes into serious roadblocks this week, the voice of blogging becomes even more important. Our words haven't slowed. We don't need no stinkin' cootie shots. The Web's heart is still beating. We're its pulse. We'll keep posting.
Unless, of course, there are more than 20.
Like, say, 20,000,000.
Has everyone been knocked back into the real world? If so, where are we meeting and what are we supposed to bring with us?
Imagine being one of the so-called 20 computers that the virus sought out as its host. Personal computers, supposedly in people's homes here in the U.S., in Canada, and in Korea.
Imagine the knock at your door.
If you think they'd bother to knock.
*****************
"We're taking you down, missus."
"Huh?"
"Your PC--please show us where it is. We know it's here."
"Um?"
"YOUR PC--SHOW US WHERE YOUR PC IS AND NOW! JENNA BUSH CAN'T GET TO MTV.COM! BESIDES, THE GLOBAL ECONOMY DEPENDS ON IT!"
"oh. well. um. you mean I'm one of the 20? No. That can't be. All my life I've wanted to win the lottery, but this isn't the right one."
"I'm afriad we got your ticket right here Ms. Sessum."
"Oh. Dear. Well, can I back up some files--I have to get my work files off or I can't send the stuff I have due. It will only take me a couple of minutes. I have a CD burner. Look, you can watch me do it. I have to--my clients are waiting for it."
"I'm afraid not. This computer is now the property of the U.S. Government. You've been infected, and we must quarantine you to ensure this SARS, errrr, I mean SOBIG.F doesn't spread to other unsuspecting victims like yourself or to President Bush's friends in Texas... I mean, global enterprises."
"But I'm an unsuspecting victim. And I have years' worth of work files on this machine--NO PLEASE--don't GRAB it like that!!"
"Woof Woof GRRRRR!" [[ed note: plainted wail of Bando the mutt.]]
"GERRY, GRAB THE WOMAN. TAKE HER DOWN!"
"No, please, I was in the middle of a post. Please just let me finish!"
"Listen, little lady--you may think we're fooling around here, but you got the A-Rabs trying to kill us and those damn Rusians who never got over the cold war--and don't get me started on them 'AfrikanAmerikans' -- don't you see, WE HAVE ENEMIES, and THEY are knocking!"
"But I swear, I'm not the enemy. Please don't take me down--not yet--give me two more minutes! I haven't posted yet! I haven't pressed publi...."
**********
So here we are.
Here.
As the uni-directional flood of email conversation crashes into serious roadblocks this week, the voice of blogging becomes even more important. Our words haven't slowed. We don't need no stinkin' cootie shots. The Web's heart is still beating. We're its pulse. We'll keep posting.
Unless, of course, there are more than 20.
Like, say, 20,000,000.
home
burnt red cedar
etched with lines
paintings of insects
tunnels trace paths
across shingles
making a road home.
this house it breathes.
aches and stretches
groans harmonies to the
rumbling of night
thunder.
door knobs give way
six bulbs blown
cupboard hinges hang
just one
garage door left
to rise and fall,
seal us safely in.
what more can come undone
in the heat of the summer.
and still,
signature fingerprints
along hallways remind me
how small she was,
imprints of life
the art of time passing
quietly
strokes of white baby shoes
and strawberry-stained fingers.
there isn't much
I would change
if I could,
except maybe
everything.
etched with lines
paintings of insects
tunnels trace paths
across shingles
making a road home.
this house it breathes.
aches and stretches
groans harmonies to the
rumbling of night
thunder.
door knobs give way
six bulbs blown
cupboard hinges hang
just one
garage door left
to rise and fall,
seal us safely in.
what more can come undone
in the heat of the summer.
and still,
signature fingerprints
along hallways remind me
how small she was,
imprints of life
the art of time passing
quietly
strokes of white baby shoes
and strawberry-stained fingers.
there isn't much
I would change
if I could,
except maybe
everything.
the sky is falling
this worm, this SOBIG and it's infectious friends, are just what we don't need.
i'm on the phone with a client at a big global technology company and she mentions the emails she's been sending me today, and I say, um, no, I didn't get them. Neither did I receive a critical email from one of her colleagues. Surprisingly, my bellsouth.net is hanging in there, delivering me all the spam I don't need and then some, while my clients' networks are griding to a halt, suffering email grande mals at a rate I can hardly track.
No, I'm not alone today. But I am a little scared.
I may also be one of the few who wanted to tell this client, we have two options when email dies: instant messaging and collaborative workspaces.
This is an emergency. You do what you have to do. I wanted to tell the client with whom I'm collaborating on this particular white paper project that boasts a fast approaching deadline, "Let's go start a team blog, mark it private, and do it like that. Just for today. I can't afford e-room, but blogger's free. We can make due. When we're done, we'll kill the blog. Google won't have time to spider it--and no, I'm not sure all of the technicalities on how blogger keeps private blogs private, but why worry--it's Friday and we can delete it by end of day tomorrow. We can post back and forth, leave comments, pull in links to relevant materials, and get the job done behind the backs of those motherfucking, spamloving, email-killing viruses."
That's what I didn't say.
What I did, in reality, was to send him an invitation to Yahoo Messenger hoping that he can sign on, add me as a friend, copy text out of his sent mail, paste it into an IM for me, from which I will copy it out and paste it into our MSWord document.
That will work for the edits.
But...
Let's hope everything's up and running once I plug the changes into the layout and have to turn around the 20-page MSWord file.
'Cause that's when I get to send the invoice.
i.e., that's how I eat.
Fuck you, infectors and spammers.
i'm on the phone with a client at a big global technology company and she mentions the emails she's been sending me today, and I say, um, no, I didn't get them. Neither did I receive a critical email from one of her colleagues. Surprisingly, my bellsouth.net is hanging in there, delivering me all the spam I don't need and then some, while my clients' networks are griding to a halt, suffering email grande mals at a rate I can hardly track.
No, I'm not alone today. But I am a little scared.
I may also be one of the few who wanted to tell this client, we have two options when email dies: instant messaging and collaborative workspaces.
This is an emergency. You do what you have to do. I wanted to tell the client with whom I'm collaborating on this particular white paper project that boasts a fast approaching deadline, "Let's go start a team blog, mark it private, and do it like that. Just for today. I can't afford e-room, but blogger's free. We can make due. When we're done, we'll kill the blog. Google won't have time to spider it--and no, I'm not sure all of the technicalities on how blogger keeps private blogs private, but why worry--it's Friday and we can delete it by end of day tomorrow. We can post back and forth, leave comments, pull in links to relevant materials, and get the job done behind the backs of those motherfucking, spamloving, email-killing viruses."
That's what I didn't say.
What I did, in reality, was to send him an invitation to Yahoo Messenger hoping that he can sign on, add me as a friend, copy text out of his sent mail, paste it into an IM for me, from which I will copy it out and paste it into our MSWord document.
That will work for the edits.
But...
Let's hope everything's up and running once I plug the changes into the layout and have to turn around the 20-page MSWord file.
'Cause that's when I get to send the invoice.
i.e., that's how I eat.
Fuck you, infectors and spammers.
August 21, 2003
loving moms grow children who love effortlessly
Doc said goodbye to his Mom yesterday. He shared her last words with his readers.
It was actually just one word: Love.
Love.
Let that settle in, and consider the type of person she must have been, the way she must have lived her life, to have that message waiting on her lips as she said goodbye.
Love=one another
Love=your neighbor, your brother
Love=yourself
Love=I love you
Love=unconditionally
Love=should be enough; if not that, then what?
If you know Doc, he is testimony to his mother's life and love, her ability to show that love genuinely, unconditionally. He has shared that with us not only in his postings about his mother and his family, but through that place Doc writes from. His mother informs his voice, and she always will.
That is evidence of a life fully lived.
Blessings, Doc.
It was actually just one word: Love.
Love.
Let that settle in, and consider the type of person she must have been, the way she must have lived her life, to have that message waiting on her lips as she said goodbye.
Love=one another
Love=your neighbor, your brother
Love=yourself
Love=I love you
Love=unconditionally
Love=should be enough; if not that, then what?
If you know Doc, he is testimony to his mother's life and love, her ability to show that love genuinely, unconditionally. He has shared that with us not only in his postings about his mother and his family, but through that place Doc writes from. His mother informs his voice, and she always will.
That is evidence of a life fully lived.
Blessings, Doc.
August 20, 2003
long2days
It's been a long couple of days with Jenna sick and home from school, which, as you well know, barely got started. The good news is she has meds for a wicked right ear infection and possibly strep, but the lame-o's at the doctor's didn't swab her because her ear was bad enough that she needed antibiotics. Puss and such. ewwww!
The whole thing put me in a funk, which was made a bit funkier because the nurse practitioner, whom we saw, only RX-ed FIVE days of omnicef instead of the usual 10. Two phone calls later and I had some bullshit mumbo-jumbo non-answer about why, but the damage was done--$25 to the wallet with a likelihood of being back there next week to see a REAL doctor who knows that this particular strepmonger doesn't cure easily, and that it's worse to NOT knock it out entirely, because it comes back (what class? that's right:) stronger.
In a side note, there has to be a carrier here in this house. There just has to be. After some Web research, I've determined it's either me or Hunter. Problem is, I have to live here, so if it's me, well, WTF? But Hunter on the other hand... he's losing his balls next week anyway, and I think I've talked the vet into putting him on antibiotics in case he's the strep-spreader, since the strep culture which would tell us for certain costs $110. Upon hearing I'd have to part with a c-note I don't have, I used my cunning linguistic capabilities to convince the dear receptionist that a few bucks and a few pills won't kill me, them, or the little fucker, so let's all pretend he's the carrier and treat him as such, shall we?
So, does this mean we're making progress?
I would like to believe that. Really.
Meanwhile, Ms. Jenna is perking right up on the meds--the asthma is simmering down and she even mopped the kitchen floor for me today and LIKED it. OH YES--this is a good thing. I told her she mops like her Daddy, who is incredibly thorough and painstakingly, um, careful when he takes on a project that needs elbow grease and a bit of strategy. She got that floor cleaner than it's been in three months, and she enjoyed squeegying the mop head more than any human being should.
So, the end of a long day (or thousand) and I think we're going to try school tomorrow. Nebulizer in tow to give to the nurse with what I hope is a sigh of relief from me, and some words like: "You can do her meds today. Thank you. I love you."
I'm not sure what the school nurse might make of this declaration from me, but being that she is the first school nurse I've laid eyes on since I was in eighth grade, I'm mighty bloody happy to see her. Peace of mind, you're almost mine.
I've been wanting to blog, writing in my head and then posting. Problem is, there's no server back there in the grey matter amusement park that is my brain. So everything gets lost.
So now I'm gonna get lost and go to sleep.
or at least count sheep.
thank you.
The whole thing put me in a funk, which was made a bit funkier because the nurse practitioner, whom we saw, only RX-ed FIVE days of omnicef instead of the usual 10. Two phone calls later and I had some bullshit mumbo-jumbo non-answer about why, but the damage was done--$25 to the wallet with a likelihood of being back there next week to see a REAL doctor who knows that this particular strepmonger doesn't cure easily, and that it's worse to NOT knock it out entirely, because it comes back (what class? that's right:) stronger.
In a side note, there has to be a carrier here in this house. There just has to be. After some Web research, I've determined it's either me or Hunter. Problem is, I have to live here, so if it's me, well, WTF? But Hunter on the other hand... he's losing his balls next week anyway, and I think I've talked the vet into putting him on antibiotics in case he's the strep-spreader, since the strep culture which would tell us for certain costs $110. Upon hearing I'd have to part with a c-note I don't have, I used my cunning linguistic capabilities to convince the dear receptionist that a few bucks and a few pills won't kill me, them, or the little fucker, so let's all pretend he's the carrier and treat him as such, shall we?
So, does this mean we're making progress?
I would like to believe that. Really.
Meanwhile, Ms. Jenna is perking right up on the meds--the asthma is simmering down and she even mopped the kitchen floor for me today and LIKED it. OH YES--this is a good thing. I told her she mops like her Daddy, who is incredibly thorough and painstakingly, um, careful when he takes on a project that needs elbow grease and a bit of strategy. She got that floor cleaner than it's been in three months, and she enjoyed squeegying the mop head more than any human being should.
So, the end of a long day (or thousand) and I think we're going to try school tomorrow. Nebulizer in tow to give to the nurse with what I hope is a sigh of relief from me, and some words like: "You can do her meds today. Thank you. I love you."
I'm not sure what the school nurse might make of this declaration from me, but being that she is the first school nurse I've laid eyes on since I was in eighth grade, I'm mighty bloody happy to see her. Peace of mind, you're almost mine.
I've been wanting to blog, writing in my head and then posting. Problem is, there's no server back there in the grey matter amusement park that is my brain. So everything gets lost.
So now I'm gonna get lost and go to sleep.
or at least count sheep.
thank you.
you go, george
George has his latest column up at AllAboutJazz.
George joined AAJ's roster as a columnist last week. Here's the press release announcing the news.
I wonder who does this guy's PR?
George joined AAJ's roster as a columnist last week. Here's the press release announcing the news.
I wonder who does this guy's PR?
August 19, 2003
30 posts--i can hardly do 3
man, i've lost my juice. no lie. I had every intention to take a run at my semi-annual 30 posts in 30 minutes (30 minutes being a mile markerI've yet to hit). But look. My eyes are clcosed and Iam so tired,I can't do it tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I have so many half thoughts running through my mind as I sit here typing with eyes closed. I think, though, I'm going to let them settle with me here. They don'tmake sense outside of this dream. Not really.
kindergarten cold
can it happen that fast? we get one week and one day in and Jenna's already sick. So far a cold--no fever. We are hyperminting (lysterine) and toothbrushing and vitamining like crazy. Ireally don'twant herto miss this early. but most of all, i want that itty-bitty nose to feel awll better.
can't keep up
Things that remain undone:
cat still has his balls
bills unpaid--nearly all
garage door--springs popped
garage floor--because the springs popped, the floor now gets to hold all the shit I never know where to put.
vaccuming--what carpet? under the fur you mean?
Ford Escape unsold.
press release 1 unwritten
press release 2 unwritten
laundry not washed
laundry not dried
laundry not folded
laundry not put away
dance class not registered for
therapy appt not scheduled
Yoga tape stopped mid-way for a week
kids videos 3 days late
dusting--ha ha that's a joke. who dusts?
virus update on desktop--worm? what worm?
hug not received
dance video still unwatched--recital was in June
mandatory unemployment workshop unattended
dogs out of food
jenna out of soymilk
there's more, but I think I've done enough damage.
cat still has his balls
bills unpaid--nearly all
garage door--springs popped
garage floor--because the springs popped, the floor now gets to hold all the shit I never know where to put.
vaccuming--what carpet? under the fur you mean?
Ford Escape unsold.
press release 1 unwritten
press release 2 unwritten
laundry not washed
laundry not dried
laundry not folded
laundry not put away
dance class not registered for
therapy appt not scheduled
Yoga tape stopped mid-way for a week
kids videos 3 days late
dusting--ha ha that's a joke. who dusts?
virus update on desktop--worm? what worm?
hug not received
dance video still unwatched--recital was in June
mandatory unemployment workshop unattended
dogs out of food
jenna out of soymilk
there's more, but I think I've done enough damage.
been quiet too long
up here late nursing a stomach ache. they happen to me every now and then, these intestinal bouts of agony that I think after many years of having them are due to not drinking enough water and drinking too much caffiene--i.e. dehydrating.
so I'm sitting with my knees up and my arms in some Frankenstien like extension over the couch, onto my little Borders lap desk which sits on the piano stool in front of the couch: i.e., my office.
I decided to see if I can do 30 posts to keep my mind off of my behind, for the time being. Off we go...
so I'm sitting with my knees up and my arms in some Frankenstien like extension over the couch, onto my little Borders lap desk which sits on the piano stool in front of the couch: i.e., my office.
I decided to see if I can do 30 posts to keep my mind off of my behind, for the time being. Off we go...
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