Archive for June 21st, 2008

Karen had a wonderful quote she shared yesterday. Go read it, I’m not going anywhere.

You back? Good. Her post got me thinking about a small placard my mom gave me when A was born.

I have no idea who wrote this, or where my mom got it. It’s on a wood plaque, printed on parchment-like paper with burned edges. I know she had it the entire time I was growing up, and she gave it to me because it helped her so much. I have it over the jewelry box in my bedroom and read it every day.

Does it help? Sometimes. And sometimes it’s a rebuke. I am not as patient as I could be. I certainly don’t have gentle and smiling eyes some days, and hasty replies? Well…I’ve been known to drop the f-bomb in front of the boys. I don’t think I heard my mom drop the f-bomb until I was in college.

It is certainly a prayer of sorts, and there are days when it runs through my head in a continuous loop. I need it in front of me on a daily basis, to keep me on the right path. ‘Cause with my two…I need all the help I can get.

…everything gets fracked.

I’ve seen how nutso my sons get during a full moon. January was bad, April I almost sold them…that means July oughta been just swell. Once a quarter, that seems to be their M.O.

And now my modem/router has gotten into the act.

Maude the Pre-Menopausal Modem is what I’ve decided to call her. Roughly every month she gets a bug up her ass and stops working. No warning. No reason. I just have to go into the other room, drag a chair over to the bookcase, climb up, pull the power cord from the router and turn off the modem. Wait thirty seconds and reverse the process. Several times a day. I’ve thought about offering her some red wine and chocolate, but she intimidates me. She might just go on strike for a longer period of time, forcing me to…gasp!…call tech support.

Oh GOD, please, not that! Not tech support! Tech support is routed through Mumbai. Half my friends growing up were of East Indian descent, I talked to their parents often…and I still can’t understand a word of the folks working tech support. And your name isn’t Steve or Caroline…trust me, I can pronounce your name! Please, not tech support! I can’t pay a babysitter for the two days it would take me to go through tech support!

So Maude the Pre-Menopausal Modem and I have a tenuous relationship. I understand she gets pissy once a month or so and kowtow to her…and she deigns to work for me.

A disfunctional relationship at its best.

So I thought this was post #500, but miscounted (which is not surprising, as I am a musician by training and really only need to be able to count to twelve). Let’s pretend this is post #500, shall we?

What am I doing to celebrate post #500 today? I went and got my hair highlighted and cut. I am now considerably less frumpy than before. I was aiming for new heights of frump before 10:30 this morning. Gold medal at the frump olympics…with a perfect 10 from the Russian judges, and you all know how tough they are to impress. I am now no longer in the running for Frump of the Year…which is sorta disappointing. I hear the tiara is just lovely.

What else, what else. Well, I had intended for this post to come out earlier than today, but I lost Thursday. I lost Thursday to the Black Hole of Migraines…Now with Visual Auras! Yes, the Ms. Migraine, the bitch of all biatches, showed up on Thursday. At least I had about thirty seconds of warning when I suddenly (and I mean suddenly) had no vision to my left and down. None. Four ibuprofin did nothing. And I totally freaked out Tom when I was making lunch for the boys and walked plumb into the kitchen island because it was to my left and below the sight I had. Yes, I have a charming bruise, thanks for asking. The rest of the afternoon was spent with me on the couch praying for relief and sleeping. The evening brought a second Visual Aura of Doom, but I’d already taken more ibuprofin and was on my way to bed, so I didn’t care as much. Friday was the Day After…where you’re drained and still headachy, but now have to recover your life, head be damned. At least I didn’t send off unintentional emails this time.

Because I’ve been desperate to speed up the ibuprofin relief, I’ve been drinking coffee. Ah…hellloooo lovaahhhh!!! I’ve missed you! We’ll meet again at the next migraine, you sexy thing. Our illicit love affair does wonders for my soul. Just don’t bring your ho, dairy, to the party. She and I don’t get along.

There is nothing sexier than my husband cleaning the bathrooms. And nothing warms my heart like my sons dusting. All while I blog.

Here’s to another 500 posts…may they be wittier, more interesting, and filled with stuff worth reading. Cheers!