tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45125528428984692702024-03-21T19:26:24.509-05:00There's a Penguin on the TellyGerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-90133860707723645402009-08-31T06:34:00.001-05:002009-08-31T06:36:19.841-05:00This blog has moved.Now blogging under the title "<a href="http://justgerbil.wordpress.com/">Don't Poke the Bear</a>".Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-7996314620096616182009-08-26T14:30:00.000-05:002009-08-26T14:51:52.449-05:00Lost in TranslationRecently, I had reason to venture into our fine county courthouse, for the purpose of assisting my older son in paying a traffic ticket. He hadn't realized that the court would not accept starter checks and he had not yet received the "real" checks for his new bank account. <br /><br />I work right around the corner so I offered to write the payment from my checking account, he could write his check to me and all would be good. Right?<br /><br />Right. <br /><br />When you enter the courthouse, you pass through metal detectors and have your belongings xrayed and all that. This fine day, the detectors were manned by two deputies somewhere in their early to mid 60s, I'd say.<br /><br />Also on this fine day? I was feeling a tad ... puffy. 6 weeks of prednisone did nothing for the upkeep of my girlish figure, you understand, and I'd decided to employ the use of specially designed Foundation Garments to help keep things in check.<br /><br />Anyway. Y'all can guess where this might be headed, no doubt. And you'd be right. I stepped through the gate and the detector went off with a resounding alarm. The deputies gave me the evil eye and pointed to the side. I slunk over as they approached with The Wand. <br /><br />"Ma'am, are you carrying anything we need to know about?"<br />Blushing, I whispered "it's my... Foundation Garment. It has metal hooks." <br />The deputy frowned as the wand beeped at my midsection. "Your what?"<br />"Foundation garment."<br />"What is a Foundation Garment??"<br />Realizing I was about two beeps away from a strip search and calculating the deputy's age, I hung my head and gave him an answer he'd understand.<br />"It's a girdle."<br /><br />His eyes widened in comprehension and he blushed too.<br /><br />"Uh... You can go on through, ma'am"<br /><br />My son was waiting, looking horrified as I approached the elevator. Another couple was standing there, looking at me curiously. Alas, I was still doing the Walk of Chagrin, and it required one last compound before it would crystallize into bright, bitter Shame.<br /><br />The deputy turned to his partner and explained "It was her girdle!"<br /><br />Aaaaaand he said it just as there was a lull in the noise of the atrium and everyone on both levels heard him.<br /><br />Lord, sometimes its a party to be me.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-79455660661116236642009-08-26T07:08:00.003-05:002009-08-26T09:33:10.755-05:00I wanna new drugItems circulating through the brain matter this morning:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">my rheumatologist is NOT on my happy list this morning, wtf, this hurts and I'm over it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I need a new blog. New name, maybe new location. Alas, brain is fogged in and can't think straight.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm still going to hunt down the Universe and kick it in the balls six or seven times for L & J and G. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Short Stuff said something downright hilarious to me last night, sounding more like 30 than 3, but the brain fog has hidden it away from me and its pissing me off.<br /><br /><br />With my new haircut, if I dye it bright bright red and slick it back with lots of gel? I could TOTALLY play Columbia at the nearest midnight showing of Rocky Horror.<br /><br />Wtf? I am twenty years past the RHPS roleplaying scene.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ow.</span>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-85962904144367371792009-08-25T18:28:00.002-05:002009-08-25T18:45:08.237-05:00Dear Universe... you suckYeah, I know, Life Is Not Fair and all that bullshit. But sometimes something happens to good people that is so unbelievably NOT RIGHT, you just want to grab the universe by the hair and give it two or three shots to the kisser and then kick it in the balls.<br /><br />And its not every going to happen no matter how much you really really want it to, so all you can do is sit there and feel helpless and heartbroken and angry and cry a lot and make wishes that can't ever come true. Wishes that you could rewind things, get do-over, somehow make all of this NOT HAVE HAPPENED to two wonderful people who were getting their wish and then it fell apart.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And if you wish in one hand and spit in the other, its no surprise which one fills up first. So you pray, and you keep wishing anyway, and you cry some more and you desperately want your friend not to have to be going through this.<br /><br />But she is. And so is her husband. And a little outside their circle, so is everyone that loves them.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">L & J, I am so sorry you had such a short time with your angel. I am so sorry he had to go so soon. I would give anything to have this just be a bad dream. My heart is broken. I don't have the words, I just don't have the words....</span><br /><br /><br />And I don't care if I sound like a five year old.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >THIS IS SO DAMNED UNFAIR AND ITS NOT RIGHT AND I DON'T WANT IT TO BE HAPPENING.</span>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-21143911422301420052009-08-23T19:19:00.003-05:002009-08-23T19:42:33.347-05:00Great Literature Being in the Eye of the Beholder...My mom is still in the hospital, recovering from surgery. On my way to visit her this afternoon, I stopped at the local bookstore to pick up some magazines for her and maybe some short stories if I could find some she hadn't read yet.<br /><br />As I was checking out the "new fiction" display, there was no way to avoid overhearing the rant another customer was delivering to one of the employees. The rant-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ee</span> had her husband and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pre</span>-teens in tow, and was she righteously angry? Oh yes... yes she was. Apparently, this store did not carry a particular book and the helpful clerk had offered to a) order it for her or b) provide her with a list of other stores that did have it in stock. This was simply not acceptable.<br /><br />"Does NO ONE in this town read? No one? This is APPALLING. I cannot BELIEVE I am going to have to go to another TOWN to find it. We just moved here from TEXAS and this is like STEPPING BACK IN TIME. I cannot believe this. I have never SEEN such a bunch of UNEDUCATED, UNREAD people in my LIFE and they don't even seem to CARE!"<br /><br />She stomped away to another display and one of her children murmured something about a vampire book on display, which triggered another round. "I am not buying you that, you don't READ your books!" she said, in the sort of smug tone you usually here from eighth-grade girls. "You need to READ some of the books you already HAVE. You're not like ME, I READ all my books, I read all the time! I can't go a DAY without reading!"<br /><br />I turned to see what kind of woman was delivering these elitist, self-aggrandizing tantrums and discover what books she was shopping for. Elie Wiesel, perhaps? Isabelle Allende? Zorah Neale Hurston? Or perhaps Descartes? Voltaire? Dostoevsky? Faulkner? Barbara Kingsolver? Salman Rushdie?? Virginia Woolf??? Oh, Enquiring Gerbils HAD to know!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Y'know... her entire spiel probably would have carried a LOT more weight if she hadn't been carrying three really trashy bodice-rippers.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-84798377647910915402009-08-22T20:55:00.002-05:002009-08-22T22:15:31.136-05:00Goin through the Big D and I don't mean Dallas... or divorce.So amidst my other adventures in recent months, I really began to have trouble keeping up. I chalked various physical symptoms up to this or that... such as the insomnia and incessant hot flashes - hot flashes that were less hormonal surges than <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pyroclastic</span> hormonal clouds ripping down the mountainside, laying waste to everything in its path in an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">incandescent</span> flash. My doctor shrugged and suggested perimenopause and I gritted my teeth and thought evil thoughts about the whole thing.<br /><br />Fatigue became my constant companion. That, too, was easily brushed off. My mom's going through a hellish cancer treatment, there's always some other family drama happening, my job was getting stressful and I have a preschooler. The common response? C'mon, say it with me. All together now: DUH.<br /><br />And then I noticed joint pain constantly swelling lymph glands and began to suspect there was something else going on... Unfortunately, most doctors attributed this combination of factors to "Stress" and "You're a woman".<br /><br />Stress? Seriously, they have NO IDEA what kind of stress I can take in the teeth and keep on going. This was not stress.<br /><br />Luckily, my insurance changed and I had to get all new doctors. And finally started getting taken seriously. This was good, because I started really going downhill. It got so bad that if I tried to vacuum an 8 x 11 rug, I had to lay down for two hours. I really wish that was exaggeration. The joint pain was overwhelming - every single joint felt like it was filled with molten lava mixed with razor sharp broken glass. <br /><br />And lets discuss the brain fog, the incredible haze of stupidity I found myself flailing in. Or rather, lets not because that was the most humiliating aspect of the entire experience.<br /><br />This went on from December until the end of June. Each week brought me lower and lower. By the time I was sent to a rheumatologist, I really had to fight to be able to get out of bed each morning. Worse, most people thought I was making everything up, that I was just being lazy or looking for attention because there was nothing apparently wrong. Nothing they could see, therefore it could not really exist.<br /><br />Let me point out that I am not telling this story to fish for sympathy, not at all. I am telling this because sometimes something small, something unseen but something ridiculously common can lay your ass out like Mike Tyson.<br /><br />After months of blood work, they finally tested my vitamin D levels. Guess what, I had almost NONE in my body. Who knows why... but the result? It messed me up something fierce.<br /><br />I had not known that Vitamin D does a hell of a lot more than allow you to absorb calcium and help strengthen your bones. Vitamin D deficiencies can bring some friends after a while, including: high blood pressure, increased risk of certain cancers , multiple sclerosis, several autoimmune disorders, type 1 diabetes, cognitive impairment - including that damned brain fog - and a host of other issues.<br /><br />Symptoms of a deficiency? Yeah. Pretty much everything I had, including a burning muscle pain. And it took more than 7 months for someone to order this blood test, even though they also told me that the deficiency is becoming more common. <br /><br />There may be something more going on, but in the meantime, I take massive amounts of D3 for another month or so, and then a lower dose until November, when I'll have the bloodwork run again. I also take my blood pressure medications since I developed hypertension, and my medication that allows me 6 or 7 hours of clear thinking and a respite from the muscle pain.<br /><br />Pay attention to what your bodies are telling you, folks. I wish I had pushed harder when the first set of doctors blew me off.<br /><br /><br />****<br /><br />And now for something completely different. Are you familiar with <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">LOLcats?</a> Jacob MUST have my <a href="http://lulzftw.com/">lolcat book</a> when he goes to bed. This has been going on since Christmas. That book and his stuffed lamb, every night.<br /><br />I'm pretty certain his preschool teacher thinks I need professional help.<br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypertension" title="Hypertension"></a>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-60169192784532269502009-08-20T16:58:00.002-05:002009-08-20T17:04:54.936-05:00Can I Get a Witness?I'm driving home this evening on a fairly busy intermediate county road. Its one of the few roads that connects the eastern and western ends of the county directly, so it gets a respectable amount of traffic.<br /><br />I'm setting the scene here, see?<br /><br />And as we're traveling along, I see a person standing in the ditch up ahead... the state has really cut the budget for roadside mowing, so the weeds? They are tall. And thick. And dry and probably scratchy and all that. In short, why in the hell would anybody be standing in the middle of the weedy ditch???<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br /><br /><br />OH.<br /><br /><br /><br />Yeah, as I get close to the guy, I see its a teenager - about 17. And I see why he's standing in the ditch.<br /><br /><br /><br />He is having a pee.<br /><br /><br />In the weeds. In the ditch. On the side of the road, in front of dozens and dozens of cars.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Klass. Ur doin it rong.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-73297674435528001252009-08-18T18:38:00.002-05:002009-08-18T18:47:29.276-05:00Meanwhile, back at the ranch....My kitchen table is exactly two and a half steps away from the countertop. Not long ago, Short Stuff and I were sitting at said table. I was finishing a cup of coffee and he was drawing pictures with washable markers. I finished my coffee and got up to set the cup on the counter.<br /><br />Two and a half steps.<br /><br /><br />One one thousand, two one thousand aaaaand turn around.<br /><br /><br />And in that amount of time, this happened:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b9da01b3127ccec6bc8d8f9acf00000050O38Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D3/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 550px; height: 400px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b9da01b3127ccec6bc8d8f9acf00000050O38Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D3/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b9da01b3127ccec6bc018e1bb800000050O38Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D3/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 550px; height: 400px;" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/media/47b9da01b3127ccec6bc018e1bb800000050O38Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw/cC/f%3D0/ps%3D50/r%3D3/rx%3D550/ry%3D400/" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I looked at my little Picasso and asked "Jacob, what did you DO???"<br />"I color mah FACE!" (thinks a minute) "It a snake."<br /><br />And with that we learned the next Life Lesson. Washable markers? Not. so. much.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-90152075477180977232009-08-16T21:49:00.004-05:002009-08-16T22:04:46.904-05:00'Scuse me while I whip this outMom went to the emergency room last night with some complications and they decided to admit her for a couple of days. And when the night nurse came on duty and was checking things over, she remarked on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ostomy</span> mom still currently has after the bowel resection last Halloween. They're planning on reversing it next month.<br /><br />"I had cancer too," she told my mom. "I had breast cancer and had a double mastectomy. I had reconstructive surgery and they did a really great job."<br /><br />wait for it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">waaaaaaaaaait</span> for it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"See??"<br /><br /><br /><br />Yes. She. Did. The nurse, understandably proud of being a cancer survivor, and feeling that she was encouraging my mother in her battle, and I don't know, maybe feeling some sort of Surgical Sisterhood going on... she pulled the top of her scrubs and her bra up.<br /><br />And displayed her bare breasts to my startled mother.<br /><br /><br />And this serves to illustrate that the trait of having the most bizarre things happen is clearly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hereditary</span>.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-62601994106583296112009-08-14T23:52:00.002-05:002009-08-14T23:59:40.237-05:00I'm finally ready to admit this. Last week I almost killed a b*tch. With a tampon<p> Another glimpse into the embarrassing world I live in.</p><p>So there I was in the Super Target near my office... and it was THAT week. And since Jacob was born? It has gotten progressively worse to the point where you wouldn't be surprised to find out that my period is actually one of the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse, moonlighting. It requires strict measures to deal with the horror for at least 3 or 4 days. I'm not going into specifics, just trust me when I assure you that my body does some really horrific things with itself. Not for the faint of heart.<br /></p><p>And as I waited in line with my stuff, I realized that we were reaching Critical Mass and there was a limited amount of time before Total System Failure and there was NO way I was going to make it back to the office to deal with it. </p><p>Nope. I was going to have to brave the Target bathroom. </p><p>Grimly, I scurried into the first stall in time to avoid disaster. And it was... bad. REAL bad. I pull a new tampon from my purse... now, I must admit that things are so bad I have no choice but to use the purple OBs. The Ultras. THE BIG GUNS. These are to your average tampon as a howitzer is to a bb gun. (Even these only last me 30 minutes, so I am totally out of options)</p><p>I unwrap it and do what I need to do to prepare it for use. I don't need to share the detail there... I'm sure a lot of you get it. And... I dropped it. And it BOUNCED. It bounced and rolled to a merry stop between the high-heeled wedges of the chick in the next stall.</p><p>What do you do? Do you laugh heartily and say "hey, d'ya mind kicking my tampon back over? ha! ha!"?? Do you ignore it? Do you gasp and clutch your pearls?? And as I am running through my mental catalogue of Etiquette for Stray Tampons and coming up with nothing (and hoping to god I had another one in my purse - not that I'd dare use the migratory tampon anyway, yuck)... girlfriend next door finished her pee and stood up.</p><p>She was wearing those tight skinny jeans, the kind where you have to do the little dance/hop to get them over your hips? And as she did that, she stepped on the tampon in her high heeled wedge and slipped and fell HARD into the stall wall. And she looked down and started shrieking.</p><p>"OMG, what the f***? That's a tampon, omfG somebody left a f***ing TAMPON on the floor and I stepped on the f***ing thing and that mother f***er is HUGE, OMFG, what the f***" yadda yadda yadda as she slammed her indignant way out of the stall and washed her hands and stomped out the door, still cussing and going on about the horror of the enormous tampon she'd nearly broken her ankle on.</p><p>Ok and that was bad enough. I finished my business and zoomed the hell out of there and back to work. I called a friend and told her and she howled.</p><p>But it got worse. Today? I'm sitting in my office working on expense reports and I hear.... THE VOICE. I told myself it was surely coincidence, but I looked out in the hall and see one of the new contractors talking to someone. And... she's wearing the shoes. Its the chick from the Target Bathroom. I am never leaving my office again, it can only end in tears.</p><p>I can't wait for menopause. <br /></p>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-30871676175550902792008-11-18T11:07:00.002-05:002008-11-18T11:24:02.531-05:00He's either got a future on stage or perhaps insurance fraud. Tale of a Toddler.Short Stuff, as I have mentioned, is something of a clever monkey and we keep a close eye on his actions lest he, I don't know, disassemble the television or something.<br /><br />He is, at this point, proficient with stairs unless he gets distracted, but for safety is not permitted to be on them alone. The following incident has occurred three separate times:<br /><br />The J was playing with his assortment of cars and trucks in the family room while I loaded the dishwasher. Our house has an open floor plan, so the kitchen and family room are kind of like one long room. After a minute or so, he silently got up and trotted down the hallway towards the front door and the stairs. I followed to see him sit down on the bottom step, nodding to himself. Seemingly lost in thought, he patted the carpeted stair and nodded again. Then he bent at the waist and leeeeeaaned forward slowly, until he slid off of his seat and was lying on his stomach a the base of the stairs.<br /><br />Then, he lifted one leg up behind him and placed it on the stairs. The action was repeated for the other leg, after which he spread both arms out to the side and then put his face straight down.<br /><br />And then? He began to moan and groan.<br /><br />If I had not stood there watching this entire set-up, I would certainly have assumed he'd fallen on the stairs and apparently that was EXACTLY what Short Stuff was thinking.<br /><br />"Nice show," I told him, "You do know I was watching the whole time, right? Cut the drama, silly man."<br /><br />And he scrambled up and giggled and ran off to play some more.<br /><br />Don't ask me where he got the idea to do this.<br /><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTaPgjmki6JyFcnGpUTgwnGFrh5hiFLC60eRmIokBO0m7nlj1vHKNG_Go-HpZuXO1-CEnRcAQXn0NiYprGhZVOF5B5bM-Re6NS2Pst1QYm6ibKakX7XWHMedlZcfOIDBVoo0iI0Tq1XbYj/s1600-h/kickingback.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270033940936550082" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 233px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTaPgjmki6JyFcnGpUTgwnGFrh5hiFLC60eRmIokBO0m7nlj1vHKNG_Go-HpZuXO1-CEnRcAQXn0NiYprGhZVOF5B5bM-Re6NS2Pst1QYm6ibKakX7XWHMedlZcfOIDBVoo0iI0Tq1XbYj/s320/kickingback.jpg" border="0" /></a>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-53710860572457571912008-11-17T10:39:00.005-05:002008-11-17T12:07:11.053-05:00Managing my stress is stressing me out. But who's hungry??Some people manage their stress through meditation or crying or painting or racquetball or eating or drinking or whatever. Me? I am prone to handling stress in two ways. If its the minor-but-annoying sort of stress, I dye my hair. If its the I-think-my-head-is-about-to-pop-off-and-roll-down-the-hall kind, I go crazy in the kitchen.<br /><br />This weekend? Was a go crazy kind of couple of days.<br /><br />It resulted in two batches of snickerdoodles, lemon lamb ragout over noodles, meat pie, chicken soup with homemade spaetzle, roasted and pureed butternut squash, sweet potato pudding and buttermilk biscuits.<br /><br />And although this made everyone else delighted, it wound up creating three dishwasher loads of dishes, plus all the things that needed to be handwashed, sweeping up the flour I spilled and cleaning the counters 9 times.<br /><br />And I seriously need to wash the kitchen floor now.<br /><br />I need to find some way to manage my stress that doesn't make more work for me.<br /><br /><br />Also... Short Stuff has been sick this weekend. Not surprising, since I caught the current office plague midweek last week and it knocked me on my tush. Friday night started off badly, my husband and I getting into a rolicking, loud, painful argument after J was asleep that resulted in bitterness and hurt feelings... a horrible, wet sounding coughing from Short Stuff's room around midnight put the argument to rest for good as we both responded to his whimpers. Now, I know better than to stand behind both horses and cows. You'd think by now I would have also learned not to stand behind my husband when he picks up a sick child. Alas, both for J and me, he was immediately sick to his stomach. What is it about motherhood that turns you into someone that might once have covered your eyes in horror at a hangnail, but now lets you embrace a whimpering child without flinching at the vomit coating both of you?<br /><br />Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep after that. By the end of the weekend, we had to make a trip to the after-hours pediatrician and Short Stuff has a humdinger of a raging ear infection and strep. My poor monkey has not had a good weekend.<br /><br />But the only part of it he's complained about? The part that distresses him to the core? Not the high fevers, not the pain in his head, not the coughing that kept him up all night. Nope. He's horrified and I mean absolutely APPALLED by the fact that he's gotten "boogies." "Is TEWWIBLE!!" he tells me, waving his hands around for added emphasis. Go figure.<br /><br />And after all that, the thing I felt most like doing was cooking. Clearly, the stress is getting to me.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-61824275197423476602008-11-14T13:16:00.002-05:002008-11-14T13:21:49.900-05:00Oops, all fresh out of supposedly witty titles.Rock on with myself. But I have a working, REALLY working, computer of my own now AND a internet-capable cell phone where the keypad is not peeling away and the keys really work. It bites when most of your communication tools take a flying leap at the same time. I had to resort to my old standbys... smart mouth, mostly. It didn't get me far.<br /><br />Mom's finished her radiation and first round of chemo and had her first surgrey on Halloween. She came home from the hospital last week and is doing well, all things considered. The surgeon said he was very pleased at the outcome of the surgery and he's pretty certain he got it all. For now, she recovers before the next round of chemo.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-9552032180079477152008-08-22T22:13:00.002-05:002008-08-22T22:24:39.380-05:00In which we learn something...When I arrived at mom's with dinner (slow-cooked apple-glazed pork loin, roasted ginger cinnamon butternut squash and roasted asparagus. Did I mention I handle stress with saucepans??) tonight, she was looking solemn. (also annoyed)<br /><br />"I learned something important today," she announced.<br />"Do tell," says I.<br />"well... if you spend your days having your ass end nuked, and they tell you that Pampers Ultra Sensitive Wipes will make your daily business more pleasant? They are lying."<br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ohhhhkay</span>."<br />"And do you know WHY?"<br />"Um. I am afraid to guess."<br />"I will tell you. It is because whatever is in the damn things leaves a film. Like baby oil. BABY OIL. Which serves to amplify the radiation and if you thought your parts were burned before???"<br /><br />She trailed off, looking really, really pissed.<br /><br />Boy is it hard to think of a response to a greeting like that.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-7881338267761470142008-08-20T21:36:00.004-05:002008-08-20T22:27:31.758-05:00rebootWe're in Week Three of chemo & radiation in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CancerLand</span> out here and it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally</span> bites. Mom's holding up, I guess, but I've discovered something that feels worse than seeing your child weeping. Moms can comfort their children, making things "all better" with a hug and a kiss and maybe a Hello Kitty <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">bandaid</span>.<br /><br />But when YOUR mom suddenly dissolves into tears? There just ain't enough Hello Kitty <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">bandaids</span> on the market to make that all better.<br /><br />She's trying to keep hold of her sense of humor. Surgery looks to happen in October, and she'll have to have a temporary <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ostomy</span> while she heals. Can't say she's looking forward to that, but my daughter (who has clearly inherited the family twisted humor) has promised to knit her an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ostomy</span> cozy. (Like a tea cozy. Only.... not.) She was going to make an octopus, but between the two of them, they decided an octopus was not suitably vile enough to fit the purpose and they have settled on a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">remora</span>.<br /><br />It's funny how your whole world can abruptly narrow down to The Disease and its eradication. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Ok</span>, its not funny at all, but you get the idea. Still, there are moments of hilarity in which we think we might get through this. For instance, she's opted for the continual infusion pump for her chemo. The port was surgically inserted into her chest, and she has a bag that holds her chemo. Every 2 minutes, it sends another burst of chemicals through the tubes and when it does, it makes a little squeaking noise.<br /><br />Her cats? Think there's a mouse in that bag. They have spent the last three weeks trying like hell to find that damned mouse. We cannot seem to convince them otherwise.<br /><br /><br />* * *<br /><br /><br />My cousin was married this past weekend and mom was unable to go so the rest of us drove out to attend. As late as Friday, I still had nothing to wear, and dashed into a local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">TJ</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Maxx</span> on my lunch break. As luck would have it, I actually found a possible dress and squeezed myself into their absurdly small changing rooms to try it on. I must admit that although I was wearing a good suit, underneath of it I was hardly dressed for success. My unmentionables were of a caliber that would probably inspire more laughter than racing hearts... but I had no plans to share them with the general public, so whatever. I'm confident that many a woman out there has done the same thing around Laundry Day.<br /><br />So the dress appears to fit and I get it zipped most of the way... tug. tug. Oops. Huh. I can't seem to get it to move. Tug. Tug. Tug tug tug TUG. Aw hell. I try and unzip and.... nothing. Nada. It's stuck. I'M stuck. Tug tug tug yank tug. I am really really stuck.<br /><br />I manage to snake one arm out without dislocating my shoulder, and contort myself and the fabric enough to see that the zipper is actually broken, and as I zipped it up, it was coming open beneath the zipper pull. Yep. I am well and truly stuck and will need assistance to get out of this.<br /><br />I hold the bodice up and go in search of the 18 year old attendant. We do not fit into this little closet of a changing room together, so the girl stands in the open door and starts yanking on the zipper for all she is worth. I am trying not to fall on my butt, because this girl has got some serious upper body strength and I'm close to flying backward with every attempt she makes.<br /><br />Finally, she gives one last savage yank on that zipper and it practically FLEW downward. And so, alas.... did the dress. She exerted so much force on that last pull, not only did she rip that broken zipper open, it pulled the dress clear OFF of me and it fell onto the floor.<br /><br />Just as three women entered the dressing area.<br /><br />And there I stand, trying to gather the shreds of my dignity.<br /><br />Go figure.<br /><br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Also? I don't think I hear myself thinking, lately. Mostly I just get this high-pitched humming noise that could possibly indicated that I've shorted out my brain. Overload. Syntax error, does not compute. In the family roles, I've apparently been cast as the worker bee, the "fixer", the problem solver.<br /><br />I CAN'T FIX THIS AND IT PISSES ME OFF MIGHTILY.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-92206360393735285592008-07-08T08:33:00.001-05:002008-07-08T11:10:21.741-05:00In Which She Attempts to Channel her Inner Martha Stewart and Winds Up with Jerry LewisSince mom has been ill, I've been pitching in by cooking their dinners. It's no trouble, since I find it just as easy to cook for five as three and its especially important as we battle stage 3 cancer, that she keeps to a healthy diet.<br /><br />Which sets the stage recently for a planned meal of herbed pork loin chops, roasted new potatoes, steamed sugar snap peas and a wilted spinach salad with organic balsamic dressing.<br /><br />And therein lay my trouble.<br /><br />Now, mom has allergies to msg and sulfites, so finding a balsamic dressing without them is not an easy task and I was not up to the chore of making one from scratch. (I know. Major demerit on the Martha scale.) But I found one - Annie's Organic - and decided I was good to go.<br /><br />This was a brand-new bottle, plucked by the store shelf by Yours Truly. Unopened... with a plastic sheath sealing the top of the bottle. This is key. <br /><br />I think this also what's known as foreshadowing but what the hey. We're going with it.<br /><br />Anyway, I peeled away the plastic seal and flipped the bottle over to blend the contents as the balsamic vinegar had settled to the bottom. Flip down and flip back up and....<br /><br />You know, somebody at Annie's Organics bottling plant gets a big fat FAIL in my book. I do not expect to have to check whether the cap of an UNOPENED bottle to see if it is firmly screwed into place. And so it was that as I flipped the bottle upright, the cap flew off and three-quarters of the contents erupted out of the bottle in a balsamic geyser of epic proportions.<br /><br />The velocity caused the deluge of dressing to kind of spread itself out in midair and it seemed to hang there like something out of The Matrix long enough for me to realize that things were about to get very messy and there was not one dang thing I could do to prevent it.<br /><br />Time returned to its normal speed as cold vinaigrette splattered onto my head, all across both sides of the kitchen, the stove, down my shirt... there was balsamic vinaigrette in my BRA. <br /><br />The sound of the splatter drew my daughter and parents out to the kitchen to behold my fragrant disaster. To her credit, my daughter started helping me clean up the mess with just a bare hint of a smirk. <br /><br />Cooking with Gerbil... kind of like vaudeville dinner theatre.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-65682219263358329622008-07-07T08:33:00.000-05:002008-07-07T09:01:40.408-05:00It's all about the numbers1 diagnosis.<br />3 weeks of emotion from all sides.<br />8 doctor's appointments.<br />1 round of chemo lasting 40 days.<br />3 choices of how to receive the chemo drugs.<br />0 prescription drug coverage.<br />4570 in cash for the chemo pills<br />5 trips to the hospital weekly to recieve chemo injections<br />1 decision to use the implantable continuous infusion pump<br />1 procedure to insert the pump<br />15 days of external radiation following chemo<br />1 surgery to resect the bowel, with a stoma and temporary ostomy<br />30 days of adjuvant chemo<br />1 surgery to reattach everything<br />7 days of meals to prepare<br />1 entire house to be scrubbed down<br />10 skeins of yarn to finish the ''chemo blanket'' my daughter asked me to help knit<br />25 years since I last held knitting needles.<br />8 gazillion deep breaths.<br />1 pair of 'big girl panties' that I keep yanking up so I can keep my 'game face' on.<br />6 million tears my mother is trying very hard not to let anyone see<br /><br />all comes down to 64.<br /><br /><br />64 percent.<br /><br /><br />Our chances of a 5 year survival.<br /><br /><br /><br />Sure, better odds than Vegas. Still a little overwhelming.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-74089088690371834692008-06-18T20:03:00.004-05:002008-06-19T09:57:02.816-05:00Lather, Rinse... oh my.The heck with good days. How can you tell if your toddler had a <em>GREAT</em> day???<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p> </p><br /><br />Look closely. Very closely.<br /><br /><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d839b3127ccec43015cc79a200000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 275px; CURSOR: hand" height="405" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d839b3127ccec43015cc79a200000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />The lighting is bad but that is ONE DAY'S DIRT, washed off of His Shortness just barely a half-hour ago. <br /><br /><br />Now excuse me, please. I gotta go get the scrub brush. Again.<br /><br /><br />No wonder that child was asleep five minutes after his bath!Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-25792921397280782452008-06-17T19:39:00.000-05:002008-06-17T18:46:26.540-05:00AnswersSomewhere, I once read that God answers all prayers, but sometimes the answer is no.<br /><br /><br /><br />She's got colon cancer. <br /><br /><br /><br />Although its a large mass and fully blocking the intestine, it hasn't metastasized. They can't stage it until she's had an endoscopic ultrasound to determine how far its penetrated the intestinal wall.<br /><br />So she'll start with chemo to shrink the tumor and hopefully kill the cancer cells before she has surgery.<br /><br />Who knew that a horrific case of food poisoning could possibly save a life? But for a popular fast-food meal on her way out to Aunt F's funeral - she of the cabbages - my mother would have suspected nothing. She had no pain, no symptoms... she's young. But that fast-food meal was bad, and the distress it caused didn't go away and her doctor became worried.<br /><br />And so she had to have a colonoscopy, which we are learning, freaks people out enough that they refuse to consider having one. <br />But she relented, so she has the chance to beat this.<br /><br />And now that the worst shock is over with, we can plan our attack.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-30700826449093504482008-06-16T19:39:00.000-05:002008-06-16T20:01:39.274-05:00Waiting.For what seems like forever, I waited.<br /><br />First, it was to learn if my son had accumulated enough credits.<br /><br />Then, to be certain he'd passed the last math course.<br /><br />And last, for the DAY. <br /><br />And then this past wednesday, my son graduated high school and my heart almost broke with pride and relief. Its been one hell of a fight to get him back on his feet and back on his way. The wait was so worth it. <br /><br /><br />And now I'm waiting again, for different answers, answers to darker questions.<br /><br />My mother had a colonoscopy the very same day and they found a mass. They did a biopsy and a CT scan and told her its genetic, but because of her medications, she can't remember what they referred to. We know she'll require surgery, whatever is going on.<br /><br />So. <br /><br />Its kind of draining, going from one emotional extreme to the other, back and forth. Forgive me if I'm a little distracted this past week.<br /><br />I'll be sitting over here, waiting.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-77525995085289757182008-06-12T17:27:00.006-05:002008-06-12T18:53:18.088-05:00Let's see now...When Short Stuff and I get home in the afternoons, I'm more than ready to ditch the business suit and pantyhose in favor of frumpwear... er, clothing more suited to racing around like a lunatic with a gleeful toddler.<br /><br />Since the toddler in question is lightning quick and climbs like the monkeys he loves, its better to bring him into the bedroom with me while I change.<br /><br />Unless you happen to be standing there in your unmentionables as you're trying to get your pantyhose off and you hear the <em>whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr</em> of the venetian blinds being yanked skyhigh... the venetian blinds which normally prevent anyone walking past the front of the house from being able to see into your bedroom.<br /><br />And you drop to the floor in a horrified crouch and crawl toward the the window cord as your child waves frantically with one hand as he pounds on the window with the other to get the attention of the Perfectly Polished group of Uber Mommies strolling past with their perfectly groomed perfectly perfect dogs.<br /><br /><br /><br />Pride of the neighborhood, that's me.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-45157283384838811432008-06-07T20:23:00.004-05:002008-06-07T21:30:15.332-05:00Short Stuff can count to twelve (depending, of course, on whether he wants to), which has become part of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bath time</span> routine, counting the stairs as we go. If he's in a good mood, you can ask him what number comes next and he will tell you. If he's in a GREAT mood, he will give you answers such as "What comes after five?"<br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ohhh</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmm</span>. Grandma."<br /><br /><p> </p><p>He and I are on our own for most of the weekend, since my husband is valiantly trying to complete the work on his property. I find that nearly every single time, Short Stuff is the cure for what ails ya. We began our morning in bed with our cups... mine a stoneware mug of strong coffee, his a sturdy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sippy</span> of soy milk. Neither of us speaking, just leaning into each other and a vast mound of pillows. What a great way to start the morning.</p><br />My parents found a vintage Radio <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Flyer</span> bicycle and this thing has to be the smallest two-wheeler EVER. They refurbished it and brought it over tonight and Short Stuff is infatuated with this thing. He spent the better part of the evening climbing on and off of this thing like a monkey. Since I knew they were bringing the bike over, I took his Shortness to Target this morning to shop for bike helmets. I knew he had a generously-sized cranium but good lord. Toddler sizes did NOT fit. We now have a gorilla-sized bike helmet and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">rinky</span>-dinky bike. Seriously, the training wheels on this thing are smaller than my palm.<br /><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d826b3127ccec41bfb6c9f1500000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d826b3127ccec41bfb6c9f1500000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We also had to find a new pair of shoes for someone, since his disappeared at the sitter's during the week. She has torn her house upside down trying to find them, and on Friday, we think we maybe have figured out where they went... seems a certain somebody has figured out how to work her kitchen trash can, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">reeeeeaaaaally</span> quietly while Sitter is getting lunch on the table. How do we know this? Because she discovered her TV remote control in the trash can and J has been fascinated with the concept of trash. Ah well, he was about to grow out of them anyway.<br /><br /><br /><br />Sitter really had a tough week. Did I mention that we had the Dreaded <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Fingerpainting</span> Episode? Medium of choice was NOT paint. He got the wall, every inch of the pack and play, the floor, the other wall, himself, more of himself, even more of himself, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ohmylorddidyouROLLinit</span>??, the books, the bedding... and when I arrived to pick him up, he was very pleased to announce that "I POOP!!" The poor sitter looked like she needed a drink.<br /><br />I could use one myself. Although we had a fabulous day, I swear he has more energy than both of his siblings ever did... and that's combined. I also discovered today that in the same amount of time it takes me to walk from the family room to the kitchen table to set down a cup, the little monkey dude can scale a seven foot bookcase. From behind the Super Yard Gate, no less.<br /><br />I'm beginning to suspect that I might need to consider hiding my car keys.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-28211013677864618662008-06-06T17:17:00.000-05:002008-06-06T17:40:48.894-05:00Even Cowgirls Get the BluesFabulous. The FIOs issue still isn't fixed, and I'm still trying to read, comment and post using buttons about the size of your average pillbug, on a screen about 1.5 inches tall. If, after 15 phone calls, the issue is not resolved tomorrow afternoon, I am going to be sorely tempted to freak out.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />I'm in a funk. <br /><br />For one, I took a risk and well... I don't think you can say it failed, since I got up the guts to try, but it didn't have a happy ending. I attempted to extend an olive branch to someone who used to mean a lot to me and it was met with frozen silence. <br /><br />I will have to accept this.<br /><br />For two, there's a situation at work that's causing more tension and its required a lot of effort to sidestep and avoid being dragged into drama. <br /><br />The rest of it really isn't worth mentioning. So I won't. And besides... fiddle-dee-dee, Scarlet, tomorrow is another day and all that.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-10991617720979005782008-06-04T04:45:00.000-05:002008-06-04T05:07:03.951-05:00This is only a test...If this had been an actual emergency, you would have recieved further instruction. This is only a test. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.<br /><br /><br /><br />So. My husband claims that he doesn't dream and never has. I maintain that he just doesn't remember them when he wakes. Except last night....<br /><br />Apparently he had snuggled very close in the night. Cute, right? While he was cuddling up, he began dreaming that he was in a house with his friends. And it caught fire. And my husband, concerned for his friends' safety, screamed out warnings.<br /><br />Except he really did shriek ''FIRE'' at the top of his lungs. <br /><br />Two inches from my face. People, there is no sleeping through THAT. The flood of adreneline through my body was instant and effective. I was off that bed and bursting into our son's room, bent on rescue, before I realized that there was no problem beyond my husband's volume control.<br /><br />I suppose its a bit unfair to be annoyed at him for a dream, but oh, couldn't he have dreamed about bringing the sleep-deprived wife coffee and chocolate instead?? And maybe a nice back rub?<br /><br />I'm just going to count my blessings that he wasn't dreaming about stomping on spiders.Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4512552842898469270.post-13338145653244695732008-06-01T05:18:00.002-05:002008-06-01T08:49:58.277-05:00How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm<div><div>Now that I have returned to the Land of the Internet, I can shamelessly whore out some pictures of my cuties from our trip. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>The drive out was educational. I learned many things, notably that Short Stuff really WON'T sleep in the car more than about 20 minutes, no matter how long the trip. (Or, as we learned from last summer's ill-fated drive to the beach, what time you make the drive. We left at midnight, thinking he'd sleep the whole way, right? Wrong. SO wrong.) </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>I also was reminded that he really hates holding still, and he fillibustered the entire way on The Evils of Carseats and Why He Should be Let Loose. And since he's still not mastered the english language, he held forth in the universal toddler language of Shriek.</div><div></div><div> </div><div>Also? My daughter had PMS. What I won't do in pursuit of relaxation, hmm?</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Judge for yourself if it was worth it.</div><div> </div><div>That first morning came EARLY.</div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4167dbaec7700000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4167dbaec7700000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>Sitting on the front porch with his sister...<br /><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417631c4da200000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417631c4da200000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div></div><div><br />playing a little zim zam...<br /><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417b41c8c6100000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417b41c8c6100000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>And so is born his fascination with "trackers"</div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4163a682d2e00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4163a682d2e00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41661696d9a00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41661696d9a00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Long walks with his sister were great fun</div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec416df306d9c00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec416df306d9c00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>As were the face-making episodes</div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417e4ba8cef00000036108Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417e4ba8cef00000036108Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Gardening with his grandmother</div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41670deac8d00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41670deac8d00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41714470d5a00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec41714470d5a00000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417e80a8c5900000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec417e80a8c5900000025138Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div><a href="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4164f5dec8900000026108Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://im1.shutterfly.com/procserv/47b8d820b3127ccec4164f5dec8900000026108Cbt27Rq5aA9vPhw" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Relaxing? not one bit. But Short Stuff had an absolute BLAST. So it was worth it.</div></div>Gerbilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05483627399876857508noreply@blogger.com12