Zooooooooooooommmmmmmm!!!

I seem to be on a bit of a caffeine overload after the deprivation of the last couple of days.

This morning I got up, made a pot of the brew, and consumed the whole glorious thing while chatting to my friend across the pond, Linds. She and I have both become disenchanted with the Facebook chat tool since it kicks one or the other of us off every other time we reply. She got fed up enough today to telephone instead of keyboarding across the Atlantic. And I was one happy camper.

But more on that in a different post. Back to the caffeine.

Today I had a 44 oz. iced tea from the local Sonic drive-in, and then tonight I brewed yet another pot of the Elixir of the Gods, which I just finished off.

Because I wanted it. And because I could.

Because I have little to no sense, that's why.

So for those of you keeping score, that means I should actually get some sleep somewhere around 2010, give or take a minute or so. Hubster is already upstairs asleep. Lizzie the dog is asleep. I, however, am wide awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

I guess I could blame it on The Girl. She's at a dance tonight, and I should really wait up for her to make sure she gets home safely. And to do that, I obviously needed to have help.

Yeah.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It Was A Stressful Day

I spent the day doing the doctors' bidding.

Actually, the past two days. I wasn't allowed coffee or chocolate from 7 a.m. Thursday until around 3:30 p.m. today.

Can we just say I was, at best, unpleasant to be around? And we won't even mention the at worst, because it would be too ugly for the eyes of you delicate readers. Trust me on this one. And I think Son can bear me out when I say you ain't seen ugly until you've seen me go over twenty-four hours without coffee or chocolate. And when you put them both together, well, we won't even mention the utter ugliness of the whole thing.

Suffice it to say it's UUUUUGGGGG-LEEEEEEE. And then some.

Add to that the fact that I had to be at the doctor's office at the ungodly hour of 7:45 ayem in the morning before the CHICKENS even get up, without any breakfast, and OH, DID I MENTION THE LACK OF COFFEE??? and you get a small idea of the mood I was in.

I was there to do the Dance Of Torture For Fat People, otherwise known as a Stress Test.

Oh, it started out innocently enough. They started an IV and added some sort of thermo-nuclear (or nuecular, as our dear President is wont to say) radioactive liquid with a half-life of the next two lifetimes to my veins, then had me lie perfectly still and repent of all the sins I'd ever committed during my lifetime as they spent twenty minutes taking pictures of how I glowed in the dark.

And then I was sent off to play for the next two hours. I'm not quite sure why they couldn't just go ahead and do the next part of the test then, but apparently they wanted me to think about it in fear and trepidation and repent some more before administering the ultimate punishment. So I went upstairs to another doctor's office and got an asthma shot, then took a nap in the car.

Something tells me I should have spent the time on my knees instead.

At 11:30 a.m. I dutifully reported back to the office as ordered for the next phase of Fun With The Fat Lady. In Round Two, I strip to the waist and get electrodes stuck all over me. Personally, I think they went a little overboard on this part. The woman sticking the electrodes on me would give a little cackle after each one, knowing what was in my future. In the end, I think there were more electrodes than skin showing. They gave me a lovely designer gown to wear, and I was ushered into the Gates of Hell. They attached all of the little electrodes up to wires, plugged me into the wall, started a saline drip into my IV, and told me to mount The Beast.

The Beast was a state-of-the-art treadmill.

"Piece of cake," thought I. "I am a cham-peen walker. I could do this in my sleep."

And so the torture began.

First a regularly paced walk. Easy. No sweat. Then the angle changed. A steep uphill. More speed. Then more speed. I'm almost running now, something I haven't done since....have I ever run? I'm out of breath. My thighs are burning. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. They tell me to pick up the pace and to stop relying on the handlebar so much. ARE THEY KIDDING??? The handlebar is what is keeping me from flying off the end of the (#$%*&*#$% thing!!! Do they see I'm DYING HERE??? And then the road gets steeper still, and the pace even faster. I'm breathing so hard my throat hurts, and my legs are falling OFF OF MY BODY.

It's been four minutes.

I cave. Manage to tell them through sign language and eye signals and whatever other means I have that I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE AND I'M QUITTING NOW, PLEASE. They refuse. I'm getting lightheaded. They're telling me to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to keep from hyperventilating. My heart rate is up to 137, and they need it at 144. And once it gets there they promise they'll slow it down ...a little.

Yeah, and I'm 132 lbs. and 5' 8" tall, too.

Finally...FINALLY, they tell me I've reached the summit. They slow the Instrument of Torture down to a mere 25 mph, and I huff and puff and blow their little house down for the next two minutes. It gets so bad they start telling me every ten seconds how many I have left. They're taking my blood pressure and talking and all I hear is this buzzing in my ears as The Beast finally grinds to a halt.

My legs are like jelly and I still can't talk, which is probably a Very Good Thing at this point. They help me into a nearby chair and I collapse into a quivering, huffing mass of gelatinous flesh. After I have recovered sufficiently, I am allowed to get up and lie down on the bed of the machine which again takes photos of my poor, overtaxed, sweat-laden body.

Now THERE'S something to picture in your mind.

After the photos are done I peel off all of the sticker thingies, along with all the hair attached to them, and get dressed to go to the next test. Another IV, more photos, and dye in the veins this time instead of the radioactive stuff. Gee, wonder if I glowed in that one?

By the time all was said and done, so was I. I crawled across the street to the local Starbucks for my first caffeine in two days. I ordered the venti iced mocha nonfat w/whipped, and was delighted to hear the barista say, "Would you like FOUR shots with that?" Heck, yeah! Not only that, but I DESERVE four shots with that after all I've been through today.

And so I sat, all by myself, and enjoyed the quiet that was Starbucks for an entire hour. I listened to a book and drank my drink. I thought great thoughts. I relaxed. It felt so good I think I'm up for more of it tomorrow.

After I sleep in as late as I want, that is.

Gotta make up for today.

A Case Of The Yums

Tonight I was dead tired.

It was late when I left work. I stopped by Sonic to pick up a slush for Mom on the way to the rehab center, then drove through rush hour traffic forty-five minutes there.

Suffice it to say the slush sloshed a bit by the time I got there.

I spent a little over an hour with Mom, then headed out to the grocery store to buy the fixings for chili. It was going to be another late-night supper for us. And I was dreading the cooking aspect of the whole thing. Big time. The LAST thing I want to do on days like this is to cook, especially this late at night.

I left the store about 7:40 p.m., got home, carried the groceries in and set them on the counter. I sat down at the computer, updated a couple of things, then heard the recorder going off.

There was a message from a wonderful woman at church. She told me dinner was on the front porch. Taco soup, enough for an army!

I went. I looked. I saw. And we ate. And I didn't have to cook. And it was delicious!

Thank you, Francine. Thank you, North Heartland family. I love you all!

Just Call Me Shep

Just got a new photo taken, and thought y'all would like to see how I look nowadays.

Well, no. I haven't been able to get to my Most Excellent Hairdresser in a while. A couple of months to be exact. And yes, I could use some Miss Clairol. My roots seem to have grown out a bit.

But hey, I have an appointment this Thursday evening. And I fully intend to make it to this appointment, and I fully intend to dye my hair that very evening. Truly, I do.

So y'all are my accountability partners here. If you don't hear about a big change in my looks after Thursday, you are honor-bound to ask me about it.

Because really, it's kinda hard to see through all this hair....

In Which I Prove Myself To Be A Sluggard And A Very Bad Friend

I was supposed to have coffee with HeyJules this morning.

I say "supposed to" because I stood her up. Because I am a terrible friend.

But not because I intentionally meant to do it, honestly. I REALLY wanted to talk with her, to have coffee, and to try the new oatmeal (for which I have a free coupon) at Starbucks. I NEEDED it. I CRAVED it.

But then The Girl came in my room crying at 6:15 ayem. She had yet another migraine. This is a record for her - she never has two in one week. I gave her one of my Imitrex to take and she came to bed with me for a while. I rubbed her head and went back to sleep. Then she got up and performed the "Shoe Dance" in the bathroom and in the toilet this time. I called her boss at her part-time job to tell her she wouldn't be in, and the last thing I remember is thinking I had an hour and a half before I had to get up to meet Julie.

And so I slept. Until almost 10:45 a.m.

We were supposed to meet at 10.

I felt like slug juice.

I came downstairs, and just as I thought, there was a sweet, nice, lovely message on my voicemail from Julie telling me I'd best hike my butt up there soon or she was leaving. Unfortunately, by the time I got it she'd already left. So I called and apologized over her voicemail.

And now I'm doing it in public, for all the world to see.

I'm sorry, my friend. I owe you a Chai Tea. On me.

Or maybe I should just buy you a gift certificate for one in case I don't show up....

I've Been Busted

The little twerp found my stash.

Not only did he find my stash, but he had the nerve to GLOAT about it. He also had the good sense to eat his s'more when I wasn't home, because believe you me, he would not have lived to tell the tale.

I would've choked him with the Stay Puft Marshmallows, crumbled graham crackers over his head, and drizzled melted chocolate over his face.

I now have a much safer stash hiding place. One he'll NEVER think to look in. And even if he does, he won't see the stuff.

Because hell hath no fury like a woman whose s'mores stash has been busted.

I Need Some New, New Blue Suede Shoes

Well, actually some black sandals.

You see, The Girl had a migraine tonight.

While those two things might seem incongruous, you will soon see how I manage to weave a tale of spellbinding literary mastery around them that equals no other, leaving you to gasp in amazement at the skill with which one person can shovel out drivel at a rate of speed so fast as to make one's mind fairly spin.

Or I could, you know, tell the story.

The Girl inherited the migraine gene from me. I got it from Mom, who got it from her mother, and so on and so on, ad infinitum, amen and amen. She rarely gets the blasted things, but as she gets older they show up more frequently. She scared us to death once when she couldn't feel her hands during a migraine until we rushed her to the emergency room and found out that some people have that symptom.

Lucky girl.

Mostly she just gets blind spots and nausea to go along with the migraine. In the past a couple of Excedrin or something similar have done the job of taking it away, but again, as she gets older these over-the-counter remedies don't seem to be working. Tonight she was blessed with the nausea, the blind spots, AND not being able to feel her hands.

This one was really special.

After a double dose of the OTC medicine with no results we decided to take her to the local Urgent Care. They've been very good to me in the past when my head has been about to explode, so I knew they would treat her well. As an added plus, it's only five minutes from the house.

By this time The Girl was near tears. She couldn't find her shoes, so she put on a pair of my sandals and off we went. However, on the way there what usually happens in the ER or at home happened in the car.

I had to pull over and stop very quickly, because Sister Girl lost her lunch. And not only did she lose it, but she lost it all over one of MY SHOES.

Sigh.

Thankfully I had a handful of napkins and a trash sack in the car, so she cleaned up and we went the final minute to the office. She walked in barefoot. They put her in a dark room, then gave her two shots - one for the nausea and one for the pain - and we went home. She's now upstairs sleeping it off.

And me?

I'm cleaning shoes.

Resting

Alex apparently passed away sometime last night.

When I arrived at the hospital today the group of waiting room chairs his family and friends occupied was empty and had been rearranged. When I passed by his area on the way to Mom's it was empty.

Please take a moment to lift up his family in prayer.

For Sale: One Black Cloud

Today as I was preparing to leave for work at my part-time job, the children were whining because they were hungry. They wanted McDonald's. They wanted Sonic. They wanted anywhere but home.

I told them we had perfectly good leftovers in the fridge and to feel free to help themselves. Because I am A Mom That Listens To Her Children's Needs, and I figured they needed to stay home and eat for a change.

The Girl found some wonderful soup to eat. I had some tuna salad. The Boy, however, decided to go downstairs to see what was in the freezer.

He came back upstairs as I was walking toward the door to leave and announced that "the meat was all melted" and leaking all over the floor of the freezer.

Needless to say, I jumped for joy, raised my hands in the air and shouted "PRAISE THE LORD!" right then and there.

Not. I wish I had.

Instead, I went downstairs and found that yea, verily, about $200 worth of meat and various and sundry other items were now warm/melted/unusable. Someone left dirty clothes in front of the vent on the front of the freezer, leaving it no way to get air and cool itself, so my guess is that it burnt up.

And it's about two years old.

So for those of you who are counting, that's one microwave, one freezer, $2000 for one Suburban, various medical bills, taxes, a mother who can't seem to stay out of the hospital and is currently in ICU, and your basic partridge in your basic pear tree.

I'm thinking a refill on the Xanax is due.

But guess what? GOD IS STILL THE CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE. HE IS STILL OVER ALL OF THIS. HE STILL KNOWS ABOUT EVERYTHING, AND HE CARES. AND HE WILL BEAR US UP IN HIS HANDS LEST WE DASH OUR FEET AGAINST A STONE.

Or a freezer. Or a microwave. Or....whatever.

Blessed be the name of the Lord. Praise His name!

There's This Guy

He's on my heart.

When we first brought Mom to the ICU the second time after the Longest Day In History, there was another group of people in the ICU waiting room. Without meaning to eavesdrop, I heard the story of their person.

He was standing on or walking down a trail at a resort where a bunch of people from his club were staying. Someone else who was driving a golf cart didn't see him since it was dark, and ran him over. He hit the ground hard. Apparently so hard that it caused his brain to bounce back and forth between the walls of his skull.

They got him to the hospital where Mom is, and they were able to perform a surgery to open up part of his skull to relieve the swelling of his brain. They're doing all they can for him, but it doesn't seem to be enough.

Alex is dying.

So I'd like to ask you to stand in prayer with me for Alex. To have God touch his body, and to have God's will be done in his life. And while you're at it, please remember his friends and family, who haven't left the hospital since this happened. They were talking tonight in the waiting room about how much they would miss him.

Just like we'd miss anyone who was part of our family.

Thanks for praying.

Never Trust A Girl With A Debit Card

Specifically, YOUR debit card. Especially if she's going out with her friends to buy something to eat after 8:00 p.m. and you haven't had dinner yet and you offer to buy her dinner if she'll pick you up something while she's out.

Because then it's almost 10:00 p.m. and hello? Not only is your food nowhere in sight, but neither is your daughter and most of all? NEITHER IS YOUR DEBIT CARD.

Live and learn, people. Live and learn.

The Coffee's The Thing. Oh, And Mom's Important, Too.

It looks to be a long day tomorrow, beginning at 7 a.m., so I'm searching for things to occupy my time.

I have several magazines, a couple of books on my MP3 player, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies to snack on (courtesy of Hubster, the Baking Machine), a sister to talk to, thoughts to think and probably a television to watch.

What there will not be is GOOD coffee, free bottled water, comfortable seating, a place to nap, pillows or blankets. There will be no breakfast or free lunch, nor will there be hot towels passed before dining on the nonexistent meals. This is strictly a no-frills type of place.

So if you happen to be in the vicinity of the hospital where we'll be while Mom has surgery tomorrow, feel free to bring Starbucks by. Sis likes the venti vanilla latte, and I'd take a venti iced nonfat mocha w/whipped. If you happen by, that is. And get one for yourself while you're at it.

You can charge it to my account.

Please Sir, Can I Have S'Mores?

Yes, I am an addict.

I have a secret stash hidden away from the rest of the family. It contains graham crackers, large marshmallows, and Hershey's milk chocolate bars. And every evening, every single evening, I imbibe.

I remove two of the unbroken graham crackers from the cellophane package, placing them scored-side-up. One marshmallow is placed directly in the center of each side. The Hershey bar is ceremoniously unwrapped and placed scored-side-up on top of the other graham cracker.

Graham cracker #1 then goes into the microwave for twenty seconds. Not a second more, not a second less. The marshmallows swell just enough and get just hot enough to melt the chocolate on the other graham cracker as I upend the first on to the second and squish it down.

And wait.

Because, if you wait too little time, the chocolate will still be hard and won't ooze correctly. And we just can't have un-oozing chocolate, now can we?

And then, then there's the first bite. AHHHHHHHHhhhhhh...
What could be finer? Except maybe a softer graham cracker so that it doesn't crumb all over the place, but that's neither here nor there. It's the taste of all three things mixed in glorious harmony that keeps me coming back night after night...for s'more.

Lest you judge me for my proclivity to caloric snackables, let me be quick to point out that I am not the only one with a stash in the house. Hubster has candy bars hidden away from prying eyes. The Girl has cookies and cans of Arizona Iced Tea. And from whom are we hiding all of this?

The Boy.

The child we used to have to force to eat more than three bites at one setting. He's now become a neverending furnace in need of constant and continual fueling. Whatever he finds that is edible is no longer findable once he's found it because it isn't anymore.

Because of this we all hoard food. Otherwise there would be no food to hoard. The skinny eternal furnace would get it all.

So far my stash is safe, as is Hubster's and The Girl's. We just need to keep a close eye out and enjoy our s'more when he's asleep so it doesn't become s'less.

If There Are Seven Plagues They Have Hit Us By Now

Things have not been all wine and roses lately.

As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to think that entity which shall not be named because I refuse to give it credit for anything has been working overtime to make our lives a little bit of hell here on earth.

But guess what?

We're praising God.

In the past month we've seen Mom be hospitalized, have a heart attack, get a transfusion, undergo two different "procedures" and be released from the hospital. We've seen Hubster's mom admitted to the hospital with mini-strokes. We've seen my precious aunt hospitalized with a small amount of pneumonia and an inability to rid herself of extra fluid.

We've paid out around $2000 to keep the Suburban running. We've been hit with medical bills from years ago that we didn't even realize we had. We've had some sort of flying insects invading the kitchen. And we've suffered our own health issues.

But we're praising God.

Because that unnamed entity WILL NOT WIN.

We've read the back of The Book, and we know.

There's Nothing Like A Weekend Of Grandkids To Make You Feel Loved

And very, very old. And tired.

Sweetie Pie and Little Man came to spend part of the morning and the afternoon with us today. They were both as good as gold, and both had more energy than Grandpa and I did put together.

Little Man had his lunch, then decided he wanted a bowl of cereal for dessert. So he got it. After all, this is Grandpa and Grandma's house, not home. Add to that one banana, and he was ready for a nap.

Sweetie Pie had half of the banana Little Man discarded and two jars of baby food before it was time to head off to dreamland. When I laid her down in the port-a-crib it took her a full minute of crying before she was fast asleep. Not so with Little Man.

He decided he didn't want to sleep in his uncle or his aunt's room. He wanted to sleep in "his" bed, which happened to be MY bed. When I tried to nap with him, he would have none of it because I laid down on my side of the bed, which was "his" side of the bed and used "his" pillow. You see, when Grandpa watches him while I'm at work, Grandpa always puts him on my side of the bed for his nap. He's used to it, and he won't give it up. It's "his place" at our house.

Unfortunately, it's also mine.

So I took over Grandpa's place and we both had a lovely nap. Little Man woke up before I did and told me it was time to wake up and play. I told him Grandpa was downstairs waiting for him and I was going to sleep a little longer. I remember him coming back upstairs to try to wake me up again when his parents came to get him. He said something like "Get up, Gramma! My daddy is downstairs to get me and he wants to talk to you." I told him to have his daddy talk to Grandpa, and I went back to sleep.

Because I am nothing if not a caring, stellar-type, superstar of a grandmother.

Where do I go to pick up my award?