Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

The Impertinent Daughter is graduating from Texas State tomorrow. She's graduating with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Studio Art, and she's graduating summa cum laude. And that's with taking not just studio classes, she took hard academic classes as well. English Lit, geology, political science, algebra.... and she kept her grades up, despite having to keep the family going after her papa started treatment for anal and liver cancer, and her mother nearly dying of pneumonia.

She's a wonder, y'all, and I am so proud of her.

And I wish like anything that the Husbandly One could be here to see her graduate. That was his goal on entering hospice. He knew he was dying, but he wanted to live long enough to see his daughter graduate from college. He tried so hard to live.

I hate that my husband's last rational words to me were, "I can't breathe!" I hate that being in hospice and having a DNR meant I couldn't call 911, and that I was alone with him when this happened. And that the closest hospice nurse to us was an almost two hour drive away from us.

It's been thirty three days since the Husbandly One died. Thirty three days since I lost the person I tell everything to first. Thirty three days of waking up without him in the bed with me, and having to remember all over again that he's gone.

There are times when it's so hard, I almost can't breathe. When the Impertinent One had gone on to the Texas State website to make sure they printed her name correctly, and discovered that she was graduating summa cum laude, she screamed, I screamed, we squeed and wibbled, and I told her how proud of her I am. Then I turned to say something to THO... and remembered. Oh... that's right. He's gone.

I miss him so very, very much.

Last year at this time, I was stumbling around in a numb haze, struggling to hold on to some semblance of competence and trying not to cry at the drop of a hat. I was trying to be strong for my kids, and trying to figure out how to talk my stubborn dying husband into getting treatment, and that giving the ACA marketplace another chance would be worthit. My entire world had literally crumbled around me, and I was facing the reality of losing my husband and facing the rest of my life without him. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing.

It was horrible.

He had resigned himself to die, because he didn't want to impoverish his wife and children seeking treatment that might not work. Because we didn't have insurance. And worse, we found that the Central Texas county we live in had no resources for uninsured patients to get cancer treatment. A neighboring county, Travis, did, but we could potentially wait six months to a year before even seeing a doctor. And by that time... the Husbandly One would be dead.

It took a screaming fight to get him to see reason. To get him to see my gastroenterologist, get a colonoscopy that found the rectal tumor that was causing him so much pain. The gastro recommended an oncologist, who at first refused to see us because... we were uninsured. But... we could pay.

We ended up having to physically go to the office of the oncologist and talk to the staff there, face to face. To show that we were real people, that THO was determined to fight for his life. That we could afford to pay for this, and were willing to get insurance, but we needed to know which ones they took because we weren't going to take any risks with this. We'd had enough of not having the right insurance for the doctors we needed to see, or coverage for needed treatments. We needed information and recommendations... and they gave it to us.

We signed up for an ACA gold plan that night. Best move we ever made. They have covered everything as far as THO was concerned.

It's been terrifying. And hard. Gods, it's been hard. He's been in pain, in agony at times. Colorectal cancer is... it's not just the pain. It's what it takes away from you. Your dignity. Your self worth. All the shaming your parents did when they were toilet training you? It comes back. Every horrible, silly, ridiculous, mean, or otherwise thoughtless thing they ever said, don't you want to be a big boy? Big boys don't make messes in their pants or beds! Big boys don't stink! Big boys don't poop in the tub, on the carpet, big boys control themselves and wait until they're on the potty... that's just something parents say to encourage their kids while potty training, right?

Okay, take that to being an adult and having no control over your sphincter, because you've got a tumor there that's messing up the signals to your brain that tell you it's time to pinch the big loaf. Except you can't. And it hurts. Like someone's shoving a red-hot roofing nail into your ass. And when it finally lets go, you can't stop it.

He was... humiliated sometimes. He hated wearing adult diapers. He hated having me clean him up, or change the bed, or having to clean the carpet because he just couldn't get to the bathroom in time. But I did it, because he's my husband, he couldn't help it, I love him and... he'd have done the exact same thing for me.

He couldn't eat, either. He was massively anemic, and dropped down to 106 pounds from a maximum of 165 just a mere six months before. In January, I ended up rushing him to the emergency room in Kyle, after having to listen to him scream in pain while sitting in a bathtub. I thought he'd ruptured something, or had gone septic. Instead, I found he was merely being an over-achiever by having both an anal abscess and a fucking kidney stone all at the same time!

He was in the hospital for 3 days on that alone.

It was lucky he'd had an iron infusion just the week before, because they wouldn't have been able to do the surgery on his abscess otherwise.

When he got home, we had to wait for the drain to be removed from his abscess before he could start chemo. And we were trying Ensure to help him gain weight.

It wasn't working. You know what? Ensure is fucking disgusting. It smells horrible and tastes even worse. I gag just thinking about that stuff. We gave up on them and started him on Bolthouse Farms smoothies, and you know what? That saved him. I really think those smoothies saved his life, because he loved them and drank them all the time. He finally started putting on weight, and they didn't make him sick when he started chemo. It was awesome.

As he started improving, my anxiety eased, and I didn't feel so hopeless. I still, even now, have moments at night when I hold him and feel tears stinging my eyes, because.... I'm still terrified of losing him. Before this, I intellectually knew that one day, one of us would die and the other would be left behind, but it was far away in some nebulous future. Both of us have parents who lived into their eighties, there was no reason to think we'd not be the same way.

But then this happened. And suddenly, that nebulous future is a lot closer. There's an expiration date that is a lot closer than I'm comfortable with, and while the treatment has worked, and the Husbandly One now has more time... I'm very much aware it's not as long as I'd once assumed.

I am grateful we have more time. And I will take every single minute of it. He is the love of my life. My very favorite husband. And... I just don't know how I'll do it without him when that inevitable time comes.

But for now? He's better. He's almost back to his old self. He's almost 140 pounds. And he's beating it.

I'll take it.

The Husbandly One surprised me yesterday with a brand new MacBook Air!!!

I was not expecting a new laptop this soon at all. I mean, I was hoping for one, since my Vaio died such an ignominious death (and I'm still hoping I can recover the hard drive), but not expecting one at any time before my birthday... maybe. So... I'm really happy!

Writing while out and about has been difficult since losing the Vaio. In fact, the last two times at the library while the kids were at their summer Animanga Club meetings was... frustrating. Trying to use THO's netbook sucked, because... one, it's Windows, and two, THO spilled liquid in the keyboard and thus, some of the keys are sticky, plus it's only got a partial version of Windows 7 (it came that way, if you want the actual full OS... you have to buy it. Extra. Yeah.) so it runs a little slow and it doesn't like using Word. I mean, it will run it, but it considers Word a bit dodgy and thinks less of you for using it.

I admire the Husbandly One's fortitude in using the damn thing.

The second time we were at the library, I borrowed the Impertinent Daughter's MacBook, and realized only after getting to the library that while I had installed Word for Mac on it (at her request, since her school uses Windows), I had not yet installed Pages... and the files on my USB drive were for Pages. I managed a work-around and did fine after that, but that should be one of my goals today, to install iWork on her Mac.

I finally asked THO about taking the Vaio somewhere to get it fixed, because, dammit, I need something to write on, something portable!! Dammit!!

And it wasn't like yesterday wasn't surreal on its own, you know? The Impertinent Daughter finished up the classroom instruction part of the driving course offered at the high school (by an independent driving school) and came home much earlier than I expected, and hit her own version of the Wall of Fatigue. So I left her at home to take a nap, with a guardian little brother, and went for a blissfully peaceful grocery shopping trip. And I'm glad, too, because that's where the surreal part of my day started.

It started with an unexpectedly deep voice behind me saying, "Can I get that for you, Mrs. J?" when I was on my tiptoes trying to get to a package well out of my reach. And I turned around, fully expecting to see my usual Helpful Tall Shop Assistant... and discovered one of my daughter's friends standing there. And I realized three things.

1. He was VERY tall.

2. His voice has gotten deeper since I last spoke to him five weeks ago.

3. He's old enough to work at the grocery store.




Two weeks ago, he was in first grade, shyly introducing himself to the Impertinent Daughter, with pale blond hair and apple red cheeks. Last week, he was sitting on the sidelines of a soccer game, tears streaming down his cheeks as I cleaned and bandaged his bloody knee while his mom was gone on a snacks run for half-time because the parent who was supposed to have brought snacks forgot. Yesterday, he was in fifth grade and excitedly telling me how he was going to be in marching band when he started junior high.

There is no way he's old enough to be working at the grocery store!!! NO!!!

Later, I was grabbing a bag of sugar, and heard, "Hi, Mrs. J!!" And there was a girl my daughter has known since... third grade. And... no. Just... no.

I found yet another teenager that my daughter played youth soccer with in the paper aisle. And it just went on and on, all these kids that in my head are still... little... and they're not. And then, when I was checking out, again, a girl from my daughter's class at the cash register, and a boy sacking my groceries, and saying, "Hey, Mrs. J, let me get the ice for you so you don't forget it."

AAAAAAAAH!!!! STAHP!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!

*hyperventilating*

It was bad enough when I realized three years ago that I could no longer perv on the high school boy's cross country track team, because... it was now half populated with boys I had known since they were four and five. But now, they're... turning into people!!

Totally skewed my world view, man!!

My daughter pretty much laughed at me when I got home and related all of this to her, and I had to confront the fact that my daughter is a senior and will be graduating next MAY!!!

*more hyperventilating*

Then, I went to get my hair cut, and she went along with me, and as my uber-awesome stylist was cutting my hair, she started saying, "Oh... my God." She'd cut more, huff, then go, "Oh. My. God." Then a grimace, another huff, and, "Omigod." Then, "Oh, my fucking GOD."

After the seventh repetition of this, I finally said, "Uh... what's going on?" Because the last time I heard that, I was 18 and the lady who had been cutting my hair since I was 11 was ready to kill my hair.

Ms. Stylist grimaced and said, "Your hair is frustrating me. It's never frustrated me before! I've been cutting your hair a long time, Auntie, and I've never seen it do this."

"Do what?" I asked, stunned.

"Well... it's... baby fine, and so... thick... and it's just... every time I cut a section and start to move on, something pops out and I realized I missed something, and I have to go back and cut it, and then something else pops out, and... it's kinda making me nuts here," she said grimly.

And that's when it dawned on me. My hair was coming back. The endocrinologist changed me off the Synthroid/Cytomel combo he had me on and put me on Armour Thyroid, because the S/C combo just wasn't helping. My hair was still falling out, I was still very fatigued, and just not getting better.

I knew my hair was coming back, and I was getting it cut because it was like wearing a wool mop on my head. And I knew it was getting thicker, because I was having to use heavier pony tail holders to pull it back. But... I didn't realize it had come back to the original texture of being baby fine and deceptively thick.

Ms. Stylist kept cutting and cutting, and fluffing and fluffing, and cutting more, and finally, she said, "Next hair cut, we're thinning this shit out!"

*dies laughing*

After we got home, the Impertinent One and I settled in for a "Bones" marathon while the Impossible Son went off to do boy things with his friend across the street, and the Husbandly One texted that he was going to have to work late.

Yeah, he was totally off buying my new SHINY!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Coolest. Husband. EVER.

So, after the Impossible Son's soccer practice, it was decided to head to our favorite local Tex-Mex restaurant, Mr. Taco. We were in the mood for fajitas, or at least the Husbandly One, the Impertinent Daughter, and I were. We have discovered that Mr. Taco's "fajitas for two" plate feeds the three of us nicely. The Impossible Son had his usual chicken strips, no gravy.

We forgot that Thursdays are live mariachi band night.

Did I mention there are all hard surfaces at Mr. Taco, with nothing to absorb sound?

o_O

Anyhow, yeah, it was loud, but the food was worth it! Once we'd eaten ourselves to a lull, the Impertinent One begged a pen off me, grabbed a clean napkin, and immediately began to sketch the mariachi band members, then took it to them before fleeing back to our table.



They passed it around among themselves, looking at it intently, then marched over to our table and serenaded her with "Just My Imagination," and a Spanish/English version of "I Just Called To Say I Love You."

Her smile was incandescent, and she giggled almost the entire time, hiding her face every once in a while, but mostly beaming at them with delight. I rubbed her back from time to time when it looked like she was getting overwhelmed, but mostly? She absolutely loved it!

I think she was also chuffed that two of the mariachi singers actually fought over who would get to sing to her! And if you've never seen a violinist and a trumpet player arguing over who is gonna sing to the pretty girl, then you have no idea what you missed!

I think she's just beginning to have an inkling of the doors her art can open for her. This is going to be an interesting journey to watch!

Our marriage is twenty one years old today, and therefore, old enough to drink. The Husbandly One says we should take it out, get it drunk, and do wicked, naughty, evil things to it!!

*merry laughter*

He has the best ideas!!!

The Husbandly One has shaved off what little was left of his beard.

I say "what little was left" because his beard had been shrinking over the last few years, not from lack of hair, but because of personal comfort, I guess. When I met him twenty two years ago, he had a full beard, though it was neatly trimmed. He wore a beard, he told me at that time, because he got tired of having to shave twice a day.

Yes. THO's hair grows at a phenomenal rate. He could be clean-shaven on Friday, and be practically back to a full beard by Monday. Almost. I mean, look at two summers ago, when we had yet another triple digit summer, and he'd gotten tired of his long hair, saying it felt like he was wearing a wet mop on his head. He cut it short, then immediately regretted it. I told him to just not get it cut and by the same time next year, it would be the same length, and you know, that's exactly what happened.

*shakes head*

What's really funny is THO is the first man with a beard I'd ever dated. Oh, I'd been asked out by guys with face fungus, but... I always turned them down. Why? Well, I was always nervous around men with beards. Blame the Blonde Sister. Remember, she's thirteen years older than me. My parents treated my sisters, especially the Blonde Sister, as Built-In Babysitters™. They'd go out to some of the more adult focused American Legion Post events (my dad was a WWII vet), usually taking the Flaky Sister with them because she was "out," so to speak, and leave me with Blondie. You'd think she'd do kid oriented things like... read to me, play games, or just put me to bed and ignore me while she chatted on the phone to her boyfriend or something, right?

Nope.

See, she wasn't allowed to watch horror movies on TV when the folks were home, so, of course, when they were out, she'd pop popcorn and scan the TV guide for a horror movie and decide to watch it. However... she couldn't stand to watch them alone, so... she'd make me sit there and watch it with her!

Thus began three-year-old Auntie's unreasonable fears of giant radioactive ants, mirrors at night, being alone in the bathroom, fat cannabilistic women, slime, decorative ponds in the yard, extremely realistic statues, and last, but not least, bearded men.

Why bearded men? Because... bearded men always turned into werewolves!!

My parents never could understand why I would run and hide from bearded men, or why I would squeal in terror if any of them so much as tried to touch my hand. From the mailman to one of my dad's coworkers who was really a very nice man who loved children and was always building the most fantastic toys for his coworkers' kids, it didn't matter. I was utterly convinced all men with beards, with one notable exception, were potential werewolves who, despite how nice they seemed, were actually drooling at the thought of a delicious child to munch on. Even one as skinny and scrawny as me.

The notable exception, by the way, was Santa Claus. Santa was safe I mean, he didn't have a bushy beard! It was long, luxuriant, and soft!! There was no way on Earth SANTA could be a werewolf!!

So, it's pretty funny, when you think about it, that I met THO and fell in love after five minutes of conversation!

After we'd been dating for a while, THO, who was working for the university we met at, wanted a better paying job and had an interview come up for a position at the campus library. He told me about it, and warned me he was going to have to shave his beard off. And I was like, "Okay, no problem," not really thinking about what it meant, because I was busy with classes at the time. And he said he would come by my parents' house to let us know how it went afterwards.

So, I'm at Mom's, deep in a project for my graphics class and was dragging her to look at it for an independent opinion when a strange man walks up to the front door. My parents rarely kept the front door closed. They had a storm door that they kept locked but open for light. So I see a strange man walk up and grab the storm door handle to just... walk in!! I went into full battle mode, pushing Mom behind me and rushing to the door to ... I dunno, smash him with a lamp? His eyes went wide and he said, in THO's voice, "What is the matter with you??"

I froze and said slowly, "THO???"

And he said, "Who else were you expecting??"

He looked like a complete and total stranger!!! He looked so... utterly different without a beard!!! And... I didn't like it one single bit!! It was a good thing his beard grew back in fast!!

So... a few days ago he said, "I think I'm just going to have to start going clean-shaven."

And I thought, "Oh, he's finally had enough at work," because he's been pretty miserable at his job over the six months, but he's kept at it because... it's a job, it's secure, and he's not crazy. So I said, "Oh, you're thinking of job interviews?"

"No," he said. "I've got a lot of silver in my beard and... it's depressing. So... I'm just gonna shave it off."

Heh. Well, I know what he means. I have a silver streak coming up in the cowlick over my forehead, and the other day, I was twisting up my hair into a bun and was stunned to how much it had grown, and that I had another one starting in front of my ear. Of course, I feel like I earned those silver hairs, thanks to my two harum-scarums, but I will admit to a moment of thinking, "Maybe it's time to start coloring my hair..."

*snorts*

Anyhow, it's ... strange... seeing THO without a beard. In all the years we've been married, the only times he's been beardless has been when he's gone on job interviews, a total of maybe... five times. And that was only for a few days.

And that beard was getting progressively smaller, too. First a full beard. Then it was trimmed nearly to his jawline, a sort of short boxed beard. That lasted a few years. Then after we moved here, it became a sort of Van Dyke. And over the last few years, it was sort of a ... minimalist Van Dyke, trimmed very short and almost non-existent until the end of the day when it had grown back.

And now it's gone. It feels very strange to kiss him and not have bristles brushing against my face. In fact, it feels like I'm having an affair!! I'm kissing a naked face that feels totally unfamiliar, and I have to open my eyes to make sure it's THO I'm kissing and not, say, Raul, the cabana boy.

Not that we have a cabana, but you know what I mean!

I'll get used to it, and I've stopped giggling when I kiss him, but just barely.

I kinda miss my Curly Wolf, though...

Remember THIS?

Well, my patience has been rewarded! I have successfully pranked my husband... again!!

I switched out his Buckwheat Zydeco "Ya Ya" ringtone with... a Tarzan yell. Just... the yell. Which plays over and over as the phone "rings."

*falls over laughing*

I did it while he was in the shower this morning.

At least this year, I didn't email friends and family to call him all day, as I didn't want to irritate his boss. But... OH JOY!!!

He's going to be so paranoid next year!!!

*is full of glee*

The Husbandly One walked into the bedroom and started taking off his shirt, which immediately got my attention, and he said, "I'm going to pop into a quick shower, and after I get dressed," he gives me a conspiratorial wink, "you and me are gonna get some wrapping done."

I snort, because he was torturing the kids with this yesterday, and on a whim, I say, "Okay, but I have to tell you, I'm not very good at making up rhymes on the fly." (Auntie, deliberately misunderstanding THO in order to make a very bad pun.)

"You are pretty fly, though," he said with a grin and disappeared into the bathroom, tossing his shorts out the door behind him just to torture me.

Heh, heh, heh... we're awful!

*hugs internets very hard*

Oh, how I missed you yesterday!!! The city was doing some work on a road they're... pretty much constantly working on (see "Great Unfinished Works"), and they cut AT&T's lines and pretty much lost the internet for the whole damn town. That's the third time they've done that this month, the idiots.

*grumbles*

Hmmmm... Thanksgiving. Well, the food was good this time. This, of course, was because Mom pretty much did the cooking herself, with assistance from the Flaky Sister. Mom was sort of worn out and after some discreet questioning, I found it was because Mom would hop up and run to defend the food every time she saw the Flaky Sister with a salt shaker or a stick of butter in her hand. That's not easy when you're 83 and arthritic, but Mom's pretty spry and energetic when she has good cause!

It went well, and I had a lot of fun getting to know Second Oldest Niece's brand new husband (ooooo, shiny!!) and have come to the conclusion that when the Husbandly One gets over his stand-offish, how-dare-you-marry-my-niece thing, he and New Hubby will get along famously and be as thick as thieves. I foresee many epic pranks in the making!

Hmmm, I think from here on out, I shall call Second Oldest Niece "Coach Niece" (because she's a high school softball coach) and her husband shall be henceforth called... "Mr. Coach." Because... he's married to her, and... he's a coach. Yeah, yeah, I know, how original, but hey, it works!

ANYHOW, Thanksgiving went well, without the usual family drama that seems to be the norm, thanks to Oldest Niece whom we sometimes term Scary Niece for good reason. Well, during the main event, that is. She saved the drama for after mostly everyone had gone except for THO and I, and Coach Niece and her husband. I won't go into it except to say that fortunately, she is still scared of me and needs my good opinion (which she lost a long time ago, but we don't need to tell her that, do we?), so it only took my voicing my disapproval to put a stop to things.

After she and her family had fled from Auntie's fury gone home, THO and I had settled in to get ready for bed, since we were spending the night. However, being weather obsessed, I made the mistake of checking the weather report for home on my Blackberry, and ended up on Mom's computer, accessing the local Weatherbug and then checking the local weather report.

When we'd left for Mom's, Austin's weather forecast was for a low of 45 (7.2 C), so the Husbandly One hadn't bothered putting on the heater (the high for the day was in the eighties) since we'd be back the next day.

However...

The updated forecast predicted a low of 32 to 25 (0 to -3 C ), which meant we needed to worry about the cats and the water pipes. The cats, because even though they're indoors, the house does get cold when the heater isn't on, and the pipes, because our house is up off the ground on a pier and beam foundation. Pier and beam foundations are common in the South, because it's hot here eight to nine months of the year, and allowing air to circulate under the floor keeps the house cooler. However, this means during the winter, the floors can be freezing cold if not properly insulated, and if your pipes aren't protected/insulated, they'll freeze and burst. Most of the time, this isn't a problem if your heater is on!

What did this mean?

It meant we had to pack up everything and ... go back home. After 10 p.m.

*head-desk*

You'd think after living out here for 14 years, we'd have learned not to trust the weatherman, right? I mean, when we lived in the 21 House, we pretty much accepted that during the winter, it would be 10 degrees colder than whatever the predicted low was, and during the summer, it would be 5 to 10 degrees hotter. If they said mild to moderate thunderstorms, we'd get a tornado. I mean, you'd think I'd remember that, right? HA!

*makes a rude noise*

The Impossible Son was not happy with us at all, and almost inconsolable at having to leave. He was sooo looking forward to spending the night, and getting up to make breakfast for Grandma (we have decided, as a family, that the Flaky Sister is not allowed even remotely near the kitchen when we are visiting), and being able to talk to her and... *sigh* The Impertinent Daughter wasn't happy either, but she understood and made an effort not to make things harder for Grandma (or me), and we loaded ourselves in the minivan and headed home.

You know, a long drive becomes even longer when it's late at night and... you have no caffeine. I felt obligated to stay awake to help the Husbandly One stay awake (since he was driving) and as moral support. Don't know how supportive I was, because I kept nodding off and waking up abruptly when we'd hit a bump, or I'd dream there was an elephant in the road ahead that we were about to hit, or have tea with, or something like that. I wasn't very talkative but then, my dad had years of conditioning my sisters and me not to talk in the car, so... it's not unusual that I was quiet.

The kids made up for my lack for about the first hour, but soon, the road hypnotized them into a sleepy daze, and it seemed only THO had the iron will to stay awake, thank goodness!

What was odd to us was driving into town finally around 12:45 or so, and the THO rousing us from our stupor with, "Wow, would you look at that!"

So we did. It was the local WalMart, which isn't unusual in itself, but... the parking lot was packed all the way to the highway. I mean, every single parking space was taken, and it had overflowed into the parking lot next door. That store must have been positively crammed to bursting with people! In all the years that I have lived here, I have never seen the local WalMart parking lot that full. Ever.

It was all for Black Friday, which it technically was since it was after midnight.

But... WalMart??? Seriously??

Anyhow, we made it home, crashed face-first into our beds, and slept the sleep of the just. Or at least, the just-got-homes.

Oh, and by the way, we resigned from the soccer board. Finally. Yeah, it was a long time coming, but when one of our board members told me to make sure to get a USB drive and download all the meeting minutes into it, the Husbandly One realized that there was going to be a move to either get me removed as secretary, or him as president, because we're viewed by this one particular person as a "voting block," never mind that I don't always vote with THO because I don't always agree with him. Funny thing is, I never wanted to be secretary, and would have gladly given it up to whoever else wanted it but... there was nobody else to take it. Seems this person also wasn't too thrilled about me being secretary because I'm "too outspoken," and never had a problem shutting him down, or telling him he was wrong and how precisely he was wrong, or keeping him from veering board discussions too far off track.

Apparently, I'm not supposed to do that.

And one of the other board members attempted to start a flame war of emails, which THO doused very quickly, but that was it for him. He said, "How sad is it to get an email from a board member who berates everyone for being unprofessional, and then turns around and calls us all losers? How unprofessional is that?? You know what? I'm done with that." And that was that.

So, he sent out an email to the board saying we were resigning, effective immediately, which gets us out of having to go to the last board meeting of the year, and means we don't have to be there for board elections or any of that bally-hoo. Which makes me very happy, because this means I don't have to sit there and practically bludgeon everyone into agreeing on set dates for spring registration, and times, and settle Miss Eileen down when she starts getting all wound up because this is soooo different from how it was done before, and fussing about kids using the same jerseys from last season and will the numbers not be duplicated, and what about the sponsor names, and...

... I don't have to do that anymore? OH... wow, I feel so... light!!

Yes, I'm enjoying this far too much!

Okay, I've rambled on long enough. Time for me to go wash some dishes, yo!

I want to thank you all for the lovely birthday wishes! And thank you, lusiology for the cake! Hee!!

And you should all be very, very proud of me. I started walking again a couple of weeks ago, and I managed to walk a mile today!! YAY!! Once I work myself back up to five miles, I'll start running again.

I'm kinda tired of being "pleasantly plump."

We've had all kinds of adventures over the last week around here. Friday night, we had friends over, so I spent most of the week tidying things up, and Friday morning, while I was picking up shoes, socks, books, and other detritus that the kids tend to leave all over the floor, tables, couches, etc, I discovered the desiccated remains of... the gods only know what. Might have been a mouse, might have been an unfortunate member of the spiny lizard tribe... who knows. So, after about ten minutes of squeamishness and, "oh, ugh... blech... why am I always the one finding this stuff," among other complaints, I picked it up carefully and disposed of it. Found a few more, got rid of them, and thought that was it.

However, once our guests arrived, I noticed R kept wrinkling her nose, though she was trying to be subtle about it, and I thought, "Oh, great, there's probably more of whatever it was that I didn't find, and now it smells... wonderful."

We never smelled it, even after going outside and coming back in.

Then Saturday morning, I got up and shuffled into the kitchen for caffeine to wake my brain up... and beat a hasty retreat back to the bedroom, gagging and wheezing.

Seriously, guys, you shouldn't have to think, "Dear gods, what the hell crawled into my house and died," before you've even had enough caffeine to be even semi human.

A frantic search of the house narrowed it down to the kitchen/living room/utility room. But practically tearing those rooms up revealed nothing, and we had soccer to deal with, both with the Impossible Son having a game, and the Impertinent Daughter refereeing a U6 game. *sudden LOL at the thought of the "Impertinent Referee"*

Except... I started itching like crazy while we were out there, EVEN THE INSIDE OF MY MOUTH!!! WTF????

We came home, where Auntie ingested mass quantities of Benadryl and passed out for the afternoon, thus enabling the Husbandly One to take the kids shopping at WalMart and stopping by a local resale shop to buy a 10 speed bike for himself (for $20).

This is relevant, trust me.

I woke up and was hustled outside so he could show off his acquisition. Not quite with it, I nodded, and watched him ride it around, and tried to be properly impressed. However, being in a Benadryl haze, I probably didn't succeed too well at this wifely duty. THO decided this bike, being a Bianchi (???), should go in the garage. So... he opened it up...

... and we all promptly staggered back, coughing, gagging, eyes watering, and flailing as we struggled to find the edge of the Funk Zone for some badly needed oxygen.

OMG... whatever it was... it was in... the ... garage.

The garage. Filled with boxes. And boxes. And boxes of... unpacked stuff from our last move.

Pity the Husbandly One. We all abandoned him to the thankless job of shifting the boxes to find ... The Corpse.

Of course, there was a corpse. There had to be a corpse. With a funk that strong? Honey!!

And... it was. It was the corpse of... a possum.

*pauses while eloquent_toast cries out in dismay*

We knew a family of possums had taken up residence either under our deck or in the bamboo of the backyard. Evidently, this particular possum found his way into the garage... but couldn't find his way out.

The Husbandly One removed le dead opossum and disposed of him/her/it properly, then sprinkled cat litter over the spot to dry it up and deodorize.

Eurgh.

Sunday, we needed to run into Austin to a Men's Wearhouse to get the Impossible Son fitted for a tuxedo. He is going to be an usher in my second oldest niece's wedding. And he is going to look unbelievably cute! And hell, yes, I'm going to take pictures!!

It was at the moment that we were walking out of the store that I suddenly realized...

1.) This was going to be a formal wedding.

2.) This was going to be a very formal wedding.

3.) One cannot wear the very casual clothing I have to a formal wedding.

4.) I have to go shopping, for myself, and for the Impertinent One for clothes for a formal wedding.

5.) I have no idea what the hell to get.

Y'all already know, right, that I am absolutely hopeless at shopping for myself? That I should not be allowed to buy clothes for myself, because I am pathetic at it?

You see the problem?

I was not mentally prepared to shop for clothes. It did not go well. One should not bring a 9 year old boy along to shop for clothes when one is trying to get used to the idea of shopping for clothes again.

It did not end well.

I also realized that I have completely lost my "shopping at department stores" skills. The Husbandly One is dreadfully spoiled, y'all. I don't shop for clothes all the time, and when I do, it tends to be jeans and such, and sneakers. Because I don't shop for shoes like I used to, either. And I don't shop for makeup. Which... I need to, now. Ugh.

And I have until the 16th.

*flail*

Needless to say, I'm doing my research now. And plan to hit either San Marcos or Austin's Barton Creek Mall this weekend for clothes. Hopefully, the Impertinent Daughter will keep me from making a frump of myself.

And, the Impossible Son had a project due this week. They're reading A Paradise Called Texas by Janice Jordan Shefelman in his class, and the students were required to build a model ship based on the Margaretha, the ship in the book that took German immigrants to Texas. It's both a test grade and a reading grade for the class.

Fortunately, I knew about this several weeks ago, so I'd been gathering materials beforehand to get ready. We built it out of two 12-pack soda can boxes, one for the body of the ship, one, cut into two pieces, for the poop deck and forecastle, and two cardboard tubes that came from boxes of parchment paper for the masts. A pencil was used for the mast that juts out from the bow of the ship, and I drew the figurehead that hung below it. We worked on it for three days, and it turned out to be absolutely awesome! Plus, made from recycled materials, YAY!! Unfortunately, I did not get a photo of it before it was taken to school. Blame fatigue and not enough caffeine!

And now, I must get ready to get my hair cut. It is time. Since my hair is growing back, thanks to the new meds, it is getting very thick. While the curl hasn't come back, it still has a mind of its own, so the best way to deal with it is to cut it into submission. It's already getting long enough to bother me, and I know my stylist is going to fuss at me again for not coming in every six weeks. Well... sometimes I can, and... sometimes I can't. That's the life of a busy mom for you!

See you later!

*goes off merrily on her way*