Change... but not too quickly

Our kitchen has an island, which in many homes equates extra counter space.  It's an area which some families might use for meal preparation, baking - for whatever normal people use an extra expanse of counter.  In our home, the island is where our junk congregates.  Mail and newspapers, wrappers, receipts and various bits of paper gather to bask in the glory of our many, hydro-sucking pot lights.  Last week, I decided to tackle the piles of debris in a long overdue attempt at creating order-without (y'know, because they say that's the first step to order-within).

The standard tidy-up routine consists of sorting each piece of crap into new piles according to owner.  Wolf's, Kitten's, Mom's, the landlord's and garbage.  I took my crap and Wolf's crap to our room and put Kitten's crap outside her bedroom door (where it would stay for several more days) and had in my hand a bunch of crap for the garbage.  As I made my way back across the living room, I became hyper aware of one item in my hand.  It was a piece of Pale green paper, folded many times so it resembled a flattened tube.  I'm a chronic checker (let me just make sure I have my keys... for the third time) which means I cannot throw anything out without first reading it.  What if it's important?  I unfolded the paper - a 4" square sheet of origami paper, coloured only on one side - and held in my hands one of the sweetest and slightly-less-innocent-than-I-would-have-liked love note.  It was signed, in cursive, by the young man who enlivened our home for two and a half days, three weeks ago.

I took a few days to panic and obsess about it before I told Kitten we had to chat.  I told her that I'd used variations of a particular parental quip on many occasions but that I had to amend it.  In the past, I've said, "You know you can talk to me about anything?" and "I want you to talk to me about whatever!"  This time, I said, "Communication is imperative.  I need you to talk to me and you need me to talk to you.  Because the only other option is for me to assume."  I don't like being blindsided.  It tends to tweak my anxiety and I get a bit crazy.  The chat ended up being more of a mom-ologue (which I tend to be completely blind to, in the moment).  

When Wolf arrived home, I brought the whole thing to him.  Typical man, he said, "So, what did she tell you?"  Allow me to take this moment to look sheepish.

He called Kitten.  She arrived with her typical, "Yes, Daddy?"  and the conversation truly began.

Wolf:  Mom showed me the note.

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-I'm-trying-to-look-innocent look)

Wolf:  Is [he] your boyfriend?

Kitten: Yes.

Me:  What does that mean?

Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-what-the-hell-are-you-asking-me look)

Wolf:  Since when?

Kitten:  Since I was eight.

Wolf:  Have you kissed him?

Kitten:  No.

Wolf:  Have you kissed any boys?

Kitten:  Only you, Dad. 

Me:  So what does boyfriend/girlfriend mean to you?

Kitten:  We hold hands.

Me:  (relief)

Wolf:  Good.

It was a decent conversation.  She's at the tail end of twelve and while there's a huge, screaming part of me that insists she's too young to be using the word boyfriend, I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.  She was born into a family which boasts stubborn strength of conviction, for good or for ill.  She will do what she will do out from under our watchful eyes*.

I spent a few more days lamenting the death of my 'baby girl' ("If drama was money, I'd be a millionaire" - Kitten) and then it snowed.

Due to recent extremely dire financial straits and a kid who doesn't complain, Kitten needed footwear.  She's worn her runners folded at the heel almost since the day she got them. As a result, pinchy-toes have never been an issue.  Snow is and there was no way I was letting her play in the snow with her heels hanging out of the backs of her shoes.  So, Kitten got her first pair of grown up winter boots.  She loved them so much she put them on at the till. 

We had one more stop before heading home and I parked in a snow drift.  Kitten leaped out of the truck as soon as Wolf had cleared the door.  Off she tromped through the parking lot bent on trying out her new boots.

I watched her, independent and self assured, with my heart heavy.  And then... I smiled.  There was my daughter, a breath away from thirteen, climbing the biggest pile of snow in the lot.  She thew her hands into the air and crowed her success at the mountain's summit.  And she's still my Kitten.

  *which means she must stay under our watchful eyes until we're confident in her strength of character!

Day Six - The stuff we carry never gets lighter...

Dirty mirrors and work clothes. 

By 2002, Kitten was four and I found myself in the midst of a re-kindling.  After two years of only telephone and email contact, Wolf and I had a face-to-face visit.  It lasted ten days, out here on the Island, and resulted in Kitten and my relocation to Ontario to create our new family.  Why Ontario?  Well, Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company which wouldn't have taken well to uprooting.  

 ... yes, this does have something to do with hair and my issues therewith...

My bleach phase was on hiatus and I hadn't done anything more than remove the remaining white tips from my hair.  Ontario weather is brilliant!  I grew up in arid Alberta and, therefore, didn't know my hair was curly.  The constant Hamilton humidity meant twelve hours of air-drying time after I washed my hair.  I finally had a wash-n-go 'do!

So, the very air was my friend, and my hair was growing ridiculously fast.  My life was fresh and new.  I was ready to start playing again.  There was only one problem.  Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company in Hamilton, Ontario - I was 'Dharma' to Wolf's 'Greg,' but with less self worth and more guilt and a martyr complex that beat all.  I was bound to the rules of upper-middle class society.  No visible piercings.  No funky colours.  Buy yourself a nice dress...

And then, two years had passed.  My hair was mid-back length and shapeless.  Wolf was afraid to let me cut it, so I let myself get talked in to a 'complimentary birthday haircut' by our stylist friend.  Oops.  I asked for long layers, she layered it.  I walked out with diamond head.  You know, where the fullest part of the hair is at the jaw line and it tapers both up and down from there?  Well, I stuck with that cut for about two weeks (see a pattern here?) before I grabbed the scissors.  Wolf said he'd feel better if he cut it, as he could see the back of my head.  So, he cut it.  That one didn't even last 48 hours before I fixed it.

Two years later I cut off several inches in an attempt to clear up my split ends.  I swore I'd start trimming in every couple of months, but it was already too late.  The obsession was growing without my realizing.  While I was busy being resentful, I neglected to see the strengthening correlation between my okay-ness and my hair.  And my hair got longer.  Two more years later and I had six inches removed.  It was back to an inch above my bra strap.  And my hair got longer...

I'm standing at the crossroads, nine years from my last play-with-my-hair day.  My locks are long enough that they get caught under my leg when I get into the truck.  They are badly damaged from years of sweater collars and it takes me almost an hour to get shampoo and conditioner through and then rinsed out of them.  It's like having a baby.  Everything has become difficult: sleeping, showering, cleaning, working... it's always in the way.  Even if I put it up...  It takes way too much energy, and it isn't energy I want to spend.

Are you asking how it got to this point?  Why I didn't cut it sooner, if it was bugging me so much?  Because it's long.  It's really, really long.  In a world where long hair is defined as 'below the shoulders,' it has become more than novelty.  It's a defining characteristic.  A part of me points out how pathetic that is.  I'm a great person.  I'm kind and likable.  None of those things is effected by the length of my hair.  My value or 'specialness' isn't decreased because I don't have long, unhealthy, resented hair.

Besides, it's not like it won't grow back...

Day Three - L is for the way you make me laugh...

wolf: What's wrong

me: Headache.  And I think I need some dental work.

wolf: Here, take this.

me: Shouldn't I take it with food or something?

wolf: Oh, you should be fine... I can't guarantee anything, I mean, it is an opiate.  You may hallucinate there's a gorgeous, naked man in your bedroom.

And this is one of the many reasons why I love him so very much.  Of course, he's currently pacing around in a bit of a huff because I'm blogging instead of enjoying my naked man hallucinations.  This is not one of the reasons I love him, but is more than tolerable in view of all the wonder, joy and humour he brings into my world.

Sleeping where I sit...

Whew.

When life is a bit calmer I'll write. I'm sure I've said that before. The thing is, I avoid writing when things are messed up because I refused to let this become a whine blog, like my last one, filled to the top with negativity, depression and drama. The thing is, the farther I get from my last post, the more I find myself thinking about how funny the story has been - drama included - and wish I had kept up a running commentary of the whole thing!

Examples?

• My last entry found me packing a three bedroom house. Not too big a deal aside from the sheer volume of crap that a family can accumulate over the course of a few years. The challenge was that we were moving into a very small space for a few months. We needed to decide what we could live without for a while and what was truly necessary for survival. Hahaha. That was(n't) so funny.
  
• The small space we were moving into was a 28' trailer (with a pop-out) situated in our neighbours driveway and across the street from where I was packing.
• The trailer was not a winter unit which meant we were wiping condensation off the windows and walls everyday in order to control a potential mildew problem.
  
• In the time we were in the trailer, Wolf and I got the dreaded H1N1 and lived to tell about it. Kitten remained perfectly healthy during this time and revelled in her role as caregiver.
• We ended up in that trailer from October 31st until sometime in the first week of March; I can't precisely remember because February 14th marked the first day of The Great ClusterF**k, and I've been a little crazier ever since.

• The Great ClusterF**k deserves a bullet of its own. (Maybe even an indent, but I don't have that option with blogger and I don't remember any HTML.) It all started with an innocent phone call... (cue flashback) Things were getting lean in the work department. We were driving toward the exit of our local grocery store parking lot when Wolf hollered at me to "follow that gold car!" I did. Thankfully, the driver of the gold car wasn't going far. He pulled into a space one lot over at which point Wolf leapt from the truck to say 'Hi.' The point to this minor stalking was to get a phone number from the driver of the gold car. Apparently, Wolf used to work with gold-car-driver's son and had begun a deal (years ago) to change the roof-ling on the guy's house. In under a week, we were in business together. The plan: He's leasing a house in town and has been renting out his house which is on the lake. We'll move into his house for reduced rent while we work with him and while we renovate his house. His house has a hot tub, a pool and a generator which will run the whole house, water features included, in the event of power outage!
  
• New plan: His house was trashed by the previous renters. We'll move into the place he's leasing in town. It's in "The Properties." (Yes, that is as pretentious as it sounds). The rent will be higher but we'll still work with him and help him renovate his house.
  
• New plan: We'll move into his trailer and stay on the property. He'll stay in his house and break the lease on the house in town. It'll be cheaper for all concerned which'll put more money into the business. Don't worry, the trailer's way bigger than the one we were in; it's 38'!!

It was about that point where I snapped.

• Okay. New plan: We'll take over the lease in town, he'll live in his house.... I stopped listening. I decided that there was nothing beyond This Moment. I planned nothing. I answered no questions. I ventured no opinions. I had no thoughts of my own, beyond my own actions. When Wolf asked, "So, what do you think?" I said, "Just tell me what's happening and I'll do it." It was both ugly and cathartic.

Funny, hey?

At some point I'll tell you about the house and where this adventure has taken us, so far, but now I have to sleep. I have to work in the morning and get Kitten to Cartooning class and Marimba. Thanks be for other homeschooling families and the possibility of impromptu, week-night sleepovers!
Amen!

Opportunities and possibilities.

I've never enjoyed packing. Whichever form it takes, it always includes a tremendous amount of stress. What if I forget something that I desperately need?!! It's gotten to the point where I want to keep special suitcases packed all the time; the overnight bag, the weekender, camping must-haves. Sure, I'd have multiples of everything - contact solution and cases, shampoo and conditioner - but I'd also always have everything I needed.

Or, I could give myself the time I need to prepare.

I've been packing for the past two weeks, now. I should clarify that I started packing two weeks ago, packed for about 3 hours/day for two days, between hour long breaks playing facebook games. Not overly productive, really. Not even remotely enjoyable. It's my typical way of packing. Start early so I feel okay about myself, then leave everything else to three days before d-day. A flurry of stuffing random items into random boxes and labelling them as 'miscellaneous', and - poof - I'm a soggy pile of tears and anxiety with years of living with boxes that I won't open because I don't want to have to organize their contents! Magic!

Yesterday and today have been good packing days. Wolf enlisted help in getting the big pieces of furniture out to the truck and into the storage unit while I've packed and done laundry. We have two weeks before we have to be out of this place so there's not too much pressure. We're keeping all of our necessities packed separately so we can still use them before taking them to our temporary digs. And somehow, for the first time, I'm actually having fun... okay, fun isn't the right word, but when I take a break, I can see what's been done. It gives me the motivation to keep going. It's fun-ish.

Back to it...

On news, theme songs and living two lives…

Well hello there.

I never wanted this to become another defunct blog. Just thought I’d put that out there. I keep telling myself that I’ll write regularly when things settle down. The problem with that thought process is that things never really settle down. It’s all just various levels of busy.

Our latest busy-ness is in the form of another long term house guest. He arrived a week ago, yesterday, and so far it’s been relatively good. We have the consistent challenges - you know, the ones which present regardless of the visitor. Things like privacy, changes in routine, toilet seat tension and extra expenses. With this particular guest there are a few more things to think about.

This guest is a long standing friend of Wolf’s. This guest, who always had turbulent mood swings, has very recently been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. This guest has spent a couple of weeks, twice, (from February to March of this year) in the hospital for suicide attempts. This guest flew out to the island about two weeks after his latest attempt.

….

….

I find myself stuck. There is no more to say about it besides my own stress about the whole thing. He is medicated. He is not yet level. Oh, and in August, his girlfriend will arrive, too. They met in the hospital.

On a lighter and more intriguing note, the members of my little family each have their own theme songs. Since she was about three years old, Kitten’s been singing The Imperial March while she plays. Wolf, who has recently rented all of the movies, fills our ears with the theme to Superman. Mine? Like, since I was a kid? Embarrassingly enough, my background music is the Mexican Hat Dance. Ole!

There. Now you know.


My work week. My weekend. I’ve often felt like I was two people. Nothing to be concerned about, mind you, just the me-that’s-at-my-best and the me-that's-falling-apart. Now, I have Work me. The cool thing is that work me tends to supersede falling apart me, more or less. I mean, I have I’m-really-sick-of-this-shit-but-will-keep-gritting-my-teeth-and-smiling Work me, but the point is the smile remains. Mostly.

Weekdays are for work. That’s all I have room for. Work and a little bit of family because my hours are so crappy. Weekends are for art, but art takes so much time. It takes time for me to settle into the zone, to see what my next step should be. I can still work when I’m low. I struggle with art, even the idea of art, when I’m low. I hate that I have to allot so much time to my work life when I find it almost completely unsatisfying and my paycheque sucks. I hate that I exchange eighty hours for $630. I hate that, without Wolf’s income (which is up in August), we would have about $136 left over after paying rent. Per month.

And I’m not overly keen on having become ‘just like everyone else.’


I’ve had a tough week. I’m ready for my big break. Hey Universe, are you listening?

Shout out.

A month later, she stops by to say, "I'm alive. Wolf's alive and well (perspective). Life goes on."

I don't have time to fill this out to any detail, at all, but I figured I owed you a 'Hello,' if nothing else.

Much had happened and continues to happen and later (today?) I will begin to fill it out. Right now I have to go apply for a business licence and meet another down-and-out, post head-injury pal for coffee.

Until next time, be well good Internets.

The situation...

This evening, at around 7:45, Wolf started seizing.
"Should I call an ambulance?"
I called 911 about ten minutes later. (There was a ten minute delay because if he doesn't respond with something other than 'No,' he'll fight anyone who tries to help him. He's a big boy. By 8:00, the ambulance had arrived. The arrival of three fire and rescue trucks, two squad cars and a half hour later, they finally earned his co-operation in getting onto the cot. They even managed to get him strapped in before he got antsy again.

Then, I lost it a little. Then I got it together and went into the spare room where Kitten was watching TV.


Now, I've managed to get some food into me and I've called his friend.

I can't seem to bring myself to call any of my supports, though. I'm feeling like I'm in limbo. I feel the fear begin to rise... then it just stops. It totally dissipates.

Is this what shock is? If not, what is it? It's very clear and calm. Which is odd. I don't know.

It's all big stuff...

I've had a lot to think about, lately. The best way for me to break it down would be chronologically, I think.

First, as you may have been able to glean from my last post, I went out and got a touch blotto... for the first time in over a year. It took all of 4 drinks.

I had been invited to attend 'Girls' night out' by a couple of my co-workers and though I didn't want to go, I had already blown off several invites and thought it prudent to make an appearance, if nothing more. So, it was just us, the ladies. For the first time in over a year I was out, on my weekend, without Wolf. I had already decided I wasn't going to drink but my friend handed me her vodka/lime to sip and my thirst was on.

• Back-story: I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. For the last year and a half of my drinking years I would get the nastiest gut pains starting about a half hour from ingesting the first sip of whatever I was imbibing. I took this as a sign that it was time for me to back off a little. It took the 1.5 years to confirm my suspicions... and to let go of my favourite vice.

I think the first thing I noticed was that my gut didn't hurt. That was definitely a pleasant surprise which, obviously, precipitated another drink. By the end of the night, I still had no pain. I did, however, have the dawning of an ugly realization. I am a self-righteous bitch. But only when I'm not looking.

Wolf has always been a drinker. He never had a problem with it. As long as I was binging, I didn't mind either. But there came a time when alcohol became an issue for me and at the point that I could no longer deny that, it began hurting me. Well, with me no longer drinking I was better able to judge his drinking. How very convenient. This very judgement was fed and nurtured within me until last Monday. Eww.

Being who I am, I analyzed this to it's smallest detail and, once home, told Wolf all about it. I apologized for my self indulgent behaviour to which I was treated to the most relieved, sweet smile from my love. It really was amazing. The whole thing was amazing. I mean, I don't have the urge to spend my weekends plastered, thank God, and my feelings have changed regarding Wolf's occasional night with the boys. I know there will likely still be work to do to prevent me from slipping back into my old habit, but I'm up for that.

Next, Wolf had his neurologist appointment. The good doctor confirmed epilepsy, probably caused by Wolf's massive head injury. The back of his skull, travelling just below 60 km/h (about 37 m/h), met a curb. The doctor said that within two weeks Wolf would be called in for a cerebral angiogram. Hopefully the test will reveal the scar tissue on his brain and that the removal of said tissue is possible. They will also look at his aneurysm to see about taking care of that, too. Cleansing breath...

The 'third' thing that I'm working on is a new life. I have always been an 'artist.' I've know what I can do with a pencil, given the time and patience, and that I would love to make it a living. I know that my potential has not really showed in the bits and pieces of art that I have put on display. For the past week or so, I've been working on a portrait of one of my co-workers. Did I say that already? Well, If so, sorry about the repetition. My point is, I've shown the incomplete drawing to several people and each of them has asked what I will charge for my service. I've never had a clue. How does one put a price on something like this? What if the price is too much, or too little. How would I correct that, after the fact, for others without being totally unfair?!

Well, I was told, based on the info I had to date (it's taken me about 6-8 hours so far, I'm about half done...) that a picture this size, with this amount of detail, I could/should be charging about $450. It throws me and I think, "Really?" I'm timid about the whole thing, looking at the possibilities and daring to wonder - no, to dream that it might be possible. Wow. Really?

I guess I'm daring to dream... Now, I just need to finish the thing and get it 'out there.'

And, finally, my most recent lesson came today. I have linked my despair directly and irrefutably to anxiety. I awoke with a headache and immediately thought about this being the last day of my weekend. My mind took me to work tomorrow morning, and I was standing behind my till. I shook it off pretty quickly but my chest was a bit tight and I was instantly antsy. I managed to 'forget' the whole thing is pretty short order but I did become quiet. Wolf kept asking me what was wrong, and nothing was wrong. I was just quiet. And not hungry. And withdrawn.

Kitten was trying to tell us about her dream and one of Wolf's favourite things to do is pester the hell out of people. Every few words that Kitten would get out, Wolf would ask a question or link her words to a quote... whatever. Well, I was trying to re-engage with my family when Kitten said, "and there were these mountains and a river was winding between them..." when I smiled at her and said, "A river runs through it, which is the name of a movie." Well, my timing was off because I guess that was her breaking point. She just looked at me, eyes widened like I was the biggest betrayer, ever. Then her lips pinched shut and she turned to her breakfast without a word. I said I was sorry, and Wolf poked a little more. Well, I was done. I screwed up (which, when I'm at my best is a hard pill to swallow. At my worst, I shouldn't be permitted the care of a goldfish, let alone a child!) and had to leave the room.

As we all know, kids are far more resilient that we often give them credit for. Within minutes, she was knocking on my door, asking if she could finish the telling of her dream. I said yes and all was well. Except me. I crashed. Hard.

I realized that I wasn't trying to engage with my family for my sake. I know that when the ocean is turbulent, I need to just ride the wave. The less I fight, the quicker I reach solid ground. I know my limitations when I'm in that place. I know damned well that to deny my feeling is dangerous. And now I know that to deny my feelings, even when I think I'm helping others, is to hurt them as well as myself.

Biggies, all. Whoo-ee. And, as usual, the universe throws stuff at me when it's most pertinent. This morning, just before the emotional shit hit the fan, I saw this picture:




Thank you...

To laugh or to cry...

Wolf called his Dad to see how his cataract surgery went. Dad was sleeping but Wolf's step-Mother informed him that he came out of the surgery completely blind. Seems the good doctors tore the lens in his good eye but left said lens in place to cause as much pain as possible before ER docs diagnosed the source of the pain and rectified it by taking it out.

He'll have to wait two months until the eye heals enough to have an artificial lens inserted.

What the hell is going on?!!

In other news, i should be taking Kitten and her friend to the movie store so they can pick movies and video games for this evening, her eleventh-birthday party.

Running away now!

This is a sorry excuse for a post...

This entry marks my sixtieth post in this blog. That's kind of neat.

This entry is gonna suck, just to let you know. Wolf passed out twice today which is worse than 'usual' but he didn't seize which is better than the past two or three episodes.

I've begun another work week, whee.

Tomorrow is payday, (a more heartfelt) whee.

Three more days. Then NaBloPoMo is over. One less stressor.

And now I must go see if the glowing 'check gauge' light really means business. Will the truck make it to the store and back? Dun-duuuunnn (the suspense is killing me).

A demain...

And the times, they are a'changin...

You know what I love most about working? Punching out and leaving the store.

You know what I love most about my Hubby being home during the day? Being greeted after work with a big smile and a homemade, gluten free croissant!

You know what I hate most about working? When my daughter says things like, "Y'know what Mom? I always thought it would be easier to deal with you not being here over time. It's kinda not."

She has gotten really clingy, again. It's hard for me to be available for that when I'm sore from standing behind a counter all day, socializing. I'm working on it while trying to remember that it's okay for me to take some time to regroup and change gears when I get home. This is a particularly hard thing for all of us. Both Kitten and Wolf are extroverts. They need other people around them to recharge and feel energized. Neither of them understand that I am exactly opposite - it isn't personal, it just is.

And now, for something completely different... There's been one firing and several lay-offs at work over the past week. The firing was apparently due to violations of store procedure or some such. The Lay-offs, though, are due to the economy. I guess I should count my blessings. It would seem that it is the more experienced, higher waged/salaried employees who are in danger of being downsized. We peons are cheaper and will be slightly more willing to have more work heaped upon us (for the same money, though? I think not... maybe).

And again, I am reminded to keep my eyes open for more entrepreneurial methods of earning my keep.


Now, I've taken my moments and must 'put my face back on,' so to speak. Wolf has his usual Friday night company and I am rather expected to attend.

Delicious!

I love it when my Husband runs into the bedroom and says, with urgency, "Open your mouth!"

I love it more when this is immediately followed by the introduction of my tongue to a chocolate cream puff. A gluten free, dairy free cream puff!!


What the heck were you thinking?!

Another day in another week of a home learner's life.

Last year, at the age of eight, Kitten began the school year in her first 'real,' away from home school. It was a phenomenal, tiny little independent school with its curriculum based in bioregional sustainability. They believed in child-led learning and we loved it there - we fit. It wasn't perfect, nothing is, but it was the best of all worlds to our little family. A month after school began, our delightful landlord gave us six months notice. He was selling our house. Gee, thank god we'd redone the 30 year old flooring throughout and completely rebuilt the rotting bathroom! He might not have been able to get the $400K he was hoping for.

I digress. With housing being what it was in the city (read: nonexistent) we quickly discovered that we didn't have the option of sticking it out for the remainder of the school year. With that decision made for us, we discovered another positive point about the school. It had a great distance learning program. Brilliant. Me? Not so much. I really prefer to do my own thing. I don't like feeling like I've got someone looking over my shoulder. Not only that but I'm really lazy and easily overwhelmed. Not the best two characteristics when trying to... well, anything! So our poor DL teacher had to pull it out of her ass at the end of the year because my reporting sucks.

We're with a new program this year. My sister has been with this program for a couple/few years and offered to be my paper-worker as they require weekly reporting of a very detailed nature. She said, "You do the home learning and give me a general outline of what you've done, I'll put it in the form they want to see." Well, guess what? They seem to be less than pleased about the fact that Kitten is registered under my sister's name (as opposed to a parent) and they want me to register with the program. Yay. I'm f*ing thrilled. From 3x yearly reporting (which I sucked at) to weekly reporting... did I already say 'yay?'

Needless to say, my life has not exactly been what I'm used to. Kitten has swimming lessons 2ce/week, plus 'Library afternoon,' 'Park day,' and woodworking. Monday is the only day we're not scheduled out the ass. Whee. Yeah, I've been busy, not that it really makes a difference to blogging. Busy... lazy... it all ends up the same. No updates.

I'm updating!

Now, for the news. Wolf had a laparoscopic appendectomy on September 9th (Happy birthday to YOUUuuu!) He's doing well and only had to go back in once (due to refusing post-operative hospitalization for longer than 12 hours.) He's still tender which means kitten head butts him in the belly at least once a day. Yesterday, finally, we were painfully graphic about the procedure. Hopefully the abdominal abuse eases for a bit.

Kitten is doing well. She's in her element- busy, busy, busy! I'm ... me. I have good days and not so good days. I'm okay. I'm rolling with it. Sometimes I'm rolling under it, protecting my arms and legs from the wheels, but I'm still here.

Seeing God.

(Cross posted to LJ)
I told him that I wasn't interested in watching his slow (or not so) decline and that I was struggling to be supportive in this, his time of illness. If he wasn't going to go see his doctor, so be it. He said he was just fine, that he'd been sick like this before and all has turned out just fine in the past. Then he excused himself to cough until he was sick. "Okay," Wolf said, "if I'm not feeling better by Tuesday I'll make a doctor's appointment." That was on Sunday.

Monday was a replay of Sunday but at a distance (he's back to living-out during the week).

Yesterday morning he called me sounding chipper, if somewhat raspy.

Wolf: Hey babe, (chokecoughsputterwheeze) -(strangled) hang-on (coughhackcoughchoke.......)
Me: Oh good! You're feeling better.
W: Hey, that's only my second today. Really, I'm waaaaay better.

The conversation concluded after whatever pertinent information had been gathered and given.

The morning carried on in the usual home-schooling manner, with sneaking and attempted subterfuge, and at about 12:30, Wolf called again. It was the usual lunch time call. He sounded more raspy, like he had the day(s) before. I asked him how he was doing. He said it was all good. 'Have a good afternoon; talk to you later; love you and all that'...

Less than five minutes pass when the phone rings, again.

Wolf: I'm gonna call the doctor and find out if I can get a walk in appointment. (click)

Five more minutes brings with it the announcement that the office is closed for lunch and no one will be answering until 1 o'clock. Shortly before 1:00 he calls to ask me if I can please set things up with Doc God as he's already on the road.

Reception says, "Doc God's not on walk in today and he's booked solid except for an appointment at 1:40." There was no way Wolf could get home (one hour trip) and we could get to Vic (another hour trip). We decide that we don't care. We're heading in to the city, appointment or not. Not a really eventful trip. Nice scenery, smooth highway, tearing cough. Just loverly.

Into Vic and down the Highway, left on Cloverdale and straight on 'til morning... Yup, booked solid. We had to wait a whole 8 minutes before Doc God himself calls Wolf back (you're the next contestant...). Even down the hall, through the closed exam room door I can hear the wracking coughs. Yum! Ten minutes pass and he's heading back down the hall, the grim expression of a man who has to spend a small fortune to regain some semblance of health. Not too bad, really. Turns out the good doctor was only willing to give him 2 days worth. Why? I'll explain that one with the following exchange:

Doc God: Why didn't you come in sooner?
Wolf: (grinning and coughing)....
Doc God: (scratching on his prescription pad with a vengeance)...

And if you didn't understand that then you either are or have That Guy.

that guy
n.

One who takes care of ones needs, usually medical.

personal idiom:

(I'm/you're/he's) not that guy

• masculine judgment: Only pussies go to the doctor if they aren't bleeding from an artery and I'm not that guy.
• sarcasm: Some people go see someone about coughing up blood but Wolf is not that guy.
  

The fricken guy has a bronchial asthmatic infection "that some might call pneumonia." Doc God gave only 2 days of meds so that, if it wasn't getting better, he could escort Wolf to the hospital on Thursday. If Wolf says it's getting better and goes in for more antibiotics etc, Doc God gets to call any possible bluff. See, there's a reason we call him Doc God. He is all seeing and all knowing, but I can't confirm possible claims of omnipotence.