It's only been a week since I've posted anything, but it sure seems longer than that. I've been busy. Like non-stop busy. Like make the world go away busy. But we all have times like these, don't we.
I want to start by touching on my Mother's Day weekend. Da Man and I hit the VA last Friday morning. Again, things are starting to move. First of all, he has been given the okay to receive physical therapy here in town instead of driving the over an hour to the VA hospital. Yay! Seriously, now he's starting to get the care he needs. And I see every step as a positive one in the direction of finding out what the hell's wrong with him. He is due to see a rheumatologist and an orthopedic surgeon at the end of the month. He's 31 years old, though his birthday is this Friday. So please, hug a vet, even by way of prayer. These young men and women are suffering from things beyond our imagination, so hug one today.
We arrived home Friday afternoon just in time to get ourselves freshened up and the girls packed off to the sitter's. The Parent's Appreciation Banquet was nice. They gave away door prizes. Mom walked away with a purse and a Dairy Queen gift card. I came home with $25 in gift certificates to a kick ass restaurant here, and a candle garden complete with stones. But The Universe worked through Da Man's hands that night. Dig this:
Last Thursday afternoon I sat and downloaded registration forms and scholarship applications for day camps held at a local arts center here. Grace has a deep interest in being a prima ballerina (yeah, I often think she was switched at birth, too), and I thought the camps would allow her the opportunity to feel it out and see if it's something she would really be into. PLUS, it would give her something to do for at a least a week during the sure to be long and trying summer break (she has 14 days of school left and then it's granny bar the doors).
Wouldn't you know that Da Man's name was drawn during the banquet as the winner of a free week of day camp to this very same local arts center! How friggin' cool is that? Really, how friggin' cool is that? So altogether, the three of us came home with almost $100 worth of gifts. Not bad, eh.
Oh, and the award I was given was for having the second highest amount of parent volunteer hours in five counties. I was given a nice plaque and a holy shit, I'm crying--me, crying introductory speech by Teach. I was honored. I didn't know there was such an award, which made it even more special to me actually. It was a wonderful way to kick off my Mother's Day weekend.
Saturday was spent shopping for flowers. I love that tradition with my mom. Now if only the damned pond would stay level so we could get rid of the mound of mud in the middle of the yard and the rain would stop before Noah decides to sail through and grab two of my goldfish and my pair of bullfrogs, I could get the summer flower gardening show on the road. *roll eyes*
We also took the girls to a carnival. Grace is at the age where carnivals rock. And Mak simply loves people, so she was cool with it. It was her first carnival, complete with the duck pond game. *smile* Of course, it took Da Man and the carnie chick to pry the rubber ducks out of her hands, but she toddled away with some cute, though cheap and virtually worthless, prizes. AND she had her first ride on a carousel. *smile*
Mother's Day started with a picnic at the Twinkie Factory (aka the neighbors'). Mmm, mmm, mmm *shaking my head back and forth* I could write several blogs on that experience, but I won't. Suffice it to say, I was glad that I had an excuse to take my girls and leave before our brains turned to Twinkie Mush.
This week so far has pretty much been a blur. Da Man and I had a heart-to-heart Monday afternoon about what we needed to do to make this whole in this for the long haul worth it. To make a long story short, he decided to call off work that night, which caused me to have an anxiety attack, so he could go to the library and hang out with us during our weekly story time session. He said that he's tired of missing so much of the girls' lives. I hadn't really taken into consideration what his bizarre work and sleeping schedule was cheating him out of until the other night when I saw the look of shock on his face when I handed Mak a cup of milk with a straw in it. And my award on Friday night had something to do with his newly found parenting perspective. We'll see where it goes from here....
I spent most of today in meetings for Grace's school. But I had an ulterior motive: the luncheon. Ha. I ran into a chicka that I had gone to high school with. It was nice talking to her because she got me. She was always the odd girl out and I couldn't believe it when she was introduced as the president of the board of directors. We sat and talked over lunch and it was a nice time. Granted, I wasn't moved to the point of inviting her to go bowling with me *winking at janet*, but we had a nice chat.
Speaking of chickas I went to high school with...
I had an email the other night from Classmates.com. I signed up for that so many years ago and have honestly only visited once since then, but I was intrigued by the someone has requested to be your friendmessage. It took me a couple of minutes to even remember who this girl was. I mean, the last name totally floored me (she's married). And the pictures of her didn't help me to figure it out at all. Da Man was standing behind me when it finally dawned on me who she was. "Look at her tits!!!" was all I could come up with. She was nothing but tits, and that definitely wasn't the her I remembered from high school.
So I looked at her friend's list and clicked on a girl's profile that I had worked with for years. Imagine my deep surprise when all I saw of her was her tits. What in the world? When did everyone besides me start getting boob jobs? And I find it odd that both of these girls had huge self-esteem issues back in high school. Actually, the second chicka had huge Twinkieish problems for years and years, but the tits were new. I was stunned. And I can't help but wonder how many other girls from my high school years have had their tits done.
Don't get me wrong, I admire breasts. But it took me trying to breastfeed my babies to get there. And it isn't the beauty of them that I admire but yet the function, the thought that they are put there to sustain our babies' lives *grimacing because I was unable to breastfeed because my milk didn't come in*. For some reason, I was never blessed with the pregnancy boobs. The puppies just refused to grow with either pregnancy. But the times my daughters spent suckling my breasts were some of the most peaceful and beautiful moments I probably will ever have with them. Well, that was until the screaming started because my little 1/4 of an ounce of milk wasn't getting it for either one of them. *snort*
Anyway, I don't care that chickas are having their boobs done, but I feel as if I am missing out on something. You know, the need to fix my problems with a nicely implanted rack. Wouldn't it be nice if all of your personal issues could be fixed by a trip to the plastic surgeon?
And now this boob rant must come to an end because Princess I've recently learned the word "nightmare" and am not afraid to use it as an excuse to climb into your bed Grace is awake.