Jul. 17: Ding-dong

Victor thought of a good way to keep Millie from (successfully) hunting birds. The little jingle bell on her collar obviously isn’t giving the birds enough warning before she strikes, so he suggested we put a big ol’ cowbell on her. Sure, she’ll have to keep that little neck of hers UP so the bell doesn’t drag on the ground. But she’ll adjust. Stalk away, kitty! Just ignore the birds’ mocking laughter.

I married a genius. An idea man. A problem solver. A guy who gets things done.

Mar. 28: A milestone reversed

Katie got her ears pierced last summer. She was eight years old. We went over all the beforehand stuff about how important it was going to be for her to clean her ears regularly, to only wear certain types of earrings, etc. I thought she was probably a little young, but with our help she’d do just fine.

And she did do just fine, for the first few weeks. Then came the first infection. She screamed bloody murder as I tried to clean it for her. Right after, she got better about cleaning around the holes, twisting the earrings, and then must have gotten lazy again. She was afraid to tell us if her ear lobe got tender and/or puffy, so by the time we’d see it for ourselves, it’d gotten quite infected. It got to where she didn’t like us to even look at her ear lobes for fear we’d decide they were infected and put her through the torture of cleaning them. 

As I told her every time, there was no reason to scream like that. I had occasional infections when my ears were first pierced, and I knew how much it hurt. But it didn’t hurt THAT much. The girl has always had an extremely low pain threshold. A tiny scratch gets her panicked and hyperventilating. A real wound makes her cry so hard, it’s almost impossible to get her calmed. I remember being a little like that at her age, but when I started getting headaches in high school, I learned to deal with pain more like a normal person.

I made Katie a necklace this evening, and when she pulled her hair up so I could clasp it, I noticed one of her earrings was falling out. When I looked closer I saw that her lobe was so swollen it had enveloped the stud. Although it was painful, the earring came out the back of her lobe easily, along with lots of other goo and blood. Katie immediately started freaking out. I sent her upstairs to get her ear cleaning solution, and decided with Vic that we’d had enough of the earrings. They were coming out.

There was no argument from Katie. She’s tired of it all too.

I’m so disappointed. I’m discouraged with Katie for not taking care of her ears better, but I know the blame for that is ultimately mine. I’m frustrated at the way she deals with discomfort and concerned that if it doesn’t eventually improve, she’ll be spending a lot of her lifetime in hysterics. And I’m also just plain bummed out that we gave up on this thing that made her so proud just a few months ago.

Jan. 7: My advance directive

I went through pre-surgery orientation yesterday and now I can’t sleep. I’m really eager to get this over with tomorrow.

They asked if I have an advance directive. I do not. I have a will that was written a few years ago but hasn’t been notarized. That whole “being of sound mind and body” thing has me stumped; would any attorney, physician, or notary believe that I am of sound mind? Because it’s when I try the hardest to seem normal that I seem to be of the least sound mind. Or… whatever.

So here’s the deal: I don’t want to be kept alive by machines. That’s not living.

However…

If I can watch TV, change the channel with my mind (or a remote, I guess), have people bring me food and tasty beverages and change my diaper, THAT, my friend, is living large! Oh man, a diaper would be so awesome. Why are old people grouchy? They get such great stuff, lucky dogs.

If Victor and I both kick the bucket(s), Katie and Jack will go to Kathy. There’s a good chance that if we’re still living when K&J reach their teens, we’ll fake our deaths just to get Kathy to raise them, then reappear when they’re adults and be the long-thought-dead heroes. Yay, Jen and Vic! Oh, what an ordeal they must have been through! Please don’t tell anyone we were living in Canada the whole time.

I need someone to update my Facebook status to say that I’m dead. And a ghostwriter to keep this here blog going for years to come. Volunteers?

There might be other stuff too. I’ll re-read this after I’ve gotten some sleep and edit as needed.

Sep. 1: Call me Cinder-jen

Well, our house has been cluttered and embarrassingly messy for such a long time now that it was time to do one of the following:

1. Set fire to the house
   
2. Sell house "as is" for about 12 cents
   
3. Continue living this way until we are found dead in our home in 50 years, but they have to follow the smell because no one can find us among of all the piles of magazines, newspaper, and folded laundry, and we're dead a few months before the neighbors even notice because it's not unusual for us to have a month's worth of newspapers on the front porch and then our house will be on the news with all our relatives complaining that all we left them in our will is a big to-do list
   
4. Clean

My back is killing me because I chose #4. I decided it was the least illegal and/or embarrassing.

I want to point out that this is not just the normal picking-up kind of cleaning. This is the move-furniture-vacuum-repeatedly-go-through-every-drawer-and-cabinet-and-storage-box-and-closet-fill-the-garbage-can-12-times-with-the-receipts-Vic-never-seems-to-throw-away kind of cleaning. That kind.

I keep a lot of things I probably don't need. They end up in Rubbermaid boxes in the attic and every few years I shred a LOT of paper. But I married someone that's way worse than I am about keeping stuff. Exhibit 238: I found Vic's 1991 Ohio state tax forms in his nightstand drawer. I mean, you never know when you need to look at your taxes from 16 years ago (when you made no money), so it's a good idea to keep them handy in your nightstand.

Vic isn't even embarrassed! Mostly he just likes to say, "Jen got into my drawers for my junk." (Mom, if you don't read that sentence, it's okay with me.)

So far I've done Katie's and Jack's bedrooms, our vanity and bathroom and the master bedroom. And the best part is that I haven't messed up other rooms getting them clean; I'm putting things away as I go. The most time-consuming task is sorting the kids' clothes for donation and hand-me-downs. The other thing I don't like is arguing with Katie over things to throw away and keep. She is sooo like I was about hanging onto meaningless things. I try to remember how it felt and just hope that eventually she'll be able to throw things away on her own.

After a long day of backbreaking work, I collapsed in front of the TV tonight and, finding nothing on TiVo for me, flipped channels until I came to The Sound of Music. And now I want a ballroom in my house, just like the one in the movie but with fewer Nazis. In fact, I've decided I simply cannot live without a ballroom. I'd keep it clean, I promise.

—Jen