Break

My absence has been caused by my grandma's death last week Sunday.

Now, With Updates!

- Dad's surgery went fine, he came back home on Wednesday and walked around grumping about things. So he's good as new, hooray! And most of the parts of his brain are getting adequate blood flow!

- I've got my new house tonight, the house with the little girl who can't talk. It makes me nervous. Dad has a habit (totally understandable but no less freaky for that) of hovering when therapy is going on. Therapy consists of a lot of mimickry of the nonsense sounds she makes, which is kind of on this side of embarassing to do with an audience. She's also very climby, which makes a person tired. I can only sling around a forty pound moving sack of potatoes for about a half an hour at a time without getting too winded to speak. Or mimic nonsense sounds, rather.

- The amount of time I spend driving and money on gas is making me pretty seriously unhappy lately. I want a job I don't have to drive for, with steady and normal hours. They usually don't hire for aides at schools unless it's the beginning of the school year, though, so I've got a wait ahead of me.

- I'm excited to go to a conference for autism at the beginning of May in Appleton. Not the least of which because I'll be getting paid for it.

- Mom is finishing up my taxes as I type. Way to wait until the last second, Mom! Also: Way to bitch about your free and painless tax preparation, Sunny!

Today

Dad's surgery is today.

Scared

I had lots of dreams last night. Oddly enough, I think they all included my cousin. And one of them had to do with a prostitution ring. Yeah, that kind of weird.

Things are very crazy right now. Dad has been having what he calls "episodes". From what I gather, he gets dizzy and feels like he might fall down. He had a stroke in 2003 (or a series of them, actually), and went to the neurologist yesterday to see if they could tell him what was the matter with him. They were concerned, and took him in for an MRI. They noticed a blockage in his brain and scheduled an angioplasty, probably adding some stents. And then they'll go and shoot him full of dye to see if the blood is flowing freely.

And last week, I was all worried about Mom.

Conversation:

Self: I wonder what they're going to put in that new building?

Dad: I don't know, I haven't heard.

Self: Well... I suppose probably another check cashing place.

Dad: Probably an auto parts store.

Self: A dollar store.

[pause]

Dad: This town sucks.

Tradition

Last year, my cousin and I got together and made Valentine's gifts for friends and family. It was the start of the tradition, so it makes sense that not everything turned out exactly as we'd envisioned.

My idea was a serving or two of homemade hot chocolate mix. The mix itself was just OK. Most people weren't prepared for the chili powder that gave it a more adult kick. The kids especially were less than thrilled. It maybe should have went out with instructions? I don't know. A friend of mine called it "brown drink" which, while more than accurate, still stung. I was determined to find something that wouldn't suck this year.

Enter the homemade instant chai mix. I got the recipe here and there are a few to choose from, all pretty similar. I loaded it up with spices and (this part is key) tried it ahead of time. Also, I let other people try it ahead of time. I find that a lot of the time when I'm excited about a recipe or craft or what-have-you, I am capable of completely blinding myself to any bad points it might have. (And yet, at other times, I totally can't tell how awesome something I make myself is, either.) Anyway, people seemed to find it appealing, even went so far as to compliment it. Nobody called it "brown drink". So it's a go.

Next year, I'm thinking about making a homemade powdered cappuccino mix? Single-serving warm drinks still seems to be a good idea. Mid-winter, who doesn't need a little cup of warmth wrapped up in a heart-spattered package?

Especially when it comes with fudge. Yeah, that's my cousin's contribution.

Hopeful

Here's hoping that this year is like March;  I hope it came in in the opposite way to which it will be going out.  In:  sad, inadequate, degenerate, alone.  Out:  happy, whole, productive, surrounded with love.  Not that I haven't been surrounded with love, but it's not completely been the sort of love I need.

Part of that will change soon, because I have finally connected with my sister.  I can't believe it took me this long, except I can totally believe it took me this long.  We're such different people, and only half of it stems from her being adopted out of the family.  I'm over the worst of it, though, and I really want things to be good for us.  I find it disgusting that she never met Bruce, for example.  One of the many ways I know that one or both of those relationships were not healthy for me.  Sadly enough, I'm sure that any inadequacies in that department belong to me.

I'm trying to blast up my year, my life.  In some ways it's not working as well as I'd have liked, but in those ways I have no control over it, so it is marginally acceptable.  I'm sure most of the people who read this are breathing a sigh of relief that I'm starting to count parts of life in the plus collumn again, after so much doom and gloom at the start of the year.  In my defense, however, one can't start out the year feeling awesome if one wakes up in one's car at 6AM having tried to drive on railroad tracks the night before on New Year's Day.

That's purely hypothetical.

For those of you who don't know, or who read my site through a reader (Hello!  I use Google Reader!  Please publish your full feed!), I'd like to mention that I have a sidebar application for Twitter, which I update (somewhat amusingly) a few times a day.  If I knew how to do a sideblog, ala:  Kerflop, then I would and save us all the trouble, but I'm unable.  

Twittering about Twittering

My brother: Tupperwhere? TupperHERE!!!

We could never be as amusing to other people as we are to each other. Too bad we're related and find each other completely unattractive. Alas, it was never meant to be.

G-B-C-B

This is the longest week in history. Next week will be the shortest, and the the week after that will be cruel, because it will beat this weeks record for longest week ever. I'm skipping right past looking forward to next week, into dreading the week after that. There's something depressingly pessimistic about the mindset I'm in right now. It's a little crazy. Stupid menses.

So yeah! I'm making the Green Bean Casserole for Thanksgiving this year. Yeah, that's right. I'm the Green Bean Casserole Bringer. It's a title of reverance, because one year somebody (I'm not naming names... We'll call her Dant Aebby) made it using frozen green beans, and didn't cook it long enough to cook them. We ate raw green beans in a sea of mushroom soup that year, and none of us will ever forget it. Ever since that fateful year, Dant Aebbie brings the rolls. (Store-bought.) Everyone is happier. Especially those relatives too polite to not clean their plates. (Not I, I will happily zip past you and scrape into the garbage. If you can't be honest with your relatives, who can you be honest with? Although I'd probably fib on the exact reason. "Oh, guess I'm just not in a bean mood!" or something similar.)

Does your family engage in the "Who eats first?" dance?

Day 7

The time is drawing nearer when I'm moving back to my parents' house. I know most of you are probably cringing at the very idea, but I think it's the best decision for me right now. I want to pay off some of the debt that's been riding along with me for almost 10 years (student loans, ha. What good did being a student ever do me?) and then save up some money. I hope to someday buy a house, and it's not going to happen before those two things get done.

I like my parents, but I'm worried about some things. Things like my animals. Specificially, Huck. He's very naughty, and my parents let him get away with it. I'm going to have to specifically put down some ground rules so he doesn't turn into the world's worst dog while we're living there.

Rules:

1. No people food.

2. No people food. No matter how cute he looks.

3. If people food falls to the floor and he snatches it, either ignore him completely and let him think he's sneakier than he is, or shout at him and shake a spoon or something to make him think you're really mad that he ate the people food. Do not make squealy noises or otherwise indicate that you're secretly pleased he got away with something.

4. It's not cute when he jumps up into your face. No matter what your brain is telling you. Don't let him do it. No excuses.

5. Don't make him think he is the most important part of your day. Even if he is. He shouldn't be. He's a dog.

I'm sure there are more. I'm getting antsy thinking about it. This will be ok, right? RIGHT?

My Sister

I've had this blog for three years now, and I keep forgetting to tell you all the story of my sister. It's a big story for me, and I always wanted to wait until I could tell it just right, but I'm not sure there is a "just right" way. And it deserves to be told, it's important.

So! In the spring of 2001, I found out I have a sister. My mom gave her up for adoption before I was born. Then she met my dad, they got married, and they started our family. Mom didn't tell me about her daughter, because she never knew if she'd try to contact her. She didn't want me to always wonder about her. Well, in 2001, Mom didn't have to wonder anymore. She got in contact with her, and wanted to meet us. We met her. Her name is Rachel. She's due to have a baby around Labor Day.

I went through a lot of weird stuff when I found out. I wished I had known. I went through some crazy bad times, some lonely times when I was in school, and I know I would have felt better had I been able to think about my sister being out there somewhere. Even if I'd never met her, it would have been possible, and that would have been cool.

I do understand why Mom didn't tell us, though, because it was painful for her and she wanted to spare us some of that pain. I'm happy that she made the choice she did, mostly because I'm not sure I'd be here if she'd have kept the baby.

Sometimes I think it screwed me up in the head a little bit. I think it messed me up a little bit to think I was the first child when I really wasn't. I think it had a bearing on the way I turned out. None of this is Rachel's fault, but for a while, I resented her.

Needless to say, I'm a big proponant of honesty with children. Creativity and imagination are wonderful, and I won't ever quash them, but honesty is important. I'm not talking about abolishing Santa Claus, but definitely acknowledging the Rachels.

Bottoms-R-Us

Last week, my mom mentioned how hard it is for my sister to be pregnant, how she's probably the only pregnant lady that's ever existed to be this pregnant, and how funny all of that is.  And it is, because we all knew (more or less) that this would be how it would be, because she's that way.  Everything is more when it happens to my sister.  I think part of it stems back to her adoption, and her early childhood.  But it's still funny.  Get my drift?

I was talking with Lee Ann about it on the day I got the kitten, and mentioned how Rach was complaining to my mom about her "bottom" hurting, and how it hurt worse than she'd ever have imagined, as if she were the first pregnant lady to have that particular problem.  Lee Ann informed me that it was actually common, and she wasn't surprised that she'd been talking about it, because it's sort of, well, all-encompassing, and it takes over your mind when it happens.  I was a little alarmed, and felt bad for making fun of my sister for talking about it, because apparently it would be slightly more alarming if she wasn't bringing it up to everyone.  Then I told her that Rach was due at the end of August.  

"Oh!" said Lee Ann.  "Usually that doesn't happen until much later."

There you go.  The most pregnant of all the women that ever were.

Intruducing: Stinky

Welcome home, Stinky! You're going to be a great addition to our little family, I can tell already. Linus is already getting used to you (mostly), and for Huck, well, you were love at first sight. Too bad you weren't quite as fond of him, but nevermind! The affection, it will come after the tolerance, I'm sure of it!

You cried for the first 48 hours, unless you were asleep. If you were playing, eating, drinking, pooping, or wondering where I was, you cried. Three days later, and you're only crying when I leave the house. And sometimes when you clean yourself. You're down to 20 hours a day, and that's a huge improvement! What a brave kitty!

You are the greyest kitty I've ever met, not a shred of pink about you. Not even the pads of your feet are pink. Your tongue is the only bit that isn't grey, and it's very cute because of that.

You're going to love your new home. I guarantee it.

Auntie Sunny

Sometime at the end of the summer, I'll finally become an aunt. To Owen. Yeah, that's right.

When I heard the name for the first time (last week), I breathed a sigh of relief. At least it's not a name I'd choose for my own kid. You don't know how cranky I'd have been if she'd chosen one of my names. (Shayla? No, but my version of it.)

Vacation was effing great. I'm so tanned that I don't really resemble myself anymore. I catch my own eye in the mirror and scare myself. I shouldn't have hair this dark if I'm going to tan this quickly. It ain't right.

I got to spend many hours of fun and frolic with my mom's cousins' kids and Hannah and Phil. They're so awesome at this age. I'll always remember how, when we were out swimming in the lake full of waves, Phil would inadvertantly get a mouthful of waves. I would pick him up, clap his back, and tell him to let me kwow when he'd caught his breath. After the first episode, I'd barely get him out of the water before he'd sputter, "Cot mine breff!" Later, he told me, "That swimming was my best."

Speaking of nieces and nephews, Hannah got her ears pierced today, for her birthday. She was the bravest girl, when they pulled the triggers, I could tell she wanted to cry, but she didn't. She was a brave girl. I've got some pictures, maybe I'll share one tomorrow.

ALONG WITH MY KITTEN PICTURES! Yeah, that's right. I'm gettin' a kitten. Tomorrow.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N (Placeholder of DOOOM!)

I'm going camping tomorrow, until at least next week Thursday. (If I have anything to say about it, it'll be later than that before I come back home.) I'm so looking forward to this, my family's been doing it for about twenty years now, and it's been perfected.

We've got all the supplies we need, we're well-established and even recognize some of the other campers from year to year. When we started going, I was seven. Now the older cousins who hadn't even been married back then have kids who are going into high school next year. They're taller than I am. This is amazing.

We camp next to the most beautiful lake I've ever seen, with crystal clear water and practically no vegetation. In water up to your neck, you can gaze down and see the grains of sand on your toes. It's the most perfect place I've been.

This year, it's going to be even better, because my brother is coming with us. I can't wait until tomorrow. If you need me, I'll be holding my breath over here.

Circle of Life

One time in college, I was in the coffee shop when I got a panicked call from my mom.  She couldn't figure out why the internet box wouldn't let her read the whole line.  She was border-line hysterical, and it took me about ten minutes to figure out what she was talking about, and another five to explain the concept of maximized and minimized windows.  It was hell.

I just had a similar conversation with her.  It wasn't until I was off the phone that I realized it's been about five years since that college story.  I'm getting old.

Happy Birthday, Lisahhhhh!

Updates!

I haven't talked about Huckleberry in a while, so here are a few fun facts:

He loves to ride in the car. And he can smile.



If I mention "Daddy", he will sit and watch out the window for him.



He came back from my mom and dad's house after a two-day vacation with his customary "I've been at Grandma and Grandpa's" limp (they have stairs, he's too enthusiastic, and yes, I'm a teensy bit peeved they haven't blocked them off yet) with an eating disorder. He's always been the type to drool over his dish until I tell him "OK" and then he inhales it and looks for more, so when he wouldn't touch it last night, I called Mom to see if they'd, I dunno, given him "lunch" or something. If there was some reason he wasn't hungry at "TIME". ("TIME" as in, "Huckleberry, is it TIME? *cue hysterical dancing and celebration from the dog.) He didn't eat all last night, and this morning, out of sheer desperation, I brought the food dish into the kitchen. When I walked in the door, he got all excited (cue hysterical, if limpy, dancing, etc) and barely bothered to chew as usual. Apparently, Mom and Dad have taught him he can eat inside. Damn them!

As far as the Linus goes, there are a few fun updates:

He loves watching my birdfeeders outside the window.



He suddenly discovered the bathroom sink, but will only lay in there if someone's in the bathroom with him.



He spent all last week and part of this one laying under the coffee table with his belly sticking out, panting.



Oh! And have I mentioned he likes to try to mount the dog?

Free Flowing

For the past three weeks or so, my bathtub drain hasn't been flowing as it should. It's been stopped up. The water will go down, eventually, but it takes a few hours. Yeah, hours. Gross, I know. I hadn't mentioned it to B, because he feels bad enough about being gone as is, and I hadn't gotten around to asking Dad about it yet. When B got here on Thursday night after taking the Greyhound up here, of course the first thing he wanted to do was take a shower. And of course the first thing he noticed then was that the drain wasn't, well... draining. He mentioned it to Dad when they came over for a cookout on Saturday night, and Dad offered his assistance.

Now, I normally think that one's drains are one's own business, but when someone offers their expertise and I can barely plunge correctly, I'll take it.

Dad came by today and looked at the drain. He plunged for a good long while before sticking his finger down the drain. I shuddered.

Dad: Lots of hair down here.

Me: Yes, but that's not my fault. That's your fault. It didn't come from Mom's side.

Dad: (nods.)

After about five more minutes of expert plunging (I had no idea there was such a finesse to it!), Dad decided we might need to get the snake involved. (Luckily, my dad's the sort who has a snake.) As we talked about the snake, he monkeyed around with the stopper. Flipped it from the down position to the up. And unstopped the drain.

My only consolation is that Bruce didn't try that, either.

Update:

- OMG, Elliot is Becky number two! I love revelations like this.

- In a few weeks, we're getting another kitten. Here's a picture.

- I went to Pride in Milwaukee this weekend, and it was filled with awesome things and people and I was so proud. I am so proud. There were these judgemental people at the gates with a megaphone talking about how wrong homosexuality is, and I wanted to give them what-for, but my brother wouldn't let me. And then I saw, across the street from these pricks, a mom with a picket sign, "God blessed me with a gay son." Isn't this a strange world? I have tons of hope, though, and I think there are steps being taken every day, steps leading us to a place that isn't judgemental or cruel. Someplace that is more free.

I got a bunch of pictures with some of the cutest boys you ever did see. I'll show them when I get them developed. Also? I went to a foam party. And? I SAW KATHY GRIFFIN. It was the most amazing thing I barely remember. Stupid $4.00 beers.

- I joined Facebook. How is it possible that it's more addicting than Myspace?

Food for Birds

My grandpas on either side were avid birdfeeders. On my Dad's side, Grandpa Roy would sit for hours at the big picture window in the kitchen, cursing the squirrels and formulating new methods for keeping the bigger more aggressive birds from his precious songbirds. He kept feeders for all kinds of birds, from the cardinals and jays to the smaller finches. He had feeders for orioles and hummingbirds, and kept houses around the yard for them to use for their nests.

Grandpa Del kept a smaller station, feeding an equally wide assortment of birds. His phillosophy was a little more live-and-let-live, and he read up on his birds, knowing the nesting habits and calls of most of the varieties in our neck of the woods. He had an encyclopedia in his head, and would gladly share all that information with me, if I cared to listen. I did, even though I was young and my patience was short. Grandpa Del had a stutter. To make himself better-understood, he'd often talk slowly and carefully, but his words held much wisdom. I was older when we lost Grandpa Del, and so my memories of him are more vivid. I wish I had these kinds of memories of Grandpa Roy, but I treasure the ones I do keep, and hold them close to me.

For a few weeks, I've been feeding my neighborhood birds. I love seeing their little habits and I'm amazed at how much I remember from my talks with my grandpas. I've been reading up on them, too. My Dad knows that, and last weekend when we were at Grandma's house, he showed me some homemade feeders Grandpa Roy had built. He told me to take one home, maybe fix it up. He told me Grandpa would be so proud. He choked up a bit.

Part of me fought not to fix up the feeder. I thought that every time I looked at it, I'd be reminded of how it was built by Grandpa, and how special that would make it. I realized, though, that I'd be remembering that however it looked. By cleaning it up and painting it a bit, it would be that much more attractive to the neighborhood. Grandpa would be all the more proud of it.

I'm painting it blue. As I paint, I think about how the brush that stained it red was held by Grandpa Roy. I think about the knawed-on bottom and how rough it is to paint, and think about him cursing the squirrels that did it. It makes me mist up a little bit.