Just in case you didn't know, the flu sucks!

Our doctor gave Bill a prescription for Tamiflu to help lessen his symptoms and one for both Mar and I to help prevent us from getting the flu altogether. Hurray!

Each prescription was $80. Boo! (But really, not getting the flu is worth $80.)

I brought Bill soup for lunch. Hurray!

He's too sick to eat it. Boo!

So, I have this to say to you, Flu: Suck it!

In sickness and in health

Bill hasn't been feeling well for the past couple days. He was up all night last night coughing and feeling achy and being both feverish and getting the chills.

Sounds like the flu.

But it can't be the flu because he got the flu shot, right? Right?

Wrong. He's got the flu. The doctor fit him in this morning and confirmed the flu has made itself home with Bill.

Gah!
Flu!

I don't want the flu.

I called Bill earlier and he could barely talk from all the teeth chattering.

I'm going to bring him soup for lunch. Poor Flu Bill.

On a non-flu note, I posted over here about how I'm supposed to be actually listening to my kid. What's that all about?

Question

Is it wrong for parents to put the TV on mute and then giggle to themselves while listening to their 7-year-old daughter as she grunts and talks to herself while she's pooping?

I've never known anyone to do that and would never, ever do that myself. It was just a question I had in my head. You know those questions, like "What is the meaning of life?" and stuff like that.

Now with less irritation

To alleviate my aforementioned irritation, I planned to have lunch with Bill at the fancy restaurant on his campus. Nicely cooked pork chops and polenta always helps my mood (and one of the culinary faculty comped us ... nice and not irritating!).

There was a group of young students standing near the door as we walked into the building. One called out to Bill, "Hey Mr. McCracken, is that your wife?"

Bill's reply, "Yep. I did pretty good, huh?"

And the irritation meter slides back down to low.

A theme for 2008

I'm irritated. I'm irritated a lot lately. It's a theme for me.

Mar asked the other day, "Are you irritated now? Because I want to ask you something." And I probably was irritated.

I was irritated last night when I got my teaching evaluations from my class last semester and one student said that I didn't smile enough when I walked into the class room. 'the hell?

I was doubly irritated that photocopies were made (not by me, but I'm not pointing fingers) of my syllabus from last spring and I didn't notice it until after class. It's been a total cluster trying to get that sorted out.

Then I had a dream last night that still has me all upset. Stupid subconscious.

I need a vacation.

Only at 2 a.m.

This was hilarious to me Saturday night at 2 a.m.

Weeding out the cleaning

It was tough, but Bill and I got it done. It took longer than we expected and we had some "do-overs" but we did it.

We watched the entire third season of the Showtime show Weeds over the weekend.

That show is awesomely hilarious and brilliant and sometimes more than a little unbelievable, but great nonetheless.

Because we stayed up late Friday and Saturday night and because Bill is old, he kept falling asleep. I would poke him and pinch him and generally annoy him, but we still had to go back and re-watch some episodes. But we got it done.

The hardest part was keeping Margaret occupied while we tried to watch episode after episode. This is definitely not a kids show. Luckily she goes to sleep early!

To make up for my slothful ways, yesterday I cleaned all the floors in the house (sans basement) and then ... and then ... people and animals walked on them putting their dirty feet all over my clean floors.

Cleaning is so overrated. Have you ever been able to get the laundry done and keep it done?

Exactly. Pointless.

Phone-iness

Last night Margaret called my brother to thank him and his family for the Christmas gifts she received.

Let me tell you, Mar and Sean were super excited to get their gifts in the middle of January. They still would have appreciated them on Christmas day, but Christmas in January rocks.

After Mar was done thanking everyone, she asked my brother, "Do you want to talk to my mom?"

That question was followed by this, "No, she's not pooping."

That was an obvious reference to yesterday's post. I should take this moment to clarify that neither Bill nor I like talking on the phone while in the bathroom. The problem is Margaret is prone to forcing the phone into your hand, regardless of what you are doing and walking away.

Once she handed me the phone while I was in the shower. The call was from one of my students. And Mar had told this student that I was in the shower.

Talk about awkward.

Phone call gone bad

Bill picked up Margaret from school yesterday before I got home from work yesterday. I called him about something and Margaret answered the phone:

Mar: Halllooowah.

Me: Hey honey. Lemme talk to Daddy real quick.

Mar: OK, but you're going to hear a lot of this: (followed by some guttural grunting)

Then Mar hands to phone to Bill.

Me: (thinking to myself: 'the hell?)

Bill: (guttural grunting sounds)

Me: Are you pooping?

Bill: You called me. I can't help it.

What do you do with one shoe?

I posted a story about how Sean's carelessness is catching up with him over here. Bill said that I should have wrote about why Sean wasn't in school Tuesday.

Tuesday was "enrichment" day at Sean's high school. "Enrichment" — the word seems so positive and good. But yet enrichment day is utterly not.

Monday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, so the kids were off. Monday night, Sean told Bill that he didn't have school Tuesday because it was enrichment day.

Being the skeptical parent that Bill is, he called the school Tuesday and was told that enrichment day is a day for students to catch up on school work and complete assignments, etc. If a student had no missing assignments or work to catch up on, they didn't have to go to school.

'the hell?

I would like to know who thought up this idea. Kids get a day off school for no good reason, unless they are missing work ... then they have to go? I would love to know how many kids actually went. Does this work? Why not have enrichment day on Saturday instead?

We have no idea if Sean was supposed to even be there, as all his school stuff goes through Sean's mom. So he got to sleep until noon then wander off to do nothing for the rest of enrichment day.

I wish I could take an enrichment day from work. I'd sleep in, then have a beer. Maybe lay around in my underwear all day.

OK, maybe enrichment day wouldn't be so bad after all.

Not so fierce

I know I revisited a topic from days gone by yesterday, but I've got more to say on this topic that I discussed two years ago.

(For those unwilling to click the link, in February 2006 I waxed poetic about the problem with control-top pantyhose and the dreaded muffin top.)

Not long after that post, I stopped wearing pantyhose. They are so delicate that I put my finger through them in about 35 seconds and they just don't fit me right ... ever. My legs are not two slender cylinders of smooth lady-skin. Nope, they are two giant cones of cellulite and dimples.

But, for some stupid reason, I decided to break my self-inflicted ban on the hose du panty and bought myself a pair to go with a new skirt ... and my boots, of course.

I avoided the "control-top" variety like the plague — dude, the fat has to go somewhere and out the top just doesn't ever look good. I opted for the regular fit, whatever the hell that means. This morning I was able to get them on with little difficulty, so it wasn't until I put on my shirt that I realized the trouble with pantyhose.

See, it doesn't matter if they are control-top or not, the waist band is designed to stay up. This design requires a fair amount of waist-cinching material. So while the hose part fits fine, the top of the panty part creates an unsightly dent in my jelly gut.

I tried pulling the waist band up to my ribs and down low around my hips ... didn't matter. There was a dent. A visibly noticeable dent.

The waistband of the skirt did not camouflage the offending dent at. all.

Instead I realized that the waistband of the skirt created its own problem. The skirt has a thick kind of cummerbund band around the top, but it doesn't lie against the skin. Oh no, that would be cute and/or nice. No, the waistband instead stands straight up and away from my body, creating a pointy lump.

So now I have a dent and pointy lump at and around my waist area.

My question is: Why? Why can't the pantyhose stay up without the egregious cinching and why can't the skirt's band lie against my skin like a waistband should? Am I asking too much? Being too unreasonable? Or am I just crazy to think clothes will ever look good on me?

While I ponder these questions, I'm going to draw attention away from my waist issues by clomping around supermodel/horsey style in my boots. At least they fit sans dents or lumps.

Out of the mouths of babes

Richie wrote a hilarious story about her kid wanting his dad to help him with a candy cane over here.

When you have kids you have to start watching what you say, what they see on TV and elsewhere and you have to start explaining a whole bunch of things that you may or may not be in the mood to discuss.

This all takes me back in time to two years ago when I started this blog. My first entry addressed one of those crucial parenting moments and how I flubbed it like a real candidate for year's worst mom. Good times.

Oh, it's good stuff. Go on, click it.

Soup and fake photos

Yesterday was soup day at my work. That's why I didn't post ... I was too busy eating soup.

Soup day is awesome. We had more than a dozen different kinds of soup. I tried them all. They were great. Click the link and you can get some recipes. And I brought soup, too. Soup that I made myself and people ate it. I don't think it was the favorite, but I'm satisfied that I made soup to share at all. So go me.

Today I posted over here about sledding and included some pictures. Granted they are not pictures of us sledding, but they are pictures of people sledding. What more could you want?

So I got a new pair of work pants. They have some buttons on the front and back of the waistband. I was inspired by the cute buttons to tuck my shirt in.

Gasp!

I know, tucking in is akin at accessorizing for me ... it just doesn't happen, but today I tucked in. I'm trying something new.

While I was gathering my stuff and getting ready to leave for work, Margaret starts laughing. She was laughing at me — or I should say that she was laughing at my pants. Apparently the buttons on the waist look like eyes and the seam down the middle looks like a mouth. And if you press my gelantious rump cheeks together (which she did) it makes the butt monster talk.

That's how I started my Friday.

Now he just scares me

When I was a kid, around 11 or 12, there was no Internets and MTV only showed those same 11 Thomas Dolby videos over and over again (remember that when MTV played music videos — I'm old). So for the times when we weren't hogging up the one phone line in the house, we had to find other things to do.

For some of my girlfriends and I, that meant walking down to the local grocery and buying teen magazines, like Tiger Beat (here's the link to the 2008 incarnation), and cutting out the pictures of our favorite teen heartthrobs.

I am loathe to admit that once in my lifetime, my bedroom wall was literally covered in pictures of ... (I'm gagging just thinking about it) ... Tom Cruise.

Oh, I wish it weren't true, but it is.

And now he's a scientologist fundie, crazy, cradle-robbing nutjob. Don't believe me? Click here and watch the video.

My favorite part is where he says that only scientologists can help someone who's been in a car accident. 'the hell?

So not helping the bags under my eyes

Maybe we should just give in and buy a king-size bed. Click over here to read why.

Monday part dos

I keep getting the feeling that if I buy more stuff, I'll feel more better.

Amazingly that does not work. Still even more amazing is the fact that I keep on hoping for some benefits from ye olde retail therapy.

Recently, I decided I needed some boots. I wanted a good pair that would be a little dressy that could go with jeans, pants and skirts. I figured this would be a great opportunity to finally get my hands on a pair of Fluevogs.

I scoured their site over the weekend, trying to find something I loved and something that Bill would agree was worth their hefty price. No luck. So I went to zappos.com and studied boot after boot and still came up with nothing.

Sunday morning, Bill and I coerced Margaret into the car for a shopping trip by allowing her to wear her Heelys — which I know are annoying for the other shoppers, but it's the only thing that keeps her even marginally entertained if we want to shop for ourselves.

While we were out, I found a pair of inexpensive boots that will suffice until I can find the boot of my dreams. They have a tall heel on them and because I've been watching way too many reruns of America's Next Top Model and Project Runway, I feel compelled to develop my own runway walk.

I find myself trying to take those big, horsey steps, bending my knee up to my navel while firmly planting my hands on my hips.

I don't think it looks very good, but it's fun. It's like marching in a one-horse parade.

It ain't all that bad

I woke up from an icky dream early this morning. I dreamt that I was bleeding all over my brand-new set of cream-colored, flannel sheets.

And you know what? I was bleeding and I had horrible cramps and a headache. Being a woman can really suck. When does menopause start?

I got myself put together and went back to bed. Even though we've been going to bed early most nights, I'm utterly exhausted and was looking forward to a couple more hours of sleep.

Then I looked at the clock. It said 6:09. I had less than 20 minutes until my alarm was set to go off.

Happy Monday to me. But I'm here at work and it's amazing how four ibuprofen and a bottle of Fiji make things not quite so sucky.

I think the fact that I finally got my hair done is helpful, too. Having the forest of gray hair that is growing right in front of my head, waving at me every morning was really getting to me. And why do those nasty grays have to manifest themselves right in the front of my head? Why can't they be in the back where I won't see them? Gah! Stupid getting older.

And because things aren't so terribly horrible, here's some photos:
I laughed at these pants when Bill got them for Christmas and now he never gets to wear there. They are so soft and warm ... um, not that I've ever worn them.



We Western Slopers just ain't used ta so much snow.


But it sure is purty.

Man Stroke Woman

Last week, while clicking around the Internets, I came across this YouTube clip:



I thought it was pretty funny and watched a couple more. I figured out these were clips from a British sketch comedy show, Man Stroke Woman, and it was pretty flippin' hilarious. I checked Netflix and found they had the first season of this show so I put it at the top of our queue.

When it came, Bill was skeptical, but quickly he was hurting himself laughing. Since we've shown episodes to some of our friends who agrees that Man Stroke Woman is some pretty funny shit.

I was all proud of myself for finding something new and funny.

Then yesterday, I clicked over to one of the regular mommy blogs that I read and found this. And I realized that I'll always be a giant step behind the rest of the Internets.

It happened again

I made more food last night and we ate it for dinner. My husband does this a lot and I am starting to see the benefits of this "cooking" thing.

I made this. Sorry I didn't take a picture, but it looked like meat piled on noodles and fresh vegetables.

I think I'm getting into this cooking thing. Lawd knows I like to eat food, so I guess it makes sense.

The banshees in my head are dancing a rumba, so I'm punting on the rest of today's entry.

Tomorrow's Friday, please.

Hot chocolate and cold days

I've seen a lot of this lately:
mostly because we've been getting a lot of this:

After a cup of hot chocolate, Margaret tendslooks like this:
All blurry and spun out on sugary chocolate. But Bill keeps giving it to her and who am I to deny her?

Wait at minute, aren't I the mother? I guess the answer to that questions is debatable.

Anyhoo, we've been getting snow regularly. Here's Bill "shoveling" our brand-new neighbors' walk:

I say "shoveling" because it isn't really shoveling if you can scrape the snow to one side without having to pick up the shovel.

But it sure does make our brown winters look pretty:


(Today's entry was brought to you by the colon. Why use a period when you can use a colon:)

I made soup

I hope it didn't suck and people were just being nice.

Gah!

Click here to read about rivetergirl in the kitchen.

Folding frenzy

Some people are really smart and creative and some of those people have a lot of time on their hands.


Click here to see more moneygami.

I'm totally going home tonight and folding some money (hey, it's better than folding laundry).