A Watched Pot Never Boils...

...and neither does one when you forget to turn the gas on under it.

Sticky Fingers

I remember Easter being a lot more fun when I was a kid...you know, Easter egg hunts, baskets filled with goodies. As it is now, I've been reduced to pilfering candy from my daughter's basket. Isn't that terrible? Today though, I learned a pretty important lesson.

I grabbed one of those ridiculous pink, plastic eggs out of her basket this morning and threw it into my lunch bag. I thought whatever it was would be a yummy, sweet snack later in the afternoon. Um, not quite.

I grabbed it only a minute ago and pried it open and...there was Play Doh inside. Not candy. I'm disappointed. What did I learn from this? That I shouldn't steal goodies from my daughter's basket? No. I learned that I should shake the plastic eggs and pop them open BEFORE they get tossed into my lunch bag. Less disappointment later, you know?

The Easter Bunny Hates You

Happy Easter :-D

Easter Sunrise

G'morning everyone.

Today, on Easter Sunday, I had the privilege of watching the sun peeking over the horizon, seeing the sky go from pitch black, to cobalt, to pale gray, to a watery, pre-dawn, hazy blue.

All of this I watched in my rearview mirror, as I drove away from the hospital, where my husband and I spent most of the night/morning with our little girl.

When our little girl does something, she gives 100%. That includes being sick. Our little one does not come down with a little cold. She ends up with RSV. She doesn't get a little cough. She ends up with bronchitis or bronchiolitis. She doesn't spit up a bit of mucous when she coughs. She coughs up giant wads of nastiness that would make a tobacco-chewing ballplayer jealous.

And now, I've learned that when she wakes up in the middle of the night, barely able to breath, a hollow whistling coming from her throat as she tries to cough the deepest cough I've ever heard, it turns out that we can add "croup" to her list of 100%.

Scared the daylights out of us. Of course, we didn't know it was croup at 2am. I'd heard of croup, but our little one had never had it. God bless the nurses and the doctor who whisked her into a room and ruled out TB and pneumonia thanks to a chest x-ray. And thank goodness I actually knew the ER doctor, who happened to be the same doctor who took care of me last year when I had a kidney stone and a massive kidney infection that ended up lasting for four months. The little one got mega-dosed with steroids to reduce the swelling in her upper airway and she was asleep before we knew it. I also appreciate the fact that the doctor warned us to be ready for a second night of it--apparently, croup has a maddening tendency to flare up for two nights, then goes along its happy way until next time.

Next time. Next time, I'll be a little better prepared for this.

How I Know I'm Dad's Daughter:

I was thinking about a certain situation, and I found myself comparing it to fishing.
'Nuff said.

Husband Logic

"I'm not trying to say it's your fault, but you always remind me in the morning or at night, so I end up forgetting."

Apparently, even if it's something really important, something that I really need him to take care of, I can only ask/remind him between the hours of 12-3pm.

My Brain is Leaking!

Help me.

I had such intense, vivid dreams last night that for a few minutes after I woke up, I had to struggle to figure out whether they were dreams at all. Now that I know they were dreams, I keep trying to analyze them and understand what they mean. I enjoy doing a little dream interpretation every now and then, but this is sort of beyond my realm of experience.

Here's what I know. If those dreams had been real, this would be my life...

My husband would have shacked up with his mistress and her sister, fathered a child for each of them, then would have moved to Israel to work as a gas station attendant washing windshields and headlights, and sue me for child support, even though I'm raising our child.

Yeah. It doesn't stop there.

I would still be living in my house with Stephen King as a boarder in my basement with his dog, two cats, a flock of parakeets and a stuffed monkey.

The upside to all of this? I was a millionaire.

If anyone has any idea as to what this means, I'm open to hearing your opinions. And trust me when I say you don't want me to describe the other crazy dreams I had.

Long Story Short

On Friday, the squirrel was still trying to figure out how to throw himself out of a closed window. I made a bit of noise so he would hide, and then I put cashews on the steps leading out the back door. After a few hours--and a few prayers (my St. Anthony, St. Anthony the Abbot, St. Francis, St. Blaise, St. Nicholas of Tolentino) (I really wanted the squirrel to leave)--most of the cashews were gone and there were tiny animal tracks in the fresh snow outside the door.

I hope he lives to tell his grandsquirrels how he survived being trapped in the house of very kind people.