Sloth and Lethargy and Torpor, Oh My!

Okay, so I mentioned I would be taking a short break from the blog so I might get some exercise in every day during the few chunks of free time that I have while Viva is napping. Let me tell you how many times I have exercised since I wrote that: twice.

The problem is that I have a mysterious health issue that is kicking my not-very-large ass. I have blood in my urine. The doctor thought it might be a simple urinary tract infection. It wasn’t. I’ve been prescribed three different courses of antibiotics, two of which made me sick with crushing headaches. I have developed pain in my urethra – not a good sign, and an indication that the course of treatment was not working. Now I have to go in and have a dingy-dang scan of my urinary tract next week, and then see a urologist after that. I asked my primary care physician yesterday what could be causing the blood in my urine, and she said “Well, it could be a number of things – a tumor, kidney stone, we just don’t know. So we’ll get you the CT urogram and find out.”

Hold the phone. WHAT?!

You don’t want to say tumor to me. Last time I heard that, I had to have surgery and it was not a trip to Disneyland, let me tell you. I don’t want to go through another cancer scare, especially when two close family members have passed away of cancer in the last year. I just so much did not want to hear that. So today, I Googled “CT urogram” and this is what I found out: you don’t want to have kidney stones. And you sure as hell don’t want bladder cancer. Just to see the word “chemotherapy” made me click the window closed. Realistically speaking, it seems more likely that I have a kidney stone (or stones), which does suck, but given the alternative, I’d feel like an ass for complaining about it.

Nonetheless, I still feel crummy.

Hey, on a lighter note, my photos should be ready today, so after Viva “Sleeping Cutie” wakes up, maybe we’ll stroll on over there and pick them up. And then maybe I can scan them and post them later. I’m not making any promises, though.

Toddlers for Hire

Toddlers are so helpful. They really like to pitch in and do their part, and Viva is no exception. Recently, I ate lemongrass chicken curry with rice for lunch, and Viva tried some. Most of it ended up on the rug, and she then stepped on it, so her formerly white socks had little rice-shaped yellow splotches on them.

(Here is where it becomes obvious that I am a first-time mom/mom of only one.) After lunch, I took the socks, got out the stain remover, and started scrubbing the socks in the bathroom sink. Viva stood on her step-stool next to me, swishing one and then the other of the socks in the water. Every time I would pick up a sock to scrub it, she would yell, “My turn!” and grab it from me.

Someday when she is fourteen, I am going to tell her this story and she is going to roll her eyes in disgust. “You were actually fighting for the right to wash socks!” I’ll say. “God, Mom, that is so not interesting,” she will say, inspecting her nails and glancing at the clock.

I just love her so.

Who Deserves a Break Today?

Well, me, for one.

I may be going on hiatus for a bit. A hiatus from this blog, not from my job, which as we all know is being a full-time mom, and there is no hiatus or break or vacation from that. Ever. It’s 24-7, 365 days a year (366 in Leap Year). For the Rest of My Life. Because let’s face it, even when Viva turns 18, which she will in the blink of an eye, I will still have to worry about her in the back of my mind. I will, in fact, probably worry more when she moves out of the house. It’s an exhausting prospect.

But as to my hiatus from my blog: I am hoping to use the time when Viva naps to exercise, rather than sit on my little ass and type on my laptop. Yes, my ass is little. I would have liked to say “big fat ass” but that would be inaccurate, as I don’t seem to store my fat there. I wouldn’t mind if I had a bigger ass, if it made my waist look smaller. Is all! I’ve got to get rid of this pudge. By the way, I am still a size 2, so I know you think I am being ridiculous, but I just want to tighten up the area where I grew the baby. It’s loose there. Do you know what I’m saying? It is slightly horrifying.

So over the next couple of weeks (pre-Thanksgiving), I may blog and I may not. But right now, I do want to report that we went shopping today and I bought new bras, which I desperately needed, and two new pairs of sneakers. I am so cool, I know you wish you were me.

Four More Freakin' Years

I am embarrassed to be an American today. There, I said it.

But you know, the solution is not to flee to Canada (or whatever foreign country you might choose). People, my people! Stay and fight. I admit I am confounded by the 51% of the American electorate who voted for W. I do not understand how this country can be so polarized. I do not understand how anyone with an ounce of sense can think that George and his cronies are doing a good job of running this country. I am deeply disheartened.

And I am, quite frankly, scared shitless that not only are we stuck with GW for four more years, but that the Republicans are now the majority in the House and Senate. And to paraphrase Dear Husband (who, in addition to being damn cute and funny, is also politically astute), I don’t even want to imagine what a George Bush who is not worried about re-election will do over the next four years.

I was in Mayfair Market in Hollywood yesterday, wearing my Kerry/Edwards T-shirt, and an old fart walked by wearing a God Bless America T-shirt and said disgustedly, “I would never vote for that guy.” You know what? Fuck you, and God bless America. Somebody has to.

That’s pretty much how I feel today, and I apologize for the potty mouth. But harsh times call for harsh measures.

We’ll get through this and turn it around, I know. I am just having a bad freakin' day.

War of a Different Stripe

Wow. It is November already. How the hell did that happen? So, hey, belatedly:

Woo-hoo, Red Sox! You kick ass!

And on a completely different subject, this afternoon, I said to Viva, “I can tell you’re really tired. Don’t you want to take a nap?” And she said, shaking her head, “No, I don’t.” And then, reaching into my cleavage, she said, “This is war.” I swear to God that’s what she said. Maybe she was trying to say something like, “It’s a bra,” but that’s not what it came out sounding like. And it was in context, too!

Well, I’ll have you know that within ten minutes of that statement, we were in the car and listening to the smooth jazz station. She passed out before we had driven even a mile. Now some might call this child abuse. I call it self-preservation.