Friday, August 25, 2006

Woohoo! Take THAT celery!

I got the message not to bother with the celery thing, or testing my blood before every single meal. At least until my appointment Monday LOL. He decided since my sugar isn't SKY high or spiking and crashing that a couple more days is okay until we can take a closer look at things. I know I am a complainer, but food is love baby. I hate feeling like I can't control something, and to be so careful and watch what I eat then be treated like I have been hiding in the closet eating chocolate and processed cheese...well it upsets me. Today is the last day of day camp. What is that you say? There is one more week of vacation before school starts, and what on earth will I do with DD? I DON'T KNOW! I am as freaked out as you are. If she would be content to be home and just do stuff, I could keep her busy. We have craft stuff out the wahoo, a cupboard full of movies, toys toys and more toys. There is more than enough to keep her occupied. Yet, not. She doesn't want to DO anything. There is nothing on TV. She is hungry constantly yet rejects anything you offer, or refuses to eat what you made that she just asked for. Basically, as far as summer goes, I am back where I started. The house is a shambles, I have deadlines not only looming but shaking sticks at me and looking beligerant, and I will HAVE A CHILD AT HOME FOR A WEEK. I need a cold wash cloth and a lie down. This week-end I was hoping for a nice day of cleaning (puke, a nice day of cleaning my arse but I am hoping to delude myself) while DD was away for the day at a fair with her cousins. On Sunday we have a baby shower, so I guess I have to cook (and shop for) Ruby's food. Oh poo, her end-of-day-camp potluck is on the same day and time as the shower, so DH and I will have to divide and conquer....and he WILL bring her there whether he wants to or not, but again, that is a whole other can of Saturday I have to make whatever he will bring on Sunday. Cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking. And wrapping. I have to wrap the baby gift, but I can't do it now because I will have to pick up the wrapping paper while I grocery shop. I better not forget the tape this time either. I am running out of cute ideas for keeping the paper on presents, and I think people are on to me. So far I have used string, jute rope, silk braided rope, black electrical tape, duct tape, coloured duct tape, and hot glue. The last birthday I do believe I may have used rubber bands but it is all hazy right now *cough*. Look, do you think Martha Stewart started off with silk gros-grain ribbon? I'm sure there was a rubber band or two in her past, so give me a break okay? And we still haven't done our "back to school" shopping. She has a new backpack and lunch bag, and more pencils and things than she needs already - but she needs clothes and shoes. She has been wearing flip-flops for a month because I didn't want to buy her new shoes too soon, and her old ones were getting uncomfortable to wear. Not really too small yet, but very very close. DH tried to tell me they were fine, and she didn't need anything new. She has grown out of the middle of every single pair of pants she has. They are long enough in the leg, but now there is two inches of midriff showing, and they look like low-riders. Butt crack is NOT acceptible for school, thank you. She needs new clothes, and that is that. What is it about men, that they not only can wear the same clothes for hundreds of years, but they wear things that clearly stopped fitting them in fifth grade. My DH has t-shirts that wouldn't fit a ten year old, that he WEARS. I won't let him wear them outside the house if I can help it, but a few times he managed to slip past me. Note to all husbands out there....if your belly hangs BELOW the bottom hem of the t-shirt, if it is so tight you can read the paper through the fabric. If it has runs in it like pantyhose and you can see skin through the perfs of the seams. IT DOES NOT FIT, and it is time to let go and move on. And it is never for lack of things in the drawer to wear either. Sometimes I wonder if DH thinks t-shirts are like wine, and have to age a few years in his drawer before he can start wearing them. He is the same with socks and underwear. A drawer full of unopened packages of both, and the ones he is wearing are only holding together through sheer willpower and fabric softener residue. He has socks with holes that are so large, you can't even call them holes any more. I say when your socks turn to ankle warmers (not to be confused with wrist warmers, see previous blog post) it is time to throw them away and open a new package. Really, it is okay. I'll hold your hand. This disorder of not being able to tell when it is time to let a piece of clothing go, extends to DD. He has dressed her in t-shirts so tight they made her wheeze, and declined to see anything wrong. I actually had to cut a shirt off her once, that he had jammed over her head and tugged over her arms. No way could I get it off again no matter how hard I pulled - she was in danger of losing life or limb if I tugged in any direction. Out came the scissors. Not fun, cutting a shirt off a hysterical child. He put her in pants that were so far up past floods that she could have waded in a waist deep pond and barely get a cuff wet. Or had waistbands so below her waist that her "coin slot" was more like a "margarine tub lid slot". If you can't pull the pants up without causing her personal injury, they are too small. He has no history of dealing with growing out of clothes, and I think that is his problem. His parents barely bought him clothing. He wore mostly hand me downs from his cousin, who was ten years older than him. No way he could grow out of something in a season. If they did buy him anything, they always bought two to four sizes too big - something MIL continues for DD. I don't mind storing clothes until they fit, but they are always the wrong season. She grows into winter clothes when the temps are in the nineties, and cute shorts outfits when there is snow on the ground. MIL has kept some of FIL's old clothes in the hopes DH will wear them someday. His father had 12 inches in girth and 2 feet in height on him, and trust me, DH has stopped growing. Taller anyway ;). The chances of him being able to wear any of that are pretty slim. He insists he can still wear his jeans he's had since high school (he squeezes them on, which is painful to see, and wears them really really low. That equator gets lower every year. Pretty soon they will be cinched around his knees. He'll shuffle out of the bedroom like a geisha, give me a wink and say "See? Still fit"). No way will he ever admit to a larger size, or agree to wear something THAT big.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Do people even wear wristwarmers?

So I finished the purple scarf. And I made a crochet edging all around (a row of single crochet, then a row of a single crochet and a chain one in each previous single). I made a loopy sort of fringe on the two short ends, by chaining 3 in each single crochet. All this did help the folding somewhat, and I just made the decision to pretend I didn't see it because I don't know how to fix it, and this yarn DOES NOT RIP. Nope, it holds on tighter than a baby monkey. There was almost a ball left over (the original pattern called for making a scarf and a hat, I made a decision not to make the hat AFTER buying enough yarn to make it) so I made wristwarmers! There wasn't quite enough to make mittens (and surely not enough for gloves). Fingerless gloves maybe, but in the sewing up I forgot to leave thumbholes - because I am just that kind of idiot for those of you who wanted to know how I could forget to leave thumbholes. It turns out the length of them would have been ill suited for fingerless gloves anyhow, and as wristwarmers they are pretty fine. My mother hates the cold. HATES. She bundles up in multiple sweaters, cowls, heavy coats as soon as the temp hits below 75. Any skin that may possibly be exposed to wind or weather must be covered promptly. That means boots that come to the knee (never mind you have big calves and boots never fit right - even if your toes don't get frostbit they will fall off anyway because those calves are being squeezed tight enough to cut your circulation) with pants tucked into them. Long sleeve turtle necks under sweaters. A cowl to protect your face held in place with a scarf, which in turn is tucked into your coat. Especially heinous is the space where your glove stops and your sleeve begins. No matter how many times you tuck that sleeve in, it pops right back out every time you move. A person could die of cold, if their wrists are exposed. At least to hear her tell it ;). Enter, the wristwarmer! It isn't so much to be worn alone to keep your wrist warm, rather than to be worn over top your gloves to bridge that gap and clamp it tightly closed. The person who will wear the scarf does not wear hats. In fact, she disdains them, as her hair is usually quite highly quaffed. But this person hates the cold about as much as my mother, and I think would like the wristwarmers. If not, she can throw them away or stuff them into the closet never to be seen again - whichever she prefers. Not like I am going to follow her around and make sure she is wearing them. Dh started off saying he thought they were a silly idea. But as they formed on the needles (smartly made at the same time using each end of the yarn ball, which was dead annoying and a pain in the arse but saved me from having to "make two") - he changed his tune. He started to LIKE them. He hates gloves, because they never fit. He hates mittens, because they feel clumsy. Fingerless gloves are for sissies. But wristwarmers? He wondered aloud if a person could make such a pair with that "suede" yarn like I used for his cell phone pouch, and add bedazzles so they kind of look like those studded wristlets. Yeah, a real man could wear THOSE. Rarely does he show an interest in my crafts, and even rarer still does he make hints about reaping the benefits of it. I think I'll have to spend some time looking for a pattern. I'm making him an unsolicited hat as well, because I am tired of hearing him complain that his head is cold - specificially the "bald spot that is not to be mentioned". I am sure it isn't very comfy to have snow flakes melting on a bare pate. I don't know why it bothers him so much, that bald spot. I don't care, and DD likes it. When she was small, she made DH sit so she could put barrettes in his hair. Afterwards, she sat in front of him for HER turn. "Here daddy, put these in my spot". What spot? "You know, that round spot like yours?". She didn't realize that EVERYBODY didn't have a spot like that. After a full explanation, and a slight scolding that we don't speak of such things out loud, she said she understood. But really, she loves to pat him gently there or kiss it LOL. It's actually very cute, and no matter how furious DH acts I think he secretly likes it. And there is some irresistable draw that it has. I tend to kiss him there in passing and even the cat puts her nose on it on the way across his pillow. And that is a pretty cold cat nose, I might add. But cold cat nose kisses are the biggest flattery ever, at least in this house. Xena doesn't give them out willy nilly. She also licks elbows, which is less flattering and makes one feel violated, but that is a whole other blog LOL. I need to get a tote. I can put all the Christmas presents in it as they are finished so I can keep track of what is done, and what needs finishing. I have resolved to work on BOTH ponchos today. Whether or not I do it is another thing, but resolve I did. My reward, if I do accept my mission, is a Starbucks Cafe Latte. Just espresso and skim milk, but for some reason I love those things. But the cost! Sheesh. I might steal my mother's espresso machine, I don't think she's ever used it. Old style with a pot, my druthers is a "shot machine" - the kind that just spits it out a spout and you don't have to worry about pressure guages and tamping and whatnot. But for free? For free I can deal with the little glass pot and taking my chances with the pressure thingy. Saturday DD will be gone all day, and I am such a party animal that I will be using that time to - hold on to your seats - CLEAN. I can't get anybody to agree to wash my floors, and I think it's because the state of the house is scaring them. I don't want them to do ANYTHING but wash the kitchen floor and clean the bathroom, but their eyes wander at all the picking up in other rooms and frightens them off. Or scares the estimate higher. I know if my sister can pay 60 dollars for a whole house cleaning, in a house twice as large as mine, it shouldn't cost 80 dollars to wash a small kitchen floor and scrub a tub. The tub isn't THAT bad. We have too much stuff for a small space. It's easier to purge without DD and DH standing there and insisting they NEED that pile of twist ties that has been sitting on the counter for a month. Off to check my sugar level. I am not optimistic. I've already washed and cut the celery.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Care to comment?

Just a note, I have made a change to the comments area. Periodically I get blog comments that are really advertisements. And while it's not like I am innundated with them, lately I have been quite irked with spam in general, and finally did something about it here. From now on, when you make a comment you will be asked to verify some text on your screen. It's not a big deal, and in fact I have seen it on a lot of blogs. You can still comment anonymously and so on, it's just one small thing to fight those dern spammers! And since I am lazy, it probably would have gone on forever, except I just happened to see something from blogger about adding it to the comments LOL. So last night I had water and celery for dinner. And this morning I had water and celery for breakfast. Gee. I wonder what I can eat for lunch *rolls eyes*. I have been looking for a personal trainer. I need somebody to come up with an exercise plan for me that takes into account certain things (limitations regarding my back, nerve damage, and so on). Then to work with me for a while to get me going, and make sure I am doing everything properly. Then after that, taper off into maintenance until we need to revamp again. I am being picky, because I want somebody that I can work with without wanting to kill. We have a lumber and drywall delivery coming today, DH is "finally" making the workout room in the basement. You see, for ten years he has told me he is going to make a room in the basement. First it was going to be a bar. But five years later DD was born and a bar didn't seem like a good idea anymore (and no, he hadn't started construction anyway LOL). Then it was going to be a music-slash-game room, to house his drums, equipment, and have an area to store all our boardgames and such. After drawing up plans and buying a brand spanking new drum kit and upgrading all his lighting and sound equipment, he realized he never really LIKED playing the drums and stopped playing. Then DD got old enough to play real board games, and he decided to drop the music aspect and just make it a "games and hobby" room. He planned an area where he could leave out a jigsaw puzzle to work on, and a big round table to play games and cards on. Great idea. But it never happened. He kept talking about wanting to start working out again, and I have been wanting enough room to use one of my workout tapes, so the plans changed to a WORKOUT room. I bought him a weight bench that works with the free weights he already has (currently holding down christmas decoration boxes, in case they try to escape) and is versitile enough for me to use for my circuit training. Now he just has to build the room. In light of my recent health woes (not the old health woes, but NEW ones. Sheesh) he has lit a fire under his own butt, ordered the supplies, and now HAS to start the room when the stuff comes because we have no place to store it. The room plan is pretty basic. A weight bench, a treadmill. A tv and VCR set up for exercise tapes. Enough floor space to do yoga or a workout or for circuit training with bands - that sort of thing. I am doing some research to try and figure out what colour would be best for the room. It will have a drop ceiling, but with fancier ceiling tiles - none of the industrial 2x4 oblongs with little holes in them. We'll do peel and stick tiles for the floor, and I want to put one full-length mirror on one of the walls. Just in case you didn't know, those mirrors are not for looking at your bulges and exclaiming "Holy crap! Where did that come from!" while poking areas of your body and looking horrified. And they are not for standing and admiring your buffness, either. They are there so you can check your technique and make sure you are doing what you are supposed to do, as far as posture etc. are concerned. Just in case you didn't know. Although I am sure there isn't a person in the world that can resist turning around to check the condition of their butt. Why is it that when presented with a full length mirror, most of us turn around so we can be shocked at the condition of our own behinds? How can we not know the state of something we carry with us always? Yet still, there it is. Although in my case I never need to look, because I have a 6 year old daughter that makes sure I understand the hugeness of my heiny at every opportunity. As a side effect of building this room, I will have a proper laundry area, complete with table for folding clothes and staging the wash. And we will have an actual storage area! That is so exciting, because right now "storage" means 'lay everything in a single layer across the basement floor, specifically in pathways and doorways to try and trip your wife or make her angry enough to have a stroke'. I already have the brackets and the plywood strips to make shelves, and there will be an open area for stacking those tote containers. Maybe when I win the lottery I might be able to afford the special shelving they sell specifically for those tubs. And just think, we might be able to get all the stuff stored in the fruit cellar (we always called it that but I think everyone else calls it a root cellar) out into storage, so I can start using the fruit cellar properly. It needs to be ventilated and insulated differently, as it is always too warm. Even in the winter, the fruit cellar is warmer than the rest of the basement! I am so looking forward to finishing it, and finally having a place to store things like potatoes and onions. But I am getting ahead of myself, the room has to be built and Rome wasn't built in a day, right? Last night, we all went out to the golf center. I sat on a bench and knitted on the scarf while DH and DD hit a bucket of balls. I can't tell you how cute it is to watch a 6 year old hit balls at a driving range LOL. She averaged about 25 yards and usually does better. I don't usually go and I think it was distracting her. She wants me there, but if I go she kind of wants to cling to me rather than enjoy what is going on. Afterwards, we played 18 holes of goofy golf. Well, they played and I tagged along, acting as scorekeeper. I want to say for the record, that they both cheat. Or rather, indulge in creative scoring. A lot of redo's, mulligans, and "long putts" - which is what my dad used to call it when we sort of dragged the ball with the putter where we wanted it to go, rather than really putting it. The last hole is a contraption that keeps your ball. It is a spiral, and depending on where you ball ends up, you take so many strokes off your game or can even win a free game. I think that hole took the LONGEST. For some reason DD couldn't hit the ball hard enough to go all the way into the spiral, and DH took way longer than needed to line up his shot. I was freezing to death and getting bit by mosquitoes, it was all I could do not to grab their balls and toss them over the fence onto the highway. But I showed remarkable constraint, and managed to avoid that temptation. I might have given a few pokes with knitting needles, however.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Mama mia!

Today is italian day. I have been looking forward to this meal for days. A green salad with fresh garden tomatoes and cucumbers and a vinagrette dressing, spaghetti and meatballs, and fresh bread. Sure it's a french baguette, but we won't tell it his accent is wrong, 'kay? I am back on a restricted diet, so I can only have 1/2 cup of the noodles, and none of the bread. But it's the sauce and meatballs I am looking forward to. With freshly grated pedano permesan (which for some reason I prefer to regianno) oh man! I know it is nerdy, but I am looking forward to the salad as well. I think I am the only person in the world who dreams of the perfect vinagrette salad. No soggy croutons please. Toast does not belong in my salad bowl! I have spent the day making my own sauce right from fresh tomatoes, and the meatballs are ready to be "balled" and baked before simmering in the sauce to finish. The phone rings. Although I have an appointment next week and my diet has already been restricted, the results of my last blood test are in and my sugars are elevated. All my numbers have gone whacko (blood pressure, blood lipids, sugars, proteins, you name it). Back to testing my sugar upon wakening and before each meal. Sigh. Not allowed to eat unless my sugar level is below five. *sob*. My sugar never goes below five. I am allowed celery sticks and water, until such a time that the number dips appropriately. I am half inclined to dump the sauce down the sink, throw the meat mixture onto the lawn, then collapse into a heap and cry my eyes out. Anybody want to join me?

Monday, August 21, 2006

Join me for some heart failure!

I have no idea why, but that title has been going through my mind all morning. See, through no fault of my whole-wheat-high-fiber-low-sat-fats self, I have heart problems. They started years ago, when suddenly my heart would throw a hissy fit and refuse to beat properly. It would start and stop in fits, and be very unruly. Not enough to kill me outright, but enough to make me blue, or shake (you could see my chest squirming from underneath, talk about gross), or just feel pretty awful for a little while. Then it would get over it, beat normal again, and life would go on. Doctors were not perplexed, they understood what was going on. However, keeping it from happening or explaining why it was happening - not so much. At that point since it was not deadly, they figured I could live with it. Dropping to ones knees in Walmart, and making ones mate drag them to the front door while you are clutching your chest, turning blue, and screaming "Don't let me die in Walmart!" is 'living with it' - in case you were wondering. Those episodes have, in fact, slowed down. Unfortunately the problem has been compounded and now I have an "odd" heartbeat. Odd enough that when I try to have a stress test (physical or chemical) I fail immediately and they cancel the test. Four times, this has happened. I wait months for the appointment, spend an entire day in waiting rooms then in a hallway while wearing a paper gown (alongside several other people with the same dazed look also in paper gowns), get covered in electrodes, then immediately fail before they can even start the treatmill or give me a shot. In order for them to do the test they need to do to find what is wrong (and how to fix it) I have to complete a stress test (pass or fail, but they have to actually start the damn test). But the technician refuses to complete the stress test until I have the OTHER test to determine if it is okay for me to do it. Did you catch all that? Good. Because I had trouble paying attention while standing half naked, covered in little round stickers, freezing to death in a paper gown. But once again, since it doesn't seem to be killing me outright, we have chosen to stop trying and just wait for something else to happen. Another shoe to drop, as it were. Well, the other shoe has dropped. My blood pressure was elevated so they raised the meds for that. Since starting the higher dose, while the headaches have stopped, I am now having chest pains that radiate across, down my arm, into my back, and up into my jaw. This is not good, folks. And because of that, and because I can't even try for another stress test for at least a month (insurance woes), I have to go into my Doctor's office each and every morning so somebody can take my blood pressure, test my blood sugar, and listen to my faulty heart beat. I get to wear a monitor for a few minutes, and they measure certain extremities to watch that I am not collecting fluid (which could indicate congestive heart failure). This morning I developed a short, dry, and very annoying cough. I don't know what it means, but when I told the PA, she ran and got the doctor right away so he could check on some things. The final decision was we will "keep an eye on that cough, and if it persists longer than a day or so we might consider Lasix". I do believe that is what people refer to as a 'water pill'. I am beginning to wonder if I should start calculating the calories I consume in pill casings over a day in my daily food totals. To keep my mind off things (and to avoid working on TWO ponchos now) I have started yet another Christmas project. Another scarf. This time for DH's cousins wife (got that?). She adores purple, she adores scarves, I think this makes the perfect gift for her. Bulky yarn, it's only fifteen stitches across so it works up fast. But the pattern is mind numbingly boring. I am impossible to please! Easy patterns are boring, complex patterns crash up against my short attention span, inability to follow directions, and need for results NOW. But that is neither here nor there. Nor is it news LOL. My only complaint, is that the ribbing somehow makes the scarf want to fold in on itself so it looks thinner than it is. I might have to add a crochet edging to stiffin it up. I almost thought about an I-cord edging, then realized what I was saying and laughed like a loon (note to self, when the dog looks at you like that, consider toning down the hysteria). A person who complains that a 15 stitch two row repeat pattern is boring should NEVER even say the words I-cord. There is a picture, but blogger isn't letting me upload it today. I will try again tomorrow. I have also started collecting cans. Large cans. Coffee, baby formula, that sort of thing. My plan is to cover them with paper, have DD help me decorate them, then use them to pack knitted gifts in. Sure, they won't hold a sweater, but nobody said I am knitting sweaters for the masses anyway. They are perfect for a hat and mittens, or scarf and gloves. Smaller cans can be used to hold socks or slippers, that sort of thing. Now that I think of it, if I decorate them nicely enough, the cans can continue to be storage when the items are not in use. Sounds better than trying to extricate a scarf from the heap of stuff at the bottom of the closet, methinks. Then again, I wonder what would happen to damp mittens stored in a coffee can. *shudder*