Okay, so my first day back at work was today, and boy howdy -- was it HARD to get up with the alarm clock this morning! This was compounded by the fact that our lovely kitteh decided to howl every 15 seconds starting at 1am. JF finally drug his poor, tired self out of bed and made her lay with him on the couch. Of course, this was what she wanted all along, so it wasn't too much of an imposition on her.
The alarm rang at o'dark-thirty this morning, and I stumbled into the shower, bleary-eyed. (In the summer, I sleep as late as I can possibly manage. That's the only benefit that I can see to having a teenager -- sometimes, she sleeps even later than I do. And, if by some miracle she's awakens before me, she smooshes her butt into the crevice in the couch cushions and plays XBOX without bothering to wake me. It's at those moments that I am SUPREMELY glad that she no longer craves my company every second of the day. Where was I? Oh, yes -- the shower.)
I get into the shower, and am promptly clonked on the head by the hand-held nozzle while simultaneously having my back scalded by excruciatingly hot water because the last person to use the shower didn't turn that knob all the way off. What a way to start off the day! I'm just glad that I wasn't clonked in the jaw! (Speaking of jaw -- I was supposed to go see the oral surgeon about my TMJ, and his office called and said that they checked my insurance, and it doesn't cover TMJ. So, if I wanted to still go to that consult, it would be $568 out of pocket, and we don't do financing, thank you very much. Guess I'll suffer with a sore jaw for a while...)
I get to school, and go to my new assignment, and we find that our two adjoining classrooms have been reduced into one. And all the furniture from BOTH classrooms are now shoved, higgledy-piggledy, into one room. We spend all day moving furniture from one spot to another, trying to get most of it to fit. We worked our tails off in that room today, and it STILL looks like an educational supply store threw up and then exploded in there.
I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. The sleep I *didn't* get last night is now catching up to me. My jaw is beginning to ache, despite judicious application of ice cream, so it's off to get the ibuprofen with the naproxen sodium chaser, and then lights out. I have another full day of furniture wrangling and shelf clearing ahead of me.
I have yet to get my final grade for my class, but it should be posted some time tomorrow. I will post the final grade if I haven't committed seppuku. I have three more days in the classroom before kids arrive, and two weeks until I start my next class. So, the next few months are going to be OUTRAGEOUSLY busy, with work every day, school on Monday and Wednesday nights, and Girl Scouts on Thursdays and the occasional adult meeting on Tuesdays. If you don't see me for a while, check in to make sure that I haven't imploded.
In our house, we love animals. We are mainly cat people, though we like other types of animals, but all we co-habit with is kittehs.
JF and I both had dogs and cats while growing up, and the living with a dog wasn't something we really wanted to repeat. Not that there's anything at all wrong with dogs -- I guess we just find them too high-maintenance. Our cat doesn't really require much in the way of output on our part -- feed her, change her litter, and occasionally snuggle when she's in the mood. She was easy to take care of when we had a toddler running around the house.
So, the other day, Offspring and I happened to go into the pet store to get some dog cookies for my mother's Westies. We were going to take a trip out to Mom's while they were away to make sure the house was still habitable. Mom had someone coming in daily to make sure they had food and water, but she said she'd feel better if she knew that there was someone who cared about them to come and check on them. While we were in the pet store, there was a display full of the cutest little bunnies you have ever seen! They were all playful, and hopping around like mad. I immediately spied this one brown bunny in the middle of the cage, who was just standing on her hind legs, looking up at me. I think that's when I lost my heart to her.
JF wanted no part of bunnies. He said that bunnies stink, and that if we got a bunny, he was claiming no responsibility for it. AT ALL. The bunny would be our bunny -- Offspring's and mine -- and he would not clean up after any bunny, period. He just wanted that clear. Yep. Got it. Our bunny. Crystal clear.
After we came back from visiting Mom's dogs, we went to the local PetSmart. I got a rabbit starter kit compete with cage, bedding, treats, toys, food bowl, and water bottle. We took all the bun stuff home, and set it up underneath Offspring's loft bed. Once Offspring had cleaned up her room, we went back out to the small pet store to pick out the bunny.
The little brown bunny was still there, and I asked the clerk to let me hold her. I was just wanting to see if she was as sweet as she seemed. Offspring wanted one of the black-and-white bunnies, but I was all about Little Brown Bunny. She *was* as sweet as she seemed. She immediately snuggled up to my shoulder, and burrowed her face into my neck. I could feel her whiskers tickling my neck, and I was a goner. Offspring held her while I paid for her, and talked baby talk all the way back to the house to her. "It's okay sweetie -- we're almost home. One more turn!"
We named her Hershey. She's the cutest thing, EVER. The geniuses at the pet store didn't know whether she was male or female; "She came in a box marked female, but sometimes they're wrong..." And they had no clue how big she'd get, or how old she was. So, we're going with "female", and "still pretty young" because she's so little. She fits in your hand, and stretched from the end of your palm to the tip of your middle finger, so basically one hand length. So far, she like strawberries, and loves to lick Offspring's fingers. She's very placid, and content to roam around her cage or snuggle with you as long as you like. I guess I was missing the snuggling. Now, I have it in spades!
I am recovering nicely, and expect the worst to be past me. The surgery itself, I don't remember at all. I just lay there in the chair as they hooked up my IV, oxygen, and blood pressure cuff. They asked me a few questions, and shortly after, the surgeon came in, ran two drugs into my IV line, and that was all she wrote. It seemed like only a few minutes, and they were hauling me up out of the chair to head to recovery.
This time around, I was feeling a lot less "out of it", and apparently wasn't talking nonsense. Or at least, none that anyone told me about. As JF was leaving to pull the car around, the nurse walked him out with my post-surgery instructions, and I heard her tell him, "The lights are on, but nobody's home", meaning I was still under the influence of the meds despite how lucid I seemed. Hey! I take exception to that! I came home, read for a bit, and once JF had loaded me up with my prescriptions, I napped off and on.
Woke up a little more sore than I expected today, but that was still well within normal range. I still feel like I got punched in the jaw, but it's not like I got punched in the jaw by Ali. It's more like I got an uppercut from a clumsy bodybuilder -- one who's strong enough to put some hurt on you, but uncoordinated enough not to land the blow to maximum effect.
The only good thing about this is that I only have one wisdom tooth left, so if that one has to come out, I shouldn't have to see the oral surgeon ANY MORE! He's a nice guy and everything, but I hate dental work. At least with him, over the actual dentist, I'm asleep for it all!
Some of you might already know that I'm preparing for some oral surgery on Monday. Nothing too extreme, but I have an impacted wisdom tooth that's got to come out, and I wanted to get it done and over with before I had to report back to school. It wouldn't be good to start off the year with a requesting a couple of sick days.
I'm a little freaked out about surgery, but this will be the second time I've had this procedure, so it's not quite so scary. I remember thinking last time, just before the drugs kicked in..."I *really* don't want to do this!" But, in no time at all, it was over and I had cheeks that looked like a bad Marlon Brando "Godfather" impersonator. But, then again, I remember thinking the exact same thought as Offspring's head was crowning during birth. "I REALLY don't want to do this!!!" Funny how passing a bowling ball-sized object through a drinking straw-sized portion of your anatomy can play havoc with your emotions.
But, with the worry of impending surgery, I've been having a sort-of recurring dream that I've had for many years: the losing of the teeth. Now, when I say "losing of the teeth", I mean not just losing a tooth here and there, but very VIVID dreams of doing normal activity and suddenly every single tooth in my head falls out. Fine one minute, and the next: poof! Toothless crone.
The details differ from dream to dream, but the ultimate outcome is that I end up with no teeth in one fell swoop. In one dream, I remember getting up like normal, and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and having the toothbrush knock out a tooth or two, and the rest following like dominoes. So, there I am, with toothpaste dripping down my chin and a heap of what look like white Chiclets filling up my palm.
Other variations involve me thinking a tooth is loose, and going to push on it with a finger, and having that tooth and all the rest fall out into the sink. Or, the one where I bite into a crisp apple, and draw back, only to find all the teeth are stuck in said apple. Or the one where I'm just suddenly able to spit teeth into my palm like you'd spit out watermelon seeds.
Crazy, right? Back away slowly, people.
I know Freudian Dream Analysis would say that I'm vain and worried about the loss of my beauty, but since I feel like you can't really lose what you never had, that's not so much of an option. (And, yes -- I DO have self-esteem issues, but this isn't so much a dig at myself as it is a sad fact. It's not like I was going to be on the cover of any magazines any time soon. Anyway...)
I even talked to a guy who had a "dream analysis" blog. Apparently, it's a pretty common dream, and it could also relate to your sense of confidence, and how others see you. I mean, a nice smile (or a not-so-nice one) is something most people notice right off the bat. So, if you lose all your teeth, you might be embarrassed to face people, and your confidence would take a hit. Or, it may convey a sense of powerlessness -- you may feel that things are out of your control, or that your voice isn't being heard.
Whatever the root cause is, come Monday, I will be one tooth less. Maybe I should talk to the dentist now about a set of dentures -- sort of a preemptive strike. Best to be prepared, just in case.
Offspring has outgrown so many things lately that it's getting hard to keep track. She once used to BEG us to tune the satellite radio to Radio Disney, but that has long gone the way of the dodo. I don't think I've seen my delicate flower of womanhood in a dress in about 2 years, at the least. She's dropped cartoons and Disney Channel shows for Japanese anime shows, which she discusses at great lengths with her friends. Also long gone are the crafty projects that we used to do together and the little-girl fascination with nail polish and horses. These days, the nail polish is black, and the only horses I see are the ones that she draws getting hacked to bits in samurai battles. (Well, maybe that last is a bit of an exaggeration. They aren't "samurai" battles, they're demons who fight using parts of their souls. And, generally, there aren't any horses to speak of.)
We used to watch a lot of kids TV -- anyone who has kids of a certain age know exactly what I mean when I say I watched a full boatload of "Blue's Clues". Offspring had certain videotapes that she watched with approaching near-religious fervor. Among those tapes (and see; it was so long ago that they were TAPES, not DVDs.) was "Big Bird Goes to Japan", which might have been the starting point for the love of all things Japanese she currently exhibits; and a bajillion "Rugrats" episodes. Her most favorite, though, were the Disney Sing-Along tapes. We watched the Christmas and Halloween ones at least once a week, and usually a lot more often than that. We actually wore out VHS copies of both of those tapes, requiring new ones because the screaming without them was hideous to hear.
Then there were the shows that we tried desperately to keep her away from because they made her father and I want to shove icepicks deep within our own brains. "Barney" was pretty much universally hated, and was something she only watched at other people's houses. I think we had her convinced that Barney tapes could only live at other people's houses, and we weren't allowed to own them. I particularly hated "Caillou," and still do , even unto this day. He's such a whiny little prat that I want to smack him. I can't have it on at school, or the red haze descends, and pretty soon I'm being called in the office for yelling inappropriate things at the TV and waving appendages in the air that should not be waved when children are about.
Juggling Freak's favorite show had to be The Big Comfy Couch. He had a serious thing for Loonette the Clown, and even today will make lewd comments about her, and the size of her...um...melons. (Hey, I said it was wrong on so many levels! I warned you ahead of time!) Instead of walking around the house singing, "...on the big, comfy couch!", JF walked about singing the praises of "...the big-breasted clown!" I used to chuck small toys and pacifiers at him when I heard his more-risque version of that theme song, but worse BY FAR was his fascination with the Clock Rug Stretch. It was embarrassing to see a grown man drool and say, "C'mon nine-fifteen!"
It makes me glad that Offspring outgrew that particular show.....