Lost in the translation

Oy vey. I live in a world where, "Go wash your hands," apparently means, "Please wipe your hands on your butt as you walk out of the room." It reminds me of people who think that the yellow traffic light means, "Hurry up and go; the light is about to turn red." (Just for the record, it really means, "Stop now; the light is about to turn red.)

I'm packing for my Christmas trip in November. Strange, even for me. I'm buying duplicate toiletries and new underwear to pack NOW. A few days before the trip, I'll pack the warm clothes, and I'll be done. Right?

Go ahead. If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans. I suspect it makes blog readers do the same...

The Idiot Brother and his equally idiotic wife.

Brother called yesterday. *sigh* I know better than to answer the phone.

You have to understand that Brother's wife, Drama Queen (DQ for short), is a really bad breeder. She had several miscarriages with her first husband, and several with Brother. She finally produced progeny about four years ago -- a girl with 9 half-formed vertebrae, half of one kidney working, and a hole in her heart, which was patched at 6 days old. (She'll require heart surgery every 4 years until she's grown, plus a titanium rib-spine, and probably a kidney transplant eventually.) This child was followed by a full-term trisomy-18 baby who died three days after birth. Now, at 41 years old, her idiot doctor has helped her get pregnant with twins. Yeah.

I blame most of this on her mother the Uber Drama Queen (UDQ), who, while the second baby was still dying in the NICU, began yet another of her frequent speeches on which cousins/friends have how many children and which are pregnant. The woman is relentless.

Still, Brother's wife started this pregnancy 100 pounds overweight, on high blood pressure medications, still refusing to eat vegetables. "Who feels like Arby's?" is her basic approach to dinner. You have to understand, this woman is college educated with a nice cushy high-paying job in the federal government. She knows better.

She now has horrible reflux, yet still eats pizza with hot sauce, resulting in a trips to the emergency room. She is on blood thinners for some protein disorder. She is at risk of actually dying during this pregnancy, leaving my house-husband brother with no college education, no income, no insurance, and no way to pay for his daughter's major medical care, or even pay the mortgage.

STUPID.

So, you can imagine that when he called yesterday (I had ducked his two earlier calls this week), I was less than enthusiastic about the preliminary genetic reports that the twins are fine.

My brother's goal in life is to watch Fox News and old German movies on DVD all day. He fancies himself an intellectual, but narrowly avoided finishing his college degree. (When I turned 30, I forbade my entire family from ever again saying, "Brother is soooo smart!" Bullshit.) He insists that global warming is a farce, health care doesn't need reform, etc. (Of course health care doesn't need reform. He has fantastic health insurance through -- wait for it -- his wife's job with the federal government.

I'm not sure if he's just that annoying, if he's just that irresponsible, just that hypocritical, or if I'm just a frustrated breeder myself. I just feel so hateful.

And I can't just say, "Hey, it's their business -- it doesn't impact me." Because it does. I'm going to have to listen to the drama. My 73-year-old mother is expected to come help care for twins. (DQ's mother is disabled by diabetes, and can't help. Besides UDQ has a nasty little dog that bites.) So, I'm expected to help, somehow. And, God forbid, if his wife dies in childbirth, he'll be moving in with my mom, near me. And God forbid these kids have autism, cerebral palsy, or a number of other problems. AND I'm expected to be happy about this whole debacle. I just feel for their daughter.

I just can't let go... What's the matter with me?

Pre-trip anxiety already

I'm planning some advance details for our trip Up North over Christmas. Notice how I'm not calling it a vacation? It's only a vacation if you don't take your kids. ;)

We've had the airline reservations since spring, but had no rental car. I think I have a car rental, but I'm not sure. I mean, I spent 10 minutes on the phone with a really nice guy, but at the last minute, his computer locked up, and, well, if I don't get email soon, I'll call them back. (sigh) Progress...

I'm hoping (after I finish curing cancer) to pack brand new toiletries and all our cold weather clothes into two suitcases and put them in the car by the 22nd. We're limited to two suitcases, each a maximum of 80" total size WxLxD and 50 pounds. I don't see that being a problem, she said blithely...

After all, we only own one sweater apiece, and the kids only own one pair of shoes apiece that are closed-toe. I'm thinking three pair of pants, four long-sleeved t-shirts, one sweater, and some underwear. The kind relatives Up North are getting us real coats and boots. I don't think the fleece-lined sweatshirts the kids use for the depths of winter here will do. Somehow.

Why does this sound so easy? Brrr. Chills.

my upcoming "week off" -- hahaha!

I'm trying to get into the habit of making a small brain-dump every day. 'Cause every day (in the shower) I think of something cool and witty to put here. By the time I get on the computer and get the kids to stop reading over my shoulder, it's just gone. I wonder if there's a word for that. Maybe "blog fart"? Hmm.

I have next week off from school, so I'm hoping to clean the house, write up an interim report on the kids homeschool progress, make The Girl a desk, prune the shrubs, set out the advent stuff, power wash the patio, make an appointment for a good portrait of the kids, and cure cancer. No problem.

I found the desk that I want for The Girl, but it's just a tiny bit out of my price range. Apparently, I have a love/hate relationship with Crate and Barrel. I think with about $100 in lumber, I can make her something simpler but pretty. Her "drawing" has taken over our foyer, and it's time to move it along to another room. I'm thinking it should have its own shop vac attached, but that might drive the price up. ;)

Christmas in the Suburbs

Suburban Correspondent is taking a vow of simplicity this Christmas. No early planning, no months of working ahead to make The Season "magical". It's "start late and keep it simple" for her this year. I did that one Thanksgiving, and LOVED IT. But I think the complexity of Christmas calls for a little more planning...

If I don't start early, I miss something dear to me -- or my dear husband. I lay out what I need, set dates, and get on it. We also have mail issues. I've given up on "magical", and am going for "happy".

I'm sooo trying to reach Christmas well rested for a change. I'm usually over-tired and nauseated. Not a good start to The Day.

We've pared down the preparations to the essentials, and are trying to keep it cool. Otherwise, I'm not going to fit in the twins' birthday, Christmas, packing for our flight on the 26th, and leaving a fairly hygienic house.

So, short answer, nope, no sale. We're still on the treadmill -- out of sheer self-defense.

On the town!

I hired my first ever babysitter. Okay, it's for a parents' night out at the church -- the supervision is abysmal -- but it's still a babysitter. I'm borrowing another mom-of-autistic-child's older daughter. This lovely thirteen-year-old has been told that even if total chaos breaks out and someone incurs a compound fracture, she MUST stay with Lora. She's Lora's shadow. Here's hoping it works out, 'cause I really need a date night out. If it works, it'll be the best $15 I've spent in years.

We're going out for Thai food in central Florida -- wish us luck... ;)

just a shortie

Funny thought -- yesterday, I was walking down the beach, killing an hour, and it occurred to me that it felt strange, almost awkward, walking without pushing a shopping cart. It was oddly upright. How weird is that?

The Great Experiment (and a catch up on homeschool)

Hmm. This is the end of the first week of my Great Experiment. Mostly, this means that I'm trying to see what my brain will do without any carbohydrates.

So far, so good. I have this strange, oddly lucid feeling, especially in the evening. Of course that may be the extra caffeine. Yeah, yeah, I know -- Atkins says that coffee has carbs. That was reason #1 I didn't go with him. Seriously, it's enough to elbow out pasta, but coffee and tea? Bite me!

I read the greatest thing in a book last night called When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair. It says that a diet becomes a non-diet when saying no to selected foods feels more like blessing yourself with health and vitality, rather than depriving yourself of onion rings. Wow. I actually feel that way sometimes.

On the school front, I've given up yelling at kids. I've been doing too much of it lately. The neighbors are going to call the little guys in the white suits if they hear me scream, "Stop screaming!!" one more time. Seriously. I'm disengaging. Wish me luck...