Foggy Rather Groggy

I've been up since 6:13am. For no damn good reason. Husband's away for the week. It wasn't his snoring or coming to bed at odd hours of the morning that effed up my sleep. Daughters away at her aunt's for a sleepover. It wasn't her waking with the birds, in need of a cuddle that caused my problem. Animals were still asleep at 6:13am. I can't blame it on them. I have no one to blame but myself.

Hangs head in sorrow.

I have become, and I shudder to even say it...a morning person. An early riser. Normally, no biggie. But after a night out, it would have been delightful to sleep past 8 o'clock this morning. Instead, I'm left awake but foggy-brained. Let me tell you, it sucks. Not as bad as hungover and awake, but still not preferable.

I had hoped to write a bit before I retrieve Alice from her sleepover. I rarely get to write in the morning, coffee in hand, cool morning breeze blowing in the windows. My foggy rather groggy mind is not in love with the idea. So, while I wait for the caffeine to kick in, I present to you the topics my brain formulated and, for very good reason, rejected on this fine morning.

I think there was merit in stoning. Aside from the physical trauma of actually being stoned. I think there should be Internet stoning. That way I get the satisfaction of publicly punishing someone for their wrong doings, and no one is physically hurt. A stoning site. I suppose I could do the same via my blog, but then I may just come off as a bitter, vindictive lady.

Words acceptable in the Words With Friends dictionary severely limits my chances at winning. I understand the logic that my opponent is playing with the same rules as I am. Somehow it doesn't matter. I want to be able to play words like Nazi and zygote. I would win on a triple score with the word zygote.

I think Alice said shit the other day. If in fact she did, it would have been the first curse word she's uttered and used correctly. She was tossing a beach ball around in the house and one toss hit the tv. I swear I heard shit come out of her mouth. But she was mumbling and chanting singing so I couldn't be sure. I asked her to repeat, she refused.

Purple is not a flavor.

Why do Legos not come with a warning, "Beware! From this purchase forward, small microscopic plastic pieces will scatter your house. Try your best to contain them." If there was a warning like that on the box, right below it would be a button. When you pushed it, you would hear sadistic laughter.

Kids produce a lot of artwork. I use the term art loosely.

My oven has a self cleaning feature, why not my toaster oven? Not wanting to turn the oven on and heat the kitchen, I cooked bacon wrapped scallops in the toaster oven Tuesday night. Damn, that produced a shit ton of grease on the ceiling of the appliance! How am I supposed to clean that?

I need to make a dentist appointment. I was a no-show for my last. They sent me a letter in the mail expressing their disappointment in me. From the tone of the letter, they seemed to be more hurt than when I told them I wasn't a regular flosser. I don't want to call and face the wrath of the receptionist, so I keep putting it of. I don't think I'm up for the challenge today either.

Alright. I hate to end my oh, so successful list of nothingness, but from the texts I'm receiving it seems my time here is up. My daughter has over stayed her welcome. I must go fetch her. Sigh. On the bright side, I've drank enough iced coffee and feel clearheadedish. Coffee, my wonder drug of choice.

Threshold

Over the past few days recovering from my wretched wisdom teeth surgery, I've learned a few things.

First, my body doesn't like narcotics very much. You never have to worry about me scouring the market for recreational prescription drugs. What I was prescribed, however weak and lame my husband insisted they were, left me nauseous, vomiting, and unable to eat.

Second, I can not tolerate eating bland, boring soft foods. By the fourth day I was licking the cool ranch off the Doritos. I've been forced to watch Hatta eat two subs since my surgery. The first a juicy cheeseburger sub on a crunchy roll, with sourdough pretzels on the side. The second a chicken cheesesteak. And even though they screwed up his order and added mayo, I would have maimed to have eaten that sub. Like a death row inmate, I'm already creating my "last meal" list, though I suppose in this situation it should be called my "first meals."

Third, in my absence, my daughter will exist on cheese and crackers. I'm not sure why, but she ate cheese and crackers at nearly every meal.

And finally, I learned the exact number of days of my husbands stay at home dad/caretaker threshold. Two. Just two. The first two days of my recovery, Hatta was stellar. He was doting on me and there for my every need, while he was executing the upmost patience with Alice. On the third day, everything changed. He still offered to help me out and he still took care of Alice's needs, though now everything was met with a sigh and an exasperated tone. He was exhausted and out of patience. I listened to him deteriorate as the days went by. I felt for him. He was out of his element. He was in my world now, and I can honestly say, he's not cut out for it. But I do commend him for putting forth a valiant effort. He really was spot on those first two days.

In Case I Die

Alice loves fruit...sort of. If you give her a bowl of blueberries and strawberries, she won't eat them. But if you take that same bowl of fruit, add other fruits, tofu, and yogurt, throw it all in the food processor, she'll eat it. I make smoothies and popsicles daily. I'm a good mom. It occurred to me over the weekend that my husband has never made Alice a smoothie. Because I was short on time and had other things to do in the kitchen, I had to verbally walk my husband through the process. And I said to him, "now if I die, at least you know how to make a smoothie."

Tomorrow morning, I will be having my wisdom teeth removed. I've read that things that can go wrong. I could have permanent nerve damage, never being able to move my tongue again, or worse, death. Even though I have been reassured that the odds are in my my favor I will not die of anesthesia and many people endure this rite of passage and come out unscathed, I find it better to err on the side of pessimism caution.

I present to you my list of things someone needs to know in case I, um, well...just in case.

• The sewing kit is on the second shelf in the hutch.
• Water my plants. If my ficus tree or the orchid in the bathroom dies, I'll haunt you.
• Library books are due Friday. Late fees suck.
• Ramen noodles rock. I expect someone to teach Alice the fine art of making an oodles of noodles sandwich.
• White vinegar and baking soda will clean just about anything.
• When making aforementioned smoothies, don't add raspberries or blackberries. She hates the seeds.
• A little MSG will not kill you. Moderation is the spice of life.
• I have hand-me-downs organized in the basement up to size 6. After that, you're on your own.
• Pine shats are the best type of mulch.
• I wish to be cremated. Do not spend money on a fancy urn to hold my ashes. A cardboard box is a sufficient container to transport me. Please spread my ashes in my grandmothers cottage garden and in the ocean.
• Speaking of ashes, the remains of my childhood dog is in my basement. Please spread him in the garden with me and also in the pond behind my mother's old house.
• Wear sunscreen. Alice, like myself, is fair skinned. Don't let her burn.
• When life is shitty, there's nothing wrong with getting ice cream or cake to try and cheer yourself up.
• On Valentine's day, send Alice balloons to school...every year.
• You can never spoil a child by buying too many books.
• I'll save you the time looking. I do not have a 9x13 baking pan.
• The upholstery attachment for the vacuum is under the kitchen sink.
• Don't wash the black cloth napkins with anything else. No matter how much I wash them, they still bleed.
• Continue to remind my daughter that she is brilliant and beautiful and unique.

I suppose that will do for now. Besides, I'm sure I'll be just fine tomorrow. Nothing to worry about. Piece of cake.

Everyone Heals Differently

I've been playing this game for awhile, maybe you've heard of it? It's called "How Long Can I Avoid Having My Wisdom Teeth Removed?" It's similar to another game I like called "How Long Can I Avoid a Tetanus Shot?" I rock at that game. I'm the reigning champion. I think the last time I was forced to get a tetanus shot was middle school. College was a close call with it being mandatory for admittance and all. I dodged it as long as I could. Just as I was about to be forced to forfeit, luck turned up on my side by way of a vaccination shortage.

You might ask why one would choose to play these games. Let me enlighten thee. It's rather simple. Either a.) You're afraid of needles, b.) You're afraid of hospitals and doctors offices, c.) You're afraid of pain or d.) All of the above. I can attest, avoidance is always easier.

Anyway, back to the original game I've been playing for quite some time. It seems, sadly, my time playing was all for nothing. I must graciously bow out, admit defeat. All four of my wisdom teeth will be forcefully sliced and ripped from my mouth a week from Thursday. Nevermind the months I patiently suffered while my wisdom teeth tore every filament of my gums just so they could break the surface and join the rest of my teeth. Forget about the extra minutes I was forced to spend every week brushing and flossing four extra teeth. All for naught, I tell you. All for naught.

Today, I found myself in the oral surgeons office, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, filling out pages 1,2,3, and 7 where I'm sure I agreed not to sue them if they cause me pain and suffering by accidentally removing the wrong teeth. I was trying to complete the paperwork with my legs shaking the clipboard (see letters a, b, c, and d from above,) when up to the counter walks this small, dark haired college girl. I guess she was about 19. I listen to her conversation with the office assistant and instantly, I'm sucked in like a moth to a flame. I could have given up rights to my second child in the paperwork for all I know.

She's trying to make an appointment to have her wisdom teeth out.

"I have an 8, a 9:45, and a 10:30."

"Don't you have anything later, I have class in the morning."

"No, I'm sorry we only do them in the mornings. Blah blah blah dehydration. Blah blah blah. And you know you have to have somebody here to drive you home after surgery," the assistant tells her with a tone in her voice.

"Oh, okay. I guess my mom could bring me and my friend could pick me up."

"No, no that's not going to work. Someone has to be here in the office the entire time of the surgery and then drive you home." This time she's a touch rude with the meek girl.

"Um, okay. I'll be able to go back to school after the surgery cause I have class, right?"

"No, no. You're going to have to stay home the rest of the day,"

"But the next day, I'll be able to go to class the next morning, though."

"It all depends, everyone heals differently," she says. And I have to applaud her for not laughing aloud in the poor, foolish girls face.

Has this dewey-eyed girl never known anyone who's had their wisdom teeth removed? I nursed a boyfriend during college through his recovery, I still shudder at the blood and the pain. I was friends with my husband when he had his removed. I watched him eat mashed potatoes and jell-o for days. This little girl has clearly not been playing the game. She's one of those that never even knew the game existed. I feel for her. On Wednesday, at 8:00am, she will experience what my mother referred to as worse than childbirth. She delivered three babies, naturally, without drugs. Wisdom teeth extraction worse than that. And this girl hasn't got a clue. Had she, she would've been playing the game right alongside me.