Here's a pic.

I know a lot of people missed the photographs around finalization, so here's another one, also only for a limited time. Christmas morning. Note the Milkbone Dog Treat licenced pajamas. I couldn't resist.

Photo taken down! Thanks for your comments. He's sooo cute. *sigh*

Isn't this illegal?

I know it isn't right, but isn't it also illegal? Doesn't that count as discrimination? And instead of the same sex couple that was denied, Huckle went to the hetero couple that threw him out with nothing five days later, which led to him going into another foster home for a week (the one that was told he was a 1.5 hispanic boy), before coming to us.

I told her to get out of my house. Yah, I did.

Wendy's the winner!

So here's what I did:

I told her to shut up and to drop it and let me be pissed. She said, "I have dropped it, you're the one freaking out" (or something, I was kinda enraged).

At that point I told her to get the hell out of my house. I totally wanted her to leave. It sounded like a good idea to me.

But then my mother flipped out. She freaked the frack out, and I ended up having to apologize to my sister for telling her to leave the house (it took about 10 deep breaths), and then I started to tell her that although I was sorry, that -- and then she cut me off and said, "Shut your fing mouth. I don't even want to look at you."

So I went back to the kitchen to resume cooking the goddamn asparagus, and every time I opened my mouth my mother hissed, "Shut up." Or, "Don't you say a word."

So I locked myself in my room for an hour and played my stero LOUD.

It felt good. Like I was sixteen again, in all the ways that sucks and rocks.

I do sort of regret telling her to get out of the house, but not because I wanted her to stay. I still wish she'd taken her happy ass out the front door, and I am angry with myself for being scolded into groveling, and then with letting my sister talk even more shit to me. But her leaving probably would have ruined the day for everyone else, and that wouldn't have been nice. In retrospect I should have taken her out to the garage and laid into her, instead of in the kitchen in front of everyone.

I didn't speak to her the rest of the night, and sadly, she and her husband stayed until nine or so. I haven't spoken to her since.

I don't really care that much if my sister and I have a good relationship. If we weren't related, we wouldn't be friends. She's done some seriously craptastic things to me in the past, and at least for another few years, I'm done trying very hard.

So. I don't want to talk to her, I don't want to see her, and I don't want her to think I'm actually sorry for telling her to get out of my house. We'll see how it goes.

Advice? And even if you want to be like my mom and scold and shame me, yeah, um, it won't work.

Not so much Pretend or Perhaps

(Seriously, Tell Me What You Would Have DONE)

Let us pretend that you and your mate have spent four days cooking and cleaning and planning for Christmas Day, which you are hosting. The day of, you're up at 8 to continue the cooking, cleaning, and planning, and at 2 PM you start the no-stopping-us-now turkey frying so that dinner will be ready at 3:15.

Pretend also that your sister has been asked to bring a vegetable dish (creamed spinach), and this has struck everyone in your extended family as hilarious, because your sister's culinary repetoire extends to grilled cheese and cereal.

Now pretend that your sister, who you don't really get along with, and her husband do not arrive until 5 PM. Also pretend that they hand you a bag of raw asparagus as they walk through the door. When you ask where the creamed spinach is, your sister replies, "I didn't make it. We had to leave at 9 this morning to go to (my husband's family's) house."

So then, perhaps, you bang about the kitchen a bit, cranky and hungry (helloooo, they are more than two hours laaaaaate! didn't call, didn't answer their phooooones), looking for a clean or even empty pan. Perhaps your husband asks you what's wrong. Maybe you say, "There's no creamed spinach, there's just raw asparagus, and it needs to be cooked."

There's a chance that your sister whips around and says, "I. Had. To. Leave. The. House. At. Nine." as if you're totally mentally deficient, and also as if the electricity doesn't get turned on until noon. "You don't need to get all bent out of shape about it," she says, wrinkling her nose and giving you the "what's up your ass" look.

Now, what would you say or do to your sister, if it were you holding the asparagus?

ETA: For real, tell me what you would have done (Bacchus, you get back here!). This isn't really a family blog, so go for it.

I was NOT a paragon of maturity or equanimity, if that's any consolation. I Was Pissed.

Merry Christmas!

Have a wonderful holiday. Thank you for being here for me all this time. Be back after the new year.

(photo removed)

Done

You know what full-face photographs mean, right?

Photos taken down. Thank you so much, y'all.

(Limited time only)

Resurfacing

Sorry to leave the "I'm so sick" post up at the top for a month. I'm only now back to about 90%. I felt about this good around the start of December, and then two weeks ago I got a cold, and back came the hacking and the wheezing and the blue hands and numbness and the aches and migranes from coughing, and oh, it was so pleasant.

But I'm mostly better now.

And I've got all my end-of-the-year work (for clients) done.

And the house is a wreck, but it will get cleaner tonight.

And I've taken Huckle to 7 doctors in the last two weeks, almost all routine checkup stuff that came due right now after the Medical Lollapalooza that was our Summer.

And family will be arriving any hour from the Midwest.

And tomorrow we adopt our boy.

Everyone should have one

I'm so sick. My face is turning blue, I have such a hard time breathing. I'm as sick as I was for my wedding, and if I had insurance I'd probably find out I have pneumonia. I've eaten two bowls of EasyMac since Saturday, but I don't know if those count because every time I get a hacking coughing fit, whatever's gone into my stomach makes a reappearance. I've maybe kept down a glass of yerba mate a day, out of the 4 I've tried. The Hub stayed home from work two days this week because I can't be trusted to stay conscious long enough to make the Huckster a PB&J -- the dizzy + the tile = black and blue elbow from Monday, the dizzy + the wall = goose egg on back of head from Wednesday. I even have a phlegm/barf bucket next to the bed. How's that for fancy?

However, I do have antibiotics and a steroid inhaler, samples given to me yesterday by our GP at Huck's appointment for his sleep issues. Very handy, that appointment, and very glad I made it a week ago before I took a dive. Steroids good. Leftover codeine cough syrup from my former-and-now-under-investigation evening and weekend doctor good, too.

With how Huck and I handle the holidays (healthwise), I should just go ahead and book an appointment for December 24th now. Someone will need it.

So, yes, I suck around here right now. But at least I decided last month that I wouldn't be hosting Thanksgiving. And the pie I was going to contribute is no longer needed -- turns out they don't want a serving of blueberry bronchitis -- go figure. But Hubs will once again fry the turkey out on the driveway, plus we have an Adorable! Boy! to share, so our contributions are set.

And here's an example of a time when I think to myself, "Self, everyone should have a Huckle, because Huckle is an enchanting, fantastic little boy who knows how to disarm the crustiest of crusties with a few words!" I was busy trying not to suffocate myself (ie throwing up in the kitchen sink -- yay garbage disposal), and after the throwing up came the gasping and the tears and the spitting and the sobs (I'm not just being dramatic, I can't throw up and not cry -- just can't). Hubs and Huck were watching me from the family room (they're both very used to it after the last four days -- even the random blackouts don't have them running anymore), and Huck says tearfully to Hubs, "I just want Mommy to be happy again."

Swoon. Again. Well, more of a stagger -- Chin vs. butcher block on a straight-down crumple.

I'm gonna give Huck the credit for that one, though, not the lack of oxygen.

Name Change

What do y'all think of "Cash" as a first or middle name for a boy?

We're finishing our legal papers, and this is the last sticking point.

He's not a James, or a Owen, or an Emmett, or an Oliver, or any of my other favorite names.

And we're changing his name on paper only. My dad showed me how easy it is to locate someone with a DOB and first name, and considering our security concerns, we'd like to make it a little more difficult when Huck's dad gets out of prison in May 2008 or May 2027 (those 20 year sentences with parole eligibility after a year are kind of confusing...).

Oh, Hello, Google Search

Google searches that hit my site in the last 100 visitors:


how to get pregnant after going off of nuvaring (Long Island Iced Tea?)

spray paint swirled with water vases (sounds interesting. I used acrylic paint.)

the amount of GHB found in 1 aquadot? (anyone else think this person has a few refill packs of his kids' aquadots and wants to know just how many will make for a fun night?)

can women get pregnant off dogs (please tell me you're 8 and asking this question. and if you find your way back here, the answer is yes. yes, you can.)