{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{SIGH}}}}}}}}}}}}

OK. Where have I been?
I will tell you.

In hell.


The End.



























What? That isn't enough? You want details? OK.


Well I went to the old doctor. I got some really really good news. Honest.
And I got some sucky news as well.
BUT!! The sucky news is fixable!

Soooo...which first, the good? The bad? Or the worst?

What do you mean "Wait? There is worst?"

Well MY GOD have you not been reading me this past year? Does Kay's life ever have simple one at a time problems?

Silly Billy.

OK.
Bad first.
My HBA1c was 11.3 I will let you google that. OK if you don't want to I will tell you this. It should be about a 6. That is a controlled blood sugar number. 11.3 means "HEY YOUR PANCREAS IS NOW DEAD!"

So I get more insulin. 68 units at night, 25 during the day and still taking oral meds for it too!

I get up today and my sugar is 434! WTF?? This medicine cost me nearly $300, I expect miracles or at least an improvement!?! Not worse. Dear God.

OK the GOOD news...

My kidneys are still functioning well, my thyroid is too. Only bad stuff is cholesterol and diabetes, even though that last one is a bit of a whopper. It is doable and I am gonna fix it!

The worst news. This is the hardest for me.

Cameron got hurt. Not mortally or seriously but enough that might hold him back. We don't know if he will have to have surgery or not. Just pray he is ok. It is HARD for a Mama being this far away and knowing there isn't anything I can do. The Marines are keeping him, they may have to push his graduation back if he gets too far behind. So far he isn't. I will let you know more on this later.

Oh. I guess I should tell you it is his knee on one leg and his ankle on another. Yeah, he is kinda fucked.

So it took me a few days to calm myself down. Please appreciate that or this whole post would of been OMGWTFBBQ!!!!

You are welcome.

Now here is a picture of cute baby curls fresh out of the bath to make me happy.




Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

How to eat grass by Rylan N. age 10 months

First you just nonchalantly act like you are petting the dog.



Never mind the dog is no where near you.



Then ever so casually, tug at a blade of grass. Don't worry about that woman with the camera, she has NO idea what you are up too.

Then you look to the left.


Then to the right.



Now EAT THAT GRASS!!!



Then look cute and innocent, always look innocent. A little drip of snot always makes you look pitiful and might get the Nana's mind of ripping that blade of grass out of your mouth due to the uncontrollable urge to wipe mucus off their offspring's lips post haste!




And always refuse to eat normal things like eggs or pancakes lacking of syrup just to keep them guessing.

Milo the dog would like to demonstrate the ill effects of eating grass.


OK he just really likes to show off his package. Sorry about that.

Lordy Lordy look who's....

40?
Me? Seriously? Nah. I am in 100% denial.
Matter of fact, it is just a number, yes, that is all a number.

A number that will lead to 41, 42, all the way up to that "other number".

One day at a time sweet jeebus.

Just took the kids home, I am going back to the doctor YET AGAIN. Having trouble breathing. Well, of course not TOO seriously or else I wouldn't be here blogging, but being the martyr I am, sure I would be. Heh.

Here is what I made on Mother's Day for Drew, the kids and I.


And here is what Nana had when the kids went to bed. OK maybe 3. God I don't know why I am drinking. I think it has to do with turning 40. I heard middle aged women like to drink you know.

Didn't get to hear from my child on Mother's Day. Really didn't expect it but it would of been nice. Damn military. Us Mama's gave you your men, at least let us have a 3 minute phone call. We know Sunday is their "free day". They have 4-5 hours of free time. Why couldn't they call? Huh? Why?

OK I am through harassing the Marines. What's next. OH!

I am dying. Did I mention I can't take a deep breath? And 40. I am FOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTYYYYYYYY!!

Sorry I better go I can't concentrate on anything else today.

Next entry. Geritol and secret home remedies for crow's feet.

Stay tuned.

Happy Mama Day!

This is for all the mothers who didn't win Mother of the Year in 2007.

All the runners-up and all the wannabes. The mothers too tired to enter or too busy to bother.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" they could say "Of course, wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK, honey, Mommy's here."

This is for all the mothers of children abducted by strangers and they can't find their babies.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.

And all the mothers who don't.

What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, fry a chicken and sew a button on a shirt all at the same time?

Or is it heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, a baby dying?

I think so.

So, this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

This is for reading "Goodnight Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2-year-old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoes before they started preschool.

And for all the mothers who chose Velcro instead.

For all the mothers who bite their lips -- sometimes until they bleed -- when their 14-year-olds dye their hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop.

This is for mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purses.

This is for all the mothers that have put their only child on a plane headed for boot camp or war.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all the mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and Teddy bears on their children's graves.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just fine once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurses an hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation. And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. So hang in there.

And better luck next year, I'll be rooting for you.

Where I come from it's cornbread and chicken

One thing that is fascinating about the human body when it is sick and suffering from high fever is the dreams.

Last night I had a backlash. My fever went back up and the chills began. I took some Advil and laid down. Then they began.

An old woman in a wheelchair with a very strong southern dialect was asking me for something.

She says, that she likes to take cornbread, chocolate cake, butter milk, sweet milk and one of those sugar blocks in the pink packet ( I finally found out she meant Sweet N Low) and mixes it all together.

Well I went to my kitchen, as not to offend a guest (and who the hell IS she anyway?) and went about looking for the ingredients.

I had no buttermilk so I put vinegar in regular milk, added more regular milk, voila'!
The chocolate cake was no problem, hell I always have that in my dreams and in real life so I crumbled some of that in. Then off to my pantry to find cornmeal to make cornbread. I found a huge tin with separate packages of cornmeal, some were busted open, some had moths or mealy worms. I was disgusted.

Then, because it was a dream, I found a piece of cornbread, half eaten on but who cares? I didn't know this woman and who the hell is she anyway? So I crumbled that in, added the sweet n low.

As I carried the bowl of guck into her, I noticed to my chagrin, I had added about a whole small jar of green olives (pimentos included). She clapped her hands and said "Oh Child! That is GREAT! I always love it when olives are included!!"

Then she turned into my Aunt Carol....


I awoke to a text from Drew, who worked graveyard this week. It said "The check was deposited." Being Friday morning I was like "no shit Sherlock" and rolled over piously. I was dreaming after all and wanted to find out what was gonna happen next. For all I know Steven Tyler was fixing to walk outta my kitchen in nothing but an apron and a big lipped smile holding Rice Krispie Treats or something.

Then it dawned on me...OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH..our Stimulus check. So we are looking to tie down flights and reservations for July to see Cam graduate. Speaking of, I got a letter from him today and he was a little upset we haven't sent him a letter? I was mad until I realized. Duh. I sent letter Friday. He wrote Sunday. He has it now but not then.

I hate the one week lapse between letters, especially when you are delirious.

Why do I keep wanting to listen to Prince?

So Drew starts vacation #2, uh, right now. We have YELL FEST this weekend. Yes there will be yelling. You missed Toad Suck Fest, I am not quite sure if they suck Toads but plan on going to find out. Angie? You know?

The boys are re-cooping from their stomach virus. I feel drawn and quartered but otherwise normal, which reads, 'eh'. I plan on getting my hair cut and colored and purchasing a Ped Egg. I also plan on being wined and dined and possibly even 69'd if I so fancy.

But I have to go now. There is an astronaut at my door and he wants a milkshake with anchovies and Skittles.

I'm back in the saddle again, like Aerosmith not Gene Autry

<<**<<**SPRAYS LYSOL EVERYWHERE**>>**>>

OK now I am getting back to the land of the living again. Sheesh, that was hell. It was one of those lightning strike sickies that put you DOWN and I mean you don't even give a damn if you die, in fact you pray for death, death would be welcome!!

But now I am happy to be alive, well, sort of, you know me.


The babies are doing better. Mama still has them, which, I can't believe I am going to say this but as for me and my condition the past few days, it is better for them right now but let me reinstate that is probably the only time they are better off in her hands, only when mine aren't capable. That comes as close to saying "she is a warm body that can do a few things for them I couldn't."

Next week is a whirlwind of events, Mother's Day sans kids, Drew and I turn 40 two days later, my big birthday bash got cancelled (wah but understand), and Drew is on vacation, yet a-ga-in.
He has to take his days before a certain date all of a sudden and due to things like OTHER people's vacations and inventory, he doesn't get much chance and then it is forced. Oh well.

Buzz word of the day? Stimulus.
What does that mean for us?

That we don't have to worry about plane fare for July. Good enough for me.
We are one of those in the middle. Make too much to get back hardly anything but still fit into the in betweens for getting a stimulus check which, funny enough, is 10 times the amount our refund was. Heh. Gotta love Bush for something. OK, I can't love him at all but I will pretend for just a minute, 'kay?

In between moments of clarity I checked in on some of my blogs but now that my temp is below 103 I can't remember shit so off I go to check on the rest of the world.

Talk to you soon!

LOVES

Blast From The Past

Rylan at a month old

Read this entry with a face mask on

Not 20 minutes after that last entry I got sick.
I mean SICCCCCCCCK!!!!!!!!!!!

The kind where 3 days go by and you don't remember anything. Your body aches like it has been pummeled by rocks. You have dreams that make a John Waters film seem sane.

I am sitting up as of noon today. I called Athina and the kids are sick too, stomach viruses for them, pneumonia for me. I think we will not be getting our Nana-kiddo time in together tomorrow. What a crazy bunch we would be, all the fever and puking and gnashing of teeth.

Then there would be how the kids are feeling.


The good news is in those 3 days I have only had a few puffs of a cigarette. Being that I go outside anyway, and the vicious cough I have has only helped. I would like to not continue when I do feel better. What a 40th birthday gift to myself that would be.

So looks like not only will I be spending Mother's Day alone, but my birthday too (Tuesday btw...hint hint). No Cameron. No kiddos. Turning 40. Sick and alone.

WOE IS ME!!!

I am going back to bed.