annieology

The plague is running rampant over here at Casa del Awesome.  6/7 of us spent the entirety of yesterday debating which end of ourselves to point toward the toilet first.  I’m sorry to report that there were some miscalculations involved. Luckily, it was a 15 hour plague and we are all back to our old selves.  Except for Tech Support.  He somehow escaped.  Which is worse for him than actually having the plague.  He is a worrier by nature, and he has now worried about when it will strike him for at least 48.

Unrelated to the plague, I had an appointment today to get back labs and results of a biopsy for skin cancer. (Oh I don’t think I told everybody, but I’m white and I live in South Texas, not a surprise.)

“Unremarkable.”

The test results are “unremarkable”.  Not me.

Although, I can’t help but take it personally.

Plus I think I broke some sort of record for the highest TSH ever.

But none of that ended my baseball career.  It was my tinnitus.  The constant ringing in my ear.  I was told oh so many months ago by a doctor that tinnitus is incurable and I’d have to live with it.  I asked my nurse practitioner.  She says “something medical” and prescribed me steroids.  Bringing to an end my hopes for making it to the big league.  STEROIDS.  Although my Tweeple think I should just play the dumb victim and say I “trusted” my nurse to give me something that would be legal (untraceable and ass kicking).

Since baseball seems to be out, I guess Target keeps looking better and better.  You know  until 2012 when I am elected President.  Well, maybe just the Congress.  And yes I did, throw my name into the hat.  Move over Mr. Smith, Mrs. Awesome is going to Washington.  (pending finalization on adopting the orphans and getting my district to vote out a lifer.)

Too True Tuesday is back at The Accidental Mommy. Go and check it out. This week we are speaking of obsessions and compulsions.

For our purposes here today, we’ll use “obsessive” to refer to an unwelcome pattern of thought and “compulsive” to refer to an unwelcome pattern of action.

I tend to over think.  I “play the movie” to the end.  Of course with every conceivable outcome.  Particularly when it comes to CPS, knowing full well they give little thought to us, and have never acted on any of their threats but still….it may be defined as obsessive, or diligent.  Either way.  I put way too much effort into it.

As far as compulsions?

Video games.  Tetris. Farmville. Word games.  Sudoku.  If I am in the middle of the game, I cannot stop.  Don’t care if the house is on fire.  Kid’s bleeding?  They probably won’t die before I set the new all time world record.  Yes, people only challenge me on Facebook once, then I never hear from them again.  Because I will not quit until I am the top of the leader board.  And with Farmville?  I obsess over getting home to harvest my blueberries, and why I planted blueberries on date night, and “blah blah blah important stuff” conversation with Tech Support is drowned out by the voice in my head wondering how much money I’m going to lose having not harvested my berries.

It’s true.

I am blessed with brilliant children, and by blessed I mean “gotta stay on my toes”.  Yesterday Felpsy turned six.  As you know, Boog was ready to dec-o-rate.  He woke up at the crack of early asking to go to the party store.   I told him the store didn’t open for a long time, but we would go.  After 487 questions about when they opened, why they weren’t opened, blah blah blah, I told him the people who worked at the party store had to get their kids ready for school and then had to go home and get ready for work, so they wouldn’t be there until about the time I was ready.  Yes, I know I shouldn’t lie, don’t worry, I paid for it.

Several hours pass and we hit up the party store.  Greeted of course by the (why the hell are you bothering my txting with showing up at my job) employee mumbling something about “welcome to Party Universe blah blah blah”  Boog of course tells her we are here to get decorations for his brother’s birthday, that he was five yesterday just like us and now he’s not, asks her if she likes Sushi and then asks her if she has kids.

Yes.  He.  Did.

No.  She didn’t.

“Well then why couldn’t she get to work on time?”  he asked me.

Crap.

“Oh look, streamers.”

We got our Star Wars paraphernalia and headed to Target.

Boog shot off in the direction of the toys at 100 mph while Little Miss Sunshine strolled at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  We past the make up aisle and the girl asked me why they didn’t make a lipstick that lasted longer than a “Spongebob” (our standard measure of time for 15 minutes) while commiserating with her I heard the walkies  going on about a lost boy and “does he know his mommy’s name”.  Urging the girl to walk a little faster, figuring I was said mommy, we round the corner to find Boog standing in a hazmat zone having puked the length of the Lego aisle.

“He’s mine, thanks.” (you totally know that puke is not my domain inside a Target store right?  I am the mayor after all.)  And I hurried out of there with my ill child, at the breakneck speed of a Hoveround.  All while dodging two calls from CPS and the therapist, plus the knowing eyes of those with walkies judging me for not being more active in vomit clean up.

“Hey, I saw that look.  I’m the mayor around these parts, I totally have no power over you.”

Other than that it was a gorgeous day here in north Mexico.  Mid 70s and if Tech Support had the time to windsurf anymore, it would have been a great day to do so.  I feel the outdoor pool is within our grasp here shortly, (pending results of the skin cancer biopsy and a ton of SPF).

We ate cupcakes decorated like dogs and petit fours.   After of course a dinner of pork tenderloin and spinach.  (Felpsy’s choice)

Then we hunted for presents.  I would excuse my not wrapping birthday gifts as the “green” alternative buy you know that’s a bunch of bull.  But I don’t wrap birthday presents.  We scavenger hunt for them.  This year I let the twins give their own clues as to where they had hidden their gifts.  There was wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Finally it was revealed that they were “on my bed”.   When it got to be my turn I told him mine was hidden “not on top of my bed” to which a major fit was thrown.   “Fine it’s under my bed.”  Happiness.

Then a big fight where someone may or may not have ended up with a gaping head wound.

Blood.  Tears.  Timeouts. Chocolate.  Awesomeness.