I'm the girl who used to blog diligently about the funny little things my two kids did to
And also because it took a lot of energy to try to tell a humorous story when, deep down, all I really wanted to do was lay under my covers and have a big ole cry.
Funny thing about young children, though. They never let you lay under your covers for very long. Even when I had a 102 fever. Or had cried my contacts right out of my eyes. Or was exorcising a kidney stone in the middle of the store with a full cart of groceries - let's just assume I won't be going back to that store any time soon - even through all that, little mouths need to be fed. Little squirmy-footy-pajama'd-babies need to be rocked. Little ears need to be read to at night. Little boo-boos need to be kissed. Groceries need to be procured.
And life goes on.
All that to say, I'm feeling the Call of the Blog again.
Plus, the more I write, the further down on the page it will push the picture of Coopie and Aria that makes me dissolve into tears every time I go to my home page.
Here's the skinny on the kidney stones. I was kind of done a little wrong by my doctor. Not in a she-cut-off-the-wrong-extremity way, but more of a you've-GOT-to-be-kidding-me-Woman way. And, since Forgiveness is a gift I'm still unwrapping, and, since this woman will someday in the near future be pointing a powerful laser at my internal organs, I'll try and keep my disparaging remarks to a minimum, and will instead just print the truth. Glean from it what you will.
The laconic version is this: I was in pre-op, all prepped and ready to go into OR to have lithotripsy to blast my stones, when I asked my doctor a teeny weeny little question that went something like this, "So, with this [well-documented] bleeding disorder I have [which is written in bold letters all over the front of my chart], how will I know if my kidneys are bleeding after this procedure [since the only discussion we had about it took place while you were standing at a counter charting on someone else]? And am I, like, gonna die [because if I do, my husband and mother are going to be all up in your bidness and you'll likely never practice medicine again]?" To which she replied, after a full minute pause and all the color drained from her face, "Holy [expletive]! Why am I just now finding out about this?" My response: "Hmm...well. I would guess because you didn't... READ MY CHART?"
And thus began the referring of the patient to the hematologist, and the refusing to do procedures on the patient until the hematologist has cleared her, and blah, blah, blah, which essentially means that I haven't had the lithotripsy yet, and am living with the Sword of Damocles over my head waiting at any moment to drop to the floor and writhe around in pain (grocery store reference) as I exorcise one of the many stones currently taking up residence in my oddly-designed kidneys.
And then, as you know, my dog up and died. Which is not exactly how it happened, but since it was the culmination of two grandmothers, a father-in-law, and my best friend/most loyal companion, and I will likely never be able to write about it, just put it this way: I didn't take it well.
NOT. AT. ALL.
And poor Cooper. For the last two weeks, he's had to be the excuse for my bad behavior. I am completely unable to come up with even one sentence for my blog: my dog just died. I oversleep and we all miss church: hello? My dog just died. I snap at my husband over something ridiculously minor: my dog just died. Aria, trying I think to be helpful, climbs into Caroline's crib and removes the baby's poopie diaper which gets all over everything and I dissolve into a fit of tears on the floor of Caroline's room: well, what do you expect? MY DOG JUST DIED!
Fortunately for everyone around me, despite the grief, I'm getting a little irritated with myself and have discovered that my attitude lately even gets on my own nerves. Therefore, I hereby choose to be in a good mood from this day forward. Additionally, I will refrain from blaming my shortcomings on the dog and will instead blame them on the one person who really deserves it: my doctor. Kidding. Kidding.
Oh, and apparently I have another reason to be in a good mood. God kinda threw me a bone on Sunday. I know, I know, God doesn't technically throw bones, but He does work in strange ways big and small to remind us He is in control and that He cares.
Case in point. Remember this? Well, guess the heck what? She called my friend Lori and specifically asked for my "schedule", and then invited me - by name, no less - to dinner when she comes to town next month! At the restaurant of my choice! And, she invited me to an invitation-only shopping event at Neiman's with her, ya'll!
Which means, hello? I have much grooming to do (hair, nails, eyebrows), outfits to plan (clothes - casual or gussied up? bag, shoes) and many things to read up on (manners, how to dazzle her with my wit and not look like I'm trying, etc) in the next three weeks before our date.
So much to do, so much to do...
I feel like God just gave me a little wink.