Post #7 of 30, If we forget tomorrow existed, which I aim to do...

I’ve decided that considering I felt so rubbish yesterday, I honestly believed that I had posted when I, in fact, hadn’t, yesterday didn’t actually exist, as such. That said I am not guilty of not posting yesterday, because yesterday never happened because the world stops when I am not feeling up to coping with it. In keeping with the honor system of Namblopomo, however, I do have to now content myself with being an honorary member as opposed to a contestant, as such; which sucks, because I was doing so well up until now!! Why the hell do stomach flu’s only take place when other, more important things are going on?

As an honorary member, I will still continue to update this blog on a daily basis, however, any day I do not update this blog is now considered a “non-day”, as opposed to being considered “the day I blew it”.

Today has been a rough day, to say the least. Things went slowly most of the day, which is to say, I spent most of the day feverish and in bed. Unfortunately, things took rather an icky and eventful turn during dinner. We had cold deli salads in an effort to avoid unnecessarily upsetting anyone’s tummy. Apparently, my tummy fails to follow this most important digestive etiquette, because I found myself racing to the toilet halfway through the meal. Guess what? Once I got there, GOOD NEWS, the toilet is plugged up; which means that everything I just deposited in the toilet cascaded down the bowl and swirled delicately about my toes in a sea of toilet water. Even BETTER NEWS, I am a single parent, so guess who cleans up the throw up soup an inch thick on the bathroom floor? If you said ME, you’re getting too good for this game and I can no longer fool you.

I finally managed to clean it all up, and in my sick and delusional state, then saw the remaining vomit in the toilet and couldn’t help but think “someone ought to flush that, really…” which I then did. This, of course, made for round two of the throw up soup/ lake on the upstairs bathroom floor very nicely. I have now spent the last two hours cleaning this off of my bathroom floor…and I’m still posting!! Don’t you folks think you could forgive me yesterday in light of this? Because I really think you should…really.

Anyhow, I’m now dehydrated and weak, so I’m off to the bed to lay down and moan for many minutes and several seconds. Thank you, that is all.

Post #5 of 30, AKA~Still Dreaming, only more concretely so...

Post #5 of 30, AKA: Still Wrestling Incredibly Strong Invisible Bugs

Its 9:30pm, and this is the first I’ve even so much as thought of doing my duty for the month, and spitting out a post of some kind. Frankly, it’s hard as hell to keep posting at the moment. My adorable little one has seen fit to do her part as a member of this loving family, and share her virus. I think it’s hitting me so hard because my immune system is already comprised, what with my medical problems. Whatever it is, it sucks ass.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been throwing up, pooping out everything my bowels ever had a hard time extracting, and walking like a damn drunk due to an inexplicable complete and total loss of my equilibrium. Right now, I feel as though I’m going to lie down and die any moment now. Not to mention the fact I’ve puked up everything I’ve put into my mouth, including medication. How in the hell am I supposed to keep Gravel down if I’m throwing up every five seconds? Fortunately for me, the good people at Gravol thought about this little nugget too, and as a result of their innovative thinking, we now have Ginger Gravol in “Soft Chewable Lozenges”.

I hate being sick. It’s one of those things that I don’t suppose anyone really loves, but I hate it more than anyone else. (I know that because I asked everyone… in the entire world …and they all said I definitely hated being sick more than any of them, so I have proof!!) Because I hate being sick so much that I hid from it all weekend by lounging about in a pair of satin pajama’s, reading things on the computer and sleeping. (Which reminds me: I highly recommend wearing satin pajama’s when you are sick, particularly if you happen to be afflicted with a stomach virus, as the satin slides off the bed smoothly and easily; making it possible to vault out of bed and shoot into the bathroom at speeds you never would have believed possible Despite the obvious disadvantage of being on crutches, I was still able to shoot out of bed and sort of pole vault into the latrine, which I would have thought fabulous if I wasn’t swallowing vomit as quickly as I could as I pole vaulted along in an effort to keep the carpet’s clean…)

The little one seems to be feeling far better, mind you, which makes life a little easier. She magically developed a wee tummy ache and nausea early this evening upon realizing it was, indeed, Sunday night, with a fresh school week commencing bright and early tomorrow morning. Though I suppose I could have offered her Gravol for her troubles, oddly enough, telling her that unless she burst into a giant ball of orange flame, she was damn well going to school tomorrow seemed to work just as well. Puddin’ is currently doing acrobatics on the floor beside me, which is making the entire house shake as though we’re experiencing an earthquake. I often wonder if the neighbors believe I throw her body about when she has these little bursts of energy and leaps about like this… (Though I confess, there are times I want desperately to throw her about when she’s leaping around… it’s enough to drive a saint to distraction!)

I have to admit; lately I’ve been feeling incredibly old. I suppose this is likely a product of having so many medical problems I can easily keep up with the old ladies when they talk about their aches and pains. I’ll be honest and tell you that despite what it looks like, this was never one of my long term goals for life. I know I’m good at being a gimp…hell, I’d even go so far as to say “expert”, but the time has come to discover what else I can do to make use of my many talents.

I’ve actually been giving a lot of thought as to what stage I’m at in my life, and how I would alter that picture if I could. I firmly believe that type of self analysis is important, primarily because, as nutty as it might sound, I completely believe we have the power within us to make virtually all of our dreams come true. More than likely, when you read that, you’re going to ask yourself why it is, if we can make virtually all of our dreams come true, more of us aren’t out there doing just that. The answer is really quite simple; because making dreams come true takes an awful lot of hard work.

I remember when I was about fifteen; I lost a whole bunch of weight. Up until that time, I weighed roughly 180lbs, which at my 5’1” or whatever, made me look as though I was sporting an ass on both the front and back sides of my body. I did this by working out each and every night, watching what I ate, and walking wherever I went; in other words, it was a lot of hard work. About six months afterwards, I happened to be at a church event with my parents, and a lady I used to know when I was grossly overweight approached me and inquired into how I’d managed to lose the weight When I answered her with “working out every night and really watching what I eat”, she seemed disheartened. Why? Because she was looking for an easy answer, something that would achieve the result she desired without requiring any effort or commitment on her part.

I think this is really a rather sad reflection upon our society. Most things in life can now be created in five minutes or less with the use of technology. Nothing really takes great commitment anymore, and because of this, we tend to believe that everything in life should come easily, when that simply can’t, and shouldn’t, be the case. More than that, life can easily become something of a merry-go-round for some folks. They wake up, go to work, make barely enough for their family to survive, and go home. Because their life is so hand to mouth, they don’t dare take steps to change things fearing that they will lose it all if they do.

Making dreams come true is something like losing weight, in that it takes time, commitment and effort, but I do believe it’s entirely possible. That said it’s high time I put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. I’m going to be taking a good, hard look at that analysis I’m working on, and forcing it into three separate columns: a)things I like about my life today b)things I don’t like about my life today c)if I could wave a magic wand, what would I change about my life today? One of the easiest things for me to isolate when I look at that list is the single parenting thing. I don’t want to be alone anymore; however I’m terrified of bringing the wrong person into my baby’s life. On the other hand, I miss sex so much it hurts, and there are days where I would really love for someone to ask me how my day ways, or compliment me on a meal I cooked them.

Clearly, the thing I would change is my single-ness, and if I could wave a magic wand, I would manufacture a sensitive, loving, compassionate and sexy man who would hold me when I cried, help me when my body hurts, make love so well it would damn near heal me, and be the father little one has always wanted. So, the million dollar question is, how the hell do I get from here, Single Town: Population: me, to there Happily Married Town, Population: fantasy me and fantasy husband? There’s a whole lot of thinking that’s going to have to go into this one, so I’m going to off and get that done. I’ll post what I’ve come up with tomorrow. In the meantime, “Internet”, I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on how to meet nice men, and how to ensure that I’m the type of woman that will attract the really nice men, instead of the men who are only nice until they manage to get into your pants and wallet...

Post 4 of 30, AKA: I'm SIIIIICK!!

I have my daughter’s flu bug. I feel like shit, and all I want to do is sleep. This, of course, is what inevitably happens when I do stupid things like signing up to update my blog everyday for a month. Meh.

Post Three of Thirty, AKA: What Dreams May Come?

When I was fifteen years old, I was kicked out of the house and left to bounce around through a total of 26 foster homes. The unstable nature of my life left me skittish, especially given I had no control over whether I was going to stay or go in any one given place. My inability to put down physical roots led me to manufacture emotional ones via my dreams and fantasies. I created myself an imaginary boyfriend who would hold me close on those nights when the dark closed in around me and threatened to pull me in. He was extremely athletic, compassionate, gentle and intelligent. When I didn’t know how to deal with the adult situations my lifestyle demanded, despite my young age, he was always able to lead me in the right direction. Most importantly, no matter what I did, or how I did it, my imaginary boyfriend never gave up on me, never stopped loving me, and seemed to think I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

Looking back on it now, I doubt very much if I would be here today if it weren’t for him. That may seem high praise to give to a product of my imagination, but I fear it’s very true. When you’re fifteen years old, have been kicked out of the house, and are now finding that no foster home will keep you more than a couple of months, you can start to feel like the most unloved person on the planet. My imaginary boyfriend prevented that feeling of being unwanted from becoming a primary focus, and it’s possible that in so doing, he actually also saved my life. That’s a formidable feat for a figment of my imagination to accomplish, and I believe it’s also a strong testament to the true power of our dreams.

When we’re children, we believe anything is possible. Ask any little one what they are going to be when they grow up, and you’ll get answers like “famous singer”, “movie star”, and “astronaut.” If you venture into your average University class, however, a place where each and every individual in attendance is supposedly there to pursue their ultimate career goal, you’ll find the answers are far less ambitious. Things like “I’m just tying to get through my internship”, or “If I can manage to turn this paper in on time, I’ll be so sleep deprived, I won’t be able to go into work until late into the 23rd century,” are far more likely to be offered as answers to your question. Why? Because we are taught to kill dreams with “realism”, and in so doing, we forget we ever possessed the ability to really dream in the first place.

I know for myself, I’ve allowed circumstances to convince me some of my most sacred dreams would never be. The truth is, however, that nothing is impossible until you believe it to be impossible. Providing I’m still willing to believe I can make my dreams a reality, the possibility exists that I can absolutely do just that. In order to prove to myself that this theory of mine does hold true, I’m going to spend the next year plus achieving every dream I can make happen. At the end of the year plus, I will pull together a list of all the dreams I made into a reality as my own personal proof that any dream you believe truly is yours to achieve.

And yes, I know it sounds sappy. Sometimes, I need to be sappy. Get over it. Or I’ll come over to your house and beat you up with my dream list.

Post Two of Thirty, AKA: Piles & Piles of Puke

Last night proved to be rather more exciting than I had originally hoped. I was downstairs clearing up before heading to bed for the night when suddenly, a thoroughly unpleasant wet and squelchy sound filled the air. It was a sound all mothers are unwillingly incredibly familiar with, a sound that fills maternal hearts with black dread…the unique splattering noise that can only be produced by a child’s vomit hitting freshly washed floors and walls. I raced up the stairs, laundry and kitchen mess temporarily forgotten. Puddin’ was hunched over the toilet, which provided me with a rather foolish false sense of security in thinking the noise I’d heard was actually vomit hitting porcelain. Striding confidently into the bathroom to aid my ailing princess, I suddenly slipped on something far too warm and chunky to be anything but that which I fear most.

Single parenting only fully reveals its joys when your child falls ill. Not only do you become the sole cleaner of vomit (regardless how many times doing so is going to make you get sick yourself) you are also elected doctor on call, nurse on staff, maid on duty and cook on demand. After spending the entire night awake, rubbing a little one’s back while she empties the last three sips of water she drank into the toilet, you are fully expected to be up with the sun to wait upon your wee patient hand and foot. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my daughter so much it hurts; somehow, however, I can’t muster that same sense of adoration for either her vomit or her diarrhea.

At the end of the day, I phoned the school to discuss with them possible causes for this sudden illness. I don’t really know what made me do it, beyond that Sally and I had been discussing the possibility that it could possibly have been an allergic reaction. Whatever prompted the call, I’m grateful because as it turns out, nearly thirty children experienced the same vomiting/ diarrhea/ fever my little dumpling has. Understandably, this concerned the school to the degree that they contacted the public health authority and had them come down to investigate. Though the officials involved had not yet discerned the cause of the illness at the time I spoke to the school, I was told that my daughter, along with all of the other children currently ill with this, was to be considered under quarantine. The timeframe for the quarantine is to be 48 hours after the last incident of vomiting. At the time, I imagined that would mean she would be released from quarantine on Saturday as she'd last upchucked early this morning. I further assumed I could sneak out of the house for a brief visit and perhaps a vodka orange with my neighbour on Saturday.

In thinking in this manner, I broke one of the fundamental laws of parenthood. You all know the one: Don’t ever make plans based upon your child’s illness, particularly if those plans involve you being able to enjoy yourself after a certain time period. Children hear plans of this nature, and will instantly instruct every molecule within their beings to revolt in order to ensure said plans are duly foiled. This is their job; just as scolding them for inserting their fingers into their nostrils will be forever ours.

I had no sooner envisioned myself sipping my delightful vodka orange on Saturday than I heard a moaning type noise escaping from the upstairs bath. There sat Puddin’, a puke bowl in her lap and her blue eyes enormous as she sat on the toilet looking miserable. “I don’t feel good, Mama.” The words came out in a rush. When, nanoseconds later, projectile vomit landed firmly upon my feet, I understood what those words were fleeing from. The 48 hour countdown has thus begun anew, as has my effort to cast the invasive smell of vomit from our abode. Meanwhile, I am still working on my list of possible reasons for elderly gentlemen to offer me Halloween candy, so keep your guesses coming. (Which I’m really only saying to one person, as she seems to be the only individual reading/responding to any of my posts. Due to my preference for deluding myself into believing I am rich and famous however, Lisa, you henceforth shall be referred to as "all of you." Other names you may go by include “all my loyal fans”, “my dear readers” and “the internet.” Please feel free to alter your driver’s license accordingly.)

The November saga...Post 1 of 30

Right, so here we are on November 1st, 2006! Due to the fact I’ve gone completely crazy and signed myself up for NamBloPoMo, I’m posting every day this month even if my arms fall off and I’m forced to type with my teeth. (Yes, I’m well aware that is quite a commitment, and I’m even more aware of the fact that I suck sweaty goat balls {TradeMark:www.dooce.com} at sticking to anything; however I’m determined to turn over a new leaf in life by doing this one thing.)

So, last night was Halloween, and after my rant the other day expressing my hate for all things Halloween, I feel rather guilty and sheepish admitting this but…er…I had a perfectly lovely time. In my defense, the only reason we had such fun was because we opted to go with my best friend and her wee one. Best friends make even the dreariest of chores lighter and filled with a lot more laughter. Thank you, best friend of mine, for redeeming the once hated All Hallows Eve for me; quite simply, you rock my socks.

The evening began with my best friend and her two year old arriving, and us walking them about the area. During this walk-about, something occurred that I’m afraid I’m at a loss to interpret. We arrived at a lovely little house on the corner, and the two little ones went on up the steps to trick or treat their dear hearts out. An elderly gentleman answered the door, cheerfully handed the kids their candy, and then proceeded to get something of a gleam in his eye as he looked over their heads at Sally and I.

“What about that little one down there?” He inquired, smiling at me. Suddenly, I was in rather a predicament. Was this eighty year old man suffering the beginnings of dementia, or did I seriously look as though I was a ten year old dressing up as a disabled mother?

“Oh, I’m a mother…” I stammered. “I don’t need any thing…” At this point, I honestly didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. In either case, the man in front of me was eighty,so I felt uncertain about engaging my ‘slap them until they fall down twitching then run’ technique.

The elderly gentleman was not to be swayed from his mission. “No, I’ve got something here just for you.” He disappeared into his house for a moment, returning a few moments later with what I believe was a bundle of suckers, and handed them to me leaving me no option other than to mumble a humble “thank-you” and accept them. In order to do this, he had to descend a fair number of stairs, as I can’t climb icy stairs in crutches without rather unfortunate results. The mere fact he actually did this proves that man desperately wanted me to have that candy. The question that lingers in the wake of this event is; of course, why the fuck did that elderly gentleman insist upon giving me a bundle of suckers?

I am asking you, dear internet, to aid me in solving the sucker bundle mystery. Please post your thoughts in the comments below. For my part, I shall construct a list of possible motives, which I will post tomorrow. Until then, be good to yourselves and don’t forget to eat lots of your children’s Halloween candy. It’s not really stealing; it’s just saving their teeth and worrying about their health…who could possibly blame you for that?