Coming up: Returns of returns of returns. With final smashing of breaks and retching of nephews, the grand Bellingham Stage of Falconer Vacation comes to an end. I-5 determines to foil the flight of our little companions. Will Gramma Pam and google maps speed them ever on their way to Antarctica/Mars? Or will they be doomed to roam the side streets of Everett for all eternity?? Auntie Adella officially declares naptime, and our DINK comes leaping out, then tumbling down? Will fitness manage to put the final quietus on our "healthy" hapless heroine? Will she ever find a comfortable sleeping arrangement between the ache in her side, the twitch in her husband, and the implacable fussiness of perfect bedroom climate control?? Looby lady pills and orange barracudas get new playmates and perfectly pitched pill-regimens are toppled all turvy. Will new pills bring new perfect schedules? Will stickers be golden or silver? And Englettlaw licks its maws after a months' starvation. Will Associate Adella and Mom-Boss rise to the occasion or be eaten in the neglected August emergency slush and ash?
Prepare the bandages, ice your wounds, and pick up a box of donuts before joining us to find the answers below...
Return to Tiny Sphynx Cat Casa Of Olympian Ichor, Climate Wars and a side of stabbing ouchie
I have ventured to the Wolf's lair and emerged only psychically scathed (more than can be said for my return to DINKdom, but we'll get to that later). A buzzing breakfast buffet, one last splash around the water park, an emergency poop operation (successful), and one final splash in the bath and we were on our way. Into traffic! And boy was there plenty of it. Ian was stalwart in surviving a good two hours in the back of our car with no functioning kindle or dvd player. Thank god we stopped for lunch eventually so he could get the other kindle. Also, I have now sort of heard The Nut Job, even if I have no idea what the heck was goin' on beyond good old fashioned shenanigans and moral lessons about the rule of law for small rodents.
And today, the whole brood is off to Chicago. They never actually go home. Falconer trips are truly epic. I believe after visiting Ryan's family and their old haunting grounds, they will then be off to either Mars or Antarctica. Whichever one has the better theme park. It took some wheeling dealing and engineering innovation to shove the luggage into the trunk, but somehow we managed. The boys started off in good enough moods, but were cavilling cavalierly by the time seatbelts on signs lit up. I'm sure that the drive and subsequent ride will be a delight for all involved!
And like that I'm a DINK again. Well maybe after I rinse the lemonade and Mike&Ike hair treatment out and dust the remaining cinnamon toast residue off my pants. But we're back into childless territory with a great wham and slam.
Yesterday morning, Andrew and I again arose next to each other, but with the twist that we were in our familiar little bedroom. Breakfast was another buffet, but the placid climes of Old Country with my fairly sedate (if rapaciously ravenous) Papa T. This was kind of the penultimate birthday hurrah "meal out" with bonus socks to be displayed in future exhibits! Andrew talked about his ridiculous race around Capitol Forest and ate roughly five breakfasts to refuel. I drank roughly twenty cups of decaf, which brought about a sufficient buzz. And with hugs, we departed off to our abridged weekend routine.
First off, a run! I also took a quick run on Thursday before heading out. This is promising. Two runs in one week and they're starting to feel pretty good. Mostly. Good news, the injury to my arch is slowly adapting. I don't feel any pain from my Thursday and Sunday lopes around Padden. More good news: the pain in my pectoral from pilates seems to have subsided (no heart attack required!).
The inevitable stinger: Ok, I took a total spill on the trail, during I which scratched up my right side a decent amount and - wait for it - have once again pulled my the ornery intercostal that I originally pulled trying to breakdance and then subsequently re-pulled trying to mountain bike. So much for my theoretical grand return to pilates today! Physical fitness is maybe not really all that good for your health I sometimes think! At least when you're kind of clumsy and not an unbreakable pre-teen.
After our run and a grocery kicker, Andrew went off on a post-bike-race-bike-ride and I had a final hurrah with the family before coming home and even managing to start a few of the usual weekend chores.
Toddler triage abandoned it was time for a return to our own portentous problems: the absolutely perfectly pleasant climate control settings for our bedroom. Naturally, I am particular about my sleeping climate. I prefer slightly cold with warm slippers on my feet and a hefty blanket for snuggling. I'm willing to negotiate on this one for the summer months but only begrudgingly and only because I'm also plagued with a miserly eco-guilty bent. In winter, I may sleep with the electric slippers on and I'll definitely have the heated mattress pad.
The old bike-and-chain, it turns out, actually has specific preferences as well. I swear, I used to think Andrew was completely immune to nocturnal discomfort. His old cave in Seattle was a stagnating swamp in the summer and a hibernal hell in the winter. He slept on a crotchety twin bed with missing slats and a mattress reminiscent of camp with only a top sheet and a threadbare comforter many years beyond comfort. And he slept! In the same pjs throughout the year.
Eventually, I learned he gets hot sometimes. Like when he stayed at my drafty condo, he didn't seem to appreciate the extra fluff of my old down comforter and incalescent heating pads. By which I mean, I'd wake up next to a sweaty irritable-looking shirtless boyfriend entirely on top of the sheets and thrashing. Similar issues in my next two residences.
Then we moved to our current place. The stuffiest bedroom conceivable to my sensibilities. At this juncture the open windows and assisting fans were way too breezy and he got cold. I can't deny this one, though. It was a bit of a airplane hanger, and apparently he actually didn't like the sensation of "sleeping outside on a cliff-bluff in Oregon" (whoops, forgot he didn't like camping).
So we moved our bedroom around to take him off the bluff and bought an air conditioning unit. When we first got it, it sounded like the exact settings were up to me, and I should choose what was comfortable for me, because he was comfortable in warmer rooms than me. And his main priority was not being wind-swept into the abyss in the middle of the night.
Turns out, he's found himself waking up in a torrid sweaty humid blecky mess in the middle of the night. He has subsequently appraised himself of air conditioning usage. Being me, I turned this all into a conversation about how we could discover our mutually optimal settings and collaborate so as not to be undermining each other in a silent battle of settings in the middle of the night.
Not sure this really gels with Andrew's "if I'm uncomfortable in the middle of the night I'll either be a man and suffer stoically or be a man and take steps to fix it," but we try. The experiment yesterday was to turn the a/c down lower. He thought he'd turned it to 70. I had turned it to 69 after that. We also tried the fan on the middle setting, which he turned to low in the middle of the night. Not saying they're related, but I did wake up in the middle of the night feeling overheated and needed to throw the blanket off myself and disrobe by a few levels.
As of this morning, he claims this was a good setting, but then again he spent the entire evening tossing and turning (to the plaintive chorus of tired uxorial sighs at each jarring toss), so I'm not sure it was a fair test. I'm also fairly convinced that when the temperatures hit a certain level in the evening, it is better to open the windows back up and switch to fan, but it's really hard to pinpoint exactly when this is.
Oh how hard it is to be a DINK! The things we put ourselves through!
While the kiddos speed to Seatac, and the hubby groggily finishes up testing with nary a Screwpocalypse in sight (knock on wood, but his work project seems to be finally coming together), I'm back at the office in a dreary daze. My life has been waiting for me, it appears, but I think I'll ask it to hold off for a few more hours anyways. The monkeys and I would like to gather some wool and stuff it into our heavily contemplated navels, if possible.
May all your Mondays be Merrily Madcap and full of Monkey-business!
Kickin' Back (Into Associate Hyperdrive) The Feverish Falconer Dallas Delerium, and Workdays Looming
The wolf may have left its prey undigested, but there are plenty of neglected work demons licking their lusty maws and waiting to pounce now that family is gone. Is family gone? Just barely! As apparently is now par for the course for any air travel and/or drive through Seattle, it was ACTION PACKED. Accidents to the left of them, vomit to the right... and a reschedule/late plane/minor apocalypse/etc, with a dalliance in Everett of all places.
Being at the office, I only got the slightly panic-soaked text messages requesting that I continue watching google maps to ascertain where the accidents were and what the time estimates were. Not entirely sure why but somehow maps wasn't quite cooperating on the in-car phone, so I got the zesty and delightful request to tell them how to get back on the freeway from Highway Something Or Other Of No Return. Anyways, I threw a bunch of speculation (having no clear sense of where they actually were) at the chat window and suggested there were later flights, since they were not prolly gonna make their planes all considered.
Apparently they ignored my unhelpful suggestions and found their own way back to Seatac with minutes to spare... in somebody else's context of time. Alaska offloaded them to American. And off the family went to Dallas, where a connecting flight and some additional upchucking children awaited them. Last I heard, they all survived, and are now in Chicago visiting Ryan's side of the family.
According to Braden, this part of the trip is WAY better than the Bellingham portion. If only we were out to please exclusively him, I'd rejoice at this declaration, it basically being a pass not to even try (and oh lord do we try) to amuse or entertain him, since apparently the real path to a four year old's heart (other than being the land where his lifelong best friend lives) has to do with Daddy buying him donuts and grandparents making him freezer biscuits.
Donuts? That sounds a lot easier than the various excursions to children's play palaces, wave pools, arcades, and theme restaurants! Ah well. Nobody really tries to please the fickle but fabulous Bray-bray Jiggs (duh, he's the middle child anyways), so it's moot. And since I've seen some pretty happy moments from the kid during this trip, I can only take it as a testament to how freakin' awesome Daddy and those freezer biscuits really are. Life-changing, I bet. Which is funny because usually when Ryan brings the kids treats in the morning, they almost entirely ignore them.
Did I mention kids are fickle? Fickle as a pickle if pickles were fickle. You should hear the bitter sweet epithets thrown at mommy, the worst most beautiful most awful terrible wonderful mother in the world. Is it just me or are our totally unhealthy codependent relationships from those netherlands of late teens just practice for being parents?
Having ensured that our kin were well provided for, Gramma Pam sped back in a race against all clocks to reach her 2:00 mediation. She made it with only a five minute deficit, though we did have to forestall the rental car return until later in the evening.
Needless to say, none of the other exigencies brewing were acknowledged, let alone addressed. I did manage to note them on the case status sheet and to set about the fairly daunting task of billing my mom's last week of "vacation" work. This involves trowling phone, email, and chat records over several days and checking against our billing records. Since she was consistently handling the crucial flow from Wednesday afternoon through Saturday, I had a fair bit to trudge through. And this does not count the 16 new messages in her inbox from yesterday!
Or the meeting with one of our clients who may not technically be in emergency, but who operates in panic mode regardless.
I, for my part, will have work assigned to me by the ton in a few hours, but currently all is pending. I have a free mediation/legal options consult coming up in an hour or so for which I'll need to round up paperwork. The real question, do I let on in advance that my clients have an uncanny knack for reconciling? Probably we'll just keep that my little secret for now. And between the pleasant meet and greet and the flurry of looming exigencies, I'll be back volunteering at the DRC. Except my new supervisor is on vacation for the next two weeks. My original supervisor's successor claimed he was going to think of things for me to do, but we'll see... I'm sorely tempted to write and say "hey no biggie if there's not much to do, as I'd love to just go home and take a nap while propped up gingerly in the only pillow configuration that doesn't hurt my intercostals!"
Oh yes, the joy of my little recurring intercostal annoyance is that it's pretty ok with being upright or sitting, but laying down hurts. Which makes sleeping... interesting. I may need to get more pillows tonight as my half solution last night left my neck a little sore.
It's gonna be a wild ride today, but don't hassle me: I'm on vacation from vacation (from vacation from vacation).
Hungry Hyper Happy Hippo-Thyroids Evolution of the Pill case
Now that the children are on their merry way and Aunt Adella has mostly receded into the booster seat inexplicably still lurking in her kia rio, the quest to max out that insurance deductible continues! Now that I'm with specialist^specialist, I've got all kinds of new excitement coming up. First off: new pills. How did the Girl Scout ditty go? Take new pills, and keep the old, one is silver and the other gold? Something like that.
New pills will beget new blood work to check on new pills, which may or may not spawn even newer and better pills. I've also got some other tests and blood work waiting to be done once old pills are finished with their last hurrah.
I had my old pills all figured out, but now... oh now there are more! And they come with their own drug/food interactions and specific instructions that turn my little twice a day pill regimen into a full on LSAT logic puzzle. Take the synthroid at least 4 hours but no less than twenty before and/or after the iron, but take the iron on a full stomach and in combination with the prenatal compound with the vitamin C that can be taken with the calcium but never with fermented yak's milk unless you are also taking the estradiol, which you should definitely take at a different time than the crushed beetle antlers which should only be consumed while slathered in holy pumpkin and during a full moon... something like that.
No, really I just added a small dose of synthroid, which I'm promised shuffles me down the road of ART excitement yet to come. I'm just barely "normal" but "normal" isn't good enough for somebody as fabulous as me, right? Anyways, it's supposed to be taken on an empty stomach, which is challenging because my dietary habits are sort of centered around constantly eating food from waking to sleeping. It also should be taken at least a few hours apart from any other vitamins or medications and at least four from calcium or iron, both of which I was previously taking in the morning. With a huge glass of milk and a fair bit of coffee and/or fiber, which may or may not be relevant in terms of dosages and absorption.
Anyways, I'm enjoying the puzzle aspect of it. I realized if I take it immediately upon rising, then I usually don't actually have breakfast for about forty-five minutes anyways. Of course if I start making lunches in the morning, I do munch on those, so it's easier to make lunch the night before (for several reasons, really, but to avoid the munching also). Then I can put off my previously titled "morning pills" until noon, and keep my evening pills the same. I skip my coffee, which is just fine because so far the psychosomatic and/or other type of side effect of this new regimen involved feeling pretty wired in the morning. Have a much smaller amount a few hours later in the morning. I hear that we're actually better served by coffee putting off the first cup until a few hours after we get up anyways, so my coffee flavored milk can wait.
But clearly, I need (1) a new pill case, (2) a compliance chart that I can fill in with stickers and/or gold stars. The pill case, because I've found that having a record of days helps override the usual "did I or didn't I do that automatic pill popping earlier and if I'm not sure should I risk over or under dosing myself today?" quandary.
The chart because I like charts and I like stickers. I used to have little achievement charts when I was taking piano. Lots of pretty sparkly stickers involved in those...
Anyways, after a bit of a dither yesterday, we are nearly caught up at the office and ready for things to start heating up and slipping away again over the impending Labor Day holiday. I'm thoroughly unaware of the fact that our trip is in less than three weeks. We did look at a guide book and like our itineraries. I speak um... English and we have a phrase book. I'm sure it'll all be fine. And that exploding Iceland thing is apparently not a problem according to several very assured scientists and desperate aviation industry representatives who think this is all totally different than 2010.
Plus I got a dehydrator for my birthday! As is my wont when I travel, probably 75% of my luggage will be devoted to foodstuffs. I suspect the durability and versatility of dried foods might actually enhance that portion of my luggage. Of course, I'll have to actually remove it from its packaging and utilize it to enjoy the benefits. Packing the dehydrator would probably not be an ideal solution.
And it's Wednesday!!! This is a pleasant surprise since yesterday had the panicked pallor of Monday for us.
Happy humpday all! May all your meds be consumed in responsible doses and your stickers gleam and glisten!
The De-Labored Pre-Labor Day Work Day
I guess we're not the only ones lodged between summer vacation frenzies and Labor Day last hurrahs: This day just doesn't wanna happen. Like I'm back in law school and TGIT (yes, we actually did break with business-school tradition and have classes on Fridays, but the traditional law school drinking started around mid-Thursday with a TGIT party in one of the classrooms), this sardine packed Thursday keeps reducing itself to a glaringly vacant calendar.
First they came for my mom's appointments: a client dropped a Protection Order hearing so no need to prepare, another client moved to next week, another call couldn't be handled until after speaking with the client.
And I said nothing because I still had a morning consult.
Then they came for her hearings: a presentation hearing had to be cancelled because - yet again - the wrong commissioner was assigned to this day. We did actually try to check this with the clerk before setting the hearing, but oh well.
And again I said nothing other than "grumble grumble" because I had my morning consult and a volunteer shift at the DRC in the afternoon.
And then, oh beautiful then, I came into work this morning to find a message from my putative morning consult. She believed she had an appointment with a - um - Adella Wright?? Anyways, she doesn't anymore. FREEDOM! It's like having your classes cancelled due to a prof no-show.
After a double-surge of frenetic productivity, the unexpected lull is a blessed relief that I may or may not have the energy to exploit for productive purposes. You know those days right after exams, where you are so mentally done that despite all those fantasies about "what I get to do when I'm no longer studying/writing/scrambling," you find yourself sitting still on a sofa for straight hours staring inscrutably into space as time laps over you like a gently incoming tide? That may be my morning. Or, I may go out and get some blood drawn! One can never predict!
Yesterday, despite all my reconciliation juju, I managed to get a client divorced. It only took them a decade or two (most of which, due to complications with prior attorneys, they were unaware that they were still married)! And, I may have hooked a couple into Collaborative Law. I've sent out the forms and I believe it when I see it, but it would be really exciting to work with them.
In far more important news, I discovered the secret of the ZERO and/or "AGENT" command. After Andrew's laboriously involved quest for the perfect phone and phone plan, I came to understand that (1) I just wasn't ready to switch to AT&T even if I could theoretically save money doing so (after having to buy a new phone anyways); (2) Given my data usage, I could save a decent amount of money (like half my bill) switching to a newer plan from Verizon; (3) Given my mom's non-existent data usage, she really really needed to switch as well.
Of course, the Verizon automated phone tree was absurd, and the internet didn't want to let me make that switch. But then Andrew revealed the magical back-door cheat code. If you just push zero a whole lot or ask for agent, you eventually get piped to a living person. And, in my case, that person was extremely helpful.
While Andrew's subsequent dalliance (with my phone on the unlimited talk and text single line plan I had switched to just in time for such telephonic tangos with the hold line) AT&T was fruitful, and his phone is now set up and his number transferred, I did note that he was on hold to some really awful music several times and was cut off and had to call again several more. So I may still be happy with Verizon for now, now that I know the secret of the zero.
Having accomplished these things already within the week and having given today a good sporting go at preparation only to have it flake out on me, I'm quite ready to celebrate Thursday old school. TGIT, I say! Bring on the leis and the grass skirts, because I declare it time to limbo.
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