I've been trying to finish reading this particular manuscript for nearly a week now... it's on the short side (only 180 pages), but it's just not. holding. my. interest. I feel like I need to turn in the completed press release tomorrow, but I cannot complete said release until I finish the damned book. It's been open on my laptop all evening; instead of reading this lovely tome, I've trolled oDesk for jobs, played Scrabble, read blogs, watched a movie on FX, considered showering, thought of snack options, decided I was too lazy to shower OR snack, congratulated myself on the latter, plotted what time I'd need to get up in the morning to get showered, wondered if I could get away without it for the morning, told myself ten times that I should really go to bed, researched pancake recipes for the cooking challenge (a sidenote: I've made THREE kinds of pancakes for the effing cooking challenge in the last couple of years, and now they've chosen pancakes for this month's challenge. Can I just refer everyone to my previous entries???), found a good recipe for a brunch I've been invited to in a month, made a grocery list in my head, considered getting up to get my phone to put the list somewhere that I could actually use it, rejected the notion of getting up from the couch, made a mental note to start the dryer again, and blogged. Looking at that list, I feel slightly more productive than I actually was. Jay and Natalie have been asleep for hours. I should join them. Especially if I plan to shower in the morning.

I've been hard at work putting together my own personal literary sweatshop (tm my friend Seth-- I love the phrase, and it perfectly describes my pay). I've cobbled together three or four semi-regular things, and I'm writing bits and pieces on the side. I've enjoyed this tremendously. However, my study time for the CCA exam has been DRASTICALLY reduced as I commit myself to write more. I've intended to study the last couple of mornings, but instead I found myself pounding out five articles on the topic of personal finance (250 words per article, at 2 cents a word-- yes, that is TWO CENTS, as in two pennies) instead of boning up on the art of medical coding. I've decided to view this time of low-paying work as an internship of sorts. I'm becoming familiar with the rhythm of copy writing, and I'm learning how to write about pretty much anything thrown at me. Above all, it's fun. This evening, as Jay and Natalie played on the Wii, I wrote 500 words about the difference between antihistamines and decongestants. It was fabulous. I felt such a sense of accomplishment for 45 minutes of work, a sense of accomplishment that has been gone from my day-to-day life for the last few years. Being a mom is tremendous, the best thing I've done, but you don't get a lot of positive feedback. I'd love to have a formal performance review once a year. When Nan was small, that's how I viewed visits to the pediatrician... when she grew, I felt like I'd gotten a great review. Dr. O had no idea how much my self-esteem depended on her casual, "Looks good, mom!" As the kid gets bigger and ventures out into the world on her own, I have to find something else to give me that feeling. This might be it.

So today was the big kindergarten roundup... and, honestly, it was kind of a let-down. It was just a bunch of paperwork. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I guess I was expecting more. (Lassos? Horses? The roundup terminology is confusing...) We get to go back in mid-April in the evening, so she can get a look at the classroom and we can get a crack at the teachers. I /did/ manage to grab the PTO materials, and I've been trying to decide how I can be of service there. Nan did a beautiful job, waiting quietly for me to finish the eighteen tons of paperwork. She made a friend over by the pile of My Little Ponies, though (of course) she couldn't tell me her name twenty minutes later. That's her father-- I remember everyone in my third grade class. I'm lucky Jay remembers MY name.

Tonight, Nan and I discussed the sibling issue for the first time. Specifically, her lack of siblings. She was sharing the details of her future with me at bedtime, and she said she planned to have at LEAST two children, maybe more. Because the kids might get lonely. Tenatively, I asked her if SHE ever wished she had a brother or sister. "Yeesssss..." she said, eying me with hope. I explained that she was the only kid in our family, and that was how it was going to stay. "Why?" Hmm. How much information is TOO much for five? "Uh, well, Mommy and Daddy had a really tough time getting you, and because of Mommy's health problems, we decided to stick to one kid." "What are health problems?" Oy. "You know how Mommy has arthritis? Stuff like that." I doubt the kid would understand "minimally invasive hysterectomy". She seemed content with the explanation, and we discussed the many pros to being the only kid in the house. But she still plans to have many children. And if they want a dog? "Heck YEAH I'll get them a dog." I'm duly chastened.

My kid is five, and this is the first time daylight savings has actually disrupted her sleep. She's been staying up at least an hour past her usual bedtime, and it's about to kill me. KILL ME DEAD. And I, in turn, am ready to kill the genius who thought up daylight savings DEAD. I don't care if he's dead already. I'll get 'im again. This simply highlights the fact that I have made a wise choice in stopping at one kid, a kid who was an excellent sleeper at that. I HATE disruption to the master schedule. Luckily, Nan usually hates it, too. I assume this will be short lived. I assume she'll be asleep before 10pm sometime in the near-ish future.
Anyway. Nan has recently discovered a deep love of chocolate-chip bagels. I find this to be delightful. Personally, and I know this is sacrilege, but I prefer bagels to doughnuts. Shh. Don't tell my husband. He and Nan have a tradition of doughnuts on Saturdays, and I would love to sway her to bagels.

This is the time of year I dread... show choir season. My husband directs the band that accompanies the show choir, thus my husband accompanies the band that accompanies the show choir on alllll the trips to the various competitions the group attends-- most of them are in the state, but they've got a few that become overnight trips. And if the choir actually makes it to the finals of the competition? They might not make it home until the wee hours of the next day. I know, deep down, it's wrong to hope they don't make it... and yet. It's nice when he's home before 10pm. On top of the lost weekends, we also have the weeknight rehearsals. And the hours of arranging he does before the rehearsals begin. I'm glad my husband loves his job; he's one of the few people I know who genuinely enjoys going to work every day. He loves working with kids, and he loves, as he says, "being paid to play the guitar all day". But it's ROUGH on me, and rough on the kid. She misses her dad. They've got one more competition to go. We can make it.
In other news, my kid will be a kindergartner as of Thursday. We head to her elementary school for Kindergarten Roundup. She's excited, with good reason. We drive past the school on a regular basis so she can gaze at it with longing-- she cannot WAIT to go to big kid school. I cannot believe my baby's going to be riding a school bus in the fall. She's small! It's big! I'm lame.

We've been trapped in our house since Monday evening, and I don't forsee gaining our freedom anytime soon. The ice! Oh, woe, the ice... it started Monday evening, just as Nan and I were heading to her gymnastics class, and it turned into several inches of ice covered by a thin layer of snow by Tuesday morning. Blergh. We've had two "pajama" days, and today Jay mustered up his courage and tackled the driveway in case he has to go to work tomorrow. After hours of work, he managed to chip half of the driveway clear, and just as he declared himself finished for the day the school system called to alert him to tomorrow's closing. Tomorrow is Miss Nan's fifth birthday, so we're kind of glad to have him home... Nan in particular is THRILLED she can open her presents first thing in the morning rather than waiting for Daddy to come home from work. We hope to go out for a celebratory dinner tomorrow night, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to send Jay out again tomorrow, despite the frigid temps. Another benefit of Jay's continued presence is the fact that we have yet ANOTHER leak in a hot water pipe in our bathroom, so he is able to turn the hot water off when it's not in use throughout the day. Sigh. I'm tired of the endless problems with our plumbing, but moving is not an option at this time. Fortunately, I can call our ol' pal Santa the Plumber, and I hope we can get the problem resolved before my surgery next week. Jay fears it's in the bathroom floor, but I will remain hopeful that it's accessible through the hole in the closet. (The fact that we HAVE a hole in the closet that can access the plumbing is a bit disheartening... but I will ignore that for now.)
It's hard to believe that my girl will be five tomorrow. Five years sounds like such a long time, but it feels like she was born just a few days ago. She's quite amazing, and I'm so proud of my big kid. We have a party scheduled at a local bounce place, and, provided we are able to dig ourselves out, we will be greeting much of her class there at 10am. I have plans to create "pupcakes", cute puppy cupcakes, and I'm considering making some bone-shaped sugar cookies to go in the kids' goody bags. We'll see how motivated I feel tomorrow. Nan is beyond excited-- she can't wait to play with all her friends. I'm ready to see all of my planning come to fruition. It's been on my mind for months, and I'm kind of ready for it to be finished, with a happy and exhausted kid.

This has been kind of a weird week. For starters, we were awaiting news of my dad's medical condition. He called me last Friday to tell me he was heading to the hospital with unendurable pain, and he couldn't reach my mom on her cell phone (duh-- she's a teacher-- she doesn't leave the phone on during school hours), and he thought SOMEBODY should be informed of his movements. I offered to pick him up, but was rebuffed. After I hung up with him, I called Mom's school and spoke to her, letting her know where he was an that he expected her to join him ASAP. She sighed, and promptly found a sub. I picked Nan up from school and waited for news. Turned out it wasn't a kidney stone as he suspected, but instead a mystery illness. The staff at the hospital sent him home with vicodin and instructions to make an appointment with his GP for Monday morning. He was miserable all day Saturday, and Sunday morning my mom called and instructed us to stay home that evening--"Dad's a mess, and you don't wanna be here" was the exact quote. But, he improved as the day went on, and he went to work without incident on Monday. He saw his doctor on Tuesday, and they suspect it's a gallbladder issue. When he feels the slightest twinge in his back, he's to call the doctor immediately and they'll test him right away. We were fearing that he'd need surgery this week, but it seems that he's okay for the present. Because I am a horrible, terrible, no-good very bad daughter, my first thought was, "Shit. We've scheduled Nan's birthday party for Sunday the 30th. If Dad has surgery this week, we won't be able to have the party at their house." And I immediately launched into Plan B mode-- what will need to be done to change the party to the next weekend, how much will the SuperBowl effect our plans, etc. But, it appears that all is well. Unless he has a crazy relapse in the next 24 hours or so (knocking wood furiously), it should be fine. My new fear is that Dad and I will have to have surgery on the same day, and my mom will be forced into a horrible 'Sophie's Choice'-esque dilemma, as she's supposed to take care of Nan while I'm in the hospital. I /always/ have something to worry about. I did get to go to Muncie on Wednesday, to the weekly Girl's Night Out meeting with my sister and some friends. It was awesome, and it reiterated how much I wish I lived there. It would be amazing to be able to go there weekly, and talk and laugh with those girls. My FACE hurt from laughing so much. I cannot remember the last time that happened. It needs to happen a little more often.

Today is Thursday, which means Pajama Day at our house. It's the only day that Nan's not in school, and, unless there's an ill-planned appointment, we stay HOME. We stay home and we stay in our pajamas, or, in Nan's case, in the costume of our choice. She's currently wearing a leotard, footless tights, and snow boots. She looks fabulous. She's curled up on the couch, under her tinkerbell blanket, absorbing Elmo with great intensity as she rocks her baby du jour. Today's baby is the stuffed My Little Pony, Sweetie Belle. As my friend said, "How on EARTH do you sleep with that thing in the house? It looks positively EVIL." She's not wrong. It's a creepy looking thing with anime eyes who pretends to suck a pacifier (complete with kind of yucky sucking noises) and constantly professes her love for her "mommy". Nan has refused to be her mommy-- she claims this hellspawn is mine. They're simply sisters. "Sister" is her highest commendation-- if she pretends you are her sister, you are a special person to her. My mom is the most frequent recipient of this largesse, but my cousin was deemed worthy the other day. Times like that I feel a little twinge of guilt that she doesn't HAVE a real sister, but then I see how she treats her "sisters", and I realize that it's probably for the best. She can be rather dictatorial. She'd need to have a MUCH younger sister-- someone who wouldn't balk at her bossiness. I'm quite certain my sister has a lot to say on that subject-- Nan didn't get this from nowhere. I nearly ended a playdate early yesterday because Nan was FREAKING OUT about the way her friend was playing--it wasn't as she'd planned it, and a meltdown ensued. Part of it was due to Nan's extreme exhaustion (poor sleep the night before + no nap= crabby child), but part of it was control freakiness to the twelfth degree. Sorry, kid. I took her aside and spoke to her for awhile, and eventually the girls were playing nicely again. Nan and her friend, B., generally play very well together. They're both only children, so B.'s mom and I like them to get together and learn to share on a regular basis. Sometimes it's successful, sometimes not so much. I have learned that I have a very limited capacity for noise and mess-- perhaps it's best that I have only one kid. A couple of hours of chaos are more than I can handle. I spend my time following the children in a fruitless attempt to pick up the toys in their wake, and I end up crabby and bedraggled. Usually, I make cookies in an attempt to stop myself from bothering the children, and that works for awhile. Plus, I feel all June Cleaver-esque serving the children warm cookies and milk. And that's a good feeling, for a little while.

As I get older, I find myself enjoying spicier food. Is it my tastebuds deadening? Have I always had a taste for the spicy, but I feared it? I dunno. All I know is I rendered a perfectly lovely pot of spaghetti carbonara inedible for the kid when I got too crazy with the red pepper. I thought it was yummy, but she claimed it "made her tongue hurt" and wiped her tongue with her napkin after the few bites she tried. Ah, well. More for us. Tonight, I made a CRAZY hot pot of jambalaya, with super spicy andouille sausage and enough Creole seasoning to choke a cow. Small girl ate a tuna sandwich-- I didn't even try to get her to eat it. Since I've had the stress fracture in my left foot, dinner has been more utilitarian, and we've been eating in the living room. As I heal, I'm able to stand in the kitchen for longer stretches and thus our meals have improved. If I were smart, I'd start freezing food for next month. After years of "issues", my ob/gyn and I have decided it's time for the ol' uterus to go. I am fortunate that my doctor is among those surgeons who are trained to perform the minimally-invasive version of the procedure, and thus the recovery time will be more than halved, but it's still surgery. There will be a week or so when I won't be up for cooking. And tuna casserole will lose it's appeal after a few nights, I imagine-- tuna casserole is the extent of Jay's cooking talents. Don't get me wrong, it's damn fine tuna casserole. But still.
As I type, I'm listening to my poor kid hack her lungs up. I'm hoping it will subside soon, but it doesn't sound good. I called the doctor today, and they suggested over-the-counter cough syrup. Duh. I'm not new-- I've tried that already-- and it hasn't been effective. They said call tomorrow if she's still having issues. So I get a sleepless night and a cranky kid tomorrow because they were hesitant to call in a cough syrup that would help her sleep? Whatev. I'm usually really happy with our pediatrician's office, we're usually very much on the same page, but I really wish they'd listened to me today. Not looking forward to the night.

I've had a very relaxing weekend... it was necessary, for me and for the kid. She's been stuffy and sneezy since before Christmas (and the sneeziness wasn't improved by our stay at Casa del Cat over the holidays), and I finally submitted and took her to the pediatrician. Our beloved Dr. O found that the child had a double ear infection, and general malaise. Mom of the year, right here. She wasn't running a fever, and she didn't complain, so it never occurred to me that the snot might have migrated to her ears. Ah, well-- she's on antibiotics (again), and a couple of days of rest have restored her to her former self. With occasional symphonic sneezes. Now, she's playing an elaborate game with her stuffed animals-- some are bad guys, and are being jailed in her play kitchen, specifically in the stove. She's tossed whole families of animals into her "jail" for crimes as vague as, "Umm... they were going to steal some of my stuff." Now, the jail is morphing into a more desirable place to be-- the animals are lining up to leap into the stove. Wait-- no-- now it's a bathroom. All the "kids" have to go potty. It's hard to keep up. I love to listen to her play, especially when she's not aware I'm listening. It's fascinating, and endlessly entertaining. I get a pretty good sense of what she hears at school, and I also get a reflection of how I speak to her. Usually, I'm pretty happy with it. Sometimes, I cringe, and make mental notes to stop using a specific phrase or tone. Okay. I have three loads of laundry to fold, and another load in the dryer. Relaxation time is over. Back to work.

The plumber arrived, just after the kid went down for her nap. They poked and prodded in the hole in the closet, and determined that the pipe wasn't accessible by the pre-dug hole, so they decided to come back the next day to dig anew. In the meantime, I was charged with the task of emptying the closet to give them space to dig. My mother had planned to visit in the evening, so I put her to work, and between Mom, Nan and myself we managed to get the closet cleared very quickly. I decided to go ahead and clear the space by the outer wall of the closet-- the part of the living room where Nan has her craft table. This was a bigger job. I was able to sort and toss the unnecessary stuff, and put the stuff she really loves in a more accessible spot. It took a little time, but it was nice to get it done. When the guys arrived this morning, they feared they would have to yank the vanity and knock a hole in the wall, so I set to work clearing the cabinets under the vanity. This took longer than I anticipated, and I unearthed crap that I forgot existed. Crap that should've been tossed years ago, so I decided to look upon this as an opportunity to purge. Fortunately, the guys determined that they wouldn't need to get all destruct-y in my bathroom, and they were able to access the pipe through the NEW hole in our closet. Our closet floor is looking rather like swiss cheese these days. Both the guys recommended that we put our house on the market-- easier said than done, friends. Do y'all want to come and replace our carpet, put in new molding, repaint the living room and the bedroom? If so, c'mon over and take care of it! We'd welcome you with open arms! Oh-- and also? Fill the holes in the closet while you're at it...

I'm at a bit of a crossroads. I've finished my medical billing and coding classes-- almost two years after beginning, it took about a year longer than anticipated-- and now I am awaiting the membership paperwork to AHIMA, the association that administers the certification exam for coders. When the membership comes through, I will get a discount on the exam and the study materials. In the meantime, I've been flipping through my dusty coding books and panicking. When I'm not doing that, I'm trolling the medical coding jobs on CareerBuilder and panicking. I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't be able to find a job, and if I do find a job, I'm afraid I won't be able to work from home, and if I DO find a work from home job, I'm afraid I won't do it well. I find myself drifting toward the safe, familiar accounting jobs. I find myself contemplating part-time receptionist work. All these choices loom, and it's scary. Nan goes to kindergarten in the fall. She'll be leaving the safe harbor of her familiar preschool and jumping into the big-kid school. I know she'll be great-- she's excited, and she makes friends easily-- but the prospect of my baby being thrust into this big building induces anxiety in me. I cannot imagine her boarding a school bus-- they're so big! She's so small! I have about eight months to really work myself up into a frenzy about this.
In the meantime, there are other worries. We are awaiting the arrival of the plumber. Our plumber is lovely. He looks like Santa Claus, and is just as friendly. He's been coming to our aid since we had our first big leak in our slab, when I was very pregnant with the girl. He's reasonably priced, and generally reliable. However, I have just learned from his equally lovely wife that he was called away on an emergency. A more significant emergency than my wet closet. Sigh.