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.