In which I inundate you with photographs

I was considering writing this post in two parts so it looked like I sit down in front of my computer more often, but thought that possibly you all know me better, so it'll all be one rambling blaaaagh with a bunch of stuff all jammed together. You know. Like always.

Zoe and I went to Mt. Bonnell some time ago. I enticed her by asking, "Do you want to go have a muffin on a mountain?" Naturally, anything paired with a muffin is a guaranteed hit. "Do you want to go have a muffin and sit on an ant hill?"

I had no idea what Mt. Bonnell really was, except that I looked it up on the internet in a moment of sheer I'm-a-horrible-parent-who-can't-think-of-a-single-thing-to-do-today-except-maybe-watch-8-hours-of-mind-numbing-children's-programming panic. AHA, I thought. We can climb the 99 steps to the top of Mt. Bonnell. And what the heck! When we get there, let's REALLY go wild and have a muffin! So we went shopping for said muffins, and I was far more bummed than is usually considered normal to find that the crunchy-granola-tree-hugger organic grocery store that sells these obscenely delicious chocolate muffins had decided on that particular day to NOT. (Make the chocolate muffins.) I got a chocolate CHIP muffin instead. Honestly. The sacrifices I make. So there really are 99 freaking steps to the top of Mt. Bonnell, which Zoe took at mach 9. At the top, we were rewarded with a lovely view, and then we ate muffins. Here is a photo taken after the muffin nosh, and prior to the apple nosh, which happened about 20 minutes later, and and eighth of a mile away. (The last two paragraphs featured the word "muffin" 10 times. Now 11.)

On Zoe's birthday, she had school in the morning, so I dressed her in precious Hippie Chick attire that I spent way too much time shopping for. At Starbright (her school), birthdays are celebrated in a relatively non-traditional manner, in that at least one parent is needed to attend, and brings snacks (no chocolate, please.) I took banana muffins with very little sugar. The birthday child is given a crown to wear, and a little cape. Then, at their usual Circle Time, the teacher tells a very detailed story about the day when the birthday child went from being a Starchild to an earth-born child (she picked us to be her parents.) Each other student has colored a card to her, which they give her, and the teachers have made some little gifts--Zoe got a handmade candle with a 3 on it, and a flower, and a treasure bag that had a shell, a little glass heart, and a crystal in it. It really is cute and very Waldorf-handmade-organic-earthy. Way cool. After school we picked her up and took her to visit Nana, who then accompanied us to the local mall where we not only went INTO Build-a-Bear, but we actually BUILT A BEAR! The excitement was palpable, I tell you. She chose to build a pink poodle, who she named all by herself: Rina. Rina wears a pink and purple fairy costume most of the time, but I suspect that at Christmas, she will get a doctor outfit, and also maybe a cheerleader, because those two things usually go together. Here is my Hippie Chick before school.


The theme, this year, was costumes. She got lots of them. The one that seemed to make the most impact, though, was her doctor costume/kit. I found the kit on clearance about 6 months ago, and have been holding onto it since then. We picked up a little lab coat to go with it, and the resulting present has resulted in me hearing this statment on a regular basis: "Mommy, you're sick!" I must then allow my resident doctor to (in this exact order) listen to my heart, take my blood pressure, look in my ears and mouth, take my temperature (it's never normal, by the way,) give me a shot, and then get a bandaid. Then I get to be the doctor. Then she's the doctor again. Then me. Then her. Me. Her. Me. Her. At that point, I really AM sick, and walk away to have an Alka Seltzer and watch Dr. Phil. Here is the (neverending) doctor.

She was also given two (quite lovely) princess gowns made by her selfless mother. I didn't get photos of them both, and this one isn't particularly good--you can't see the seamstress's painstaking attention to detail--but good enough for government work.

Finally, Granny Jan went shopping at the famous garage sale in Stepford (I mean Celebration,) the town that Disney built. I can only imagine the bank accounts of the people who live there. Which, of course, is what makes the famous garage sale famous and wonderful. The dress Zoe scored from this trip is, we believe, actually a pageant dress, because it is made far too well to be anything but. It's cute as hell on, but I have to admit that it is vaguely jarring that you have this pageant dress being worn by a normal little girl instead of a plastic-faced-grown-up-way-too-early-aspiring-to-be-JonBenet-except-still-alive-Mommy-has-issues little girl. (Does anyone else worry that I might go to hell over that last line? If so, don't stand too near me for awhile. Lightening is pretty precise, isn't it?) This is too, too cute. Thank you, Granny Jan!

Her personal birthday party (the one filled with screaming kids, gaily wrapped gifts, and enough sugar to bring down about 100 diabetics) was on the Sunday after her actual birthday. We have bunches of photos of that, but I'm only putting one in here, because despite the fact that my hair is pulled back, Zach's forehead is shiny, and Zoe has a swath of hot-pink paint across her forehead, I think it's a really nice photo of all of us. Go figure. We had a painting party, by the way. We put up giant pieces of paper on the fence of the backyard, gave the kids Dixie cups full of paint, brushes and sponges, and said, "GO!" They then came inside and painted t-shirts, and then wrapped it all up with naked cupcakes that they used paintbrushes to apply their own frosting, and then chose from a bunch of bowls of various sprinkles and candies to decorate them. At one point, I caught Sam, our nearly-three-year-old neighbor with a bowl of red sugar sprinkles and a spoon, quietly going to town. It was hilarious.

And finally, yesterday Zach and I took Zoe to a pumpkin patch. It was pretty picked over, but she still seemed to have a good time. They had some little things for kids to play with, and something called a "Pumpkin Hunt" which I found surprisingly fun. We piled onto a flatbed pulled by a tractor and they took us to the Christmas trees. (Yeah, this pumpkin patch was on a Christmas tree farm.) In the tree field, they had hidden bunches of those teeny little pumpkins you can buy at the grocery store. Each child had a little bag, and could collect 3 pumpkins. I was pretty confident that we'd hop off the flatbed and snarf up the first 3 pumpkins we saw, but no. No, we wandered up and down the rows of trees until she had found the PERFECT trio of baby pumpkins. We were the last ones back to the truck. Once back at central command, we then were able to sit down and paint the pumpkins. After we got home, I went to the grocery store to buy a real carving pumpkin or two, but apparently, I'm way behind the schedule. There were literally NO pumpkins left, except for the extravagantly expensive princess pumkins, and little pie pumpkins, of which I bought three. Two have been carved (one is mad, one is sad, and the happy one will have to wait 'till tomorrow.) Below, the third perfect pumpkinette.

And here, an apple being eaten in the actual patch. Please note the marked insouciance.

So there are my photos. (I say that like there are ACTUAL photos. I don't know if it's my computer which is hooked up to a DSL line, but still flows speedily along like freaking molasses, or if it's the blogger site, which likes to occasionally give me the finger for hours at a time, but in the time it took me to think up all these words and then type them, I've been able to upload ONE photo. So this may not get published 'till Christmas.) Maybe I'll just reboot. Because that fixes everything, all the time.

On a final note, I am eating far too much cream cheese these days.

I'm almost afraid to say the word, but: DIAGNOSIS?

Okay, so I'm caught somewhere between being insane with happiness and (still) freaked out, but my new gastroenterologist has diagnosed me with Gilbert's Syndrome. This is a "benign" and usually inherited syndrome involving liver function. My bilirubin levels are higher than other people's, and sometimes that manifests itself as jaundice, which I haven't noticed in myself. However, there's a whole host of other symptoms, which I have snagged off another website and reproduce for you here: (the stuff in RED is stuff I've noticed in myself, either all the time, or pretty often.)

Most Commonly Reported Symptoms

Frequently Reported: fatigue, tiredness, brain fog, headaches, poor memory, dizziness, depression, irritability, anxiety, nausea, loss of appetite, irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), stomach pain & cramping, liver/gallbladder pain, abdominal pain, tremors, itchiness, jaundice

Commonly Reported: insomnia, difficulty concentrating, panic attacks, hypoglycemic reaction to foods, intolerance to carbs, food intolerances, alcohol intolerance, loose stools / diarrhea, abdominal bloating or swelling, breathlessness or labored breathing, heart palpitations, aching muscles / body ache, joint pain, numbness & tingling, weakness, chemical sensitivity, weight loss, lump in the throat, feeling constantly sick

Sometimes Reported: difficulty finding the right words, feeling drunk, vomiting, intolerance to fatty foods, strong hangovers, acid reflux, excessive thirst, chest pain, muscle twitches, cold hands and feet, environmental allergies, swollen lymph nodes, toxic feeling, bitter or metallic taste in the mouth, eye pain

Occasionally Reported: waking panic attack, mood swings, feeling antisocial, intolerance to drugs, constipation, pale stools, indigestion, back pain, dry skin, feeling cold, low body temperature, pale skin, low weight, night sweats, excessive sweating, poor immune system, sore or dry throat, light sensitivity, bloodshot eyes

Pardon me while I say: HOLY SHIT! I'VE BEEN SICK FOR ALMOST 23 YEARS, AND NOBODY FOUND THIS BEFORE?!

Up above, I call GS "benign" in quotes because most of the medical literature DOES say it's a benign syndrome, meaning it won't kill me and really won't physically harm me at all. However, all these crappy symptoms that come along with it, while not fatal, are a real pain in the ass, and I am finding that there are many websites devoted to the syndrome, and people who suffer from it.

The bad news is that there's no real cure, although there are many supplements that might help, mainly things that work on liver detox.

What's really funny (to use the word loosely), is that after seeing the new gastro guy, and finding after my first blood test that my bilirubin was high, I searched the web and found out about Gilbert's Syndrome, but sort of discounted it because of my hypochondriacal tendencies. Then I was sent for a second round of blood tests, and today, while talking to the nurse, she said, "Yes, your bilirubin is still high, which is REALLY common, in people who have your Gilbert's Syndrome diagnosis." I stopped her and told her nobody had told me I had the syndrome, and she apologized. Doesn't it seem oh, I don't know--LOGICAL to maybe skim over really difficult things to understand when you're talking to a patient, but to at least give them their DIAGNOSIS?

Rant, rant. At any rate, at least I have a diagnosis now, and perhaps I can do something about it, in addition to the Zelnorm they've put me on. (I'll spare you the repulsive side-effect details.)

Okay, I'm done.

Her sense of humor needs some tweaking. . .

This morning was a difficult one for me--I was feeling a bit down. Zoe tried to cheer me up by rubbing my knee and telling me it would be alright. That was nice.

Later, I was out in the backyard sitting on the patio, when she walked up behind me and dumped a handful of sand on top of my head. Then, after walking away and minding her own business for a few minutes, she came back and poked me in the back, laughing gleefully.

About an hour later, Zach looked at my back and HE began laughing gleefully. Apparently, that little poke earlier had been a mechanism to deposit a large booger on my shirt.

Precious.

The anti-giftlist

So the birthday is coming up, and rather than give you a lengthy list of things to send to Zoe, I will present you with a list of things NOT to send, lest her mother be forced to reenact the UT Tower shootings of 1966.

BRATZ
I hate Bratz. This girl is only one of a whole cadre of Bratz, a group of girls who apparently have limitless cash and just enough brain power to make many, many questionable fashion choices. I will not delve into their morals here. So, please no Skankz--er, Bratz. (By the way, this particular doll is named "Meygen." Holy crap.)

Heh. You know what? I was so fired up about letting everybody know that Bratz aren't allowed in my house that I must've conjured up a whole bunch of other stuff to go with them, because I'll be damned if I can think of another thing to add to this list. I really, really loathe Bratz.

Things around here are holding together, and I am pleased to say that I was relatively successful at drawing blood (the official way--with a needle and syringe) from a fairly feisty beagle.

Zoe spent all of today at school and later at Nana's in her purple and gold spangly princess dress and hennin. (Pointy princess hat, for all you non-geeks.) She also pulled out all the stops while at Nana's place, and danced for anybody who cared to watch (which was everybody, pretty much, since it's full up with elderly people.) She also stunned a guy who lives on the other side of our block by calling out, "Hi, Joe!" from her stroller at him. She met him once about 4 or 5 months ago, and hadn't seen him since, and remembered his name. Joe has a toddler of his own, who I think is about a year and a half younger than Zoe, and I suspect that in that moment when Zoe greeted him, he had to come to terms in his head with the sad reality that his son is grossly inferior to the princess in the cul-de-sac behind them. Poor guy. I try not to expose her too much to other mothers--it would just be too cruel. Hah!

So this first photo was taken at Zoe's request. Demand, really. She was jumping on the couch, and said, "Take a picture of me jumping on the couch!" When I hesitated a split second, she added, "Go get your camera!" Here she is in mid-jump.

And this one--well, I made an elephant "mask" yesterday, and just thought it was a cute photo.

And now I need to go. In addition to homework, I have to start making the petticoat that goes with the THREE princess dresses I'm making for her birthday. This is in addition to the pair of butterfly wings, the lab coat, and the ballet bag. Because I can't just BUY stuff. No, I'd rather buy raw materials, then make myself insane with stress trying to put everything together the night before I need it. Every LAST one of you who reads this knows that already, don't you?