Daddy's Girl

In the midst of moving out of my first home after 15 years, arranging treatment for my son, planning my wedding and quietly observing what would have been my 19th wedding anniversary with Samantha (yesterday), I am happy to be greeted by a smile and a hug from my daughter, who turns twelve today.

I'm reminded of the relatively quick, complication-free labor and delivery (just over 4 hours), and the tiny, frail baby girl we brought home. Home to the house we're now packing to leave. Our cat, Gryphon, dwarfed her (as he'd dwarfed Tyler before). And now she's almost a teenager, taller than her stepmom-to-be, talented, smart and beautiful. And testing for her second belt in Tae Kwon Do.

Although I cannot tell you how ecstatic I am that TFMD is here to girl-bond with Kayleigh, I think the bond my daughter and I forged in the crisis of losing Sam and my father (and the house disasters that followed) will have a powerful, lasting effect on our respective lives.

My little girl is twelve today. That makes me smile.

What's Happening in Todd's Brain...

...at this very moment?

Yup. Pretty much. Perhaps when the move is done next week I will not have so much dumb and I will be able to brain again. And make... words. And stuff.

SOLD!

Now we pack. And sweat.

And maybe whimper just a little.

Onward...

Potty Talk Friday

I figure since TFMD can talk about sticking voodoo pins in her pink, plush uterus, I can talk about rectal exams. If you don't want to read about uteruses (uterii?) or rectal exams, click here and look at some kitties. You've been warned.

I have to make a doctor appointment. Not because anything is acutely wrong, but because I'm now "over 40" and need to start having the ol' prostate checked. That means I need to find a doctor for the job, because, although she's a capable family physician, our family physician is someone with whom we have a lot of interaction, and I would prefer that the doctor I see for that particular examination be someone with whom I do not have a lot of interaction. Preferably a doctor with small, delicate fingers.

This will not necessarily be a new sensation; when I was twenty, I developed bursitis in my left pelvic joint, and everyone in my medical network freaked the hell out. My regular doctor thought I might have a testicular torsion, so she referred me to a urologist. A urologist who graduated medical school in 1692 and all but prescribed a course of leeches. He pulled up his crotch-level stool, grinned a crusty, salacious grin and simply said, "drop 'em," after which I was rolled on my side and probed with what was either his withered, (thankfully) gloved finger or a dry carrot in a condom. I wasn't about to look and see. After pronouncing that I had a hernia, for which he wanted to immediately prep me for surgery, I ran as fast as my inflamed pelvic joint and devirginized poop-chute could manage to a thirtysomething sports medicine doctor for a second opinion. He spent about a minute giving me a basic visual examination and told me I had bursitis, told me what bursitis was, and told me that it would go away in 8-12 weeks (which it did). And he didn't need to stick anything up my butt to figure it out, for which I will be eternally grateful.

As an aside, several years later, I actually did develop an inguinal hernia and had it surgically repaired with high-tech mesh. An inguinal hernia and pelvic bursitis feel totally different, just FYI.

Anyone who knows me is aware that I have a certain level of mistrust when it comes to the American medical system and certain individual doctors (no surprise, given my history and that of certain family members). While I'm sure the vast majority of doctors practice medicine for the benefit of their patients (and have their health as the number one priority), there are some deep flaws and conflicts of interest in how we approach health care and educate new doctors, and patients should of course be smart and discerning when selecting a health care professional.

Hence my jouney begins, to find a doc who a) wasn't educated in the Dark Ages, b) doesn't smile and say, "drop 'em" before reaming me with a carrot, and c) has small, delicate fingers.

Wish me luck.

Generic Blog Entry

Aaaaaand another week flies by. How do they keep doing that?

I suppose it might have something to do with the last go-rounds of negotiations on the sale and purchase of homes, the last "just one more thing" for the lender, the "oh yeah, we'll need to think about"s for the new house. You know, the usual.

In other news, approximately a bazillion and three friends have been knocked on their asses by der Schwein flu. Yikes. Now my brother and sister-in-law have it. Poopy. Seems like just earlier this year I was in the ER, getting hydrated from an all-day vomipalooza. That piggy flu doesn't mess around.

So far, the kids have re-adapted to school. Tyler is actually going, which is a huge improvement over last year. Kayleigh switched her band instrument from the clarinet to the alto sax (along with two of her friends). I expect to hear a lot of Pink Panther Theme and Yakkity Sax in the near future.

Last Friday, I joined some old friends at the EMP/SciFi Museum at Seattle Center, including a couple I'd not seen in over two years. It was good to get caught up, and it made me realize I need to be better at keeping in touch with the people in my life, whether they live here in town or across the state.

Now we just wait for the whole house process to finish. Huzzah.

Yeah. About That...

What a difference a week makes, no? When last we spoke, I mentioned we thought we'd found a house we could live with. All this might sound like we're settling, because we love a lot about my current house. But it's all about location, location, location. So we're prepared to give up a certain amount of square footage and so forth, as long as the neighborhood is right. Turns out, the home I mentioned was not the one for us.

But, as TFMD mentioned in her post, we found one. After over a year of house hunting, this was the first home we walked into and could immediately see ourselves living there.
It's not ours yet. We're still in the inspection/financing process, but we expect it to go pretty quickly. Halloween (fingers crossed) will be in my first new home in 15 years. A perfect new start for the Celtic New Year.

In the meantime, between back to school, wedding plans and housing, I've been feeling mentally and emotionally besieged, and that has manifested in the usual inward retreat, monosyllabic interactions and a general frowny face. This week has been especially frantic, thus the lack of posting. I'll get back into the swing of things as the schedule smooths out.

And tomorrow, I get to see some friends I've not seen in about three years. Sweet deal!

Moment of Zen

After several days of giving each other this look...

TFMD and I began to talk about the housing options available to us. There is one property where we liked everything about the exterior, but the main floor would have made us miserable. The other option is actually on the same street; it's a 1940s build instead of a 1920s craftsman, but the interior would work so much better for us "right out of the box", as it were. Better flow. Less work to make it work.

And suddenly, the stress lifted away. It's not completely gone, but at least we're not scrunched up wads of nerve fibers spewing fiery hatred. Honestly, we never were spewing fiery hatred, but it's something I aspire to avoid anyway.

So the rest is really in the Universe's hands (if the Universe actually has hands - big strong hands). Domines have been lined up. We're just waiting for things to fall into place. Or not.

* * *

I must say, even though it doesn't count, I've been enjoying the NFL preseason this year. Having a new coach doesn't seem to have handicapped our Seahawks, who are 3 and 0. And Thursday they face my old Raiders, who just got their asses handed to them by New Orleans. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.