Better living

Do you have any idea how much cr*p is in your house?


We are certainly getting an idea how much is in ours--even though the husband will, of course, take exception to labelling his beloved dragon coffee tables, lamps, mirrors, wall sconces, candle sticks, swords, knives, rugs, toasters, and tattooed breast implants, etc. as cr*p. Those would be all the dragon paraphernlia he pulled out of storage for our Big Dragon Sale this weekend. Well, fine. I may have exaggerated about the breast implants. Slightly.


Add to that all of Little Miss Kickboxer's outside toys that we're selling; something which I know will break her tiny little heart into tiny little smithereens. Fine, I already told her that the climbers have to go away to grow up a little, and they will be waiting for us in a playground in Indiana. And that another little baby may be playing with Freddie The Firefly. And that there will be lots of ice cream with chocolate chips--because otherwise, I would be losing my sanity right about now.

Speaking of which, this here household is currently experimenting with Better Living Through Chemistry--no, not the good old Prozac. The good new Clomid. Because losing yet another pregnancy is not an option I want to exercise. So, for the past five days, I've been hopping myself up on hormones and monitoring myself for signs of Teh Insane, which promptly arrived after the first dose. Two entire hours of violent self-effacing rage later, my brain was back to normal (ahem!), and since I knew what to possibly expect, I was able to hold it together. Honestly, I had prepared myself (and the poor husband) for a whole month of emotional hell, silently hoping that this wouldn't last longer than a week. But two hours? That was much less than expected. Which could mean that by now, I may be stronger than I thought. Nice!

Speaking of which, Little Miss Kickboxer is also just that: Stronger. So far, no big reaction to last Wednesday's MMR vaccine. On saturday, she complained that her knees hurt when touched or bent, which is a known response to the mumps component (mild acute arthritis) and passed overnight, but also could have been growing pains because that same night, all her pants legs shrunk by one inch. No fever yet, nor rash, but then, we're only on day 8, and the vaccine reaction period ranges from 5-21 days. So, no dewarning just yet, just cautious optimism. And a growing two-and-a-half year-old who is going on twelve with her bedtime-negotiation technique ("No mama. I reading!").

In other news, did I mention that we are moving? To Indiana? Or rather, across the state line from Chicago? And that, most likely, we'll be the only hippies in a town marked by staunch Lutheran piousness? I can't wait to dye my hair purple with green dots and pull out my ripped flare jeans and the patchouli. Or maybe go streaking on the quad on a hot summer day?

Yes, you did not need that visual.

But the options. Oh, the options!