Please thank your readers for me, I know I have received a lot of traffic from there, and hopefully generated a lot of support for Jonas. I am down in Edmonton now, and it is a horrible sight indeed. I would never wish this upon anyone in the world to see their child like this. As of tonight Jonas is still on the ventilator and they are keeping him knocked out on morphine, among a myriad of other medications. They might be weaning him tomorrow off of the ventilator but he is retaining a lot of fluid currently and want to get that in control. He looks like the stay puft marshmallow man, with all the fluid he has in him. Hopefully tomorrow he will have de-puffed some more. Recovery is going to be a long road for my little guy, and again I would like to thank anyone who has sent any positive vibes of any sort his way. I’m hoping they will allow him to wake up in the next few days. As always I am updating when I have more info at my personal blog. Thank you again for all your support for my little guy, I truly appreciate it.
Reading Stef’s entry from the other day about taking her kids to have their Christmas pictures done reminded me of when the spud was little and we took her to have her Christmas pictures done. At least a couple of times I took her to the portrait studio at JC Penney, and one year in particular I went to order the pictures (those were the days when you had to go back a few days later to see the pictures and order your prints, before all this fancy newfangled “digital” business). I sat down and looked at the pictures, and I looked at the list of what I needed (I absolutely flooded everyone with pictures of the spud when she was little; everyone got a picture of her at Christmas time whether they wanted one or not), and I chose the package that came closest, just the one package, and one pose.
And that goddamn saleswoman looked at me like I was the WORST FUCKING PARENT ON EARTH that I only wanted one package and one pose. Like I didn’t love my child, because I wouldn’t spend $200 on 6,000 pictures of her. Like I was probably a step away from selling her on the black market to pay for my next rock of crack. Even now, my blood boils at the thought, and I wish I’d gotten up and walked out and taken the spud elsewhere to have her picture taken.
These aren’t from that Christmas, but I think they’re about my favorite Spud Christmas pictures.
(flickr)
(flickr)
Those pictures are from a session my mother took the spud to one day while I was working. The spud was NOT into having her picture taken (she may have had a cold, now that I think about it), and she did a lot of crying – you can’t see it in the scan, but in the first picture, there’s a tear under one of her eyes. In the end, the photographer got her to smile a couple of times by acting goofy, and I think the spud looks pretty adorable.
After successfully ignoring the amazing amount of dust that had built up on my furniture for weeks, along with the bathrooms desperately needing to be cleaned, I gave in on Saturday morning and cleaned. I don’t know why it is, but I just LOATHE dusting. If I had to move a lot of stuff to dust it would be one thing, but I actually don’t have a lot of clutter on the surfaces that need to be dusted, so I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s that I dust my dresser (for instance) and come back ten minutes later to find that cat hair has started building up already. It’s a pisser that the things that are the least fun – cleaning, laundry – are a neverending cycle. You’re never completely done with laundry, because even as you’re washing clothes, you’re wearing clothes and getting them dirty. Unless you wash your laundry whilst naked and immediately take up 24-hour nudity, the laundry never ever ends. Even if you DID take up 24-hour nudity, towels and sheets and cleaning rags would need to be laundered. I even vacuumed the entire house, and this morning I note that it needs it again. NEVER ENDS. I also got out the box of Christmas decorations. I’d forgotten, actually, that I got rid of a lot of Christmas decorations last year or the year before. I put out the ones we have (and the cats were freaked out by them, of course), and went through the box of ornaments and took out the ones that belong to the spud, which I’ll be sending her this week. I wrapped a few more presents, and in fact only have one more present to wrap, and I believe I’m done with the wrapping. I mean, I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, but for the most part I’m ready for Christmas! Sunday morning I got up, puttered around the house, and drove to Closeville to walk around the walking path. Being fairly early on a Sunday morning, mine was the only car in the parking lot, and the only other person I saw was in the park (where the greenway begins or, if you walk it like I do, ends) throwing frisbees. I did that in 43 minutes (better than last week’s 53 minutes – but then, I didn’t stop at all yesterday, either), then went over to the grocery store to buy everything on my list so I wouldn’t have to do it after my stint at the pet store later this morning. At home I put the groceries away, made breakfast for Fred and myself (I bet you didn’t know I make breakfast for him on the weekends, did you? SPOILED MAN.), did some laundry, put dishes away, and spent some bonding time with Skittles and Elle. I got an email from the shelter manager Saturday night (it was addressed to all the pet store volunteers) letting us know that Punki had thrown up blood, went to the vet, and the vet said that she was constipated and had possibly eaten something (maybe off one of those feather-on-a-stick toys), so she (the vet) put her (the Punki) on a laxative and antibiotics. After dithering and talking to Fred and dithering a little more, I decided that I’d take Skittles with me this morning, leave her in the cage with Felicia, and then bring Punki home with me. The volunteers are really, really good, but I think it’s a given that someone might forget to give her her medication, and at least this way we’ll know that Punki’s getting her medication and she can recover in a relaxing atmosphere. Robyn, you are saying, isn’t Skittles a skittish little scaredy cat? Why are you taking her to the pet store instead of Elle? And to you I say, because I really like Elle (NO we’re not adopting her!) and I have started calling her Ellie Belly and I want to have her around for a little while longer, so shaddup. I feel bad for Skittles, because she is a skittish little scaredy cat and very nervous, and I hate taking her to the pet store and leaving her there, because I know her number one move will be to hide in the litter box and look pathetic. But she’s very pretty – I love her swirly pattern – and I will make clear in her description that she’s a skittish little monkey and hopefully someone will fall in love with her and take her home. Fingers crossed!
Ellie-Belly, sleeping in Fred’s desk chair.
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Miss Momma (Maxi) spends almost every evening on this couch. I love the way she’s laying with her feet pressed against the back of the couch.
Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: I want to marry you, Consumer Reports. 2003: The Bean’s nickname for today is “Stanley Rotten.” 2002: Xmas meme. 2001: And then Miz Poo SMACKS him again. 2000: No entry. 1999: I’m just saying.]]>