25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

OK, it has come to my attention that some of you need some **help** making the distinction between followers, readers, commenters, and lurkers. Truthfully, though it appears that only two of you have the spinal column to do all of the above (I <3 you both. You are brave souls and/or very bored), I am glad for all of you and am going to start answering the many questions I have been receiving via email. So, here goes: followers are the most hallowed of beings. They have the brass ones to actually publicly follow my ridiculous attempt at writing. Those little square things at the left of the screen (both of them--ha!) are my "followers" They follow, read, and comment regularly and I return the favor--you should read them!!!

Many of you choose to remain anonymous to the world. I guess I understand why and I respect that, but I shall lovingly refer to you as the "lurkettes" regardless of gender. There. Now you have a group and can know that you exist together in my email. So...now to answer some of your questions.

First..."Do I have any favorite recipes from other blogs?"

I am answering this for one reason. I'm not a recipe kind of girl. I cook and I cook very well, but it's always my own recipe. This recipe is distinct for it's true awfulness and the fact that it's the only recipe I can remember from a blog in recent days. It's a cocktail recipe called Tojaadots, I believe: juice box (whatever's available), tonic water, and coconut rum. Mix and I suppose add to efficacy rather than taste because efficacy is the only reason you would drink such a thing. With that concoction you can write stimulating stuff like this. Merriwether may never follow this rag ever again.

CORRECTION: Actually, the Tojaadot is a mixture of tequila, orange juice, and a dash of Tabasco sauce. The drink box/coconut rum/soda water was an earlier attempt at intoxification...which ended poorly. Tojaadots are, therefore infinitely more desireable treat than death-by-juice-box (my name for it).

Second... "Have you really ever slept in a tree?"

Yes. And I mean IN the tree. Not a tree house or a swing or anything like that. This is going to stir up a lot more questions, so I'll start you off S-L-O-W-L-Y.

25 Really Good Reasons To Sleep In A Tree

1. 2000 sq.ft. house with 7 family members (two octogenarians--one deaf, two in their sixties--one deaf, me, one seven-yr-old--deaf, and one four-yr-old). The deaf thing makes you LOOOONG for piece and quiet and a place where you don't have to make yourself known vocally, facially, AND with the correct combination of hand signals. Contrary to popular opinion, deaf people are not that quiet.

2. Entropy.

3. Not enough ________. This is different for everyone and changes by the day for me.

4. The sound of "Momma, I need you!" "For what?" "For sumpin." "Tell me what!" "For SUM-PIN!!! (growling voice)"

5. The "What the bleep am I supposed to do with this??!!" face my mute seven-yr-old can make. He does NOT need to learn to speak, but I am cooperating with his teachers.

6. Computers that make phone calls.

7. Computers.

8. Microsoft. I digress, but you get the point.

9. The desire for silence like you only get during those blessed moments when the power goes out.

10. Because trees have no forwarding addresses.

11. Because no matter what, the twit from Medco (our prescription drug plan) can never find me in my tree because there is NO PHONE THERE. And, I never pick the same tree. Warning: if you pick the same tree, someone will find you and bring you the cursed cordless phone. This same warning applies to tents. Never pitch your tent in the same spot if you want to stay unavailable! He won't get out of the recliner to eat, but my 83-yr-old grandpa will hike out into the woods on chemo days to give you the dang phone! Ugh. Because phone calls are important. Especially if they come from Jack, the talking computer.

12. Because the tree is not really that much more uncomfortable than my grandma's 1960's-era stuffed, stuffed, and re-stuffed sofa.

13. Because my mother is going through menopause AND withdrawing from her psych meds and sleeping in a tree is infinitely more comfortable than sleeping in prison after committing homicide whether it's justifiable or not. Maybe.

14. Trees do not have diapers. They do not shout dinner orders from the living room like a short-order cafe or have the nerve to mouth off at you. They do not come home from school calling you "butthead."

15. They do not possess volume knobs, or depending on how you look at it, are always "OFF."

16. From a tree, you can see the mushroom cloud that was your house when the occupants realize their network connectivity is nil and the network sys-admin is sleeping in a tree.

17. From a tree, you can see just about anything. Sunrises, storms, sunsets, airplanes, birds, etc.

18. Trees smell good.

19. Very few people climb a tree together, look at one another, and one starts of with, "I was taking another look at zone one where we were comparing the Smackover porosity with known wells..." or "Have you taken a look at the latest confidentiality agreement for Walkup County?" Don't get me wrong. I LIVE TO WRITE LEGAL DOCUMENTS!!!!! I SHOULD BE A LAWYER!

I would sooner tattoo "SHARK" on my forehead.

20. Lawyers. :)

21. Doctors. The M.D. type. The type that write off your grandpa's cancer cause he's "just too old." Even though he's one of the world's leading geophysicists. Never mind him. He has nothing further to add.

22. Well, someday I'll really share this one with you...maybe.

23. Psych professors who tell their students, correction, student in public in a classroom that he needs to be on drugs. P-R-O-F-E-S-S-I-O-N-A-L. My fellow student (M.A. in Psychology and LPC about passed out). We are both qualified to teach this class, but are having to repeat it given the distance between our first degrees and our current schooling. Bugger.

24. Global warming--and other Democratic BS. Hahahahahaha. Sorry. That had to be done. Consider it a parting shot to my one politically-minded reader. But you HAVE to worry about quotes like "We won't know what this bill means until we pass it." That's Nancy Pelosi on health care people. If I were a Dem, I'd be afraid. As a republican I'm terrified. And amused. But, alas, still pursuing a career in health care...

25. Last, but not least, UPS. Not USPS, but UPS. I have undertaken the monumental task of clearly marking my home--even though it's the ONLY home on this street on the south side--so that they can unmistakeably see the numbers from the road and DARN if they can't find it with two hands and a flashlight.

Enough for one day, go have a Tojaadot...

Scat

And Away We Go...

I seems these days we are always in the throes of some medical disaster: Hernias, Tetrasomy18p, Failure to Thrive, Fragile Bones, Profound Deafness (from birth), abnormally shaped Kidneys, bilateral Club Foot, Crohns Disease, Fibromyalgia, Migraines, Seisure, Diastolic Heart Disease, deafness (both Clanpaw's cancer, Baba's cancer, my mother's mixed "whatever", my Crohns disease, oldest son's Tetrasomy 18p, and now: Neurofibromatosis I in my younger son.

You may be asking what radioisotope I swallowed as a youngster, but as my chromosomes are normal in count(46 xx), (Beanstalk's are 47 xy, though) it's more likely I have damaged egg cells which originate from my mother (very long genetic discussion), but nevertheless, there's obviously something wrong and we are right back in the thick of it. Now, we'll be looking at everyone's Chromosome 17 for a few genes that seem to be giving my youngest a bit of trouble.

Yet another (possibly) de novo genetic disorder has struck the Scat family. Unbelievable.

So far, though, all Texas Childrens' Hospital is getting is an earful and an eyeful of Squib! And boy, is he full of it! We've been to the dermatology clinic (all over the clinic)...he met the criteria for NF I and we now have a bevy of tests ahead of us. And, boy, did he have a bevy of tests for them! NF2 and Schwannomitosis would not be good things, either, but we've got to test for everything.

Squib made it very clear from the start: "We came to play!!!" And there you have the resilient attitude of my little guy. This little inset of SqB shows him smiling and playing in his crib two days after open heart surgery (at three month). So, if you're gonna talk about your bouncer-backers Squib needs to be at the top of your list! We started off in our little exam room sitting by each other. Sqb in his gown me in my street clothes. Then the inspection began. The light switch...on...off...on...off...on...off...on...off...ad nauseum. He messed with the blood pressure cuff, but turned a little pale when I offered to take his blood pressure (bad memories I guess).

Then the shredding began...yes...paper everywhere...which led to an exploration of the trash can. That whole trash-can thing went over REAL well with SqB's dad (my ex). He's a little, ummm, particular when it comes to trash.

He did NOT like the gown. I explained that it was to protect his privacy and he gave me one long "to heck with that!" look and tore it off. So by the time the dermatologist came around (with her flashing duck) to count spots and look at freckles he was streaking about and having a gay old time.

Me? I was not so carefree, because I was drowned in phone numbers and extensions of doctors that I needed to make secondary appointments with etc, etc, etc. I felt buried and overwhelmed at first but now it's just like doing a job with my son at stake. Minor detail...ha ha ha. Only NOT so ha ha.

Then the day became beautiful. We decided to forego all the traffic for a little play time. We ate spaghetti and meatballs and pizza in the Clinical Care Center with Andy (my ex) and played on the sky bridge between the CCC and Texas Children's Hospital West Building. Hide and go seek in a large temporarily abandoned medical building can be fun!!! We toured the fish tanks and played all over the equipment on the varying waiting areas of the CCC. And, in general explored the place as much as we could.

And BOY, do we ever like exploring! That loosened me up a lot and there are a lot of artistic things (cows on parade--who da thunk it), trains, playgrounds fountains, and beautiful gardens to see. If you happen to be there for any amount of time, such things bring hope and believe me (having lived there off and on for a few years) there are people there who need lots and lots of hope.

 Squib and I both like fountains, so I'm thinking of a riding/hiking route to take us past a lot of the gardens and fountains in the Texas Medical Center area for our next prolonged trip with a ride on the Metro rail so that SqB could get his jollies for having ridden on a "real" train.

The wee one was so wiped out that he never made it to Minute Maid park from 288 and MacGregor before he was seriously crashed out in his car seat and snoring to boot!

Thus begins our weekly pilgrimage to the Texas Medical Center. Ugh....but at least there are cool things to look at!

Gaining Some Perspective

Scat

Can Ya Swallow It?

Crohn's disease is a disease of the bowel. It is most often severe cramping, abdominal pain, and all sorts of other gutteral unpleasantness. That is NOT what this short little blog is about.

I have Crohn's disease. Lately, it's been acting up and I've had to increase one of my medications. Azulfidine. Doesn't sound like such a big deal. Four pills in the morning and four at night was how it started. So innocent. But have you seen these things!!!!! Recently the flare up sent me to the doc and now I have to down 16 of these suckers a day......and here they are...

That's ONE DAY's dose! They're about the size of a dime (shown for size), but as thick as an M&M. Thank goodness the stuff works, I guess, but when you hear people talk about taking "horsepills," this is what they're talking about. Yowza. No friendly coating to slip down easy.

And after the first two, my throat decides "this is not right!" And I have to pause and talk it into swallowing again. Who can blame it? Good thing they seem to work, huh?

Dermatographia

Translation: Itching all over due to something that you have so thoroughly thrashed in that it's coming out your pores.

Obviously the medical definition left something to be desired, so I wrote a first-hand-experience definition. Poison Sumac being the probable culprit, I am now suffering first-hand from the plague.

Not bubonic or anything, but I'm wondering whether itching to death is worse?

If you read Totally Itchified, then you know all about this junk I STILL HAVE. And you'll apppreciate the fact that I STILL DON'T HAVE my armoire!

And today, I cancelled plans and shuffled kids off to their dads' 'cause I'm not supposed to touch them. "No, really, they can stay with you!" said the doc who obviously did NONE of the childrearing in the house. "Just don't touch their skin directly, bathe them, change them, or use your hands when preparing their food." I went ahead and let my eyes bug out and shook my head.

Squib said, "Just throw me in the trash mom." right at that second and then everyone in the room had an excellent concept of just exactly how things proceed at my house. There was no laughter even when I put my face in my hands and made mental note to do exactly as Squib had suggested.

The remaining instructions were just as ludacrous and included not sweating or going out in the heat/sun, no warm showers/baths......unbelievable!!!! Follow that up with a shot, pills, and MORE cream....

To heck with that armoire.

Function Over Form,

Scat