Edgy Mama

We’re hoping the city permits for our construction work come through today. Already I miss the noise and bustle from the workers. Strange, I know.

Otherwise, I’ve been single parenting while E-spouse is in D.C. explaining to the powers-that-be how screwed we’re are by our own hubris and dominating natures. In other words, human-induced climate change bites–on all our heinies.

Funny that E-spouse has been in this field for over 20 years, but only when people get frightened do they actually start listening to him. If you’re interested in what he’s presenting to in D.C., go here. Then take a Prozac.

In other news, the pets have been more work than the kids recently. The thin cat, Houdini, seems to be bulimic. Each time he’s eaten anything for the past two days, he’s vomited it back up. On the oriental rug, of course. Eighty percent of my home is hardwood floors, but everybody (human and non-human) throws up on the rugs. I think the kitty has a bit of a virus. Hopefully, his symptoms will clear up soon and I won’t need to engage in feline intervention. Actually, I read somewhere that humans are the only animals that willingly deprive themselves of sleep and food. See what having big brains does for you? It makes you tired, hungry, irritable, and power-grubbing. Thus inducing climate change.

While we’re talking pets, the Dorkie Poo is in the dog house. SOMEONE left the gate unlatched, and when I let him out to pee at 2:30 a.m., he escaped and ran barking through the woods. Typically, he returns after a few minutes of chasing whatever he needs to chase, but this time, he didn’t. In fact, he stopped barking rather quickly. I immediately imagined a predator–a bear or mountain lion–swooping in to snack on my obnoxious 12-pound dog. Of course, when I say “woods” I mean the copse of five trees behind my neighbor’s house. I grabbed a flashlight and the dog cookie jar (he hears the top come off the jar and runs straight home–usually). Then I wandered down the street in my jammies and my motorcycle boots, feeling like a crazy person. After I slammed the top of the cookie jar around a few times, Biscuit came running–from the front of the house, where I imagine he’d been sitting on the porch waiting for me to open the door. I was angry and told him so.

This morning he’s been pitiful pup. He crawled over to me, shivering, when I got out of bed, and gave me the “you yelled at me” look. Even though I’ve been loving all over him, he’s still giving me the sad brown eyes. Of course, him feeling guilty now doesn’t mean he won’t run off into the night again. I know he’s torn between minding me and doing what he thinks is his job. I guess I need to find a new career for him. How do you take a dog who thinks he’s a security guard and make him something else? Like a pastry chef.

Everyone in my family seems to get sick during vacation or while traveling. Except for me. I get sick when I have two deadlines, dental appointments for the kids, and an important sporting event in one day AND I’m single parenting.

So the boy vomited all over the house one night, which I managed to miss (remarkable, I know). It was over fairly quickly, and he ate four waffles for breakfast the next morning, so we assumed it was something he ate.

On Tuesday (my birthday), E-spouse woke up with a sore throat, so instead of getting into restaurant wars, we decided to invite some friends over and order Chinese in. About five minutes before dinner arrived, the girl splattered the contents of her tummy all over the bathroom (hey, she made it to the right room). She was much sicker than the boy, and woke up several times during the night to dry heave into the potty. She spent the next day in bed.

She seemed recovered on Thursday, so we continued with our plan of driving to Asheboro to the N.C. Zoo for the afternoon and thence to Chapel Hill for a couple of days with friends. Mistake. The girl was crabby and tired. The boy was tired because we’d let him go on a sleepover the previous night. Once again, we thought we could travel more easily than we did when they were babies, but we were confronted with moodiness, tears, and fighting. The baboons and the puffins saved the zoo trip (photos tomorrow).

Then yesterday, I looked at the boy as we were eating lunch and realized he’s having another outbreak of impetigo. Luckily, we were staying with two doctors, one of whom glanced at his sore and sent me with to a drugstore with a prescription. I could’ve kissed her.

Now we’re home and well. I think. It’s been one of those vacations that’s been more stressful than not being on vacation. Vacationing with kids just isn’t vacation. Unless you have a nanny, I suppose.

How’s your spring break been?

UPDATE: Literally an hour after I posted this, the girl vomited again. All over her carpet. Now I feel sick.

I’m having a bit of trouble adjusting to Wordpress. I have yet to successfully load a properly-sized photo. And I need a Flickr badge and to get my Blogads and Google ads into the sidebar. And I need a “Buy an Edgy Mama T-shirt” page–not that anyone seems to want one. Blah, blah, blah.

I haven’t had much time because I somehow ending up trying to write four articles this week. Luckily, I managed to talk my editor at Mt. X into letting me postpone the deadline for one of the stories, so I can wait another week until I need to panic and start working the phone.

Otherwise, we’ve had exploding toilets, dog barf, tummy aches, and heinie rashes here at the pnav. The toilet exploded when I flushed it and a huge air bubble popped the water refill hose out of the tank where it sprayed down the bathroom and then leaked under the floorboards into the basement. The damn city keeps turning off the water while they dig up all the yards in the neighborhood looking for a disappeared water line. Then the pipes pass humongous air bubbles that are strong enough to explode the tank.

The dog barf seems to be a result of Biscuit’s eating stuff he’s not supposed to (grass, small plastic toys, marbles). The tummy aches are excuses to try to avoid school or other potentially unpleasant activities. The heinie rash is from the antibiotics which fixed the impetigo but also decimated the happy colon flora.

So, I’m ready for the weekend. Even though I’m sure it will bring new challenges. But I might get some sleep.

Commenters tied the vote on the next book I should read! Three votes each for After Dark and Cataloochee. Two votes for Suite Francaise. Several of you commented and didn’t vote, but it’s too late now!

Of course, I’ll read them all eventually. And first I need to finish Niagara Falls All Over Again. But I think I’ll go with After Dark next.

Who knew that the discussion over my next reading project would get so heated. Emotions run high among my literary nerd buddies.

In other news, I’ve been shooting up this fair city over the past 20 or so hours for Day in the Life of Asheville. This time around I didn’t plan as well or allot as much time for shooting as I did in the spring. I doubt I’ll have 12 decent shots, much less 24. But you never know. I hope you fotogs have been shooting hard!

This next week’s going to be busy and I plan to be fainting a lot because I haven’t made much headway in my goal to lose five pounds before my high school reunion. Which event is next weekend in Atlanta! Argh! So, I plan to exercise hard and eat little for the next six days. The exercise part, ironically, is the easy part for me. If I put my mind to it, I can become a workout machine. Until I hurt myself by fainting while hanging from the pull-up bar.

Of course I’m going to an oyster roast/barbecue/microbrew party tonight. But I figure if I don’t eat much until the party, then I can drink a couple beers, get tipsy, and then totally forget to eat while I entertain the other party-goers.

I purchased two growlers of French Broad’s Marzen Oktoberfest brew, which is ambery and delicious. I’d planned to write an article for Mt X on local Oktoberfest brews, but I got busy and didn’t follow-through, and then the beer guy totally wrote a rocking round-up of Oktoberfest beers, so instead of writing about Oktoberfest beer, I’m just going to drink it.

I may have to take some local Oktoberfest brews to my high school reunion as well, because I’m a bit concerned that they’re going to serve Stroh’s, in memory of our glory days of chugging the watery liquid in parks and parking lots. Is Stroh’s even made anymore?

Jason Caughman, brewer and owner at Pisgah Brewing Company.
Rocking organic brews! Photo by AF Glenn

Asheville’s premier craft beer festival, Brewgrass, is tomorrow. Hurrah!

I wrote an article about Brewgrass for MtX here. It was such fun to write. I found that I have an affinity for, well, geeky-cute young brewers (see above).

If you don’t already have tickets, don’t even bother showing up. The party sold out two weeks ago, and you can beg and you can moan, but you won’t get in! If you don’t have tickets, do still read my article, because most of it consists of a mini-guide to Western North Carolina’s seven microbreweries.

I’m hydrating hard tonight in preparation for the big day. Asheville Beer Blog mentioned a featured beer from last year called Sexual Chocolate. I don’t remember tasting that one, and even tipsy, I can’t imagine forgetting the marriage of two of my favorite flavors.

So, I’ll be there in my Beer Goddess T-shirt, shooting pics with my paparazzi lens, and camping out near the Sexual Chocolate. Say hi if you see me!

I wandered around downtown this afternoon for about an hour with the Bisc in my arms. You would have thought I was holding baby Jesus. I mean, really. I know he’s the ultimate cayootness, but that’s no reason for 58 people to lose all their stranger boundary training and poke me in the boob as they try to pet my puppy. I kept seeing cute little babies around town, but no one was stopping to pet them or poke their Moms’ boobs.

EVERYONE who saw the pup asked me the same three questions: What’s his name? How old is he? What kind of dog is he? People love that we call him a Dorkie Poo. I explained, twenty times, at least, that he’s an accidental breed (in other words, a mutt), NOT a designer dog. I would NEVER have a designer dog, even though my extremely beautiful and smart cousin, Libs, does have one.

My neighbor, P, did think it funny to buy Biscuit a little Paris Hilton puppy carrier to present to E-spouse. It’s all pink and flowery and has a big fake ruby clasp. But guess what? The Bisc doesn’t even fit in it. Ha! Then P and his family took the pup on a hike this weekend, and Biscuit hiked for over three hours, his little legs flying like whirligigs to keep up with their huge mutt, Guinness. So, now P can’t make fun of our pup, who proved his non-designer toughness and stamina. They also got tired of people interrupting their hike to drool over the puppy. And Guinness got jealous.

Basically, Biscuit is a people magnet. If you’re single, and want to take advantage of his magnetism, call me. Rates are good beer and poop scooping.