Apparently I’ve pulled loose a cable in my netbook; the screen will only stay display when at a 45 degree angle.
For some reason, this costs more to fix than it would to replace the whole thing.
So annoyed.
It’s staggering to me that The Rogue is six months old, and The Gambit is nearly two and a half. How did that happen?
The two of them get along like a house afire, which makes taking care of them freakishly easy. The Rogue babbles; I tell The Gambit to go take care of her; thirty seconds later she’s pulling his hair and he’s tickling her feet and they’re both laughing. If The Rogue is crying, The Gambit runs to get her bottle; if The Gambit is in the room and not paying attention to her, The Rogue tries to crawl to him. (She can’t quite crawl yet, but she’s got all the right positions down and she’s trying very hard.) While I overall detest people who look at little kids who are friends and go, “Oh, won’t it be great when they get married someday,” part of me is slightly hopeful. After all, if I’m taking care of them both, I can make sure they’re good enough for one another.
It’s all going by so, so fast.
Posted in marvel care | Leave a Comment »
There’s nothing like your father calling to make sure that, just in case you didn’t know, your nanny’s expected survival chances are 50%. Because you definitely need to know that right away. And it’s great that you’re coming home for Thanksgiving, because it’s not like your father’s saying she’ll be dead before then, but it’s best to be sure.
And Dad wonders why I dodge his phone calls.
Posted in navel gazing | 1 Comment »
When I was young, I was cared for by a nanny. I use “nanny” in the same way here as I use it for myself; she didn’t live with us, but she came over every weekday from eight AM to four PM from when I was two until I was twelve (when my sister went to first grade). She acted as a housekeeper as well. When you have someone in your life for that long, someone who teaches you to jitterbug and how to make crab soup and always, no matter who crazy things get, shows you that you are loved unconditionally, “babysitter” isn’t a good enough word. She was and is, for all intents and purposes, my grandmother. And she is still in my life. One day, she will die — she’s in her eighties, though she hasn’t aged a day since she turned sixty and still works her garden every year — and I don’t know what I’ll do. There are simply people who are too big to die, people that are as much a steady part of existence as the sun and the moon, and there simply can’t be a world without them. It’s not possible. She has to out-live us all.
She has stage three breast cancer.
Posted in domesticity or lack thereof | 3 Comments »
Robin G: So, yeah, I’ve been pretty depressed this summer.
Psych: Mm-hmm. How so?
Robin G: Not really getting out of the house. Or showering. Or eating. When I do eat I throw up. Not all the time, just a lot of the time. The last few weeks have been better, though.
Psych: …
Robin G: On the plus side, I’ve been writing lots and have won some awards. So there’s a silver lining.
Psych: Oh, congratulations! Is that a sign of bettering health, do you think?
Robin G: Nope. Definitely a sign of worse.
Psych: …I think we should probably up your medication again.
Robin G: …can I finish my story first?
Posted in teh crazy | 1 Comment »
The Rogue is teething. The Gambit is screaming like a banshee in time out. I haven’t had breakfast or coffee.
I’m kind of wishing I could turn off the game and reboot the morning.
Posted in marvel care | 1 Comment »
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