Yesterday I went outside in the heat of the day. It didn't suck as bad as I thought it would. I sat in the shade, even knitted a row, while Bug played in the dirt. It was too warm to stay out for long, but the sunshine and the breeze was nice. DH was late getting home from work, so rather than keep dinner for hours and hours, we went out and had some pasta. On the way home, whilst listening to DH complain about feeling crappy (more on that later) I spontaneously decided Bug needed a park outing. (I thought DH was going to kill me when I mentioned the park in mid-complain, but I asked him to drop me and Bug off and we walked home.) I thought I was a pioneer, but it turns out that I am just dumb. Tons of neighbors came out in the pleasant evening, walking their dogs, playing with their kids, and messing around in the park. I've been living in this desert for 29 years and only now just figured out that I can go out in the evening and not die. The slides didn't burn the boy child, and I could stand there and push him in the swing for
DH is having health issues. One would think that the inability to breathe and the fact that there is "something fuzzy" in his lung x-ray would be more incentive to quit smoking, but one would be wrong. He's thisclose but won't let himself make the final leap. The dummy. Anyway, he was tested for RA (no results yet), he's been given antibiotics for pneumonia (didn't work), he's been given a referral to a pulmonologist. Two separate medical professionals we know in private life suggested he get tested for valley fever, but one of them pointed out that it's so common around here as to be a standard test, so he'd probably already been tested and ruled out. Not sure, though, as his PCP is an internist who specializes in diabetes and may not know the local fauna (valley fever is a fungus that lives in the lungs) well. I may never know what he's been tested for because he is a stereotypical man when it comes to doctors, and he doesn't ask questions and only goes in when he thinks he's dying or he can't stand me nagging him anymore. (Seriously - last year he lived with double pneumonia for weeks and finally went to the doctor to shut me up - he SO thought the doc was going to tell him he just had a cold. My I Told You So dance was big and mighty that day.) Anyway, good healing thoughts for DH's lungs, if you please.
I managed to get the Bug sleeping in his own bed for the first time in about 18 months, and it's mostly glorious. The last few nights he's woken up in the middle of the night. This morning at 3:30 I actually heard noises and went in to find that he'd taken down the baby gate, turned on all the lights and was playing with toys and had woken Squeak up. SIGH. I scootched him back to bed, gave Squeak a bink, and bless the little boogers, they both went to sleep with nary a tweet after that.
Not much else is happening, really. I spend my days surfing for jobs (and it doesn't help that the same job appears posted by the hiring company and three different recruiting agencies. I thought the tech writing market in Sierra Vista was a-hoppin' until I realized I'd applied like six times for the same job through different agencies.) and cuddling my kids and mostly ignoring housework. There has been knitting, mostly on Mary Jane. Look! I even have a picture.
You know, as much as I whine about not being cut out for stay-at-home-motherhood, I gotta say that having this time with my boys is pretty excellent. I still start thinking about drinking at 9am, but god, they're great. Yesterday, Bug came over and leaned on my shoulder and said, "Mama? You're my best friend." *melt* I'm glad I get the time, because damn, this kid is getting big.
And this one gets smilier and bouncier and sweeter every day. (And MAN he loves his little satin butterflies.)
You know, I could get used to this.
(Oh, and a purely hypothetical PSA. When your kid writes on his face and says, "I'm a kitty cat," and you think, "WTH, they're washable," and fix him up a little, they aren't as washable as you think.)