This morning I have been brought nearly to tears by the difficulty of peeling hardboiled eggs, and I both DO and DON’T want to ask for ideas. Because you know how it is: the ideas tend to be 70% Things Everyone Already Knows To Try (“Put them in cold water right after they’re done boiling!”), 20% Things That Have Already Been Tried After Googling But Didn’t Work (“Add vinegar / salt / dragon’s tears to the boiling water!” “Crack the shell slightly right after boiling!” “Peel them under running water!”), 9% Things I’m Not Going To Do Even If They DO Work (“Don’t store them in their shells!,” incantations/chanting, that thing where you BLOW the egg out of the shell and I am not kidding), and 1% Ideas Not Yet Known To The Asker But That STILL Don’t Work When Tried.

It seems to me that the way a hardboiled egg peels or doesn’t peel must rely almost exclusively on Element X, because I get the same eggs at the same store every week, and I cook them the same way each time, and some of the boiled eggs peel like dreams, like DREAMS, with the children gathering around to oooh and ahhh as the shell comes off in two large neat pieces, and some of the boiled eggs peel like NIGHTMAAAAAAAAAAAAARES, with little picky bits flaking off and taking chunks of white with them until the egg is a nasty pitted mess and no one wants to eat it. If there was one good solution that worked every time for everyone, that would be the only solution going around.

It reminds me of ice cubes, and the way some of them pop out of their plastic trays beautifully and cleanly and with only a slight twist of the tray, while others require a strong twist and then break into shards. (My brother did a whole study on this phenomenon once. I should see if he’s willing to tackle eggs.)

I have a new mug that I love enough to feel a little surprised by it, because why feel so strongly about a cup? But there it is.

I first saw it at Marshalls, AND it was on clearance, AND the last one left—and then I noticed it had a huge crack down the side. Dang it.

Then my mom and I went to another Marshalls another time, and there it was. On clearance ($3), last one left, but no crack!

I love the appearance of it, of course, and that’s a lot of the explanation for my passion (that shade of green! the pairing of that shade of green with the black-and-white! the shape of the handle! the slight flare-out at top and bottom of the mug!). But I also love the hand-feel (comfy handle with little thumb-rest on top; nice balance) and lip-feel (rim the right thinness and right angle), and those are crucial for long-term mug enjoyment.

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Maybe you saw Title of the Song (here’s the lyrics version) when it was going around before, but when Paul played it this morning I found I had forgotten it and was ready to hear it again:

“Regret over the lateness of my epiphany.” “Naïve expression of love.” “Repetition of the title of the song (can you hear the title?).” “Drop to my knees to elicit crowd response.” I love all of it.

One of the best parts is the comments section. “Pointless comment about how I came here via Metafilter.” “Continued glorification of the video. Realization that in all likelihood someone else has probably made a similar comment. Declaration of how little I care if it is the case! Repetition of my glorification.”

I feel like there is SO MUCH GOING ON, even though a lot of it is over:

1. Elizabeth’s tonsillectomy (over) and the resulting difficulty she’s having with articulation (not over)

2. Paul’s trip to DC, and the change in plans that had to be made because of Hurricane Irene (over)

3. Buying school supplies, and school starting (about three-quarters over)

4. Nephew being born (over as of this past Tuesday, yet ongoing because of wanting to visit and bake stuff and find a good present)

My sister-in-law’s sister took this great picture

5. A visit from my aunt, and my uncle’s death after a very long and painful illness

6. Edward’s anemia, which I assume is mild or else they would have made a bigger deal of it, but I think of it at every meal

7. Our life insurance premium due the day after I write my annual check in memory of the boy who took me on my first date, who died when we were 30

8. My high school boyfriend has left his wife and two children and “wants to talk” (fat.chance.)

[snip]

10. I have a massive, advanced ear infection that I didn’t even know I had. I saw the doctor this morning because my teeth were hurting and my ears were itching, and she says there is to be no Messing Around: if after 24 hours on the antibiotic I feel any worse, I have to go to Urgent Care and not wait for Tuesday to make an appointment

11. My youngest baby starting preschool next week

12. A friend’s marriage is teetery

I’ve kind of jumbled those all up, the serious and the less-serious. They’re all jumbled up in my mind, too: I feel like I have so much to do and think about and remember! I don’t feel STRESSED, really—but I do feel WIRED. I’ve had to cut wayyyyy down on coffee, because I feel like my baseline is at the 2-cup point right now, before I’ve had a single sip.

I’m beginning to feel as if all nutrition information is like the medical information from the days when we still thought illness was caused by evil spirits instead of germs. One old woman tells you that if you have a wart you should put a certain leaf on it, then bury the leaf under a full moon; another old woman tells you that on the contrary, you should put the juice of a certain berry on it, then sleep on the non-wart side for a week. Meanwhile, the old man in a hut in the next village over says that the wart is a manifestation of a resentment you have toward a friend, and his neighbor says it’s that your blood is full of heat and you need to eat cooling foods.

I think to myself, “I will not try to get all COMPLICATED with Specific Eating Restrictions, I will just start with what I KNOW”—and I am lost first thing in the morning at breakfast. Do I eat a good hearty serving of whole grains? Or do I instead avoid grains and eat only protein? and should it be LEAN protein, or doesn’t that matter as long as I’m not eating sugar? Or is it important to eat grains and proteins and fats in particular percentages? Or is what’s REALLY important that it be a WHOLE food, not a processed one? a raw food, not a cooked one? Only foods that conform to an arbitrary limit on number of ingredients? readability of ingredients? (Yay, smart people and people who took Latin aren’t affected by the same things as other people!) Is breakfast the most important meal, or should I “listen to my body” (what does that…MEAN?) and not eat if I’m not hungry? Should I have a piece of fruit packed with fiber and antioxidants, or is fruit full of sugar that will throw off my whole day? Are legumes power foods that do everything but our taxes, are they not intended for human consumption? Does coffee speed up metabolism and also contain important antioxidants, or is it a dangerous dehydrating stimulant that will make me hungrier when I crash?

I like the “Just do the best you can” attitude and the way it avoids the pursuit of unattainable perfection—but it only works when we know what perfection we’re not attempting to fully attain. There can’t be a “best we can” when we don’t even know if fruit and whole grains are EXCELLENT for us or THE VERY THING KILLING US.

Eat whole grains under the full moon! Eat antioxidants between the spring and winter solstices! Eat proteins but only on days when the goddess’s face is visible on the side of the moon, and bury a pear at dusk on the days you eat whole grains! CONTROL THAT BLOOD HEAT. HARNESS THOSE BAD SPIRITS!

If I were facing a potential weather-related emergency, I don’t think I would go to the grocery store, because that’s always an anthill of crazy, and because I think I could scrape together enough food for temporary survival out of my stockpiles of cans of foods we used to eat all the time and now never do but still have giant stashes of. I think instead I would do laundry. We can eat cans of pineapple tidbits and fill the bathtub with water to drink, but if the power were out for awhile it would be challenging to re-wear the clothes that have been in the laundry basket under some wet washcloths for a few days in hot weather.

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Speaking of kind of gross, I had to fish a sock out of the toilet yesterday. Don’t ask me how it got in there, because I pursued that line of questioning fruitlessly with the children for awhile, and even if I’d gotten an answer it wouldn’t have changed the fact that the sock was in the toilet. Luckily, I’d recently read that snippet of trying-to-make-you-feel-bad that’s going around Facebook, the one about how the water in U.S. toilets is cleaner than the drinking water available to 95% of the world. I have no idea if that’s true (nor, I suspect, do most of the people who repost it), but it made it easier to put my hand into the water and get the sock. I did it quick, like pulling off a bank robbery.

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Do you know where Paul is right now? Washington D.C., that’s where. Do you know what day he’s scheduled to return? Sunday, that’s when. So. He and I have been reading up on Hurricane Irene, trying to figure out her secret plan and whether it involves us. The problem is, meteorologists get so! extremely! excited! about everything that isn’t normal boring weather, it’s very difficult to tell the difference between something that is actually a problem and something that is just really fun to talk about for a change. Sure, AFTER the fact we can beat ourselves up about how we Didn’t Listen, but I think there have been a dozen Huge Important Weather Catastrophes already this year, none of which were ANYTHING AT ALL. If we all evacuated every time a meteorologist peed down his leg, we’d just live permanently in the bomb shelter. But of course if we DON’T Take Measures, we’ll feel like idiots if it turns out we should have. WHY OH WHY DIDN’T WE JUST FLEE FOR THE HILLS?? It would have been SO EASY!! Lose-lose.

And I don’t even want to give Paul my opinion, because what if I say, “No, don’t spend a million dollars and change all your plans and come home a day early, assuming you can even FIND a way home that isn’t completely booked,” and then he DIES IN A HURRICANE? Wouldn’t I feel bad THEN? Or what if I say, “Yes, spend a million dollars and change all your plans and come home a day early,” and then there is some rain and some wind? Wouldn’t I feel bad THEN? Lose-lose.

[Update: Paul’s Sunday transportation has been canceled. This is kind of annoying, since THIS VERY MORNING he called them to reschedule for Saturday, and they told him there was absolutely no need to do that because they were absolutely not going to cancel Sunday plans.] [I am pretty crabby about this.]

[Update on the update: Fortunately my dad found out it had been canceled before even THE TRANSPORTATION ITSELF knew, so when Paul called, the agent he talked to was seeing the cancellations happen right in front of her eyes, and it was early enough to get him in on Saturday morning instead.]

(Keeping in mind what I said before, which is that the title is based on the search term I used when I was looking for information about different experiences, and not on the silly assumption that it’s the same for everyone.)

See also: Tonsillectomy Recovery (Days One Through Nine)

When we left off, mid-Day-Nine, I was about to take Elizabeth to her post-op appointment with the ENT doctor. Luckily, luckily, luckily, LUCKILY, through some sort of LUCKY WHIM or else because she already felt queasy but didn’t want to tell me, she brought a bucket with her. And then she threw up all the way there. She’s always had trouble with motion sickness, but it’s been so long since she actually threw up that I’ve taken apart the Emergency Barf Kit—and I didn’t have a diaper bag with me either. No wipes. Luckily, fast-food napkins in the glove compartment and a roll of paper towels under the seat. But we were almost late because I had to pull over to help her and to empty the bucket in the grass by the side of the road, and then I felt very embarrassed that the doctor would be looking into her non-teeth-brushed mouth after this, and that she was carrying a not-very-clean plastic bucket. But she had a drink at a drinking fountain and she had an Altoid, and I wiped out the bucket with paper towels, and that just had to be good enough. If we’d had more time, I could have washed out the bucket in a hospital bathroom, but we signed the sign-in sheet at 12:59:34 for a 1:00:00 appointment, so there wasn’t time.

She saw the doctor, and he said everything looked great. He let me look, and it was not as gross as I’d feared: I could definitely see pinkness/redness and a small (dime-sized) scab, but it didn’t look AWFUL or scary to me. I told him that Elizabeth did/didn’t want to know how bad it looked like the Day Ten Scab Process would be, and he said “Ha ha ha” but then didn’t say anything else. And I felt silly, then, for having been indirect, and too silly/awkward to then follow-up with something more direct, so I hope it’s that there really isn’t any way to know if the scab situation is going to be worse/better than usual and that’s why he didn’t answer (rather than it being that he can tell it’s going to be bad so he didn’t want to scare her worse).

The doctor mentioned again that the codeine could be causing nausea, but the thing is, she’s been throwing up MORE when I skip a dose or a dose is due-but-late. And she hadn’t been in a car for over a week, and she was scared and upset about the appointment, and she’s been eating a lot of dairy and sugar, and she’s always had problems with motion sickness, and the chart says ear pain is a common side effect so I’m guessing the area that handles motion sickness is also involved in this. Still, he says to keep it in mind, and that she can switch from tylenol/codeine to just tylenol now.

He also says she’s “talking through her nose” and that she needs to practice learning to talk again. I’d noticed she was hard to understand, but I’d thought that would go away with the throat pain and swelling. But no. She has to practice.

Day Ten: We were out shopping (MUST GET OUT OF HOUSE OMG MUST GET OUT) and we stopped at a fast-food place for lunch. I got the kids hamburgers, and I got one for Elizabeth too even though I didn’t think she’d eat it and she said she didn’t want it: it was only a dollar, and I figured if she took a single bite that was a good step back to normal, and also the other kids would fall like vultures on anything she didn’t eat so it wouldn’t go to waste. She ate 2/3rds of it. AND she didn’t throw up in the car: I gave her benadryl half an hour before we left, and either it worked or else it’s that she wasn’t upset/scared today, or WHO KNOWS, anyway she didn’t throw up.

I’m gradually learning that if I have wine in the evening, I have trouble sleeping that night. Gradual connections are being made, one night at a time. Last night I had wine, and then I lay awake. First I kept seeing shadows down the hall, made by cars driving by, and thinking they were the shadows of people creeping around in the house. Then, when I’d reminded myself that a cat can’t walk across our floors without making a creak with every step, I started thinking I heard Furtive Sounds, perhaps PEOPLE TRYING TO BREAK IN. That went NOWHERE GOOD, let me tell you. At one point I realized that my entire body was tense, including clenched fists, and that I’d spent the last five minutes or so imagining defending myself against intruders with a floor lamp: I could bash them with it for awhile, and there would be pointy glass when the bulbs broke, and if I got the upper hand I could use the cord to strangle them. I’d gone on to imagine that they’d lost consciousness–OR SEEMED TO–and what would I do to make SURE they were either dead or incapacitated until the police could get here? If I have learned one thing from movies, it’s that you don’t get overconfident that a Downed Attacker is actually down. So would I do something that would stain both my hardwood floors and potentially my conscience (though I think it’s highly unlikely I’d struggle with my conscience if it was an intruder in a house with my children)? and what would I use to do it? and would it be easy (because I’d be so scared) or would it be much harder than I expected it to be? and boy, I wish there was such a thing as a gun that would materialize only when needed. Or would I…somehow tie his hands and feet (with what? and I couldn’t really leave him to go root around in the dark basement for some rope) and then call 911?

This was when I noticed every single muscle was tightened up and my fingernails were hurting my palms. And also realized that the floor lamp I’d been envisioning grabbing with one swift smooth action-hero-like motion (ha ha, now I’m picturing James Bond wielding an attractive floor lamp) is one we Freecycled a few months back because we never used it. And the other floor lamp in the room is plugged in behind the bureau, so I’d have to shift the bureau, then lean as far as I could and make sound-wave shapes with the cord until the plug wiggled out of the socket, etc.

So I tried to think of something more relaxing, but instead my mind drifted to something that had been bugging me earlier in the day, which was the word “jailbait.” I hadn’t given the word much thought over the years, since I don’t move in circles that have a use for such a word. I started out feeling that the word was mildly icky and wrong, and by the time I’d thought the thing out thoroughly, I was ready to go back and EAGERLY take out some feelings on that imaginary intruder, perhaps by lifting the entire bureau and slamming it onto him. I wish we didn’t even HAVE that word. It isn’t that I don’t UNDERSTAND why we have the word; OH I UNDERSTAND WHY WE HAVE IT. That is the PROBLEM: that I think I see exactly why we have that word, instead of just having the word “teenager.” “Bait” implies a trap, a set-up. Men are being LURED by this child, TRICKED into a TRAP by…the child? society? And so they resist the child, NOT because it would be wrong to get involved with a child, NOT because they are personally icked out by the idea, NOT because they are horrified at the thought of accidentally getting involved with someone so young—but because of the potential for jail, and because they are too wily and clever to be trapped. Jailbait. And congratulating themselves. I hate everybody. Please turn me loose on a building scheduled for demolition, so I can gnaw on it until I feel better.

That title is kind of funny, because as the ENT doctor said, and the nurses said, and all of you with experience with tonsillectomies said, the experience varies WIDELY. But that’s the search term I was using when I was anxiously looking for more information, so that’s what I’m using as the title.

Day One (day of surgery): We had to be at the hospital at 6:30; the surgery was at 7:30; the doctor was coming out to tell me everything went fine at 8:10; they called me back to see her at 8:25; we were headed to our car at 11:00. Between the surgery and the time we went home, Elizabeth mostly dozed. When she did wake up a little, she was cranky and wasn’t interested in the little stuffed hamster I’d bought at the gift shop, but didn’t seem to be in much pain. When she woke around 10:20, though, she was saying “Ow ow ow” and crying, so the nurse brought her a dose of tylenol/codeine, and by the time we were leaving the hospital she was even CHEERY, and was able to walk to the car, and sang along hoarsely with a few songs from the Phineas & Ferb CD on the way home.

At home she had some popsicles and watched some TV and everything was going way better than expected. They’d told us she’d likely nap on and off all day, but she didn’t. Then she got kind of blank-faced and slumpy. Then she started throwing up. She had three sessions of it: afternoon, early evening, later evening. She was miserable. I was highly fretful and lay awake that night worried that I should have called the doctor about the throwing up, worried that she wasn’t holding down either the antibiotic or the painkiller, worried that she would have to go back to the hospital. I felt hugely under-qualified to be handling post-surgical care.

Day Two: She was much better. In my fretful lyings-awake, I’d thought “She HAS to be improved in the morning, or else I’ll call the doctor.” I woke her around 4:00 to take pain medicine, which was a gamble: it could let her absorb it while asleep and non-barfy—or it could make her throw up all over our mattress and herself. Gamble paid off: she woke up better and held down her antibiotic too, and then I kept right on top of giving her the pain medicine every 4 hours exactly. She still felt crummy all day, but NO BARFING, and a couple of times got off the couch and wandered around for a minute before going back. Refused to nap. No smiling. Wouldn’t talk, and would barely shake/nod her head (said her jaw hurt when she moved her head). Ate a little applesauce with flax seed meal stirred in, and maybe 1/4 cup of a non-dairy smoothie I made with banana, strawberries, blueberries, spinach, rolled oats. Also ate popsicles and ice cream. Some interest in Tonsillectomy Presents.

Days Three and Four: Doing prematurely better: up and around, doing some talking, seeming to feel much better, very interested in tonsillectomy presents. Then on the evening of Day 4, two more episodes of throwing up.

Day Five: She woke up crying from the pain but wouldn’t take her pain medicine. She is SIX, but she has been acting THREE. When I put a little medicine in her mouth, she let it dribble out; I tried not to be angry at the sick child; when that failed, I tried to at least mostly HIDE being angry at the sick child. I gave her a Sucrets (numbing cough drop) and then she took the medicine—I think because the cough drop let her back down graciously from the stand-off, rather than because it helped, but maybe some of each. She barely ate anything all day, just a few popsicles. At dinner she wanted to try pizza, so Paul cooked it a little less (normally he makes the crust crispy and the cheese chewy, but he went with a soft crust and melty cheese) and she did eat a few bites. At 8:00 she put herself to bed.

Day Six: For lunch she asked for and ate half a peanut butter and honey sandwich and a cup of milk. But it’s so back and forth: for even a few hours she’ll seem almost normal, but then she’ll be weepy and crabby and saying she has a headache, and she’ll sit still for hours watching a movie. Her voice is different: a little lower, and she’s saying vowels differently, like “hev” instead of “have.” Her jaw/throat still look a little swollen. She’s very nervous about Day Ten, which is when the ENT doctor said there’s usually a setback (because of the scab, and that’s probably all you want to know about it).

Day Seven: She woke up crying in the middle of the night but wouldn’t say why. We’ve been using a system for measuring pain: I hold up my hand, fingers splayed, and I point to whatever finger is farthest to her left and I say “no pain,” and I point to whatever finger is farthest to her right and I say “the worst it’s been so far with this,” and she chooses a finger. It’s always finger 1 (no pain) or 2 (small amount of pain) now, but she complains of headaches, and she says in calmer moments that when she’s crying and won’t tell me why, it’s because she Feels Terrible—not pain really, not queasiness really, but just feeling really really bad all over. So now when she cries and I can’t figure out why, I hold her hand and I tell her to squeeze once for yes, and I ask is it pain? (no squeeze) Nightmare? (no squeeze) Feeling terrible? (squeeze) The squeezing system isn’t because it hurts her too much to talk but because she gets in these stubborn mute phases when she’s upset, and this is a way around that; we use it when she’s not post-surgery, too. This afternoon she went into her room and closed the door, and when I looked in on her later she was asleep.

Day Eight: She doesn’t seem to need the tylenol/codeine for throat pain, exactly, but when I skip a dose she gets crumply and weepy and doesn’t eat or drink. I’m glad the doctor was generous with the prescription so I can keep giving it to her. (But I am feeling some renewed resentment with my OBs, who have always given me a prescription for 1.5 days’ worth of painkiller after c-sections. Thanks, OBs! Obviously it’s exactly the right time to apply Just Say No!) I haven’t been waking her to take it or keeping her on a rigorous every-four-hours schedule—but I’m giving it to her first thing in the morning, two doses during the day, and one more before bed (she’s been sleeping in our room every night, and usually doesn’t go to sleep until we do).

Day Nine (today): Today she has a follow-up appointment with the ENT doctor, and she desperately DOES and desperately DOESN’T want to ask him about the status of the scab. The ENT doctor warned us, by the way, that her breath would likely be “like a chain-smoking alcoholic’s”—but it hasn’t been bad at all. I notice mostly that she smells a little fruity and medicinal.

So! That’s how it’s been going. I’m feeling a little worn out, mostly I think from being cooped up in the house and from trying to get her to eat something nutritious. I had such a good list of soft/pureed foods, and it seems like she’ll eat each one once and then never again. I’m not fretful, because the ENT doctor said he didn’t care if she ate nothing but ice cream for two weeks—but on the other hand I think she’s a lot crankier when she’s subsisting on ice cream. Look, isn’t this a good list of liquid and soft food possibilities?

scrambled eggs
applesauce (with or without flax seed meal)
yogurt
mashed potatoes
peanut butter stirred into ice cream
pudding
Jello
macaroni and cheese
canned fruits
shakes
smoothies of various sorts
bananas
ice cream
popsicles
juice boxes
Pediasure/Ensure

But here is the list she is actually eating:

ice cream

Every time I turn around, this bag of corn startles me:

SarahLena mentioned on Twitter that some days she gets so sick of things being overdramatized on social media. That reminded me of a tip I’m not sure I’ve shared with you: when I’m being bothered by someone Pumping Up The Drama, or Manipulating For Attention, I use the Captain Kirk voice to read whatever they’ve written. You are familiar with William Shatner’s Star Trek acting style? And, more importantly, with the way he spoofs his own acting style, which is something that makes me love him with teary-eyed love? Anyway, that’s the style I use when I read people’s Overblown Drama, and it really helps. Just put Drama Pauses in wherever (they’re funnier if they’re at unnatural breaking points), speak as if acting woodenly, and look intently at the corner where the wall meets the ceiling.