1. I switched from sandals to shoes, and my shoes are bothering my feet: they feel tight and overly warm, and my feet feel sore.

2. I changed exercises, and managed to make my shins owie.

3. I’ve had a headache every day for three days in a row.

4. It’s only Tuesday.

5. I’m fretful and upset about Marie’s situation.

6. I’m reading a book that has a sad baby plotline.

7. Among the blogs and tweetstreams I read, there’s been a sudden outbreak of sadnesses.

8. There’s no candy in the house.

9. Two of the children have runny noses. That never leads anywhere good.

10. Mouse’s peeing issues.

11. Rob’s school does a one-week sleepaway camp for sixth graders. It’s this month. I’m worried and fretful about obvious stuff, but also cranky about the supply list, which lists a million things we don’t own and then emphasizes that we should NOT be buying new things for this trip, but rather sending old stuff. Oh, sure, I’ll send his OLD sturdy waterproof hiking boots and one of our many daypacks!

12. Henry is in a particularly difficult stage, with lots of bursting into tears over very little, and lots of repeating questions he JUST asked me but now asking them in a whinier tone—and then, when I tell him I said no and stop asking me, saying, “WHY? Why, Mommy? Why should I?” *headache pounding*

13. Two phone calls I need to make.

14. “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?” “Hey, Mommy?”

15. The underwire is coming through my bra, and poking me in the armpit.

What’s wrong with YOU today?

Last night I woke up at 3:00 and sleep didn’t come back. And why—WHY—would my self thwart myself like that? Sleep is good! Sleep is nice! Four in the morning is not a time to be sitting in a recliner with a cat and a book, however pleasant a way that might be to spend the time during the day.

Anyway. Coffee.

I’m reading a book right now that I’ll officially recommend to you if it finishes as well as it has begun and middled: The Good Psychologist by Noam Shpancer. I am mesmerized, MESMERIZED. I just love it and love it. Not only am I enjoying the plot, I’m finding the content literally therapeutic. Like, I am LEARNING PSYCHOLOGICAL TRUTHS and HAVING PSYCHOLOGICAL INSIGHTS. Or rather, being led like a willing and placid lambie to those truths and insights. You could read this book as therapy, is what I’m saying, and yet it’s entertaining and it’s fiction, not textbooky.

Plus, the author photo is pleasing to look at. I like a good author photo. Things that can make an author photo NOT a good author photo include but are not limited to: author putting her hands unnaturally at her face to hide a double chin; author using her upper arms to make her boobs look bigger; author looking like she had the photo taken at Glamor Shots; author perceptibly airbrushed. (I read mostly female authors. For men the pitfall list is less defined, and goes something like “Looking like a jerk.”)

Good author photos are harder to make lists about. The EFFECT of a good author photo is that I feel like I know and recognize and like the author, and I want to keep looking at him or her periodically as I’m reading. The photo should coordinate with the style of the book. I shouldn’t feel as if the author is trying to show us his/her most flattering angle, even if he or she IS in fact doing so.

One of my favorite author photos is this one from Suzanne Finnamore’s book The Zygote Chronicles (I’ve deliberately linked to the unavailable hardcover rather than to the available paperback, because book cover art is IMPORTANT and the hardcover captures the book whereas the paperback does not), taken by Kate Powers:

And another good one is Noam Shpancer’s, taken by Mia Lewis:

The more of the book I read, the more I like the photo, which is another sign of a good author photo.

Follow-up: I REALLY liked the book. I officially recommend.

I like to put these, uh, “special interest” topics together, since not everyone is special-interested.

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Car business:

You remember the dealer who said the minivan needed $4500 of work, despite running beautifully and not showing any symptoms of anything being wrong? My since-before-blogging friend Firegirl is a car girl, married to a car guy and friends with other car guys. AND, I have a dad who is the kind of person who READS MANUALS. My crack team of Car People looked over the estimate and said “PSHAW.” Firegirl suggests saving up for the timing belt and water pump, but all the rest of it is stuff that gets fixed WHEN IT BREAKS, not FOR FUN. So that’s a relief.

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Cat business:

Update on the cat-peeing-on-the-bed situation. Several of you suggested ideas such as closing Mouse into the bathroom, or closing our bedroom door, and it all seemed too overwhelming: we can’t keep our door closed at night because we need to be able to hear the kids; if we try to keep anything closed during the day, the kids will open it and forget to re-close it.

But there was a load of cat-pee sheets that kicked me over that edge and made me willing to try it: she peed on a pile of CLEAN sheets I hadn’t even PUT ON THE BED yet. So at night, Mouse is in the bathroom in her beloved linen closet, and we shut the door; during the day, we shut the door to our room. It doesn’t work consistently (the kids DO open the door and then leave it open), but “closing door sometimes” turns out to be less opportunity for peeing on our bed than “closing doors never”—see also “frustrated perfectionism, and the importance of thwarting that tendency.”

Not only has there been significantly less peeing on our bed, today she came into the living room and JUMPED ONTO MY LAP and PURRED, and we haven’t seen that kind of thing in awhile.

Also, in addition to the litter box we put in the linen closet, I’ve put a bowl of kitten food in there (more calories than regular cat food), and she’s gained a little weight, which is VERY GOOD considering she’s been at less than half her usual weight.

Bumper stickers have been…well, I was going to say “bugging me,” but let’s call a spade a spade and say they’ve been PISSING ME OFF. As in, I’ve been having long, one-sided, sometimes not entirely silent-in-my-head discussions with the imagined owners of said bumper stickers.

The first one that bothered me I saw in two forms within the same week. One was an old peeling “IMPEACH BUSH” sticker, and the other was a new “IMPEACH OBAMA” sticker. I realize a bumper sticker lacks room for detail, but could there be room at least for a “for” and a verb? Does everyone realize we don’t get to impeach a president for “not being what we wanted”? There needs to be an actual, legitimate, legally-justified REASON.

The second one I saw in just one format, but both formats (and I’m sure both formats exist) bug me:

THINKING WOMEN
VOTE REPUBLICAN

It would be nearly as piss-me-offy if it were “THINKING WOMEN VOTE DEMOCRAT.” I don’t think I would qualify any woman as a “thinker” if she thought all women should vote unthinkingly exclusively for one party, nor if she thought women should feel pressured by a bumper sticker.

The third one was not actually a bumper sticker but to me goes into a similar category. There were a bunch of political signs up along the side of the road, and one entire batch of signs just said “NOT!” with an arrow, each one put up to point to one particular candidate’s signs. That seems really icky. It still seemed icky after I looked up the candidate and realized I would vote against her myself: it isn’t about feelings toward a candidate, it’s about poor sportsmanship and mudslinging and spending a lot of time and effort to be jerks.

I’ll end, though, with a bumper sticker I saw today that put me in a better mood:

GOD BLESS EVERYONE
NO EXCEPTIONS

Or there’s mine:

(Screen shot from Zazzle.com.)

My mom thought I was kidding about this song/video existing. She thought I was just really gifted at coming up with mid-’80s social-awareness lyrics.

On Friday, Henry and I dropped the twins off at kindergarten, and we were walking back to our car. The path from the kindergarten to the parking lot is edged by a rock wall. And in a crack between two rocks, we saw a baby maple tree.

It couldn’t live there: there wasn’t enough room or enough dirt anyway, and that’s if the person who tends that path didn’t pull it out. So we pulled it out. And we brought it home and planted it in a big pot, and we will see.

I had Elizabeth put her hand there for scale,
even though Elizabeth is not otherwise part of this story,
because Elizabeth happened to be outside
when I realized I wanted a photo for this post.

Car business:

I finally took the minivan in to have the rear door handle replaced. It’s been…a year? two? since the handle fell off. Long enough so I’m completely in the habit of using only one rear door, and may never go back. Still, nice to have it done. Except that they found $4500 worth of other stuff they recommend we have done, too. Our car may SEEM like it’s running perfectly, but it is CLEARLY ABOUT TO FALL INTO A HEAP OF RUSTED, MALFUNCTIONING PARTS!

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Cat business:

Benchley’s eye is healed. He can have his funny collar off, and he’s been bathing himself constantly ever since we removed it. He might have some lingering scar tissue on his eye, or he might not; we’ll have to see.

Mouse is sniffling in addition to peeing everywhere, so I took her to the vet too. Nothing seems to be wrong. Maybe cystitis. Maybe Benchley’s recent problems, which involved him being indoors all the time and available to menace her by existing. Maybe age. Maybe some as-yet-undiscovered thing.

It’s discouraging. I didn’t want to HOPE something was wrong, but our blankets and sheets are starting to fall apart from vigorous daily washing. I’m getting behind on other laundry because peed-on things are soaking in vinegar-water in the washer so much of the time. Yesterday she peed on Elizabeth’s bed, including the pink toile quilt.

And yet despite all this GROSSNESS I still think of Mouse as “poor old girl.” She’s gentle, and she sleeps on my pillow at night—getting up only to pee on Paul. During the day she sleeps in the linen closet, or on the couch. She’s just over 5 pounds now, when she used to be well over 11 pounds. She and Benchley were sharing a cat carrier for the vet appointment, and Benchley got aggressive after the appointment and started hissing and scrapping, so as I was loading the carrier into the car I took Mouse out and put her on the front passenger seat, which I realize it totally anti-recommended so no need to scold. And she just settled in on the seat and looked toward the front, purring, looking just like this:

I pictured myself as a little old lady, taking my little old lady cat everywhere I went in my little old lady car.

Paul bought me two pounds of assorted promotional pens from American Science & Surplus, which went a good long way to repair any lingering bad feelings from our fight from the other day—especially since, unlike a bouquet of apology flowers, these were ordered ahead of time out of pure thoughtfulness, when he hadn’t yet realized he might be motivated to act thoughtful in order to smooth things over.

I wish I could take photos of the pens to show you, but the children have misplaced my camera and it’s been long enough now that I actually ordered a new camera (I bought this one) (and I’m keeping it in my purse where they can’t get to it). You know what would be fun? Dividing a house up like a cow field and letting people choose a square where they bet the camera is, and then having a prize for the winner (maybe some pens!). Except, unlike waiting for a cow to poop, we might have to wait until the kids move out to find that stupid camera.

Anyway, the pens. What they are is promotional pen rejects—the ones that didn’t meet quality control for the promotional printing on the barrels. There are about 50 pens to a pound, so I have about 100 (Miss Zoot will envy my pen riches). I would say my favorite so far is an orange one with black polkadots that says “OMNIMOUNT” and “1-800-MOUNT-IT”. I have a nice big handful of those. But I also have a few red-and-white Iowa State University pens, a whole bunch of pens that make me look like I stole pens from a bank, and a whole bunch of pens that make me look like I stole pens from a CHURCH. That would be a bold move, huh?

Oh, wait, new winner: FUNERAL HOME pens. I think I would prefer NOT to see a promotional pen at a funeral home. Plain black businesslike pens would be better, I think, not only for the dignity of it but because I don’t want to think about anyone PROMOTING a funeral home. But for my own pen mug, I want the funeral home promotional pen.

Speaking of promotional, I hope to have lots of future experiences to prove me wrong, but at this point I’d have to say there are few things as satisfying as owning things with one’s OWN advertising on them. From the expression “Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt” I glean that THE T-SHIRT is a crucial part of fully experiencing an experience. And now I have been there, done that, and paid too much for a t-shirt designed by a total amateur:

I also made a bumper sticker:

Hee!

(Both screen shots from Zazzle.com.)

Anyway, I fully recommend this. It is EXPENSIVE, but then you have your OWN t-shirt or whatever, with your OWN slogan on it! It is super-fun, and it really is startling to see it—I’m sure Angelina Jolie feels the same way when she sees her billboards. And you can do many, many versions as you try to figure out what looks nice.

AND, Zazzle has sales pretty often: I got the shirt when they were doing a deal where it was a 4-hour 50% off shirts sale, so it was still pretty expensive but easier to deal with. If you register, they’ll send you emails about the sales. And heavens, NO, they have not asked me to write this or paid me to talk about it or given me anything for free or ANYTHING—if they had, this would be over on the reviews blog.

Paul and I had one of our very rare fights last night (I clean when I’m mad, so probably Paul has mixed feelings about our fights). Then this morning I woke up queasy and feeling like I was fizzing with Teh Krazy, and then I thought, “Huh, this is just how I felt when….” And then I took a pregnancy test (I will keep these things on hand until long after menopause: it is well worth 80 cents for peace of mind), and it’s negative, so I guess I’m just a regular mess, or possible a PMesS. So anyway then I shopped for small expensive handbags I have no intention of buying.

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Mouse is still peeing out of her box about once per day. Two nights ago I woke up at 4:00 in the morning and noticed her doing some pre-pee prowling on our bed, so I took her down to the basement and stood there in my bare feet in the middle of the night, putting her in her litter box again and again, petting her and speaking soothingly. Then I gave up, and she followed me back to bed and peed on Paul.

So last night Paul and I switched sides of the bed, and have you ever tried to do that? It seems really weird. I kept waking up feeling like everything was all strange, and now the lamp is on my side. Anyway, I was wondering if Mouse was peeing ON PAUL or if she was peeing on that side of the BED, but last night’s test was a bust because she sniffed around for awhile and then went out to the hallway and peed on a pair of pants one of the kids left there.

Could we get a little fresh breeze in here kthanx

On one hand I’m reaching my limit, and on the other hand “reaching my limit” doesn’t really mean anything because I don’t want to put her to sleep and that’s pretty much the only option sitting around at the limit. If she had other issues I would consider it, but she’s a very good cat. She’s been a very good cat for 16 years. I don’t want to stop the CAT, I just want to stop the PEEING. We’ve talked about it with the vet several times now, and she’s been tested but she’s fine, and we got her a Feliway-knock-off collar, and we’ve gotten multiple litter boxes, and we’ve put a box aside for her in a secluded place, and we’ve put a box on the main floor in case she’s having trouble with the stairs to the basement, and she seems accustomed to the new cats now—and sometimes things seem better and then they seem not-better again. And she IS peeing MOST of the time in the box (or, as Paul says darkly, “or somewhere else we haven’t found yet”). We have a vinyl mattress cover on our bed, which I hate, and we’ve taken our down blanket and our quilt off and replaced them with cheap blankets that are easier to wash cat pee out of.

Anyway. I guess I don’t have any point to that. Just venting/complaining. Mouse goes back to the vet in November for blood tests anyway, so that’s another chance for them to find something. The vet also mentioned cat prozac, except Mouse doesn’t seem UPSET or anything now. She just keeps peeing on our stuff. And maybe she’s just kind of old and needs a cat-sized Depends.

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(image from Amazon.com)

I read The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman and liked it. I feel very invested in her getting back together with Jimmy Kimmel. I mean, assuming they’d be happy together—I don’t mean they have to get together if they had a bad relationship. But it SEEMED good, didn’t it? And I felt sad when they broke up, and I’d feel happy if they got back together and were happy and had babies if they wanted them and so forth.

The playdate went as well as could be expected. Which for a non-socially-anxious person would probably be “It was AWESOME! We got along GREAT! I like the mom AND the kids, HALLELUJAH!!!”

I do like the mom. She’s ten years younger than me, which. I mean. Some of YOU are ten years younger than me and I don’t have any trouble thinking of you as peers, but it’s the flip side of the problem I more often have, which is when moms are ten years older than me. Ten years is a GAP. There are times I feel it more than others. This time I didn’t feel it much, but I wondered if SHE did. Her husband is three years older than her, but he’s still seven years younger than me.

But I like her. She swore appropriately and cheerfully several times when the kids were out of earshot, but then creatively non-swore (“That’ll really sssss” for “suck”) when they were nearby. She was interested in talking at least for awhile about baby names. From what I could tell in an hour and a half, her parenting doesn’t clash with mine. She’s comfortable and social, which can be helpful: she assumes there’s no awkwardness, which can make me less awkward in response.

The kids got along, although Elizabeth and the other girl excluded Edward, which left Edward crying in the sand, which was a little embarrassing and also hard to know how to handle. But that went okay. In fact, the only real issue was that I got sand on my feet and had to chop off my feet because OMG SAND ON MY FEET AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Speaking of awkward, after Henry and I dropped the twins off at kindergarten (both still sandy from their park time in the morning), we went to the music store to buy a music book for William, who has decided to take clarinet (it doesn’t seem like two whole years since Rob chose clarinet, but here we are). And the guy who owns the store came over to help us, and Henry said, “Hey, that guy has girl hair!”

So I was immediately torn: do I act like it’s no big deal, or do I die outwardly as well as inwardly? I went with Option A, saying absently, “LONG hair, Henry, yes.” And the guy said to Henry, “Yep. How’re ya?” Then the guy went into another room, so while the cashier was ringing up our purchase I lectured Henry about how some girls have short hair but it’s NOT BOY HAIR IT’S SHORT HAIR, and some boys have long hair but it’s NOT GIRL HAIR IT’S LONG HAIR, with the intention that the cashier would overhear and perhaps report to the guy that “the mom was really embarrassed and also not at all the type of person who would refer to long-haired guys as ‘looking like girls’.” She kept chuckling, so I thought to myself “Success!”

Then as we left the store, Henry saw the guy again and said, “Hey, there’s that guy with girl hair!” Oh god. I mean, what is the right thing to do in this situation? Should I apologize to the guy, possibly making it into a big deal rather than a nothing deal? Should I act exasperated and say “GEEZ, Henry!”? Should I say, “Henry, dude, are you kidding me? that is AWESOME ROCK-STAR HAIR.” And I ask this knowing YOU know I can’t go back in time and do it over and can only do what I DID do which is to say “Henry” in a reproving tone of voice (with just a TOUCH of “Geez!”) and continue to take him out to the car, where I delivered the lecture a second time, adding a chapter about how it is rude to comment loudly about other people’s appearances, er yes, unless of course it is Mommy saying “Oh, I LOVE your shirt!” or whatever, so in fact why don’t you just play it safe and not say ANYTHING AT ALL until you come of age?