Good morning!

Morgan seems to be doing OK. She has had a much rougher time then any of us imagined. A long and complicated day ended with her two sisters tucked into bed sleeping soundly and a phone call from Megan saying Morgan had been quite sick to her stomach. The day begins very quickly with little girls needs to get to school and preschool (including packing bags, lunches, getting baths) and then I'm heading up to the hospital to watch Morgan so Megan can have a break. Keep this sweet little trooper in your prayers. She is having a pretty rough time.

Morgan surgery is official

Waaahhh. It's on Thursday morning super early and they will keep her overnight in the hospital since she is under three years old. They will be removing her very huge tonsils and adenoids. Steve will wait with Megan at the hospital while I get Julia to school. Talking to the ENT surgeon today sort of scared me. He really stressed the importance of not letting her become deyhdrated during the two weeks following the surgery. I worry about Megan being able to get enough fluids in her since her throat will be hurting. OK, won't borrow trouble. I'll keep you posted.

Up on the roof...the project continues with electronic assistance

I'm just saying...

...that I need a farm! Just a small one. A teeny, tiny cute hobby farm with about 30 acres, a century old little clapboard farmhouse, wood fences, some chickens, more gardening space, fruit trees, a little pond. Accckkk!

Don't get me wrong, I love my house and yard but it isn't a farm. No barn. No chickens. No 7 acre gardens. Sad.

I'm just saying. But I want this now.

Sorry for the whining but I thought perhaps one of you has a small hobby farm that you inherited and that you don't really want.

I can buy it. Really. Or trade you for fabric or something.

OR provide you with unlimited flowers and vegetables until one of us dies.

Just think about it.

And let me know if you have a spare hobby farm laying around somewhere.

OK?

Morgan has bangs - prepare to go AWWWWWW!

Mammo WHHHHHATTT?

So…last night I didn’t sleep. I tossed, I turned, I watched Martha, I ate bad things. I was nervous. I was panicked. I was being just a teeny, tiny bit neurotic.

After all I had to get a mammogram this morning. It didn’t help when I saw the breaking news story last night about the woman who almost expired from having her breast mangled in a mammogram machine somewhere. I can recall so clearly watching the pain and grief on her husbands face as the medical specialists explained how they had to use the “jaws of life” to pry the womans bruised breasts from the machine and how the suffering must have been terrible. They showed charts and graphs about the possibility of the breast falling off entirely. OK, technically I didn’t really see this on the news but I COULD HAVE which is why I didn’t get any sleep last night. Sigh.

My husband used the old “guilt” trick to get me to go to my appointment. Don’t you think that is wrong for people you love to use guilt against you? Really! I mean, if you truly like me you would agree with this statement and call my husband and yell at him. Oh, you don’t agree? Well, that’s OK. I knew you never really liked me anyway. Sigh.

I got to the appointment and after a brief wait the technician called me to the changing room. At first glance she looked sweet with her blonde hair, smiling face, bright pink, cute scrub top, and perky ponytail. When she handed me the gown I caught a tiny glimpse of something evil in her face. As she closed the door I thought I even heard a small diabolical chuckle. Sigh.

The machine loomed huge and menacing. There were all kinds of medical stickers all over it in teeny, tiny letters that I could not read. I suspect they were written in greek and meants “Dangers to all breasts. Possible dismemberment highly likely. Prepare to suffer.” You know…stuff like that. Sigh.

The sweet looking deceptive technician chick told me, don’t worry, I am very gentle. Sure. I suspect that’s what all sadistic breast-manglers say right before they claim their victims. She told me to unclench my fists and relax my arms. Sure. I know she was just trying to get me to calm down so the mangling could proceed with greater pain. Sigh.

The paddles looked really scary. I mean, can’t they make them pink and flowery and velvety or something instead of all clear and sterile looking. Seriously, how can you relax and unclench your fists when some shiny, flat paddle thing labled with skulls and crossbones and greek writing is squishing your breast more and more and some evil technician is laughing diabolically. Sigh.

So after about 8 scans the little technician says something like “OK, we’re all done, you did great.” At first I didn’t understand what she was saying because I had held my breath in terror for the entire time and was about ready to pass out. Sigh.

She was awfully sweet, though. And it’s amazing how wonderful those machines are and how many lives they save. I’m always surprised when women make a big deal out of their yearly check-ups. I mean, honestly, how cowardly can some people be? It’s really not a big deal. You should quit procrastinating and go. Now. Be brave like me.

Hey! I heard that sigh.

But all is well when she discovers another animal book...and another...