Better Than A Creemee

So, listen. I'm not precisely speaking an optimist. I don't think everything turns out for the best. But I don't consider myself a pessimist, either. When the metaphorical glass is before me, I generally don't think of it as half-full or half-empty. Instead, my response is more along the lines of, "Hey! Half a glass of water. Awesome." In fact, when the glass is just plain old empty, I think, "Okay, a glass. Great. I'm pretty thirsty. Better go find a tap." Right? Here is situation X, here's how I'm going to use it.

But sometimes. There are some times when I want to take that glass, however full it may be, and I want to throw that thing to the ground and stomp on the shards.

So last night I was having a moment of, oh, I think I was calling it Freudenschade. Just, you know, having a bit of a moment where I had a, um, moment of not okayness. Kind of just a teensy bit of a crying jag in the bath thinking about how things work out and how there's no comparing situations and how things suck anyway. Yeah, so, in that moment, all I wanted was a good old shard-stomping.

Unfortunately, I wound up with a bit of an emotional hangover today. Everything was just bleh. Bleh bleh bleh. Laundry, bleh. Food, bleh. Whatever whatever whatever. Fun times.

But then, my friend Jen and I took a bunch of little girls to the Humane Society to drop off supplies donated by the kids who came to Sarah and her friend's birthday party over the weekend. And OF COURSE they were closed. In desperation we did the only thing we could. We went for ice cream. Maple creemees.

I didn't get a creemee. But Sarah and I did come home with a treat.

Sarah named her Violet Polkadot.

Make your teeth ache with the sweet, don't they?

Natural mood booster. Better than ice cream. Even maple creemees.

Leaps and Bounds

Guess what I finally found today?

Spring is really, truly, finally, actually coming.

Further proof?

Could you just eat them up? The weather is warming at last, and Sarah and one of her bfs could stand footwear not a minute longer. And yes, that is a little patch of snow just to the left of Sarah's legs. There are still drifts and drifts around the rest of the house, but at last this one patch of earth is finally free of winter.

As for Sarah's sleep over last night? She totally slept over! And I admit it, I felt a little pang yesterday as I watched her walk off with her sleeping bag/backpack. She walked away from our house and early childhood and into the world.

Big Girl Pants

I had to go to a Nice Work Dinner with Tom tonight. I imagine there are people out there (maybe some of you are among them) who can get ready for a similar type of event without thinking twice about it, who make it all look effortless because it is in fact not an effort.

For me, EFFORT.

See, the thing is, I'm not great at this part of being an adult. I never made all the classic hair and makeup mistakes in high school because I just never bothered with it. I never cared much about clothing. In short, I never practiced. But now, sometimes, I need to bother.

It surprises no one more than me that I am, in fact, Someone's Wife. That that is my job, in fact, on these occasions. My role is to be pleasant and look presentable and say nice things to people I don't know well. Fortunately, the people at these events are really wonderful and I genuinely look forward to talking to them. So that part isn't bad at all. The presentable part? Well.

This afternoon I sent Sarah off for her first! ever! sleepover! and I got ready for the evening. I showered and shampooed and shaved (see? I take this seriously) and used the hair dryer and found the stockings with the fewest snags and runs and pulled on my big girl pants (I'm not wholly unprepared) and stared at the four black and two grey dresses hanging in the closet, much as I often stare into the refrigerator, hoping just the right thing will miraculously be found lurking in the depths.

Here's how I get dressed, every damn time: I try on this dress with those boots (my only pair), and then with these flats, and then I change dresses and put on one flat and one heel (my only pair) and this cardigan and then I give up on the heels, as I always do, and pull on yet another dress with yet another cardigan and the other flats and turn with a sigh to the jewelry box that Sarah delights in, paltry though the contents are, and try that one long necklace and put it back, as I always do, and grab one of the simpler ones Tom gave me and hope for the best.

And then I find my ID and bank card and car keys and phone and remember yet again that I still don't have a small receptacle for those little things, which is a bummer since the Giant Mom Bag is not at all wieldy for an evening out. So I make Tom stick it all in his pockets, which he usually does with a good grace. And off I go, having made a lot of effort to look, at best, just presentable.

I hope one day to find the secret to effortlessness. I think it may be lurking in the back of my closet, right beside just the right thing.

Five, Yo Ho Ho!

The pirate Novina, captain of the black ship The Great Over. Arr, mateys!

So, hey. I have a five year old. My kid, Sarah? Yeah, she's five. Five years old. Five.

I figure if I just keep repeating those and similar thoughts, eventually it will sink in, or make sense, or somehow be a part of my reality.

I mean, five. That's a real kid. Not a toddler, not a preschooler. A kid. 

She's gotten so interesting and creative and amazing. She writes books (the last one was titled "No, Said The Parrot" -- wouldn't you totally buy a book with a name like that?). She conducts what she calls food science experiments. She's starting to read. She loves anything even vaguely science-y. She wants to be a paleontologist-cowgirl-astronaut-lion tamer when she grows up.

Which is what she keeps doing. Because now she's five.

Because It Ought To Be Spring

Hey, that's... why that stuff there looks green! Spring-y, even!

Oh, friends. It is a TOUGH time of year in these parts. I tolerate the long, slow, draaaaaagged out end of winter pretty well. Up to a point. A couple days ago that point came up and smacked me right in the head.

See, we still have snowbanks. (Well, my house does. The houses across the street? Not so much.) And when all of a sudden it's April, and I can no longer wait for Mother Nature to clean up her damn room already, I unshovel.

That's my driveway. Yes, I actually spread out snowbanks so the damn things will start melting. It's a sanity preservation measure. In fact, it may even be a public service. Because if these things don't give up the ghost soon, I'm going to be renting a flame thrower.

Admittedly, it is kind of fun discovering the things left outside before the snow came.

Hey, Sarah was just looking for her little shovel!

Huh. I have no idea...

Oh, god. That's just embarrassing.

March of Dimes Update

It looks like the March of Dimes took a closer look at that whole inexcusable increase in the price of progesterone shots. Just yesterday they finally had something to say about it on their website:

MOD responds to Ther-Rx

In the past few weeks, there has been a torrent of concern over the availability of progesterone therapy for women hoping to prevent premature birth.  We have held discussions with physician groups, various organizations and the manufacturer of the drug.  Ther-Rx Corporation’s handling of the launch of Makena, and the initial list price, were extremely disappointing and unacceptable to the March of Dimes and the families we represent.  While Ther-Rx Corporation’s decision yesterday to reduce the list price of Makena to $690 and to expand patient financial assistance are steps in the right direction toward making an FDA-approved progesterone therapy product more widely available, it’s not enough.  The March of Dimes has decided to exercise our right to terminate our current contract and sever all professional relationships with Ther-Rx.

The March of Dimes will continue to explore all options for ensuring access to progesterone therapy for all medically eligible women. Access for women to treatment to prevent premature birth is and always has been our paramount concern. We hope that the controversy surrounding Makena has helped raise awareness that progesterone therapy is a safe and effective treatment for prevention of preterm birth and that more obstetricians will consider it for appropriate patients.

I'm glad they finally spoke up. I'm glad Ther-Rx halved the price of the shots. It hasn't taken away my anger and frustration (there's no one like the newly awakened for taking umbrage), but at least both groups responded to a clearly outrageous situation. It isn't good enough, but it's a start.