Me, somewhat anxiously: What’s that in your mouth P’ito?

He, opening wide and displaying a lovely yellow thing on his tongue: It’s a booger, Mama!

Me: Well, I guess that’s not a choking hazard…

There seems to be something that draws unusual vanity plates to the block in front of my work.  Seen in the past few months.

PLZVOTE

S1NG 1T

HDSHRNKR

SENILE1

And on a tow truck nearby: NEXT WEEK

Spotted closer to home: SIDE JOB2 – makes me wonder – what is side job 1? And did side job2 pay for the car? I assume that’s the story behind the car I see parked in our neighborhood with the vanity plate PKRMONEY.

What is the best vanity plate you’ve seen?

What would you put on a vanity plate if you had one? (Or, what is on your vanity plate, if you’ve got one?)

About a month ago, I checked online to see when my supplies were coming from Minimed.

Everything looked fine, except for the test strips, which said “cash pricing” $360

Every other time I’ve ordered them from MM, they have been covered by insurance.

I spent about 45 minutes on the phone with a representative from MM who finally assured me that yes, they were covered.

Guess what happened next?

Test strips arrive, I start using them and… then

Bill. For $360.  I call Minimed back (another 30 minutes on hold) only to be told that at some point this year (in the middle of the year) my insurance coverage had changed and Minimed was no longer covered as a supplier of perscription supplies, only durable medical equipment.   Ergo, use a different supplier for test strips.

I estimate that I’ve devoted about an hour and a half of time I should be working, not counting the time spent blogging about this (ahem), to fixing this problem, and it isn’t really fixed yet.  I have to get a new script for strips (phone maze at the endos office, at least another hour), send it in to the appropriate mail order source, wait for the strips to come, and then*return* the strips I have not used from MM (paying out of pocket for the others).

The impact that dealing with this crap has on our national productivity cannot be underestimated.

Oh, and further aggravation: I just got a phone call from the adoption agency.  The social worker who is going to do our homestudy is concerned that I have diabetes and wants a letter from my endo stating that I am healthy enough to parent, before she will do the homestudy visits.  I am overdue for an appointment, and if we have to wait for that in order to get our homestudy done, I am going to scream.  The reason she wants a letter from the endo is that we saw her to take about our options for this adoption, and I had a low – just your average run of the mill, stuff a glucose tab in my face low – while I was in her office.  This translated to “and she said that you had an ‘attack’ in her office, so she was concerned about your health.”

ETA: 2 phone messages left, over 2 days, still no endo appt scheduled.

How do you thank someone…

who has taught your son to hold his p*nis and aim it successfully in the potty?

That’s a lot to learn

But what can I give you in return?

I had a lovely salad earlier, composed of lettuce and peppers from our CSA.  A few minutes ago I was taking the rest of the unused but washed lettuce out of the salad spinner to put in the fridge and I popped a little handful of lettuce into my mouth.

It had an unusually crunchy texture, followed by a nasty taste.  I spat it out and this is what I saw (after the break, for the weak of stomach or heart)

Bug in Salad Spinner

ETA, about an hour later: oh god, it is still there, in the salad spinner, but it has moved.  It is not dead.  It is undead. Dear Internets, I had an inch+ long live bug in my mouth. I am going to go finish throwing up now.  And yes, I know protein, blah blah blah.

When you are wondering why it feels like your blood sugar is sky high at 4pm, please ask yourself whether you actually bolused for lunch or whether you just thought about bolusing for lunch.

And just because

P’ito, asking about our 5 year old neighbor:  She in her crib?

Me: I think she probably sleeps in a big girl bed.  When you’re ready, you’ll sleep in a big boy bed.

P’ito: Like Mommy & Mama?

Me: Mmhmm

P’ito: No, I sleep in a big MAN bed. With Dora & Elmo on it.

One of those conversations where, as every word comes out of your mouth, you think, g-d, I hope I’m getting this right.  ‘

I really, really hope I’m getting this right.

A while back, we ordered a custom board book for P’ito from this store.  It’s an infant version of the story of our family coming together.

Mommy and Mama wanted a baby to love.
They had lots of cats but no baby (composite picture of three cats, including Louie)
You were born on.. (photo of P’ito’s Guatemalan Mommy “M” and P’ito)
You lived at the hogar for 8 months
The nineras washed you and fed you and tickled you and loved you (Hogar photos)
Came home with us, we will always love you, etc. etc. etc.

We always fill out the details of the story a bit more as we look at the pictures.  I have been saying for a while now that he grew in M’s belly and after she gave birth to him she knew that she wasn’t able to take care of a baby then, so she asked the hogar to find a home for him where he would be loved and grow up big and strong.

Tonight as we were reading the story, first he asked me where Louie was.  “Mama, what that mean, die?”  I stumble through how animals and people, when they get really old, their bodies get sick (BAD word choice) and stop working and then they die.  This is when I wish I believed in a heaven.  Stumble through reassurances – Mama and Mommy and (names of everyone in his life)’s bodies are working just fine (well, sort of. but yeah, working just fine) and they are not going to die (knock, knock, knock, kinehorah, kinehorah).

Then, as if that wasn’t enough parental angst for one night, he asked another question that I don’t have an easy answer for.  We were talking about how Mama M couldn’t take care of a baby at  the time he was born*, and he asked:

Why?

How do you explain complex and painful adult decisions to a two-year old?

Without worrying him?

*I read somewhere about the difference in emotional impact between saying take care of you and take care of a baby – any baby.  The former implies a possible fault in the child, the latter keeps the emphasis on the first-family’s situation at that time.

Bill received in the mail:

8/1/2009   Tuition – Toddler FT – $$$

9/1/2009   Tuition – Presch. FT – $$$

Tomorrow he goes Upstairs to the Big Kids Room.

He will be fine.  I am a mess.

If the whole front-facing business weren’t proof enough that My Baby is Growing Up… P’ito is moving into the 3 year old room (upstairs!) at daycare by the end of the month.  One of the moms from his infant class and I had a good sniffle over that in the parking lot today.

I’m sorry kid – you have to be potty-trained before you can have the car keys.  I’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.