Don't Stick Beads Up Your Nose

Ingrid learned a very important life lesson on Saturday, and we had a fun little trip to the local ER, because she put a bead in her nose. It was tragic but kind of funny. Ingrid is a trooper. She slept most of the time we were there, cried very little, and once the bead popped out, she insisted on holding it, ("mine! My bead" quoth Ingrid), and everyone laughed at the end of the ordeal. If this had happened to Bea, it would not have been funny at all. Bea does not do well with medical procedures. She was about 5 years old before she stopped screaming at the sight of a stethescope. And here's another example of how similar we are. When I was in nursing school, I cried when someone gave me a test injection--just saline, sub-acute, and I thought I would pee on myself I was so freaked out.
So how did Ingrid get a bead in her nose? I wasn't there, but apparently she was putting it in her nose, my husband caught her--surprised her, and she inhaled. It was lodged pretty far up there. So the husband brought the girls to JiffyCon where I was playing Best Friends, so Bea wouldn't have to go with us. I went home to get the insurance card, and met them at the ER. They took us in pretty quickly, and Ingrid slept until they started the first attempt to get the bead out. The doctor, Dr. G, looked like he could be my husband's brother or cousin. Tall, long blond curly hair, big nose, Scandinavian looking, very handsome. This just added another surreal dimension to an already surreal morning. I had an urge to touch his hair, which tends to happen when I meet people who have nice hair. My intentions were harmless, but it probably would have been inappropriate.
First he tried using a little vacuum to get it out. That didn't work, and the otherwise placid Ingrid got a bit upset by having a metal vacuum catheter stuck in her nose. Then Dr. G gave us two suggestions. He could either get the bead out with forcepts, or he would give us a very effective method of extracting things from children's nares. But we would have to do it ourselves. He would just kinda peek in from around the corner. Now I'm not sure if this was because the method was one of those tried and true methods that JHACO and insurance companies frown upon. But it sounded intriging, if not a little folky (and I'm all about the folk medicine). So here's what we did. If you or anyone you know, ever stick something up your nose and it gets stuck, you'll save yourself a trip to the emergency room. But please don't take this as medical advice, and this should not be a substitute for seeking medical care from a health care professional. I'm just a nursing school dropout and a mom. We told Ingrid that Papa was going to give her a funny kiss. I held her so she wouldn't squirm, and could feel secure. Papa closed one of her nostrils, made a good seal around her mouth with his, and blew really hard. And out popped the bead!
The whole procedure made Ingrid quite upset, but she was happy to get the bead out of her nose.
I missed playing Best Friends, unfortunately, but Ingrid was happy and didn't seem traumatized by the ordeal. My husband and Bea went to pick up the new dog, and all was right with the world again.

Speaking of new dogs, he has a name, Bea is $10 richer, and we both learned a valuable lesson in creative negotiations and compromise. Our new dog's name is.....

Jeddy, as in Jed + Buddy = Jeddy. And yes, I call him Jed.

What's My Name?

Meet the new addition to our family, Brody, uh, Buddy, no maybe it's Ragnar, no, um, Jed. We're having a naming dilemma in the family. It's mostly between Bea and me. Bea and I are so alike it's painful sometimes, and here's a perfect example of our typical conflicts. She wants to call the dog Buddy. I want to call the dog Jed.
Now I don't know why she likes "Buddy" so much. I admit, it has a nice ring to it, sort of. It's what the foster family called him. According to his vet papers his name was Brody. Buddy is easy to say. He is definitely a buddy. An all around sweet dog with no hang-ups, other than he's not used to being inside. He was a farm dog, now he's a small town dog.
I want to call him Jed, because I love the name Jedediah. If I ever have a boy child, I want to call him Jedediah, but according to my husband, that ain't happenin'. Okay fine. So the name is relegated to pets and role playing game characters. I played a Brother Jed (Jedediah) once, in Dogs in the Vineyard, and he was big and excellent. The other reason I want to call him Jed is that he and I were born in the same part of the country. He was found in Senatobia, MS. I was born in Memphis, TN. (Look at a map. They're close). And when I think of Tennessee, my place of birth, I can't help but think of the Grateful Dead song "Tennessee Jed." I used to queue it up in the tape player when I drove home from college, and once I hit the Tennessee state line, I'd play it.
As it stands now, I will pay Bea $10 for naming rights. She will probably refer to him as Buddy for a while, but just as she called Ingrid "James" for a couple of weeks, I'm hoping she'll come around, and he'll be Jed. If not, I know it's really a bad idea to spar like this with a 7 year old. I know what I was like as a 7 year old. I could learn to live with Buddy.

Huzzah!

The beginning of the week sucked all around. Suck crap at work, couldn't find my Cutie Pie Kitty Cat notebook with all the notes for my game, which I have to type up for JiffyCon on Saturday. The children were grumpy and annoying. (Please note: I adore my kids. I love them more than life itself. But let's be honest. They're human, I'm human, and we can't always get along, we aren't always sweethearts and love bugs. Sometimes our children are annoying human beings, just like we all can be.)
My cousin in Atlanta had a baby, that was fantastic, but apparently she was in a major car accident on the way to the hospital. (And people question why I am big advocate for homebirth whenever possible!) But she and baby arrived safe and sound. So the dark cloud looming over the beginning of the week wasn't so dark.
Anyway....
And then Wednesday came along with the big beautiful political shift. I never thought I'd find the silver lining to my dark clouds in the realm of politics.

We have a Brother for a Governor!
Rumsfeld falls on his sword!
Democrats return to rule the roost!

Now I can go back to being a paragon of optimism and positive thinking!

The Japanese Demon Profile Test

I've always wanted to know my Japanese Demon profile, especially now that we're playing Sorcerer, and my character just happens to be a Japanese woman who bound a demon so she could have a baby. Anyway, I'm (Parthenia) really glad I'm just the ultimate doer of mischief and not something really terrible. Given that I seem to be suffering an acute bout of angry intestinal disturbances this evening (feels like there's a demon in my colon!), I'll take mischief over death and destruction.

Kitsune You scored 16 in Malice and 27 in Chaos!

You are the Kitsune, or "Fox demon," the ultimate doer of mischief. Kitsune belong to a class of demons known as "Henge," or animal shape-shifters, along with the Tanuki, or badger-demon. They are uncanny creatures who are notorious as much for their malevolence as for their wild and unpredictable behavior; a fox demon may help a human, only to betray him in deepest consequence at a later date. Kitsune are known to frequently possess women or pose as humans, causing chaos and catastrophe where ever they go. They are mischievous creatures who take great pleasure in playing terrible tricks on unsuspecting mortals; however, this behavior indicates that they are more perversely playful and apathetic to human suffering than genuinely evil and desirous of harm.

Link: The Japanese Demon Profile Test written by Maharbal on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Speaking of Collecting...

I noticed today that the little basket where I keep all my hair toys is getting a little crowded. It's not usually so bad, but I'm only missing two. So I took a little inventory. Now before I expose myself as having an excessive number of hair accessories, please note, I probably wear at least one a day, often two to four. With classic length (past the butt) dreads, I don't generally wear my hair completely down before 5 pm on weekdays. Otherwise, I get tangled in stuff, I slam my hair in the car door, I sit on it, it falls in the toilet, gets in my face, other people's faces, entangles children, may get caught in machinery, you get the picture. So here are the fancy little objects that make my hair easier to deal with.
In picture 1:
Top left--Plastic octopus clip.
Top Center and down--Brass Floog, then four vintage kanzashi. The top one might be ivory. I have another one that is like the bottom one, but has rectangular ends of tortoise shell. It's currently MIA.
Bottom row--large bird of paradise fork, titanium fork, large Ficcare.

In picture 2: Left to right-- Green hairstick. I have a purple matching one, but it's MIA; wooden stick, aka "Vampire Slayer stake"; stainless steel sticks; radish sticks from China; blown glass size 11 knitting needles with dichroic twirls on the ends (yes, knitting needles! You never know when a skein of bulky yarn will fall out of the sky, and you'll be forced to knit a hat. Best to be prepared.); two pair of chopsticks given to me by Meg (thanks, Meg!); big sturdy zebrawood sticks made for me by the woodworking guy from the Greenfield Farmers Market.

In picture 3: Top left to right--wooden hair slide, made by the same woman who made the green (and MIA purple) stick; three hair screws custom made for dreads by A very nice lady; the token pony tail holder, much like the ones you find all over the house mostly by husband and kids (I have a great big one in my locker at the Y. I'm not really a ponytail wearer. I like half up-dos, front ends pulled back, loaf-like buns); cool leather hair wrap given to me by Meg (thanks, Meg!).
Sometimes, certain other parents in the household leave the scissors in the hair toy basket. I can think of better places to put the scissors, but one must keep a sense of humor about these things.

Yes, that is a very dirty chair.

How about "born okay the first time" dolls?

I love dolls, almost all types of dolls. I even like Barbie dolls (not so much the Bratz Dolls, but that's another blog entry for another day) I don't collect dolls per se. I'm big into the tactile experience of doll play, and keeping a doll in it's box until it might be worth some money is cool and all, but just won't work in a house with two girls who both share mama's thing for dolls (whether they share my thing about tattoos remains to be seen.)
My favorite dolls growing up were my three Sasha dolls. If I had kept them in the box and never enjoyed them, I'm sure they'd be worth a whole lotta money. Instead, they're worth a whole lotta memories, and Bea loves to play with them when we visit my parents.
My least favorite doll was a beautiful and elaborately clothed doll in traditional Chinese dress. I got her at a tag sale on my street. I don't know what it was about her, but I was afraid of her until I was about 14 and I packed her up and we moved to Memphis. Maybe she carried some baggage from her old house. Maybe she was mad because I never gave her a name.
When I last saw her, she was up on a high shelf in one of the closets at my folks house. I never displayed her when we moved to Memphis, but I did at least take her out of the box. Why didn't I pack her up sooner? Because she was part of my doll family. She was sort of like a scary Auntie Mame to the rest of the dolls. The fashion dolls wanted to dress like her, the baby dolls wanted to be baby sat by her, and only the rag dolls and stuffed animals sensed something was up with her. Next time I visit my folks, I'm going to look for her again, give her a name, and see if she scares my kids as well.
I was all interested in reborn dolls and thought about learning to make them until Meg made a reference to one in our game last night. And now I'm afraid of them, too.

That's what I love about dolls. You can love them, hate them, and fear them. And now you know why I'm okay with my daughter's affinity for Living Dead Dolls. I hope she loves playing with them, and I hope she plays with them so well that they scare her. Because we all know how fun being scared can be.

Must Be the Season of the Living Dead Doll

Halloween preview!!
Let's get in touch with our darkness, shall we?
Here is my beautiful daughter Bea as Inferno.
And here's Ingrid as a duck. Ducks can be very dark, especially if you're 21 months old.
Round here, the ladies of the house take Halloween very seriously. I am possibly more excited about Bea's costume than she is.
I'm going to be a highwaywoman. (photo to come on Halloween)