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Hmm. You must not know Lo.

Lorelei, unprompted yet whispering very shyly and quietly to the man behind the counter:  “Can I please have a sucker?”

Man:  “Sure, sweetie! And you’re so cute you can have two!”

Lo, mumbling:  “Thank you berry much.”

Lo, not two minutes later in the car, nearly screaming with excitement:  “I’M SO HAPPY I MIGHT JUST SHARE THIS NUMBER TWO SUCKER WITH MY BROTHER WHEN I GET HOME!”

Sigh. I had a whole long rant written out about how freaking pissed off I am about this local hospital’s policy about separating mamas and babies for two days if mom shows signs of having H1n1, but I deleted it. I realized that there is no way I can write about this without offending a whole lot of people, and it’s just not in me right now.

I understand that this policy is supposed to protect babe from a scary, admittedly, virus, but to completely negate the – in my not even humble opinion – crucial factors that make those first few days irreparably important just makes me sad. These mamas need those hours for endorphin release. For milk production. For bonding. The thought of little babies in plastic cubes away from the one person whose smell and sound is the only thing they’ve ever known is barbarous to me.

I’m fully aware that many people think I’m a nutjob for my natural-leaning opinions, but I don’t see how there could be any mother who could have a healthy birth – of any kind – and not think something is just instinctively wrong when a member of the hospital staff walks away from you with your brand new miracle. I don’t care if you know that the colostrum that baby is missing out on has more antibody protection than the Fort Knox of quarantines, or that the hormones you might be missing out on could actually prolong your hospital stay if your uterus doesn’t contract well enough, or even that just having that baby at home – with full-on flu – is still statistically the safer choice, especially in relevant terms of nosocomial and iatrogenic infections. That really doesn’t matter. I’m just sad that we’ve gone so far from our instinctive biological histories that this is even an option. It’s just wrong.

I really don’t think I’m the nutjob. I just don’t.

I don’t know what to say. For 12 years you rolled with new houses and stupid cats and drooling dogs and loud little tail-yankers, and yet you never changed. You never acted out or punished me or required anything beyond some food, a blanket to drag down the hall between your legs when company was over, and a dripping faucet to drink your never-ending thirst for water that was apparently, years ago, your first diabetic sign.

Oh buddy, I remember when you fit into the palm of my hand, still blind b/c you were abandoned at two weeks and you were so freaking little. You stepped in Meg’s candle and singed half of your whiskers off, and walked funny for a long time after that. You would divebomb people’s heads from the top of the fridge and you were such a colossal shit at first that my roommates set out a sun tea pitcher with a sign on it that said THE LUCKY DE-CLAW AND NEUTER TRUST FUND and I raised, like, 70 bucks with that thing. And you never were very cuddly, but you were loyal. And fat, and cantankerous, and mine. Wholly.

You stuck around longer than half the people in my world currently, and though I keep reminding myself you were just a cat (and know there are people who will never understand caring about, much less BLOGGING about, an event like this), the truth is I am ridiculously sad. Much sadder than I realized I would be. Because in all the years, when everything else in my world could be upside down, you were simply there. And that was so much more comforting than I ever knew.

And now you’re not. And I’m going to miss you something fierce because of it.

So I hope you are in yogurt heaven, sir, with shoes to sleep in and blankets galore. And I hope you pick a new name, because although LuckehLeck was a fun alliteration, it sure was a dumb name. I’ve always regretted it and thought you deserved something more fitting. ..But we also called you Fat Man and Humpy McHumperson, so perhaps you should stick with it.

Bah. You were a damn good cat. RIP my grumpiest old man.

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And I forgot to add that dear old Oscar hasn’t changed. I have zero – and I really mean zero – idea how he got in here and got shut in.

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Sigh.

Until Where The Wild Things Are opens. Giggitygiggitygiggity I’m excited.

So, I got busted recently by a friend who accused me of falling off the earth, and I couldn’t really defend myself because I’m not sure if the writing’s not on the wall for ye olde Huzzah. It rolled through my brain yesterday while I was mentally writing a sarcastic letter to the makers of this product (the letter saying roughly that perhaps putting MENTHOL in a product made to be used around EYEBALLS might not have been the best idea) that I should possibly abandon this blog and start one where all I do is write letters to people. Shrug. We’ll see.

Until then, an update, more-or-less.

Work has been good. And crazy. And de-cluttering. Which is soothing. Which is odd to say about your job, but there you go. One of my latest projects is separating old files that go back before 1983 (!!). Holy batman but my relegated space to do this is filling up. The files are beginning to grow like moss onto other walls and furniture. And what you can’t see are the.. oh.. 15 other boxes out of the picture?

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The kids are doing pretty well. We’ve started the token/marble earning system for good behavior, and it works pretty dang well, except that Lorelei has no idea what she’s earning or that she could/should start using those tokens to get things she wants. Jack uses all of his up for DS/Xbox time, and is learning the hard lesson of saving versus immediate reward. We’ll see..

Lo’s been extra-clingy lately, but I’m trying to roll with it. She’s not doing it always or to all of her loved ones, but when she gets her genuine sad look and asks for a 50th hug? Your heart breaks in half.

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I also think what’s compounding my own sadness is that the best friend of some of my good friends died last week, and his service is this Saturday. Doug had a just-turned one year-old, and your mind can’t escape the what-ifs of that whole situation. He was a super, super cool guy, and my heart goes out to not only his wife and sweet babe, but also my friends who are hurting so deeply. I know that pain – and maybe not even as much – and it just.. friggen sucks. Blerg.

But my overall contentment is pretty even. I tentatively feel like maybe things are settling down and becoming less turbulent. Most of the wounds from all facets of the divorce have closed up, and I think most of the relationships that were going to be salvaged, were repaired. I love and feel loved again. That’s comforting.

So yeah.. I think that’s about it at the moment. I’m doing fairly well in my fantasy league, cool weather has set in, and RW/RR has begun a new season. Life isn’t too bad.

But now I gotta run and get the kids from school so I can give them a big hug and be thankful they’re safe and happy and healthy. Do the same with your loved ones.

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