The Wierd Leading the Wierd

I'm weird. I blame this on my parents. The path to me being a weird an unique individual was set for me in the first grade when I innocently asked for a pair of Jordache jeans- yes I come from a time when Jordache was fashionable- because all the other girls in my class had a pair. My mother told me no because people like you for who are, not for what you wear. Thus as 6 year old not wearing Jordache jeans I was to charm the folks with my fabulous personality. Thus being the catalyst for me being weird.

This no Jordache Jean has led me to a life of bizarreness. I choose my pizza topics based on weather that day I think they may be having a personality conflict. I wear combinations that may not really be worn together. I have a very strange sense of humor and for that sometimes even have a hard time getting myself.

Now, as a grown up being weird and a true eclectic individual has carved me an interesting path. One being that I somehow have found the other kids in the class whose parents also did not allow them to wear Jordache Jeans. And together we have created our own little weird Utopian society. No Jordache Jeans allowed.

I've talked of these people before and everyday I realize how destined we all were to find each other. Even when I may not get my sense of humor, they do.



And on Saturday this became clear as had our First Annual ArgoCrew family reunion. It was the weird being reunited with the weird. We had egg tosses and it was perfectly normal that adults were tossing around eggs. We had three legged races and it was okay that professional adults were using bondage as a sort of entertainment. We laughed and talked of topics that made no sense to anyone but us.

And I look at my Ally and Jack. Because my parents, their grandparents were the catalyst of them having weird mother, hence weird "Aunts" and "Uncles". Are they too destined for weirdness?



I'm considered strange by many of Ally's friends parents for not allowing her to watch Television. And this has been a catalyst for creativity and a grand imagination. Duster, the tofu eating pink dog-cat who emails his friend the possum came into our lives due to this weirdness. Jack's weirdness has not been tested yet.



So if awesome friends, creative children and a pet duster are what I get for not being able to wear Jordache jeans, maybe being weird isn't so bad.

Gravity, You Got Served

This Guillan-Barre thing has been quite a ride. A few weeks ago I could feel my body failing me and now I can feel my body getting stronger. It's so bizarre.

I haven't fallen in over a week so that's quite a bit of improvement. Gravity hasn't been taking me down, and I have to say I kind of miss the Hello Kitty band-aids adorning my knees. I'm feeling tattoo.

My legs are still weak. Though I can feel a big difference compared to a few weeks ago, stairs are still a little difficult. It takes me a little while but with every step I feel some strength coming back. I'm keeping my fingers crossed about my big race in October. I'm feeling a little hopeful. We'll see.

Oddly, even without my running, yoga and pilates, I've still managed to lose 6 pounds. I'm not complaining, but I' a little flabbergasted. I may have the makings of a new diet plan. Making out with the sidewalk at least once a week is amazing for a shrinking waist line!

My arms are still weak, holding the giant baby Jack can be pretty painful. But his little chubbiness is worth every minute. My manual dexterity comes and goes. It seems to be worse in the morning. Sometimes I drop my spoon because I can't hold it. And forget opening a yogurt container. Hell right now for me would be me trapped on a desert island with nothing to eat but yogurt with really tight aluminum lids. I guess another secret in the Guillan-Barre weight loss program.

My niece comes on Saturday to help us out. I'm really looking forward to having her assistance, as I start Physical and Occupational Therapy soon and will be able to focus on getting better.

Well, that's the Guillan-Barre update for this week and how I served Gravity.

Big Underwear

A discussion had in the wee early mornings.

Ally: I'm growing taller and taller and when I get big you're going to have to share your underwear.

Me: I am?

Ally: Yes you have to share.

Me: You really want to wear my underwear?

Ally: Yes. And I grew last night so I'm going to have to wear your underwear today.

Me: But you're underwear are cuter.

Ally: I want to wear your blue underwear.

Me: My blue underwear?

She shakes her head yes. I stumble to my underwear drawer and pull out a GIANT blue pair. She takes off her properly fitting Elmo ones and offers them to me to wear. I put them on my head. She laughs and puts on the GIANT blue panties. They of course fall off her little body. But the little fashion engineer she is she puts her arms through the legs so that the sides are resting on her shoulder so she looks like a little Borat.

Ally: They Fit! I grew!

And she runs down the stairs for breakfast. I decide to let her father talk her into more sensible underwear.

Or try and shrink this pair.....

Reflections Of My 12 Year Old Self

It's 1988, my best friend and I have gotten permission from our parents to attend the New Kids On The Block concert. We have their credit cards in our hands, we can barely breathe as we wait in line to score a shot of scoping out Jordan or Donny or Jonathan or Joey or Danny. Because as we both know they are so going to see us, our faces our going to stand out among the millions and millions of screaming tweens and they are going to want us. There going to invite us backstage to drink kool-aid and eat oreos because we are the coolest. It's me, my best friend and NKTOB for evah.

Alas, we get to the glass with a giant sign: SOLD OUT!

And our dreams our crushed.

I discovered a few weeks ago, that though music tastes change, I'm still a 12 year old girl. I'm now a punk, rock and roll 12 year old girl with a wine mustache. Screw the kool-aid.

My friend who was at the AMAZING Pearl Jam concert with me a few weeks ago made the discovery that EDDIE FREAKING VEDDER was coming to DC in August to do a solo show. We than plotted our scheme for securing tickets. We would come together at 10 am, she would troll the EVIL ticketmaster online and I would stalk them by phone.

We would be hearing his sweet, melancholy, beautiful baritone voice. We were determined and fearless. We would take on evel Ticketmaster and we would win.

10 am comes she logs on, I dial. I now hear ticketmaster telling me to be calm and patient as a representative would be with me shortly. Lady I don't want shortly, I want NOW, you know who Eddie Vedder is right? And he's coming to DC twice in one summer because he loves me and my friend. Because he saw us all the way from afar at the PJ show in June, and now wants us closer.

My friend is now refreshing and refreshing the computer as no seats become available.(I HATE YOU TICKETBROKERS)

At 10:15 a representative tells me the show is sold out.

WHAT! We begin to sob in hystercis as our dreams of running off with The Vedder are crushed by an 18 year old phone operator who has no idea who he is.

Wait what is that sunlight- another friend tells us to walk to the theatre where he is preforming and sometimes they have extra tickets.

We look at each other and run the 3 blocks to the theatre. Well my friend runs, I do my new duck wierd run/walk thing and pray I stay upright. Falling means lost time. No time! No time!

Tired, worn and emotionality drained, we look at the lady through the glass.

"Can I help you?"

If you value your life ticket lady you'd better be able to help us.

"Do you happen to have any Eddie Vedder tickets available"

She types at her computer. Seconds turn into hours, hours become days, I'm freebasing Xanax at this point. Something my 12 year old self would have found very beneficial.

"I do" she says.

"WE LOVE YOU TICKET LADY!!!"

She hands our tickets, which are now being stored in temperature controlled golden vault at the bottom of Fort Knox.

My 32 year old self had more luck. We're coming Danny, Donnie, Jordan, Jonathan, Joey. I mean Eddie.

And my 12 year old self cried in victory. Victourious we had gotten tickets. And victorioius we had for once won over Ticketmaster. We got our tickets the Vedder way.

Now That's Poopy

The last few days in our house have been chaos. Not that unusual for any household with a pre-schooler and an almost toddler. What has made our last few days crazy is poop. Lots and lots of poop.

Ally's digestive system can be on the sensitive side. And our weekend eating habits were less than gastro friendly. On Saturday night we went to a barbecue at a friends house were her Argentinian husband cooked as only Argentinian can. He cooked lots and lots of meat. One word- Meatgasm. It was awesome, but as we don't eat a lot of meat in our house all of our belly's were a little woozy.

We followed that up on Sunday with lunch at Long John Silvers. Which is really rough on my non-holding gallbladder body. It didn't do too well on Ally either as she spent the rest of Sunday running to the potty screaming "I NEED TO POOOOOOOOOP".

Monday morning was greeted with changing her underwear twice before I left for work and her screaming her new word of the month " I HAVE DIARRHEA!" and than made song up about it. "DIARRHEA IS IN MY BUUUUUTTTTTTTTT!" I 'm feeling Grammy Nomination.

Oh and did I mention that during all of this pooping- the toilet broke? Oh yhea, toilet wouldn't flush. Can we say AHHHHHHHSOME!

Jason stayed home with her on Monday, as we feared a phone call from the school and dehydration. They had a fun day of fixing the toilet and napping.

We thought she was better, but Tuesday morning was followed up me changing her underwear 3 times before leaving for work. And another song about diarrhea. And another day home with dad this time going to the hardware store that gives her toys and her dad buying her "sfrinkle" donuts.

We went to friends house for dinner last night where Ally felt the need to share her ailment by screaming at dinner "I HAVE DIARRHEA!" That's always good dinner party conversation.

Everything seemed fine this morning and when I shared the bad news that her butt was fine and that there would be no day of donut eating and playgrounding, she of course had a meltdown. "I WANT MY DIARRHEA BACK!" was well the obvious response.

My response was "someday".

Films About Ghosts

As my cleaning project continued this weekend, I developed a greater appreciation for digital photos as I muddled through boxes and boxes and boxes of photos. And as I looked at each photo, lifetimes flashed behind me.

I found photos of my former self as a little girl wearing a mask scaring my little brother. Photos of my keen fashion sense as a tween. Neon colored fruit pants and striped shirts w. jelly shoes is really a trend that has yet to hit the market. Photos of our childhood summers spent at the beach as we built castles and pulled practical jokes on each other. My former girl self. Free and careless.

And than of course the college photos. Many taken with too much alcohol involved. Many taken with the hopes none of us will be running for public office in the near future. However, I could become a wealthy woman due to blackmail should that happen. Photos of us in costumes,and no it's not Halloween, playing croquet at midnight.

Photos of road trips. Jason and I have driven across this country probably about a dozen times. We have photos of the largest ball of twine, Gus the Dog in New Orleans in front of Cafe Du Monde before he ate a benet and took a giant dump in the French Quarter. Photos of lighthouses from every coast.

All sorts of photos of my various adventures. Lakes in Minnesota in the early morning light with the mist dancing off the tops. Tops of Mountains in Alaska reached only by taking 3 days to backpack to the top and than dancing in the snow in the middle of August. Distant Mayan ruins in Mexico where the monkeys chattered chooed and we swam in the forbidden pools in the rain forest.

Photos of friends and family who have gone too soon. My grandpa's, Jason's Grandpa's, our dear friend Mr. Breen. Friends that I've lost touch with but miss dearly.

Yet, as I muddled through the piles and boxes of photos and the 1/2 dozen photo albums I have bought to store them in, I realized that as nice as digital photography is, sitting at the computer and searching various files looking at photos doesn't have the same feeling of nostalgia.

I took the photos and diligently placed them back into their various shoe boxes, and the ghosts smiled back at me knowing that it wouldn't be long until I was back.

I may have some printing and shoe shopping to do.

(I owe the title of this post to a line from the Counting Crow'song- Mrs. Potters Lullaby- not my own creative psyche.)

Random Ramblings

My mind has just been reeling the last few days. I feel like I've been on a 3 day heroin binge and am now just coming out it. Woah!

My decluttering project is coming along nicely. The guest bed is piled 20 garbage bags high awaiting the coming of the Salvation Army tomorrow. All is left to do is to organize some of the stuff that is in there, and give it a good cleaning. Oh and an IKEA Trip. What better way to celebrate the clearing out of stuff but by buying new stuff?

I have to say the feeling I'm having of accomplishing the decluttering project is quite freeing and I look forward to throwing out more crap.

On other fronts, my body is beginning the slow process of healing on it's own. I still walk like a duck and feel like I could fall asleep anywhere, the exhaustion is well exhausting. It's funny starting to get some feeling back in my limbs after not having it so long. My muscles feel very sensitive right now. And gravity is still not my friend. This morning I was bending down to get Ally a shirt out of a drawer and I sneezed. Well the sneeze caused my muscles to tense and feel like 10,000 needles were in them and I fell right over. Ally was very confused by this. One minute I'm upright, the next I'm like a domino on the ground. I just told her that gravity is always pulling us down.

I don't start Physical Therapy for 4 more weeks. I still can't believe that's the earliest appointment I could get. But it is what it is, and in the mean time I'm hoping to remain up right.

The hardest part is caring for 2 kids and house with limited mobility. My saving grace the last week has been a kiddie pool and a toy kitchen my mom bought the kids last weekend. At first I thought she was nuts when she purchased this GIANT toy kitchen that I was going to have to tie on to the top of my car, along with a kayak, but it's been awesome. And she got a deal on it. The kitchen is living on our back patio until a time to be determined.

When I pick up the kids I'm alone with them for about 2 hours until Jason comes home. Not normally a big deal, but when you can't button your own shirt, taking care of someone else becomes very difficult. Esp. when they can't button their own shirts either.

It's been a zillion degrees so as soon as we come home the pool goes up and the splash time begins. This keeps them entertained for about an hour and keeps me sane for about 15 minutes. Jack loves splashing and crawling around. Ally loves incorporating her cooking skills in with the water. Last night she made Jack Unicorn Stew. I asked her where she got the Unicorn and I was told by a magical fairy that lives in the oven of her kitchen.

My mom got some deal.

Catharsis

So I've begun my journey of getting rid of my clutter. And it is AHHHHSOME! I almost peed myself with glee tonight as I went into the guest room armed with garbage bags and started throwing crap into them.

Our guest room where some would say a guest may sleep has become the cemetary for useless crap like old baby stuff, clothes we will never where again and the computer carcasses that Jason has ripped apart.

Our niece is coming to stay with us in couple of weeks to help us out while I get better and I would hate for her to sleep in a closet. So tonight, I attacked that room like Rocky Balboa on a mission. Oh yhea, I made that room my bitch.

So, now the guest bed is piled high with about 15 bags of useless crap, that hopefully someone will find useful. My guardian angel, Susan, is helping me tackle this debacle. She arranged for a Salvation Army pick up on Saturday, which is one reason it's all going so quickly. Which I'm thankful for the kick in the pants.

I feel great today about what I accomplished last night. I feel awesome about the clutter I'm about to get rid of and how awesome it's all going to be. I'm making an Ikea trip this weekend to get some cute curtains and other items to beautify the room.

This decluttering thing and I may get along just fine. But as my body is still healing and is now in pain, I may have get along with decluttering while freebasing ibrofroren......

Long Road

I had another doctor's appointment today. He said I looked better than last week. I feel about the same, but I'll take his word for it. He also said we are out of the woods as far as monitoring me to see if my condition worsens and that now we're on the road to recovery. He said that road can take 6 months to a year but in time I should be back to Angelique who can move.

The road to recovery means that I will need physical therapy to gain strength to my weakened muscles and occupational therapy to gain my dexterity back. It's going to be tough, but I'm a fighter. And knowing how much worse this disorder could have been, I'll take it.

I had a few moments of self pity yesterday. The stress of the last week had caught up with me and I felt like there was just so much to deal with. There is, but after meeting with the doctor today, I know that is all very manageable and it's going to be okay. After all, I trained for a 10 mile run and completed it under my goal time. If I can do that I can certainly conquer PT and OT and be functional again.

Because I think way to much. This has made me realize that we really never know what is going to happen. 5 weeks ago I was running 3 miles 3 times a week and was able to hold Jack with out whimpering in pain. Today I can barely walk a block. I've set a lot of standards for myself. Standards I haven't lived up to.

This is a new era. I'm going to get my to do list done. I'm going to start living more healthy. This means tossing all of the clutter out my life and my house. I'm going to be more focused on these things. I live in chaos, and I vow no more chaos. It's going to be gone.

I realize none of this is going to happen overnight, and it's going to take a lot of perseverance.

But I've already fought GBS, I can now fight chaos. Karate chop right to the C.

Songs About Inanimate Objects

Ally's bedtime ritual practically needs a manual. Teeth Brushing, PJ's, 3 stories, prayers, 3 songs, and than a made up story preformed by daddy.

As daunting as the bedtime routine can seem sometimes, I like it. It's special time with us and until recently my favorite part of the whole saga was song time. She would cuddle in arms and ask me to sing her my childhood classics like "Waltzing Matilda", "My Favorite Things", "Somewhere over the Rainbow" and slew of others.

Now at song time I am being taken out of my comfort zone and being asked to perform lullaby improv. The last few nights I have sung songs about ceiling fans, bunk beds, shoes, pacifiers, poop, and windows. Ironically enough all of the songs have almost the same tune. And the same substance

" Poop, Poop, you stink so bad, you come out of body and stink so bad"

"Fan, Fan you go round and round, you keep me cool while I lay on the ground"

"Shoes, Shoes you say on my feet, shoes, shoes you are really neat"

I'm clearly not winning any grammy's this year, however the challenge has been put before me. The challenge actually comes when she asks me to re-sing the songs... Hopefully poop will forgive me when I mix up the words.....