Is past. It's over. That's about the best thing. That it's behind us. Well, that and that my husband did NOT, in fact, have to participate in a scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Because he was sunk in a powerful depressive cycle, and so help me, the words "if this Lamictal increase doesn't work, we can always try ECT," flew out of our doctor's mouth like they were on wings. Maybe I'm wrong, but I felt he had the same look on his face that surgeons get when they're answering the question, "is an operation really necessary?" The whole idea just gave me the shivers, and not simply because I'd never be able to chunk that marble water-fountain through the window and carry him off.
So last week was really tough on Alex. And when things are bad for him, they're bad for me--not that I pretend to have any idea what depression that serious is really all about, because I don't. I just hate seeing him suffer. And I also get lonely when he's sleeping 22.5 hours a day. Anyway, whether as a result of the full moon waning, the med increase kicking in, the mere suggestion of running enough juice through his synapses to power a Hamilton-Beach blender for long enough to make a strawberry-banana smoothie, or all three combined...he's doing much better now.
We're beginning to get things in order around here. Instead of just watching "Neat," "Clean Sweep," and "Clean House" on TV all night long while sighing wistfully, we're taking action and trying to de-clutter. Alex has done a good majority of the heavy lifting, leaving me free to putter around organizing, shelving/unshelving, storing, selling/donating, and doing "detail" work on our living spaces. This house is so unbelievably odd in design (seriously--did we just not NOTICE before we bought this place how very very WEIRD it is?) that, while space is plentiful, maximizing its livability is a real challenge. I am probably going to post pictures and invite input as I tackle some of these problems one at a time, because I know that the answers are out there, and that YOU HAVE THEM.
Bella and I have been given the gift of these last few weeks before school starts "off," and I am loving spending time with her, and being able to dress her in normal, little-kid summer clothes instead of having to make her look like an extra from "Big Love" just to go to day-care. Alex called home one day and, listening to her in the background (although, with Bella, it's never really the BACKground), asked me, "How long will it take her to get tired?" To which I replied, "I don't know yet. It's only been a week." I still don't know.
We've entered a whiny stage that is driving me crazy (I'm talking mostly about Bella here). Why just ask for anything when you could start up your siren and make your most melodramatic facial contortions and squeeze out a few tears for added effect? Also, I think I'm ready to bestow my very first Maternal Curse on my child, as my mother (successfully) did on me so many times: I hope that when Bella has a child of her own, that child will demand a never-ending supply of Band-Aids for every possible malady, from skinned knees to hiccups to offended sensibilities. And that when Band-Aids are denied, for reasons as trivial as the fact that you can't stick a Band-Aid to your EYEBALL, that child will make begin to make sounds which will be heard by dogs long before they fall on any human ears, and will be inconsolable and will also not forget about the non-Band-Aid-having EVER, regardless of distractions offered.
Speaking of noise, you know what we haven't heard yet this year? One single firecracker. Well, I take that back. I was so befuddled by the lack of firecracker noise, HERE, in rural Arkansas of all places, that I actually went outside tonight and just listened. There were firecracker noises, after all. Know why we can't hear them from inside the house? Because those sounds are drowned out by the multitude of locusts, cicadas and FROGS which are in concert all summer long. There is one particular frog that I'd like, quite honestly, to murder with my bare hands. I'd do it slowly, and then hang his little carcass above the koi pond, or put it on a pike in the landscaping, as a warning to all his little frog-buddies. Barometer species, my hind leg--just SHUT UP, you horny little amphibian freaks.
We've seen a few movies in the last couple weeks, and have enjoyed Netflix's new streaming movie feature as well. Kinda neat to just order one up and have it here instantaneously. Most recently we saw Marky-Mark in Shooter, which was remarkable in that it's a Rambo-esque, revenge-driven bloodfest...wrapped around a liberal sensibility and message. Yeah, I know. Weird, huh? Ned Beatty plays/represents Evil Incarnate (*cough*BushAdministration*cough*) in this one. Also, Casey Jones from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie was another bad guy. Irritating Alex throughout (this movie was his pick; mine for the same weekend was Breach, which I found interesting) was my glee at the name of Marky-Mark's character: Bob Lee Swagger. I'm sorry, I just couldn't get over it, this not being a comedy or based on a comic book. And then, when the secondary good-guy character was introduced as Nick Memphis, I nearly lost my mind. At one point, my husband actually threatened me thusly: "If you say his name one more time, I am just going to turn this off." He maybe should have thought that threat through, because it was about as effective as when I was "punished" in college for having a "bad attitude" (I know, right? ME?) by being forced to SIT OUT Razorback Marching Band rehearsals, when in the first place I was participating against my will (because I wasn't good enough, as a freshman, to earn one of the two spots in the symphony orchestra) earning my scholarship, in the second place it was 102 degrees outside, and in the third place these rehearsals were three hours long and took place on ASPHALT. So because of my bad attitude (due to the hating of everything to do with "marching band"--my blood pressure still rises just thinking about it), I had to lie in the shade with a book instead of sweating it out under the sun on the blacktop with my better-behaved peers. GENIUS.
Oh, and my husband also made the baseless accusation that if I were pressed into service as a field-surgeon on Marky-Mark, like the girl in the movie was, I'd take advantage of the opportunity to get a peek at his "funky bunch" before he woke up. The nerve. It just so happens that the placement of the bullet-wound would have made peeking unnecessary.
I think the 4th of July is going to be lazy and food-filled for us, probably over at Mom's with the rest of the gang. What about you? And while I've got you here, what's up with Canada Day? I heard someone describe it as "their Independence Day," but isn't Canada a constitutional monarchy? What are they independent from? That said, I fully embrace and celebrate Canada and all things and especially people Canadian. If nothing else, they'll keep you busy looking up words like "toque" and "gonch." I haven't met one yet who wasn't cuddly.
I'm kind of hoping we'll maybe get to get out and see "Rat's Patootie" (sorry, Mom, we're not correcting her, because it's just too funny) like Bella wants. I could go for some animated-rat-based escapism right now. Which segues into the best Bella-quote of the entire week, which I still haven't figured out, "Mommy, I love you more than a rat and a pickle."