Category Archives: me

And It Was My Best and Favourite Vase, Too…

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So while unpacking the other day I unwrapped my favourite vase. It was an engagement gift to Simon and I, lo these many years ago. A fabulous perfect cylinder with etching around it. It was great for any and all varieties of flowers, just so long as they had long stems.

Vase

Very much like this, only with etched in circles around the circumference.

Source

And last night, while giving it a ‘just unwrapped from packing’ wash, it slipped out of my hands and broke against the side of the sink. That part was bad enough. The gouge in my hand is also fairly horrific.

I was home alone with Adam and he was right there so I grabbed the nearest clean tea towel and pressed it against the wound, as blood dripped down my hand. He was totally un-phased by it all until I shouted at him to keep out of the way as I wasn’t sure if there was glass on the floor and he was in bare feet. Then he got upset because of the shouting.

Anyway, I managed to get into our first aide box and steri strip and bandage it, while comforting an hysterical toddler. Then I got Simon and the phone and suggested he get home as quick as possible and that we order pizza for dinner!

Both of those things occurred as well and once Adam was in bed we took a look at the wound. We both agreed that spending the night in A&E wasn’t necessary (thank god!) as it was barely weeping at that point.

I am about to call my GP’s office to get it looked at as the bandage has evidence of it still weeping a bit, mostly if I use it, which I am trying not to do. But it’s my right hand! How do lefties manage?!

Of course the horror of how much worse it could have been immediately floods your mind. Three inches lower and my wrist would have been cut and I would have been calling 999, dealing with a scared toddler and trying not to pass out from blood loss.

Instead I’ve sent Adam off to day care with Simon (one good part, I don’t have him to cope with today) and I’ll mostly rest today and try not to use the hand.

And try not to cry at the loss of my absolutely best and favourite vase.

The House Is Falling To Bits

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As I sit here sipping sugary tea and nibbling (mostly) dry toast, it is day 8 of the hell that began last Thursday night with our trip to A&E with Adam puking blood.

It continued with Simon throwing up on Sunday and Adam cranky and pulling his ear.

It went further on Wednesday with Adam back at nursery but me at my biggest clients for meetings all day.

And then yesterday I woke up feeling achy and tired and with a headache. Simon had to go to work for Open Days, when the 6th Formers (7th years? What are they called now?!) come to see the University. So I was at home with an active 2 year old and find myself vomiting. Things compounded when said 2 year old was just falling asleep after lunch and I had to basically throw him into bed to go puke. Yeah. He didn’t sleep. Luckily Simon got home by 230 and I headed to bed. And spent the evening and part of the night throwing up.

And so the house is falling to bits.

You see, I have a schedule for cleaning. I hate cleaning, as most people do, so if I don’t put it into my phone with a reminder and a day to do it, it won’t get done. Or it will get done only on weekends which leaves no family time.

So I set a schedule. This past Monday I was suppose to clean the bathrooms, for example. Adam was home from nursery and, as I recall, napped for about 10 minutes, so that didn’t happen.

Wednesday I was suppose to change the beds, catch up on my laundry folding and hoover the bedrooms and hallway. I was at my client site all day.

Today, Friday, I should be running (toddler free!) errands and tidying and hoovering the front rooms and finishing laundry.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

So the bathrooms need a wipe. The floors need a hoover.  And you can’t get into the spare bedroom for all the clothes piled up to be folded. We are almost out of nappies, I need to put 2 cheques into the bank, my finally repaired jeans need to be picked up from the tailor, we are nearly out of juice and milk. It’s Friday night so pudding and wine need to be bought.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

Adam threw a major strop about going to nursery, I imagine because he basically didn’t see me from about 230 yesterday until 730 this morning and this whole week has been weird. So he’s been promised a trip to the museum on Sunday; a cross my heart, pinky swear, high five promise that I wouldn’t go back on if you held a gun to my head.

Oh and I think I have some emails to send for my biggest client.

So the house is falling to bits and I really should do something about some of this stuff.

Instead, I’m sipping sweet tea, eating (mostly) dry toast and am about to head back to bed.

Pin Point Pain

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Pin point pain is the name I have given to those sudden unexplained pains that come and go in an instant. I have no idea if they are called something else by the docs.

They are, in a lot of ways, worse than the constant ache in my upper arms. A constant ache can be adjusted to, accepted and dismissed, to the point that it feels really odd when my arms don’t hurt.

But a pin point pain is sudden and harsh and unpredictable. Suddenly, I hurt a lot more. And just for a minute or less. Sometimes they are so strong they leave me breathless. Sometimes I barely register them.

I think these pains are a good indication that the latest theory of Fibro is correct; that it’s not that I’m actually in pain, it’s that the pain receptors in my brain are working incorrectly leading me to believe I am in pain. And the pin point pains are a sudden ‘misfiring’ of those receptors, sending a strong pain signal. For a pain that isn’t there.

Which leads me to the question; why can’t they find a med to fix the misfire? I mean, my brain misfires all over the place already, this is why I have depression and anxiety. And for those I take meds. So where’s the meds for the pain receptor misfire?

Eh?

My New Boots!!!!

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The saga of the boots started last year when my beautiful Aldo boots barely lasted the winter season. I was not happy, since they were about £60.

Anyone who knows me knows I never spend that much on myself. On Adam? Sure. Simon? Uh huh. Me? I’m happy with a £20 pair of whatever. Simon yells at me as they don’t last, but I just can’t spend that much money on myself.

The Aldo boots were a treat, bought with, I think, our anniversary present money from my mom and a bit I had saved up from other things. I thought, being Aldo, they’d last at least 2 years. It was not to be.

So I have been looking for new boots since the end of last winter, in the sales. One problem, I have, as my friend Jean says, teeny weeny baby feet. A UK size 4 or 5. Tiny. Gone by the time the sales come around.

But when my mom was here in January she offered to buy me a nice pair as a birthday treat, my birthday being in February. So we looked. And looked. And looked. In House of Fraser. In Dunnes. In M&S. In little shops and big. It was not to be. Tons of boots in the sales. None in my size.

And I’ve continued to look as more things went on sale. Nada.

And then mom came back into town. And we talked about boots and how I was going to have to buy them when the new season came out, despite having to pay full price, which killed me. But I need good quality boots for the winter, especially as I walk all over town pushing a pram with a small boy. And mom said the boot offer was still open.

And so we went to Clarks. And they had a few left from last season. Didn’t fit. New boots weren’t in yet though.

And then mom went to Ecco to look at shoes saw they had some boots. And so we went back, even though I think Ecco shoes are ugly.

And I found MY BOOTS!

They are comfortable, they fit. The even look good!

And so I have boots.

Thanks mom!

Memories…

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After a month of a sick child equalling very bad or very little sleep my memory and aphasia have, once again, taken a nose dive. When this happens I always start thinking about memory and memories in general.

I have very few childhood memories. I have no idea why this is but you’ll find my brother says the same thing. Makes me wonder, sometimes, what we’ve both blocked.

The memories I do have are (mostly) good ones.

I remember being in our condo in Manchester Connecticut and my dad bought a new stereo that could record tapes and my brother and I making a recording and getting called to dinner. I remember then wondering why all that time at dinner wasn’t a big empty space on the tape.

I remember my dad’s CB radio in our playroom of our first house in Westport.

I also remember having cousins or maybe friends over to stay and we were all sleeping down in that same playroom and there was a burning smell (I was asleep) and I woke up to a house full of firemen because we had placed a sofa cushion over a light and it had burned.

I remember sitting under the big tree in front of that same house crying as my divorcing parents fought in the living room. My brother was with me.

I remember the poem my step-dad wrote me when I got my stereo for my birthday. Not exactly what it said but that he went to the trouble. Something about ‘always trying to do what she aughta.’ He was lying. :O)

I remember packing my car to drive to Iowa to go to University.

And every time Adam climbs up on a piece of furniture I remember a picture. It is of me as quite a small baby, only a few months old, if that. My mom is holding me on a sun lounger in the backyard of our house in Holliston MA and my brother, who is only 22 months older than me,  is in the act of climbing up to join us. Adam climbs just like his uncle.

I do often wonder, though, what I’ve forgotten…

It Has Recently Occured to Me

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That I don’t think I’ve ever posted about why I am Tee.

And Tee I am. All over the ‘net.

On Mumsnet and elsewhere I am Tee2072. I can’t tell you what the numbers mean. It’s a secret. Really. It is.

But the Tee part of my name came about just about 10 or so years ago when my brother’s oldest daughter, S, was learning to talk.

I was living in California then, close by to them, and saw my niece several times a week. And was referred to as Aunty Robyn. And S would say ‘T!’

We assumed she just couldn’t say Aunty so all that came out was T!

I have a vague memory of discussing with my brother and sister in law whether or not we should encourage her to use my full name or not. And I realized I liked it that she had a name for me no one else had.

When my brother, who is a big old geek and hosts this site and my company website and blog and just generally keeps me up and running, set up our family domain, on which this blog sits, he asked me what I wanted my email address to be. And I said Tee.

And so TeeMail (see what I did there?) was born.

And then I joined some message board that needed a user name. And I chose Tee.

And now I am Tee2072 all over the ‘net.

I still have TeeMail.

This is Tee’s Blog.

My company is Designed To A Tee.

And lots and lots of people call me Tee.

All because a wonderful little girl, who is now 11 and starting middle school in the fall, couldn’t say Aunty.

Or so we presumed…

 

Trying To Find My Mojo

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So I went to a seminar on Thursday about Online Marketing. I mostly went to support my friend Cathie, who owns and operates Pulse Online Productions. She and I used to work together at The Northern Ireland Science Park. We’ve both moved on now and started our own companies but we keep in touch.

I was only marginally interested in the topic as I haven’t really been marketing Designed To A Tee due to lack of time and because I thought I was going to have another client soon. But I went.

And I loved it. I loved being in a room with people who are interested in some of the same things I am. I met a few interesting people. And I got some ideas for increasing the marketing for DTAT.

One idea was a DTAT Twitter. You can follow that @DTATTweets. I am also going to be launching another blog, to talk about design, digital media and things like that.

So watch this space. Big things are coming.

Time to get my mojo back.

Today I Had My First Ever Full Body Massage

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It was a Christmas gift from my parents in law.

I was apprehensive because I have a hard time with back massages. I find people touching my back, unless I know them very well, annoying and I have never had a back massage that I enjoyed. Now, none of those were by professionals, so I gamely went on (to my favourite spa) to have it done.

I also find it hard to relax, even though the atmosphere at the spa is well set up for that, whenever I go for a treatment. Quiet to me means time to think and I have a hard time shutting my brain off. I start to write my blog entry, I think about work I need to do, wonder what Adam is up to. This time was no different.

I also had a hard time when lying on my stomach, breathing through the head rest thing. I almost never lie on my stomach  because I always feel like I can’t breathe, so it took me a few minutes to get through that.

The massage itself was, I guess, good. I have nothing to compare it to, obviously. But I still didn’t like how it felt on my back. I just don’t like it when people mess with my back. I loved the leg/foot/arm/hand part. And the scalp part was really weird since I’m used to having that done when my hair is wet! It was like my hair was crackling under her fingers!

Also this afternoon once at home I am stiffer than I have been in awhile.

So I am thinking massage is not for me.

Next time I’ll have a facial!

Once Again At The GP

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This time both Adam and I are ill. Cough, stuffy/painful ears, runny noses.

I guess I should be grateful that this is the first one he’s passed on to me.

We each officially have an infected ear. He also has wheezy lungs and I have a swollen tonsil.

So we’ve spent the last few days coughing and snuggling on the couch.  And he’s been very cranky. As have I.

He’s also not sleeping well. So neither am I.

It’s been a long month. And it’s only the 1st of March…