House of Healing

I could call this entry House of Pain, but I’m trying to be positive here.

Suffice it to say the Thursday before last was not a healthy day in the McClusky household. A headache I’d had the day before turned into my totally weird and unique optic nerve problem by morning. Which is to say that, for the fifth time now, my right eye is Temporarily Out of Service. Essentially there’s some bad wiring somewhere in my brain that results in my optic nerve getting pinched somehow and stopping working. So, my eye lolls over to the side of my head and the eye lid closes over it so I don’t see in double vision.

Yes, it is extremely weird. Yes, it is extremely rare.

And I would really rather that this isn’t the thing that differentiates me in life.

Thankfully it has always gotten better. Though it requires time and patience. Last time it took about 7 weeks to right itself. And by right itself, I mean that quite literally since there is nothing that the doctors can do, no magic pill to take, to make it all better.

In the modern world of pharmaceutical-mania, it’s distressing when your doctor informs you that there ain’t no pill for what ails you.

So, I’m out of work since I can’t drive, shouldn’t really be straining my “good eye” on the computer, and need to rest up ‘n get better.

In the meantime, when Mark and I returned from my doctor’s appointment on Day One of my eye blitz, Kate was lying on the couch with an ice pack on her ankle. She twisted her ankle coming down the slide at the park with the nanny. Now two doctor’s visits and two x-rays later, we are trying to get in to see an orthopedist. After 9 days she was finally able to walk again, but is limping like Quasimoto. They think there could be some kind of hairline fracture that isn’t showing up in the x-ray.

Aside from a toenail related injury which seems to be on the mend, Mark has maintained the function of all his eyes and limbs. Thank God since Cyclops and Hop Along have needed all the help we can get.

Up on the Roof

Apparently in lieu of leaving the house with my slippers on–a behavior I have somehow, blessedly, managed to curb–I have now begun driving with my possessions rolling around on the roof of the car. It’s happened about three times now, and each time I’m made aware of it by a loud noise that causes both Kate in her carseat and me to look up at the ceiling of the car with “what the hell is that?’ expressions on our faces.

Due in some part to luck and in another part to there being a large sporty-person equipment carrying device (Mark’s) screwed onto the top of the car, I have not yet lost anything. I just pull over and easily retrieve the forgotten toy, sippy cup, bottle of water, what have you.

I swear the next time it happens Kate is just going to roll her eyes and say, “Ma, you did it again.”

My Longs Hat

In one of my recent forays to Longs Drugs I stumbled upon a rack of sun hats that were 25% off. I’d been thinking I needed something to protect me from the sun since I’m out walking with Katie-Pie a lot, and by the end of the day all the sun had been giving me headaches. I was also fearful that by August I’d have the leathery skin of a sunbathing octogenarian from Miami.

Anyway, I first picked out a bright orange hat thinking maybe it was secretly the most fashionable one there. I wasn’t sure that I liked it, but for all I knew it was a look that was all over the runways in Milan. (I’m fairly certain that much Italian couture ends up in the Longs sale aisle.) Then I considered the chocolate brown one. Mark’s fashionable Aunt Terry told me once brown is a good color for me, and I took it as gospel. Then I saw a plain old tan one–a color both non-descript and unassuming. After much hand wringing, I decided to make the $11 plunge on the tan one. (In my working days I would have spent 10 times that on something I liked half as much without a second thought. And yes, that is a math word problem.)

This hat has changed my life. Okay, so not really, but I love it. And I’ve somehow convinced myself that it’s kinda hip too! It’s just a floppy canvas hat with a big brim. I wear it with the goggly sunglasses I bought years back when I was in some short-lived Sophia Loren mode. Every morning when we go for walks I toss it on, and Kate wears her hot pink sun hat with the Lilies of the Valley pattern. Together we are a knockout pair.

It may not even take years for me to look back on this hat and determine how absolutely absurd it is. That day may be right around the corner. But I figure that wearing a silly hat will facilitate Kate looking at photos of us from this summer some day, and saying, “My God, Mom! What were you thinking with that hat?”

I’ll just lie and tell her that hats like mine were very chic at the time.

The New Haircut: Chapter 2

Yesterday I used the new products I got and blew dry my hair all by myself like a big girl. I clearly have watched too much reality TV because I had this nagging feeling that a room full of gay men were watching me and commenting cattily on what a poor job I was doing.

Despite the imagined pressure from the non-existant flock o’ gays (unless there’s a hidden camera somewhere in our white bathroom), the hair ended up looking kinda cute. When I was done styling it, I didn’t cry. I took this to be a good sign. Sure, the texturizing makes the me look a bit like the poor man’s Meg Ryan. But better than then the Pat Benetar meets Mrs. Brady cut Jeneel gave me the last time I cheated on Frances with her.

Yes, I failed to mention that this is my second indiscretion with Jeneel. The first one went horribly wrong, leaving me chugging vitamins by the fistful in order to get my hair to grow back faster. (Never a good sign.) Again, it’s not like I was Jennifer Aniston with a world class hairstyle that was suddenly destroyed. The cut that I’d had before Jeneel’s first attempt at transforming me was the same droopy unstyled mop that I’ve had for years. But it was *my* droopy unstyled mop. I’ve never been one for change.

At any rate, never let it be said that I’m not willing to make the same mistake twice. Jeneel seems to have the ability to unleash dozens of friends’ latent fabulous hairdos. So, I thought I should give her one more crack at mine. Besides, ever since Mark and I have gone on our austerity plan, I’ve actually been successful at racheting back on my spending. I was overdue for throwing a wad of cash away on something unnecessary, and a $95 hair cut enabled that quite nicely. To ensure frivolous-spending success, I’m returning next week for a $70 dye job.

Short and Sassy

I actually did it. On the drive to SF I’d convinced myself that I could just get it trimmed and could back out of this whole I-think-I’ll-cut-my-hair-short thing, that I think I really maybe just made up as something to talk about and wasn’t ever really thinking I’d have the courage to do. Not that I thought my hair looked so great before. But better the evil you know, right?

Well, I walked into the fancy salon–blatantly cheating on Frances, my stylist of over a decade–and acted all cool like I’d be up for whatever Jeneel thought might look good. And then she started cutting it! Somewhere in between I stifled the urge to scream out that I was only kidding about wanting it short.

At any rate, after she cut it, her lackey came in to blow it dry. (Jeneel owns the place, and I guess when you’re that senior you get underlings to do not only the hair washing, but the blow drying too.) It ended up looking really cute. A sleek little bob. Fetching. Then Jeneel was going to do what I thought were a few long layers, but started hacking away at it–texturizing it. (Btw, I forgot that term and my metrosexual husband prompted me with it.)

So… we moved away from the short haircut that I would have been totally cool with, to the one I have now. Which is kinda messy/stylie and pretty short. Though I am trying to be the person who says, “It’s just hair” and/or the person who thinks the professional stylist knows better than me.

Mark is in LA, so doesn’t even get to see it professionally styled. When I go at it tomorrow I’ll probably weep and glue a hat to my head.

Cute thing–When I got home and nursed Kate, she still reached up and played with my hair!

It’s much worse than I thought…

Just back from Safeway, where as I was unloading Kate from the car I looked down to see that I was wearing my slippers. Not, thank God, the huge hot pink ones that have big flamingo heads on them that Mark’s cousin gave me. They were something more demure and black… Sad thing is I just thought, “Ah fuck it,” and continued on my way.

This is the kind of thing that gets your husband sending a hidden video of you into some mommy make-over show.

Speaking of which, my sister Judy called the other night all hopped up. She keeps a 24/7 vigil of the HGTV network. She’d just seen my friends Dawn and Josh on some “your-dream-kitchen” type show. We Tivoed it when it re-ran. V. funny seeing your friends become part of the reality TV epidemic. (And yes, their kitchen is quite dreamy.)

Kate-o Kaylan just arose from her nap and is babbling to herself. We’re awaiting the arrival of long-lost friend Rhya Fisher, who is doing a CA tour, on vacation from Cambridge. I’m not being coy–she is not at Harvard and I’m just calling it Cambridge, MA. Actually, I have no idea when she is doing now. She may well be there. When last Rhya and I saw each other, she was exploring career options as diverse as personal chef, cross-country ski instructor, and pursuing an MBA. She’s one of those annoying people with a Midas touch for whatever she pursures. But she’s so damn sweet and lovely, you can’t hate her no matter how much you want to.

I’m sure after seeing me, she’ll drop it all to explore the wonders of housewifery.