Yah, you aren't so special. You just ate too much.

“It must be something more because I’m a Boulanger remember?“

Those are the words uttered to me tonight when my daughter felt sick to her stomach. The worst part is she really now believes all that being a Boulanger belies her. Although, sometimes a belly ache is just a belly ache and sometimes being a Boulanger means if it can go wrong it will. Other time it is bad luck, good luck and no luck. Roll of the dice. Case In point...

We took her to get her wisdom teeth pulled and the dentist informed us that she had only one. ONE wisdom tooth. I’d like to be coy here and say she only has one wisdom tooth because she isn’t very wise etc. The Dentist told us he has never had a case where just ONE wisdom tooth showed up. He has had cases of 2 missing, but never 3 not growing in. She looked at me when he told her that and we shared a knowing glance. She knows what it means to be “special”. She will spend her years hearing how “this is the first time I’ve ever seen this”, “We don’t have a known name for this”, “This is rare, WOW” etc. I used to think it exciting to be so special. To have stuff no one has ever seen before. One time my uvula in my throat swelled up so much in my throat I had to go to urgent care. OF course, they hadn’t ever seen anything like that and that visit was where I realized it isn’t actually a “special” thing more like a “oddity thing.” That was the visit the clinched all the “specialness”

I went to Portland last week. Spent 5 nights. It is amazing how good it feels to be with my sisters family and Bonne. This time Bonne stayed 3 nights with me and we just held hands and visited and it felt good to snuggle up with her at night and talk about our dead sister and Dad. No one can understand how it feels but us. My brother-in-law and nieces and nephews lost their mom (Our sister) but we lost a dad and a quasi Sister/Mom figure. Now when we get together it is less tearful and more remembering. Remembering the good and bad. I have no one to talk about my Dad with. <--Bonne

Bonne tries to understand and she is the only person who loved my Dad like me. I lived with him. I took care of him. I still miss him horribly. I get up easier now, I keep things clean, I try to focus my days better. It doesn’t help that I only have 4 puppies in my nursery. Puppies are what gets me through the rough patches. The new babies are too small to be held much. The Mom’s frown on the laying on the floor with their babies just yet. LOL. I don’t blame them but I live for puppies kisses and puppy breath.

David is trying harder to be less demanding, grouchy and hard to live with. He is really stressed at work and tired. He gets his Masters Degree next month. I will be so damn glad when his schooling is over. It is a terrible thing that he started back to school 3 years ago with the idea that he would get a juicy promotion and then the economy took a dump. I’m thankful he still has a job. His company has “reorganized” twice since he started back to school. So many lay offs and job shuffling. Working 12 hours a day at a job where they suck the life out of you is all there is? So, when he dies can I put on his grave (If I’m still here) “Here lies a man who gave up every daylight hour to work hard for his family?”

Christine and I above.

Maybe the hippies and squatters have it right. I sometimes have fleeting thoughts of selling everything we own and buying a motor home and to just park the motor home somewhere and just be. Not the Walmart parking lot unless that is where we get the most peace. I’m thinking more along the lines of next to a river, creek and my favorite is the Ocean. David thinks I could stand this living in a very confined area for maybe 3 months. I think he has been so busy working and studying I have changed and he hasn’t taken notice yet. I want a simplier life. I would rather spend time with him then sit and wait until he gets home from work so I can stare at the back of his head while he watches Jeopardy and then goes to his computer to start his second job (School). I think I could learn to love less stuff, more time together. I now see how it is possible for two people who live in the same house grow apart. It is easier than it looks.

Maybe just for fun I will motor home shop.?

Nah, I will just get my hopes up. Wondering aloud how many dogs I could take on this life/road trip?? It just occured to me this could be a mid life crisis thing for me. I just want a new life, a do-over. I want more freedom. Not that I have anything I can't do now I just hate the credit cards. Yep, it's the credit cards fault that we spend on them. I hate owing money.

Back to my initial thought of the day. Caiti’s tummy ache. She barfed in the sink. All I can say is thank God it was in the boys bathroom. Then she comes out and says (hang onto your seats) “the sink isn’t draining. I think it is clogged up with spaghetti noodles.” OMG could she have grossed me out more? Something wrong with getting, oh I don’t know a BARF BUCKET? If you know me at all you know I don’t do spit/saliva/gum things. When someone else makes barfing sounds I can’t help it I puke/almost puke every time. She waltzes out and declares she is going to bed and that I should pour some bleach down the un-draining, noodle laden bathroom sink... I admit I use a ton of bleach all of the time. I’m just thinking that even the most powerful bleach I use we could not force Italian sausage and spaghetti noodles down the drain. OMG I have to do something about this. I’m thinking she is 17. Don’t 17 year old girls handle their own barf issues? What age do Mom’s say “No thank you on the barf?”

<-Boulanger "plunger"

I sit in my chair and devise a plan. I look every where for a wire hanger. I found a lowly wire hanger in the recesses of the laundry room and pull it out as straight like a make shift sink snake. I "plunged" the sink the best I could. Plunged being more like pushed the smelly saliva noodles further down the drain. Must remember to put drano on David’s shopping list. With any luck he will not find out because knowing someone barfed and blew chunks in an area where you brush your teeth is a real gross out and I’m afraid it would not end pretty for her. Oh well, it all went further down. Got a half gallon of bleach to go down with no undue chunks holding anything up and with any luck David will be none the wiser. The funny thing is she blames the smell of bleach on making her tummy sick. She hates the smell. When I smell bleach I think CLEAN. 17 and I'm still doing the barf?