Not yet, anyway.

I just posted part three of my Bookapalooza! but it’s been so long since I posted something not Bookapalooza! (eleven days, to be exact)…in addition to it being so long since the last installment of Bookapalooza!…I thought I should make some more personal-type notes, just to confirm that I do something besides read these days. I don’t do much besides read, but I do some things, sometimes.

Last week I took Mister Bubby to the orthodontist for his free consultation. The good news: his teeth really aren’t that bad. The bad news: he has inherited my jaw. For those of you who missed the relevant episodes of I Am the Giraffe, that means that if we want to fix his mouth, he’s going to need to have the same corrective surgery on his lower jaw that I’m going to have just as soon as these stupid gaps in my upper teeth close up. Six weeks of a soft, primarily liquid, diet while he recovers. But because he also has a minor issue with his upper jaw, he will first need to wear headgear at night for several months. “Wow,” I thought, as the orthodontist was explaining all of this to me, “he’s just going to looooooooove this. I’m sure he’ll be totally enthusiastic about compliance!”

Truly, I felt reasonably sick about the whole situation. I could hardly imagine myself doing this surgery. I don’t know how I can possibly go down this road with a twelve-year-old. When I talked with Sugar Daddy about it, he was of the opinion that we should just go ahead and do it because MB will be happier in the long run, given how many problems this jaw condition entails. I don’t doubt he will be happier in the long run, but the short run is going to be a pure hellacious nightmare and I’m going to have to fight with him every step of the way. I’m sorely tempted to just let him find out for himself how much happier he would have been if he’d just had the surgery as a teenager, and he can pay for his own orthognathic work when he’s 40. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of options by then, what with the government working the kinks out of Obamacare and all.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

There are a lot of things I don’t want to talk about. Christmas, for example. I’m mostly ready for Christmas, but I know that no matter how ready I get, I will never feel ready for Christmas. I will always feel like I’m forgetting something. And then I will forget it. And then it won’t matter anymore because Christmas will be over, but I don’t have that perspective right now. Right now I am worried about getting ready for Christmas.

Plus, the kids are going to be off school for two weeks. Actually longer, because there’s no school this Friday. Yes, they get a whole extra day of winter break, due to budget cuts.  A WHOLE EXTRA DAY! What am I supposed to do with them for a whole extra day???

I really like my kids, but this house wasn’t designed to hold all of them plus me for long stretches of time.

On Saturday we went to our church’s Christmas party, which was okay, except Mister Bubby sat on Santa’s lap and asked if he could “bring Granddad down from heaven” for Christmas. His grandfather is still alive, incidentally. He’s just that rotten a kid. Also, we let him watch this a couple weeks ago.

 

I’m telling you, the look on that poor Santa’s face. I may never get over it.

This afternoon I get to have an awkward conversation with Princess Zurg’s therapist when I explain that we are leaving her for another therapist. I think our reasons–having to do with money and convenience–are totally understandable and it’s not like I have to say, “Eh, we think you’re a crappy therapist” (she’s not), but I’m just really bad at ending relationships. I prefer the passive-aggressive route, but I think that would be really discourteous in this case. Being discourteous makes me feel awkward, and that’s what I strive to avoid. Hence my anxiety over the awkward conversation. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure there’s a way to have such a conversation non-awkwardly–I just don’t know how I can have the conversation non-awkwardly. I’m an extremely awkward person.

You would think being an awkward person would make me more comfortable with awkward situations. Wouldn’t you? I mean, I should be used to it by now. But I’m not.

Well, I have to eat lunch if I’m going to do it at all today. Gentle readers, adieu.

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