The era of Madhousewife Willingly Taking Elvis Into Safeway has officially ended.  I wish I could say it was nice while it lasted, but it really wasn’t, and that is sort of the whole point.

Mister Bubby is having his first playdate with a friend from his kindergarten class.  Hey, it only took me until almost-first-grade to arrange it.  He is so excited that he’s set the kitchen timer for the 105 minutes until said friend arrives.

I have decided to give Princess Zurg one more go-round with the Zoloft.  We aborted our last attempt to modify her behavior chemically because her teacher thought the drug might be making her crazier, even though it was technically too early to tell.  Too many variables to consider, though, so we said never mind and let her resume her non-drug-enhanced meltdowns.  Now that she is no longer in school or vacationing out of state, I figure we have a good base line, so back on the Zoloft she went Tuesday morning.  The problem with PZ and prescription drugs is that she can’t swallow pills, so she has to take liquid Zoloft, which is a concentrate that has to be mixed with so many ounces of a) water, b) lemonade, c) lemon-lime soda, OR d) orange juice, and nothing else.  I ran out of lemonade and had to open up the bottle of 7Up this morning.  I am not in the habit of keeping orange juice in the house because Elvis loves it, despite the fact that it gives him diarrhea (though SD has bought him a couple half-gallons in the last month and the effects were not quite as horrible as I’d remembered–or maybe I just didn’t change enough of his diapers).  She won’t take it with water because it tastes really gross, i.e. like sertraline and not at all like water.  The point is that it’s a pain in the neck to use liquid Zoloft, so I’m trying to teach her to swallow pills.  This is somewhat akin to teaching your goldfish algebra, but I persevere.  This morning she successfully swallowed some of those decorative cookie sprinkles.  I need to move on to something larger than that but smaller than a Tic Tac.  Any suggestions?  Why they can’t make chewable Zoloft, I’ll never know.

Starting while we were on vacation, Girlfriend wants to nurse approximately forty-seven times a day.  Now, I’ve always nursed my children more times per day than some would consider prudent, but I’ve never been a forty-seven-per-day mother.  At first I suspected that she just needed more attention.  I’ve tried paying her more attention, but she isn’t interested.  What she’d really like to do is nurse, thanks.  It’s like she’s storing up for the winter.  You know, nursing on demand is fine when they’re little, but once they get to the size when you can’t carry them on one arm while you do stuff with the other, it is just not practical. 

In the last two weeks my husband has lost his Amazon card and his debit card.  Now it appears that he’s lost his Target card–which we just had replaced a couple months ago because the number was stolen.  I’m beginning to think that he is waging a passive-aggressive war on our culture of conspicuous consumption.  That, or he doesn’t want to do the shopping anymore.  All I know is that we’re out of food, I won’t take Elvis anywhere anymore, and SD has no means of paying for groceries.  I’d start delving into the food storage, but we’re such lousy Mormons that all we have is spaghetti and green beans.  Not even real green beans, but those French-sliced canned green beans, which taste even less like green beans than regular canned green beans.  Oh, and there’s some rice.  A lot of rice, actually.  Your mouth watering yet?  I thought as much.