Nearly time I check our bank balance online I have a minor heart attack and possibly near-death experience in the time between clicking "login" and the time my balance actually shows up. It's completely wasted anxiety-- I'm not waiting to see what's going to happen, just waiting to assess what's already happened, but it is no less dramatic.
So that's how things are going in the money department. I can't look at my balance unless my eyes are covered and I'm peeking between two fingers, like I'm in the dark with a jumbo popcorn on my lap and the killer with the ski mask will surely kill the couple making out in the deserted camp cabin AT ANY MINUTE. I know those two lovebirds are going to get hurt, and I know it's definitely coming. That lower-than-low balance and all the records of the shit that's been purchased are coming. The reminders for the shit that's due just around the corner are coming. There's no stopping them and their fucking ski masks and scythes. And I just sit and and ball up in terror until it hits. And then hurts. And sometimes there is dramatic screaming and clumsy running.
Speaking of eating popcorn, A. frequently asks me to "stop Swedish-cheffing it" when we eat popcorn, because I try to pick up too many pieces at one time with just the tips of my fingers and they all go flipping everywhichway on the couch. Durg de durg de Bork! Bork! (and there's your tie-in to the last entry.)
Back on track about money: As it has become necessary to track every single cent that travels with surprising speed in and out of our lives, I've created a seriously bad-ass spreadsheet with many formulas and other high-tech things that any fourth grader could do. But I am so proud of it! And it really cuts down on the severity of my case of the balance checking willies, because I know I'm actually going to be able to baby-step it and make those numbers actually mean something other than crushing fear. I am certainly no genius, but if you would like a copy of my brainy spreadsheet, email me at mamasnee at gmail dot com and I'll fling it your way.
Bird has some kind of major diaper irritation thanks to the super acidic poo she's been pooping. It was recommended that we mix some corn starch with mylanta and spread it on her little booty to help heal it. So I did and I will. She thinks it hilarious for me to fan her naked bum to dry the paste while she says, "clean diaper pweeeeeeese!"
She has also discovered chapstick, which she will uncap and point in the direction of your face, asking, "some?" and you say "of course, I'd love some!" and she smooshes around your lips with the chapstick and swipes once at your nose, just for good measure. There is so much chapstick stuck on my mug that it probably looks like I've been drooling.