#5QF

1. Do you prefer cotton, silk, or flannel sheets? In the summer/warmer months, we use bamboo sheets we found on a whim one day at Target. Winter/colder weather sees me breaking out our flannel sheets. Side note: we keep the house fairly warm in colder weather. Our thermostat is usually set to around 68/69.  I don’t know, maybe that’s cold to others. Yesterday morning, Little Bear got up at . . . well, it was far too early for my tastes anyway. An hour later, Mommy-of-little-sleep-because-of-her-stress [see also: two upcoming brain surgeries] decided she was sleepy enough to get a cat nap before work, so I got M up. I went back to bed in a long sleeved tshirt and a hoodie. I was still freezing when I woke up 30 minutes later. I DO NOT GET IT.

2. What time zone are you in? Eastern.

3. What is your favorite part of the holiday season? Snow. I can smell snow. I know last year I said I was done with snow two years ago, but I love snow. [Look how little Butter was!]

4. What is your favorite “wintry” drink? (It doesn’t have to be an “alcoholic” drink!) I love making hot cocoa on the stove. I made it last year and then made the mistake of letting Butter drink it as chocolate milk. I don’t think we’re allowed to buy “yucky” chocolate milk any more . . .

5. In your opinion, what is the worst job in the world? I genuinely can not think of an answer for this. There are a lot of things on Dirty Jobs that could probably qualify for this, but I also think being a health care professional must kind of suck when a patient is terminal. It’s possibly related to the book I’m reading now or maybe the Moyamoya, but I can’t imagine telling someone there’s nothing else that can be done for them. I saw actual anguish in the eyes of the NICU doctors and nurses sometimes when they were updating us on Little Bear’s condition. I know there are ways they deal with that, but I just can’t imagine it. At all.

Linking up with My Little Life.

 

Since This Blog is All About Definitions . . .

May I present:

 

 

I’m Giving Myself Whiplash

Between all the tweaking I’ve done to the blog today [isn’t it pretty?] and the bouncing back and forth over whether or not to have this surgery, I can definitely speak to the title of this post.

All I have left to do on the blog is post the header. I think. I have to give a shout out to Jumping Jax Designs who made the pretty design elements, and Dad from Hanging with Dad for helping me figure out the coding. Thank you both so much.

After my surgery, I’ll worry about the other design elements I have like how to put the button and code on the site, the post divider, and the signature code I have.

After.

If.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I am legitimately so stressed out that I have no idea whether having this surgery will be a benefit or a detriment. Here’s what I do know: I’m not sleeping very well. I’m not eating much. My hair is falling out – which happens when I’m overly stressed – to the point that I’m not sure if they’re actually going to have to shave/cut anything in two weeks.

Obviously, I need help. I’m not so good with asking for it, though. I’ve talked to a few friends. I’ve e-mailed a bunch others. I read my will yesterday, which is the single most terrifying part of this entire ordeal, I think. Which also reminds me, I have to make an appointment to go sign my will. And Advanced Directive of Health. And Living Will.

I’ve been hugging on the boys more than usual. Butter has started to ask questions about why I’m so clingy. “I don’t want to snuggle, Mommy!” and “Can I ask Santa for that Chuggington toy now?” Little Bear is at an age where he just wants to get down unless he’s tired, then OMGPICKMEUPPICKMEUP!! I think he’s also starting to get his molars. Yay. I’m basing this entirely on what happened when Butter got his. Butter had red cheeks, but no fever. He chewed on everything, went through copious bibs, and developed a heck of a drool rash.

And I’m two weeks away from brain surgery. So glad my Mom and MIL will be here to help me handle this.

There are a ton of other things on my mind which I’m not ready, willing, or able to put on the interwebs yet. But I’m ready to cry “Uncle!” now. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I know it’s said God won’t ever give you more than you can handle, but why on earth does he trust me so much?