As you can see from the photo, courtesy of Debbie and her friend Demaris, Debbie has taken Veronica to a water park with h Demaris and Demaris's little girl, Alyia, who is three. Veronica is wearing an old swimsuit of Alyia's that is now hers. She is trying to catch the water in the cup she is holding. That hat is one Debbie has for the kids, and it's the only one Veronica will wear. This is too cute.

Debbie has made us promise to take Veronica there once she's gone. We will, but it won't be the same. We're all going to miss her so much. And how do I explain to Veronica why she won't see Debbie anymore? It's hard enough coming to terms with her moving as an adult. I'll have to keep calling my daughter "Scooter" and "Peanut," lest she forget the terms of endearment she's been called almost every day for the first two years of her life. It's the least I can do until fate takes us to Tucson or brings Debbie back here.

Whew. I know it's been a while. But here's the lamest excuse ever, followed by an explanation:

I'm tired.

Now, seriously, I know that sounds like a cop-out, but I'm talking the type of tired that makes me fall asleep at work, makes me almost run red lights in my car. I can't concentrate on anything, and no matter how much sleep I've gotten, I always feel groggy, like I've just woken up. I went to the doctor today, and she got a chest X-ray (normal) and some blood work done. The next step, if the blood work comes back normal, is some sleep clinic tests to see if I have sleep apnea. I don't care what it is at this point, I just want to be awake.

Onto Veronica news:

Tonight she was up on the bed and got under the covers. She sat there, "hiding," a large upright lump under the comforter. Then I heard a PBBBBBBPT sound. She announced, "I fart," of course muffled from being under the covers. I stiffled a giggle and said "Yes, you did fart, and you probably don't want to be under there much longer. Trust me on this one." Mere seconds later, she was saying "Get out! Get out under here," and helped me get her out from under the sheets. I was cracking up. "Honey," I said, "I never thought I'd see you give yourself a dutch oven."

A couple weeks ago she had to deal with death. Kind of. An ant had wandered into the house, near the French doors to our backyard. It happens from time to time. Anyway, the ant was on the floor in front of the little recliner where Pita was sleeping. Veronica walked up to greet Pita, saw the ant, and immediately plopped down on the floor. After petting Pita for a moment, she looked around the floor and said "Where d'go?" She lifted up her legs, and I saw the ant, now quite squished, on her right leg. I figured it was bothering her, so I flicked it off and said "There it is. All better now." She looked at the ant, now balled-up and motionless, flicked it herself once, and then just started bawling. She was inconsolable for a few minutes. I took her to the sofa and told her not to be afraid, it's OK, that happens to ants a lot but the rest of us, not so much. That seemed to calm her down. I told her I'd explain more about it when she was a little older, and I will. I mean, I really didn't think I was going to need to explain the mortality of anything to her, much less alone an insect, at this young age.

Past numerous viewings of "Finding Nemo," that's all that's going on here. I'm tired and Veronica is just surprising us all the time. More later. Possibly with photos. :-)

Now that I'm not praying to the porcelain god, back to work, etc., I should probably update y'all on Veronica. She's doing some cute things. Like her new affection for naming what belongs to whom. "That's my drink. That's Daddy's drink." "No Pita, that's Janus's food." "That's Mommy's book, not Daddy's book." And so on, and so forth.

What's even cuter is how these actually sound:

"Dat MY dreen. Dat Dad-Dee dreen."
"No Pee, dat Jan foo."
"Dat Mom-mee buh, naw Dad-dee buh."

And so on, and so forth. And we wonder why we're the only ones who understand her most of the time. (sigh.)

I had more, but I'm frankly still a bit nauseous. I'm never eating at CPK again. Ick.

Ugh. As Jason put it, "you're having one hell of a year so far."

Here's the biggies on that: I lost my job, and have yet to fully replace it. The temp position I hold is well-paying but very tedious. Debbie is moving away. And now, whoop-dee-doo, I'm sick again. Some lovely vomitting escapades have plagued me all day long, we're thinking from some leftover chicken I warmed up yesterday afternoon. As Jason pointed out, I've been sick more often in the past six months than I have in the past six years.

The downside of this too is that my correspondence to friends and family has gone down considerably too, due to stress, time constraints, and most of the time, my own depression over these things. I really don't want to get on the horn or online and just bitch to people I care about. Some of them realize this, some of them haven't taken it very well, and some of them I don't think have actually noticed.

I don't know, it just sucks. I love Veronica and Jason, and it looks like we're keeping the house and staying here, at least for now, but I'm just so tired. I just want to stop being worried so much and start feeling better. Is that too much to ask?

So here I am on Independence Day, in the wee hours of the morning, adding to my blog. I figured that with dial-up, maybe less people will be online right now and hopefully I won't get booted off.

Tonight we took Veronica to her first fireworks display. She watched about five minutes of it, intermittently, and kept saying "Oh, man!" throughout the whole thing. The rest of the time, she was playing with the glow-rope Jason had purchased for her from a wandering vendor. We left early and she didn't even notice.

Now, part of us thinks this is funny. But we're actually growing a bit concerned over Veronica's...well, she just doesn't act and react like other kids. Last night Jason went to see a movie with a friend, and I took her to Graeter's for some ice cream and to play in their little indoor playground. The ice cream, no problem. She was all over that. But the playland...She climbed up the steps to the platform that leads to three little sliding boards, and then went back down. She'd run laps around the platform but wouldn't go down the slides, which was odd because she's been on sliding boards before and loved them. She ignored the other kids, even when they were about to plow into her. She ignored me most the time too. She was pretty much in her own little world.

And then tonight - the sky was exploding, for crying out loud, and she didn't even seem to notice nor care. It's just a bit bizarre. And I'm OK with having a kid who's a little out of the ordinary - ordinary can be so boring, anyway - but Jason and I are worried that maybe something a bit more is out of whack. I even think back to how she played and ate at the most recent Lamaze class reunion, or how she acted when we attended a little reunion of my college friends. (She pretty much failed to acknowledge anyone was there, including the oft-mentioned baby Xander. The only times she did note anyone other than me or Jason, and even then sporadically: 1. She asked Ami and Jarrod for chips, since they were sitting directly in front of the bag. 2. She asked Crystal to hold her toys while she played with something else, because Crystal was the closest person to her. 3. She saw Xander napping on an air mattress and whispered "Shhhh...Baby night-night," but only after I'd told her the same thing half a dozen times when she was yelling around him while he was sleeping.) And sometimes these things aren't the case, and sometimes they are. I can't pinpoint anything in particular, I just have a kid who doesn't act like other kids, and I'm just hoping I'm worrying for no reason and that everything's fine.

Moving on, and pun not intended but appropriate anyway:

We're selling the house. Breaks our hearts, but we have a game plan. Jason wants to go back to school. We'll sell the house, use some of the profits to put him through school for a year, and then see what happens. Maybe we'll stick around here. Maybe we'll move, to Tucson or someplace else. Who knows. All we know is, we can't afford it right now, my job interviews have proven fruitless thus far, and his chance for promotion and/or a raise is slim to none. (Actually, let's just say "none", which would be more accurate.) And I hate to do this, as it feels like a giant step backwards for us (which, let's face it, it is), but it's what would make the most sense right now.

It's late. I need to get to bed. We're moving some furniture around here tomorrow to make the living room look larger, and Jason needs to mow the lawn. Time to start prepping this house to belong to someone else. :-(

A new development:

Veronica has pooped in the potty!

We believe the first time was on Wednesday night, when Jason was watching her while I was with Susan and Heather, seeing my friend Dave play with Edwin McCain. But there was also some cat food in the toliet at the time (don't ask, long story) and therefore Jason wasn't sure. Today, however, she did it and we know it. We took off her shorts and diaper and sat her on her little seat atop our toilet. She sat there for a while, "reading" a book (a pamphlet for Little People toys, followed by "Dora Loves Boots"), and then indicated she wanted down. Sure enough, she had pooped. We are so proud of her!

Of course there's more, but I'm just typing this quickly before this &%*#&*! dial-up boots me off again. Stupid dial-up. Grrrrr....