The Queen's Rambles

Mike has a ton of vacation time, but rarely has the time to use it. He certainly can’t do it the Swedish way and take off five weeks at a time. Living in Sweden would have its perks. I have no intention of ever going down that road again, but it sure would be nice if the US would adopt some more socialist policies. They make life better for everyone. Go socialism! Hello FBI agents!

Anyway!

Vacation! At home!

That means one thing: projects! And exclamation points!

Big project number one: Weaning Elsa and getting her in her own bed in her own room. I am the wimpiest mother in the world when it comes to my babies and toddlers. I can’t tell them no when it comes to things that sustain them and give them comfort. I can happily and easily tell them no to hitting, biting, running in the grocery store, and climbing tress. But nursing? Cuddling? Sleeping with mommy? How is this negative? How can I tell my sweet, innocent, loving child no?

Mike has to do it. That’s the only way. Plus, Mike doesn’t have boobs so nursing temptation is completely removed. It is hard to be the booby-lady and have a very strong toddler clawing at your clothing and ripping off your bra.

So far the process is going really well. I leave when the going gets rough, so I don’t have to deal with it. It’s a guaranteed path to Carrie success.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t awake the whole first night, just waiting for the screams. I couldn’t stop thinking of my poor, lonely baby. She only woke up twice, though.

I am not going to go into full detail. I’ll be honest. When my friends type out their whole sleep routine I skim. I have enough sleep issues. I can’t take on anymore. But! I will say one thing: things are progressing with textbook accuracy and we might end up with a weaned child at the end of the week. Score! Erik was potty trained before he was weaned and sleeping in his own bed. And he was not potty trained early.

New topic: I don’t think I ever posted about the bizarre home surgery incident that took place while my mother was here.

Those new to the blog need to know that I have a little problem. My scalp is full of pilar cysts. They are basically sacks of gunk, probably keratin. They are completely harmless and I only get them removed when they start showing through my hair line. The doctors always shave a big hunk of hair for the surgery, and who wants to have a hunk of missing hair?

Instead, I decide that I am so smart I can remove them myself. They feel like giant zits, so I’m always convinced that if I could just poke a big enough hole, I could drain them myself. I’ve even seen youtube videos of people doing it. Trust me, you will never see a youtube video of me performing home surgery, so don’t think I am going to share with you. I don’t want to become a gross viral video.

In all the years that I’ve had these cysts, I’ve successfully removed exactly one prior to last month. That’s after 18 years of attempts.

I cut a big triangle out of it with an X-acto knife, and started squeezing. Nasty stuff kept coming out over the course of several weeks. I think I even got most of the sack out, so it didn’t even come back. Despite my failures over the past two decades, I decided this success meant I was a super surgeon.

Despite my failures over the past two decades, I decided this success meant I was a super cyst removing surgeon. The next time I got a cyst that had certain characteristics (mainly it was so big that it didn’t hurt to cut into it), I did the same trick. Only this time nothing came out. I was really irked because it seems so simple. Pop it. Done.

It created a big scab, which was continually annoying. After several weeks I decided I was going to pull the scab off no matter how badly it hurt because it was time for the scab to go.

I pulled.

And I pulled.

And I pulled.

And suddenly I was holding what looked like a clear plastic ball, stuck to a scabbish thing.

No wonder this sucker never popped. If I hadn’t known it had come from my head I would have sworn it was a piece of plastic. I showed my mom and she thought it was a small rubber ball.

So did it have anything in it? That was the question. I cut it open with my trusty X-acto knife and found that it was filled with white powder.

Lack of popping explained. There was nothing really poppable in it. Am I growing cocaine in my scalp?

Oh, hello FBI agents. I forgot you were here. I don’t think I can really grow cocaine in my brain.

I guess I am done with my career in home surgery. I have several more cysts on my head and they tempt me, but if they aren’t actually giant pimples I guess I better leave them alone.

Besides, the blade on my x-acto knife is rusty. Can’t do anything without a new blade. Maybe a trip to Micheal’s is in order. . .