one paycheck later

Well, I haven't lost my touch.

I got my first big paycheck for writing, and the Man and I locked eyes over it. Now, typically, every penny in our cashflow is accounted for even before it hits the bank. We even have a fund for funding the overrun costs on things. Yes, we're those people. But this? this was practically found money.

The Man and I stared at each other. Is it budgeted? no. Do we need it for something? of course (scornful glances) Could I maybe, possibly, play with it a little? (pause) sure.

So I did. One sixpack of cloth diapers, a set of baby legwarmers (here) and an iPod (yes, an iPod) later, I was feeling remarkably wasteful. And contemplating dozens of other purchases, all mildly frivolous. I have to stop now, while I still have a bit of cash left to fund the odd, unexpected pleasure. However, in the midst of my being sensible, I failed to realize that we had entered the Era of the Pod.

Until the iPod, we didn't have music in the house - the MIL/FIL had given us a boombox a while ago, and it had valiantly done duty until, long past it's natural life, it wheezed into silence. Along the way, it scratched a CD or two, to show us it was serious. We believed it.

Now, however, the house is full of music. After a fumbling start, I promptly filled the pod with nearly 2 gig of stuff the Man has on this computer. It didn't occur to me until after I hit 'shuffle' that our tastes in music do not quite overlap. Mostly. But the kids love it, and I'm remembering how nice it is to dance with my boys, to sing, and generally behave like an idiot. Ahhh.

And they're learning, too. At lunch today, the Toddles sand along with the Maine Steiners, to "I'll Be." The Eldest is practicing to be a human beat-box, and he's pretty good, too! "Jeff Fatcher taught me that one," he says when I express pleasure at a nice combination of sounds. Our boy Jeff is, of course, the sound machine behind Rockapella (the Man really, really likes his a capella, thus my pod is stiff with the stuff).

yay for random music. And for the wee speakers, courtesy of a Nome who never knew she had gifted so well.
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In other news, the toddles is learning sounds.
A cow says?
moooooo (with emphasis)
A cat says?
moooooooooooo. (pause) miaow. (grin)

And the Eldest is back at school today, limping slightly but delighted. The homecare nurses have pretty much taken over his infusions of clotting protein as his veins get beat up from lots of needles. And today, even they had a rough time.

Three pokes later, the nurse got the meds in, but called me in a fit of guilt. Apparently, my relaxed, amused boy had lost his sense of humor and just wailed. He wailed for the Man, for me - but held still and cooperated nonetheless. The nurse explained that she was trying to let him choose the veins, since he firmly refused to let her use the ones she chose. His picks are, of course, already well-perforated, and thus fragile.

So the Eldest now has a book. In it, he's recording where he gets poked and when, with diagrams in the back to help him identify the veins. So today's entry was:
january 18
Right back hand. Left antecube. Right radial.

The hope is that he'll use this book to pick the least-used veins, a process he understands (I review his treatment log out loud before looking for a vein), but has not managed himself. Harrumph. If he insists on being empowered, the little so-and-so, we will show him how to use his power for good, hmm?