It's About Me

Archive for the ‘Dear Devon’ Category

Mondays are vocabulary day and begin new thing day here in the Shelly school of hard knocks and today is no different. We started a writing assignment last week following a pattern of three point concepts. Devon has already written two such papers and next to him is the recipe on how to get it done.

He has a total disdain for writing though so for the first 30 minutes he sat there pouting. He thinks at some point I’ll probably get mad and send him to his room (thereby escaping the terrible task) but i’ve sat patiently guiding him and encouraging him and escaping myself only to go get coffee and do deep breathing excersizes.

He will eventually get around to actually writing it and when he does he actually does a pretty good job.

But it will take two days and lots of deep breathing to make it happen.

The butthead.

Three nights in a row I’ve sat up waiting for Devon to sieze and three nights he has. This evening I was so tired and almost fell asleep when I heard the familiar repetitive pattern of noise coming from his room and actually got there before it fully kicked in. It was a bad one.

God knows I hate those things. We get new meds tomorrow. Hopefully he won’t have one during the day. Hopefully he won’t have another one tonight.

For the umpteenth time this year, I made my way to the vets office to get a cat looked at. Punkin, the neighbor’s cat that I adopted after they died, has a one inch circular whole in his side that looked like was getting gangrene. I had started giving him antibiotics about 3 days ago, and it just looked worse to me. As it turns out, it is getting better, but that skin is going to slough off even more before we’re done. I got another week’s worth of antibiotics to pull him through.

Taz and Tig are doing better with their heart and thyroid meds. Daily doses every morning are wearing me out. Tigger is loud and demanding and gets all the others meowing for food — all before I get my morning coffee. Sometimes it’s just too much and I feel like drop kicking him into the other room. He knows when I open my eyes and I lay there pretending to be asleep. He knows. He starts right in before I even make a move. Meow. Then he starts digging at the covers. MEOW. As if perhaps I didn’t hear him the first time. Then he runs across me and the bed about three or four times. MEOOOOOOOW. By this time, of course, I’m yelling…”TIGGER!”. He just jumps off the bed and waits for me by the bedroom door. If I take a little too long putting on shoes, he comes and bumps my legs two or three times to ‘help me out’. Read the rest of this entry »