the domestic zoo

I’m a little less freaked out than I was earlier. Four hours of drug-induced sleep will do that to you.

There is always the possibility that my new facial moisturizer caused my lips to pull off a bad Goldie Hawn impression, which is giving me some reason for hope. They’re still puffy and irritated and hurt like heck, but (thankfully) the reaction hasn’t gotten any worse.

If that’s the case, then as much as I’d hate to do it, once they get better I’ll try the moisturizer again. Of course, in an interesting twist, the moisturizer contains nut oil.

Oy.

I’m having some kind of allergic reaction that’s making my top lip all red-itchy-puffy, and the only unusual food I’ve eaten in the past 48 hours is raw cashews. But that doesn’t mean anything…right?

I just took two Benedryl and I worked third shift and I have to be ready for church in two hours.

heh.

Right.

*eta*

Little over an hour later, and I really don’t think I’m going to church. I can barely hold my head up at my desk (poor Mozilla’s working overtime on these typos) and I just don’t trust myself behind the wheel of a vehicle. I know that if I were to lay down right now, I would not get up for a very long time. Which is exactly what I’m going to do…

Oh, and the lip is mostly back to normal. Not that I’m any less worried about it, of course. Allergies = sucketh.

Hannah came into my room last night, sullen and quiet. I was getting ready to leave for work, but trying to be a good big sister I asked her “What’s the matter, kiddo?” as I pulled her closer and rested my hands on her hips. She didn’t speak immediately, but her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I’m just so…miserable. This isn’t normal, is it?”

I tell ya, my first thought was not one that was entirely big sister-ly. We’d had a great night up until that point, you see. We had the house to ourselves and I tried, I really tried, to have meaningful sister-time together. And as much as I love my little sister, there are times when I just cannot. do. it. I do not have the mental or emotional resources to fix EVERYTHING.

So I snapped. I didn’t yell. I didn’t even speak that harshly. I just said, “Yes, it’s normal, Hannah. It’s normal to be sad sometimes. Especially when you’re thirteen years old and near your period and have hormones gushing out of everywhere.”

She got tense for a moment, then pulled away and stormed off to her room.

WRONG THING to say. *smacks forehead*

I gave her a couple minutes while I packed my bag with the necessary supplies (i.e. food, drink, and paperwork) I think I needed that time to cool off as much as she did. Funny how her big feelings can stir up my own big feelings, which were mostly feelings of being overwhelmed and frustrated and a little ticked, though rationally I know not to expect a thirteen year old girl to behave and reason like an adult. And really, Hannah has been like this since she was very little. She approaches life with an intensity that is at once inspiring and a little scary. Puberty has only heightened the fact that Hannah feels her emotions with every ounce of her being, and she’s not bored, she “never has anything to do.” She’s not sad, she’s “always miserable” <insert dramatic sigh>

After gathering my thoughts, I went down the hall to her room and gently knocked on the door. “Can I come in please?”

I heard a muffled response, followed by the click of a door unlocking and the shuffling of someone resettling on the bed. I came in and sat on the bed next to her. “I’m sorry I was impatient with you. I love you. And I’m totally willing to trust you and believe you when you say that how you’re feeling isn’t normal. I just need you to understand that occasionally feeling sad and overwhelmed by your emotions is totally normal. I still get that way sometimes, and I’m twenty-two. Believe it or not, being ‘normal’ doesn’t mean being happy all the time.”

We talked for a little while longer, and I got the sense that she shrugged off a lot of what I had to say (since you know, like, I totally don’t understand) I have a newfound respect for my mother and the hell I put her through at that age. And like I said, I love my sister dearly, but I’d be pleased as punch if the hormones could subside just a tad, K? THNX.

To: Stephanie

From: the Zookeeper

Your back claws are sharp. My shoulders are not a launching pad.
I would appreciate your future consideration in this matter.

It was with mixed feelings that I watched the final episode of Stargate SG:1. All this week, of course, I had tuned in for the marathon that showcased some of the best episodes of the last ten years. Meanwhile, I’m still finding it hard to believe that it’s actually been ten years.

I was a latecomer to the show, and I’ll fully admit that I first began watching because Michael Shanks looks darn fine in fatigues (and just about anything else). I stuck around because the writing was sharp, the show was appropriately self-effacing, and Richard Dean Anderson was absolutely perfect as Colonel O’Neill. I love that the characters actually grew and changed in a believable way over the years. I even grew to love the addition of Aeryn and Crichton Vala and Colonel Mitchell.

I’m not really sure how I feel about the resolution. Time travel as a great big “UNDO” button always seems like a bit of a cop-out, and I’m no fan of aging characters through gobs of make-up. But it was a heartfelt episode that really got to the core of each character. Daniel’s outburst over Vala’s affections was long overdue after ten years of simmering angst, and her reaction was just as poignant.

And this?

I’m going to miss this.