That last picture of the boys brought to mind this self-portrait I shot of me and Lex back in 2008.

I took 30 pictures of the boys this morning. This was the first one, and also the best. Let that be a lesson.

Y’all are following me on Twitter, right?

I went to MFM’s nursing home alone on Sunday because I wanted to cut her hair and my children and DIY haircutting do not mix. It was a beautiful day so I wheeled MFM outside and started trimming her hair so that the birds could use the clippings for nests.

“So Mom,” I said, “next weekend is Mother’s Day. Is there anything special you’d like me to get for you?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “A father!”

LOL. So great to see that a glimmer of her humor is still alive in there!

…would be much more fun if I wasn’t ALWAYS (except for one time in two years) the only woman on the line-up and also if the male comics would write jokes about something other than their dicks. Tiresome.

MFM sits in her wheelchair, crying and scratching her leg.

ME: Hey Mom.

MFM: (quizzical look)

ME: It’s your daughter.

MFM: How do you know my daughter?

ME: I am your daughter.

MFM: (pause) I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.

You require that MFM have all her money spent before we apply for her to receive Medicaid. I not only did that, but did it with my pastor by my side to ensure that I hadn’t forgotten anything and that everything was on the up-and-up (he’d signed his mother up for Medicaid many years prior and was familiar with the process). Then, you deny her claim in December after not asking for any documents. Then, you ask for five-years’ worth of bank statements to show where her money went. This has to be supplied to you within a week. I did that. Then, you take two months reviewing the documents and responding with questions and requests for third-party proof of where her money went. You give me two days to supply this. I do so. The skilled-nursing facility where MFM calls you and emails you asking when you’d like to do a follow-up conference call with you, the facility, and me, so that I can clear up any remaining questions you might possibly have. You never respond to the facility. This morning, you send the facility an email that MFM’s Medicaid claim has been denied. You do not supply any information about why her claim was denied. You do not supply any information about how we can appeal the process.

Medicaid, you’d best get back to us with answers pronto or I’m going to sic my congresswoman on you. Don’t think I won’t.

Continuing to job-hunt; was introduced to a career counselor/coach who had many helpful things to say and was very kind ; have revamped my resume and promised to stop seeking jobs over the Internet; the children are thriving; Lex has two spring concerts this week and I hope his cough is gone by then; I love the Junior League of Cleveland; BK has decided that when he grows up, he wants to be a cookie baker (he’s 4); I received two checks for articles I wrote last month; I am on assignment for two more articles today. xo

Finished the menu edits for my client and just completed the editorial exam for American Greetings, for which I was tasked to write a birthday poem that focused on the personal traits of my husband. Here it is (and damned if I didn’t choke up while reading it to Monstro!):

My birthday-husband, whom I love
from toes below to head above.
I love your wit, your charm, your grace,
That playful smile across your face.

My man, who sets himself apart,
With a clear head and loving heart,
Adored by me by any means,
(including how you look in jeans).

You make me thank the stars above
That I’m the one you chose to love.
I’ll treasure you for all my life
And I’m so proud to be your wife.

I have never fancied myself a poet, but when my friend Anne posted the following challenge to her FB wall, I had to play along. It helped that I’d had the amount of sleep referenced in the title… I didn’t even know that I knew the word “enervate.”

Poetry Assignment: Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost is one of the most beloved American poems. Borrow the exact rhyme scheme (AABA BBCB CCDC DDDD), rhythm and meter (iambic tetrameter), and number of stanzas (4) to write your own poem. Winter may figure in, but that’s optional. Mortality may figure in, but that’s optional.

“Three Hours of Sleep”

I cannot sleep to save my life
My sofa’s –not my husband’s– wife
A sleeping bag, the living room
And not my bed, is causing strife.

Insomnia cruelly entomb’d
My marriage bed in dismal gloom
Anxiety, viola, awake!
As husband snores a wistful bloom.

Employment fears: a gloomy lake
Where I shall not my dreams partake
Nor bury in the winter chill
Spring bulb of hope to enervate.

It’s easier to take a pill
And yet I choose to lie here still
My sleep afar, to pay the bill
for modern time’s grist in the mill.