Sprint Won't Take My Money

You'd think that would be a good thing, but no. Scooter went online over a week ago to pay our wireless bill and set up autopay, so we wouldn't have to pay attention anymore. He got a confirmation number telling him it was all set up. But no. We still showed a balance a few days later. So I called and said we'd signed up for autopay, and the woman I talked to said we had been sent a letter (a paper letter) telling us our "attempt" to sign up for autopay had failed. One would think having a confirmation number would mean it had worked, but no. So I called and paid the bill and set up autopay with an actual person. She told me our balance was then $0 and autopay was set up, so I assumed all was good. But no. Today Scooter got a message on his Sprint phone telling him he was late with his payment. I fixed it...again...and I have yet another confirmation number. I'm so happy I have a confirmation number! Maybe I'll play the PowerBall with it.

Blog For Choice Day

One Of These Things Is Not Like The Others

And yet, I saw them together on the road yesterday. More amusing is the fact that cafepress also offers this sticker in their "Pro-Bush" section:

Oh, so neat!

Despite previous attempts to get Eryn on a Jones Soda label, thereby inserting her into pop culture forever, I had not managed it. (Oops, the pun in the previous sentence was unintended. I swear.) Supposedly these photos of mine will appear on Jones Soda labels, but it's been a really long time since I got those letters, and they're still not showing up on the website (and therefore also not in stores). Then two weeks ago I got another letter in the mail from Jones with sample labels with the photo I took of her in the rain last April:










Here's the original photo:

















At some point, these will show up on actual bottle of soda (probably something disgusting like Bubble Gum Soda, but maybe she'll get Root Beer, and it will be even cooler), and then I will begin pestering everyone I know to look at Target, grocery stores, Starbucks, Panera, Barnes & Noble, and anywhere else that carries Jones.

Just for Kathy (or: me, Me, ME!)

This week I found an old friend online and am having fun catching up with her. (Something like 18 years have passed.) She complained my blog contains no pictures of me where my face isn't really obscured in one way or another, so these photos are for her.
















Eryn and I in jail in Jamestown, North Dakota - August 2005 (we were summoned to Sydney, Montana for Scooter's paternal grandmother's 90th birthday, and spent a week meandering there and back visiting various Americana)
















Jamestown. Damn shot glass was empty.






















Disney World. Er, Mt. Rushmore - also August 2005. Or, as Eryn dubbed it, "The Four Faces."

butyric acid

Scooter tends to soak his empty spaghetti-leftover tupperware containers overnight, and that's fine. What bothers me, though, is that when I get up in the morning, I always have the instant suspicion that someone has vomited in the kitchen. I'd heard before there was a connection somewhere other than in my imagination, so here's a link describing it in case anyone else has ever wondered.

I may have been thinking about this because Scooter was eating leftover spaghetti earlier, and his container is soaking in the sink as I write, and because he gave Eryn a chunk of parmesan from his food, which she choked on and vomited up, along with some grape KoolAid. Ew.

NOT COOL

A few days before Christmas, I noticed a sore on the inside of Eryn's bottom lip. I ignored it because she wasn't complaining, and it looked like the sort of annoying sore you get if you bite the inside of your cheek (or, in this case, the inside of your lip). I forgot all about it until I saw a flash of it last night when she was laughing. Then, it was bigger and blood-filled. Scooter and I agreed she was going to see her doc today, but I couldn't get her in to see her NP (Ellen Connolly-Eckhoff, she's wonderful), couldn't get her in to see anyone at her clinic, and couldn't even get through to the nurse line. (Is it flu season, you think?) So I called our own private nurse line to see what she thought. She sounded a bit doubtful, but encouraged me to take advantage of our other "in" and get Eryn in at her clinic. So, called Friend At Clinic, got passed to Nurse At Clinic, who told me to bring Eryn in to see a doc. Did that, glad I did, but freaked out now. (BTW, Dr. Jason Nowak was excellent, and made it okay that we couldn't see Ellen.)

Dr. Jason looked at the "owie" and said "interesting." (Oh, crap.) Then he excused himself by saying he needed to go "look up a couple of things." (Oh, crap.) He came back with a text complete with color photos and showed us what he thought was up with Eryn's lip: a salivary gland mucocele. Okay, he said, no reason to panic, but the general treatment is surgical removal. (OH, CRAP!) I thought I was wasting a doc's time with some stupid canker sore, and he tells us it's probably this other stupid thing, but a stupid thing that requires slicing into our little girl. He referred us to an oral surgeon, and we have an appointment with her at the end of the month.

The good news is that mucoceles are painless, so apparently Eryn has been telling us the truth when she says it does hurt. It looks painful:




















I know, she looks upset. She wasn't - she was just sick of having her lip mucked with.

Scooter went back to work and looked up mucoceles right away and found this pictorial of the surgical excision of a mucocele. If you're of weak constitution or one of Eryn's grandparents, you may not want to click on the link. If you're her freaky-likes-to-watch-surgery-on-Discovery-Health-aunt, go for it.

Bush Spied On Me

Dan and Katie need matching ones.