Moving Day

About a year ago, I sold this blog to MTV/Nickelodeon, which owns ParentsConnect. They wanted a blogger to spotlight; I wanted to be spotlighted. It seemed like a win-win.

There was a lot of rush to get the deal completed. I'll never forget getting an email that urged me to sign the letter of agreement quickly and get it back, because "MTV wants to make hay out of their great new blogger." I'll never, ever forget getting a check for four figures--not a huge amount of money, mind you, but nothing to sneeze at--for the honor of owning my little blog, which got fewer than 100 hits a day. (It gets a few more than that by now, but not much.)

Then stuff happened. Plans changed. Today, ParentsConnect is undergoing a major renovation...and there is no place on it for Tiny Coconut. Which is fine. Totally fine. Except for one thing: They still own it. Which is also fine. Totally fine. Except for one thing: I don't. And that kind of bugs me.

In fact, part of the agreement was that they bought not only this blog, but its archives--and its name. And now it just seems silly, almost like shouting into an abyss, to keep writing things here that go into an archive I don't own, and which nobody will ever use, and under a name that someone else owns, too. Ya know?

Which is all a way of saying: Hey! I created this new blog! It's the one I'll be writing at from now on! Right now it's a mess, and there's not much there except a Welcome, Friends sign, but it's where all future posts will be going. I'll be TC there, but not Tiny Coconut, since that name is supposedly no longer mine. (Sob. I'm without an identity!) No, I have no idea what TC is going to stand for now. Maybe Teensy Carob? Totally Cool? Whatever.

Here's where to go from now on: I Have Things. Change your RS feeds; change your links; change everything. But don't stop visiting, OK? Looking forward to seeing you there!

Curves

Em, who won't turn 10 until late August, just came out of her room, walked over to me, lifted her shirt up to under her (still only budding, thank goodness) breasts, and said:

"Is it just me, or am I getting curves?"

And the worst part?

She totally is.

Defending my life

Because Jane yelled at me and made me cry...

Actually, the restless legs were one of the symptoms I was having that made me decide to go off of Lexapro. In addition to the whole not-really-working thing. In addition to the COBRA-is-running-out-and-nobody-will-insure-me-when-I'm-taking-antidepressants thing.

I had a better night last night. Not stellar, but better. Not that any of you yelling people care...(Hee. My legs may be restless, but my Jewish Guilt is in top form.)

More about my legs

They were 'restless' all night, though I eventually got about five hours of sleep. They've been 'restless' all day, even though I took a nice long walk this afternoon, which *should* have helped. And if there's a psychosomatic component to this all, they're going to be even MORE restless tonight, since I'm already worried about another night like last night.

Clearly, this is going to require a doctor's visit in the near future--and, probably, a prescription for some dopamine (Jane, you're turning into ME, with all this free, spot-on medical advice)--but I plan to be stubborn for a few more days first, and see what I can do for myself by myself, since some part of this whole meds-weaning thing was to make myself insurable, and a prescription for dopamine ain't going to take me very far along that path.

Anyway.

To answer your question, A, the funny thing about this getting worse rather than better NOW is that ever since my Celexa wean, I've been taking a vitamin B supplement...and the very first thing it says if you look up RLS is that it may be due to a vitamin B deficiency. So....what the fuck? It's possible that the GABA complex I've also been taking is creating part of the problem, but I haven't taken it in two days, and still...here I am. It's only getting worse. Finally, I was planning on adding a 5HTP supplement to my regimine (since I've heard great things about it from some people about its effects on irritability/depression; it is, after all, basically just a serotonin precursor, and serotonin is purportedly at the root of most depressive illnesses), but hadn't done so until last night...AFTER I was already having a hard time falling asleep due to the restless legs. (I'd been holding off because I know serotonin can make you drowsy, and the GABA was already doing that to me, but also because...OK, I'll admit it...I'm a huge pill wuss, and the GABA and B vitamins are sublingual, fast-dissolve tablets, while the 5HTP is a big old have-to-swallow-it capsule, and I just didn't want to take it. There, I said it. I make my medical decisions based on the size and solubility of the pills avaiable to me.) I want to see how it works before I decide whether to keep using it or not, and one night does not a drug trial make. Or something like that.

Finally, Paula, if not being sleepy was my problem, I'd be all over the melatonin. But it's not my problem. I was plenty sleepy last night. I just couldn't actually sleep, because every three seconds, I needed to stretch/move/reposition/flex/massage/stretch/move/reposition/flex/massage/wash/rinse/repeat my legs. (I can be precise about those movements and their sequence because I'm having to do them even now, as I sit here and type.) It's seriously a little bit like torture. Actually, it's a lot bit like torture.

And so I say again. Feh. Feh on all of this.

And the worst part? I had the funniest anecdote to tell you about how some women at the elementary school--women who are actual friends of mine--didn't recognize me for some reason on the playground yesterday, and the first thing that popped into my head when we were trying to figure out why was, "Oh, I know! It's my new bra! I got it because my friend Jane saw a picture of me and told me I had Boobs of Doom! And now look! I'm so perky I'm unrecognizable!"

Of course, it was more likely because I was wearing these huge so-un-TC-you-can't-believe-it sunglasses my sister gave me when I was in New York, and because I recently redyed my hair a slightly darker color, but I was all about giving Jane the credit. But see? That wasn't nearly as funny a story as it was supposed to have been, because my legs are restless, and I'm tiiiiiiiiiiiired, and that's all I can think about!

Restless Leg Sydrome Stole My Sense of Humor. Coming soon to a supermarket tabloid near you.

Restless

My legs, I mean. Anyone out there dealing with restless leg syndrome who has words of wisdom (or, preferably, a really quick, easy fix)?

It's been going on for a while now, but up until recently it was mere nuisance. I didn't quite get why or how it might be a big enough deal for someone to see a doctor about it, or take medications for it. I'd even thought that, since it hadn't really started being any kind of a problem until I started taking Celexa, once I'd finished weaning, it would get better.

I took my last Celexa almost two weeks ago. The restless leg stuff has only gotten worse. So much for that theory.

And now here I am, tired, but unable to go to sleep, because my legs...it's not that they ache, so much. It's that they....well, that they're restless. Which isn't really an accurate description either, to be honest. It's more like they're uncomfortable, my legs, especially my left leg. It feels like I need to stretch it, or move it, to find a position in which the sort of achy stretchy muscular yearning feeling will just go away.

Because this is really what I need right now...leg-induced insomnia. It's just icing on the trying-to-regain-stability-without-the-dubious-benefit-of-pharmaceuticals cake. Which is already several layers thick, what with work stresses and monetary stresses and dad stresses and being uncomfortably overweight stresses. Yup. Just what I need right now. Insomnia. Except not the kind where you're not tired. Oh, no. This is all-you-want-to-do-is-be-able-to-settle-down-long-enough-to-fall-asleep insomnia. But I said that already.

Wah wah wah. Whine whine whine. Me me me.

And how are you all doing?

A kumquat for the teacher

N showed up at the front door this morning, ready to go to school, with his backpack on and a baggie full of kumquats in his hand.

"Ms. F loves kumquats!" he announced when I asked why he was carrying them. "I picked these for her."

We have a large kumquat bush...or maybe you'd call it a small kumquat tree...oh, let's just say we have lots of kumquats in our backyard. During Teacher Appreciation Week, the room mom came up with the idea of creating a fruit basket for Ms. F, with each child bringing in a different kind of fruit. I offered kumquats, because I thought they would make the basket look pretty. Turns out, Ms. F is one of the few people I know who actually EATS the little sour suckers. Who knew?

So, fast forward to today. N had apparently stored this information away. Then, this morning, he went into the drawer and got out a sandwich baggie and then went out into the backyard to pick about a dozen kumquats for his kindergarten teacher. All by himself. No one suggested it; no one helped him. It's just so NOT LIKE HIM. It's just so cute.

-------
Em's teacher, who is the fourth-grade's social studies teacher in general, put together a Gold Rush Day today for the entire grade. (Entire = two classes. Small school.) They're all wearing Western garb, and will be panning for gold and doing all sorts of fun things, and also eating beef stew and other pioneer-ish dishes, whatever those may be. All I know is I needed to provide a crockpot and some browned, cubed beef, and I did my job.

ANYway...Em got all dudded up this morning in jeans and a red shirt, and a red bandana tied around her neck, etc. She actually looked fairly authentic...if you ignored the bright green Converse high-tops on her feet, that is.

As we were walking toward school, I casually, jokingly, said to her, "Yeah, I know that of all the stuff they brought along with them, the gold miners were ESPECIALLY fond of their high-tops."

"I know!" she said, not skipping a beat. "They especially liked the way they kept the dirt and gold dust from getting into their shoes."

Gotta love a kid who gives as good as she gets.