I Am Fresh Out Of Snappy Blog Titles

Sooooooooooooooo...

I use 'so' a great deal in my writing. Soooooo...

Today, I can only describe myself as so-so. I remember my grandma reached a point when she stopped saying "fine" and started answering "so-so" when asked how she was. Then she died. Soooooo...

Things started off with a bang. Woohoo! The holiday season commenced and I was, dare I say, happy about it. Now? Not so much.

I've been robbed of my fine.

______________________________________

A few days before Sam's Thanksgiving play at school, I was pulled to work at another school. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing. Sam ran into another student while lining up and because he keeps his hands in his pockets 99% of the time, he couldn't right himself and fell to the ground. The boy he bumped stayed upright but whirled around and maliciously kicked Sam in the mouth while he was down. There was blood. His lip was busted. It was the other child's third strike of the day. He'd hit two other kids and had drawn blood earlier so he was suspended for a day per protocol.

Sam handed me his front tooth the very next day. (In the perpetrator's defense, the tooth was just barely loose the day before the incident. In Sam's defense, it usually takes him a week to work a loose tooth out.)

The perpetrator received a knocked noggin and a bit of a goose egg to the forehead the very next week. He was standing idle in the hallway. A third uprightly-challenged child ran toward him, lost his footing and pushed him against the wall. Voila. Knocked noggin.

Yeah. I'm the nurse and I do a good job. Now partly because I hear at least 90 % of all the other school nurses of the world are jokes. Way to go, guys! Anyway, this kid is as cute as the day is long when he's not busy being a thug. You know? I gave him the full meal deal. Neuro checks. Ice packs. Reassurance. A smile or two. Then I called his mom to report his injury.

The news was received poorly. You know what they say about trees and apples and how they fall? Yeah. Well. I will leave out the verbatim conversation. I will say she was upset he was injured by another child just days after he was suspended for injuring others. She assumed the injury would go unpunished. She cursed me. She said, "You can't call me and purr to me, sweet as sugar." (My bad. Most assuredly, I used my porn voice by accident.) I responded by telling her I was the nurse and I was reporting an injury. I directed her to administration if she needed to talk things through. I hung up. I went into my bathroom and stewed because I'd done the right thing but I didn't want to. I wanted to verbally filet her. I wanted her to know her guy had kicked my guy's tooth out! I paced around in a tiny circle.

I got over it. Sam's missing front tooth is cute. They're buddies in class as if it never happened. His Mom has always been like that and she probably won't change. She has her own row to hoe, her own struggle, her own story I can never know.

________________________

I filed for bankruptcy months ago. Just me. It was debt and debris left over from my first marriage and divorce and I was facing a nasty garnishment case. I was told by my attorney it was a very simple case. I was told the loan I'd received from a LPN to RN bridge program would more than likely discharge due to the school's inability to meet requirements for our contract. And the medical bills would go. The ones from that kidney stone attack that took me to their ER... The ones from that high, unexplained fever after Zoe's birth... So Hallelujah! But after I met all the requirements, every single one of them for months, the attorney's office didn't file a certificate in time and my case was dismissed without discharge of debt. My only option is paying an additional $360 to file the certificate. The bill collectors are already calling again. It's Christmas. Need I say more?

_________________________

I don't even want to discuss Logan's choice not to come visit for Christmas right now.

__________________________

Sooooooooo.....

I'm not dead yet.
I see flowers everywhere.
I take my pleasure where I can.
But sadness lies beneath it all.

Christmas = Crazy

The holiday season does a number on me. I try to prepare myself for the insanity and all the trimmings but it never goes as planned.

Our birthdays are three days apart, a week before Christmas. Joe could care less but I always felt like I was competing with Jesus for some birthday recognition when I was younger. Now that I'll be 36 this year, Jesus can have it! I've gone all secular anyway. As evidenced by this...

That's right. I'm on the other team. I'm all about helping Santa this year. I know I appear to be despondent in the photo but I was just embarrassed to be wearing velour knee pants. I tried to get the red and white horizontally striped knee socks in there too but I did not succeed. It's just as well. They did nothing for my meaty elf calves.

It's also the time of year to visit with my eldest. He'll be here on Christmas this year and since he skipped his summer visit (Did I mention he's 13?), I can't wait to see him. I worry over him and our relationship. It feels nonexistent at times. I fret he feels I've abandoned him even though he chose the change. It's going on three years he's been with his Dad. I wonder if he'll have issues with women based on how he feels about me. Joe tells me I romanticize it. He reminds me he's a 13 yr old boy. He reminds me that I, of all people, should be able to relate to how much he is not relating. He accuses me of being a 13 yr old boy. Or thinking like one at times. Then he points out how "deep" a 13 year old is in general. And I get that funny look on my face and he says, "Exactly."

And there you have it. It's been sitting in DRAFTS for exactly four days. It's unedited and unfinished. Much like my life.

Zombie Juice

What do you do when the world gives you Zombies? Make Zombie juice, of course!

Stephanie wrote a very honest and heartfelt post and I read it today. She shares her struggles with us. I had my suspicions about her but now, I know. She's strong. And she'll laugh and shake her head when she reads that.

"What makes your life hard?" she asks. And I think to myself....what a wonderful world...

HA! Sorry. Can you tell I'm uncomfortable? So why am I sharing my own hard knocks? I don't know. But why not?

What Makes My Life Hard

• My relationship with my son. My firstborn child does not live with me nor does he have any interest in seeing me. If anything, I feel as though he hates me. His dad hates me and has made that very clear. My son thinks his father hung the moon. And this is very hard.
  
• My relationship with my parents. Now heavily influenced by my relationship with my own son. It's not as hard as it once was but it's still very much like an onion. Many, many layers. I am an only adopted child. It would take an eternity to enumerate so I will only say they have a hard time relinquishing control and I have a hard time with boundaries. And they live in my back yard or rather, we live in their front yard. Which complicates things a lot.
  
• My relationship with my body. This one is a doozy! I am now dealing with chronic pain in my knee. The cortisone injection has worn off and it's really messed up, folks. I can't afford the $800 out of pocket MRI to diagnose the problem nor can I afford to miss work for surgery. I am effectively crippled for this next school year. It effects me every moment and sleep is not always an escape. And speaking of sleep, I am sleeping poorly and eating in my sleep again. I have put back on about 15 lbs. I am afraid I will need to resort to some sort of psychotropic medication to curtail my problem. My weight is a concern in and of itself and that ties into my knee, my GI issues, my hypothyroidism, my stress, my depression. And last but not least, I once lived a very, very unhealthy lifestyle. I live with the shame and temptation of returning to it. This is also very hard.

These are the (big) things that make my life hard. Of course, the little things snowball and if they didn't apply to any of these categories, they will soon enough. Like Steph, I don't dwell on the negatives. I try to find the good in everything. According to how you look at it, finding good sometimes makes life hard. Doesn't it?

It can always get better or worse.
Nothing to do but the best you can and wait and see.

Safety First. Common Sense Be Damned.

My blog is suffering a terrible case of back-up. I have pictures, ideas and words to put to you but hardly the time to do so. It's all in drafts. All the jumbled bits and pieces are beginning to bottleneck. Let's get this one out of the way, while we still have time. Shall we?

When I was laid up, I made myself a promise. I swore I'd walk when I could. Maybe not fast, maybe not even aerobically, but I would walk (possibly with a limp). I expected to struggle with the heat and my will. I did not expect a struggle with my parents.

I try to rise around 7am for my walk. It beats the heat, traffic and helps me avoid other humans. I do not walk with humans. This has been hard for other humans to understand. Walking is meditative for me. It's my thinking time. I enjoy being alone on a walk and have no interest in listening to anyone's take on the newest Hilton or Kardashian dramas.

Well, you see that smashed gate? It's just down the road. The morning after one of our latest weather phenomena, I noticed it and took a quick photo. The tree fell, samshed the gate and brought down some "power" lines. These days, who knows what kind of line it really is. I knew enough to keep my distance and keep moving. Then I heard water rushing under the road so I took this little video. We've had a great deal of rain lately. This spot is usually a pile of cracked earthy crust by this time ever year, but this year it's a raging river. Well, a creek is more accurate, I suppose.

On the morning the photo and video were taken, I mentioned the gate to my mom. She asked how I knew about it and I confessed I'd seen it during my walk. She responded per her usual- dead silence, followed up by excusing herself from the phone call. Twenty minutes later, she called back and said they'd been talking about it and now wanted to talk to me about it. ::sigh::

I'll sum it up for you. A woman should not go out walking alone on the big road so early in the morning. I learned there are three terrible dangers to be avoided.

1. Rapists and Momnappers are a real threat. They are opportunistic and do not mind striking before sunrise when testosterone levels are at their highest.
   
2. What about the late for work, teenaged or drunk drivers? They are also a real threat. Do not even think that orange tshirt will protect you when they veer off and run you down in the street.
3. Wild animals are on the prowl for both the jugular vein and achilles tendon. The foxes are rabid and coyotes are wily. My knee makes me an easy target.

I reworded just a bit but that's the jest. Oh, crap! There was a fourth! Hang on...


4. The house will burn down and my sleeping children will perish while I'm away.


I don't see how I could forget that last one. But I did for one glorious moment.
I should tell you right now, my folks are odd birds. If you haven't picked up on it, that is. They mean well but I believe they have the capacity to love a creature to death. I'll tell you right now, I have struggled my whole life with my feelings for my parents. That and an effective coping mechanism to employ against them.

I walk while Joe is showering and having breakfast. I'm back within five minutes of his departure, before or after. My babies will not burn. The orange shirt is doing a fine job of making me look like a dorky roadside barrel and people (mostly) avoid the orange barrels. As far as rapists go, well...that's probably the most feasible threat because we all know they aren't looking for a hottie. I don't know... I'm not so worried about being swiped. I'm just not. But I am fashioning crotch, ankle and neck guards to fend off bitey wild things with excessive rabies and testosterone levels. Not really. I've got some pepper spray and a walking stick with which to beat them.

They want me to walk the perimeter of The Calmpound. I am to stay inside the fence. Where I am safe. And I am loved. But I'm not going to do it. I am 35 years old. I have a bad knee and lots of baggage. If I want to take that shit on the big road, I will. I've earned the right.

School House Shots

I've dreaded this morning. This is the morning I take my wee small children in to get their shots. He will start Kindergarten, she will be gracing Pre-K's door. They're excited about school but not about these shots. The prospect made them chew their nails and cower when we tried to prepare them over supper last night.

Sam is on a delayed schedule due to some of his behavior tendencies. Our Doctor believes he is just quirky and I think so too. Nevertheless, we've not bombarded him in the past due to the research in Autism and Asperger's. Some of that research has proven false but we're still on the delayed schedule.

I've been tempted to go shot-free for them. I'm tempted by those log cabin kinds of ideas. But...they're my only little children and I don't want to lose them to a preventable disease. I like the idea of modern homesteading but I can't have my kids dyin' on me!

So, here I sit and type, my inner hippie and the nurse in me arm wrestling for the victory. I'm sure you have plenty of your own anxiety and things to fret over so just nod, cringe and have another swig of coffee. I have a fresh pot brewing right now.

Call Me Trippy

It's trippy out there tonight. The sky is flashing and rumbling like heavy equipment. The crickets, Joe's lap steel and a million fireflies compete for my senses. It's almost too much.

We took the kids to dinner with my in-laws in celebration of Zoe's birthday. We had cake. And now she has a lot of new toys with a million pieces to spare! My stomach is cramping. Damn cake.

Today's vocabulary building word is dispassionate.


Why is my husband looking at me so dispassionately? Is it the crutches?

I can't say I appreciate it.

Reefer Madness

There have been moments in my life when I was faced with important, life-changing decisions. My choices have, at times, been poor and the outcomes even poorer. I admit to dropping the ball here and there. But this has never happened to me. I'd like to know who I should thank for that.

Karma. It's a bitch when it laces your stolen reefer brownies with paranoia and an overall sense of dread. Obviously, Officer Sanchez never saw the funniest episode of Roseanne EVER!

Where Have All The Good Doctors Gone?

I've taken my children to the same pediatrician since they were born. He was my pediatrician. He's been practicing at least thirty-five years. Although I never felt comfortable with him, I thought my mom trusted him. He was the person in charge of all poking and prodding and invasive measures and I thought it was only natural to be a little afraid of him. I have a strange sense of loyalty that doesn't make much sense much of the time. 

Since their infancy, I've been holding little grudges against this doctor. I've thought numerous times of switching to another doctor but we don't have a bang up selection in our area. Their health insurance has also been a factor in finding another provider close by. They've never been really ill or needed to be hospitalized so I've not pushed the envelope. We show up for our well baby checks and the occasional virus and that's it. I try to be as gracious and patient as possible but I always leave a bit angry. He is curt and abrupt in his manner. He is grabby and punchy. He has no time to validate anything. He has no desire to be questioned. 

We worked hard to prepare them for the visit yesterday. We talked and held one another and spoke in hushed tones about our health and why it's important to see the doctor. We snuggled them and told them some things would hurt a bit. We asked them to try to understand it was something that must be done. And they were so brave, in turn. They gathered a menagerie of little animals to take with us to help them cope. They sucked it up and marched in like brave little soldiers. Unfortunately, the doctor and his staff decided to fight dirty.

This was our first visit since everyone became (mostly) potty trained. I was anxious because I've never had to manage them both in a bathroom while trying to collect urine in little plastic cups. The nurse snipped at me when I mentioned my anxiety as she handed the cups to me. I was chastised for making the appointment with that particular time slot if they weren't potty trained. So, I went in and my babies did a great job! I got the pee and we emerged with our heads held high. They were weighed and measured and then it was time for fingersticks to check hemoglobin. I started explaining to the kids what would happen and how it would feel. Z went first. She did...okay. No outright crying but some distress was verbalized as OW OW OWIEEEEeeeeee! S was next. S is a cautious child. He doesn't rush into anything and he needs a moment to warm up to new ideas. He backed away and was trying to stutter something out when she grabbed him and socked it to him in one fell swoop. He cried just a bit but he fell silent when she said, "You'll see a lot of blood in life, kid. You better get used to it." She left us then to wait for the doctor and stew in our own juices.

I tried to get them pumped up again. I wanted them to stay strong. The end was in sight. I explained what the doctor would do. I even showed them some of the tools he would use. They didn't seem stoked but they settled down, until the doctor opened the door. Z is afraid of him, plain and simple. She freaks out every time she sees him. From day one, she loses it. I know it. She knows it. The doctor knows it. During these times, I go to my special place. I retreat into my nurse head. Sometimes, for the overall good, one must experience things that are unpleasant and frightening. This holds doubly true for health care. When I was an ER nurse, we would get children who were the victims of abuse or terrible accidents. I would hope the act of treating some of these children was not more traumatic to them than the initial injury. You have to believe you are doing the right thing when you restrain a child for a procedure that you know could be the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to them. Personally, I was able to bear the baby screaming for it's mama because I wanted to make sure it would have the opportunity to be with her again. That and the knowledge the sedation would kick in very soon.

There were no sedatives in the doctor's office. From his actions and words, the doc needed it more than the rest of us. He instantly seemed peeved at her reaction. He grabbed her and dropped her off the table onto the floor. He told her not to have a fit. He moved on to S. He poked and prodded S.  S recoiled but did not resist and he did not cry. He flinched and ducked and the doctor just kept working him over. When he finished, he smacked Sam on the cheek and pinched his nose hard enough to make it blanch. He must be under the impression those moves constitute kidding around. Not once did he warn or educate S. Not once. 

S left the room with the nurse for his hearing test and we moved on to Z. She had a death grip on me. Her screams were deafening. He was just as gentle with her as with S. Her ear was impacted with wax and he had to remove it with a curette. It took all of us to hold her. MAMAMAMA MAMAMAMA MAMAMAMA! I put my head down close to her head and tried to use my nurse sense but she looked me in the eye and said help me. I couldn't stay quiet. I had to soothe her. They chastised me for doing so. That's when I realized that I could not be a strong advocate for my children when dealing with these people. I am still intimidated by this old worn out doctor who should've retired a long time ago. I made the decision to find a new pediatrician at once. Oh, and I got my baby off of that table.

We won't need shots for one more year so that's a plus. S passed his testing for pre-school, too! And now, I really have a new awareness of what I want from the person handling the health needs of my children. I want a doctor to handle them gently in both a physical and emotional capacity. I want someone who will talk to them. I also want someone to talk to me! I want someone to turn to me and ask about things such as diet and discipline and temperament. I want someone I can like and trust. I will not allow our needs and anxieties to be dismissed again. As a nurse and a mother, I have a keen awareness of the problems plaguing our health care system. I know it's hard to find time, patience, or money for anything these days. I am willing to compromise in most situations but this is not one of them. Any time someone complains to me about care received, I say A doctor is only as good as his or her patient. I think it's time I follow my own advice.

Meanie

I went to the SS office Monday morning with my newly acquired marriage certificate. The lady was very nice and accommodating. It took some time though. I've put this off since we married. It's been about five years. I procrastinate.

Her policy manual told her she needed my divorce papers if the event took place over two years ago. And of course, it took place over two years ago. We've  already gone over this. She asked some questions. She was trying to help me. She was trying to work it out. I was doing a mental inventory of the important documents for the divorce papers. After obsessing over them for years, I think I've finally lost interest and lost them! I kept my fingers crossed. 

Her cubicle mate was a hottie. He offered to help and I was glad he did. He leaned over her to type something on her keyboard and I swear he laid his junk right on top of her left hand. It was the one with the wedding rings on it. I wondered if she felt lucky or not. I wondered if he felt lucky or not. I wondered if I'd be lucky or not.

I was lucky. He worked some sort of updated and amended policy magic on her computer and BAM, I met the requirements. While we were all revelling in our luck, a woman and her two sons walked in. My back was to them but as they spoke, I could picture Ma Barker and her boys. The woman sounded as rough and tough as the Grand Canyon. And big...she sounded scary big. Then the nose picking security guard said, "Sir, you may not enter the building with a weapon on your person." Sir said, "F*ck you" and sat down behind me. The security guard stepped up and unsnapped something on her hip. The lady and the hottie watched over my shoulder. I wondered if the hottie's junk was shrinking. Mine was. The guard repeated herself, firmly. And he flew up out of the chair and brushed past me on his way out. Ma proceeded to tell her he "just forgot" he had it. I wondered if it was a gun or knife. 

We went back to the business at hand and I answered a couple of follow-up questions. After each answer, Sir's brother repeated my answers mockingly. He muttered curses under his breath. When I stood up, I thanked the lady and the hottie. I turned to walk away. Sir's brother repeated, "Thank you so much." then looked me in the eye and called me a bitch. Granted, we were in the SS office. I understand he could've been disturbed. He could've had Tourette's. But I don't think so. I'm no saint.  I've certainly wrestled with my conscience. But I've never pushed an old lady into the street either! Why? Because it would be mean. Their manner was blatantly malicious and cruel. I wanted so badly to verbally confront him. But at the same time, I was afraid Sir might come back in and shoot or stick me. I have children to tend and books to read and food to grow and stories to tell and Joe to love and the last thing I really want to do is risk it all for bad men who insult women in public. 

Here's to my first day of more opinionated and aggressive stylings! You can watch this video while I busy myself hatching diabolical plans to rid the world of meanies. 

Wednesday Masquerades As Monday

It hasn't been the best morning. It wasn't the wrong foot or the wrong side of the bed's fault either. It's been all about human error.

Joe woke me up a little after seven this morning. He asked if I knew where his wallet was. I did not but I got up to help him look for it. He took Logan to the tennis courts last night and they arrived home around 10 pm. I did not recall seeing his wallet at all - not before tennis, not after. He said he could've left it at the courts so he drove down there to check.

He returned empty handed. He cursed and kicked around and spit (imaginary) shrapnel. He accused all of us of conspiring against him and his wallet. Joe has a bit of a temper but he usually keeps it under wraps. But his wallet is precious to him. He's always had a bit of a phobia about losing it. And he was going to be late for work. After a few more minutes of searching, he stormed out, muttering to himself like a man possessed. 

I searched frantically. I did not find it. In my opinion, it's not in the house but I know even now, I'll spend the rest of my day looking for it. I checked our bank account and there hasn't been any activity on the card. I know he wasn't mad at me. I know it's not my fault but it sure does suck. 

To top it all off,  Zoe is a light sleeper and woke up crying during all the hustle and bustle and now she seems anxious. Hell, I'm anxious, too. 

Just look at what I did to the toast! 

I'm A Friend Of Thunder. Is It Any Wonder Lightning Strikes Me?

I dreamt of him the other night.  He had not changed nor had he turned his life over to Christ. He was in our crawlspace again and he was still out to get me. When I awoke, lightning and thunder were still rattling around in the heavens. 

I made my way around to all of the doors to check the locks, then I managed to summon the courage to peer outside. As I stood and concentrated on the rain falling, my heart stopped racing and I began to feel calm again.

I decided that no one would be out in that weather. Not even him.