Full Disclosure

Lest ye think I have made it through the last 2 years mentally unscathed, I need to share something that happened last week. But first, let me ask again for your prayers and thoughts for little Tater. He has an upcoming surgery that I won't be talking much about because it may be a personal thing for him later in life and although I AM all about full disclosure for myself, my kids may not like it so much. The surgery may turn into a couple of surgeries and if those are not successful, the outcome could make life harder for him later on. I know. I'm being vague. Again, it's personal and kind of serious. But-I think vague prayers and thoughts work just as well as specific ones, thank you very much.

So, on to me. When I told my friend, Danica, this story, she was crying and laughing and said she didn't know if it was because she thought it was hilarious or because she felt bad for me and glad it didn't happen to her...

Tater fills up his own personal landfill on a weekly basis. His supplies are all pretty much made for one use and then we throw them away. Our trash bin is always full. Last Monday, we were getting back from an appointment when the automated truck came. The streets in our area are kind of weird so the trash truck passes our house 2 times to get to other houses before it picks ours up. As I was getting the boys out of the van, the truck tried to make its first pass but couldn't because of some City trucks that were taking care of trees in a neighbor's yard. It came back from the other way and couldn't get by again so when I realized they were going to skip our trash bin, I yelled, "Hey! Get my trash," but the truck kept going. The tree men kind of looked at me strangely so I looked at the closest one and asked, "Are YOU taking care of my trash since YOUR truck was blocking my bin?!" He kind of mumbled something about being sorry and ran away. I was steamed. So, I call the City Sanitation Department but of course the line was busy and after 12 attempts I get through and tell the nice lady that the trash truck SKIPPED MY HOUSE and she needed to page them to come back to get the bin since it was now clear to do so. She told me it was City policy to not double back because that messed with schedules and I told her that having a full trash can for another week was not acceptable. She took my info and said she would pass it on to a supervisor. I went outside to pull the bin back in and the tree man came over and said the truck should come back and I relayed to him the conversation with the Sanitation Lady. About 30 minutes later, the debris truck that has 2 men on the back went by the house so I ran outside and flagged it down. The men on the back looked a little scared so they signaled for the driver to handle me. I told him he needed to get my trash since the other truck didn't and he said he couldn't because of policy. I told him my policy is to not have a full trash can for ANOTHER WEEK. He, too, ran away from me mumbling something over his shoulder. The tree men pretended they didn't see me. I was more than steamed at this point and called Mr. A who was all, "You may be overreacting, I can take our trash to a dumpster tonight," and I was all, "We PAY for this service. They SHOULD GET OUR TRASH!!!" and HE was all, "My wife is crazy, thank God I work away from home." About 3 hours later when I had finally calmed down and realized I may have overreacted a little, I look out the window and see a City pick-up truck. It was the City Supervisor from the tree work getting the trash out of our green bin with his hands and putting it into a black bag so he could take it away. I may have died a little from embarrassment and I know I should have gone to thank him but I couldn't so I called the Sanitation Lady to thank her but she didn't know what I was talking about. The next day, Mr. A said he saw the man from the pick-up truck in front of the house and I was all haha, you're funny. I was outside later and sure enough, the man who PICKED MY TRASH out of my bin WITH HIS HANDS was in the neighbor's yard. The mature thing would have been to go to him and thank him for taking care of an absurd situation so I ducked behind the van.

And there you go. I'm very passive about things I need to handle with the nurse, I let insurance things go and just assume doctors are very busy and their staff overwhelmed so I let long waits roll off my back. But God forbid the trash truck skip my house because then I will lose it and let the whole world know about it. I think this may have something to do with transference and needing to be on medication but at least they'll never skip our house again on trash day!

Timeline of a Crazy Woman

Wednesday: Toser is unusually cooperative about me trying on jeans. I think he's tired and feel only a little bad for dragging him to the mall after school because I am pumped to find $12 jeans that fit. When I'm putting him down for a nap later, I realize he feels pretty warm. After he wakes up, I take his temperature, see 104.5 on the thermometer and freak the freak out. Thank God Unca Scott is a doctor and he and Wissa calm me down. Toser is very pitiful and I accommodate his every request.

Thursday: Toser wakes up in the early morning and his temp is 103. I give him more Motrin and climb into bed with him. (Note to self: Toser's bed (futon really) is very uncomfortable. Avoid sleeping there ever again.) Fever spikes to 104 again when he wakes up for good. Toser is very lethargic and pitiful. He only feels like laying on the couch and wants me to lay with him. I do and stroke his back and hair, feeling very sorry for him. We watch TV all day. Thank God for Noggin. Tater has been sent to the play room with the nurse and then Mr. A to avoid the cooties.

Friday: Toser wakes up in the very early morning because he didn't eat anything on Thursday night. It is extremely cold in the kitchen so I just grab a doughnut and let Toser eat it in bed. We usually don't have doughnuts so I'm very grateful Mr. A had a moment of weakness at the store on Thursday. Toser "lets" me go back to my own bed and when he wakes up for good, still has a temp of 103. Call the doctor, get appointment, put Toser on the couch and really miss hanging out with Tater. I haven't done anything with him but kiss the back of his head since I've been cuddling with the sick boy. I feel my brain ooze out of my ears as I watch yet another episode of Blue's Clues. Take Toser to the doctor where they torture him by taking throat and nose cultures and then prick his finger for blood work. Seriously think the doctor's office should employ a sumo wrestler to hold down febrile 3 year-olds who have not lost any strength although they haven't eaten much in 2 days. Am sweating and swearing by the time the doctor tells me it's "only a virus" and it could last until Monday.

Saturday: Fever down. Toser feeling better. I, on the other hand, have gotten what he has and feel like I should stay in bed. Alas....
Me: Toser! If you do not get back on the couch I swear I will throttle you.
5 minutes later: Toser! Get back on that couch.
2 minutes after that: Toser! STOP RUNNING AROUND THE LIVING ROOM!
4:00 pm when Mr. A reluctantly leaves for his guys' night only after I have assured him again and again we will be fine without him: sob, sob, gnashing of teeth
4:02-6:00pm: TOSER!!!!!
6:30: Find Toser asleep on the couch and feel very bad for him again.
6:45-7:45: TOSER!!!
8:00: Seriously consider becoming The Wife Who Ruins Trade Deadline (aka The Most Important Night of the Year in Mr. A's Fantasy Basketball League) by calling Mr. A to come home.
8:05: Overcome insanity in time to yell at Toser to stop fooling around already and get in bed. He has already lost book privileges and is this close to getting more of the wrath of Mom.
8:10: Discover the prison tats and graffiti -see below- Toser has decided will be his last acts in this life. I let him live when he looks at me and in the most pitiful voice asks for some Tylenol.
8:30: Tater is in bed, Toser is asleep and I have fumigated the house with Lysol and Clorox wipes. I am done.

These tattoos tell the story of how my mom lost it. The graffiti tells my family I love them in case I don't make it through the night.

Threes with Update

We are beginning day 3 of the three year-old running a 103-104 degree fever. It was 3 degrees outside our house at 3:00am this morning. If Toser's doctor's appointment was at 3 instead of 4 this afternoon, I might begin to think something is up. hmm?

It is seriously cold here. I know it's much, much colder in other places but this is Alabama, for goodness's sake! And not only is it currently 10 degrees outside now, inside it's not warmer than 60 degrees and both of the heat pumps have been running wide open for the last 2 days. Usually it would be okay and the extra 10 layers we're wearing would be fine but I have a kid on his death bed (not really but the way he is whining I should be preparing. OMG I cannot take Noggin cartoons anymore!). One of our toilets is frozen and our wood is damp so I cannot keep a fire going in the living room wood stove. It doesn't sound like I'm complaining, does it?

But it's not all bad. We're quite lucky in spite of MY whining. Tater seems to be doing okay and Mr. Awesome will be able to get away for some much needed guy time this weekend. I'll be going to see Manny and Brett in South Alabama next weekend. Toser isn't really dying although I may have a justifiable homicide defense after 3 days of Lazy Town. See? It's the little things that keep me happy around here and we really are lucky. I'll have to keep reminding myself of that today and stop the %$#@ whining already.

Update: How in the Hayull do they know?! Toser's appointment is in 30 minutes and he no longer has a fever. After waking up this morning at 103?! I'm still taking him in, if only to punish him for making me watch Noggin for 3 days.

Update 2: Just a virus. His fever went back up by the time we got to the office and the doc said it may stay around until Monday. I would ask for someone to bring me alcohol if I didn't think that I am now getting what he has.

On the Days I Am Lucky, I Am Silent

VII
by Wendell Berry, "A Timbered Choir"

I would not have been a poet
except that I have been in love
alive in this mortal world,
or an essayist except that I
have been bewildered and afraid,
or a storyteller had I not heard
stories passing to me through the air,
or a writer at all except
I have been wakeful at night
and words have come to me
out of their deep caves
needing to be remembered.
But on the days I am lucky
or blessed, I am silent.
I go into the one body
that two make in making marriage
that for all our trying, all
our deaf-and-dumb of speech,
has no tongue. Or I give myself
to gravity, light, and air
and am carried back
to solitary work in fields
and woods, where my hands
rest upon a world unnamed,
complete, unanswerable, and final
as our daily bread and meat.
The way of love leads all ways
to life beyond words, silent
and secret. To serve that triumph
I have done all the rest.

"VII" from the poem "1994" by Wendell Berry, from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979–1997. © Counterpoint, 1998.

New Year: Same Attitude

It just never ends around here. All is good but I am running around in circles on the same stuff all the time. A constant battle with insurance/Medicaid on prescriptions and who covers what procedure, doctors' appointments, upcoming procedures, battles with Tater's medical equipment supplier, and blah blah blah. I know you're tired of hearing about it, I'm tired of myself talking about it. So, although I am OVERWHELMED with the STUFF right now, let's talk about my boys.

They're prepared for cold weather:

Their mom took exactly 5 pictures and 1 video Christmas morning. Oops!

They drive their mom to sing karoake and embarrass herself:

They're getting so big (pictures from May and December):