Next time? Listen!

Offspring has a friend who comes over after school every day.  Every. Day.  I like her, she is a delightful little girl, so I don't mind in the slightest (but I am going to negotiate with her family over taking her as a tax deduction on my taxes).  She and Offspring ride their bikes here every day, and then we walk her home later.  On Monday, Wheeler was up and so we all went.  Offspring was on roller blades, I had Dog and the friend rode her bike.  We dropped her at her door and turned to walk back home (well, half of us, only Dog and I were technically walking).  I had ahold of Offspring hand, with Dog's leash in my other hand. 

About a block later, I could hear Wheeler saying something, a one syllable word of some sort, but I couldn't understand him.  He can't speak terribly loud because his injury is high enough that it compromises his lung function and hence he can't shout very well.  So I heard "ruudub .... ruuubud .... duuub ... duuug...." ... I finally understood that he was saying - "DOG!".  Why, you ask?  There was a tiny dog in the yard we were walking by and if Dog sees another dog, he goes bonkers.  Wheeler, seeing the potential for disaster involved with me, a leash, and a kid on roller blades, was wisely trying to warn me. 

Unfortunately it was too late.  Dog spied little dog and lunged towards it.  That nearly pulled my left arm out of my socket (thankfully, this was my uninjured shoulder), which pulled Offspring on his blades.  Then Dog decided to prance in an excited circle, so my arm wrenched the other arm,  Offspring started twirling the other way and Dog just kept going such that we all made two complete revolutions.  The entire time I just kept thinking that one or more of us was going to break one or more bones.  And Dog was barking and prancing and jumping like a wild animal.  I kept trying to let go of Offspring's hand so he could skate safely away, but he had a death grip on me and I never found a good chance to let him go anyway. 

Normally this story would have ended in a trip to the hospital (or minimally a destroyed pair of pants or dropping my phone), but it didn't.  It ended with me finally gaining control of Dog, then we all burst into hysterical laughter.  Wheeler was watching the whole thing with his mouth agape, wondering how the hell we all survived unscathed.

Next time, I'll pay attention more the first time Wheeler says something!

Our Modern Family

We are hooked on Modern Family.  Its on Wednesday nights on ABC and its a really great show.  I even let Offspring watch it, and while about half of it goes right over his head (thankfully!), he does understand alot of it and the humor is quirky .... much like my own wit has known to be at times. The show is a sitcom without a laugh track.  I have a well known anaphylactic (Wheeler would say apocalyptic) reaction to laugh tracks, which is why I hate sitcoms.  But I like this one alot.  If you don't watch the show, a) what rock have you been under? and b) you should start watching it.  It is the story of an extended family and their various conventional and unconventional parts interacting in the real world of boring everyday things, somehow made funny.  Kinda 30-something crossed with Seinfeld.  And to be honest, that's what our lives are alot like - boring everyday things, but I usually get a laugh* from it. 

Let's see: a long suffering dude in a giant chin-controlled wheelchair married to a klutzy air-headed, yet brilliant** wife searching for the meaning of life, who despite being in her 40s (early 40s mind you), still loves the Black Eyed Peas and Eminem (hence, the long suffering part on the wheelchair dude's part). Then throw in Uncle Air Force living with us, a man who used to teach survival tactics in the service and regales us with all sorts of stories about eating bugs and such (at dinner usually).  Also add a pinch of an adorable and hysterically funny (and sometimes very ill behaved) 10 year old boy, a persnickety poodle who goes to prison once a week, and who literally won't leave the porch if it's raining and will hold his pee for up to a documented 23 hours.  Then add in the Tea Party parents just up the block, and a supporting cast that includes a Mensa member who I'm pretty sure is actually me but in another body in another state, two sets of drop dead gorgeous identical twins, a gaggle of devoted hockey fans (in the south no less) and and that's just the folks who would make regular appearances in our Modern Family show.  We have a whole lotta other friends that would spice things up for our annual Halloween special and our Very Special Christmas Episode.

Yes, I think we would make a nifty version of Modern Family.  

* It beats crying

** I actually am smart, I promise. I just don't seem like it most of the time, I know, I know. If you don't believe me, what's 7 * 4?  Its 28!  See, I wrote it down even faster than you thought of it.  So there.

Serendiptous shampoo

Wheeler frequently has an itchy head, and because he has no arm function whatsoever, he is often in misery from having an itchy scalp and no way to scratch it. We have tried a million anti-itch / anti-dandruff shampoos and a few are ok, but none have really helped substantially. Lately, Dog has the same problem - minus the paralysis!  When I was at the pet store the other day buying food, I found some "hot spot & anti-itch" shampoo that is medicated with lidocaine and hydrocortisone - it is an over the counter shampoo. So in a "keep your peanut butter out of my chocolate, keep your chocolate out of my peanut butter" moment, I realized as I was washing Dog with it (and letting it sit for 10 mins, I had alot of time to think this over - just try staring at a wet dog for 10 minutes, you'll see what I mean) that this could be perfect for Wheeler. So the next time Wheeler was in the the shower, I washed his hair with Dog's shampoo. It turned out to be a match made in heaven. I wash his hair, massage it in deeply with my fingers and let it sit on his head for 5-10 minutes. Him in previous sentences applies to both Dog and Wheeler.  Consider this my public service message for the day. 

New Hampshire mustaches

French's is a tiny independent, locally owned toy store that has been in Concord NH for decades.  It has nearly gone under a few times, especially recently, and almost totally closed this past year, but somehow it hung on thanks to a decent Christmas season.  It has a truly skeleton crew of toys at the moment, but that matters not, Offspring and Niece-ette (the younger of my brother's two girls); they love French's, no matter how pathetic the inventory.  Every time Offspring is here, they go spend time (and considerable dough) at French's toy store.  This time I went with them and they were carefully considering their options: they each had $20 to spend.  As they were weighing their various options, Aunt Sister in Law exclaimed loudly and with glee 

You guys! They have MUSTACHES!

which led to a stampede to her location, to see just what that meant.  It is a hilarious assortment of fake mustaches to stick to your face, including variations such as the handlebar, the sheriff and everything in between - there are 7 or 8 in total.  We thought about going home and having everyone pose with the mustaches, but then I realized that this would be the absolute perfect cold vector and we all thought better of it.  All to the benefit of French's though ... as we ended up buying two mustache kits - one for each kid.  

Tonight Niece-ette and Offspring, who I've taken to calling Thing Four and Thing Five (which is very funny if you know my maiden name) are sleeping under the stairs; there is a little alcove there.  A sleepover, but I think they will end up upstairs, so I've already set up a bed for them in a room, a room OTHER THAN MY ROOM, so tonight I get the bed all to my glorious self, ALONE. A-L-O-N-E. Ahhhhhhh.

Schools dismiss early for safety

The local news station had this headline today after the schools closed due to predicted snow and ice: "Safety tops reasons for early school dismissals" 

Really?  Seriously??  Safety tops reasons?  Nothing like being MR. OBVIOUS!!  What other reasons are there?  Seriously people?!  I'm imagining these headlines instead:

• Students nag, teachers give in; schools dismiss early
• Teachers complain they have inadequate time to spend their salaries; schools dismiss early
• "No one wanted to be there anyway" says principal; schools dismiss early
• NC teachers run out of things to teach; schools dismiss early
• January white sale lures school children and staff alike; school dismiss early
• Mutiny. Shools dismiss early.
• In a stunning coincidence, 95% of students and staff have a dental appointment today; schools dismiss early
• Citing a desire to get a jump on the weekend, schools dismiss early
• Unexpected spring fever outbreak causes schools to dismiss early
• Citing the need for additional unstructured playtime for their students, schools dismiss early
• Citing unity with part time workers, schools dismiss early
• In an effort to teach the war strategy of "retreat", schools dismiss early
• Teachers quit their day jobs; schools dismiss early

and the REAL headline should have been ....

• In an effort to muck up parents' lives and wreak as much scheduling havoc as possible - SCHOOLS DISMISS EARLY!

Who is Sarah?

It was April, 2000.  I was newly pregnant and I had an absolutely miserable cold.  I was sniffling, sneezing and I was pretty sure that my head was going to explode.  Of course, it was after hours for my obgyn, so I couldn't ask him whether I could take Sudafed.  I hadn't told anyone other than my husband that I was pregnant, I wasn't showing, but I was full scale preggo paranoid.  So having no one in person to ask, I did what we all do now .... I turned to the internet.  After a few searches and clicks and clacks, I happened upon a series of "expecting clubs" at a major baby/pregnancy website.  The expecting clubs were arranged by month.  Those with babies due in May of 2000 formed one group, those due in June 2000 formed another, etc, etc, all the way out to the newbies like me due in November 2000 - who in April were just a smidge over 2 months pregnant.  I found that the expecting groups each had hundreds, if not a thousand plus members.  I began to browse the November 2000 group.  Finding many kindred (read: pregnant) souls, I decided to register and post my question.  Can I take Sudafed while pregnant?  I don't recall the answer.  But I do know that's how it began.  The amazing journey that has changed my life and so many other lives.  

As the months wore on, as November of 2000 approached, more and more women found the November 2000 expecting club.  There were hundreds of members, some who posted frequently, others who lurked and everything in between.  As summer rolled around, we posted our excitement at so many milestones like the first flutters of the baby kicking - especially us first timers like me, and we collectively relied on the wisdom of the others, some of whom were having their 5th baby in some cases. 

We commiserated over our discomforts - reflux, swollen ankles, aching backs, and swapped home remedies.  Whatever the complaint, all of us women understood.  We truly understood because there is something universal about the experience of being pregnant and especially being so exactly-the-same-amount-pregnant as we all were.  We talked about our bodies, about our partners, about our friends, about our jobs, about our other children, about breastfeeding, about pretty much any and everything.  We especially enjoyed discussing the boorishness of the men in our lives who didn't understand that sometimes we needed, yes NEEDED spaghetti and sugar cookies at 11:30 pm.  And that yes, he needed to leave the house and get these items.  RIGHT. NOW!  We understood, the November 2000 sisterhood. 

As the months progressed, we planned our nurseries, bought clothes, had baby showers, and began to literally count the days until our due dates.  Our very first November 2000 baby, Shelby, arrived in October 2000.  Lots of other babies then began to follow in quick succession, with our last Nov00 baby coming sometime in mid December.  Mine came along exactly on his due date of November 2nd, for which I was grateful, as I watched the agony of other Nov00 mommies waiting and waiting past their due dates with swollen bellies and aching bodies.  But eventually of course, we all became Nov00 mommies, not just expectant mommies. 

The website that administered the expecting clubs then changed over the groups after the due date month passed to be "playgroups".  So we became the November 2000 playgroup, or just Nov00 to all of us.  Members continued to find us over the first year especially and the group probably reached 1,200-1,500 registered members at its peak.  But as the years wore on, the group shrunk - natural attrition.  So after a few years of being a playgroup on the public website, we decided to take the group to a private website that was password protected and invite only.  There were probably about 100-120 of us at that point who were active and were still interested in reading or posting to the group.  I volunteered to adminstrate the website and the whole group moved to a private site. 

This turned out to be an amazingly positive thing because the privacy afforded to us on the new website - unfound by google, impossible to access without an invite only username and password - which were controlled by us - allowed us to talk.  To really talk.  About life.  About things that mattered.  We opened up about our lives in ways that we never had before.  We revealed our marital problems, our health problems, our fears, our pasts, our dreams, our victories, our fall flat on our faces humiliations.  And we were there for each other.  It was a bit odd because the vast majority of us had (and still have not) met in person.  So the somewhat anonymous feel that gives, allows one to open up in ways you wouldn't perhaps, with a casual friend over coffee.  Its safe to say something on a computer screen.  But yet, on the flip side, precisely because of that, we felt more bonded to each than people who we'd known as life long in person friends. 

It has now been 11 years since the formation of the November 2000 Expecting Club, then the November 2000 Playgroup, now we are just Nov00.  There are about 40 of us left that form the Nov00 mommies.  Plus one guy.  There is a sole daddy who was accepted by all the moms and stuck it out with us.  He is the spouse of a Nov00 mommy, and is every bit as much a member as any other mom.  

Sarah is a Nov00 mommy.  I am a Nov00 mommy.  When one of us sick, we rally to their side.  When one of us is sad, we rush to support her.  When one of us succeeds, we all clap and shout louder than anyone else.  We have experienced almost everything that life has to throw at us collectively.  We have experienced divorce, death of a spouse, death of a parent, disability of a child, a near fatal car accident, miscarriages, mental health crises, health crises, cancer, stillbirth, job losses, abuse, and now we are facing the thing we never thought we would have to face: the death of one of us.  A Nov00 mommy will become a Nov00 mommy angel soon, very soon. 

Sarah has fought a heroic, valiant and dare I say, kick-ass, battle against breast cancer for 4 years now.  She has a son Ben who is a Nov00 baby.  She has another son Sam who is 2 years younger.  Her husband is Alan.  All of them will lose her, as will we.  As will all of the friends, acquaintences and people she has touched in her tragically short life.  So to those who ask? 

I have never met Sarah in person.  But Sarah is my friend.  Sarah is a mother.  Sarah is a wife.  Sarah is a daughter.  Sarah is a niece. Sarah is a friend to so many.  Sarah is going to be gone from the earth soon but she will never, ever, EVER, be gone. 

May her children and husband find peace and comfort somehow from knowing the Nov00 mommies are deep in mourning with them. 

Godspeed Sarah. 

alansarahblog.blogspot.com

The Santa Secret

How Offspring still believes in Santa, I'll never know. I outright told him 3 years ago that I am Santa, but he has since told me that he knows that I told him that just to "make me feel better because back when I was a little kid, I was afraid of Santa and the Easter Bunny breaking in like robbers. But now I'm not afraid of that". Me thinks he just figures that he gets more presents if he believes in Santa, not knowing that he'd still get just as many presents sans Santa, it'd just be that they'd all be under the tree and from us. On that note, I picked up Offspring and one of his friends from school the other day because its been so ungodly cold (high teens temp with winds 25-30 mph taking the windchill near zero). Offspring walked ahead a bit and his friend said to me "I'm kinda sad because last night my mom told me the Santa Secret". I said "well, don't tell Offspring!". She said "Oh no, I wouldn't, my mom made me promise to never tell anyone... (pause) ... wait! (with panic in her eyes) YOU know the Santa secret right??". Me trying not to laugh "What Santa Secret? ... (pause) ... yes, I know".

How to get what you want

Offspring has been playing with a friend who lives down the street, and she loves dogs. When they play here, she gloms onto Dog and just loves him. I taken to walking Dog with them, where I double leash Dog so that she can walk him, but I have secondary backup controls in case he sees a: cat, squirrel, rabbit, goose, or duck. In those cases, Dog yanks the leash so hard that he has actually* pulled me over once he spies one or more of those creatures. His prey drive is strong and intact - to say the least. 

Today, she came over after school and we took Dog for a walk. I double leashed Dog, but this time attached him with a long leash to Wheeler's chair and a short one for her. Unlike me, Dog physically incapable of pulling Wheeler's chair even one inch - with him in it, the chair is almost 500 pounds. That and Offspring was sitting in Wheeler's lap today during the walk, so add another 50 pounds. We went up and around the far edge of the lake, and I let Dog go .... and go and go! He ran like the wwww-iiiii-nnnn-dddd with absolute sheer joy in every gallop leap and turn. Then, he ran pell mell into the it-surely-must-be-cold-in-November lake up to his belly so that he was covered in water, dirt and utterly disgusting green algae. HE STUNK. Badly!! That little adventure ensured that I'd be giving him a much needed (even before his lake run) bath tonight. 

We're walking back from the lake and Offspring's friend was again lamenting the fact that her parents won't let her get a dog. My son decided to be helpful and explained how to procure her much wanted dog. 

OK, here's what you do. You BEG. You just say please please please please PLEASE PLEASE pleasepleasepleaseplease until they get so sick of it they say ok eventually. That's what I do!

Ahhhhhh, that's my boy. Sharing wisdom (and my parenting weaknesses) with the world. 

My brother has a pig named Bacon

I can't really top that!

I am Poodle. Pamper me.

I'm on the back porch. Trying to look casual. Turning on the water, pretending to water my plants. My mom quietly brings out two ratty towels wrapped around a bottle, and hands them to me as if dropping off a covert package between spies. 

Damn. 

He saw the shampoo bottle. 

This means that now I have to come in off the back porch and chase Dog, who was previously whining to come on the back porch with me, all over the house. He knows. Shampoo bottle = bath. And despite his breed being a WATER DOG, he loathes a bath. Absolutely hates it with a passion. 

So I chased him around the house, eventually cornering him in a bedroom upstairs. Then I have to drrrrrag him down the stairs and out the door, with the DRAGGING becoming harder and harder the closer we get to the back door. Hosed him down, lathered him up, with him getting lower and lower to the ground the whole time. And just when he hits maximum suds + water? 

SHHHHHHHAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKE!

Which of course soaks me entirely. He looks at me as if to say "see?!". Finish washing, rinsing (with several more shakes in there) and dry him off with the aforementioned ratty towels. 

Now, the poodle part kicks in. 

Its dark, so I can't just set him in the sunshine to dry. I call him and he follows me up the stairs into the bathroom, and he sits down expectantly. He knows what comes next. The hair dryer. Ahhhhhhh. He hearts the hair dryer. Seriously. He loves the hair dryer! I dry him, with him turning his head up, down, side to side, and then? He lifts his paw. Seriously. "Please dry me under here too, thank you my servant owner". 

Good grief.

Six Word Memoirs

I have this book from the library (see 2 ago previous entry) called "Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs By Famous and Obscure". They are wickedly awesome and surprisingly diverse. Some of the ones I really, really like are below. Some I like for their pithiness, some for their closeness to my own experiences, and some are just funny.

A sake mom, not soccer mom.

Tombstone won't say "Had health insurance".

Wasted time regressed so changed life.

Catholic school backfired! Sin is in.

Made a mess. Cleaned it up.

Bad brakes discovered at high speed. <-- I think this is me

I was born. Some assembly required.

I'm enjoying even this downward dance.

I recognize red flags faster now.

Macular degeneration. Didn't see that coming.

No words can describe my life.

Red diaper baby, hippie bourgeoise adult <-- I wrote my overcoming upbringing one before I read this one

Girlfriend is pregnant my husband said.

I was and now I'm not.

In a Manolo world I'm Keds.

I'm just here for the beer!

I've been thinking of my six word memoir candidates. So far I have:

Crazy. Worth effort to be with. 

One mom. One boy. Happiness found.

Had career, lost it, was happier.

Free spirit overcame straightlaced conservative upbringing

And Offspring came up with this one, which is the title of this blog:

It wasn't funny ... at the time.

And also:

If it's fun, don't do it.

What is/are yours?

Wee wee wee bee bee bee music

Did you know that there is an XM/Sirius station that is only Elvis songs (note: also sung by Elvis, no covers). Well, there is. There is also a station that is only Jimmy Buffet (note: no covers either). These are the only two stations my dad ever listens to. EVER! For real, I'm not joking. The only station my mom listens to is the sixties channel. EVER!  OK, sometimes she listens to 40s ands sometimes to 50s and gasps, sometimes to Faux News.  Jesus H. Christ, help me.  

Even Offspring is uber sick of sixties though, he exasperately asked me awhile back "Mom, why does grandma always listen to the "wee-wee-wee-bee-bee-bee" station? (think chipmunk voice). I said it was because she grew up listening to that music and she still liked it. He asked if I grew up listening to 60s, and I said no. He asked what I grew up listening to and I said the 80s. He said "But mom, you so totally don't listen to the 80s! Why is grandma stuck in the past?! Geeesh. That crap gets on my very last nerve. The apple doesn't fall from the tree eh - in both the manner of speaking and our mutual annoyance of listening to the 60s ad infinitum.

So my parents and I (sans Offspring) were driving to go out for dinner last night and as always, the car was tuned to the sixties channel. I asked if we could puuhhhhhleaze turn the station to something in, say, this century. Much to my shock, my dad agreed, and switched it to a top 40 station (I had to tell him which one though, as 18, 56, 6 and Faux News are all that he knows). Turning it to the station I requested, an Eminem song that I absolutely love was on - that one with Rhianna, I Love the Way You Lie. I love that song, and I said as much, that its on my ipod.  Befoere I had to fully process that hmm, maybe this wasn't the best song to have playing just now, here is where the song picked up, with the lyrics bangin' slammin' loud (cuz my dad is partially deaf, he can't hear unless it is TURNED UP TOO LOUD FOR EVERYONE ELSE):

Baby it was me

Maybe our relationship

Isn't as crazy as it seems

Maybe that's what happens

When a tornado meets a volcano

All I know is

I love you too much

To walk away though

Come inside

Pick up your bags off the sidewalk

Don't you hear sincerity

In my voice when I talk

Told you this is my fault

Look me in the eyeball

Next time I'm pissed

I'll aim my fist

At the dry wall

Next time

There will be no next time

I apologize

Even though I know it's lies

I'm tired of the games

I just want her back

I know I'm a liar

If she ever tries to fucking leave again

I'mma tie her to the bed

And set the house on fire

Needless to say, I'll never hear anything but wee-wee-wee-bee-bee-bee ever again in the car. Sigh.

Me versus the bee

I was sitting on the front porch yesterday, reading a book, happily minding my own business when I heard a prop engine plane approaching me. As in 10 feet away approaching me. And it wasn't a prop plane, it was a giant, huge, large, massive, did-i-say-BIG bee. I'm talking 2 inches long, and about half again as wide. It looked like a small barrel with wings. And a stinger. And antennae. I think I might have even glimpsed a tatoo. This was the mack dady of all bees. The QE2 of bees. The 747 of bees. OK, I think you get the idea, it was a big ass bee. 

I froze in place because I have always had a nearly pathological fear of bees. I've only been stung once - by a wasp when I was 31 years old, but I've been terrified of them all my life. When I was stung by the wasp, it was because I disturbed their nest inadvertantly - I was trimming the hedges in the front yard when I must have also trimmed their nest. I suddenly was surrounded by wasps (it still gives me heart palpitations thinking about it now, a decade later). I was really lucky that only one managed to sting me. And the sting didn't feel like I expected, it didn't sting, it felt like a dull nail was being hammered into me.

So I know that bees don't want to sting, they just want to fly around, eat pollen and get happy. If you don't bother them, they don't bother you. I have very slowly over the years gone from trying to jump out of a car going 30 mph when a wasp came through the window [really, I did - I unbuckled my seat belt with left hand and began to open my door with my right hand, only the driver reaching over and grabbing my left arm hard and pulling me back in saved me] to trying to freeze in place when I see them and wait for them to retreat. But its the buzzzzzzzz that gets me. I am petrified when I hear that low bzzzzzzzz sound, and this big boy, its sound was BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. It was SO loud, and soooooo scary. My coping technique is to close my eyes, cover my ears, and then count to 20, by which time it is usually gone (although not always) ... and then I flee. Which is what I did. He was gone, I ran in the house, hyperventilated, and swore to myself I would not go back outside until at least November. 

It was sooo nice though, just gorgeous. I decided to try again. I went back out, sat for a few minutes. Then, BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. He was back. This time, I couldn't escape. I covered my eyes and ears two times and he was still flying around the porch each time I opened my eyes. Finally, he started going down the ramp towards the yard, and I figured I could make my escape. But that was when Dogette, who was sitting at the top of the ramp, saw an irresistable toy (the bee). She perked up, which caught the bee's attention, which further intrigued Dogette. Then the bee started circling her tail, which she beat furiously, whirling in circles, trying to investigate this very interesting and noisy toy (the bee). At this point I realized I was in mortal danger. The bee was pissed off. Dogette didn't know that a pissed off bee is a tres uber very bad thing. I was too close to the front door to just jump up and run in, at least in my estimation, because I was afraid it would see my movement as more interesting than Dogette's movement, and follow me. And if followed me in the house I would have to either a) kill it or b) move out until the bee died of natural causes.

So I sat still. In a total panic. Every time I closed my eyes and opened them, the bee and Dogette were still locked in mortal combat. She was swatting it with her paw, it was dive bombing her repeatedly .... and I will admit here, that I kinda hoped that it would sting her in lieu of stinging me, I know, I am a tres uber very bad person. Better her than me, right? Then finally, the bee flew far enough away that Dogette lost interest.

Whew.

Until.

The bee now started flying in and around Dog's interesting, floofy poodle tail. He was farther down the ramp off into the yard about 10 feet away. I obsessively watched the bee and Dog. Relying on my multiple degrees in mathemagic, I calculated (on the fly, in a near panic), the optimal vector and timing of my escape. I inched sllllllowly towards the door. I needed to be absolutely sure that the amount of time it would take me to open it, back in (so as to keep my eye on the bee) and shut the door was clearly exceed the amount of time it would take the bee to fly at his top speed to my location. As I waited (and now half hoped for Dog to be stung so as to remove all danger from me, I'm a bad person, I know), the bee miraculously decided to go check out a bush farther out in the yard. This was my chance!! I bolted in the house, shut the door, obsessively looked everywhere around the door to make sure the bee didn't possess a covert warp drive and had managed to come in the house. 

He hadn't.

The end.


And yes, I am the only person I know (and probably you know, or ever will know in the course of your lifetime) who can write this much about an encounter with a bee.

Thoughts from a really weird wedding

Weird in the good sense. Weird is a high compliment here, as it makes you ONE OF US, to be weird. 

In no particular order, just the order they pop into my head: 

The girls (meant broadly since I'm not really a spring chicken) all got to wear whatever dress we wanted - as long as it was black and/or red. I loved how Bride phrased it "I want you all to look like YOU". We all felt comfortable and it made it such a neat assortment of outfits. Wellll, except one (just don't ask about the striped socks). And I must say that I wore 4 inch red satin stilettos, against direct medical advice but they were soooooo sexy I just couldn't not. But after 10 mins I gave up and switched into more sensible shoes. Maureen couldn't walk with her 4.5 inch shoes on the cobblestones and ended up going barefoot in her fishnets for the whole thing - pics, ceremony, reception. I forgot Offspring's shoes at the hotel, so he wore bright red snow boots with his fancy evening wear. Hey, it matched the theme: black, red, and weird. 

An elf crashed the reception. Really. A guy wearing a head to toe green and red elf costume (presumably on clearnace after christmas) with a blinking red light on his cap. Everyone assumed somebody else knew him. But it turns out, no one did. 

When asking the formality "If anyone here objects, please state your objections now", a guy jumped out of his seat and attacked Groom with a light sabre. More notably, Groom fought back. And won. There were also light sabers at the reception. Every guest got one, if you were under 5 feet tall, you got two (that was an on the fly rule). When they danced their first dance, the whole place spontaneously lit up their sabers and waved them, lighter style, during the dancing. *word*

I was the maid of honor. No one calls me a maid, and I certainly have no honor, but I was VERY honored to be the maid of honor. However, the down side was that the wedding ceremony was right in front of a huge roaring fire in a gorgeous fireplace and I was front and center in its path. OMG, I though I was going to melt. I surreptiously asked the other girls to scooch down so that my hair wouldn't pull a Michael Jackson Pepsi move, I had on so much hairspray it felt like a linebacker's helmet. 

During the ceremony, the bride and groom exchanged heartfelt vows (although barely heard through Bride's sniffling, geeez), after which there was an awkward pause where the officiant looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights. As we all started looking around trying to figure out what to do next, Daughter - now imagine her, in a gorgeous satin red frock, white faux-fur shawl, red hair bow - shouts "Now .... KISS!", waving her hands at them as if to say WELL DUH! After the laughter died down, they exchanged rings (that's the bit that was supposed to be after the vows that everyone seemed to forget) - then the officiant leaned over and stage whispered to Daughter "do it again". Daughter then proclaimed, loudly and with even more gusto, the kind that only Daughter can muster NOW KISS!!!

Someone made the cake. Like an actual person who attended the wedding, and it was a real cake, not a fancy pancy wedding cake that looks more like art than food. It was peanut butter and m&ms. How awesome is that?! And, Bride ensured I had gluten free food. She's the bestest. And the food was awesome, really really good. With an open bar, and as a driver, I made sure I ate ALOT of food. 

Groom and Bride have some cool friends. And I finally met a friend, whom I've known online for 10 years and only just now met face to face there for the first time. Ian was alright too. If he hadn't been, this friend and I would have ...... "lost" .... the groom and there would be no groovy photos and stories. And if he ever looks at her sideways for the rest of his life ... she and I will .... well, let's just keep that a surprise. In reality, Groom ROCKS way super much. Don't tell him tho, it'll go to his head. 

They actually got married Wed night at a tiny courthouse by a very cute, old, and prone to rambling about toothpaste, judge. Right after that, Groom freaked and had his wedding ring cut off his finger. No joke. Long story. But they're still married, you can swell up too big for the ring, but you're stuck with the girl forever. And the $15 ring we bought near midnight at walmart on new year's eve worked just fine for the ceremony. It'll make a great story for the grandkids someday. Hell, it was already funny as it was happening! 

Groom and Daughter had a daddy daughter dance, he held her and she put her head on his shoulder and they danced to Anti-Lullaby, a song he sings to her at night. I cried. It was just so beautiful and made me see immediately why Bride loves him so much. And right after the ceremony, Son said to Groom as we were going up the stairs to the reception "Now we're an official family now, right? OFFICIALLY?" and he said yes. They may be an unusual family but an amazing one. 

On the way home, it took us 90 mins to go the first 25 miles. I was very annoyed. The wiper fluid froze up in the thingies (the technical term is actually Thingie-Dingies 2.1 twin pack) and I had to use the posts of my ruby earrings to clear out the ice. Oh, and it only worked on one side after that. Not my side of course. 

There is a great place called Mama on the Half Shell in Baltimore that is awesome. We used the GPS to find seafood in Baltimore, and the first place I picked was closed. The second place was closed. We finally struck gold on the third try - it was fabulous. I tried oysters for the first time. I can't quite get the point of eating them since you just gulp them down like a tablet of tylenol. Wheeler says they put wood in your pencil. But I write with a pen!!

Congrats, Groom* and Bride, Son and Daughter. I love you ALL so very much. 


*as long as you stay on my good side.

The oldest photographers in the south

Got Offspring's school pictures today, his 3rd grade photos. His kindy, 1st and 2nd grade photos are all uniformly atrocious because a) I never remember its photo day and he was wearing some lousy t-shirt, b) he wouldn't smile or did a dumb smile, 3) it was on a godawful background. All 3 were in play every year. These those? GREAT! His hair is super cute (he is into spiking the top, short around the edges) and I pur a cute shirt on him and the background is relatively benign. But, as I looked at the package envelope, the tag line proudly proclaimed:

The oldest school photographers in the south!

All I can imagine is a very old, old, old man stooped over saying "I says smy-ah boy!" in a wobby croakey voice. 


They need a new motto, don' cha think?

Well, if heroin addicts can do it ....

Wheeler has been struck down by the dreaded pseudomonas bacteria in his bladder.  Its a particularly nasty bug that it exceptionally hard to kill, in fact, most of the time it can only be (marginally) controlled, not actually eradicated.  So yesterday, we went in to the urologist dreading it because we knew that the only treatment was with antibiotics given by IV, which meant a stay in the hospital for a few days or a PICC line and home treatment.  Problem is, we don't have home health care benefits so it would have meant a hospital stay, which is reallllllllly a pain for oh so many reasons.  Not least of its an excellent place to get sicker, not better, particularly when dealing with a UTI in a spinal cord injured person.  

However, it turns out that the doc recommended gentamyacin, which can be given by IV or by IM injection, a huge dose given every day for 7 days.  So, he got an injection there in the office and we were supposed to come back every day to have another injection every day.  The weekend was a problem though, since they are closed, so I asked if I could do it.  Sure!  Then I realized, well, if I'm gonna do it over the weekend, I might as well do it all and save us the 2 hours a day it would take minimum to get there and back ... and the $60 COPAY for a specialist visit every day.  Gulp.  More on that in a minuute.  So, the girl (I'm a pig, I know, I know, but she was a girl) showed me how to do it, the doc gave us the prescription, called our pharmacist who ordered the meds in so they would be here today.  They loaded us up with syringes and needles, and I got the meds today. 

I stared down the bottle, the needle, the syringe and went for it.  Swabbed top of the vial with alcohol, pushed 2 ml of air into container, just as the pharmacist told me to do to avoid a vacuum when sucking the drug out.  Drew up the 2 mL of drug.  Failed.  I only got about 1.25 mL.  And given it vitally impt to get all of this medicine down the muscle hatch, I was a bit distressed.  Luckily, I had them write him for an extra day's worth of drug for just this reason, so I got another needle and tried again.  Success this time.  Swabbed his leg with alcohol, jabbed him, Then I went for the second dose (third vial) because he has to take 4 ml (80 mg of gent) and failed again, same thing, could only pull up about 1.25 mL even though I did it the same way.  Hmmm.  Not wanting to waste another vial, I gave him the 1.25 mL injection, then put a new needle on the syringe, alcohol swabbed the top off again, then plunged it in and pulled up the remaining gent.  Jabbed him again (the one small advantage is that he doesn't feel any of this thank god .... then again, not being able to feel, this whole paralysis thing, is how he got the UTI to start with... hmmm, I guess its a draw).  As I'm jabbing him he says "You're not pushing air in there are you?!".  So now with visions of air emboli hurtling through his body and choking off his brain in less than 30 seconds, I push the remaining gent in and wait for him to die.  Thankfully, he didn't die (yet). 

I had no idea it was so intimidating to give an injection.  Only 6 more days of this, by which time I'll be an expert.  Wheeler said that I've watched enough Intervention on A & E that I oughta know how to do this by now.  True that.  If heroin addicts can do it, so can I.  I bet they worry less though.

And if anyone wants an injection, let me know.  Just bring your own drug of choice, the gent is ours.

One of my biggest fears

I have a huge fear of choking when it comes to Wheeler.  

With anyone choking is very scary, but with Wheeler its extremely scary because he has a very poor swallow/gag reflex due to his injury - which makes him more likely to choke in the first place but also almost totally unable to cough anything up.  Then, put him in a wheelchair, strapped down in 5 places (2 feet straps, a seatbelt, 2 arms bands, a chest strap and chin control) - it would be really hard to get him out of the chair fast enough and be able to somehow administer the heimlich maneveur since his legs are limp noodles.  So I've always had a fear of him choking and I'm hypervigilant about it.  Well, it happened on Monday, he choked.  After 6.5 years together, its kinda amazing it took this long for it to happen.  

He was in bed, I was feeding him ramen noodles (don't blame me, I just make what he asks for, there's no accounting for taste).  He took a drink of water and it all got bungled up in his throat somehow.  I saw the look in his eyes that said "trouble".  I asked if he was choking - in the past when I've asked, its always been a false alarm and he would just say no, albeit sputtering most of the time. But this time, he didn't answer when I asked him, his eyes were just wide open staring hard at me.  For a split second I wondered if he really was since he didn't say he was choking, then in the next split second I realized he can't talk because HE IS CHOKING.

I am a good person to be around in an emergency.  I focus immediately, I stay calm cool collected and I just move into a zone, I just act and don't feel any emotion at all.  And thats what kicked in at that moment.  I made a plan and executed it.  First I just pulled him forward and thumped him open-handed on the upper back a few times.  Nothing.  I hit him much harder, with a closed fist, very hard, down in the middle of his back.  Nothing.  I leaned back around to see how I could best jump behind him, hoist him up to try to do a real Heimlich and I caught his eyes again.  There was panic in his eyes, and for a moment, I felt the same panic kicking in.  But I fought it, and I decided I would give him one last thump before I tried to somehow get behind him.  The thought crossed my mind of calling 911 but one can only be oxygen deprived for 4 minutes before brain damage begins, so I would have wasted precious seconds calling and there is no way anyone could have gotten here in less than 4 minutes, especially since we were already 1 minute in by this time. 

I leaned him over again, as much as possible at the waist to keep the airway straight, I wound up my left arm, balled up my fist and I hit him with all my might, a punch worth of Muhammed Ali, pushing as much presure from bottom to top as I hit as I could.  In response, I heard the most beautiful sound I've ever heard - a  gasp of air in.  He coughed weakly and swallowed over and over again, while still struggling to breathe.  I wasn't entirely sure he could fully breathe so I asked if I needed to hit him again and he shook his head no (of course, he may have decided death was preferrable to another punch like that).  After a few minutes he was breathing normally again.  And that's when I panic - after the fact.  I just starting to tremble and shake head to foot because I realized that he could have so easily have died right then and there.  It was very frightening and just underscores what a bitch spinal cord injury is all around.  Its not that you just can't feel or move, there is SO much more.  At Wheeler's level, you can't pee or poop anymore - you need a tube to pee and you just don't even want to know about the back door.  Your lung function is compromised, your immune system is compromised, you are subject to bone breaks because you can't feel your limbs if they get pinched or stretched in the wrong direction, prone to pressure sores because you sit in one place for so long, you get urinary tract infections (see previous about tubes to pee, they carry bugs quite effectively), you get fungal infections, which are opportunistic since there is little airflow due to lack of movement, and then there's the higher risk of everything from depression to heart disease.  SCI sucks.  Alot.  And so much more than it seems on the surface, and it sure seems shitty even on the surface.


Moral of the story?  Don't break your neck.  And learn the Heimlech maneuver.