Sigh....

I'm sure this will be funny someday, but it really really wasn't when it happened. And I'm still struggling to find the humor in it.

I duly started cleaning the house. I was doing great - I even emptied out two dressers in our bedroom and emptied the closet from clothes so I can organize clothes into (a) throw away (b) give away and (c) keep. My guess is that it should be about 30/50/20 split between those three categories. After I dumped everything out, my dad came over and the neighbor from across the treet came over and helped me move one dresser to the other side of the room, which frees up alot more space for Wheeler's wheelchair. We moved the other dresser down the wall, and moved the television to be centered on that dresser (finally, its been askance for 2 years!). To do all of this, I had to unhook all of the sterero components completely and then put them all back together. Somehow, it all worked - my dad hooked all the components up for me (so as to save me and Wheeler from filing for divorce - recall the 'just put that thing right there' conversation recently).

I started piling clothes into categories (a) and (b) together and then the (c) keep pile. As I was tossing something on one of the piles .... phssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhttttttttttt!!!! Suddenly yellow fog was blowing everywhere. I couldn't figure out the source and kept yelling 'what the hell? what the hell?' and I finally figured out that the fire extinguisher was under the clothing pile I was making and the lever had depressed. Which caused it to put out the fire that didn't exist. After I figured it out I shouted SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Which caused Offspring to say "why are you saying shit mommy?".

Sigh.

There were yellow piles of anti-fire stuff everywhere. On the bed, on the floor, on the clothes, in the bathroom, everywhere. I'm glad it was in the toss/donate pile because that stuff doesn't come out at all. I rolled a giant trash bin in the house and tossed all of the clothes in the trash. Then I vacuumed for a long, long time - I even had to get out various attachments to get it sucked up. Then I cleaned up with a rag. Over and over again. Changed the bed sheets, mopped the bathroom floor, washed the windows, vacuumed again. Then I quit, it was so demoralizing, I just could not get back to cleaning/organizing. And I had to give the do what I say not what I do talk to Offpsring about all the swearing. Mother of the year I am.

And now I have a half ripped apart house that looks horrible. This is very depressing. 

Gimp awareness day

Offspring's chic haircut salon was in downtown Raleigh. Its an unexciting downtown generally speaking and really run down with the exception of one street that was renovated. But this was not the street we were on. The contrast between the new construction area where we live and downtown Raleigh was rather stark - not just in look and feel, but most importantly to us, in accessability.

First, we parked in a parking lot where there was no sidewalk connecting the lot where we parked to the salon entrance; I undershot it by one parking lot. So Wheeler had to wheel it out in the street. That wasn't so bad. Then after we left the salon we wanted to find a place to eat. In looking for a place to eat, we encountered:

• Run down broken up sidewalks that posed hazards for man and beast - especially the man in the large, heavy powerchair and the beast attached to the side of said chair.
• Curb cuts that were rudimentary at best, but then ramped up onto sidewalks with an up or down angle so steep that his wheelchair would not go up them, which forced him into the street instead.
• A rough and bumpy railroad track crossing that freaked me out because I was (likely irrationally) afraid that his wheel would get caught in the big rough divots of the tracks.
• A restaurant that put out chairs and tables on the sidewalk such that it took up the entire sidewalk - meaning, he could not roll through. Able bodied pedestrians could squeeze around the chairs by skirting around the tree between the sidewalk and the road, but wheelchairs don't skirt. I moved all of the chairs, pushed the tables in and moved their velvet rope type enclosure that was meant to block off the tables and chairs to let him and Dog through. Then I left all of the tables and chairs there 'cause it really annoyed me they blocked the entire sidewalk.
• There were places where the sidewalk was closed, which meant we had to either cross the street to use the (run down, narrow, obstacled) sidewalk on the other side of the road, or he had to wheel out in the street where a car could easily sideswipe Dog or them both. I absloutely insisted that he cross and use the sidewalk on the other side of the street and then he was peeved at me because (as he said) he's been gimpy for 19 years and knows how to roll around safely .... but I don't want him dead! It's not him that I worry about, its the idiots behind the wheel who don't expect a wheelchair and a dog on the street. So I chose his temporary ire to a possible car vs. wheelchair/dog problem.
• Most stores/restaurants had a handicapped entrance somewhere, but it was in a funny place or was a really circuitous route to get in. That wasn't so bad in and of itself, we've had to do that before, but never at every single place we went to. After about the third time, I began to feel sorta excluded, I guess is the way to say it. Even though we could get in. It's hard to explain without sounding like a crip with a chip, as Wheeler puts it. It was separate but equal. Except it didn't feel equal. I'm really not sure how else to explain that.
• Then to top it all off, when we left the restaurant and looped back around the block to where we parked, there was no sidewalk (again). It was actually a wide road, and very lightly traveled, so I wasn't worried that we'd be maimed, and us walking there didn't impinge on the roadway at all because the shoulder was very wide. But a kindly gentlemen in a brand new Camry drove past us, accelerated as he did, and laid on his horn while making a gesture at us of "what the hell are you doing on the road, get out of my way!". Oh, ok. Soooooooooo sorry that his WHEELCHAIR and broken neck inconvenienced you in some unknown way. I was torn because running up to him at the stopsign a half block up from us and inform him that Wheeler's wheel cost more than his brand new shiny car and feeling like I'd been socked in the stomach.

By the time we left, I felt really disillusioned and kinda down. The thing is that I am famously oblivious to Wheeler's disability - I guess its part of why I answered his personal ad, which led to our courtship and marriage. Chair shmair, who cares. I wear shoes he wears wheels. After a week of meeting each other, he asked me "are you sure you don't mind that I can't move my arms and legs?". I looked at him quizzically then said "does it bother you that I can move mine?".

But when the obstacles of disability were so in-my-face all afternoon, it just sucked. I was glad to come home to our new construction snooty suburb with brand new sidewalks, curb cuts everywhere and businesses with accessible entrances.

You see things with new eyes when you look at the world from that of a seated position.

So much for a teachable moment and sleeping at the movies

I am a good mother. A really good mother actually. But ya know, sometimes it just don' work all the time. Like throwing a dart at a moving (5 year old) target. Yesterday was "caring" day at the Y. He was supposed to dress in red to symbolize caring. Not sure what the connection is between red and caring but that's neither here nor there. Tuesday is honesty day it is green day. Not the band. So anyway. Like a good mom, I dressed him in a red shirt and red socks (his race car socks, his favorite). First of all, finding two MATCHING socks, particularly designed matching socks is an accomplishment of the highest order in this house. Several people can attest to the fact that our house eats socks. As in munches them up and swallows. I'm convinced if I went under the house in the crawl space I would find gads of undigested socks. I also put him in his red shoes - very snazzy - slip ons from LL Bean. But alas, they were too small so we went with bright blue and white. Mama is a shoe horse and is trying to teach her son to be one too. This boy has more shoes than any kid, well boy, I guarantee.

As a good mother, I decide that on the way to the Y, we'll have bonding time and learning time all rolled into one and talk about caring. I told him that I cared about him, that was a very important trait to have and he answered me with all of the people he cared about, starting with MOI!

Full stop. The last sentence was a complete fabrication. Oh wait, the last sentence was full stop. ... well, you know what I mean. I said what I said and as I said it the whole time he was saying "HMMMM!" in that snotty little boy way. Huffing and harumphing his way through my little "teachable moment" to show me he was NOT interested in what I had to say. When I asked him if he cared about anyone, he said "NO! NOBODY! And not you!". Hmmmmm. One of those mothering dilemmas. Do I said "well young man, if you don't START caring about me, I'm going wup ya until you CARE about me stoppin!"# (a version of the beating will continue until morale improves ... a sign I had in my swank corporate office when I did swank corporate things). But no, of course I don't say that - I just thinked it really really loud.

I just said "hmmmmm. Is there anyone you care about?". Small Boy: "NO! And I don't wanna talk about caring!" So much for bonding, teachable moments, etc. Instead we rode in silence with Small Boy opening and closing the window the rest of the way.

Last night I got talking to someone about the Da Vinci code movie and I was reminded of Wheeler's high degree of interest in it. He was keen to see a movie, we go to the movies annually (this is not an exaggeration unfortunately!). So Da Vinci code it was. After the first 10 mins of the movie in which there is tons of action and excitement, to my horror, I hear REALLY LOUD snoring coming from the man in a wheelchair next to me. As I had of course no idea who this person could possibly be, I could not know such a creature, I merely socked the poor soul in the shoulder to wake him up. It didn't work, but the next snore did. SNNNOORRRRRRTTTTTTTT! It was so loud that Wheeler (ok, OK! I knew the guy, it was my husband) woke himself up. The whole theatre was consumed with quiet giggles, laughs of people trying not the laugh. Meanwhile I shrunk down in my chair in sheer and total embarrassment whilst Wheeler looks around confused saying "what?". Blogauthor sinks lower into seat ..... Next time we go I'm adminstering caffeine to him by IV before and throughout the show.

Things that make me laugh

• Finding a plumber who has a "service 4 toilets get one free" coupon. As it happens, I have 5 toilets with SERIOUS issues, so I guess I'll only pay for four.
• The song "Milkshake". And I know it also amuses at least one other reader here.
• My kid when he puts his hands on his hips and says "uhhh, mom! Like that is soooo last week" whilst rolling his eyes looking evah so cool. I have, of course, no earthly idea where he got that from.
• When said plumber calls me and says "what brand are your toilets?" and I reply "uhhhhhhhh. white?"
• Wheeler falling asleep in his chair with his head rolling forth and back hitting the button that goes BEEP! and makes his chair drive, watch him wake up in a panic and stop the chair. Repeat. About 18 times in succession. (I took pity today and turned his chair off when he fell asleep ... note to self: be sure to turn chair on again at some point ...)
• Wallace and Gromit
• The frenzy and panic whipped up 'round here when one flake of snow is predicted.

The absurdity of life never ceases to amaze me!

The Seven Circles of Hell

If you know me, you know what that means. Yes, I went there. There-there. The first circle of hell was driving there realizing what an ethical breach I was making by shopping there. The 2nd and 3rd circles were literal - trying to park while fighting to get away from people who fervently believed that the 79th -from-the-front and 83rd-from-the-front parking spaces were exceptionally worth crashing one's car over. So after I parked about 1.3 miles away in another parking lot altogether (somehow it made me feel less dirty about it all), I approached it. It-it. Wwww. No, I can't say it yet.

As I enter (name here), the 4th circle appeared. I see this woman right in front of me wearing super extra duper super tight leggings. They showed every single jiggle, jangle and wiggle waggle of her ummm, "ample" thighs and legs. Over this was a very old and ripped plaid shirt that obviously belonged to her husband about 2 decades ago. He was next to her wearing an equally appalling outfit. Their kid then promptly ran me down on those godforsaken things called heelies. I wanted to shout "I HAVE A HEAD INJURY, GET AWAY YE DEVIL, AWAY!!"

I then go in, get my items quickly - of which the primary one I had to get, an Rx prescription, was not attainable because the pharmacy was closed (the 5th circle, I had gone here in vain). WTF? If there is any place on earth where a pharmacy would be open on say, Christmas Day at 3 am, it would be .. wahhh. wwww... no, can't do it yet.

Taking a deep breath, I approached the 6th circle of hell (I think 5-1/2 was somewhere around the guy elbowing me out of the way to get cold medicine, who then promptly turned around and *sneezed* on me. thankyousomuchsir). The checkouts. There were 21 regular ones, 8 express and 8 self checkouts. Of those that were open, there were a minimum of 4 giant carts awaiting their turns to be rung up. So I waited patiently, browsing impulse items, seeing HOW STARS LOSE 10 POUNDS IN TWO DAYS!! and finally it was my turn. $53 later (how can bandages cost this much?) I started to leave, much to my relief.

Then, the 7th circle appeared right in front of me. The security guy. Wearing some faux intimidating stupid ass wannabe police type outfit (I am sooooooo not fooled), he asked me for my receipt. I replied "why? do you think I stole something?". And he said "Policy ma'am". I said "it's a bad one" and waltzed right out as he shouted after me. I figured he could tackle me to the ground and check my receipt to find that I am, indeed, an upstanding non-thieving citizen or he could just kiss my ass. He chose the latter.

Alright then, I think I'm ready to say it. Big breath. Please don't hate me. I am ashamed, really, I am.

Preview

I went to Wal Mart

Flashback Halloween post

My Small Boy is at the absolute perfect age for Halloween - age 5. He dressed up tonight as Darth Vadar and pounced about wearing a dark cape, dark clothes and his mask ... and lime green shoes, lol! Other than the lime green shoes, he was verrrrry scary. He truly believed that the grown ups at the doors believed he was Darth Vadar and he would breathe menacingly at them as they pretended to be scared. He would then sprint down the sidewalk and tell me how he had really fooled them mommy, they really thought I was darth vadar mommy!!

This neighborhood does Halloween in a BIG way. Every other house (ours included) had scary music or something like monster mash blaring out the window, decorations galore, and the coolest thing ever is that there is a guy who lives nearby on a farm who brings his tractor and a trailer over with hay bales on the trailer. He drives really slowly all over our neighborhood and kids can hop on and off anytime. He makes slow circles all around so you can put your kid on, wait and he'll eventually come back. :) I rode with Small Boy and it was just so much fun. He waved his light saber (or is it sabre?) at everyone we drove past.

He trick or treated at daddy's first so by the time he got home here, he was pretty tuckered out. And since I never let him (ok, VERY rarely let him) have candy, he wasn't all goosed up about getting 10 tons of candy in his bucket. He went to a few houses .... most importantly grandma and grandpa's - who were of course totally fooled, had NO idea it was their grandson inside of that scary darth vadar suit - and then a few more that I wanted him to go to because they are friends, and he was done. He loved sitting on our porch and giving out treats.

I had dog treats and kid treats. So all comers were first asked "Are you a dog or a kid?" I would then herd all kids to the left side of the porch and point at the candy and warned them not to eat the dog treats. :) If they had a dog at home or with them, they could take a dog treat too. I judged costumes and held up a card that said "10!" for every kid and proclaimed each costume the absolute best of the night. It was soooooo cute to see the looks on their faces because they really believed me, that they got a 10 and they were the BEST! Hope none of those 4 and 5 year olds compare notes today. *snicker*

It was really fun. Not too many more years like this to enjoy with him. He is getting so old .... birthday is soon ..... *sniff, sniff*

The Rabbit Autopsy

I don't think I'm a regular mom. I'm quite sure of it actually.

In the large grassy area behind our house, there were about 15 kids swarmed around something on the ground. The kids were all saying “EWWWWWWWWWW! GROSSSSS!!! YUCK!!!! DON'T TOUCH IT!!!! I DARE YOU TO TOUCH IT!!!!”.

To this chorus of exclamations, I emerged on the scene from behind the bushes. All the children then gasped in horror at the sight of a mom (any mom, not even their own) being there. They then rapidly dispersed into 8 different directions. Note here that I had not said one word, nothing. I was just standing there, being a mom. Clearly, they were doing something they were not supposed to be doing.

But now that all of the kids were gone, my 6 year old and I looked at each other and I said, "Wonder what'sover there!? Must be something really good!" and off we went, high tailin' it to the spot where the kids had been peering.

And there it was in all its glory: a dead rabbit. But not just dead. Decapitated dead. As in the head was simply clean bitten off, no head whatsoever, everything else was completely intact with just a hole where the head should be. We both gasped in horror, but once we got over the shock factor, we both collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Now. At this point, all "regular" moms would shriek in horror "Boy! Get away from that thing!! It could have germs, it could be toxic, it could have rabies, GET AWAY FROM IT RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN!". Then I'd shoo him away (after which he'd of course sneak out of the house unbeknownst to me at some later time to investigate it further). But as I said – I am not a regular mom.

First, I figured if the head was merely missing, it was not likely to be sick or rabid, just a little too slow on the draw. That whole-nature-weeding-out-the-stupid theory. And you know what - a rabbit body with a hole for a head really is funny… and rather interesting. The boy looked at me, I looked at him. He said enthusiastically "If we got a big stick we could cram it down the head hole and see what's down there there".

Two big sticks and 10 minutes later, we had completely ripped the rabbit's guts out. Completely. By holding it down with my stick, we used his stick to pry stuff out from the head hole. We pulled out its heart, lungs, stomach, and intestines. And let me tell you, rabbit intestines are long - although in all fairness, it was a huge rabbit. We tried to stretch them out to see how long they would be, but that was not possible to do without touching it, which even I, as an irregular mom, would not allow. After our full, but crude, autopsy was complete, we buried him - or her, as I'm not sure if that was a uterus or its anal cavity we pulled out.

As we did this, all of the aforementioned 15 kids spied on us from a safe distance away, behind hedges and obviously opaque objects such as soccer goal nets. All of them probably wishing they had a mom like me.

So, this is why I'm not a regular mom. And this is why my kid will be in therapy someday, discussing all of the irregular acts I committed during his tender developmental years. Like eviscerating rabbits with him at age six.

Mommy, I fink I swallowed it

Yesterday was an eventful day. Why? you ask .... let me count the ways.

Small Boy and I had breakfast at McDonald's yesterday AM as a treat for sleeping in his own bed all night the night before. (and no potty accident, bonus points, woo hoo!) As usual, I had coffee only since (say it together) .. there is nothing I can eat there. Except hash browns but they are uber bad for you and besides, I'm uber sick of them. So, Small Boy had pancakes and sausage (3 sausages actually, he got one extra on the side, his and he stole Wheeler's sausage off the to-go order I got for him). Just as we were finishing up and about to leave, he stops chewing, looks up at me and holds his plastic fork up. It was missing a tyne. So I said "Spit everything into my hand!" and held out my hand. "Ev-ree-fing?" and said with a mouthful of pancakes "YES". So he leaned down and spit out an enormous amount of food. I picked through it all (yes, it was gross) but found no fork tyne. Just as I was to tell him to open his mouth again, he said "Mommy? I fink I swallowed it". Then he touched his throat and did the crane thing, stretching his neck around. "It feels funny in my froat". I gave him some milk and told him to take a big, big drink hoping it would wash down and not pierce his esophagus. He did, it apparently went down. 

We got in the car and I was driving him towards school when I got thinking about perforation and such things. It was plastic, but still, it was the pointy part of the fork and the part that pulled off left a ragged sharp edge. Silently swearing to myself for not keeping the evidence in my multi billion dollar lawsuit against McDonalds, I called the pediatrician. I explained the situation to the nurse and there was a small moment of silence. She said "welllll, I'll have to ask the doctor about that, I'm not sure what to say to that!" (since it would not show on an xray, etc). She called me back quickly and the doctor said to have him eat alot, chew it particularly well, and to drink alot of fluids. And to bring him to the ER immediately if he had any kind of stomach pain. GAH! So I took him to school and gave them those full instructions, gave them my phone numbers, his dad's phone numbers and I wrote my phone number in black Sharpie across his forehead. OK, I didn't really, it was an ink pen. Ha. 

It was at that point that I realized I'd forgotten his backpack and that it was "respect" day and he was supposed to wear a yellow shirt. So I zoomed home and got his backpack and fruitlessly searched for his single yellow shirt. I took his backpack in the school and chatted again with the staff and the morning's adventures and that it was my fault he was not wearing yellow, so could he please get a sticker anyway, etc, etc and I went back to the car. I put my purse in the other seat and then realized I WAS STILL WEARING HIS BACKPACK! Ugh. So into the school I go, and this time merely punt the backpack in and say nary a word as everyone laughed. Only me.

So then I bolt back home because I have a doctor's appoint in 45 mins and I have to take care of Wheeler, feed him, take a shower and drive to the doctor. I managed to do all of that and I got to my appointment 1 minute early. Except that the fire trucks I had observed screaming down the road ahead of me back about a mile were now parked at my doctor's office building. Which houses a surgical suite in the basement. The firefighters were pulling on their gear quickly, the fire alarm was urgently beeping through the whole building, the fire hydrant was on and several of them were poised to drag the hoses in. One of them said something into their radio and then zoooom, they went into the building with their fire hoses. I observed all this from a sensible distance of at least 500 feet away .... I mean, hello - there is a surgical suite downstairs - do you have any idea of how that stuff could blow in a fire? Everyone else was milling around on the sidewalk in front of the building. But not my doctor, I spied him an equally far distance away but on the right side of the building ... smart man, I knew then I'd made an excellent choice in doctors.

After about 20 mins, they gave the all clear and everyone wandered back in. Actually many people went back in before the all clear signal was given. HUH? I went in and sat in the lobby area of my doctor's office. When I walked in, there was a massive man, probably 400-500 pounds - no exaggeration - sitting on the bench in his office. I said something about the fire stuff just to make conversation when he informed me that he had not moved, that he was only going to leave if he actually saw the fire. Oooooo-kay. Right about then, a very tall and very thin man came in and waited for the receptionist to come to the desk (they weren't back yet). As he paced around complaining about no one being there, I told him they probably weren't back yet from the fire alarm. Being clueless that there had been a fire alarm (despite the presence of 4-5 emergency vehicles still out front and firemen still milling about in the building) and he said "WHAT? So it's okay for us to come in but its not okay for the doctors (note: in a sing songy voice on the word doctors) to come back in??? I see where the priorities are here, no one care about ... " (it was at this point that I stopped listening, doing a mental la-la-la with my fingers mentally in my ears. So I'm in there with conspiracy-clueless guy and I-won't-leave-until-the-flames-lick-my-feet guy. Grrrrrrrreat.

I blanked out on the rest, all I know is that I saw the doc and came away in a cast boot. AGAIN!!!!!!!!!! For those who have not been intimately involved in every aspect of my life, I broke my heel bone last Sept and ripped the fascia tendon at the same time. I ended up having surgery on it to fix it. Fast forward to now, I have an unrelated highly painful problem in the same damn foot. I have an extra bone in a joint. So he has to hack it out. In a cast boot until surgery (probably first week in Sept) and then a cast for 2-4 weeks after, limited weight bearing and then 6-8 weeks of PT with a cast boot. He said it's a rather big deal surgery - translate: it's gonna hurt like a mofo. (the doc is a pal of mine, he actually said "it's gonna hurt like a motherfucker"!). Grrreat. 

I'm pretty sure something else weird happened yesterday but I'm trying not to remember.

OH!!!!!!!!!!! WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy smokes, it is suuuuuuh-WEET! The headrest and chin control thing are very Star-Trekky excellento. When I figure out how to post photos, I will. It is way awesome. The only downside is that it silently slinks across the floor with a barely perciptable 'ssss' sound. Now he can sneak up on me dammit. His old chair (Bessie) creaked and groaned every step of the way so I always knew where he was and his progress throughout the house! Damn, I'll have to be more sneaky now since he can be. Small Boy is very excited about the new chair. He demanded a ride in it already.

Battleship

Small Boy had been pestering me for weeks to buy him the game Battleship. But, importantly, it had to be the travel version at Barnes and Noble. Brand loyal already. I finally gave in and we went to the (brand) book store and bought it. Being ever so frugal, I used our 10% membership card and then I also had a 15% additional off card. So $12.43 later, he had his coveted Battleship in his hot little hands. As we were walking to the car, he ripped the box open before I even looked back to hold his hand to cross the road (bahhhwak) (sorry, couldn't help myself). Imagining hundreds of tiny little pieces of travel size Battleship spilling all over my car and the ensuing catastrophe that would ensue, I had one of those brilliant-mommy moments. Spying "On the Border" across the parking lot, I said in uber-cheerful voice: "Hey! Do you want to go OUT for dinner?". He said, no, that he wanted to play his game. I replied that we would play his game - at the restaurant, we could play before we ordered and while we waited and after we ate, PLUS he'd get a smoothie (virgin daiquiri). That won him over.

We proceeded to the restaurant; I opened all the tiny little bags with tiny little subs, aircraft carriers and pegs (white and red ... remember?). As I searched for anything remotely celiac-friendly to eat, we started playing. And damn it is wasn't the best time I've had in months! The game was just at his level; not too complicated, not too easy. And it carried lots of pleasant childhood memories of playing Battleship with my brother. We played and played, and laughed and laughed ... and it was really cool watching him learn, right before my eyes. He started understanding that if you got a hit in one space, the you should search in the nearby spaces instead of making a random guess. Then I started putting my ships in a pattern (like a T for example) and tell him there was a pattern, and to find it. We giggled and laughed and I genuinely had fun, not just the 'fakey mom sure is having fun!' thing.

Since Small Boy's hearing has been partially restored, he has less comprehension on volume - so he was SHOUTING most of the time (since everything now sounds REALLY LOUD to him, he talks in response REALLY LOUD). But for once, no one gave us a dirty look, not a single person. Every one around us gave us smiles and laughs because he was just so cute and probably because they remembered playing Battleship as a kid or with their kids, or both.

It was a great mom moment. 

Well, the chair is ready but Wheeler's sitter-downer is not. So I've had to torture him all day keeping him rolled on one side or the other. But now I'm worried about creating a pressure sore on one of his sides, so I have very cleverly put a huge stack on pillows under the small of his back, thereby lifting his buns off the bed mostly. So he is laying here next to in this bizarro position, like the hollow of a footbridge. He is such a good sport. Me? I'd be pissin' and moanin' 24/7. But then again, we all know who is the better half in this relationship. 

An inauspicious start to my day

Actually, it was starting with last night. Usually I stay up until 11:30 pm so I can take of Wheeler's needs, and then I go to sleep after that. Last night however, I was so tired that I fell asleep at 9:30 pm and then I had to wake up at 11 pm to take care of Wheeler. It was TORTURE. I must have just fallen into deep coma-like sleep right before that because it felt like he was talking to me down into a deep, dark hole. He kept asking me to get up and cath (for the quadriplegic uninitiated: take a pee for) him and to get him something to eat. I just could. not. get. up. It was awful. Then he gave up asking me and he BIT MY HAIR WITH HIS TEETH AND PULLED. @#(*%&***#)())!%+@ That really ticked me off!! I snapped at him "DON'T BITE MY HAIR" and then I stayed in bed even longer to teach him a lesson. I cannot believe that he pulled my hair with his teeth! After I finally did get up, I made it perfectly crystal clear that pulling my hair was never, ever, ever, ever going to happen again. Or he'd be a dead man. And I 90% mean it!!!! Boy, that made me mad.

So that started it last night, then this morning, I poured myself a nice big glass of cold, delicious milk. As I was helping Small Boy put his shoes on for school, I told him "watch out for mama's milk on the table". He then promptly kicked it over (accidentally). Trying to follow the motto about not crying over split milk, I calmly got a towel and cleaned it up. Got more milk. All is well again.

When I got back from delivering Small Boy to school, I made a hot steaming pot of coffee to drink while I worked on a proposal. Ahhhhhh. Smelled so good. Tasted so good! I put my coffee on the same (damn) table as my milk had been earlier. About then, my computer battery waved a white flag asked for reinforcements. So I got the charger cord, bent in between the couch and the table ......... and my coffee spilled. This time, not only all over the floor, but also all over me. Sigh.

I was then late to my son's "parents day" at school. He had told me breathlessly the night before that he really wanted me to come. I told him of course I would be there! Then I was 20 mins late into a 40 minute event (lunch and a small "program"). At least I saw the program, but I felt like a total slouch / bad / slacker mom. He begged me to take him home from lunch and feeling so bad about being late, I agreed. At this point, for some reason I started getting really, really itchy hives all over the place. I have been getting these alot lately and have no idea why. So I was itching like a maniac and needed to get to a pharmacy ASAP to get something to help. Small Boy, knowing I was in a hurry, chose then to annoy me and refused to get in his seat. It took 10 l...o...n....g minutes to get him buckled in, whilst I am scratching like a dog with fleas - alot of fleas.

Then my luck turned, Target was the closest place and we went there. The parking lot was stuffed full so I turned to go down the aisle to the way far back when suddenly, there it was. IT. THE FRONT PARKING SPACE. As in the very first one after the handicapped parking. I whipped my little car in and hopped out with pep in my step. I am one of THOSE people now! People who occupy that very front space, the people who are always there and you wonder who they are, how they got that spot (maybe they came at 4 am and waited for the store to open?). I am now one of them, the brother/sisterhood of primo parking spaces.

So I haven't had any more good luck today but I'll take just that. This is how I know my life is just a little too dull. When I write an entire paragraph about getting the front parking space.

Oh, by the way, my body is a patchwork quilt of pink calamine right now. It is very fetching on me. I need to get my pink purse out to match my skin.

New computer - ugh

A new computer is a good thing, right? &#@*%)@!&%_7^@!!!! It is really, really, really super annoying to have a new computer. Here are the things one must do with a new computer before you can have even one iota of functionality:

• Figure out how to turn the damn thing on (3 mins)
• Find the power cord to plug it in because of course the battery comes flat dead (2 mins)
• Find the discs for all your nifty new programs, read the tiny, tiny little numbers to be able to launch ANY program. This step requires your 5 year old son to read the numbers to you because you are old and cannot read that small anymore. Grrrr. As if I needed to reminded how old I am getting. (19 mins)
• Register all said products on 32 different websites, hoping that you unchecked all the boxes that say "I accept 412 spam emails a day on new updates!!". (32 mins)
• Give computer to Small Boy to examine as it is a source of great curiousity. (10 seconds)
• Allow Small Boy to play pinball for awhile as that is the only program that actually works without needing any installing. This is an evil plot to suck in young users. (15 mins)
• Wrest new computer back from Small Boy (7 mins)
• Set up your email accounts (18 mins per account, and never did get my work email set up)
• Keep clicking NO to the hundreds of windows that pop up asking you to update this that and the other. Why does a NEW computer straight out of the box need updates anyway? This is an extension of the evil plot.
• Go for a soda and walk around to calm down from computer agggravation (45 mins)

This is where I am. I love my new computer. I love my new computer!

So, we went back to Dr. Ear today and got good news and bad. The good news is the same as before: his hearing has definitely improved. However, the bad news is that he still has some loss, conductive hearing loss. This is the type of hearing that is conducted through the bones in your head, nasal cavitiy, ears. They don't know why, but it is likely related to the bizzaro inner ear structure they saw during his marathon surgery. But otherwise all is well. The eardrum is intact, and most importantly: HE CAN SWIM AGAIN! We are going to a "class" at a toy store to learn about colors (ha, a class = scam to buy toys: his father signed him up for this). After that, we are going to the swimming pool, woo-hoo!

The other day, Small Boy's dad said that Small Boy actually cried, as in real tears and sniffles, that the Canes season is over! Yup, I think Wheeler converted him for life. He will rival our Canadian pal one of these days as the world's biggest Hurricanes fan. Every night he makes a hockey shrine (he calls it a hockey fort) to sleep in. It's very cute. :)

Wheeler's woes are near an end; his infections are all getting better and his pressure sore is nearly healed. So soon we should be back to regular life.

I'm sure I have other things to say, it's been several days since I posted, but I don't remember anything else. I'm having post-traumatic-new-computer-disorder.

How to tie shoes

Offspring is currently learning to tie his shoes. He was practicing and I was busy doing something else and so I told him to have Wheeler help him do it. As I was flitting about the house doing whatever it was that I doing, I heard Wheeler saying ....

Errr. Uhhhh. uummmmm, well first I think there's somthing about a bush.

(pause)


Hmmmm. Can you make a loop?

(pause)


.... then I think you ... ummm .... uhhhh....



(pause) 


Puzzled, I came in and Wheeler admitted he could not remember how to tie shoes. I doubled over in laughter and Julian announced "WHEELER!!! You're a grownen-up - you are 'posed to know how to tie shoes" in a very annoyed lisp little boy voice and hands on his little boy hips. 

Wheeler admitted that since he hadn't tied his own shoes in 18 years, and that he flat forgot how to. It makes me giggle every time I think about. 

I am pleased to inform you though Offspring can tie his shoes now. No thanks to Wheeler though! 

A new dishwasher, yippee!

It's how I know I'm a responsible adult. And especially a responsible adult mother. I am overcome with joy that my new Bosch dishwasher came today, and was delivered and installed courtesy of my father. My old dishwasher slowly crapped out on me over the last few months. And for the last month it was totally unusable so I was washing dishes by hand - oh joy of joys. For the clever reader, you'll recall my ingenious method of kitchen cleaning, throwing a towel over all the dishes? Yup, that's coz I had no dishem-a-washer to put them in. Life will be so much better now - and cleaner! Although I will still refuse to use actual dishes and glasses. Paper all the way. Dishwasher will be for pots, pans, etc.

Small Boy is done with his first "track" of school. In year round school, there are 4 tracks and each track goes for 9 weeks of school, then 3 weeks off and this repeats year round. Because school had to start somewhere, his first track was only 3 weeks long and now he's on a 3 week "track out". Then he'll be on the normal 9/3/9/3, etc. He is signed up for the YMCA trackout program where they have themes for each week - like pirates, volcanoes, space, etc. He is super excited about going. It is so nice that he loves school and the Y because it would be very very hard for mama to send him there if he cried. I saw a mom in the hallway the other day; her son is in Small Boy's class, and he was sobbing and clinging to her (after 2 weeks in school). That poor mom, my heart ached for her. She said to me afterwards that her boy is fine after 10-15 mins in the classroom but that he sobs every day for her not to leave him there. So it makes me really glad that Small Boy is happy with school. I'm pretty sure I've have a nervous breakdown .... or home school him, lol! ... if he cried before school every day.

Well, Wheeler's yeast infection finally, finally was better. The open bleeding sores had just healed as of 2 nights ago and were forming scar tissue. I have been using this Aveeno stuff his mom suggested and it has been great - very dry and soothing. The last thing he needs is a wet agent, so this Aveeno stuff has been a godsend. Anyway, as I rolled him about in the bed to change the sheets 2 nights ago, I noticed a small spot on his uhhhh... "buns" (as we say with Small Boy). Upon further inspection it was a pressure sore. Damn. It is very easy to get a pressure sore when he has a yeast infection because he can't be up and about and he sleeps alot, so he ends up very prone to a sore. I had done everything possible to avoid it - turning him, rolling him, making SURE the sheets were smooth under him, moving his legs around a few times a day, etc. But despite all this, there it was, a pressure sore. It is so demoralizing because even though intellectually I know better, I feel that it's my fault. The good news is that we caught it super early. It is extremely shallow and although it's relatively big (about the size of a quarter), it is not tracking, it is only about 1mm deep and I really think it's just dry skin that was peeling off that rubbed him and caused his skin to open up a bit. It's likely to heal shortly, but that means at least 2 weeks in quad-land. Anyway, I'm just feeling really down about it because I have this lurking sense of guilt and I feel badly for him and me - we are now stuck here in the house for a few more weeks. Hey, at least I'll have a chance to cook alot and USE MY NEW DISHWASHER. (grin)

So I've come upon an idea that Wheeler really likes and I absolutely love. The anniversary of his injury is in late May, it was in 1988. He was 19 years old at the time and this May will be the 19th anniversary of his injury date. It's typically been a hard time for Wheeler to deal with the days and weeks before and after the injury anniversary - understandably so. The more we've talked over the years, the more he and I both want to make that anniversary something happy, not sad. He could have so easily have died that night; it was sheer luck honestly that he survived. And not only did he just survive, he has thrived and gone so far beyond anyone's expectations of someone paralyzed completely from the shoulders down. So I think that day is a joyous day, a day to celebrate. He actually wanted to get married on that date to "overwrite" the bad memories with a happy one, but we decided not to do that. But now, I have a great idea to overwrite the memories and to permanently place that date as a day to celebrate. A half and half party.

A what?

Since he was 19 when injured and it's 19 years post in May, we are going to have a huge, blowout fabulous party with all of our family and friends to celebrate Wheeler's life - both halves of it. And it's such a fun "theme" (so to speak) and easy to milk it for all its worth ... I want tables with flowers, half one color, half another color. I want the food to be say, half gluten and half "regular", all party goers will be served coffee with half and half :), the wine will be half red, half white. And I am thinking about other cool ideas, like making it half/half dress code. E.g. wear a formal top and ripped jeans or vice versa. We're going to have a rocking good DJ, a good friend of ours, and I want him to announce part way through to switch partners and dance with someone else's "half". We eloped when we married and never had a reception/party per se, and so this can be a way for all of our family and friends to get togehter for a rocking good time. I'm going to send out hold the date cards and everything, I want this to be HUGE and super fun. Another friend of ours is a party planner, so I'm going to have her do all the work and we'll just show up!

T minus 3 days until the claws and ovaries of Baby Cat are gone, gone, gone. She appears to be going into heat (please don't ask me why I think so, please) so even though they were going to wait until she was 14 weeks old, we will derive the benefit of a non-sexed-up cat a few weeks early too.

Small Boy is at his dad's house today. I miss that little guy.

Over and out.

He wants to be just like me

Small boy is terrorizing the small cat with our new hairdryer. It's really quite amusing and well deserved because that cat is just a PEST lately. She has been running around as if possessed for about a week straight, and she *launches* off of any and all available surfaces and onto any and all available surfaces. Therefore, she is to be declawed on Tuesday. Tuesday cannot get here fast enough!!

So we were watching Star Wars tonight and he told me during it that he had three wishes that he really, really, really wanted to be true and did I want to know what they were? Yes, I said. 1) to be a girl; 2) to wear glasses and 3) to be a cat. So, to summarize, my son wants to be a bespectacled female feline. Should this worry me? So, I asked him why he wanted these things and he said that he wanted to be just like me. When I mentioned that I am a not a cat, he said "oh, it would just be fun to be a kitty". So I guess this shouldn't worry me (laugh). I told him that I am exactly like my dad, but that my dad doesn't wear glasses and that he is a boy. That you can be just like someone but not be exactly the same. He appeared to appreciate that explanation then proceeded to shoot me dead with his improvisation light sabre consisting of several markers stuck together bottom to caps. Ah, the life of a mother of a Small Boy.

Wheeler is still completely coma-toast from this infection. Because he's on extra super good higher doses of narcotics, he is having bizarre dreams that he confuses with reality. Just now, for example, he awoke and said to me "I guess you can just forget about those chili nachos". I was like "hhhuh??????" and he said, "you know, ummmm, the uhhhh, those, err..... zzzzzzzzzz" back to sleep. Five minutes later he said it again and I told he had not asked me for nachos at all today and he said that he could have sworn that I told him I bought chili at Harris Teeter today. Ummm, no. Narcotics are wonderful things eh? Good grief, I can't wait until he gets back to his usual self!!

On looking fabulous

I got a makeover today at Nordstrom. I looked so much better with actual makeup applied correctly. Wow. So of course I bought it all, but now I'm quite worried about my ability to replicate the results. You know how your hair stylist can always make your hair look 4 times better than you ever can do at home? Even the day right after your haircut? So we'll see tomorrow. It actually started out as an odyssey to purchase sunscreen for my face that would not burn or cause breakouts. I ended up with sunscreen, moisturizer, foundation, and concealer. And the color of blush she used is a new one that will be in tomorrow or the next day, so I'm going to go back and get that too. This from the girl that never wears makeup. I better start now!

Remember my terrific plan to cover up all my dirty dishes with a towel? Well, they are all still there, under the towel, but now there are more dishes all over the counter. Sigh.....

Is it hockey season yet?

Stalking flies

Our kitten has been chasing - to no avail I might mention - a housefly all day. ALL day. Right now she is running spastically around the living room and randomly flings herself into the air waving her paws wildly in an attempt to catch the fly. Well, at least she is getting some exercise. The Big Cat is just sitting on the couch impassively. She doesn't care. In fact, she just meandered off to the bedroom to see what Wheeler is doing, perhaps something less interesting than chasing flies. And indeed, Wheeler is dead asleep, sawing logs. Just like Big Cat likes it.

Wheeler's new wheelchair is slated to arrive in about 10 days. It should be smokin' hot - all black with metallic sparkles. And here I thought my man couldn't get one stitch hotter. *yowsa*! Speaking of him, still battling infection from HELL. I think maybe possibly hopefully I found something that is helping. We'll see .... I've learned not to declare victory too soon with these things.

Small Boy found a frog on the way to school. We were walking along and all of a sudden he darts off the sidewalk into the grass and back on just as quickly. He said "I caught a frog!". I said "you did not!" because he did it so quickly, I thought he was just fooling with me. So he opened his hand and sure enough, there was a tiny little frog. We gave him to the crossing guard. 

Got the carpets cleaned today. Ho-hum.