Since I'm reminiscing about pregnancy, for some very odd reason, I figured I should finish what I started the other day, and go straight to labor with the first child. This is mainly because the most interesting thing in that pregnancy was the pregnancy test, and after that, it was pretty boring. As in, the most perfect pregnancy on the face of the earth, which was just fine with me.
Along comes Sept 26th, at which point my doctor decided he was going to induce me, because he felt that Bubba was getting too supersized for my supposedly minimized pelvis, and waiting much longer could get problematic. So we did what one does in these situations, and showed up at the hospital at 6am, just like the doctor ordered, for the proverbial jumpstart. Did I mention that I drove there? Not sure if it was because Dan was drinking coffee or was too nervous, but I drove our little RX7, and showed up in the ER, where I was promptly whisked up to Labor and Delivery. If you ever want things to move along quickly in the ER, show up with a very ripe pregnant belly, because they will take absolutely no chance of delivering a baby there, and will get you the heck outta dodge. But I digress........
And so it was that I found myself Where The Wild Things Are. There was a lot of screaming going on, and when I asked why it sounded like some kind of asylum, my admitting nurse said, very nonchalantly, "oh, the midwives have several patients here today." Apparently that is code for natural childbirth, I don't know, but it was pretty loud. I changed my clothes and got ready for the big event. Laid back down in bed and was told that they would start my IV. We, meaning the new graduate nurse and her preceptor, who was right there to jump in if things went awry.
First stick: nothing. The nurse suggested to the newbie that she stick me again, at which point she stage-whispered "I don't think the patient wants me to." I thought this was kind of amusing and told her "how are you going to learn if you don't stick people? Go for it," and she set to it with some gusto. Somewhere, mid-procedure, her preceptor stepped out of the room -- maybe she figured that I would coach her through it, I don't know, but again, no dice on the IV. The poor thing looked at me with a deer in the headlights look, and said "hold your arm VERY VERY still," and went flying out of the room, leaving the needle still in my arm. Newbie and preceptor came back in shortly, and the IV was placed without any further drama, albeit by the preceptor, but who cares? An IV is an IV, in my book.
The resident came in to do my history, which was kind of cute, because it was obvious he was new. I found out later that it was his first day in OB, so apparently I was a newbie magnet. We did the history pretty easily because it was the first pregnancy and it had been really boring. He left, only to return pretty quickly, saying he had forgotten to check me for swelling. He took one look at my duck feet and cankles and proclaimed "wow! You really ARE swollen." "Nope, I'm just fat," I said, and gave him a look that was intended to translate as "you really need to learn how to talk to pregnant women, you big galoot." He skulked out of the room.
Fairly shortly after that, my BFF arrived. She was a labor nurse and was also my matron of honor at our wedding, so I figured this whole labor thing was going to be pretty fun. Things were clicking along until sometime in the midst of The Young and the Restless, I started getting pretty darned uncomfortable. Not "I'm going to rip off your jewels because you made me this way" uncomfortable, but not very comfy, so I decided it was time for some drugs.
This may not have been the best decision, in retrospect. I told my BFF/Matron of Honor/Nurse that I was a pretty cheap junkie, so not to give me much. She gave me barely a whiff of Nubain - 5 mg, which shouldn't have done much, but instead, I spent the next four hours feeling like I was attached to a ceiling fan on high, spinning up to the ceiling, then falling off the bed straight onto the floor. It was not pleasant. Not at all. On top of this, I was still hurting, so after an hour of this craziness, BFF suggested an epidural, which I was glad to accept.
The Nubain was still on board, so sitting me on the side of the bed may not have been the best idea. They put the fun little overbed table in front of me and told me to lean on it. You know the one. The one with wheels on it? The one that moves when you lean all your pregnant weight on it? I'm not exaggerating when I say that my last coherent thought of that labor was "OMG I'm going to fall on the floor" right before BFF jumped in front of the table, saving me from a faceplant (or belly plant, whichever the case may be). After that, I remember nothing except the ceiling fan that was jerking me about. Funny thing was that when I told them that later, Dan and the BFF said that I looked like I had just gone to sleep. If so, I had the most nightmarish Alice in Wonderland, hallucinogenic experience of my life, which also confirms that I could never be a child of the 60s.
A few hours later, BFF woke me up and said that she was going to take Dan down to get a bite of dinner, before I got too much further alone. Said she was going to check me before they went, at which point the dinner was off, and we proceeded to start pushing. Fun, fun. Fortunately, I knew how to do it, cause I'd seen it a million times, so at 6:29pm, it all came to fruition, and Thomas was born.
I know it was 6:29, because I looked at the clock and called out the time. BFF laughed, saying that she'd never had a patient do that before, but I was so used to doing it at work that I guess I thought I was working. Not that I work in stirrups, mind you, but old habits die hard. A few minutes later, I heard the resident asking for a cord clamp cutter. Then a bunch of soaking bloody towels got flopped up on my leg, and Dan started turning rather green. It never really registered with me what was going on. I was too busy assigning the Apgar scores.
A few minutes later, my girlfriend handed me the baby. She mentioned that "he might have a little mark on his belly." When I asked why, she mentioned that the newbie resident had accidentally clamped the cord too close to his belly, and clamped his belly into it. Oye. Then she mentioned that it had been a little messy, because he had also clamped the cord twice like he was supposed to, but instead of cutting the cord in between the clamps, he had clamped on my side, which caused blood to go spurting all over the place till the doctor stepped in and took care of business. Hence, Dan's green countenance -- he may've known that there was gonna be blood, but this was a LOT of blood, apparently. Oh well, it's just another day in The Resident's First Day in OB. I guess we were both lucky to be alive, which is stating it rather dramatically unless you're with a new resident. In that case, it could be that I'm spot on.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Day the Rabbit Died
Dan thought, when we got married, that he wanted six children. I thought he was crazy, because three, maybe four was perfectly fine, but six? No way. One day, about a year and a half or so into our marriage, we caught a portion of an Oprah episode about "older" parents. People who waited until they were 35+ to have kids. You know the ones -- they have white furniture, take great vacations, are always dressed impeccably, wondering what all the fuss in the world is about and everything goes to hell when they have a baby, when suddenly they are calling the crisis intervention line at least twice a week, threatening to jump off the garage roof because the baby won't poop in the potty. Well, it was at this point that Dan decided that he didn't want to be an "older" parent. He wanted to have his six kids whilst he was still young enough to play ball with him.
He was twenty six years old.
And so it was that we embarked about this journey of parenthood. I asked Dan at one point, "when I find out that I'm pregnant, how do you want me to tell you?" "Oh," he said, "just hang some little baby thing on the front door of the apartment, and then I'll know." And when the big day came, I stopped by the lab on the way home from work and had some blood drawn. They called me when I was walking in the door at home and told me that it was positive. Yep, the seedling of Utter Chaos had been planted. I promptly went right back out the door, went to the store and bought one of those "I heart Daddy" bibs, and hung it on the front door.
Half and hour later, in came Dan, who said "what the heck is this thing doing on the door? I was grinning when I said "I have no idea. What is it?" "Looks like a baby bib." "Yep." "What's it doing on the door?" ::sigh::
What we seemed to have here was a failure to communicate.
When he finally was told the big news, it became a rather rapidfire conversation -- all one-sided, all questions, and no waiting for answers: "how do you know? what test did they do? how accurate is it? How trustworthy is the guy who did it? How long has he been working there?" and on and on and on. Ending with "can I call my mom," which he proceeded to do, almost before the words were out of his mouth.
A few days later, we were enjoying laying in bed a little past normal, when Dan rolled over and looked at me. He patted my belly and said "yeah, gonna father me five children." My immediate response was, "who you gonna do that with" to which his response was "my wife." "Haven't met her yet, huh?" He just laughed, sure that he would eventually win the battle. He was still pretty sure about those five kids, right up to when the first one was born. But that's another story.
He was twenty six years old.
And so it was that we embarked about this journey of parenthood. I asked Dan at one point, "when I find out that I'm pregnant, how do you want me to tell you?" "Oh," he said, "just hang some little baby thing on the front door of the apartment, and then I'll know." And when the big day came, I stopped by the lab on the way home from work and had some blood drawn. They called me when I was walking in the door at home and told me that it was positive. Yep, the seedling of Utter Chaos had been planted. I promptly went right back out the door, went to the store and bought one of those "I heart Daddy" bibs, and hung it on the front door.
Half and hour later, in came Dan, who said "what the heck is this thing doing on the door? I was grinning when I said "I have no idea. What is it?" "Looks like a baby bib." "Yep." "What's it doing on the door?" ::sigh::
What we seemed to have here was a failure to communicate.
When he finally was told the big news, it became a rather rapidfire conversation -- all one-sided, all questions, and no waiting for answers: "how do you know? what test did they do? how accurate is it? How trustworthy is the guy who did it? How long has he been working there?" and on and on and on. Ending with "can I call my mom," which he proceeded to do, almost before the words were out of his mouth.
A few days later, we were enjoying laying in bed a little past normal, when Dan rolled over and looked at me. He patted my belly and said "yeah, gonna father me five children." My immediate response was, "who you gonna do that with" to which his response was "my wife." "Haven't met her yet, huh?" He just laughed, sure that he would eventually win the battle. He was still pretty sure about those five kids, right up to when the first one was born. But that's another story.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Randomly heard in the car
Let's set up the scene first:
We were in Florida. We'd visit Dan's family in Daytona for a couple of days after taking a cruise to Jamaica. We were flying home out of Ft. Lauderdale, where the rental car had to be returned by 9:38am. 9:38am. And Ft Lauderdale airport was basically 4 hours away. Meaning we had to be up and out the door by about 5:30am. With two teenagers and a twenty year old. Sure. No problem, mon.
The night before, I mentioned to Dan about the idiot who decided to try to blow up his underwear, and a whole Airbus full of people, in Detroit. Detroit happened to be where our layover was going to be, so I had some concerns about what travel would be like the next day. Now let me tell you, I fly with Xanax on board, but I don't have enough to share with cranky teenagers, so I had a legitimate concern. Dan was worried about the weather on Sunday, which was our day to fly out. This was how we made the executive decision to go home a day early.
Dan insisted that getting up at 5:45 was going to be plenty early, so I set his cell phone alarm for 5:15 and when it went off, made him get up and at 'em. I had suggested to the boys, only half joking, that they sleep in the van the night before, but alas, they were on the couch, head to head. Woke 'em up, then went and woke up Jill. There was much unintelligible speech. I actually believe that the only thing I understood was the fact that Thomas couldn't find his phone. Oye and vay.
"You had it last."
"No, you probably lost it."
"Actually, I had it last, but it's been moved from where I left it."
"I don't know why you people can't give me my stuff back after you borrow it. I need my phone."
"Well where did you leave it?"
"I didn't have it last."
"You had it last....."
See where this is going? In the midst of this, another conversation starts.
"It's cold out there. Can I take a blanket?"
"No, share your brother's."
"I don't want HIS blanket. I want a blanket of my own."
"What are you going to do with a blanket at the airport? We already have one to deal with. Just dress warm."
"Can I take a pillow?"
"NO."
"I don't know how you think I'm going to be able to sleep when it's this cold out and I don't have a blanket or a pillow."
"I'll turn the heat on in the car, dear."
SILENCE
DOOR SLAMS
"I still haven't found my phone."
"Why doesn't someone CALL your phone?"
::vibrate vibrate vibrate::
"I think it's in the couch."
::triumphant look from owner of the phone::
::triumphant look disappears when he realizes that the phone has fallen into the couch, right where he was sleeping:: It's hell taking responsibility for something you've been blaming other people for. We headed out to the van.
It was still dark out, so the kids knocked right back out. After an hour or so, Dan decided to call Northwest to see if we could, indeed, get a flight out when we arrived. Now let me say, Dan is from the land of Speak Loudly on the Phone. This is something he inherited from his dad, and who knows, maybe his dad's dad, but Utter men are LOUD on the phone. Heck, they are loud when NOT on the phone. In either event, he started talking to Northwest, and the boys woke up. Here's what ensued:
"Yes, my name is Mr. Utter. We have reservations to fly out on Sunday, but I wanted to see if we could leave today, as we have a medical emergency at home."
From the far left back seat, in a very shrill voice: "I'm bleeeeeding...."
Deep voice from the far right back seat replies "I'm dyyyyiinnng...."
Near back seat yells "SHUT UP OR I WILL KILL YOU ALL."
"Well, I can't afford $1000 extra to change these tickets. I thought we were on the list of states that can change our itinerary for free, due to the weather."
Far back left seat yells "I want $1000."
Far back right seat replies "You already GOT $1000 that you didn't deserve."
Near back seat bellows "Shut UP."
"I don't think we can make the 11am flight. That's probably cutting it too close."
Far back left seat says "Is it weird that I am most excited about getting home to see my dog?"
Near back seat says "I don't want to go home early. Why are we going home early?"
Far back right seat replies "we have a medical emergency. Dundundun...."
Near back seat: "what the hell?"
I say very little, as I am both laughing through the entire exchange, and mystified as to why he feels we have to have a medical emergency in order to get home. We usually create them without any problems. I don't tempt fate by making them up.
Dan finally got the tickets changed, and no, it didn't cost $1000. We got it done for free. He announced that we're leaving at 3pm.
Female voice says "are the seats together? I don't want to sit next to some creeper. I know that we're gonna end up separated, and I'm gonna be the one next to a creeper."
Far back seat says "I just want a window seat. I've never gotten one."
Far back seat now is snoring.
Dan asks if anyone wants cereal. It gets very quiet. Turned out he had brought a box of Honey Bunches of Oats, a box of Frosted Flakes, some Pop Tarts, and a gallon of milk was chilling in a paint bucket full of ice. The boys decline, which confuses Dan, as he is also from the land of Eats-a-lot. Jill went back to sleep. Every few minutes, Dan asked the boys if they want some cereal, but it had quiet back there too, so he didn't get a response. He kept asking me too, though I have no idea how I could've eaten cereal whilst driving, even if I had wanted it. Dan even offered to feed me, but after I told him that I was sure to vomit if I ate Frosted Flakes, he finally gave up trying and fixed himself a bowl. And a Poptart.
Pretty soon, Seth started writhing around in the far back seat. Jill, who had been collapsed on the seat behind me, sat up, looking rather dazed. Seth said "I'm so uncomfortable. I hate this. I need to move and I can't." "Why can't you move?" "Thomas has his head on me."
Apparently, Thomas had keeled over and was sleeping basically with his head in Seth's lap, which is a direct violation of the Bro Code. I guess even Jill knew this, because she immediately offered Seth to move up with her. At which point I almost dropped dead of shock, as Jill has personal space issues, and doesn't usually like anyone piercing her bubble. "You want some cereal," said Dan, for the 56th time. Seth just shook his head, but Jill took him up on it, but only after announcing "I don't remember getting in the car."
So yeah, this is how we roll. With cereal, non-existent medical emergencies, and milk in a paint bucket. And just in case you haven't figured it out by now, we've got issues.
We were in Florida. We'd visit Dan's family in Daytona for a couple of days after taking a cruise to Jamaica. We were flying home out of Ft. Lauderdale, where the rental car had to be returned by 9:38am. 9:38am. And Ft Lauderdale airport was basically 4 hours away. Meaning we had to be up and out the door by about 5:30am. With two teenagers and a twenty year old. Sure. No problem, mon.
The night before, I mentioned to Dan about the idiot who decided to try to blow up his underwear, and a whole Airbus full of people, in Detroit. Detroit happened to be where our layover was going to be, so I had some concerns about what travel would be like the next day. Now let me tell you, I fly with Xanax on board, but I don't have enough to share with cranky teenagers, so I had a legitimate concern. Dan was worried about the weather on Sunday, which was our day to fly out. This was how we made the executive decision to go home a day early.
Dan insisted that getting up at 5:45 was going to be plenty early, so I set his cell phone alarm for 5:15 and when it went off, made him get up and at 'em. I had suggested to the boys, only half joking, that they sleep in the van the night before, but alas, they were on the couch, head to head. Woke 'em up, then went and woke up Jill. There was much unintelligible speech. I actually believe that the only thing I understood was the fact that Thomas couldn't find his phone. Oye and vay.
"You had it last."
"No, you probably lost it."
"Actually, I had it last, but it's been moved from where I left it."
"I don't know why you people can't give me my stuff back after you borrow it. I need my phone."
"Well where did you leave it?"
"I didn't have it last."
"You had it last....."
See where this is going? In the midst of this, another conversation starts.
"It's cold out there. Can I take a blanket?"
"No, share your brother's."
"I don't want HIS blanket. I want a blanket of my own."
"What are you going to do with a blanket at the airport? We already have one to deal with. Just dress warm."
"Can I take a pillow?"
"NO."
"I don't know how you think I'm going to be able to sleep when it's this cold out and I don't have a blanket or a pillow."
"I'll turn the heat on in the car, dear."
SILENCE
DOOR SLAMS
"I still haven't found my phone."
"Why doesn't someone CALL your phone?"
::vibrate vibrate vibrate::
"I think it's in the couch."
::triumphant look from owner of the phone::
::triumphant look disappears when he realizes that the phone has fallen into the couch, right where he was sleeping:: It's hell taking responsibility for something you've been blaming other people for. We headed out to the van.
It was still dark out, so the kids knocked right back out. After an hour or so, Dan decided to call Northwest to see if we could, indeed, get a flight out when we arrived. Now let me say, Dan is from the land of Speak Loudly on the Phone. This is something he inherited from his dad, and who knows, maybe his dad's dad, but Utter men are LOUD on the phone. Heck, they are loud when NOT on the phone. In either event, he started talking to Northwest, and the boys woke up. Here's what ensued:
"Yes, my name is Mr. Utter. We have reservations to fly out on Sunday, but I wanted to see if we could leave today, as we have a medical emergency at home."
From the far left back seat, in a very shrill voice: "I'm bleeeeeding...."
Deep voice from the far right back seat replies "I'm dyyyyiinnng...."
Near back seat yells "SHUT UP OR I WILL KILL YOU ALL."
"Well, I can't afford $1000 extra to change these tickets. I thought we were on the list of states that can change our itinerary for free, due to the weather."
Far back left seat yells "I want $1000."
Far back right seat replies "You already GOT $1000 that you didn't deserve."
Near back seat bellows "Shut UP."
"I don't think we can make the 11am flight. That's probably cutting it too close."
Far back left seat says "Is it weird that I am most excited about getting home to see my dog?"
Near back seat says "I don't want to go home early. Why are we going home early?"
Far back right seat replies "we have a medical emergency. Dundundun...."
Near back seat: "what the hell?"
I say very little, as I am both laughing through the entire exchange, and mystified as to why he feels we have to have a medical emergency in order to get home. We usually create them without any problems. I don't tempt fate by making them up.
Dan finally got the tickets changed, and no, it didn't cost $1000. We got it done for free. He announced that we're leaving at 3pm.
Female voice says "are the seats together? I don't want to sit next to some creeper. I know that we're gonna end up separated, and I'm gonna be the one next to a creeper."
Far back seat says "I just want a window seat. I've never gotten one."
Far back seat now is snoring.
Dan asks if anyone wants cereal. It gets very quiet. Turned out he had brought a box of Honey Bunches of Oats, a box of Frosted Flakes, some Pop Tarts, and a gallon of milk was chilling in a paint bucket full of ice. The boys decline, which confuses Dan, as he is also from the land of Eats-a-lot. Jill went back to sleep. Every few minutes, Dan asked the boys if they want some cereal, but it had quiet back there too, so he didn't get a response. He kept asking me too, though I have no idea how I could've eaten cereal whilst driving, even if I had wanted it. Dan even offered to feed me, but after I told him that I was sure to vomit if I ate Frosted Flakes, he finally gave up trying and fixed himself a bowl. And a Poptart.
Pretty soon, Seth started writhing around in the far back seat. Jill, who had been collapsed on the seat behind me, sat up, looking rather dazed. Seth said "I'm so uncomfortable. I hate this. I need to move and I can't." "Why can't you move?" "Thomas has his head on me."
Apparently, Thomas had keeled over and was sleeping basically with his head in Seth's lap, which is a direct violation of the Bro Code. I guess even Jill knew this, because she immediately offered Seth to move up with her. At which point I almost dropped dead of shock, as Jill has personal space issues, and doesn't usually like anyone piercing her bubble. "You want some cereal," said Dan, for the 56th time. Seth just shook his head, but Jill took him up on it, but only after announcing "I don't remember getting in the car."
So yeah, this is how we roll. With cereal, non-existent medical emergencies, and milk in a paint bucket. And just in case you haven't figured it out by now, we've got issues.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
One Flew Outta the Cuckoo's Nest
So, how was your Halloween? Halloween is, as many of you know, NOT my favorite holiday. I've always considered it to the The Holiday to Punish Uncreative Parents. Maybe it all goes back to the Halloween that someone cut our cat's tail off. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that on Jill's first Halloween, when she was ten months old, we dressed her as a Damnation, then she promptly vomited all over the entire outfit after the first stop we made. I really do hate Halloween.
I don't get into the whole make-a-costume thing. The one and only time I actually made a costume was for Seth, the year he wanted to be Link, from Legend of Zelda. Link wears a tunic, a pair of Robin Hood type tights, and some elf boots. Seth's Link consisted of a felt tunic that was glued and stapled together, a pair of girls leggings from the DAV (no way I'd have gotten him into tights), and a cute pair of 80s pixie boots. He never knew that half of Link came from the girl's department. Guess he does now, but he loved that costume.
So yeah, I am not into the whole Halloween thing. This year, since Dan was going to be at church most of the evening, cleaning up after the fish fry, I debated not even getting any candy, and just hiding from the wee ones. In the end, guilt won and I bought our usual $80 of candy, cause we get a LOT of trick or treaters. I got the candy ready, and Seth, God love him, said he'd take the dogs up to his room, cause as we all know, Boo is just plain crazy, and Timmy is getting old enough that he's confused a good portion of the time. He figured that if he took them up there, maybe the trick or treaters would live.
So, my friend stops by with her kid, right about the time the neighbor says "you MUST go over on the other block and see the tree, before they close it down. It's hilarious." We'd already have 150+ kids at our house, and it finally was slowing down, so we decided to get in the car and go see. You may remember that I'm not so good at driving in reverse, but I've done pretty well lately. Still, I started backing up, felt a bump and thought it must just be a pile of leaves. That was before the headlights shown on the screen from Seth's room. Uh oh.
I stop the car, we all look up, and Boo is getting ready to bail from the second story window, and Tim's looking just confused enough to follow. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus. Seth bails out the back seat, grabs the screen, and sprints for the back door while my friend and I are frantically telling the dogs to Stay. Lest you think we overreact, Boo WILL jump off or over just about anything, so it was a relief when Seth got up there and got the window closed before they lept. Whew!
Our relief was short lived, however, because when Seth got back in the car, he mentioned that Bandit, our very fat, very long haired, very DUMB cat, had been hiding in the bushes in back when he unlocked the door. Bandit, who had, till that point, been sitting on the windowsill in Seth's room. On the second floor of the house. Bandit apparently freaked when the dogs rushed the window, and fell straight out the window with the screen. Apparently Bandit is too dumb to even get injured, because he's not even limping, and doesn't look any more confused than a normal day.
And the tree we were going to see? It was worth the ride, because they had created a tree that talked, and sprayed water at people, all while telling funny and gross stories to the trick or treaters. Up to that point, I had thought that the mom who showed up with her trick-or-treaters, telling them to "say thank you" whilst she ate a salad was the funniest thing of the night. That tree? Best thing I've seen in a while, even if it did involve Halloween.
I don't get into the whole make-a-costume thing. The one and only time I actually made a costume was for Seth, the year he wanted to be Link, from Legend of Zelda. Link wears a tunic, a pair of Robin Hood type tights, and some elf boots. Seth's Link consisted of a felt tunic that was glued and stapled together, a pair of girls leggings from the DAV (no way I'd have gotten him into tights), and a cute pair of 80s pixie boots. He never knew that half of Link came from the girl's department. Guess he does now, but he loved that costume.
So yeah, I am not into the whole Halloween thing. This year, since Dan was going to be at church most of the evening, cleaning up after the fish fry, I debated not even getting any candy, and just hiding from the wee ones. In the end, guilt won and I bought our usual $80 of candy, cause we get a LOT of trick or treaters. I got the candy ready, and Seth, God love him, said he'd take the dogs up to his room, cause as we all know, Boo is just plain crazy, and Timmy is getting old enough that he's confused a good portion of the time. He figured that if he took them up there, maybe the trick or treaters would live.
So, my friend stops by with her kid, right about the time the neighbor says "you MUST go over on the other block and see the tree, before they close it down. It's hilarious." We'd already have 150+ kids at our house, and it finally was slowing down, so we decided to get in the car and go see. You may remember that I'm not so good at driving in reverse, but I've done pretty well lately. Still, I started backing up, felt a bump and thought it must just be a pile of leaves. That was before the headlights shown on the screen from Seth's room. Uh oh.
I stop the car, we all look up, and Boo is getting ready to bail from the second story window, and Tim's looking just confused enough to follow. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus. Seth bails out the back seat, grabs the screen, and sprints for the back door while my friend and I are frantically telling the dogs to Stay. Lest you think we overreact, Boo WILL jump off or over just about anything, so it was a relief when Seth got up there and got the window closed before they lept. Whew!
Our relief was short lived, however, because when Seth got back in the car, he mentioned that Bandit, our very fat, very long haired, very DUMB cat, had been hiding in the bushes in back when he unlocked the door. Bandit, who had, till that point, been sitting on the windowsill in Seth's room. On the second floor of the house. Bandit apparently freaked when the dogs rushed the window, and fell straight out the window with the screen. Apparently Bandit is too dumb to even get injured, because he's not even limping, and doesn't look any more confused than a normal day.
And the tree we were going to see? It was worth the ride, because they had created a tree that talked, and sprayed water at people, all while telling funny and gross stories to the trick or treaters. Up to that point, I had thought that the mom who showed up with her trick-or-treaters, telling them to "say thank you" whilst she ate a salad was the funniest thing of the night. That tree? Best thing I've seen in a while, even if it did involve Halloween.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Twenty Year Old Mulligan
Dan has always told the kids, from a very, very young age, that if they could make it to the age of twenty with no altercations with the police, that they would receive $1000 on their twentieth birthday. Now, you might think that this is a little crazy, but case in point: Dan, by the age of twenty, had had two tickets, and two car accidents, one of which left his mother's Grand Am straddling a median on Post Road. (I think there was tequila involved). One of our friends' daughter had two wrecks in her first year of driving. Another had two speeding tickets in the same timeframe. We'd probably pay out $1000 in insurance premiums if that happened to us, or at the very least, spend the same in gas and Xanax, if they screwed up and we took the keys away and I had to drive them everywhere. What I looked at at first as a silly little bet became a huge carrot, and a big savings for us, both in our checking account as well as my nerves.
When the kids finally started driving, I'd tell them "you know, you can speed up a little bit," and would be met with "no way Mom, I'm driving the speed limit, cause I want my thousand bucks." I started realizing that this bet had MEANING. We did mention to them that it wasn't totally on their word, since we have friends who are police officers, and we'd be running a police report, so they'd better not lie to us.
I should probably mention here too, that I have always told the kids that if they ever wanted to call me and have me pick them up, I'd pick 'em up anywhere, but if they called me from jail, they'd better be telling me they were getting comfortable for the night, cause I would not pick them up. "Well Mom," they would say, "what if it wasn't our fault? What if our friends did something, and we just happened to be there?" Well guess what? Mama didn't raise no dumbies, and I told 'em that I didn't raise them to have stupid friends either, so if they had stupid friends, then they deserved to be in jail, and they'd better not call me. I did mention, however, that their father, probably remembering his youth, would give them one chance, so they could pray that he answered the phone.
Side note: Jill called the other night, at 11:15pm. Phone rang five times, less than three feet from Dan's head. He never budged. Note to children: don't call Dad.
So, Thomas hit the big day on Saturday. The big 2-0, and the boy was chomping at the bit for his moolah. We camped the weekend before, and I told him, "knowing you, you'll end up with a ticket on Friday night," to which Seth's BFF Chris said "many, you'd better walk all week." Nope. Friday night, I give Dan the information to run the police report. Saturday morning comes, and Dan leaves me his checkbook, telling me to make the boy out a check. I think Dan was sweating a little bit. So off he goes to work, ready to meet us at lunch. I decided that it wouldn't be prudent for the boy to walk around with cash or check all weekend, and being a procrastinator, probably until next Thursday, when he would finally go to the bank, so I just went to the bank and transferred the money. Called Dan to verify where the money was transferring from, then called the boy and told him he was $1000 richer. He was pretty happy.
So, I picked up Thomas, grabbed Seth from the house, and drove to meet Dan for lunch (Jill was working and couldn't go). Dan sits down, looks the boy in the eye and says "can you look me in the eye as a man and tell me that you've made it till the age of twenty with no interactions with the police?"
The kid caved.
Turns out that he had a seatbelt violation in April that he neglected to tell us about, to the tune of $25 bucks. He said he came home and told Jill, who promptly told him not to tell us, lest he lose his 1000 bucks. This kid, who always said that he wouldn't lie if we asked him a direct question, caved under pressure and told the truth. Good for him, but dammit, that money was already in his account, so he made off like a bandit, thanks to a forgiving father who gave him a mulligan in the form of a seatbelt violation.
What a guy.
When the kids finally started driving, I'd tell them "you know, you can speed up a little bit," and would be met with "no way Mom, I'm driving the speed limit, cause I want my thousand bucks." I started realizing that this bet had MEANING. We did mention to them that it wasn't totally on their word, since we have friends who are police officers, and we'd be running a police report, so they'd better not lie to us.
I should probably mention here too, that I have always told the kids that if they ever wanted to call me and have me pick them up, I'd pick 'em up anywhere, but if they called me from jail, they'd better be telling me they were getting comfortable for the night, cause I would not pick them up. "Well Mom," they would say, "what if it wasn't our fault? What if our friends did something, and we just happened to be there?" Well guess what? Mama didn't raise no dumbies, and I told 'em that I didn't raise them to have stupid friends either, so if they had stupid friends, then they deserved to be in jail, and they'd better not call me. I did mention, however, that their father, probably remembering his youth, would give them one chance, so they could pray that he answered the phone.
Side note: Jill called the other night, at 11:15pm. Phone rang five times, less than three feet from Dan's head. He never budged. Note to children: don't call Dad.
So, Thomas hit the big day on Saturday. The big 2-0, and the boy was chomping at the bit for his moolah. We camped the weekend before, and I told him, "knowing you, you'll end up with a ticket on Friday night," to which Seth's BFF Chris said "many, you'd better walk all week." Nope. Friday night, I give Dan the information to run the police report. Saturday morning comes, and Dan leaves me his checkbook, telling me to make the boy out a check. I think Dan was sweating a little bit. So off he goes to work, ready to meet us at lunch. I decided that it wouldn't be prudent for the boy to walk around with cash or check all weekend, and being a procrastinator, probably until next Thursday, when he would finally go to the bank, so I just went to the bank and transferred the money. Called Dan to verify where the money was transferring from, then called the boy and told him he was $1000 richer. He was pretty happy.
So, I picked up Thomas, grabbed Seth from the house, and drove to meet Dan for lunch (Jill was working and couldn't go). Dan sits down, looks the boy in the eye and says "can you look me in the eye as a man and tell me that you've made it till the age of twenty with no interactions with the police?"
The kid caved.
Turns out that he had a seatbelt violation in April that he neglected to tell us about, to the tune of $25 bucks. He said he came home and told Jill, who promptly told him not to tell us, lest he lose his 1000 bucks. This kid, who always said that he wouldn't lie if we asked him a direct question, caved under pressure and told the truth. Good for him, but dammit, that money was already in his account, so he made off like a bandit, thanks to a forgiving father who gave him a mulligan in the form of a seatbelt violation.
What a guy.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Excuses, excuses
I've been a nurse for 26 years. I've been a triage nurse for ten years. In that time, I have heard just about every excuse there is for losing a prescription for "the good stuff." But today, I heard what will probably go down as my favorite. More on that later.
Here are ones that we hear so often, you shouldn't bother with them:
Today, I had the penultimate reason given to me: "The South Korean government confiscated it." And the funny thing is, it was true. Without going into details, let's just say that the Koreans don't like anyone bringing medicine out of the country, so somewhere there's a South Korean guard standing at attention, with a goofy blank look.
Make that guy pee in a cup.
Here are ones that we hear so often, you shouldn't bother with them:
- "I dropped it in the toilet." Please.
- "I left it at the hotel, and the maids stole it."
- Someone cleaned out my car and it got thrown away.
- It got stolen when I went in to pay for my gas at the gas station.
- It got stolen. Now, I did get a bit of extra credit to the guy who called one Saturday and said his house had been broken into, and all they stole was his prescription. Hmmmm.... Well, toddle off to the ER with a police report, and maybe, just maybe, they will give you a script. Next day, the same guy calls back, saying "you aren't gonna believe it, but my house got broken into and they stole my police report." You're right. I don't believe you.
Today, I had the penultimate reason given to me: "The South Korean government confiscated it." And the funny thing is, it was true. Without going into details, let's just say that the Koreans don't like anyone bringing medicine out of the country, so somewhere there's a South Korean guard standing at attention, with a goofy blank look.
Make that guy pee in a cup.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Hell Hath No Fury Like a Jillie Scorned
Disclaimer: I know what my parents will say when they read this.
Last week, Dan and I were messing about in the yard. He of the paintbrush was doing as painters do, and I was just hanging out. Had the Big Butt dog out there, and the Whirling Dervish as well. Just a nice relaxing evening. On a Tuesday. (Make note of day.)
Dan decided that he would go up front and bring back the trashcans, since trash day was long gone. The Whirling Dervish followed him and, since that monster only listens to male voices, he wouldn't come back to the back. I warned Dan to send him to the back yard, and Dan assured me he would keep an eye on him, and he was fine. And yeah, he should've been, because he only listens to men. No joke. I can talk till my heart's content, and he won't budge till he hears a male voice, even if it's a block away.
Three hours later, I was vacuuming in the living room, and suddenly realized that I wasn't being chased by that squirrely puppy. Asked Dan where he was, and got the typical mumble from a husband who's not really 100% invested in the conversation. I asked him again, with The Tone, and he suddenly looked at me with a look that told the whole story. He hadn't let him in. We had no idea where he was. It was just starting to get dark, so we got in the car and went out looking for him, figuring maybe he'd be running in circles around someone who was out walking their dog. There were TONS of people out walking that night. Walking is the key word here, because there was no dog tripping them by running in frantic orbs around them.
We looked at each other with a "you tell Jill look." Nobody really wanted to say a thing, cause she was upstairs doing her teenaged angst thing in her room. So, I waited till she came down the Pattern Central, and casually mentioned that "oh, by the way, you realize we have no idea where Rocky is, right?" Unhappiness reigned, then sadness when the reality hit that he was likely gone. We went out looking for him every day since -- except Thursday, when Jill left for school, and we got to spend several hours in the car with her, much of which was spent listening to Taylor Swift (that's a whole different story).
Jill swore, before she left, that she could hear him barking from far away. I believe her, because there was one time -- yes, the parents were here -- when Timmy got loose and ended up at the Humane Society. Jill walked in that back room and I swear, she recognized his bark in the caucophone of 100 dogs, and walked straight up to him with no guide to take her there. She HEARD Rocky now, as well. I have to admit, I did too. Not all the time, but sometimes. On Sunday, Seth and I jumped in the car and drove around, because I not only heard him, but when I yelled him name, he barked back to me. Of course, we didn't find him, but we did give some guy a startle when we slowed down and stared at him as he was walking his older-version-of-Rocky dog. I finally got out and told him I really wasn't a stalker, and explained what had happened.
And then, on Monday afternoon, Animal Control called Jill and said they had Rocky. Well, I'll be double dipped. So, of course, it was up to me to go get him when I got off work, so I walked into the pound and announced that I was there to get Jill's dog. The woman who shall henceforth be called Hater Bitch (HB), immediately told me that I couldn't get him, because she would have to pick him up herself. The other saintly woman, henceforth known as Terri, cause that's her name, said that "her daughter is only 17, so we can do it." Me being me, and being honest, cause I'm a preacher's kid, I said "no, she's 18, but she's 3 1/2 hours away at college."
Well then it was on like Donkey Kong. HB recognized her opening and said nope, she's going to have to fax us her ID AND a letter saying blah blah blah blah blah, to which I responded, you know, I can tell you ANYTHING about this dog. No matter, HB wanted ID and a letter, blah blah blah. So I informed her that I was gonna call Jill and SHE could tell her the whole thing, and why she wouldn't let me have her dog. "I see no reason why I should talk to her," says HB, to which I responded "You don't live with a teenaged girl. I'm not taking the blame here, and YOU can listen to what she has to say about all of this." And so it was that I handed her the phone and let Jill get her instructions. When she handed the phone back, Jill was pretty frantic because, beind new on campus, she didn't know where a fax machine was. I reminded her that she only had about ten minutes before Animal Control closed, at which point HB said "No. She has EIGHT minutes."
If looks could kill, HB would not be here today.
I sat there fuming, waiting for The Brat to call me back or fax or something, when Terri came over and said "why don't I go ahead and get your id and copy it, just to get things started?" That was when I knew it would be ok. So we're chatting whilst she does this, when my phone goes off. It's Jill, who is beside herself, because she had run all the way across campus, barefoot, nearly mowing over The Hot Guy in her dorm in the process, but the library didn't have a fax. I told her to run to the Bursar's Office, and she said she didn't have time to get there before they closed. At this point, she yelled "let me talk to that lady. I want to talk to her." At which point, I told her to be nice, because we were now dealing with someone reasonable. I handed my phone over to Terri, who listened, handed the phone back, and said "I'll be right back," and headed right to the manager's office.
"Oh God, girl, what did you say to her," I asked, to which Jill replied "I yelled at her. I want my damn dog back." That's the point at which I realized that my darling Bratty Girl has turned into her mama, cause she ain't taking no crap offa anyone. Good thing Terri has teenagers in her house, cause she was feeling my pain, I'm sure. She came wandering back over, looked at me with a purposeful look and said "OK, is the dog's name Rocky?" "Yes." "Is he neutered?" "Yes." "Is he microchipped?" "Yes." "Ok then, I guess he's your dog," she said, with a wink.
So that was how, after a week of being gone, driving probably fifty miles through a neighborhood that's only a few blocks square, hanging up flyers all over, and putting up with a lot of guff from The Brat, that Rocky returned home, after a week of being gone. And also, I might add, how the microchip information got changed to my name.
Last week, Dan and I were messing about in the yard. He of the paintbrush was doing as painters do, and I was just hanging out. Had the Big Butt dog out there, and the Whirling Dervish as well. Just a nice relaxing evening. On a Tuesday. (Make note of day.)
Dan decided that he would go up front and bring back the trashcans, since trash day was long gone. The Whirling Dervish followed him and, since that monster only listens to male voices, he wouldn't come back to the back. I warned Dan to send him to the back yard, and Dan assured me he would keep an eye on him, and he was fine. And yeah, he should've been, because he only listens to men. No joke. I can talk till my heart's content, and he won't budge till he hears a male voice, even if it's a block away.
Three hours later, I was vacuuming in the living room, and suddenly realized that I wasn't being chased by that squirrely puppy. Asked Dan where he was, and got the typical mumble from a husband who's not really 100% invested in the conversation. I asked him again, with The Tone, and he suddenly looked at me with a look that told the whole story. He hadn't let him in. We had no idea where he was. It was just starting to get dark, so we got in the car and went out looking for him, figuring maybe he'd be running in circles around someone who was out walking their dog. There were TONS of people out walking that night. Walking is the key word here, because there was no dog tripping them by running in frantic orbs around them.
We looked at each other with a "you tell Jill look." Nobody really wanted to say a thing, cause she was upstairs doing her teenaged angst thing in her room. So, I waited till she came down the Pattern Central, and casually mentioned that "oh, by the way, you realize we have no idea where Rocky is, right?" Unhappiness reigned, then sadness when the reality hit that he was likely gone. We went out looking for him every day since -- except Thursday, when Jill left for school, and we got to spend several hours in the car with her, much of which was spent listening to Taylor Swift (that's a whole different story).
Jill swore, before she left, that she could hear him barking from far away. I believe her, because there was one time -- yes, the parents were here -- when Timmy got loose and ended up at the Humane Society. Jill walked in that back room and I swear, she recognized his bark in the caucophone of 100 dogs, and walked straight up to him with no guide to take her there. She HEARD Rocky now, as well. I have to admit, I did too. Not all the time, but sometimes. On Sunday, Seth and I jumped in the car and drove around, because I not only heard him, but when I yelled him name, he barked back to me. Of course, we didn't find him, but we did give some guy a startle when we slowed down and stared at him as he was walking his older-version-of-Rocky dog. I finally got out and told him I really wasn't a stalker, and explained what had happened.
And then, on Monday afternoon, Animal Control called Jill and said they had Rocky. Well, I'll be double dipped. So, of course, it was up to me to go get him when I got off work, so I walked into the pound and announced that I was there to get Jill's dog. The woman who shall henceforth be called Hater Bitch (HB), immediately told me that I couldn't get him, because she would have to pick him up herself. The other saintly woman, henceforth known as Terri, cause that's her name, said that "her daughter is only 17, so we can do it." Me being me, and being honest, cause I'm a preacher's kid, I said "no, she's 18, but she's 3 1/2 hours away at college."
Well then it was on like Donkey Kong. HB recognized her opening and said nope, she's going to have to fax us her ID AND a letter saying blah blah blah blah blah, to which I responded, you know, I can tell you ANYTHING about this dog. No matter, HB wanted ID and a letter, blah blah blah. So I informed her that I was gonna call Jill and SHE could tell her the whole thing, and why she wouldn't let me have her dog. "I see no reason why I should talk to her," says HB, to which I responded "You don't live with a teenaged girl. I'm not taking the blame here, and YOU can listen to what she has to say about all of this." And so it was that I handed her the phone and let Jill get her instructions. When she handed the phone back, Jill was pretty frantic because, beind new on campus, she didn't know where a fax machine was. I reminded her that she only had about ten minutes before Animal Control closed, at which point HB said "No. She has EIGHT minutes."
If looks could kill, HB would not be here today.
I sat there fuming, waiting for The Brat to call me back or fax or something, when Terri came over and said "why don't I go ahead and get your id and copy it, just to get things started?" That was when I knew it would be ok. So we're chatting whilst she does this, when my phone goes off. It's Jill, who is beside herself, because she had run all the way across campus, barefoot, nearly mowing over The Hot Guy in her dorm in the process, but the library didn't have a fax. I told her to run to the Bursar's Office, and she said she didn't have time to get there before they closed. At this point, she yelled "let me talk to that lady. I want to talk to her." At which point, I told her to be nice, because we were now dealing with someone reasonable. I handed my phone over to Terri, who listened, handed the phone back, and said "I'll be right back," and headed right to the manager's office.
"Oh God, girl, what did you say to her," I asked, to which Jill replied "I yelled at her. I want my damn dog back." That's the point at which I realized that my darling Bratty Girl has turned into her mama, cause she ain't taking no crap offa anyone. Good thing Terri has teenagers in her house, cause she was feeling my pain, I'm sure. She came wandering back over, looked at me with a purposeful look and said "OK, is the dog's name Rocky?" "Yes." "Is he neutered?" "Yes." "Is he microchipped?" "Yes." "Ok then, I guess he's your dog," she said, with a wink.
So that was how, after a week of being gone, driving probably fifty miles through a neighborhood that's only a few blocks square, hanging up flyers all over, and putting up with a lot of guff from The Brat, that Rocky returned home, after a week of being gone. And also, I might add, how the microchip information got changed to my name.
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