clickmom

ding dong

Can I just say that on Halloween night all commercials with doorbells should be banned? Yes, I am talking to you , Dominos!

deal or not deal

We left the house at 6:50 this morning and drove east. I spent the day at the hospital waiting for mom to have her minor surgical procedure. It was strange being in the same waiting room that I sat in last July when she had first real "get the cancer out" surgery. That last time lil sis was there and so was dad. Today it was just me. Lil sis is only a week and a half postpartum so she had a legit excuse, but dad was a disappointment. As tough as it is to be around him and his spewing misinformation some times, just having another family member would have been a big comfort. Dad was on the fence about going but last night we all went to bed thinking he was going to make the early morning off we go to have some more surgery trek. Then this morning when mom woke dad up he mumbled something about an upset stomach and went right back to sleep. I think mom deserves better than that, but honestly, the two of them do have a long history of dealing with things by not at all dealing with them and dad is surely freaking about mom being so incredibly sick and he dealt with it by, well, not dealing with it.

Mom pulled through surgery like a regular healthy person. That was great. They were a little delayed, but once mom's team got the OR they had her in there and took care of her and she was ready to go home precisely when they thought she would be ready. I managed to use the surgery/post op time to do more than just cope with food (which I naturally got out of the way thoroughly and immediately) but I took care of things with the OFH and the rehab/night of the living dead graveyard with several phone calls that surely had most of the surgical waiting room wondering how many less than healthy relatives can one person care for at one time, and tomorrow once wildmom and I finish up at the spa (yes folks, you heard me right, we are getting ourselves some well deserved R & R including some cranial sacral therapy for me which I am praying real hard will fix my neck/shoulder/numb arm issue once and for all) I can head over to the zombie spook show rehab and honestly, without sneaking past the nurses or hiding behind the linen cart spring grandma and take her back to the OFH where I don't have to try to slip her in the side door either.

I even impressed myself on the phone with these people today. I thought, "Damn, I'd give me what I was asking for!" I'm that good. And much to the doubting husband's relief, I did not have to resort to threats of life long lasting law suits by my lawyer husband or mention my pull at the local papers versus their need for free publicity or how I live across the street from the mayor or how tight I am with the town's ex-fire chief (and how I know how often the geezers start microwave oven fires in their rooms attempting to dry their laundry) and how all the cops think I am so great cause I get them in the paper or any of those things. I just kept pretty much telling them that there was nothing wrong with grandma, she was sent to the hospital unnecessarily and did not have a heart attack, is as capable as she was last monday when the overzealous nurse called 911 and no one was suggesting she needed any rehab back then, but I am a big fan of rehab so they can go ahead and give her some now and how as her responsible party I had to take into account her emotional well being, which is what I am doing by removing her from the rehab where grandma is very unhappy and her roommate now screams "Help me! Someone! Help me!" in her shriveled up old lady shrill death toll voice all day long every day except when she is moaning, and that I intended to bring grandma back to the OFH tomorrow so what would they like me to do and who would they like me to call to get the ball rolling, I'll be bringing her home around 1. The end. We all hung up on the same page, the page that says grandma is going back to the OFH and will not be returning to the rehab, like ever, or as long as she has a single functioning brain cell. But that is something for me, the one who deals with stuff to deal with in the future.

****I learned this trick from a ke-razy (in an interesting and eccentric kind of way) Japanese woman I used to work for. This woman would not take NO for an answer, and made me do her bidding for her, and I learned (because she made me call back and call back and call back until I got what she wanted) to be persistent until the other person folds. Works like a charm. Just never give up, keep repeating what it is that you want. I use that technique, or a slightly more diplomatic form of that technique, very effectively all the time. If I close my eyes I can still hear Ke-razy Kazuko screeching into the phone receiver in her office and then laughing as she got off the phone victorious and proud. She'd stand her doorway, throw her head back and tell me "That is the way the deal is done." Thanks Kazuko!****

The director of the OFH insisted that the nursing director (who shall now be referred to as Natasha, aptly named after the tall dark haired heavily accented villain in the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show) would have to go to see grandma and "evaluate" her. I went along with it, reinforcing that I was bringing grandma back tomorrow and not a day later. I also expressed concern that grandma being mostly deaf even with her hearing aids, was not going to understand a thing (quick talking! heavily accented!) Natasha said. Sure enough when I brought mom home after her surgery and showed up at the rehab Natasha and grandma were sitting in a common area looking like two long lost and reunited pals. I chatted briefly with the Natasha and when she left grandma leaned in to me and shouted "What the hell was that?!? I couldn't understand a word she said!" Told ya so.

So, mom is over another hurdle, hopefully she has a fully functioning port now, she has one more dose of chemo and 4 doses of interferon to get through and grandma is hours away from freedom and I am going to get my (morning) moment of peace, and next week we'll find out if the oral chemo dad has been taking looks like it is going to work for him. Cross your fingers, say a prayer. I guess we will all deal (or not deal-depending) with that result in our own way.

cranky photo rant

My paper has several people that call themselves "photographers". I am the only one of those several that catually has any actual credentials. (B.S. in Photography, thank you very much) the other two "photographers" are folks who thought to themselves, "Gee willy! I love taking purty pictures! I think I'll call myself a photographer!" and they got the same low paying job I did and went to work for the paper. They bug the shit out of me. One is just weird and the other tries too hard to be my buddy. He does it nicely, as if I am as inexperienced as he is and I want to let him know that I am the pro. He is the wanna be. Their photos, to be honest, pretty much suck don't do much for me. I am a tough critic. The guy has been getting better, he's trying, but the woman... grrr...

My editor sent me this photo from a soccer game I shot last week.
That big fat dressed in black woman in the back is me. The guy just showed up- at MY assignment and shot MY game! Wait a minute! I thought I was invisible in black! OMG, do I need to cut out the carbs. This is the shot I was taking the split second after that novice's lame shot:

See?? See what I mean? These people are driving me nuts pretending to be photographers!! I mean, not only do I photograph the players and the ball close together, but I am actually able to do it under very distracting circumstances. I was able to take superb photos of that game despite being on the same side of the field as the man who is undoubtedly going be People Magazine's hottest man of the year. Not only that, I remained composed even though the guy was running back and forth in front of me time and time again. I don't know if you can imagine, but I stood steady and focused for the entire game all the while being teased and tormented by an unattainable hottie like this:

Now who is the Pro?

NaBloMeAKiss

It's getting harder and harder to summon the energy to face another day each morning. This morning I woke up and realized that I had been so preoccupied with my mother and grandma that I hadn't been giving barely any worry time to dad. He's been taking his oral chemo and following the timed eating plan (so that the chemo is delivered to an empty stomach) like a real trooper. Dad's weak and sleeping more than his usual 17 hours a day, but he is trooping right along. I am praying that he he is the 50% of people for whom oral chemo will effective. I don't know how I'd be about taking my medicine if those were my odds. I suppose it easier to do that kind of thing when you only focus on yourself, but I know that if I had to be on that schedule it would be a disaster.

And I am not even considering that inconvenient fact that I eat/nosh/snack/binge all through the day pretty much every day just to get myself through. I am thinking purely of being on schedule. My boss out of the blue asked me how the binge thing was working for me the other day and I I told her that even though it wasn't working I was seemingly determined to keep on eating that way. I suppose eventually I won't be able to walk anymore if I keep gaining all this weight and then maybe no one will bring me cartons of ice cream and I'll take some of the weight off again. You know, I'll be back down to walking weight.

Last year I was among the first to sign up for NaBloMeDown and I really do want to keep things as normal as possible around here and really do want to participate except this year I am only pretending to be normal and in reality am very close to that proverbial edge. I think I'll signup anyway and see if I can just do it. I loved that pink elephant thing. (was it pink? it was an elephant right?) I figure if I go back to the iphone posting torture of last summer I can at least throw down a few lines here and there. Right? I am going to try to summon the funny side for more of November. She is still around and recognizing the funny in life, like Matt's interpretation of the scenario which enabled the brand new and somewhat inept possibly reality challenged limp wristed crossing guard becoming a crossing guard. Matt conjured up this image of a super friendly, yet dim witted, sort of guy who liked to wave (somewhat frantically) at the people on the street. Matt imagines that the waving guy thinks he has been selected to get paid to stand in the middle of the road and frantically wave "Hello", which he would have done for free anyway because he simply loves to wave "hello", to all the cars passing by. And now the waving man is so incredibly happy, his waving talents are on display for all to see. But he's not sure why he has to hold a stop sign or wear an orange jacket. (You know my babes are totally gonna get that joke because you kind of have to see this guy to believe that the local cops would actually pay him to disrupt traffic the special (needs) way he does!)

So, I am going to register for NaBloBloBloYourBoatGentlyDownTheStream as soon as I get back from little sis's house. Tomorrow. We are taking the kids up to meet their new cousin. And see utopia, whose progress has been painfully slow. But there has been progress, and in the scheme of things, I can't muster enough energy to give the contractor a hard time. So at least there has been progress. And a new baby, can't forget about him. He's really cute.

suck-verwhelmed

First thing I did after dropping the kids off this morning was stop by grandma at the rehab where the wicked witch of the OFH made grandma go to cover her scrawny ass so that grandma would be stronger and not at risk for falling when she came back to live "independently". What a place. First smell to greet me right in the door is the same bus disinfectant that used to make me nauseous on Greyhound buses in the 1970's. Next there is a curious mixture of urine and rotting carpet. Followed by the fragrant bouquet of indistinguishable rehab food. Not a pleasant sensation folks. Grandma was dressed and up eating her breakfast. I walked in with mom and grandma asked "What the hell am I doing here?" she didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there. She didn't seem to know she had been in the hospital for the past four days either. She just wanted to go home and all I wanted to do was toss her into the truck and peel out of that stinky driveway and take her back to the OFH. But I didn't. I met the physical therapist and spoke to the main nurse there. All the staff people were unbelievably nice. Even the guy pushing the maintenance cart gave me a big warm smile and an enthusiastic "Good morning!" It was creepy, like they were trying hard to hide their cannibalism or something. Kind of like the big smiling helpful teenaged costumed kids at Disney World. You know they get off from work and shoot chipmunks or something.

Spent the rest of the morning at the hospital with mom getting her pre-surgical check up and EKG. I've seen so many of those lately that I could tell it was fine from across the room. Mom will have her port turning procedure on Monday and I am wondering, since everything else so far has been much more of an ordeal than we were led to believe, just how "minor" this is really going to turn out to be.

We got back from the hospital around 1 and longing for some babe time, I thought that maybe if the babes were having a very leisurely lunch I could catch the tale end of it. No such lunch luck, but Kitten and B being either suckers for punishment or really (and more likely) very good friends offered to meet me at the Bucks and this where I had my first melt down of the day. After the bucks I grabbed some rental video's (showing my age!) dvd's, a couple of bribery frozen cokes for the kids and headed over to school pickup.

Sitting in the car I phoned the rehab physical therapist who had evaluated grandma that morning, half expecting her to say that grandma didn't belong in the land of the wheel chair bound zombies at the rehab and she shocked me by saying that grandma needed to learn how to use a walker properly. Grandma was walking too fast! She was also sitting too fast, as if (shock) she trusted that the seat was going to be right under her! The nerve! I knew grandma was a trouble maker! Then the therapist said the words that made me know for sure that there is some major insurance fraud corruption going on out there in the wonderful world of elder care. I asked how long grandma would need to be at the rehab (again expecting to hear 3 or 4 days) and the rehab lady therapist said "Typically patients stay for about 4 WEEKS." I almost fell to the floor. No fucking way freakazoid.

The Goddess called me just as I approached the designated pick up area for Josh and hearing her sweet caring voice set me off on another meltdown. Seriously, I couldn't even choke out a single word.

I picked up the kids and then went back to the rehab to give grandma a reprieve and bring her home for a few hours. Grandma got a new roomie. So far it appears grandma's new roomie is a magical snoring skeleton. Nice!

Somewhere in between picking grandma up and dropping her off I may have had a phone conversation with the wicked witch of the OFH yelled at and hung up on the heavily accented idiot OFH director of nursing. Theoretically if I did those things, It might have happened right after I explained to her that grandma will not be staying at that dreadful rehab with the night of the living dead other patients for more than a coupe of days. I screamed calmly let her know that I am all for rehab and a stronger 95 year old and that grandma would soon be getting her rehab at the OFH. They are set up for that and will be accommodating her. The witch nursing director, likes to hear her heavily accented self speak, even after I shouted calmly let her know that this was a listening exercise for her. She kept right on talking so I just hung up the phone. Hopefully the OFH still likes that timely check I send in every month and won't try to gulp kick grandma out because I was all up the witch's ass insistent tonight. Like I need to worry about this!

Grandma spent the evening and dinner with us and it near about killed me to have to bring her back to the rehab and the still snoring skeleton. Poor grandma just wants to go home to the OFH.

still sucking

Regarding family: Grandma did not have a heart attack. Her heart enzymes were just fine. However, she did have a small UTI as well as pancreatitis which both might be due to her constant state of dehydration. (Not into beverages, she prefers to pee less) This would happen to be the very same state of dehydration that I have told anyone and everyone at the OFH about every chance I get, pleading with them to encourage her to drink.

The unreasonable asshole physical therapist at the hospital decided that grandma needed some physical therapy before returning to the OFH and the "I have to cover my ass no matter how disruptive it is to the resident" head of nursing the OFH decided it was necessary as well. They have me over a barrel and now poor grandma, in all her general confusion was transferred to another facility where she who hates everything resembling exercise will endure not one but two one hour sessions of physical therapy a day in order to earn her ticket back into the OFH. I'm ready to rip some OFH administrators into shreds. If I didn't need them so damned much I'd consider hiring a lawyer since this is grandma's 3rd unwarranted trip to the ER. Everytime a new nurse comes on board she takes one look at grandma freaking over something and dials 911. It's getting pretty old.

Mom endured another round of chemo today, but there is bad news. The one functioning port that they have been struggling to use is blocked and now Mom has to have a little surgery to untwist the other as of now unusable port for the rest of her treatment. The woman can not catch a break. We met three other patients with her rare cancer today. They all just happened to show up at the specialist on the same day. One in particular touched my heart. She is only 30 and was originally misdiagnosed in 2000. Because of all the wasted time, she is only a few weeks ahead of my mom in this surgery/chemo process. I think I am going to try to find her on the internet. Thank goodness for the internet.

Dad is generally weak and pretty much sleeps 20 hours a day. He says he is nauseous in the mornings and also suffering from reflux, which he refuses to take anything for. No one around here is eating much of anything but I keep buying it all just in case. I don't know how he does it, all the sleeping, but I do get jealous from time to time. I am tired right down to my bones.

My sports editor gave it to me again today. He sent me to a tennis game that was postponed until next week. I am fit to be tied. I can't take the guy. I was so angry that I avoided him at a subsequent soccer game. Also, he smells and life is too short, I see, to stand next to smelly people.

I'm losing patience with the entire world right around now and would like to wear a big sign with all my troubles on it. This way, I imagine, everyone else would just step aside and let me do what I have to do. Also, people won't stop asking me "How are things going?" and questions like that, even though I keep crying and asking them not to ask me that.

So once and for all, for the record: THINGS STILL SUCK!!!!

there might be a conspiracy at work here

When I went to visit lil sis yesterday I brought mom and dad with me. And I left them there at lil sis’s house. They are staying for two whole nights. The first night didn’t count because I didn’t arrive home from lil sis’s until after 8 and I hadn’t seen the kids all day and I was kind of exhausted and yet still all buzzed and jazzed up on the bucks double expresso with cream shot that I consumed in order to stay awake home on the endless ride home.

So last night completely didn’t count towards me getting a break. But tonight was so going to count. I was going to create the perfect in home break atmosphere tonight. Tonight I was going to enjoy the quietude of no deaf senior citizens planted in front of my den TV. I was going to have an all family harmony evening filled with love and cooperation and brotherhood and motherhood and I was going to go to bed refreshed and happy. Until my cell phone rang at 6:50 this evening and the NEW nurse at the OFH tells me that the ambulance crew has just loaded grandma into the bus and are on their way to the hospital. The NEW nurse tells me that grandma was short of breath and complaining of pain radiating down her left arm and a sharp pain in her back.

I get to the hospital and the first thing grandma, who is sitting up in the bed looking as fine as can be, says is that she has no idea why they brought her to the hospital. As far as I can tell from piecing together the fragments that slowly reveal themselves in grandma’s tale, grandma couldn’t find the key to her apartment, had her usual anxiety attack and the nurse freaked and called 911. I don’t think there was ever any radiating pain or pain in her back. I think the nurse was covering for herself there. And so goes another evening that I didn’t get to spend basking in the love that is my nuclear family, but instead in the ER hoping that the sniffling, wheezing, and coughing doctor who was assigned to my grandmother was not contagious

I'd complain too if that big lens was all up in my face

I met my new nephew today. I am trying to get every one to call him Spike. Only my own kids seem keen on the new nick name so far. I think I'll be annoyingly persistant. I'm not sure why.

file it

You might recall that as kids lil sis were shipped off to sleep away camp every single summer. The first year we went to sleep away I was 8 and lil sis was 6. That was our summertime destination for almost a decade. At sleep away camp getting mail was a BIG deal. I’d desperately write to every friend and relative that I had in attempt to get word back. Hearing my name called at mail call was thrill number one and but then savoring the news from the outside world was the real cherry on top. I loved the mail from friends the best. They were doing things I could relate to. Their letters made me laugh and got me all envious and left me wanting more.

Letters from my mom were nice, because they counted towards eliminating the roll call “will my name be called today” anxiety but in truth they were pretty boring. Mom would chronicle her search for the right shade of mauve shoes, or mention which dinner dance she had attended at the country club, how she missed us and always how quiet the house was without us there. Nothing I could or wanted to relate to. Then she’d sign the letters “Love, Mom and Dad” which bugged me because I knew that Dad had no part in the letter writing process.

Once, back at sleep away camp, when I was about 10 a letter unexpectedly came from my Dad. It was hand written on the yellow legal pad paper that I still associate with him today and it was a whole glorious page long. I don’t remember at all what he wrote but I remember it being a fantastic letter. I remember marveling at what an entertaining and enjoyable letter my dad could write. I savored the letter reading it over and over. Dad, I felt, had been holding out on me the other summers of mom only correspondence! I wanted more. I surely immediately wrote him right back and begged for more. But he never wrote another letter. In all the other years there was never another letter. I would make heart felt pleas for letters and tell him how I much his letter lifted my spirits and meant to me, but he didn’t believe he could write a good letter and never wrote another one. I really wish I had the original.

Needless to say, dad is not a creative spirit. He is a good man, a real mensch, right down the very core of his being. Every single cell in this guy’s body has a good intention to back it right up, but in the creative expression department, he got the short stick. Or at least that is what he believes and carries with him.

Since both of my parents aren’t feeling well, and they aren’t particularly aggressive about spending quality time with the kids in the first place, I find myself pushing the kids towards them in all sorts of ways. Also, and obviously, I want to milk every second for all I can get since they both don’t have very long left on this earth.

When Josh beings home a book to read for his first grade homework I’ll suggest he plop down next to my mother and read it to her. Dad thinks that the Discovery Channel is fascinating so I suggest that he and Evan sit down together and share some tv time. Matt, who spends a great deal of his teenaged time in his own room has been officially put on notice that he needs to bring his teenaged butt down to the den where he can be seen and enjoyed by his grandparents.

When I came home yesterday afternoon, Matt was voluntarily sequestered in his room, Josh was at a Halloween party (there are mothers out there way braver than me) and Evan was at a friend’s house. Mom was sleeping. I saw dad sitting on the couch by himself cutting out newspaper headlines. I asked dad whom he was sending a ransom note to, and he showed me that he had noticed Josh’s name in a headline and was planning on making up some headlines with it. I got busy and didn’t notice what was going on, but when Josh came home from the party dad presented Josh with a book of headlines, zeroxed on his personal fax machine, all about Josh. Josh was so excited he made a cover page and then illustrated each headline. The whole thing was so unexpected and so deliciously special. I felt like I was re-experiencing the miracle of the letter and you know that this time that book is going into the KEEP FOREVER files.

7 pounds 8 ounces

Before labor she thought they might call him Sam. At ten centimeters for a couple of hours with no downward progress, when he didn't seem to want to stop, drop, and get the hell out of her uterus she thought maybe Devil, El Diablo, or even Damien. After only two minutes of pushing him into his final descent she decided to go with Sam after all.

But you should know, my brand new baby nephew Sam, didn't drop because his little baby fist was raised up by his little baby face. And this is how he made his grand entrance. Lil sis's OB said (as my brand new nephew little baby Sam emerged) "Look he's waving at me!" cause his hand came out right next to his face, but I know the truth, he was raising his fist in an act of defiance. No one was going to tell him when it was time to get out and he wasn't going to go just yet. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!

Mazel Tov Lil Sis! And good luck!

signals

I drove Matt to school at 7AM and got a glimpse of the trend that signals to me ... I dunno, maybe the apocalypse, maybe the end of classic good taste, or maybe it is just the beginning of that crazy season where kids wear fleece lined boots with shorts when it's hot and pool slides with socks in the snow. But if you ask me, uggs and shorts is signal that something is amiss in the universe. Somehow that something has infiltrated the very core of my being. It is after me.

I had an appointment for the satellite tv guy to come to hook up a receiver in my parents room. My window was 8AM to noon. I couldn't do anything because I was so afraid that I would be interrupted if I started something. So I did nothing at all. For nearly 5 hours. FInally at 12:45 (I am already stressed out) the guy shows up. His van is a rickety old filthy mess and there is a second van parked on the street with a seated driver staring at our house. I am creeped out before I even open the door. Then I see the guy. He is DISGUSTING looking. He is wearing a slept in looking uniform, an ill fitting cap, he has long greasy hair in his face and he smells bad too. So he is in and out of the house for a few minutes (and I am kind of trailing him) and then he goes into my parents room and I am in the hallway watching him because I don't trust him for one second and he looks up at me and asks "Are you going to watch me the whole time?" and I answer "You know, I had something stolen from the house by a worker, so yes I am going to watch you." And he grabs his tool box, says "I can't work like this!" tosses his ladder back onto his dirt encrusted van and he drives away. He was here for exactly 15 minutes and did nothing, well nothing productive. He did manage to unscrew all the wires from my parents tv and leave them unattached.

The drones at direct tv were telling me that they will have to make another appointment when they have an opening (in 6 days or so as opposed to the ten days I waited for this guy to abandon me) and that this is the only service provider that services our area. I tell them that this is the kind of situation where the satellite provider who would like the extra money I was willing to pay for the additional service I was trying to have installed bends over backwards to assist the customer that just wasted her entire day waiting for a useless stinky guy with an attitude problem. I think having only one service provider is bullshit since every other person that has come through here has been nice and respectable. Where did this creep come from? Now I am way too pissed. Now I have been on the phone with direct tv for 35 minutes trying to file a complaint and also reschedule someone different to service us and I got disconnected. I am not calling back.

Monopolies suck.

Then I had no time at all before I had to pick up the kids. Again I drive by a high school girl signaling to me. I feared my bad luck would continue.

I was in the car and snacking on cashews. All of a sudden there was a horrid kind of crunching in my mouth. When you crunch tooth enamel it's like nothing you have ever crunched. When it is your top front tooth you are crunching, well, that's a new dimension in personal terror. (Cue the banjos folks! My teeth are crumbling again!)

Me and my front center broken snaggle tooth called the dentist and made an appointment for bright and early the next day because me and my snaggle tooth were already sitting in the elementary school parking lot and the dentist leaves at 3 on Tuesdays. Besides, me and my snaggle tooth had a game to photograph after we dropped (or rather dragged kicking and screaming) Evan off at religious school. So, poor Evan, drags his sorry self into religious school and I high tail it to the school where my sports editor has told me the game will be. I have never been tot his school and it looks suspiciously quiet. I roll down the window and ask a kid if he knows where the soccer game is and he tells me, quite assuredly that the soccer team has an away game this day. In a panic, I phone home and have Matt search my emails for the correct one from my sports editor. Matts read it to me and I am where I was supposed to be. The team that my sports editor tells me is the other team is close enough that I can make it in time. Just to be safe, I roll down my window once again (Hey- remember when we really did have to roll the windows down and not just press a button?) and ask a guy who appears to be a teacher if he knows where the soccer team is. He tells me they are playing an away game at a different school than the one that my editor said they were playing against at home. Now, I have enough time to make it to either of the other schools and catch enough of the game, but not both schools. I start driving and trying to decide if I am going to go to the school that the teacher said or the one that my editor thought they were playing. I decide to go with the teachers choice figuring my editor was already wrong about where the game was being played and he was likely wrong about who with as well. I go to the teachers recommendation and find the two teams playing their hearts out. Yay.

I begin seeing the signal every where there are high school aged girls. I am at the game but distracted by a signal in the distance when I hear the ref blow his whistle. He blows and blows. I turn away from the signal and towards the whistling ref to see that he has stopped play on the far end of the soccer field (100 full yards away from me) because he is trying to whistle signal to me to back away from the field. I step back. He whistles and waves. Every step back I take he toots out another whistle and waves me back even farther. How fun! I love the refs oh yes I do!

I get back to religious school just in time to pick up Ev and when he gets in the car he looks at me and says "No Starbucks? I thought we had a thing!" because last week I bribed him with the bucks to let me drop him off 10 minutes early so I could photograph something else. He gives me the big puppy dog eyes and pouty face. So I took him to the bucks.

Today I think I have it all under control. I have a 10 o'clock with the dentist so I am going to go to the gym first thing, shower there, and arrive at the dentist snaggle toothed but smelling fresh and fine.

I am on the elipical, and sometimes (all the time) when I think no one can hear me because they are all wearing headphones and staring at their personal television screens I um kind of talk to the machine. But only during the really tough parts when the resistance shoots up to like 18 and I have to psych the machine out and let it know that I am not a quitter. So, today I was doing a tougher than usual program and I had a lot to say to the eliptical and I didn't know that the lady next to me could hear me despite her big fuzzy headphone ear pads and she leaned towards me and asked me "Are you okay? Do you need help?" and when I tried to laugh it off by saying that I was talking to the machine because I was on a climb and all she gave me the (you are a psycho) look.

After a good shower, I headed for my locker to get dressed and blow out my hair. The lone woman in the dressing room breezed past me towards the showers and I was happy to be the only one. As I was shaking out my shirt and jeans praying that my MIA bra would magically appear the lady came right back mumbling that she had just seen the time and didn't have time to shower. I told her that I was having one of those days too and that I had forgotten my clean bra. She looked right through me (because fat people have the secret ability to be absolutely invisible) and said "At least it wasn't your underwear."

uh

Well, had I forgotten my underwear I would not have seen a problem with that (other than potentially zipping up some pubes) because I would have gone without. (And then Kitten would have been all pleased that I didn't have panty lines because she hates panty lines and I have 'em every single day) But I haven't gone without a bra since 5th grade and I saw that picture from 5th grade and it may not have been the best choice even then. So I say to the lady "I don't ever forgo the bra." and she says "Well, it is a look!" and in my head I think, "Yeah the national geographic 3rd world living beyond all civilization look" but I recognize that I am talking to a completely flat chested woman and I clutch my gym bag to my sagging breasts and head out the door with dripping wet hair to run home to grab my bra which is exactly where I left it right next to the spot where I had packed the incomplete gym bag 4 hours earlier.

My tooth got fixed though!

deal

Still feeling down about regaining all the weight and the scales are still on the way up. I needed some comfort the one no fail way I know how to get it. Through the mouth. I stopped by the bucks today for a warm toasty caffeinated beverage and I ordered my beverage to a never been seen by me before pretty little ray of sunshine behind the counter. When the ray turned around only then did my eyes drop below her sweet and smiling face and OMG the pretty little ray of sunshine was as emaciated as can be. My first thought was "She must be in pain" followed by "How does she stand?" and then a million other thoughts went through my head like "What is missing in her life?" or "How hard that must be for her poor little heart." and then I realized that she and I across the counter from each other must have been such an odd sight. Pretty little thing could likely double her weight, while pretty big thing, me, could easily halve her weight. Then I realized through my stun as I wrapped my meaty paws around my warm and toasty caffeinated beverage that any other anyone in that particular Stepford laden bucks might just be looking at me and asking herself all the exact same questions that I was thinking in my own head about. Which made me feel so connected to the little ray of sunshine and I wanted to reach over the counter, lift all 60 pounds of her up and cradle that little ray of sunshine in my arms and fold her up into my lap and just hold her there until it all stopped hurting us both so much.

heavy words heavy silence

I took mom for her chemo treatment on Wednesday. Dad isn't feeling so good from his own chemo. And he didn't say this, but the last time mom got chemo it was all so painful for mom that dad was fazed. Very fazed. We had the commute from hell. Bad way to start the day. Mom feels guilty that I am taking care of her. Mom went right in for the pre-chemo blood tests. Then we sat and sat. We got anxious. The chemo treatments have not been going well. There is much pain and it takes the entire day. Mom's doctor was late. We waited for what seemed like forever. We tried to eat. No good. We tried to shop the gift shop, no good. Nowhere to go.

We went back up stairs and sat down in the internal waiting room. It's a smaller cozier and quieter waiting room where usually the people who are bringing their friends and family are waiting for their charges to return from their therapies. A lady who had just brought her husband in to see the doctor was sitting there. Her eyes were red rimmed, she looked like she needed a good night's sleep. The lady was looking around room. I imagine she was sizing up us others and trying to decide if we were patients or care givers. I assume she thought we were all care givers, my mom happens to be looking great these days, and for some reason, unlike a regular New Yorker who arrives at the hospital in something comfortable like sweats, mom puts on her finest new fall wardrobe. So the lady looks around, thinks (I am assuming) we are all not cancer patients and begins to cry. Then she starts asking every one how they are dealing with "this" and she starts to say how badly her husband is doing. He is wheelchair bound, unable to control his bodily functions, she can't take care of him anymore. Mom and I are trapped in our seats. I take her hand. The talking lady goes on and on. Another lady is offering the talking lady comfort and suggestions. Mom and I are hearing everything. We can't get up and run. We are both paralyzed. I don't know if mom is hearing this and thinking that it is where she is going or if she is hearing this and imagining that dad will soon be at this stage. But I can see the look on mom's face and I know that, like me, she has not been thinking this far ahead. Then the nurse comes in and calls mom's name. I spring up from the chair, grab mom's arm and hustle her towards the exam room and away from the talking lady. We are shell shocked. We look at each other. No one says a word.

the hurry

Today I ...

woke up three kids, made sure they were properly dressed, fed them some breakfast, packed nutritious lunches and snacks, dropped two of them off at their respective schools, taught an art lesson to a bunch of first graders, headed towards the posh gym, busted my butt on the eliptical for 45 minutes, rushed home, stroked my nauseous mother's brow, showered, went to the chiropractor for the still problematic shoulder/neck, flew through Whole Foods, dashed home, attempted to hydrate my nauseous mother, put groceries away, shoveled in some lunch for me, served dad his lunch, hustled back to the elementary school, taught another art lesson to another group of first graders, zipped to the high school, picked up Matt and his buddy, brought them to the comic book store, tore over to Evan's school, picked up Evan and his buddy, dropped Matt and his buddy off at the buddy's house, brought Evan and his buddy home, got a 40 minute break, drove over to Josh's school to get him from the after school enrichment program, came home, started dinner, fed the family in two shifts, helped Josh with his homework, and read Josh the two torturously boring library books he keeps taking out in response to there being no Lego Star Wars books in the school library (why?).

Then I was helping Evan with some of his homework after all that other stuff when I had to go to the bathroom. I told Evan to start doing some different work while I took the math sheet that had him stumped into the bathroom with me because

1. the bathroom is where this mom goes to hide
2. I can usually sneak an extra minute in for fun stuff like magazine reading and
3. the overwhelming volume of the television is slightly muffled while in there with the door shut and the water running so I thought maybe I could concentrate better.

During my extra minute in the potty I focused on Evan's math problem and figured out where he had gone wrong.

When I emerged and presented Evan with my wisdomful (because I am smarter than a fifth grader) 42 year old mathematical wisdom. He was astounded. He said "You figured that out while in the bathroom?" I nonchalantly answered " yes " (because the porcelain gods, they help me to think) and he who has absolutely no idea what I do around here at all got saucer eyed and said "Whoa, that is amazing multi-tasking."

jail bird daddy

We had a great time at dinner tonight. Dad started to loosen up and he told the kids and me about the 3 times in life he was in jail. I jokingly whispered to Matt that my dad must have scared the horse pulling the cart, and lo and behold the first time dad went to jail he was an 8 year old kid running wild on the streets of Brooklyn and he and his little boy gang friends lit a fire under Joe the fruit guy's fruit filled wagon. Matt and I rolled on the floor laughing over that one. Dad swore that they didn't hurt the horse.

The second time dad was in jail he was away at summer camp. He and the other boys were out hiking and came to a lake where they decided to cool off and take a swim. The boys got naked, tossed their clothes into the bushes and dived right into the cool invigorating waters, ignoring the houses lining the lakeside. Before the boys knew it there were arms pointing out of those house's windows towards the young buck naked swimmers and the shore line was littered with police men, guns drawn, ready to haul the boys down to the precinct.

The third time my dad was in jail was when I was when little sis and were very young. Dad's first wife, who was crazy, called the police and made up some story about dad stealing money from her. Dad ignored the summons when it came in the mail, knowing what a ludicrous story the first wife had made up, when one day not long after the ignored summons had arrived , some police men were waiting for him when he left the apartment building to go to work. They escorted him to jail. Dad ended up in jail for a day and half. Mom was beside herself with worry. She cried the whole night and didn't sleep a wink. The next day she put on a brave face (trying to shield lil sis and I from the shame of having an inmate father) until she got lil sis and me to school, and then she continued the agonizing day long wait for word of dad's fate. Dad on the other hand was given a private cell, played in a thrilling prisoner basketball game, had a good night's sleep. The next morning he was befriended by the prison rabbi, who told dad that jail was no place for a nice jewish boy like him and let dad spend the whole day in his study reading interesting books until the police realized that dad was innocent, apologized and let him go. Dad came home pretty disappointed that night, they let him go right before another prison basketball game.

We'll have to have these little sharing sessions more often.

Oh grandma!

I stopped in to see grandma this afternoon. We had a slightly altered version of the very same exact conversation we have every other time I show up without any one else with me.

Me: Hi Grandma! How are you?
Grandma: Hi dear. I don’t feel well. Something is wrong. But never mind me. Where are the kids?
Me: At school.
Grandma: School? They have school today?
Me: Yes, today is Monday so they are at school.
Grandma: Where are the kids?
Me: At school grandma, it’s Monday and they had to go to school.
Grandma: It’s Monday?!?
Me: All day.
Grandma: Where is your “boyfriend”? (grandma cute for “I can’t remember the name of that guy you are married to”)
Me: He’s at work.
Grandma: Work?!?!
Me: Yes, it’s Monday and he had to go to work today.
Grandma: Your “boyfriend” is at work?
Me: yes.
Grandma: Today?
Me: Yes, it’s Monday so it’s a work day.
Grandma: I think you should get another boyfriend to keep you company (wink wink) when this one is working. He works too much.

how Matt missed 6th grade

The whole story kind of starts with 3rd grade when Matt, who had always been adored by his teachers in previous years, was completely victimized by this horrible witch of a teacher who HATED him. Matt couldn't do anything right for the witch. She bitched so much about the way he sat in his chair that Matt, out of confusion and desperation tried sitting on the floor. She bitched and ridiculed him more. If he read ahead in the reading book because he loved to read and enjoyed the book it was the wrong thing to do. If he went an extra mile and did some extra spelling word homework it went ignored. She interpreted every single word out of his mouth and movement he made as defiant. It was horrible. By the time school was half over Matt was clearly in psychological trouble. By the time March rolled around I had Matt in therapy. The therapist tried to talk to the teacher, no impact. In desperation to salvage my child I had to turn against the teacher. I gave Matt carte blanche to be fresh, talk back and defend himself against her in any way he needed to. I told Matt I wanted to be called into the principal's office. I had something to say. I began avoiding the teacher after school, so as not to hear her false accusations, and referring to her as "the bitch". This helped Matt limp through June battered and beaten. He was not the child I had raised for 9 years. He was a mess. Not knowing what to do I decided to have him evaluated at the local children's hospital. I suspected he was depressed and noticed that for the first time ever he was struggling in math when he was genuinely trying very hard. By the time the evaluation was over Matt had gone off to have a fabulous and rewarding experience at sleep away camp, and returned still gun shy but a tiny bit less depressed. Even so the people who evaluated him urged me to put Matt on anti-depressants and also diagnosed him with Asperger's Syndrome.

I nixed the idea of anti-depressants from the start, knowing that his depression, while very real, was situational, and embraced the Asperger diagnosis. I felt like I could now raise up that bundle of papers and make teachers be kind to Matt. Luckily I didn't have much fighting to do. Matt's 4th grade teacher was that awesome teacher who after hearing about the horrible year before, took it upon herself to help him heal. The awesome teacher's enthusiasm for Matt was contagious and before I knew it the rest of the school was all right there behind him rallying for his cause. Matt's 5th grade teacher was just the gentle kind of caring teacher he needed too. It was a fabulous two years. At the end of the two years I felt like my real kid was well on his way back to me. Matt was no longer depressed, just maybe still overly cautious, but he was back on the right track.

During the spring meeting where we discuss the "plan" for the next year I expressed concern to the "team" about the transition to Middle School for Matt. I couldn't fathom how he was going to run to and from 9 different classes a day. Also, I had been in the middle school during a period change once and it was a disaster. The school was functioning at double it's capacity and the halls were bottle necked, noisy, hot and crazy. This is not a recipe for success with a kid who has Asperger's. I wondered if Matt could have the same schedule as a friend so that the friend would be able to distract him from the buzz of the hallways and help him get from room to room. The answer was positive and Matt's 5th grade teacher suggested a name which the middle school counselor noted on her form.

Then in August the middle school schedules arrive and I phoned the friend's mother to discover that Matt and the friend did not have a single class in common. They did not even have a single teacher in common. I run over to the middle school counselor and at first she doesn't even remember this deal, then she tells me (for the first time) that she can't control what schedule the "regular ed" kids get. I'm crushed. Matt and I walk the halls figuring out his future classrooms and on the first day of school I drop him off like everything is going to be fine. I have my doubts, but am silently hoping. At the end of the first day Matt hops in the car and I ask how it went. He seems happy and he tells me that he really liked his teachers. He thinks they are nice. I don't want to plant a bad thought in his mind so I say nothing.

When I woke Matt up for the second day of school he cried and begged me not to make him go back there. He tells me he can't take all the class changing and the bells and the crowds. I tell him he has to give it a few days, he'll get used to it. He goes. He isn't happy. He cries again on the third morning and I make him go again. I call the school in a panic knowing that Matt does not manipulate and see that this is not going to get better by ignoring it. We have an emergency meeting. The school has nothing to offer except putting Matt in the classroom for kids with learning disabilities. I say he doesn't have a learning disability and they tell me that with such a small class the teacher can individuate. I know they are lying and was feeling pressured so I tell them I will think it through over the weekend and call before Monday with my answer. Matt cries all weekend. He doesn't want to leave his room and I hear him crying in the middle of night. I call Sunday and leave voice mails for the assistant principal and the the counselor that I do not want Matt in the learning disabled class. I want another meeting. They find him Monday morning and give him the new schedule anyway. Matt goes to the special class or two days and then the kids have off for the Jewish Holidays. Matt cries the whole time, he can barely eat and he looks horrible. I think he might be having an 11 year old's nervous breakdown and I can not put him through that. I had just gotten my baby back and I wasn't going to allow him to be crushed again. So I called the school and asked if there was anything else they had to offer. They said they did not. I bring Matt in to see the social worker and see the terror in his eyes. He is petrified of being caught in the hallway during a class change. The social worker makes him cry. She doesn't know how to talk to him. I said I could not send my kid back into that environment because as his mother his emotional health was my priority. So I stopped sending him to school. Matt had attended 6 days of sixth grade.

On the last day he had gone to school he had brought all his important text books home with him, so each morning after I dropped Evan off at 2nd grade and Josh off at preschool I'd come home and hit the books with Matt. I hadn't planned on home schooling him, didn't really know where I was going with it, and the husband was vehemently opposed to home schooling. I didn't know what else to do. All the private schools are full in September. Matt didn't really fit in with the jock-type prep schools around here or the schools for kids with learning disabilities. There was one school which seemed to fit the bill, but it only went to 5th grade. Eventually the husband found a lawyer who said I had to stop teaching Matt because our argument was that the school was the party responsible for teaching him. For a while the school sent a tutor to the house. She was weird and talked to Matt like she was talking to a whole room full of kids, even going as far as standing and posturing in front of an imaginary black board. She quit after a couple of months. I think it was because Matt wasn't ever happy to see her.

After that teacher quit no one ever called to set anything else up and Matt just hung out with me. I'd take him with me on errands and we would have a blast together. There were so many times that I would be laughing so hard at something Matt said that I had to pull off the road because I couldn't see. I felt guilty enjoying his company so much. Having Matt around all day was fun for me. Not knowing what we were going to do about his education was stressful. But he was continuing to emerge from his depression and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize this process. I watched him blossom that year. Without the stress of school on his shoulders Matt was able to complete the circle and by the time spring rolled around he had turned into this confident happy young man. I liked what was happening with Matt. It was worth the strain of not knowing what the future held and the guilt of not teaching him myself.

The summer following Matt's year off from school our lawyer met an educational consultant who had worked wonders for another kid he knew who had similar issues to Matt's. With this guy's help Matt transitioned into 7th grade (after we refused to hold him over and he had to take the IQ test that the less than cooperative principal required him to do) slowly, starting at only 3 classes a day and working his way up to 7 of the 9 periods. (Matt didn't take gym or a foreign language) He went 7 periods for all of 8th grade (same deal with gym and language) and this year Matt is going for a full day at high school.

And that is the story of how Matt got to take 6th grade off from school.

what I need

Where I could be right now is my 25th High School reunion. Where I am right now is in front of my computer preparing this post. “Clickmom!” one might admonish, “You should have gone to the reunion!” “But,” but I would sputter right back at you, “I have too much on my plate! And mom and dad both have cancer! And grandma doesn’t feel well for like a whole a week now and I don’t think she is faking! And I am so tired all of the time! And I can barely smile these days! And I’m growing my hair out for that wig for cancer kids thing! And there is that very large issue of the very large amount of weight I have regained!” and that last lame excuse is pretty much the nail in the coffin for my lack of reunion enthusiasm. I mean, it’s great to see old friends when the weight is on the way down and I am feeling fabulous, but when the weight is reaching new never before seen heights, well, I just feel as attractive as Jabba the Hut these days and I don’t want to share that vibe with people who might remember me as simply a little chubby (or maybe zoftig if they had a crush on me or something) and definitely in better spirits then the ones I exude these days. Besides, I told myself that I would go to the reunion if my 3 favorite girlfriends were going to be there and I emailed all of them and they all weren’t going to go (but all wanted to get together for lunch one day). I guess I hung out with a bunch of other non-reunion types.

Instead of drinking way too much with people that I barely remember tonight I enjoyed a Bill Cosby stand up routine special with my whole family. Then I laughed with them some more during dinner when the conversation card of the day asked the best and worst thing about your place in the birth order, and we all turned to Evan who thinks being the middle child is punishment every second of his life. We watched him squirm, gently teased him and had a well deserved good laugh calling both Evan and me out about our more endearing qualities which make us such special people. Then Josh played piano for us all and Evan and I practiced on our guitars before we did some sit ups on exercise balls (I kicked his butt) and now I am blogging. And I am very happy with my decision not to go.

In 15 more minutes I’ll be warm and snuggly in my bed and no one who knew me 25 years ago will know that right now I am the saddest person who graduated in 1982 who can still appreciate every sweet second with the next generation and every minute I have left with the generation that came before me. And that was really what I needed to do tonight.

I'm all like a margarine commercial over high school

The one "I am skipping through a field of flowers with the sun on my back and my long gauzy clothes blowing in the gentle breeze" moment of my recent life is how wonderfully Matt has adopted to High School. After the middle school that didn't exist for 6th grade ordeal (the one where Matt didn't attend school for a year and I wasn't allowed to try to home school him because we had hired a lawyer so he just kind of hung out with me which was really fun but caused me much stress anxiety ordeal) I was holding my breath to see how this transition would go. And it was all so... easy. I am still afraid to say anything, but I AM SO FREAKING HAPPY ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL I CAN NOT EVEN TELL YOU.

Tonight was the night when the parents go to the school to listen to speedy 15 minute presentations by each of our kids teachers. I loved them all. Seriously, I want to take 9th grade science. I totally want to take science. I just might be jealous. Cause Matt gets to take science. It's gonna be awesome. I might have a girl crush on Matt's art teacher. And the books they are going to read for English... well, I am reading them too. And Matt better be prepared to come home and discuss. I want discussion! I could really use the social studies, it was never my strong subject but I'll pass on the math, because while it all looks totally familiar, and I know that I aced that test in 1978, it is most definitely the kind of math that most of the population is not going to need ever, in their whole lives, and I know that for a "I have made it to 42 years and haven't needed it yet" fact.

Oh my goodness, I recognize that the time is here. My kid is about to be way smarter than me. I figure I'll have the advantage for maybe another week or two, and then forget about it. But I am just going to remember that Matt goes to school early every day, even when he has study hall first period, so I think I'll go to bed with that thought loop in my mind and maybe not the weight of the world on my shoulders tonight.

Also, a special "Hello" to those fellow Stepford residents who took me surprise and delurked in person tonight. That look on my face was complete shock, like when you see your favorite bank teller all dressed up sexy on a date in a bar and for a minute or two your two separate worlds spin off axis until... you know something like that.

dad might die first

Dad's diagnosis is bad. The cancer is all over him. He is starting some kind of oral chemo and steroid regime that has a 50% chance of working. If it doesn't work he'll need regular old chemo. If it comes to that he has maybe 2 years.

Numb.