Scabies

So I was diagnosed with shingles a couple of weeks ago.

It started as an annoying itch on a Tuesday (because what other day would it start?) and by Thursday morning, I had a small spot that looked like a bug bite. It was right along where my bra lays on my right side.

On my drive to work that Thursday morning, I was thinking about the burning itch on my side and it hit me, “Shingles.”

By noon, that ‘bug bite’ had become two. I was more and more sure that I had shingles.

I had chicken pox when I was six. I remember this well because the small pills my mom gave me to take for the itch often (always?) got thrown behind the couch. She found them months later when she moved the couch to vacuum. Yes, I was a brat.

I googled shingles because it’s what we do in this day and age.

It said that if you suspect you have shingles, you should see a doctor.

So after taking Olivia to the orthodontist for a walk-in appointment to get a wire fixed, I headed to Urgent Care for confirmation that I had shingles.

By the time the doctor saw me, the two spots I had at noon that day had become eight. It was a definite rash which ran right along a nerve line.

Shingles.

When I got home that night with an antiviral medicine that I only took seven doses of before deciding I’d rather let the shingles run their course rather than feel as bad as the antiviral made me feel, Tom had fed the girls and had talked to them about my scabies.

Yes. He called my case of shingles scabies.

Do you know what scabies are?

I do, because I googled it. It’s gross.

It’s a rash caused by a mite the boroughs under the skin.

Ick.

And EWWWWW.

And yet, it stuck.

All weekend long, whenever I’d get an especially painful pang from my shingles rash, I’d cry out, “Ohh, my scabies!”

And of course, it got shortened to the point that it was just the one scabie that was hurting me.

Because we’re nothing it not inventive and funny around here.

Well, okay. So my children think I’m funny. In the end, they’re the ones who count since they have to live with me.

Fund Raising

What I want to know is when did it become a thing for the parents of the juniors to fund raise and plan the prom and after-prom?

Back in my day (Yes, I’m aware of how old and crotchety I sound, I don’t actually care.) the students themselves planned the whole shebang.

And, the school did not sponsor an after-prom gathering. The students figured that one out for themselves too. For what it’s worth, after my junior prom, my besties and I headed to Lead Bestie’s house and watched A Nightmare on Elm Street and then fell asleep on her parents couches/recliners. Best prom and after-prom EVER. I wish I’d gone to my senior prom with those three awesome people. Alas, I went with a boyfriend and it was…not fun. It was so very not-fun that I don’t even remember what we did after prom. I may have just made him take me home because, blah.

Yes, I did attend the initial meeting of the Junior Parents the other night. How did you guess?

Out of 40 students, nine parents showed up.

I know.

It seems like that’s always how it is. Whatever.

As of right now, I’m working two football games, selling crap for the Music Boosters as one of them and 50/50 tickets at the other. Go me!!

And I’m a co-chair with another mom (she’s awesome, by the way) in charge of food for Family Fun Night. Wheee!!

I hate being in charge of food. I hate it when it’s just for my family. Imagine how I feel about it now that it’s for the public at large. Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to this responsibility.

But anyway, here we are. The nine of us, plus two who had to work that evening and checked in with me to see what’s up, are in charge of raising tens of thousands of dollars to put together a prom ot end all proms.

Or, you know, give our kids a fun night that they may or may not remember in thirty years.

I’m sure I’ll do plenty of bitching between now and May 2, which is when PROM 2020 happens. Hold on to your hats, folks. Wait, I can’t even with that ‘folks’ back there. That is not something I’d EVER say out loud so why write it, right?

No, I guess what I meant say was, “Hold on to your hats, your awesome nerds.”

And Then There Were the Cows

One other thing we did while at the County Fair was visit N’s cows.

I don’t know how it works in other states but in Ohio, ‘kids’ can show animals/whatever they show the year after they graduate from high school.

So N had her two cows there, Jen and Hope. Jen is four years old and Hope is her one year old daughter.

Awww…

So N had classes on Monday in Toledo so since we were going to the fair anyway, she asked Alyssa if she’d check and make sure the cows had water.

So we hit the Dairy Barn first.

Olivia is disgusted by the entire experience. She hates animals. She hates how they smell, how they sound, how the look. She refuses to pet them, so she can’t say for sure that she hates how they feel but she’d pretty sure she hates that too.

Alyssa had to get three buckets full of water for Jen and one for Hope. Then she petted them both and off we went to be dazzled by Poor Jack’s Amusements.

We checked back in with Jen and Hope on our way out of the fair to take Liv home and get Alyssa to the school for the marching band performances that evening.

They both needed more water and all that previous water had helped their digestion because damn, there were some impressive piles of cow shit at their feet.

To Jen’s credit, she hadn’t stepped in it much.

Ick.

Alyssa scooped the poop, got the water and we left the barn as Olivia gagged over the entire situation.

My mom petted Hope a few times and then opted to wash her hands before we made our way home.

My mom and I went back to the fair for the band performances and Olivia opted to stay home with Tom. She’s a smart fella, that girl.

After the performances, Alyssa checked on the cows one more time. They needed a little more water (they are thirsty girls!) and there was a little more poop. Not nearly as much as there’d been earlier but still…gross.

Let me just say that Alyssa would have fit in perfectly on a farm. She’s an excellent water carrier and poop scooper.

She does her mama proud.

The Obnoxious Side of the County Fair

While I was fretting about my exceptional size, waiting for our turn to see if my hips and butt and boobs would fit on the Freak Out, there were shitty little kids calling their asshole friends to come and skip the line the rest of us had waited in for twenty minutes.

Seriously. That happened.

One obnoxious girl, probably 14 or so, who was at the front of the line kept turning around, pointing to her friends and waving for them to join her up front.

This ride is not one in which you share a car or something like the Scrambler or the Berries. No, this ride seats twelve people per cycle. TWELVE. And this little shit kept calling her friends to come up and take one of those twelve spots from those of us who’d been waiting our turn like civilized people.

She managed to get two of her crappy friends to skip the line, which just pisses me off.

Who is raising these kids to think this is okay behavior?

While Alyssa and I were waiting in line for what is kind of like the Octopus/Spider ride at Cedar point (kind of, but not exactly) two girls got off the ride and then ran around from the exit to the entrance and joined their brother who were near the front of the line. They jumped in front of at least fifteen people.

Their parents WERE RIGHT THERE!

I just do not understand why people do this. Why are there parents out there who let their kids be selfish pricks? They’re teaching their kids that the rules don’t apply to them.

It’s so wrong and obnoxious and I don’t know what can be done to fix it. Hell, probably nothing since the awful parents aren’t stepping up and making their kids be better people.

Sigh.

Exceptional Size

The county fair is in town this week.

The girls get the Monday of ‘fair week’ off school and kids get into the fair for free. Wristbands for unlimited rides are $14. We’ve been every year since we moved to this area.

Last year, alas, I didn’t have any vacation time, so I left work a little early and Olivia and I hit the fair for a couple of hours at the end of the day. That was fine.

This year, wheee, I have three whole vacation days (I ‘earn’ my third day in October) and so I knew at the start of the year that was going to use one of those three days for Fair Day. It’s tradition!

We always ride the spinning berries ride first. Again, tradition. And by ‘we’ I always get a wristband too because I’m twelve years old at heart and I love to spin and flip and ride.

So we rode the strawberry, didn’t spin nearly enough and then headed to a ride that was a two-seater. I told the girls I’d sit that one out so that they could ride together.

Alas, the minute Olivia saw that not only did this ride spin but it also rose into the air, she noped right out of that sucker.

We were on to the Scrambler. Olivia asked if we could all ride that one.

I took one look at the seats and said, “Sure, if my butt were a lot smaller.”

There was a mom and her two young daughters on that ride already and even though her girls were all of six and seven, and the mom was smaller than I am, they were smashed in there quite snugly. So yeah. Mom was going to sit that one out too.

By the time the girls were done on the Scrambler, my mom had found us and so Alyssa and I decided to ride the Freak Out. This ride required riders to be taller than 49” and shorter than 79”. There was a sign posted that read something like, “Due to the design of the seats on this ride and the safety harnesses, riders of exceptional size may not be able to ride.”

As Alyssa and I got closer to the front of the line, I started to worry that I might be ‘exceptionally sized.’ I watched the other riders getting off the ride to see if I could find anyone with hips as wide at mine or boobs as big. Alas, this ride tends to draw the 11 – 17 set and they tend to NOT be the size of a 40+ mom.

I finally asked Alyssa if she thought I might be exceptionally sized. She rolled her eyes and said, “No!”

Bless her lying little heart.

But guess what? She wasn’t lying. I fit!

Okay, confession. The carnie had to tell me to sit back as far as I could in the seat and he has to PUSH the harness into my bosom in order to get it to click into place but click it did!

And I was only uncomfortable for a few seconds before my body and all its mass settled into the new parameters set by the seat and its harness.

That ride was SO MUCH FUN. We were spun and swung into the air and whipped around and it was exhilarating.

Hearing Bells

Olivia will often announced, “I have a new Jingle Bell song.”

I try hard to stifle the groan when she says this.

You’ve all heard the Jingle Bells, Batman smells song right?

Well, she just inserts random characters from her favorite books and shows into the song and then expects praise, like she’s done something brilliant.

I know.

I am proud of her. She’s amazing.

But these songs are so stupid. The ‘original’ one is stupid. They’re all inane and annoying and I would like to never hear another.

Except, Liv loves them. They crack her up.

She’ll belt out, “Jingle bells, Weston smells, Gage laid an egg. The aide’s car lost a wheel and the teacher ran away.”

And then she’ll laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever.

So okay, that one was kind of clever but then she’ll insert Marinette, Adrian, Adam F. Goldberg and Barry. It’s usually Murray that smells and Beverly always lays the egg but sometimes the roles of the three kids will be rotated.

It’s just…parenting can be so boring, even with all the joys and beauty.

Over here in the Ordinary household, we celebrate all the little things. She’s tying her shoes! We got rid of the cushy tushy. Sure, she’s twelve but these things were/are big things to us.

But jingle bell songs? Sometimes, silence is golden.

Dawn's In Trouble, It Must Be Tuesday

Remember back at my old job where Tuesdays were the worst day of the week?

I hated Tuesdays with the heat of a thousand dying stars. Wait. Are dying stars not super hot?

Whatever.

I hated Tuesday.

Which kind of makes me sad because Alyssa was born on a Tuesday and so…I love Tuesdays.

Except. No. That was an exception. She made one single Tuesday special.

The rest of the Tuesdays in the world? They can bite me.

Tuesday is just the second Monday of the week.

These days, I don’t exactly hate Tuesdays, not the way I once did. But they’re still not fun.

Tuesdays in my new life are mostly just boring, actually.

The only thing Monday has going for it is that it’s a busy day. So it passes quickly and then…slump…it’s Tuesday.

Sigh.

Filth

I vacuumed the upstairs rooms in my house last weekend.

Cue the epic event music.

I know, big whoop, huh?

Except…it had been months since I’d done this. Yes, I feel much shame over this fact. I suppose I’ll get over it someday.

I’d be over it sooner if not for the fact that the canister that holds all the filth that was sucked up off the floor was full when I was finished with the three bedrooms and the hallway.

I should have emptied the thing and then vacuumed each room again, just because there were some serious filth on those floors.

I knew it was time to vacuum (way past time, if you must know) when it felt like the hair that had accumulated on those floors felt like it was reaching up and wrapping itself around my toes when I walked through a room.

It was gross.

We’re gross.

Maybe I’ll vacuum up there again this coming weekend.

Then again, maybe not. Now that there isn’t a wig forming on the floors, I’ll probably conveniently forget about the hair and skin we shed every single day that is falling to the floors to create all kinds of nastiness.

Okay, sure, maybe I will vacuum up there again sooner rather than later.

It’s not like I enjoy living in filth.

But for what it’s worth, you know you’re a grown up when you feel a huge sense of accomplishment when you manage to vacuum carpets, change all the sheets on all the beds in the house and still cook dinner for your family. Yeah, I’m right up there with Martha Freaking Stewart.

Signs of Compassion

Remember that time when I sobbed in the movie theater while watching Inside Out?

Yeah. Those were the days.

Oh, wait, there was another movie during which I sobbed while sitting in a dark theater. I think it was called Now and Then. There was a scene where this old dude was sitting on a bench all by himself. He reminded me of my dad and it broke my heart.

Anyway!!

This is not about me and my propensity to cry in public while being ‘entertained’ by images projected upon the silver screen.

No.

This is about Olivia and her recent show of compassion.

We just finished watching the Netflix original Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. It is three seasons long and Olivia watched each episode with rapt enthusiasm. We found it when we went looking for something to replace The Goldbergs, which won’t be showing new episodes until late September.

So we wrapped up the series and we headed to bed. As I was getting the wash cloth ready to wash Liv’s face I noticed that her eyes were a little bright, as if with unshed tears.

I asked her if she as okay.

She shook her head.

I asked what was wrong.

She answered me with a question of her own. It was about the time we went and saw Inside Out. She asked me if I remembered crying during that movie.

I told her I did remember and then asked her, “Did the tale of the Bauldelaire children make you sad?”

She nodded, the tears flowing freely now. She struggled to speak past her tears but managed to tell me that the scene where Sunny’s friend, the snake (an actual snake for those unfamiliar with the Series of Unfortunate Events) climbed a tree to get an apple that would cure Sunny of the illness caused by the spores of poison mushrooms.

Sunny ate from the apple and then went on to give her sister and brother a bite of the apple. All three children were saved from the poison.

The kindness of that snake made Olivia cry with happiness.

I cried too.

She’s showing compassion and empathy.

I know that one time when she cried because her sister was sad that Orville had died was an excellent sign that Miss O is capable of empathy but those moments are rare so this show of emotion was a beautiful thing.

Sure, I don’t like her to be sad but she actually wasn’t so much sad as just moved to tears by beautiful storytelling.

I want her to feel the magic of movies and books and to feel the emotion being conveyed through the shows we’re watching and the books we’re reading. I want her to understand and empathize when others are happy or sad or angry or hurt.

I don’t want her to be stuck in her own bubble, filtering the world and all its beauty through the veil of 5p- and however it skews her world.

I don’t know that it does filter things for her but I do know that it affects her ability show her emotions.

That evening as I held her sobbing body and soothed her grief and her happiness, I was so happy for her to have been so touched by a movie. That’s part of what movies are there for, to make us feel, to make us happy and sad and angry and wonder what else is out there beyond our own little corner of the world.

Of course, Alyssa had to suggest, “Maybe she’s PMSing.”

Well…there is that. But I like to think it’s more than just hormones. It’s Olivia waking up, taking a look around and seeing all the world has to offer.

Small Town Life

One Sunday evening right before school started, the girls and I were in the living room watching the Netflix series, “Lemony Snickets’ Series of Unfortunate Events”.

Tom was in the family room watching murder because that’s what he does.

Alyssa’s phone was in her hand because, duh, teenager.

She announced in an relaxed tone, “Steph’s in a ditch.”

It took me a minute but then I said, “What? How do you know this?”

“She sent a text to our group chat.”

I asked, “How did she end up in a ditch?”

“She took a curve too fast and spun her truck into a ditch on the corner of 6.75 and K,” Alyssa replied calmly.

“Has she called her parents?” I wanted to know.

But before Lyss could reply, I remembered something I’d seen on Facebook, posted by Steph’s mom, “They’re in Hocking Hills, aren’t they?”

Alyssa nodded.

“Did she call her brother?”

Alyssa shook her head at that one. “She said he’d just have a panic attack and she is already having one so two of them panicking isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

I got up from my nest on the couch and headed to the family room. I told Tom the situation and said that I thought we should go see if we could help.

I knew that a seventeen year old girl should not be on the side of the road alone at that time of the evening.

Tom drove his van with a tow strap in the back and I drove the girls in my car.

We only had to go about four miles to find Steph. Her cousin, a teenage boy, was already there as well as a friend of his. They had a chain and were preparing to try and pull the truck out of the ditch. It had gone in perpendicular to the road, the front end first into the ditch.

The first thing I did was to ask Steph if she was okay. She nodded but I still hugged her anyway. She was shaking. I told her we’d all put a vehicle in a ditch and even if we hadn’t yet, I looked at Alyssa, I assured Steph that we all would do so at one time or another. I told her I was really glad she was okay.

I could see the relief on the boys’ faces when they saw Tom get out of his van. I think they were glad to see a DAD show up.

Tom suggested that several people get in the back of Steph’s truck and try to weigh down the back tires so they could get a grip and make it possible to just drive the truck out of the ditch.

The cousin’s friend started to hand Steph the keys to her truck, as if to let her try and drive it out of the ditch.

I was like, “No, how about she not be the one to do that.”

The dude nodded and got in the truck himself.

Tom and the cousin got in the back of the truck. Friend started it and at first the tires just spun on the gravel.

Then Tom and Cousin started bouncing in the back of the truck, the tires gained traction and whee, the truck was out of the ditch.

And wonder of wonders, it did NOT fly across the road into the other side of the ditch, which was my biggest fear as Friend was gunning the engine.

His work there done, Tom headed back to his van and hopped in, waving in my direction.

Cousin and his Friend got in their truck and headed off.

I asked Steph, “Do you want us to follow you home?”

She nodded, “You don’t mind?”

I smiled, “Of course not.”

See, this is what friends do. We take care of each other, we mother each other’s kids, we go out even when a storm is coming and help a kid get her truck out of a ditch.

I am so glad we were close by and able to help this sweet girl.

The rain started just after we passed Steph as she pulled in her driveway.

The four mile drive home from her house was an adventure as the wind blew and rain poured.

But it was worth it because a teenage girl was home safe and sound. The only damage to her truck was the front license plate holder.

I call that a good day.

Wired aka Help

It sounds so simple. Just slap some wax on the weird wire in your mouth that’s poking the hell out of the inside of your cheek.

Sure.

I had no problem with that.

Alyssa had no problem with it.

Olivia…has problems with it.

First of all, her hands aren’t nearly as dexterous as yours, mine and ours. Second, sticking her fingers in her mouth grosses her out.

But that first problem is the one that concerns me.

Backstory: Olivia’s teeth have moved since the last time she saw the orthodontist, as is the point of braces.

One of her wires was very stabby one even last week. It was wreaking havoc on her mouth.

When I got home that day, I helped her with wax.

That evening, after snacks and brushing teeth, she needed more wax.

It was downstairs. I was upstairs. I sent her down to ask her sister to help her with the wax.

She returned a few minutes later with a glob of wax in her hand. She handed it to me to adhere it to the wire in her mouth, thereby protecting her mouth from the stabby wire.

The next morning I put more wax on the wire.

I sent Liv down for breakfast with the little container of wax.

As I was leaving for work, I pointed out the wax and told Tom and Alyssa that someone, ANYONE, needed to help Olivia with the wax after she finished breakfast and her teeth were brushed.

Tom said, “Yeah, Lyss.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes and said, “What’s the big deal, you just slap it on your teeth.

I was running late but paused long enough to tell her, “Yes, it’s simple, for you and for me but not for her. Please help her.”

Tom wasn’t much help when he said, “Yeah, it’s simple, YOU just slap it on her teeth.”

Alyssa huffed and puffed (maybe I’m exaggerating but in the moment it felt like a huffy and puffy reaction) and I repeated, “Please. Just SOMEONE help her with the wax before she leaves for school.”

I know that Alyssa thinks we baby Olivia. I understand why she feels that way.

I called the orthodontist that morning to confirm that they would have people in their Angola office (They work some days in Angola, other days in Kendallville, I never know which is which.) and then called Tom to let him know he could bring Olivia to town that afternoon to get that wire fixed.

She had an appointment already scheduled for five days from when the wire suddenly got stabby but I didn’t want to wait that long. Her mouth was already showing signs of trauma. It was swollen and raw from the wire.

She doesn’t need one more reason not to eat her lunch at school but that’s a post for another day.

Pleasant

The other day, one of the ladies with whom I work stopped by my desk one her through the front office and said, “I just wanted to let you know that I love talking to you. You’re always so pleasant.”

I smiled my most pleasant smile and told her that she’s lovely to talk with too.

Yeah.

My family might disagree with the level of my pleasantness.

Hell, those who know me well would probably disagree.

One day earlier in that same week a woman came to the front window at work. I greeted her pleasantly.

She took a moment to compose herself and then explained extensively her job search. She has four kids. The youngest is four years old. She needs a first shift, Monday through Friday job. She can’t find child care. She is alone with her four kids. Life is very hard.

Wait.

That sounded sarcastic. It wasn’t mean to. I feel for this woman. I was quite pleasant to her, saying all the right things to try and ease her mind about the potential for a job with our company.

I told Alyssa once after a couple of interactions with drive-thru employees at our local Wendy’s that my face reads, “Talk to me, I care.”

I also told her that my face lies.

I mean, okay. Sure. I care. To an extent but dude, I was just ordering a couple of Frosties that day. I didn’t need to know each person’s life story or that their manager was an ass (though, I’m thinking if two people are that pissy while dealing with the public, the manager might just be an ass.)

There are days, though, after I’ve been every so pleasant to the nine hundredth person that I think to myself, “It’s just as well they never see the hate that’s in your head.” ©Les Miseràbles English lyrics Herbert Kretzmer.

Not that I hate anyone in particular. It’s just a general feeling of annoyance with the entire world.

Yeah. How’s that for pleasant?

Home Alone

Remember that last post when I mentioned how I could use a little loneliness?

Dudes!! On Wednesday, August 28th at 4:00pm, my family is leaving our house and going away…AWAY!

I will go home at 5:00pm to an empty house.

Stop and take that in.

The house will be empty.

We have lived in our house for nine years and I have NEVER been alone in it for more than twenty minutes and that was back when I was off work for cancer treatments and Tom would go to the post office and race back, lest I be without his aid and care for longer than I could stand.

They should be back home by 5:30 so yes, a half hour alone in my house.

Whatever will I do?

The possibilities are endless.

I could go to the basement and get the clean towels that need to be folded.

I could clean out the toy room, taking all the crap that Tom never wants to leave the house and putting in my car, where it will hide until tomorrow afternoon when I will drop it off at a local donation box.

I could start dinner.

I could sit and just take in the still silence.

A coworker to whom I was extolling the joy I was feeling over going home to an empty house told me I should leave work early to make the alone time last even longer.

I’m considering it.

But, and this is key, I can’t get home before Tom and the girls leave at 4ish because if I get home before they leave, he’ll want ME to take Alyssa to her voice lesson or, he’ll leave Olivia home with me while he takes Lyss to Bryan to the lesson.

I don’t want either of those things to happen. I want the three of them to get into his big blue van and drive away from the house while I am driving toward the house and then I will get to be gloriously alone…ALONE for at least 30 minutes.

I just can’t even.