Monday, August 31, 2020

Putting the P in Postal

I go to the post office every day for work. I pick up the incoming mail from the PO boxes (yes, boxes, there are six that I check daily) and at least once a week, I have to go in and actually interact with postal workers. They’re fine, very professional, maybe a little irritable sometimes but they deal with the general public and let me tell you, that would make me cranky too. And we’ve all figured out that you just can’t fix stupid.

On one recent trip to the post office, I had to drop off a certified mailing, get the date stamp on my receipt for the certified mailing and buy twenty rolls of stamps.

While she was waiting on me, Annie, the post office employee took a phone call. From her side of the call, I could tell that someone wanted to put their mail on hold.

Annie explained that the customer would need to come into the post office and do this in person.

After some back and forth, Annie offered the option of going online to make this request. She told the person it would cost $1.05 to do this online. Then she gave the address to the website.

We all know the postal service’s website, right? USPS.com

Annie said just that, “Go to USPS.com and click on the change my address link. No, that P as in Paul.”

The customer on the phone thought Annie had said B as in boy.

You guys…why would the United States Postal Service’s website be USBS.com? I mean, sure the B could be for BULL and the S could be for SHIT but come on!

I kind of love that Annie said, “P, as in Paul.” She’s way kinder than I am I would have said, my voice dripping in sarcasm, “P…as in POSTAL.” The ‘duh’ at the end of that sentence would have been unvoiced but VERY implied.

After she hung up the phone and rang up my $1100.00 worth of stamps, Annie gave me a smile and as a way of explaining that exchange said, “She was young.”

Just being a customer in that place for ten minutes makes me understand the whole phrase ‘going postal.’

Like I said, you can’t fix stupid but the young do (usually) grow up.

Friday, August 28, 2020

Taking No for an Answer

I don’t think I would handle rejection well, which is why I avoid the possibility of rejection whenever possible. I haven’t actually had to deal with rejection often in my many years in this world. I’m lucky, I know.

But I am also able to read a ‘soft’ no and accept it without pushing.

Example 1:

At work we have an overstock of no-touch thermometers. I asked the engineering manager if I could buy one. He asked how many we had in stock. I told him there were 25 in the area I could see.

That was the end of our communication, all of which took place over email. There was no face-to-face conversation here.

When he didn’t get back to me after I’d told him how many we had, I let it go. I took his non-response as a no, we are not selling the ‘extras’. No need to follow up. No need to make him come out and say no. I don’t need a reason, I don’t need a clearer answer. I get it and I accept it. What else can I do?

Example 2:

My aunt had a pool. We’ve taken Olivia to swim there a few times this summer. It got her out of the house and into the sunshine. My aunt and her husband both said, “Come over anytime!”

Okay. That’s great and all but…no. I’m not going to just arrive at their house and swim in their pool without prior authorization. I just can’t.

So one Friday in late July, I texted my aunt and asked her if I could take Olivia to her house the following Sunday to swim.

My aunt responded with an attachment that I couldn’t open. I replied that I couldn’t open the attachment.

She said, “Oh, it was a good message.”



And that was it. That’s all she said.

Do I need to say that we did not go swimming that weekend? I was NOT going to ask again. I wasn’t going to say something like, “So…is that as yes or no to swimming?”

Why? Because her non-answer was a no to me. I didn’t want to put her on the spot. I didn’t want to force her to say no if she didn’t want to come out and say it.

I can take no for an answer, even if the no is never actually verbalized.

Obviously, I would be a terrible sales person. “Oh, you don’t want this vacuum? Okay then, bye.”

I probably wouldn’t have been a very good cis-dude either, what with their inability to take even a clear and firm NO for an answer.

And how about that that, I managed to turn this into a male-bashing post after all.



Thursday, August 27, 2020

First Last

On the morning of the first day of school, I was taking pictures of the girls, as one does.

I took pictures of them alone and together as we’ve done since the beginning of this schooling journey.

As I took one of Alyssa, I lamented in a tone of exaggerated despair, “This is your last first day of school.”

She rolled her eyes at me.

I laughed and said, “Just kidding. I’m not (mom who’d two kids graduated last year and the year before and who now posts all kinds of ‘empty nest’ posts on FB. She wails that her kids have left and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Her kids went to the local university. They’re all of a half hour away from her house so…yeah.)”

Alyssa gave me a look of relief that I took as gratitude that I’m not going to embarrass her…yet.

See, it is a little bit sad. I mean, it’s gone so fast. It feels like last year she was the one in 7th grade. I remember thinking during her freshman year that it was all going to fly by and I was right. Sure, the last twenty two weeks of 2020 have crawled by but I can feel the momentum speeding up. I can feel her slipping away. I know this is what we want for her.

When one becomes a parent, the best thing you can hope for is that your child grows up and becomes an independent, well-adjusted adult doing things that make them happy while not being a menace to society.

I think we’ve managed that with Lyss. I mean, we still have a year to really mess her up if we want to but for the most part, she’s pretty much already molded into the model of responsibility and decorum. We’ve done our best and she’s pretty amazing.

But each of these ‘last firsts’ will be bittersweet. Already, because of Covid-19 she missed her last parade, the Kickoff Dance (which I don’t even think she attended last year) has been canceled for this year. She missed her entire junior year track season. So…we’ll cherish each ‘last first’ we get this year as they come and we won’t count on any of them until they happen.

I know I’m echoing what every parent before me has endured as they watched their chickens fly the coop. How lucky are we all that our kids are so amazing that they want to fly and they get to fly and that, if we’re lucky, they’ll come home sometimes and hang out with us, sharing their glories, their failures, their tears and their laughter. We’ve done what we can and now it’s up to them. But it’s nice to know that we can be a safe place to land if things ever get tough and they need to come home.

I’m just going to say it. Home is where your mom is.

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Welcome to Junior High

New year, new teacher, new masks, new everything.

We finally said goodbye to spring break after twenty two weeks.

Obviously, spring break morphed into summer break and here we are in August, masking up and starting a new year.

This year kicks off Olivia’s first in junior high and Alyssa’s last in high school.

Since Liv transitioned from elementary to junior high, she’d got an all new teacher. She worked with Dr. C for three years and was very comfortable with her. Now she’d in Mrs. H’s intervention class.

It’s going to be fine.

Olivia was a little nervous the week or so before school started. She was picking at her fingers, not sleeping well, and flapping her left hand more than ever.

The school had canceled the open house, which usually takes place a day or two before school starts in an effort to keep the number of people entering the building to a minimum.

But! They did have a 7th grade orientation two days before the first day of school. That was nice. It explained how junior high will be different from elementary school. It described the day and how the students were responsible for their own behavior, etc.

Okay. Sure. Fine.

Olivia and I got to meet her teacher, which was great. The original plan, way back in February of 6th grade, was to have Mrs. H come to Dr. C’s class and meet Olivia in a safe, familiar setting. Then, in the last few weeks of school (which were, obviously, spent at home with me as the teacher’s aide) Dr. C was going to take O down to Mrs. H’s classroom and let O get used to it little by little.

Well, none of that happened. 2020 went to hell in mid-March and we’re all still on the broken escalator trying to climb back out. Sadly, the people in front of us haven’t figured out that a broken escalator just becomes STAIRS and we all need to just start climbing.

Instead, Olivia came home from spring break and never left the house again until August 17, which is when we attended 7th grade orientation and met her teacher.

Obviously, that’s an exaggeration. But still…kind of accurate.

And yet, it’s going to be fine. We’re all in the same boat. All the kids went home on the afternoon of March 13th and didn’t step foot in the school again for twenty two weeks.

I’m rambling. I’m nervous for her. I know she’ll be fine but I want to fast forward about four weeks and REALLY KNOW she’s fine.

Just wait until next year at this time when Alyssa’s off to college. That’s going to be a fun ramble, isn’t it?

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

One Foot Out the Door

It’s the first week of Alyssa’s senior year but I swear she’s had one foot out the door on her way to college since the first week of June.

Recently, she told me that she and N and Tessa were talking about next year, A’s and T’s freshman year of college. They all three want to live together at Toledo University.

But, guess what? Toledo’s rule is that incoming students must live on campus for their first four semesters. Of course, there are loopholes. If your family lives within twenty five miles of campus and you’re going to live at home, then fine, you can do that.

If you don’t qualify for that one, then if you can prove financial hardship which would prohibit you from paying for on-campus housing, then sure, find more affordable housing so the university can still get tuition from you.

So, here’s the thing. We do not live within twenty five miles of the Toledo campus. N’s sister, though, does; which is how N has been able to avoid on-campus housing during her time at Toledo University.

Tessa, whose father died when she was seven years old, will probably be able to claim financial hardship.

So…that leaves dear, sweet Alyssa. Poor child, her parents are both still alive and even still married to each other. Sigh.

Wanna guess what her next giant leap was in this little conundrum?

Yeah, she jumped right into: Well, I guess N and I will just go to the courthouse and get married.

That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think? I mean, there are other ways around the ‘must live on campus rule’ besides the VERY BIG STEP of getting married.

There are so many other smaller steps to be taken before leaping into marriage.

I think she was kidding, but I also think she was only sort of kidding.

Everyone who knows me know that if/when Alyssa and N get married, I will throw them the biggest, most beautiful (or smallest, most beautiful, whatever they want) wedding ever. But I want them both to truly be ready for such a step.

But anyway, I think she’s just putting the cart before the horse. She’d just chomping at the bit for independence. She wants so badly to make her own decisions, to learn from her own mistakes, to be trusted to know what’s best for herself.

I do trust her. I know she’s amazing and smart and responsible.

I also know she’s young and so is N. The young are impetuous; even the most responsible young. It’s just the nature of the young. They can’t help it. Their brains are still maturing.

So for the next ten-ish months, she’s going to have to deal with me and her dad making decisions in her best interest. We can’t help it, it’s in our nature to want the best for her. So…there might be some pushing and pulling around here and that’s okay. She needs to push the boundaries and we’ll need to reinforce them.

It’s been a fun ride but it isn’t over yet.

Monday, August 24, 2020

Just the Beginning

When we met Olivia’s new teacher on the evening 7th grade orientation, she very kindly mentioned, TWICE, that during the first week of school (all three days) there would be no homework.

Guess who had homework on the second day of school?

Yeah.

I should have known.

See, this woman, this lovely teacher who is new to Olivia has so very much to learn about the light of my life.

The ‘homework’ Olivia brought home was work she was supposed to do in class that day. What I’m imagining Mrs. H did was place the math sheet with approximately 25 addition problems in front of Olivia. Then, bless her heart, she expected Olivia to actually solve the problems…by herself.

Hahahahahaha.

No.

That’s not how Olivia works. She simply cannot sit there on her own and do this sort of work. She needs someone (me, apparently) to sit next to her and keep her on task by reading every single problem to her, which means, if the problem is 96 +24 I have to asked, “Okay, what’s 6+4? What’s 5+5? 6+4 is the same as 5+5. What’s 5+5? Okay, now that you’ve told me what 5+5 is, what is 6+4? Remember, 6+4 is the same as 5+5. Why did you write a five below the line? Did you say the answer to 6+4 is 5? Okay, Livie, if you erase every single number and then write it again, this is going to take us twice as long. But you still have to leave a little space, even if it’s tiny, between the numbers and letter so your teacher can read what you’re writing. You don’t have to have your numbers and letters hugging each other. It’s better if they don’t touch. Stop sniffing me. What is the answer to this question? Please stop poking the pretzels in the Chex mix with your pencil. Okay, that’s it, the Chex mix is being moved out of reach. But seriously, that is 6+4?”

And after we figure out what 6+4 is, we move on to what 9+2+1 is…and so on and so on and so on. I know.

Yes, this went on for an HOUR that first night.

And first, let me explain that I got home that night already frustrated because my phone was being stupid. Thankfully, Alyssa asked me if I’d turned if off and then back on, which, of course I hadn’t. Once I did that, it was fine. Duh.

Homework got better the longer we worked on it, if you can believe it. I settled down, stopped being a bitch and Olivia stopped sniffing me long enough to do her actual work.

My concern, though, is what happens when she starts having actual homework along with all the shit stuff she was supposed to do at school but just…you know, didn’t? Will we be sitting there for HOURS each night, doing her school work at home and then her homework? Because…no. I just don’t think I can do that. I definitely don’t want to. I want us to have a balance. It’s sort of like work/life except in this case it’s a school/life balance. I want her to be able to relax.

Okay, so I need to calm down.

It’s the first week of school. Her teacher is getting to know her. She has access to Dr. C, the wonderful teacher who worked with Liv over the last few years. They’ll figure this out or they won’t. If they don’t, we’ll figure something out at home. If it comes to it, I’ll ask for a conference and we’ll go from there.

School, like everything else, is a work in process. I need to remember that if I get home another night and find PILES of homework in Liv’s backpack.

Sigh.

Friday, August 21, 2020

Three Years

August 21, 2017 was a Monday. The details are still so clear in my head.

This was the seventeenth anniversary of when I started my job (at the time).

Bigger still, though, it was the day I was told I had cancer. I knew it was coming. My doctor had called me the day before but I hadn’t been near my phone and so wasn’t able to answer.

Doctors do not call you on the weekends with good news.

I called my doctor’s office at 9am the next morning, Monday, August 21, 2017. I was at work because, why not? I didn’t feel sick, there was no reason not to work.

He took my call right away. Again, not a good thing.

He told me right there over the phone that the biopsy came back saying I had cancer. But he didn’t want to go into details on the phone. He asked me if I could come to his office that afternoon. He wanted my husband to be there too.

I called Tom and gave him the news. I asked him if he could meet me at the doctor’s office at 2:30.

I called my mom and asked her if she could meet the girls’ bus at 3:10 at our house. I explained the situation. She cried.

I hadn’t cried at that point. I mean…why? We didn’t know how bad things were yet. I wanted to save my tears for when they might actually be needed.

But I get it. I totally get why my mom cried. If I were told one of my children had cancer, no matter how old those children were (I was 46) I’d cry too.

I continued to work, because what else could I do?

Tom and I met at the doctor’s office. Dr. S was very kind. He explained that my cancer was invasive ductal cancer. It was triple negative. He said I’d need to meet with the surgeon but it might take weeks before I could get in.

At that point, his nurse came and told us that she’d contacted the surgeon’s office and had gotten me in to see him that same week, on Thursday, at 3pm. Dr. S was surprised that Dr. B had an opening.

I was not surprised. It felt very much like divine intervention at work. Just like those nights I’d lay awake, thinking about the pain in my left breast. There was no lump that I could feel. It was too deep. But I knew that pain wasn’t normal.

From there, things just snowballed. Meet the surgeon, get chest x-ray, get breast MRI with contract, schedule surgery (September 5). Meet the oncologist. Get port placed. Set up appointment with chemo nurse (Kyla) for chemo education. Set up appointment for first chemo. Second chemo; two days after that second chemo treatment, my hair started falling out and I was bald all the way into the 16th chemo. Meet with Parkview billing because OF COURSE my treatment was going to span two years and I’d have a whole new deductible to meet. This woman was awesome. She found me a program that would pay up to $5000 toward my Taxol chemo. Guess who much my twelve infusions of Taxol cost? That’s right, exactly $5000.

After chemo was done it’s time to get port removed, meet with radiation oncologist, feel terrible about self for a few days because while he was kind, he was the first doctor in all these doctors I’ve seen and who have seen my stupid boobs to make me feel like maybe the cancer was my fault. Get over myself, schedule appointment to get fitted for brace that I will lay in for my five minutes of radiation that will take place every week day for seven weeks, for a total of 35 treatments.

Schedule first radiation, get through all 35, ‘graduate’ from radiation.

And…done.

Except of course once you’ve been through cancer treatments, you never really feel done. Every twinge, every new ache must be the cancer coming back. It can’t possibly be that I’m getting old and I’m way too fat.

I still see my chemo oncologist every six months. This past June I was released from seeing my radiation oncologist. I see the surgeon once a year. His office schedules my mammograms. I’ve had one more breast MRI (with contrast.)

I’m doing okay. I’m here and I’m so very grateful for that. Every single day is a gift that I don’t appreciate nearly enough what with my irritability and being tired. But that’s life. We can’t be all sunshine and roses every second of every day.

But I do try and take a minute each day to be grateful. I’m grateful to God for His grace and His love. I’m grateful to the doctors and nurses and technicians and billing clerks and hematologists and receptionists who were always so kind to me. Who always treated me like a person, someone going through a traumatic experience rather than a number, someone to push through the program.

I would like for this to have all meant something but it doesn’t always have to. Sometimes, it’s just one chapter in the book of your life. And that’s okay too. But sometimes, like on days like this, I feel the need to go back and reread that chapter, if only to see how far I’ve come.

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Self-Aware

One evening a week or so before school started, Olivia declared that she was using a scrap of material from one of Lyss’s craft projects to wrap around her (Olivia’s) left hand. She said she was wrapping her hand to stop herself from flapping that hand. Oh. Yes. The flapping; she’s become aware of the flapping. Maybe she’s always been aware of the flapping but suddenly, she’s aware that not everyone does it. And she doesn’t want to be one of the few who flaps. Sigh. Self-awareness can be a great thing. But then again, it can also be a confidence killer. I want her to be aware of herself and to be able to control her own body. I also want her to feel good about herself and not be worried about all the ways she’s ‘different’ from everyone else. It’s a tough line. After explaining to me that she was wrapping her hand to keep herself from flapping it, she asked me if I would talk to her new teacher this year about the flapping and see if her teacher, Mrs. H, had any ideas for how Liv could keep herself from flapping. She wanted to know if I’d ever done anything like she did. I think she was reassured when I told her that when I was her age, I did shake my hands; both of them. It was very much like the flapping that Olivia does. In fact, it probably was flapping. It started around the time my parents were getting divorced, so…take that for what it’s worth. It drove my mom crazy. Whenever I’d do it around her, she’d snap, “Stop shaking your hands!” I told Olivia that I was able to stop shaking my hands by putting my hands in my pockets, either the front or back pockets of my jeans. She seemed reassured that I’d done it too and I’d been able to stop. I reminded her that once upon a time, she’d sucked her thumb and pulled her hair out and she’d stopped doing those things. She liked knowing that. I’ve often wondered if it’s better to be so disabled as to not even realize you’re disabled or just this side of ‘normal’ and know you’re not quite normal. I love Olivia. I love her so much that it makes my heart hurt to know she’s hurting. And yes, I would STILL take away 5p- if I could. I would ‘fix’ her because it would make her life easier. I think she’s amazing just the way she is but I also know that having all of that fifth chromosome would take away some of the quirks, some of the challenges, some of the things that make her life harder. Self-awareness…a blessing or a curse?

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Essential

How do we decide what is essential? I mean, do we go back to basics and say that food, water and shelter are the only truly essential things? I’ve been working since late May. My job would not be deemed essential if you were to use the above criteria. I do not provide anyone with food, water or shelter. Okay. So in the case of a pandemic, we need to add medical care to the list of essential items. That means that anyone who provides people with food, water, shelter and medical care is essential. I’m still not essential and yet…here I am. I cannot do my job from home. Please know that if I could, and if my place of employment would allow it, I would absolutely be at home trying to parent my daughters, wife my husband and work for my employer. Alas, that is not an option for me. The girls are scheduled to go back to school on August 19. This makes teachers essential, right? Absolutely. And the support staff that keeps a school running must be essential too. With school starting, so are sports, which…are they essential? I mean, the kids probably thing so, right? We want so badly for life to get back to normal. We want to live and thrive and do things and be with people and yet…doing this might mean that some of us won’t live through this. Sigh. Recently (and here’s where all this pontificating is going, finally) Alyssa’s voice coach messaged us. She has openings for the fall and would love to add Lyss back to her schedule. Alyssa stopped voice lessons back in March when the world skidded to a halt. Her coach, Ms. C messaged us in June (?) and offered Alyssa a spot for summer lessons. We declined, deciding that at that time, voice lessons were not essential. But now? Still probably not essential but maybe, well, necessary? Or if not necessary, perhaps a bonus? Alyssa has worked so hard all summer. She’s masked up and served up beef and cheddars with sides of cheese sticks and jamocha shakes with very few complaints. So…voice lessons? Skip them for fear of contracting a potentially deadly virus? Go for it because damn it, how much more are we all going to have to give up? I know, logically, that limiting the number of people we have contact with is smart. I also know that each person one of us (my nuclear family being the ‘us’ in this instance) has contact with is bringing with them all the people they’ve had contact with and so on into infinity. But…my heart argues with my head and says, “When does it end?” My head wants to know who has to die for us to really stop all this whining. My heart whines that the voice coach gave lessons all summer long and apparently all is well. (Can you tell that Tom is my head and Alyssa is my heart?) What do we do? How far is too far when it comes to slowing down? How much is too much to give up? But really, when it comes to people’s lives, their actual hearts beating, is anything too much to give up if it means everyone gets to, you know, live?

Sunday, August 16, 2020

Permission

Alyssa and I went to a graduation party last week.

Oh, calm down. We weren’t there more than ten minutes, we wore masks the entire time and we didn’t eat or touch anything. Sure, no one else in the entire room (it was the gym of an old school) wore masks and everyone else was acting like there is not pandemic but we were most excellent social distancers.

Also, we dropped Liv off at my mom’s along the way to keep our own numbers down and let’s face it, she has a hard time keeping her grubby little hands to herself, though to be fair, she is VERY good at slathering hand sanitizer on those grubby little hands all the way up to her arm pits.

This party, or open house, or celebration or whatever, was on a Friday from 5pm to 9pm. We arrived at like 5:10. We planned it this way so that we wouldn’t have to breathe the stench of a thousand other maniacs as the evening wore on.

I didn’t tell Tom about this little venture into the world of semi-socializing until the morning of the event. No need to stress the poor man any more than he already stresses. Dude needs to turn off the damned television, is what I’m saying.

I mentioned the grad party as I was walking out the door to go to work that day. He gave me a look that said he doubted my sanity in this decision and I shrugged and said, “We have to make an appearance. We’ll be careful.”

He retorted, “Well, since you’re not asking permission, I guess I can’t say anything.”

Permission?!? Hahahahaha. I am so sure.

Any of you out there who actually know me in real life, can you even imagine me asking permission for something like this? And let’s remember, I’m not contrary, not at all, but if he were to try and tell me we couldn’t go, guess where we’d go and stay for HOURS? And if that isn’t just cutting off my nose to spite my face, I don’t know what is.

I just laughed at him because, yeah, okay, I’ll ask permission.

I think he was sort of joking but I also know he really didn’t think it was a good idea for us to go.

Guys…will this ever end? Will we ever get back to just living our lives? I just wanted to drop off a card with some money in it and tell this young lady I was happy for her. We didn’t hug, we didn’t shake hands, we didn’t eat a ‘walking taco.’ Hell, we didn’t even stick around for cake. That’s what this pandemic is doing to us, it’s taking away our CAKE.

Olivia has seventh grade orientation on the Monday before the girls go back to school. Tom will not be attending this orientation. He feels (and rightly so, if I’m perfectly honest) that if everyone is smart, one parent will attend with their child. This will limit the number of people attending and will hopefully aid in social distancing.

So I’m taking Liv to her seventh grade orientation. Because you know me. I don’t miss this sort of thing. I’m THAT mom. And I never even asked permission before I became THAT mom.

Friday, August 14, 2020

Schooled

Gotta go back, back, back to school again...Ahem, sorry for the little Grease 2 flashback.

We’ve been talking about school for months now, right?

The girls’ last day of school was Friday, March 13. Sure, sure, they did online school until the end of May but please. That hardly counts.

It’s as if they’re currently on week 20 of spring break.

I’ve been waiting for the school to get their ‘reopening plan’ together and posted.

It’s happened. They posted it on July 30th.

The gist is the school will do their best to clean, clean, clean common surfaces. Kids will be encouraged to social distance as much as possible. Masks will be encouraged throughout the day, obviously during lunch masks will be impossible but the school will attempt to keep kids in the same groups at all times.

So…we’ll see.

About five days after the school dropped their reopening plan, Tom asked, “So, when does the online schooling start back up for the girls?”

*aside: He asked me this at 6:48am on a Tuesday (fucking Tuesdays). I’d just put my phone in my purse and was getting ready to walk out the door.*

I paused, put my purse down and went to the kitchen table where I’d laid the letter we’d received the day before addressed to “The Parents of Olivia Ordinary”. It was informing us of a parent/student meeting on August 17 for students transitioning into seventh grade. Alongside this letter were copies of both girls’ immunizations from our family doctor’s office. I am taking those to the school to have the nurse confirm that both girls are up to date on their vaccinations.

Look at me, all on top of shit these days.

I also mentioned the text we’d received the day before informing us of the day and time we were to drop off O’s Chromebook.

At this point, it occurred to him that there was, apparently, not going to be online school this year, that the girls are going to be IN school.

He mused, “Yeah, Olivia probably would do better if she were in school.”

You think?

I blinked at him. Where has he been these last twenty weeks?

I mean, seriously?

Was he not there during the tearful days that I was at home trying to keep her on task, both of us at our wit’s end, slowly losing our minds?

Can he not see the state of her cuticles, as she picks them bloody from the anxiety she’s feeling these days?

She needs the routine of school. She needs to be around her peers, even if through masks. She needs the patience of those teachers who know her, who care about her, who are trained to help her. She needs to be away from the news and the murder and the crime shows that are constantly blaring from the television in our family room day in and day out.

Yeah, she’s going to school. I hope and pray it’s the best decision. Obviously, remaining home and waiting out this virus would be best for all but…that just doesn’t feel possible right now, not for any of us. And it’s a shame that we’re having to choose between our physical health and our mental health.

Sigh…it feels very much like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.

Thursday, August 13, 2020

One Headlight

We keep a running list of items needed. You empty the box of Cheezits? Put it on the list that’s always on the microwave with seven pens, six of which don’t write. If you’re me, you will always have to try all seven pens to fine the ONE the works. But you won’t bother to throw away the six that don’t work. I mean, who do you think you are?

One recent Saturday, I went to get the grocery list and found Tom’s debit card on top of it with an item (or two?) listed. A stop at Auto Zone was going to be necessary to pick up this particular item.

He’d written “headlight bulbs, set of two, for 2012 Chevy Equinox.”

I was immediately disgruntled.

Wait. I know. Let me acknowledge right here that I KNOW I’m a brat. I also know that I’m spoiled.

But seriously, what the hell is the point of having a HUSBAND if said husband won’t go and fetch these sorts of things himself? So what if these particular bulbs were for MY car? Also so what if I didn’t even know I had a headlight out. I rarely drive after dark, so I had no idea how long I’d been driving with one headlight. Sue me.

So yes, since Tom was at the post office (as he is often on Saturday mornings) I had a mini tantrum over having to stop at Auto Zone and get bulbs for my car.

By the time he got home, which was right before the girls and I were leaving to go buy groceries…and stop at Auto Zone, I thought I’d gotten my little snit out of the way. I blandly said I’d seen the addition to the list and he joked that at least he wasn’t expecting me to go to Walmart and try and find the right bulbs myself, that at Auto Zone you just tell them what you need and they go get them for you. I may have rolled my eyes like a big old baby. I can’t be sure, I wasn’t looking in a mirror.

Apparently my ambivalence toward purchasing those bulbs came through, though, because we’d been on the road for maybe three miles (not long enough to cross the state line into Indiana) when Tom called.

Alyssa answered my phone because, hello, I was driving. She spoke briefly with her father.

When she hung up she said, “Dad said you don’t have to go to Auto Zone. He’s going to go to an antique store later today or tomorrow so he can stop and get the bulbs himself.”

Huh.

Well.

Never let it be said that I’m not contrary as hell.

Now that he’d said I didn’t need to stop at Auto Zone, guess who was going to Auto Zone.

My mom laughed at my bratty behavior and said that I was lucky to have Tom.

Yes, Mother, I know.

I really do know that. But I also STILL wish he’d just gotten the stupid bulbs, changed them and told me about it after. Sure, the trip into Auto Zone took less than five minutes but now I have to spend about five more minutes feeling bad for being a spoiled brat.

AND! And I had to go home and apologize to my husband for it. That’s just annoying.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

Debunked

For the better part of 2020, Alyssa has been asking that we take down the bunkbeds in her room.

They stood in a corner of her room, taking up space and just being used as storage for her plethora of stuffed animals.

She’d had a full-sized bed in there for three years, so the room was pretty cramped.

Each time she’d mentioned taking the bunkbeds down, Tom would tell her that he needed to take pictures of the beds put together so he could list them for sale. He also listed not having anywhere to store the frame and mattresses once we took them down.

She recently asked again, saying that I’d said she could store everything in my room for the time being. He told her that once she got the bed cleaned off, he’d take pictures and we’d go from there.

When she got home from work on a Sunday, I told her to go take everything off the beds and let her dad take the pictures.

He went up, took the pictures, came back down and said something snippy about having to move crap from under the bed.

Sigh.

Then he said he’d go find an Allen wrench so we could start dissembling the bed frame.

Well.

Guess who else in this house has Allen wrenches!?!

I scurried up those stairs and fetched tool box. No, it’s not pink.

Alyssa and I were well on our way to finding the correct wrench when Sir Thomas made his way back up the stairs with his own Allen wrench set.

As he and Lyss worked to loosen the bolts I asked if I should get a baggie for the hardware.

The response I got was a VERY short, “Are you asking her?”

Alyssa and I shared a look. That response was so out of proportion to the question I’d just asked that I simply said, “Okay then. I’ll go get a baggie.”

I returned shortly with a baggie in which we put the bolts as they came out of the bed.

Sir Snips-a-lot was all giggles by this time. Apparently, the mood had passed.

I mildly mentioned that maybe he hadn’t needed to be quite so irritable with me. He apologized and we moved on.

The bed came down and the room has been rearranged to the teenager’s liking.

The next morning, I received another apology for the biting remark said during the takedown of the bunkbeds.

I knew we were pushing him to do something he didn’t really want to do but in the end, it took about a half hour of his time. So…I accepted his apology and all’s well in the Ordinary household.

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

Smelly

Olivia and I go to my mom’s house at least twice a week during the work week.

I walk in the door each afternoon around 5pm and she greets me with, “Can we got to Gram’s?”

Sometimes I groan and tell her that I’m tired and just want to be home.

But other times, I hand her my phone, tell her to call Gram and see if she even wants company (if she’s home, she’s ALWAYS up for our visit) and off we go.

I do realize that O is stuck at home all day every day and so our visits to Gram are her way out of those four walls. Poor kid has had quite the sucky summer.

One recent afternoon we arrived at Casa Gram’s and found the dear woman hard at work canning relish. Olivia walked in and gagged at the smell. There was a strong smell of vinegar in the air.

After about fifteen minutes, Liv was able to remove her mask (she was ever so glad she had it) and declared that she’d gone ‘nose-blind’ and was able to breathe without gagging. She’s a funny girl.

After an hour or so Olivia and I left and once in the car, I declared that our car smelled very much like Gram’s relish. It wasn’t so much unpleasant as it was…there.

I smelled myself just to make sure the smell really was from the relish and not because my deodorant had stopped working.

Yikes. I reeked.

When we got home, I immediately added ‘new deodorant’ to our grocery list. I figured my body had done that thing where it just stops letting the deodorant work and my natural stench was pushing its way through. Not a pleasant thought. I wondered if I’d stunk all day at work but everyone was just too polite to say anything. What a horrible thought.

I have this real fear of being the stinky girl that everyone notices but no one lets in on the secret of the stench.

But wait! After dinner (and being disgusted by my own smell) I went up to take a shower and de-stink myself.

Guess what?

When I took off my shirt and sniffed myself sans shirt, there was no stink. I didn’t have horrible body odor after all.

I retrieved the shirt I’d just shed and sniffed. Yuck!

It wasn’t me. It was the shirt. The shirt I’d been wearing at my mom’s had absorbed ALL THE SMELLS and was horrible.

But man was I relieved to not be the stinky chick. If people at work are talking about me (and I seriously doubt they are. I try hard to blend into the woodwork) it’s not because I’m smelly. I take a lot of comfort in that knowledge.

I’m leaving ‘new deodorant’ on the grocery list, though. I’m going to buy a brand I don’t currently have so that I have new on hand just in case my current choice does stop working.

One can never be too prepared when it comes to stink prevention.

Monday, August 10, 2020

This is Not a Political Blog...

Okay, I realize that this is NOT a political blog. But I think everyone who reads what I write here can probably guess where I stand on the current administration.

While my family and those close to me are very aware of my opinion of our current ‘leader’, the rest of the world, as in acquaintances and co-workers, probably aren’t. This is mostly because I am not a ‘shout it from the rooftops’ type.

But…I can barely stand the masks several co-workers are wearing these days. These masks have 45’s name and the numbers 2020 on them. Ugh!

I try and imagine if I were to wear a “Biden – 2020” mask to work. Wouldn’t that be fun?

But see, it’s not so much that I’m a Biden fan. I’m more of a “I will vote for anyone who is NOT our current president.”

Let’s all remember that any vote for Biden this November is a vote AGAINST 45. Can we all agree that a vote against the monster currently in the Whitehouse is a good thing? If we can’t agree to that, I supposed we can agree to disagree but in this case, I will be thinking that you are wrong.

I simply cannot imagine how anyone can listen to that moron speak and NOT realize that he’s insane. He’s horrible. He’s a misogynistic, racist, homophobic asshole.

And right now, he’s ‘leading’ our country.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think of it and yet there are people wearing masks over their faces with his name on them.

I just…can’t.

Friday, August 7, 2020

Simplifying

I read several blogs and follow a few Instagram that talk about downsizing and simplifying their lives.

I don’t necessarily want to downsize. I kind of like my 2600 square foot house. I love that Tom, the girls and I can all go to our separate corners when needed.

But I would like to simplify our lives and our stuff. We have so many things, clutter that just makes our huge house look messy and disorganized. Of course, the fact that everything IS disorganized doesn’t help.

So…what do I do first?

Purge the stuff?

Probably.

Some days, though, it feels like a monumental task and I don’t even know where to start. I know that if I start small it will feel less overwhelming.

At work one day, I realized that I currently have 17 different kinds of oils for my diffuser. I probably only like about half of those but I try and use all of them through the week just to try and use them up. That’s so stupid.

But! I told myself recently that I am NOT allowed to buy any more oils until I use up some of the ones I already have. See, I can practice a little restraint.

Speaking of oils and diffusers, I have at least seven different oils upstairs for the diffuser by my bed. The problem is, I think I only like two or three of those. I need to offer the others to Alyssa for her room. The problem I have with at least one of them is that it smells like Desitin, you know, the cream you wipe on a baby’s butt to prevent diaper rash. Yeah. Not necessarily what you want to smell as you’re trying to fall asleep.

That’s one area I could organize and simply.

Look at me, already working through where to start. This whole stream of consciousness thing might work out for me yet. Only too bad for the three of you who still read here, having to wade through my ‘deep’ thoughts.

Thursday, August 6, 2020

Lulled (alternate title: False Complacency)

I feel like we’re in the quiet before the storm.

Things are calm right now. We’re muddling through the summer and doing our best.

I still get frustrated with Olivia on a daily basis. I fuss at her over the water all of the bathroom floor (she washes her hands and then shakes them all over the floor. It drives me insane.) as well as her over-use of toilet paper. One day a few weeks ago, she went to get Alyssa to help her unplug an upstairs toilet. O had basically put an entire roll (sans the actual cardboard roll) in the toilet and then tried to flush. Sigh.

But really, those are just annoyances. Her moods have settled. *Knock on wood*

Alyssa’s in band camp, so we’re watching each other closely since we’re all around people more and more these days.

Alyssa and I attended her prom. She was beautiful. It was fine. I worked with other mothers (there were some dads in attendance but they didn’t really work so much as they stood around watching the moms work…seriously.) We served the kids their dinners, we made sure their drinks were full. We wore masks most of the time but there were times when we didn’t. So…

I’ve filled out the survey put out by the school asking what type of school we’re looking for this coming year.

Alyssa insists she is going to school. She does NOT want to do online learning. I don’t blame her. It’s her senior year.

Olivia needs to be back in school. But I also need to manage her and Tom’s anxiety over her being in school.

The survey asked if we wanted in-school learning, online learning or a blended version. I checked blended. Alyssa balked at that. She said that there was not blended option.

But wait, there was! I told her that the survey wasn’t locking us into anything. I reminded her that everything is negotiable. We’ll figure it out. If Lyss goes to school five days a week and Liv goes three that would be perfect.

Olivia will not be riding the bus this year. Since Lyss drives, Olivia can ride with her. There is no need to put her on the cesspool that is the school bus. That’s on less area of anxiety we’ll have to manage.

Olivia is perfectly willing to wear a mask to school each day. She’d love it if they could just eat lunch in their classrooms. She said she’ll actually eat if that’s an option. She’s even said she’ll speak louder from behind her mask so everyone can hear and understand her.

Her classroom is already small. I think there are a total of nine kids in the class where she receives individual instruction. It should be fairly easy for those nine kids to social distance.

I don’t know. I want what’s best for all of us. Just like every other parent out there facing these decisions.

Obviously my girls’ physical health is important but their mental health is important too. Their social health, while not quite as important as their physical and mental health, is still something we need to take into account. They need more than just to be wrapped in protective layers and kept at home. I wish we could do just that but it’s not healthy for any of us, not in the long run.


Wednesday, August 5, 2020

Cooking Fail

I arrived home one recent Thursday afternoon.

The minute I walked in the door, I smelled garlic. Huh, I thought. Someone made Olivia what we fondly call ‘white noodles.’ It’s the Knorr brand ‘creamy garlic shells.’ The sauce is white, hence the name ‘white noodles’.

Once I’d put my purse down and taken my lunch dishes out of my bag and put them in the sink to be washed, Olivia ran to tattle on her dad and sister.

She declared, almost triumphantly, “Both Dad and Lyss failed at making me food today.”

“Oh?” I inquired, prompting her to continue her soliloquy.

“Dad burned the white noodles and Lyss made macaroni and cheese that was too dry.”

Then, she informed me, “I think you should just take me to McDonald’s for dinner since no one in this house can cook.”

Well, then..

Tom insisted that the white noodles were fine.

I took a bite of a single shell and asked him what he wanted from McD’s.

He said he’d eat the noodles. I shrugged and said okay but we were going to McDonald’s because those noodles were gross.

Olivia snarfed down her two cheese burgers and two thirds of an order of large fries. Tom had the last of the fries with his grody old white noodles.

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Natural Consequences

So parenting is hard, right? We can all agree to that. These kids…damn.

These days, my older teenager is so over her parents actually, you know, parenting her. She wants to know why she can’t make her own decisions and learn from her own mistakes.

Natural consequences and all that.

Sigh.

I get it.

I really do. Her friends are older (N and her friends are definitely older, as in two+ years older, so there’s that.)

Also, most of her friends are the baby of their families. These kids have parents who are my and Tom’s ages and yet, these parents have been there and done that parenting thing and they’re just sort of over it.

I’m not over parenting. I started late and feel like all these seventeen years later, I’m just now finding my parenting groove. But she’s over me and Tom setting rules.

Let me back up. She’s a really great person. She obeys rules, she likes to make people happy. She’s not being rebellious or difficult. She just wants to enjoy her summer and if she’s tired the next day at band camp because she stayed out too late the night before, well, that’s on her.

At least, that’s how she feels it should go.

None of her friends are expected to be home by 10 on a Tuesday night, for Pete Sakes! Even those friends who also have to be at the school the next day at 8am for band camp. Those friends can just waltz in whenever they want. Heck, Tessa got home recently at 6am.

I did remind this daughter of mine that Tessa’s mom is SO over parenting. I love Tessa’s mom but I also know this woman is done. So, Tessa coming home at 6am is fine. But my daughter rolling in at 6am is not fine.

And of course, I know she’s not asking for that kind of freedom. I do. She’s a reasonable person. She’d just like to be able to make her own educated decision about what time she should be home because that’s what her friends get to do. She’s always the one who has to leave just when the fun is starting.

But see, if we, her parents, can help her by imposing rules that will stop her from reaping the natural consequences of her own less than brilliant decisions, shouldn’t we? At what point are we smothering her?

I am so torn by all this. I see her side. I also want to protect her. She’s chomping at the bit for independence. But I also can’t help but wonder how much of this is at her girlfriend’s suggestions. I don’t think N is a bad person. But she’s going to be 20 in November. She’s had a year and a half of freedom and I get why she’d be frustrated with us for insisting that A continue to act like a minor living in her parents’ house with her parents’ rules.

At this point, I’m babbling. I’m just so…frustrated isn’t the word. Alyssa is frustrated. Tom is frustrated.

I’m mostly sad because I can’t figure out how to make them both happy.

One funny thing that happened after all this is one Saturday we (the girls, my mom and I) were doing our usual Saturday fun. Olivia and I were bickering as we do. She can just be such a pill. My mom said to Lyss, who was SO over her sister, "Just think if your mom didn't have Livie to parent. All that parenting attention would focused on you."

It gave Alyssa just a little appreciation for the mere existence of her sister.