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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.