The stunning arc of barf

For the most part I’m a fairly lenient parent. It could be said this is borne of laziness or fear of confrontation, I’d like to believe I’m just super cool. But whatever, I rarely put my foot down and insist the children do something against their will or not fitting into their social schedules. A recent exception to this was Loren’s film festival presentation last Friday.

I was over the moon tickled that he had been invited to this particular film fest.  It wasn’t in his usual line up of ski porn, a bit more off the path because it was an environmentally based presentation. I bought our tickets a couple of weeks early, even getting extra just in case. Cassidy and Devon were both informed they would be attending. Cass was a bit put out because this meant her spring break trip to Vegas wouldn’t start until Saturday morning and just when the hell did Loren last come to something of hers, she wondered. In return I promised her he would be at her upcoming Spring Concert. Devon wasn’t thrilled about the evening either because it meant riding in a car for more than five minutes and sitting through dinner at a restaurant he didn’t know.  I sent Loren with my mom and a friend to eat and then Loren had to get to the festival a bit early. Matt and I brought up the rear.

Time management is not in my bag of accomplished tricks and by the time we hit the road I realized we would be running late no matter where we stopped for dinner. We opted for one of Cassidy’s favorites and Devon announced he wouldn’t eat a single bite there. But eat he did, with such zest that I knew something unruly would eventually become of our evening. Sure enough as soon as we hastily paid the bill and hit the car Devon started complaining of tummy pains. Within a couple of miles his pain was unbearable and I asked Matt to pull over at a convenience store. Dev and I trotted into the bathroom where he promptly stripped from the waist down, his typical move when doing a big job, and then perched himself over the lid in a sort of yoga stance, again typical for Devon. And then we waited. And waited. And he strained. And nothing more than a slight plop. It hurt, it was pointy. I informed Devon  he was constipated , likely from the medicated cough medicine he’d been taking for his week old cough, at which point he hurled himself off the pot and into a ball of tears. “I can’t go like Elvis did, Mai-Mai! I’ll die. He died on the pot because he was constipated.” I assured Devon that Elvis used and abused far more the codeine cough medicine to end up in his sorry state.

Once back in the car we raced to Aspen and made it in time for the opening act. Loren was a mess of nerves. Devon stretched out across Cass, Matt, Lo and me while each of us took turns rubbing his neck, arms or back in order to distract him from his Elvis fears. When Lo’s movie finally did show I was beyond thrilled and even shed a few tears of pride. He got to announce a few things about himself before the feature and then retired to the back of the movie house to be alone and watch it. Matt, Cass and I left shortly after because Devon was so wiggly. On the way home, a 45 minute drive in good weather, the conditions were a nearly white out snow storm and Devon started wailing about 25 minutes in to it. Matt concentrated on driving while Cass and I tried to keep Dev calm. Once to Matt’s, Devon tottered up his stairs, clutched his belly and wailed at the top of his lungs. He staggered to the edge, vomited a lovely yellow spew once over the balcony to a flower bed below and I scooted him into the toilet where the real barf show began. It was spectacular.

It’s most often like this with the three children spaced so far apart in ages. All I wanted was to peacefully watch Loren give his small talk and then view his film on a large screen. I waited six weeks, planned more than a few schedules around it and anticipated nearly every mishap, except Devon. God love that little guy, but it’s never easy with him. And, of course, the Cassidy the Sandwich child in between was lost in the shuffle. At least she’s in Las Vegas for the week living it up and having a blast. And regardless for the amount of drama in the evening, it was so amazing to see Lo’s work on a big screen and hear the whistles and applause for him, a beautiful gift. And to sit in that theatre, the five of us together as a family, laughing at the absurdity of the evening, that was just pure beauty.

Gratitude and grace

This morning my mother informed me a dear and lovely friend of ours, T, has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. This woman lost her daughter to brain cancer a handful of years ago. She then went on to marry a wonderful man who had previously lost his wife to cancer. She is hard working and one of the most courageous women I have ever encountered. She and her husband, J, helped my mother find her bearings after my father died. They held Devon close and accpeted them into their hearts in those awful months after my father's death when Devon would often ask if J was his beloved Pop-Pop. My mom, the children and I have found a second home of sorts at their home over the last few years, a place always filled with love and kindness.

It breaks my heart and pisses me off something fierce to hear this news today. I love these kind, gracious people and am so deeply saddened for them and the multitudes of people who love them so very much.

It's not always hard to be me. Just sometimes.

It’s quite easy for me to slip into self-pity and not entirely uncommon for my brain to take up a full on monologue about how hard it is just to be me. It’s really exhausting and often leads to migraines, like the one currently nesting atop my skull and digging its claws into my gray matter.

This morning I left work to take Devon to the doctor, he’s had a lingering cough for five days which seems to be getting more hackish, and the synapses in my head were up to their snarking ways so I turned on the radio to shut out the noise. And then. Who’s name should I hear on the news? My own son’s, and not in a bad way either. It was an interview of a fellow with the Independence Pass Foundation and their upcoming film festival this Friday. The announcer was asking about the various clips to be shown when he prompted the IPF rep about a special feature new to the festival this year.

“Yes, we have a young, local student named Loren James Creer. He’s very talented and his work features Torin Yater-Wallace and Aiden Sheehan.” He then added a bit more about the skiers and ended with something like, “These young men all have amazing promise!”

Tell you what, those voices in my head shut the hell right up and I let out a shrieking, “WAHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” Loren has two more film festivals lined up this spring and I have feeling there will be many more in his future. I couldn’t be more thrilled with my boy! Not so hard to be me anymore today. Go figure.

Addendum to my whiny Monday crappola

Sometimes a girl just needs an indulgence. For the most part I'm not a shopper. Yes, I love shoes but to get me clothing shopping it takes at least a couple of glasses of red wine. But today I needed a pick me up and I've had something very specific in the back of my mind for a couple of months now. Oh yeah, baby!

My old 3G seemed suddenly ghetto and when Loren told me he had dropped his old phone in a puddle once again, it all clicked together like a fabulous planetary alignment. I'm gonna be getting me some good phone with this one, I can totally feel it. And the best part? Monday doesn't feel so blue anymore! Yay!

Monday Blues

When I finally finished college with one of the most useless degrees in the entire history of degrees, I became a home loan hostess for the big red wagon. I loved helping people realize their American Dream of home ownership. I also loved the thrill of the chase as I tried to help those people who sometimes were square pegs trying to fit into round holes. Then there were the long chats with the sassy underwriters and convincing them in the loveliest phone voice possible to bump my files to the top of their priority lists. However, I hated the meetings, my boss, my boss above her and all the political bullshit that goes with working for an over-sized corporate beast. At the height of the re-fi boom I resigned because I knew what we were doing was wrong. My clients were over extended and, all too often, just a payment or two away from trouble. My colleagues thought I was nuts but couldn’t wait to snag my 1-800 number and my client list. So I found several part time jobs,  I walked away and never looked back.

Devon was born a couple years later. Madness ensued and I have been pretty much doing odd jobs until he reached Kindergarten, that was last fall. Now I’m back in a cubicle eight hours a day, five days a week. And mostly I hate it. I hate office politics. I hate meetings. I hate the gray of my cubicle. I love the steady paycheck. As much as I hate insurance companies, I love the benefits. But for as beneficial as it all is, I can’t help but wonder if there is something better out there just over the horizon and beyond my reach. In this economy, not too likely, but as I sit here on a Monday morning and think of the next five days trapped in this gray lined corner it’s an enticing thought.

Another Donkey Rant

I've mentioned it a couple of times lately but I'll say it again, the single parent thing/other parent in a different state thing is wearing thin. As evidenced in the following text chat, I believe Matt is also feeling the strain. Other than sex texting I find sass texting to be right up there on the list of good fun, and it always brightens my day if it's slightly combative as well.

Me: Rough night?

Matt: Bite me.

Me: So hostile.

Matt: Get bent.

Me: Cranky fart

Matt: Donkey-hating bitch knickers

Matt: Furtle furtle furtle furtle.

Me; A side of madness for dinner tonight?

Matt: Spawankkeeeeeee.

Me: You need to come home.

Matt: Spanston doesn’t think so.

Me: Who the hell is Spanston?

Matt: You wish you knew.

Me: Maybe you should talk it out with Donkey.

Matt: Donkey and I talk all the time. HE says you’re crazy.

Me: Donkey is a vindictive fiuckhead. Plus, he’s a pathological liar. He says the same crap about you.

Matt: Donkey is the wisest of all of us. You sound like you’ve been in Spanston’s furtle again.

Me; Well, there is that. You should try it.

Matt: I highly doubt that. Donkey loves everybody but you.

Me: Don’t be deceived by his cunning ways. That good ole boy bucktooth act is a bunch of crap. He’s a  bad egg.

Matt: What the hell are you talking about? It’s a fucking donkey. God, you’re weird.

Matt: Please don’t contact me anymore.

Me: Gonna go play with Donkey?

Matt: Weirdo. Seriously

Me: I have to go parent your children. I’m very busy. And important.

Matt: Be careful not to drown them in the tub. The voices aren’t real. Nutjob.

Insurance companies belong in hell

There are few things/people I can say I truly detest. Spiders? Check. Hangovers? Definitely. Torn nails? Very much so. But right near the top of that list, that actually might really be quite long now when I come to think of it, is insurance companies and the assholes who passionately work for them.

Up until Devon was born I had never dealt much with them. When Dev was born with his heart defect and we entered the hospital I had no idea my life for the next two years or so would be riddled with stacks upon stacks of bills. Who knew that every single person present in the operating room billed separately? And on top of that there were hospital bills, supply bills, radiology bills. It sucked and I remember the overwhelming sense of helplessness I would feel upon attempting to whittle them down to zero balances.

Lately the bills have been again escalating. I’m almost done paying off Loren’s knee surgery from last May. His bills included an anesthesiologist from California and a radiologist from North Carolina. I totally don’t get that because we live in the Colorado mountains.

Right now Cassidy’s bills are piling up because we have been trying to figure out why she continually sheds blood into her urine. Ew. But yes, it is a mystery and it prompts the doctors to have her pee into a cup at every chance possible, sometimes repeatedly into a jug for 24 hours at a time. Gross. After opening a gazillion of bills last night I discovered each every one of those little pee cups runs about $130. The blood screens that go with most every visit are up to $600. Seems like insurance would pay this, yes? No, they’re not really so eager to do so.

Then there are Loren’s wisdom teeth. I totally thought that one would be cut and dry, usually dental bills are. Again, no. Phrases such as “sedation is not reasonably necessary or customarily performed in conjunction with the services submitted”.  Or, this one is nice too, “your dental plan does not provide coverage for this service.” Really? No? Because if you’re going to have teeth out does it really matter how far embedded they are? Just pull the damn things already. Wisdom teeth are gnarly by nature, that’s why we get them removed. Do insurance companies really need to jack us around that extra step just because they can? Or do they do it just to fuck with us?

So I’m just gonna say it, I hate insurance companies. HATE THEM! I hate the bajillions of trees they kill with all their damn bills and reminders and, a personal favorite, the non-bills that are just stating what they might pay. As if they need a tad bit more time to figure out how much they feel like screwing one individual or another. I hate all their code numbers that make you go to the bottom of the statement only to be enraged to discover it’s just another way of them saying, “Fuck you, sucker. Not gonna pay.” And most of all I hate the fact that every month I pay them, thinking they are providing some sort of safety if I should ever need them but knowing deep down that if I do they’re going to be asshats about it. Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers.

Okay then. I feel slightly better now. And that there? It was free, thank you very much. I didn't have to see a therapist, do a co-pay and later get nailed in the ass for another unapporved use of funds. Who's the sucker now....