Current mood: hopeful
OK, I have been helping my mother with this monstrosity below for about two years now. I just wanted to post this here to make it very easy for you all to learn more about this. Apparently there aren't too many people who know that this money is out there, waiting to be claimed by those eligible to receive it. Please read carefully and if you would like to learn more, click on one of the links below (if I got them in here, I am a bit of a dummy when it comes to that) or use a search engine to research the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act of 1990. Good luck, pass the info on to your friends and family members!
About the Program
Background
On October 5, 1990, Congress passed the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act ("RECA" or "the Act"), 42 U.S.C. § 2210 note, providing for compassionate payments to individuals who contracted certain cancers and other serious diseases as a result of their exposure to radiation released during above-ground nuclear weapons tests or as a result of their exposure to radiation during employment in underground uranium mines. The 1990 Act provided fixed payments in the following amounts: $50,000 to individuals residing or working "downwind" of The Nevada Test Site; $75,000 for workers participating in above-ground nuclear weapons tests; and $100,000 for uranium miners.
Implementing regulations were issued by the Department of Justice and published in the Federal Register on April 10, 1992, establishing procedures to resolve claims in a reliable, objective, and non-adversarial manner, with little administrative cost to the United States or to the person filing the claim. Revisions to the regulations, published in the Federal Register on March 22, 1999, served to greater assist claimants in establishing entitlement to an award. On July 10, 2000, Pub. L. 106-245, the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act Amendments of 2000 ("the 2000 Amendments") was passed. Introduced by Senator Hatch on August 5, 1999, the Amendments were one of many bills introduced in the 106th Congress with the intent to amend the existing law. Most significantly, the 2000 Amendments added two new claimant categories (uranium mill workers and ore transporters), provided additional compensable illnesses, lowered the radiation exposure threshold for uranium miners, included above-ground miners within the definition of "uranium miner," modified medical documentation requirements, and removed certain lifestyle restrictions. It also added additional geographic areas to the downwinder claimant category.
On November 2, 2002, the President signed the "21st Century Department of Justice Appropriation Authorization Act" (P.L. 107-273). Contained in the law were several provisions relating to RECA. While most of these amendments are "technical" in nature, some affect eligibility criteria and revise claims adjudication procedures. The following points describe the major impact of the "technical amendments":
• the "technical amendments" reinserted a previously covered geographical area for downwinder claimants that had erroneously been removed by the 2000 Amendments;
• clarifies requirement that lung cancer must be "primary" for all claimant categories;
• uranium miners provided the option of establishing exposure to 40 working level months of radiation or establishing employment in a mine for one year;
• all uranium workers diagnosed with lung cancer no longer required to submit evidence of a non-malignant respiratory disease; (Seemingly a draftsmanship error in the 2000 Amendments, the "technical amendments" eliminated the requirement that in cases where the claimant is living, a claimant with lung cancer must submit the medical documentation required for proof of a "non-malignant respiratory disease." This requirement had the unintended effect of precluding most lung cancer claimants -- who may not suffer from a non-malignant respiratory disease -- from establishing eligibility for compensation.)
RECA Claimant Categories
Uranium Miners. A payment of $100,000 is available to eligible individuals employed in aboveground or underground uranium mines located in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, South Dakota, Washington, Utah, Idaho, North Dakota, Oregon, and Texas at any time during the period beginning on January 1, 1942, and ending on December 31, 1971. Additional mining states may be included for compensation upon application.
A. Exposure. The claimant must have been exposed to 40 or more working level months (WLMs) of radiation while employed in a uranium mine or worked for at least one year in a uranium mine during the relevant time period.
B. Disease. Compensable diseases include primary lungcancer and certain nonmalignant respiratory diseases.
Uranium Mill Workers. A payment of $100,000 is available to eligible individuals employed in uranium mills located in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, South Dakota, Washington, Utah, Idaho, North Dakota, Oregon, and Texas at any time during the period beginning on January 1, 1942, and ending on December 31, 1971.
A. Exposure. The claimant must have worked in a uranium mill for at least one year during the relevant time period.
B. Disease. Compensable diseases include primary lung cancer, certain nonmalignant respiratory diseases, renal cancer, and other chronic renal disease including nephritis and kidney tubal tissue injury.
Ore Transporters. A payment of $100,000 is available to eligible individuals employed in the transport of uranium ore or vanadium-uranium ore from mines or mills located in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, South Dakota, Washington, Utah, Idaho, North Dakota, Oregon, and Texas at any time during the period beginning on January 1, 1942, and ending on December 31, 1971.
A. Exposure. The claimant must have transported ore for at least one year during the relevant time period.
B. Disease. Compensable diseases include primary lung cancer, certain nonmalignant respiratory diseases, renal cancer, and other chronic renal disease including nephritis and kidney tubal tissue injury.
Downwinders. A payment of $50,000 is available to an eligible individual who was physically present in one of the affected areas downwind of the Nevada Test Site during a period of atmospheric nuclear testing, and later contracted a specified compensable disease.
A. Exposure. The claimant must have lived or worked downwind of atmospheric nuclear tests in certain counties in Utah, Nevada and Arizona for a period of at least two years during the period beginning on January 21, 1951, and ending on October 31, 1958, or, for the period beginning on June 30, 1962, and ending on July 31, 1962. The designated affected areas are: in the State of Utah, the counties of Beaver, Garfield, Iron, Kane, Millard, Piute, San Juan, Sevier, Washington, and Wayne; in the State of Nevada, the counties of Eureka, Lander, Lincoln, Nye, White Pine, and that portion of Clark County that consists of townships 13 through 16 at ranges 63 through 71; and in the State of Arizona, the counties of Apache, Coconino, Gila, Navajo, Yavapai, and that part of Arizona that is north of the Grand Canyon.
B. Disease. After such period of physical presence, the claimant contracted one of the following specified diseases: leukemia (other than chronic lymphocytic leukemia), multiple myeloma, lymphomas (other than Hodgkin's disease), and primary cancer of the thyroid, male or female breast, esophagus, stomach, pharynx, small intestine, pancreas, bile ducts, gall bladder, salivary gland, urinary bladder, brain, colon, ovary, or liver (except if cirrhosis or hepatitis B is indicated), or lung.
Onsite Participants. A payment of $75,000 is available to eligible individuals who participated onsite in a test involving the atmospheric detonation of a nuclear device, and later developed a specified compensable disease.
A. Exposure. The claimant must have been present "onsite" above or within the official boundaries of the Nevada, Pacific, Trinity, or South Atlantic Test Sites at any time during a period of atmospheric nuclear testing and must have "participated" during that time in the atmospheric detonation of a nuclear device.B. Disease. After the onsite participation, the claimant contracted one of the following specified diseases: leukemia (other than chronic lymphocytic leukemia), lung cancer, multiple myeloma, lymphomas (other than Hodgkin's disease), and primary cancer of the thyroid, male or female breast, esophagus, stomach, pharynx, small intestine, pancreas, bile ducts, gall bladder, salivary gland, urinary bladder, brain, colon, ovary, or liver (except if cirrhosis or hepatitis B is indicated), or lung.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Nothingness and the Garbage Bin
Current mood: content
Tonight is going to be absolutely crazy. Amanda has orchestra rehearsal at school until 5 and city orchestra from 6-9 (on a school night, how messed up is that?) and Nolan has football practice from 6:30 until 8:00. Now, that wouldn't be such a big deal except that within four hours I will have almost spanned the city with all the miles I will rack up on the truck. See, we live in the northeast, city rehearsal is on the east-side, practice is on-post (kind of east-central) and I will have to be at each place no less than twice. Holy crap, the only place I wont be going is the west-side (shut up, don't get any ideas). Guess I need to get gas.
Somehow I have to figure out how to slide dinner in there. And what should I make? Obviously it needs to be GO food we can grab and eat in the truck. I hate nights like this.
Since I knew Hell was going to fall upon me tonight, I decided today was a nothing day. I have nothing planned. I am not necessarily going anywhere. I am not forcing myself to do laundry until 10 am (like I usually do) when the water and electricity rates go up. I am not packing unless a wild hare creeps up on me. So, I am doing nothing unless I feel like doing it. When I got home from taking the kids to school I put a load in the washer, out of habit. Then I realized I didn't really have to. Oh well, I will hang it on the line when it is finished and be done with the laundry for the day.
I think I might go take a nap. Yup, a good, ole' fashioned morning nap. I haven't had one of those in forever and it is sounding mighty good at this point.
Today is trash day. Over about the last month or two, our garbage pick-up has been getting progressively earlier each day. It used to be that you could forget it was garbage day and remember somewhere around lunchtime and take the bin out and still get lucky two-thirds of the time that you would beat the truck. Now, they are coming while it is still dark. I think they were here around 5:45 this morning. Last week they were even earlier.
Knowing our bin was overflowing, it was important to me to get the dumpster out last night, so when Amanda got home from school, she took it down for me. I heard the truck about the same time my alarm went off, so I knew it was empty when we were leaving for school. I was just going to leave it for Nolan to bring up after school because asking extra chores from him in the morning is like forcing him to lay on a bed of hot coals- gonna be noisy. This morning we headed out for the truck and I had to run back in to grab my phone. When I went out the door, Nolan was bringing the trash bin up to the house. I stopped in my tracks and watched. No one asked him to do a thing. And there he was, bringing it up to the house because he knew it was empty.
I think things are changing for my baby boy. In the last week he has been a different kid. He is still mostly always on the edge of being pissed, but he is handling being mad so much better. He is doing stuff around the house without being asked and if I do have to ask him something, he is trying to get it done right the first time. He is less combative. He is, dare I say, becoming very pleasant. For lack of experience, I don't know how to act toward him. I just keep thanking him for trying so hard to get along with everyone.
He is getting a very nice surprise from Korea (thanks, Robert), but he doesn't know it. But, as soon as the package comes, the half and half jersey is his. No questions, no discussion, I am just going to give him the jersey and watch what happens. He deserves it.
Tonight is going to be absolutely crazy. Amanda has orchestra rehearsal at school until 5 and city orchestra from 6-9 (on a school night, how messed up is that?) and Nolan has football practice from 6:30 until 8:00. Now, that wouldn't be such a big deal except that within four hours I will have almost spanned the city with all the miles I will rack up on the truck. See, we live in the northeast, city rehearsal is on the east-side, practice is on-post (kind of east-central) and I will have to be at each place no less than twice. Holy crap, the only place I wont be going is the west-side (shut up, don't get any ideas). Guess I need to get gas.
Somehow I have to figure out how to slide dinner in there. And what should I make? Obviously it needs to be GO food we can grab and eat in the truck. I hate nights like this.
Since I knew Hell was going to fall upon me tonight, I decided today was a nothing day. I have nothing planned. I am not necessarily going anywhere. I am not forcing myself to do laundry until 10 am (like I usually do) when the water and electricity rates go up. I am not packing unless a wild hare creeps up on me. So, I am doing nothing unless I feel like doing it. When I got home from taking the kids to school I put a load in the washer, out of habit. Then I realized I didn't really have to. Oh well, I will hang it on the line when it is finished and be done with the laundry for the day.
I think I might go take a nap. Yup, a good, ole' fashioned morning nap. I haven't had one of those in forever and it is sounding mighty good at this point.
Today is trash day. Over about the last month or two, our garbage pick-up has been getting progressively earlier each day. It used to be that you could forget it was garbage day and remember somewhere around lunchtime and take the bin out and still get lucky two-thirds of the time that you would beat the truck. Now, they are coming while it is still dark. I think they were here around 5:45 this morning. Last week they were even earlier.
Knowing our bin was overflowing, it was important to me to get the dumpster out last night, so when Amanda got home from school, she took it down for me. I heard the truck about the same time my alarm went off, so I knew it was empty when we were leaving for school. I was just going to leave it for Nolan to bring up after school because asking extra chores from him in the morning is like forcing him to lay on a bed of hot coals- gonna be noisy. This morning we headed out for the truck and I had to run back in to grab my phone. When I went out the door, Nolan was bringing the trash bin up to the house. I stopped in my tracks and watched. No one asked him to do a thing. And there he was, bringing it up to the house because he knew it was empty.
I think things are changing for my baby boy. In the last week he has been a different kid. He is still mostly always on the edge of being pissed, but he is handling being mad so much better. He is doing stuff around the house without being asked and if I do have to ask him something, he is trying to get it done right the first time. He is less combative. He is, dare I say, becoming very pleasant. For lack of experience, I don't know how to act toward him. I just keep thanking him for trying so hard to get along with everyone.
He is getting a very nice surprise from Korea (thanks, Robert), but he doesn't know it. But, as soon as the package comes, the half and half jersey is his. No questions, no discussion, I am just going to give him the jersey and watch what happens. He deserves it.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Another Release
Current mood: infuriated
Dear Little (ahem) Person,
I wish I could tell you this in person without being sent to jail for injury to a minor. I am not threatening you. I am stating how I feel. Lucky for all of us, I am able contain my feelings, sometimes.
The thing which makes me most angry in all of this is that you chose to make my kid a "mark" for your joke, which really wasn't all that funny. She has been a very good friend to you. She gave up someone important because she let you and another little person get in the way. She stuck up for you when you wouldn't stick up for yourself. She really cared about how you felt. And, you suck.
You devised the scheme you thought was hilarious at lunch, behind her back, with the other little member of the trio. She wasn't expecting any trouble because things had been going pretty well. Just like every other day, she went in her class and took her seat and then you struck. What you said about her wasn't funny. You said something about your "best" friend to someone who believed you, and took it up with her in front of the whole class. So, not only did you lie about your best friend, you hurt her because she had no idea what the confusion was all about.
She was embarrassed. She was upset. You are cruel and you still think she had no right to be upset. You were sent to the office because of the mayhem which ensued. You were the reason two colleagues argued. You were barely disciplined. You were told to formally apologize to the class. Wow, that is impressive. You laughed your way through the apology to the class and the teacher, but what about the apology you do owe my kid? I guess that will never come.
Now, let me say a few things about the past. I told my kid for months you were no kind of best friend. I told her I didn't like how she acted when she spent time with you and the other one. I told her she was disrespectful and rude after she came home from seeing you and the other one. She begged to still do things with you because you were her "best" friends and stupid me, I caved. I let her because I was fourteen once too and I understand how much it hurts to feel like you don't belong and how important friends are. Too bad you weren't the kind of friends she deserved.
Now that the edict has been passed down, and my kid is complying with it, you want to hang out with her again. You want her to be your friend again. You want her to talk to you and treat you like you never hurt her. You even told her to quit being such a pushover to her mother. You want her to what?
Do not talk to her again. Do not speak her name. Don't even look her way in class. You are so lucky I stayed out of this one. You are lucky I didn't call the school and wreak havoc in your little world. I could have. I still can.
Push this over, you little shit.
Dear Little (ahem) Person,
I wish I could tell you this in person without being sent to jail for injury to a minor. I am not threatening you. I am stating how I feel. Lucky for all of us, I am able contain my feelings, sometimes.
The thing which makes me most angry in all of this is that you chose to make my kid a "mark" for your joke, which really wasn't all that funny. She has been a very good friend to you. She gave up someone important because she let you and another little person get in the way. She stuck up for you when you wouldn't stick up for yourself. She really cared about how you felt. And, you suck.
You devised the scheme you thought was hilarious at lunch, behind her back, with the other little member of the trio. She wasn't expecting any trouble because things had been going pretty well. Just like every other day, she went in her class and took her seat and then you struck. What you said about her wasn't funny. You said something about your "best" friend to someone who believed you, and took it up with her in front of the whole class. So, not only did you lie about your best friend, you hurt her because she had no idea what the confusion was all about.
She was embarrassed. She was upset. You are cruel and you still think she had no right to be upset. You were sent to the office because of the mayhem which ensued. You were the reason two colleagues argued. You were barely disciplined. You were told to formally apologize to the class. Wow, that is impressive. You laughed your way through the apology to the class and the teacher, but what about the apology you do owe my kid? I guess that will never come.
Now, let me say a few things about the past. I told my kid for months you were no kind of best friend. I told her I didn't like how she acted when she spent time with you and the other one. I told her she was disrespectful and rude after she came home from seeing you and the other one. She begged to still do things with you because you were her "best" friends and stupid me, I caved. I let her because I was fourteen once too and I understand how much it hurts to feel like you don't belong and how important friends are. Too bad you weren't the kind of friends she deserved.
Now that the edict has been passed down, and my kid is complying with it, you want to hang out with her again. You want her to be your friend again. You want her to talk to you and treat you like you never hurt her. You even told her to quit being such a pushover to her mother. You want her to what?
Do not talk to her again. Do not speak her name. Don't even look her way in class. You are so lucky I stayed out of this one. You are lucky I didn't call the school and wreak havoc in your little world. I could have. I still can.
Push this over, you little shit.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Taking Care to Take Care
I was told this week that I am too stressed out. It was out of concern for me and my best interest, and I appreciate the people who said it because I am not so sure I could have said it the way they did. It was loving and kind, but not condescending. They were concerned at the ulcers and the fact that I am still only sleeping a couple of hours a night and the sinus issue which still lingers and the muscle cramps and the locking of the keys in the truck and the craziness and the dropping of tiles on toe and the laying of the tiles and the family situation and you name it. Their advice, tell the cheerleader to suck it up and try out in South Carolina, sell the house and go.
I talked about it just a little bit today with Travis. He did understand, but he is pretty much on the same page as me when it comes to this: we've done harder things than this and the decision we made will be very good for our family in the end. I still think it was the best thing to do for all of us.
So, I have modified my game plan. I was relentless about making sure to get x number of items to the thrift shop to sell every week. I wanted a certain number of boxes packed every week. I wanted to tile the floor quickly and move on. I wanted to do everything in an automated and efficient way. Now, I am going to still do the things I've been doing. I am still going to do the home improvement stuff and the packing and the thrift shop drop-offs, but I am going to breathe.
I am going to let it go if I don't have the entire floor tiled by June. Once all the full tiles are down, I can still put the packed boxes out there. Travis will be home for a visit after a while and wehn he comes, we can worry about placing the cut pieces against the walls and around door trim and we can get the baseboards down. It isn't going to kill anyone if the floor is not complete before June.
Once I do get the biggest part of the floor done I can move all these flipping boxes out of the family room in order to return it to my relaxing retreat. I picked all the things for this room with the sole intent of making it a wonderful place to come and sit and catch my breath. That is hard to do when there are boxes stacked half-way up each wall. And, when I move the boxes out, I will sit and relax here again.
Once this room is relaxable again, I will begin to really focus on clearing out the office and selling the furniture in it. And, once the office is cleared out, I will be moving my bedroom furniture in there. It is a much bigger bedroom than the master bedroom is and my huge bulky furniture will look better placed there. Once the furniture is shifted I will move Nolan's double bed into the master bedroom and my small dresser as well because the smaller furniture will make the small room look more roomy. At that point, Nolan will be sleeping in the master bedroom, but living out of his own. Then, when the master bedroom is set, I will find a twin bed to put in Nolan's room for staging to make his room appear larger too.
Prior to all the room shifting, I will be painting. I will have to do baseboards and doors, which need to be primed and the walls in the main part of the house, including the kitchen. This wont be a huge issue, but will be a little time-consuming because of needing to prime so much. It will get done and I am not racing anything except myself, and that may be the worst competition of all.
I am going to have to make myself take care of myself. I am starting to realize that. In doing so, I am going to be less snippy with the kids. I have been trying this since Wednesday, and things seem to be less tense around here. Nolan is trying to make adjustments in himself, so I feel I must do the same. I am going to try to be less demanding while still expecting the same level of participation in the household chores and behaviors. Controlling my stress will help me overall, and that success will lead to the accomplishment of all these things.
All of that said, I really think the basis of all of my stress-related problems is that I am just missing Travis so much, even though I keep telling myself this isn't as hard as a deployment because the crazies aren't trying to kill him. In reality, I think this might be just a little harder. During a deployment we have no choice as long as he remains in the military. If they say he goes (on deployment), he goes and where he goes is not someplace I can be. That is that and there is no negotiation. Our current living arrangement was my choice. I didn't choose this because I wanted us separated for any reason. I did choose it because it was smart financially and supported our kids' wishes. In that choice, which I do not regret, I made this what it is. I have to deal with that. And, my very best friend is going home to a less than wonderful, absolutely not relaxing "home" every night alone, to make his own dinner which he does not enjoy doing for himself. He is without the kids and their craziness and he has to deal with his stress alone as well. That is not something I like. It is my job to help him with all those things. Even though we talk every day and text like fools, it isn't the same. I miss that commeraderie we share. It would certainly be nice to be driving down the road somewhere and see something and be able to look at one another without saying a word and laugh, knowing the exact same thought is running through both our minds.
So, if you text me or email me or call me and I don't jump on it right away, or if I am late getting the kids to some activity, or if I choose to sit around all day some Saturday and not clean my house, please try to understand. I am taking care of me.
And soon enough, I will take care of him again.
I talked about it just a little bit today with Travis. He did understand, but he is pretty much on the same page as me when it comes to this: we've done harder things than this and the decision we made will be very good for our family in the end. I still think it was the best thing to do for all of us.
So, I have modified my game plan. I was relentless about making sure to get x number of items to the thrift shop to sell every week. I wanted a certain number of boxes packed every week. I wanted to tile the floor quickly and move on. I wanted to do everything in an automated and efficient way. Now, I am going to still do the things I've been doing. I am still going to do the home improvement stuff and the packing and the thrift shop drop-offs, but I am going to breathe.
I am going to let it go if I don't have the entire floor tiled by June. Once all the full tiles are down, I can still put the packed boxes out there. Travis will be home for a visit after a while and wehn he comes, we can worry about placing the cut pieces against the walls and around door trim and we can get the baseboards down. It isn't going to kill anyone if the floor is not complete before June.
Once I do get the biggest part of the floor done I can move all these flipping boxes out of the family room in order to return it to my relaxing retreat. I picked all the things for this room with the sole intent of making it a wonderful place to come and sit and catch my breath. That is hard to do when there are boxes stacked half-way up each wall. And, when I move the boxes out, I will sit and relax here again.
Once this room is relaxable again, I will begin to really focus on clearing out the office and selling the furniture in it. And, once the office is cleared out, I will be moving my bedroom furniture in there. It is a much bigger bedroom than the master bedroom is and my huge bulky furniture will look better placed there. Once the furniture is shifted I will move Nolan's double bed into the master bedroom and my small dresser as well because the smaller furniture will make the small room look more roomy. At that point, Nolan will be sleeping in the master bedroom, but living out of his own. Then, when the master bedroom is set, I will find a twin bed to put in Nolan's room for staging to make his room appear larger too.
Prior to all the room shifting, I will be painting. I will have to do baseboards and doors, which need to be primed and the walls in the main part of the house, including the kitchen. This wont be a huge issue, but will be a little time-consuming because of needing to prime so much. It will get done and I am not racing anything except myself, and that may be the worst competition of all.
I am going to have to make myself take care of myself. I am starting to realize that. In doing so, I am going to be less snippy with the kids. I have been trying this since Wednesday, and things seem to be less tense around here. Nolan is trying to make adjustments in himself, so I feel I must do the same. I am going to try to be less demanding while still expecting the same level of participation in the household chores and behaviors. Controlling my stress will help me overall, and that success will lead to the accomplishment of all these things.
All of that said, I really think the basis of all of my stress-related problems is that I am just missing Travis so much, even though I keep telling myself this isn't as hard as a deployment because the crazies aren't trying to kill him. In reality, I think this might be just a little harder. During a deployment we have no choice as long as he remains in the military. If they say he goes (on deployment), he goes and where he goes is not someplace I can be. That is that and there is no negotiation. Our current living arrangement was my choice. I didn't choose this because I wanted us separated for any reason. I did choose it because it was smart financially and supported our kids' wishes. In that choice, which I do not regret, I made this what it is. I have to deal with that. And, my very best friend is going home to a less than wonderful, absolutely not relaxing "home" every night alone, to make his own dinner which he does not enjoy doing for himself. He is without the kids and their craziness and he has to deal with his stress alone as well. That is not something I like. It is my job to help him with all those things. Even though we talk every day and text like fools, it isn't the same. I miss that commeraderie we share. It would certainly be nice to be driving down the road somewhere and see something and be able to look at one another without saying a word and laugh, knowing the exact same thought is running through both our minds.
So, if you text me or email me or call me and I don't jump on it right away, or if I am late getting the kids to some activity, or if I choose to sit around all day some Saturday and not clean my house, please try to understand. I am taking care of me.
And soon enough, I will take care of him again.
Weekly Recap
Current mood: froggy
Sunday- Went to church, went to lunch with friends, went home and tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry
Monday- Got kids to school, went to walk, had horrendous shoulder/neck pain, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry, ran errands, tiled a little, dropped full box of tile on right big toe and ruined pedicure
Tuesday- Limped around while kids got ready, went to walk, did not have endoscopy on tummy because of incompetent doctors unwilling to calm my very real fears about waking up durning procedure and remembering and feeling everything, went for a massage for horrendous shoulder/neck pain, came home, got kids, went to flag football practice, came home, made and ate dinner, tiled like a crazy fool
Wednesday- Got kids up and ready and off to school, went to mall to walk, mother called, locked effing keys in truck when getting out to walk, called tow truck and spent $40 .. retrieval, came home, cleaned, tiled like a crazy fool, got kids, took kid to appointment and heard some revelations, walked at college desert track, came home, made and ate dinner
Thursday-Let kids get themselves up and ready at the advice of an expert, spent morning making only lunches- stress-free, went on post and wasted time, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, got kids, walked at college desert track, went to WalMart, came home, made and ate dinner, tiled like a crazy fool, packed boxes, cleaned up side mirror which fell from brand freaking new very expensive medicine cabinet in kids' bathroom
Friday- Stress-free morning thanks to new get yoruself up philosophy, went to get Diet Coke, tiled like a crazy fool, cleaned nasty children's bathroom with jackhammer, went to Starbucks for coffee (which I don't drink) with the girls, went to Denny's with the girls (thanks Kori), went home, showered, cleaned up after doggie (let's not discuss), got dressed, picked kids up from school early, went to doctor's appointment with coughing kid, waited until next year's birthday for prescriptions at pharmacy, got home, got kid ready, went to flag football game, went to Insane Pizza Company (actually Incredible Pizza Company) for waiting families' dinner, chatted with the girls, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry, passed out on couch
Saturday- Got up at 10, read emails, wanted to make rice for dog food, had to find insert for microwave rice cooker, couldn't find insert, cleaned out plastic container cabinet, matched containers to lids and threw away mis-matches, re-organized cabinet, found insert, husband called and talked for an hour and a half, did laundry, made rice, cleaned kitchen, tiled like a crazy fool, moved stuff in laundry room around, tiled more, sorted dirty laundry to be done, ate breakfast, (at 12:35), swept floor, organized bills, shredded papers
And now I am going to shower and get dressed and call the girls because I want to go see "Bucket List" on-post. Then, I plan to drop dead.
Sunday- Went to church, went to lunch with friends, went home and tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry
Monday- Got kids to school, went to walk, had horrendous shoulder/neck pain, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry, ran errands, tiled a little, dropped full box of tile on right big toe and ruined pedicure
Tuesday- Limped around while kids got ready, went to walk, did not have endoscopy on tummy because of incompetent doctors unwilling to calm my very real fears about waking up durning procedure and remembering and feeling everything, went for a massage for horrendous shoulder/neck pain, came home, got kids, went to flag football practice, came home, made and ate dinner, tiled like a crazy fool
Wednesday- Got kids up and ready and off to school, went to mall to walk, mother called, locked effing keys in truck when getting out to walk, called tow truck and spent $40 .. retrieval, came home, cleaned, tiled like a crazy fool, got kids, took kid to appointment and heard some revelations, walked at college desert track, came home, made and ate dinner
Thursday-Let kids get themselves up and ready at the advice of an expert, spent morning making only lunches- stress-free, went on post and wasted time, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, got kids, walked at college desert track, went to WalMart, came home, made and ate dinner, tiled like a crazy fool, packed boxes, cleaned up side mirror which fell from brand freaking new very expensive medicine cabinet in kids' bathroom
Friday- Stress-free morning thanks to new get yoruself up philosophy, went to get Diet Coke, tiled like a crazy fool, cleaned nasty children's bathroom with jackhammer, went to Starbucks for coffee (which I don't drink) with the girls, went to Denny's with the girls (thanks Kori), went home, showered, cleaned up after doggie (let's not discuss), got dressed, picked kids up from school early, went to doctor's appointment with coughing kid, waited until next year's birthday for prescriptions at pharmacy, got home, got kid ready, went to flag football game, went to Insane Pizza Company (actually Incredible Pizza Company) for waiting families' dinner, chatted with the girls, came home, tiled like a crazy fool, did laundry, passed out on couch
Saturday- Got up at 10, read emails, wanted to make rice for dog food, had to find insert for microwave rice cooker, couldn't find insert, cleaned out plastic container cabinet, matched containers to lids and threw away mis-matches, re-organized cabinet, found insert, husband called and talked for an hour and a half, did laundry, made rice, cleaned kitchen, tiled like a crazy fool, moved stuff in laundry room around, tiled more, sorted dirty laundry to be done, ate breakfast, (at 12:35), swept floor, organized bills, shredded papers
And now I am going to shower and get dressed and call the girls because I want to go see "Bucket List" on-post. Then, I plan to drop dead.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
In an Attempt to Quell My Anger
Current mood: pissy
I have decided that there are enough things and people in this world in need of addressing regarding the things they do, or don't do, which piss me off. I, in my feeble attempt, am trying to be a better person by not exploding all over these people. But then, sometimes I can't help it and explode I do. Many times these are people who truly need to be gone off on, but I wont do it to them because it would bring embarrassment to my family or make things difficult for my husband in his career path, because we all know the Army isn't really always about one's ability to perform well as a Solider, but often about who likes that particular Soldier. So, my lip has permanent teeth imprints on it.
This will be the first of many (I am certain) letters which I intend to use as a stress reliever (because I must release this tension in some suitable way) which will save myself and my family an inordinate amount of grief and embarrassment. These letters will be somewhat annonymous in their address of a particular person, problem or situation. They will help me. They have the potential to make the world a better place when the proper sets of eyes look upon these letters. For others, they will nod in agreement and obtain (I hope) a small bit of satisfaction in knowing they are not alone in their daily fight for sanity.
To my readers: Please feel free to also write letters to suit your own anger/stress/emotional management.
Dear Person (for lack of anything more appropriate to call you),
You called me.
You called me to tell me something which should have been done (oh, let's just round the numbers out and call it) seven weeks ago, was done and ready to be picked up. Now, had it been done correctly and on time, there would have been no need for it to need picking up. If all were in order seven weeks ago, it would have been a part of a natural process and would have fit easily into the schedules of ALL involved. I guess that was just too much to ask. Apparently mediocrity is now appropriate.
When you called me, you asked me to tell you when I would be by. I named a time and then you told me that was not a good time. I asked you what would be a good time for you. You told me, "lunchtime." In military circles, we have all come to accept that lunchtime is any time between the hours of 1130 and 1300, give or take fifteen minutes for the time challenged. You also asked me to call your cell phone to tell you when I was on my way.
I don't much suppose it is important to you that I rearranged my day to do this. I rearranged my entire day to accomidate mediocrity. It is mediocrity which caused the first situation as well as today. Thank you for striving for mediocrity. Your quest for the middle of the road has made the rest of us work harder. Your success in your goal has made the rest of us uncomfortable. Your business in the task of mediocrity has made you an inconsiderate wretch.
I left my home today (where I could have remained to continue laying tile, packing boxes, vacuuming and sweeping floors, sorting seasonal clothing, or any number of what you might deem unimportant jobs) with the sole purpose in seeing you. I left at 1045, got gas (which is now nearly $3.50 a gallon), pulled away from the gas station, picked up my phone and called you to tell you I was on my way and I asked you to call me back to let me know the gameplan. I was pretty certain I would get your voice mail because I was aware of your morning activity. I must have been stupid in my assumption that as soon as that was over you would turn your phone on and listen to the messages waiting for you, to include my own message for you, which you requested I leave, and return calls (as was mentioned in the voicemail in question).
I arrived in the vicinity of your "place" shortly after 1100. I figured I could busy myself with a few minor errands which could have waited for another day until you called me back. Trust me, my errands were done in about twenty minutes. Then, I wasted my time wasting time waiting for you to call me. At 1215 I again called your cell phone and again I got no answer. This time I did not leave a message. I figured you would see my number and realize it might be a little important for you to call me back. Again, my own stupidity is working against me, right?
With nary a phone ring by 1315, I became a bit more angry and decided to take matters into my own hands. I went to your building without waiting for you to call me to tell me it was a good time, even though you told me it would be a good time, but it was apparently not a good time... for you. As I entered, there was one person who asked if he could help me. When I explained my presence, he simply said he had no idea and that you were in a meeting and would be there for some time, as it had just begun. Yes, I got a little (lot) snippy with this person and for that I am a little sorry. I then saw someone I know and like and exchanged pleasantries. I left the building immediately thereafter.
So, all in all, you have wasted my day. I had plans for my time. I changed them to accomodate you. My whole day went right down the crapper because of you. It really should have come as no great surprise to me that this might occur, as you have a proven track record of making excuses for things which don't always happen all that properly. Now that we've established that you messed with me and my time, what are we going to do about the gas I wasted in my time wasting caused by you? Should I bill you?
I realize that in your mind I am not important. I can accept that and it does not hurt my feelings. However, let me assure you that although my time may not be as expensive as yours, it is equally as valuable.
Now that you must again recitfy this situation, which never had to occur in the first place, seven weeks ago or today, I hope it is uncomfortable for you. I hope you have to explain it to someone "above" you who questions your ability to do your job. Do not come by my home. I do not care to see you and I do not care to talk to you. You will not be welcomed here. Only friends and potential buyers are welcome here.
In other words, stick it in the mail.
Thank you,
Stacie
I have decided that there are enough things and people in this world in need of addressing regarding the things they do, or don't do, which piss me off. I, in my feeble attempt, am trying to be a better person by not exploding all over these people. But then, sometimes I can't help it and explode I do. Many times these are people who truly need to be gone off on, but I wont do it to them because it would bring embarrassment to my family or make things difficult for my husband in his career path, because we all know the Army isn't really always about one's ability to perform well as a Solider, but often about who likes that particular Soldier. So, my lip has permanent teeth imprints on it.
This will be the first of many (I am certain) letters which I intend to use as a stress reliever (because I must release this tension in some suitable way) which will save myself and my family an inordinate amount of grief and embarrassment. These letters will be somewhat annonymous in their address of a particular person, problem or situation. They will help me. They have the potential to make the world a better place when the proper sets of eyes look upon these letters. For others, they will nod in agreement and obtain (I hope) a small bit of satisfaction in knowing they are not alone in their daily fight for sanity.
To my readers: Please feel free to also write letters to suit your own anger/stress/emotional management.
Dear Person (for lack of anything more appropriate to call you),
You called me.
You called me to tell me something which should have been done (oh, let's just round the numbers out and call it) seven weeks ago, was done and ready to be picked up. Now, had it been done correctly and on time, there would have been no need for it to need picking up. If all were in order seven weeks ago, it would have been a part of a natural process and would have fit easily into the schedules of ALL involved. I guess that was just too much to ask. Apparently mediocrity is now appropriate.
When you called me, you asked me to tell you when I would be by. I named a time and then you told me that was not a good time. I asked you what would be a good time for you. You told me, "lunchtime." In military circles, we have all come to accept that lunchtime is any time between the hours of 1130 and 1300, give or take fifteen minutes for the time challenged. You also asked me to call your cell phone to tell you when I was on my way.
I don't much suppose it is important to you that I rearranged my day to do this. I rearranged my entire day to accomidate mediocrity. It is mediocrity which caused the first situation as well as today. Thank you for striving for mediocrity. Your quest for the middle of the road has made the rest of us work harder. Your success in your goal has made the rest of us uncomfortable. Your business in the task of mediocrity has made you an inconsiderate wretch.
I left my home today (where I could have remained to continue laying tile, packing boxes, vacuuming and sweeping floors, sorting seasonal clothing, or any number of what you might deem unimportant jobs) with the sole purpose in seeing you. I left at 1045, got gas (which is now nearly $3.50 a gallon), pulled away from the gas station, picked up my phone and called you to tell you I was on my way and I asked you to call me back to let me know the gameplan. I was pretty certain I would get your voice mail because I was aware of your morning activity. I must have been stupid in my assumption that as soon as that was over you would turn your phone on and listen to the messages waiting for you, to include my own message for you, which you requested I leave, and return calls (as was mentioned in the voicemail in question).
I arrived in the vicinity of your "place" shortly after 1100. I figured I could busy myself with a few minor errands which could have waited for another day until you called me back. Trust me, my errands were done in about twenty minutes. Then, I wasted my time wasting time waiting for you to call me. At 1215 I again called your cell phone and again I got no answer. This time I did not leave a message. I figured you would see my number and realize it might be a little important for you to call me back. Again, my own stupidity is working against me, right?
With nary a phone ring by 1315, I became a bit more angry and decided to take matters into my own hands. I went to your building without waiting for you to call me to tell me it was a good time, even though you told me it would be a good time, but it was apparently not a good time... for you. As I entered, there was one person who asked if he could help me. When I explained my presence, he simply said he had no idea and that you were in a meeting and would be there for some time, as it had just begun. Yes, I got a little (lot) snippy with this person and for that I am a little sorry. I then saw someone I know and like and exchanged pleasantries. I left the building immediately thereafter.
So, all in all, you have wasted my day. I had plans for my time. I changed them to accomodate you. My whole day went right down the crapper because of you. It really should have come as no great surprise to me that this might occur, as you have a proven track record of making excuses for things which don't always happen all that properly. Now that we've established that you messed with me and my time, what are we going to do about the gas I wasted in my time wasting caused by you? Should I bill you?
I realize that in your mind I am not important. I can accept that and it does not hurt my feelings. However, let me assure you that although my time may not be as expensive as yours, it is equally as valuable.
Now that you must again recitfy this situation, which never had to occur in the first place, seven weeks ago or today, I hope it is uncomfortable for you. I hope you have to explain it to someone "above" you who questions your ability to do your job. Do not come by my home. I do not care to see you and I do not care to talk to you. You will not be welcomed here. Only friends and potential buyers are welcome here.
In other words, stick it in the mail.
Thank you,
Stacie
Monday, April 21, 2008
I Know How to Lay It.
Current mood: accomplished
I think there were quite a few people who kind of poo-poohed the idea of me doing any home improvement stuff before we unload the place. After all, I've not had great success with the cordless drill. It left me in tears one afternoon when I couldn't get the screws to the new curtain rods in the wall so they would hold, even with the stupid wall anchors. I did it right, I just couldn't get it right.
Not long after we moved in, we had our first invasion of little rat bastards. Travis wound up ripping up all the carpet in the laundry/dog/bird/utility room and found all 947 (or something like that) of their nests. Since then, the floor has been raw concrete.
We've had the intention many times of covering the floor with one thing or another. Travis wanted traditional linoleum, but we couldn't really drop that kind of money on it at any particular point. We have to have the flooring down so we can claim that as square footage, so now it is kinda crunch time.
I went to Home Depot about three weeks ago for light bulbs and paint brushes and masking tape and easy caulk and wound up spending a ton of money. You see, I found 12 inch sticky tiles on clearance. Ah, clearance. I love clearance. I bought eleven boxes of them at $28.70 each. If you do the math, that'll put me at about .96 a square foot. I couldn't find anything for less than that with installation, and those are an easy install and I can do some now and some later.
Since I got them, the boxes have been stacked in the hallway. They have joined the stacks upon stacks of packed boxes which are now bordering two rooms of the house. All these stacks of stuff really frustrate me because it is hard to make a room look clean when there are 25 boxes against every wall. I feel like I can't relax anywhere because the whole house is a little (lot) disjointed.
I guess the insanity finally got to me. I had asked Kori to come help me with the floor sometime in the next couple of weeks, but we came home from lunch with Kori and our kids yesterday and I scooted past the boxes in the hallway and I snapped. I grabbed a box of tiles and the broom and started laying tile.
Any moron (let me correct that- most morons) could figure out how to lay this tile. You lay them out and line them up so you don't have to do a lot of cuts and then you start peeling the paper backing off, line up the tile and stick it down. Pretty easy. Before I knew it, I had laid 15 sq. feet. I got tired and had to get stuff together for the week, so I stopped.
Today, I threw a load in as I was getting the kids up and around, hung a wet load outside, changed for my walk, got the hooigans to school, ran to the bank, got a Diet Coke and hit the mall. Granted, it isn't that much, but I walked about 2.5 miles with a very sore back and neck from sleeping wrong for three nights in a row. It was just what I needed because by the time I had finished, I could barely feel my neck and the lower back was just fine. I ran on-post to register Nolan for flag football, talked to the sports guy for a while about our move, ran to the commissary for a few neccessities, came home, put the stuff away, and went to the laundry room to finish the box of tiles I started yesterday.
It wasn't my intention to do any more than finish that box. I get overwhelmed easily so my goal was to just do 10 sq. feet or so a day and within a month, I would be done. Not only did I finish the box I started yesterday, I moved some stuff out of the way and finsihed a second box. I grabbed a drink, checked my emails and went back to the hall for another box. I carried it out, put it on the deep freeze so I could open the box and before I could grab the box-cutter, the box fell and the corner of it landed right on my bare big toe. Holy crap.
It didn't hurt for a few seconds, but then the burning rush of throbbing pain hit. Holy crap. Oh, holy crap. I grabbed an ice-pack, flopped back in the recliner and thought I was going to die. I lived. But the corner of the box did take a serious chunk out of my toe polish.
So, I went back to the laundry room after dinner. I got almost another box down. I am somewhere between a third and half-way done. For most of the next part, I'll need help to move the deep-freeze, the washer and dryer, the shelving unit and the treadmill. But, what I do have finished looks friggin' great.
I can't wait to see it all finished.
I am kinda proud of myself.
I think there were quite a few people who kind of poo-poohed the idea of me doing any home improvement stuff before we unload the place. After all, I've not had great success with the cordless drill. It left me in tears one afternoon when I couldn't get the screws to the new curtain rods in the wall so they would hold, even with the stupid wall anchors. I did it right, I just couldn't get it right.
Not long after we moved in, we had our first invasion of little rat bastards. Travis wound up ripping up all the carpet in the laundry/dog/bird/utility room and found all 947 (or something like that) of their nests. Since then, the floor has been raw concrete.
We've had the intention many times of covering the floor with one thing or another. Travis wanted traditional linoleum, but we couldn't really drop that kind of money on it at any particular point. We have to have the flooring down so we can claim that as square footage, so now it is kinda crunch time.
I went to Home Depot about three weeks ago for light bulbs and paint brushes and masking tape and easy caulk and wound up spending a ton of money. You see, I found 12 inch sticky tiles on clearance. Ah, clearance. I love clearance. I bought eleven boxes of them at $28.70 each. If you do the math, that'll put me at about .96 a square foot. I couldn't find anything for less than that with installation, and those are an easy install and I can do some now and some later.
Since I got them, the boxes have been stacked in the hallway. They have joined the stacks upon stacks of packed boxes which are now bordering two rooms of the house. All these stacks of stuff really frustrate me because it is hard to make a room look clean when there are 25 boxes against every wall. I feel like I can't relax anywhere because the whole house is a little (lot) disjointed.
I guess the insanity finally got to me. I had asked Kori to come help me with the floor sometime in the next couple of weeks, but we came home from lunch with Kori and our kids yesterday and I scooted past the boxes in the hallway and I snapped. I grabbed a box of tiles and the broom and started laying tile.
Any moron (let me correct that- most morons) could figure out how to lay this tile. You lay them out and line them up so you don't have to do a lot of cuts and then you start peeling the paper backing off, line up the tile and stick it down. Pretty easy. Before I knew it, I had laid 15 sq. feet. I got tired and had to get stuff together for the week, so I stopped.
Today, I threw a load in as I was getting the kids up and around, hung a wet load outside, changed for my walk, got the hooigans to school, ran to the bank, got a Diet Coke and hit the mall. Granted, it isn't that much, but I walked about 2.5 miles with a very sore back and neck from sleeping wrong for three nights in a row. It was just what I needed because by the time I had finished, I could barely feel my neck and the lower back was just fine. I ran on-post to register Nolan for flag football, talked to the sports guy for a while about our move, ran to the commissary for a few neccessities, came home, put the stuff away, and went to the laundry room to finish the box of tiles I started yesterday.
It wasn't my intention to do any more than finish that box. I get overwhelmed easily so my goal was to just do 10 sq. feet or so a day and within a month, I would be done. Not only did I finish the box I started yesterday, I moved some stuff out of the way and finsihed a second box. I grabbed a drink, checked my emails and went back to the hall for another box. I carried it out, put it on the deep freeze so I could open the box and before I could grab the box-cutter, the box fell and the corner of it landed right on my bare big toe. Holy crap.
It didn't hurt for a few seconds, but then the burning rush of throbbing pain hit. Holy crap. Oh, holy crap. I grabbed an ice-pack, flopped back in the recliner and thought I was going to die. I lived. But the corner of the box did take a serious chunk out of my toe polish.
So, I went back to the laundry room after dinner. I got almost another box down. I am somewhere between a third and half-way done. For most of the next part, I'll need help to move the deep-freeze, the washer and dryer, the shelving unit and the treadmill. But, what I do have finished looks friggin' great.
I can't wait to see it all finished.
I am kinda proud of myself.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
You Want to Put What Down My Throat?
Current mood: distressed
Now that I seem to be healing from my nasty boogers and allergy problems in spite of the last two days of 40-50 mile per hour winds, one would think my health would be looking up. That's freaking hilarious.
I am sure we can all align my new issue with my current living situation, so lets blame that, shall we?
Not long after I returned from my travels I began having awful stomach pains. Since I had so much drainage I assumed the stomach pain was a by-product of the excessive snot, so I ignored the pain. I usually have stomach pains when I am having lots of drainage. As time passed, the pains became substantially worse.
Two days ago I had two episodes of stomach pain. So, I called the docs. Seems they suspect I have ulcers, which are being made worse by my (laughing uncontrollably) heightened stress level. Today I saw the surgical clinic. I didn't see my doctor there, or I would have said so. I just saw one of the interns. He said I have to have an endoscopy. Now I am trying not to say a real bad word.
Tomorrow I have to have my pre-admission stuff done and on Tuesday they will do an "awake sedation." I heard that phrase and went after that pubescent doctor. He started telling me about awake sedation and about how simple it really is and how I wont remember it and I wont feel anything. What a weenie liar.
You see, when I had my thyroid and her tumors removed, I was given awake intibation. My tumors were pressing on my windpipe and the anesthesiologist explained that intibating me while I was knocked out would not be safe because of the blockage in my throat. Basically, you are bombed out of your mind but the docs can react quite quickly if you are still somewhat coherent should something go wrong so they can bring you back around. Lucky me, I woke up while they were shoving the tubes down my throat. Not only did I wake up, I remember it, I remember how I felt and I remember being scared out of my friggin' mind. I even sat straight up. They got me back under and finished the intibation and the surgery pretty easily after that.
When I was out of recovery and ICU, I went to my regular room with my three other (noisy, inconsiderate) roommates. I was just getting settled in when my anesthesiologist came in and asked how I was feeling and if I might be having some throat discomfort. "No," I answered, "I am having a lot of throat discomfort, it is sore, it is scratchy and it feels like it is on fire." Then he told me that they had a hard time intibating me. Then I told him about waking up and sitting up. He laughed and told me I couldn't possibly remember. So then I explained that he was to my left and his nurse assistant was on my right and they were both saying my name trying to calm me. There were three people in gowns and hats with their backs to me working with instruments on a table which was pushed up against a grey tile wall. There was a bright round light immediately above me and there was a surgeon with his surgical mask on and he was trying to calm me from the head of my table and when they got me back down on the table, he put his hand on my left shoulder and was trying to talk to me calmly in my ear while they got the rest of the tubes in my mouth. Needless to say, the sleepy-time doc was blown away and said I was the first patient he had ever had who could recall something like that after the large dose of whatever medication they gave me.
The intern told me to tell my admissions nurse about that little problem. I just asked if they could fully knock me out so we could just avoid the issue alltogether. He laughed a little and said no.
So, on Tuesday afternoon, should you hear gagging, shrieking or the breaking of a fiberoptic camera, just think of me and smile.
Now that I seem to be healing from my nasty boogers and allergy problems in spite of the last two days of 40-50 mile per hour winds, one would think my health would be looking up. That's freaking hilarious.
I am sure we can all align my new issue with my current living situation, so lets blame that, shall we?
Not long after I returned from my travels I began having awful stomach pains. Since I had so much drainage I assumed the stomach pain was a by-product of the excessive snot, so I ignored the pain. I usually have stomach pains when I am having lots of drainage. As time passed, the pains became substantially worse.
Two days ago I had two episodes of stomach pain. So, I called the docs. Seems they suspect I have ulcers, which are being made worse by my (laughing uncontrollably) heightened stress level. Today I saw the surgical clinic. I didn't see my doctor there, or I would have said so. I just saw one of the interns. He said I have to have an endoscopy. Now I am trying not to say a real bad word.
Tomorrow I have to have my pre-admission stuff done and on Tuesday they will do an "awake sedation." I heard that phrase and went after that pubescent doctor. He started telling me about awake sedation and about how simple it really is and how I wont remember it and I wont feel anything. What a weenie liar.
You see, when I had my thyroid and her tumors removed, I was given awake intibation. My tumors were pressing on my windpipe and the anesthesiologist explained that intibating me while I was knocked out would not be safe because of the blockage in my throat. Basically, you are bombed out of your mind but the docs can react quite quickly if you are still somewhat coherent should something go wrong so they can bring you back around. Lucky me, I woke up while they were shoving the tubes down my throat. Not only did I wake up, I remember it, I remember how I felt and I remember being scared out of my friggin' mind. I even sat straight up. They got me back under and finished the intibation and the surgery pretty easily after that.
When I was out of recovery and ICU, I went to my regular room with my three other (noisy, inconsiderate) roommates. I was just getting settled in when my anesthesiologist came in and asked how I was feeling and if I might be having some throat discomfort. "No," I answered, "I am having a lot of throat discomfort, it is sore, it is scratchy and it feels like it is on fire." Then he told me that they had a hard time intibating me. Then I told him about waking up and sitting up. He laughed and told me I couldn't possibly remember. So then I explained that he was to my left and his nurse assistant was on my right and they were both saying my name trying to calm me. There were three people in gowns and hats with their backs to me working with instruments on a table which was pushed up against a grey tile wall. There was a bright round light immediately above me and there was a surgeon with his surgical mask on and he was trying to calm me from the head of my table and when they got me back down on the table, he put his hand on my left shoulder and was trying to talk to me calmly in my ear while they got the rest of the tubes in my mouth. Needless to say, the sleepy-time doc was blown away and said I was the first patient he had ever had who could recall something like that after the large dose of whatever medication they gave me.
The intern told me to tell my admissions nurse about that little problem. I just asked if they could fully knock me out so we could just avoid the issue alltogether. He laughed a little and said no.
So, on Tuesday afternoon, should you hear gagging, shrieking or the breaking of a fiberoptic camera, just think of me and smile.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Kitty and Stella
Current mood: sore
Man, Kitty is a total wench. I ain't kidding. I hate her.
Stella is only slightly better.
At the beginning of the month the kids and I were watching TV late at night on a weekend. I knew at that point that the stress of the last six weeks had taken a toll on my quest for over all health and fitness. So, yup, I fell for the infomercial I was seeing which guaranteed me superb abs, and the promise of better buns and thighs. Heck, I even bought two.
(hear the angels singing?) Ahh, the Bender Ball.
Basically, this is a stability ball (the big bouncy squishy balls people use to work out) only WAY smaller.
I had gotten in the habit of working my abs on the Nautilus machines at the gym, and then they got rid of the machine I loved. Oh, I loved it. But, they took it away and then they got some new one which I find entirely inferior to the one before. And, since I have returned to the gym after hell-era I have yet to go in the machine room. I don't know why, but it intimidates me even though I know how to use all the machines but two (the pull-up trapeeze thing and the cable pully thing). One of these days I'll head back in.
So I blew up the Bender Balls tonight and Amanda and I got down on the floor and started to do the routine along with the Bender lady and her friends, Stella and Kitty. Now, let me explain the girls.
Bender lady has a little bit of a roll, but she's forgiven because she has promised me wonderful ab-ness in exchange for Travis' hard-earned dollars. Stella and Kitty are both what the Bender lady called "Fitness professionals." My translation- friggin' itches.
Kitty is tall and slender. She has a Botox face. She grins strangely. I don't like her. Oh, and she also does all the exercises with more advanced modifications. Then, the Bender lady says during an exercise, "Wow, great abs. She's had kids too. She's amazing." See why I don't like her?
Ugh.
Then there's Stella. She is a little shorter and although she is completely fit and very slender, she is much more realistic looking. And, when on the mat, Stella does the less intense modifications. Stella makes me happy. Sort of.
So now, two hours after our workout, I am sitting here with my abs siezing up like crazy. Oh, it is not fun. Not at all. I just hope this is the way to whittle my muscles as I burn the fat away again.
Oh, and yay me! I lost four of the pounds I gained in the last eight weeks.
I'm getting there, but I hate every minute of it.
Man, Kitty is a total wench. I ain't kidding. I hate her.
Stella is only slightly better.
At the beginning of the month the kids and I were watching TV late at night on a weekend. I knew at that point that the stress of the last six weeks had taken a toll on my quest for over all health and fitness. So, yup, I fell for the infomercial I was seeing which guaranteed me superb abs, and the promise of better buns and thighs. Heck, I even bought two.
(hear the angels singing?) Ahh, the Bender Ball.
Basically, this is a stability ball (the big bouncy squishy balls people use to work out) only WAY smaller.
I had gotten in the habit of working my abs on the Nautilus machines at the gym, and then they got rid of the machine I loved. Oh, I loved it. But, they took it away and then they got some new one which I find entirely inferior to the one before. And, since I have returned to the gym after hell-era I have yet to go in the machine room. I don't know why, but it intimidates me even though I know how to use all the machines but two (the pull-up trapeeze thing and the cable pully thing). One of these days I'll head back in.
So I blew up the Bender Balls tonight and Amanda and I got down on the floor and started to do the routine along with the Bender lady and her friends, Stella and Kitty. Now, let me explain the girls.
Bender lady has a little bit of a roll, but she's forgiven because she has promised me wonderful ab-ness in exchange for Travis' hard-earned dollars. Stella and Kitty are both what the Bender lady called "Fitness professionals." My translation- friggin' itches.
Kitty is tall and slender. She has a Botox face. She grins strangely. I don't like her. Oh, and she also does all the exercises with more advanced modifications. Then, the Bender lady says during an exercise, "Wow, great abs. She's had kids too. She's amazing." See why I don't like her?
Ugh.
Then there's Stella. She is a little shorter and although she is completely fit and very slender, she is much more realistic looking. And, when on the mat, Stella does the less intense modifications. Stella makes me happy. Sort of.
So now, two hours after our workout, I am sitting here with my abs siezing up like crazy. Oh, it is not fun. Not at all. I just hope this is the way to whittle my muscles as I burn the fat away again.
Oh, and yay me! I lost four of the pounds I gained in the last eight weeks.
I'm getting there, but I hate every minute of it.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
What Marlee Does
Current mood: inspired
I am a total junkie when it comes to Dancing with the Stars. I have to watch. Every Monday and Tuesday you will find me threatening my children's lives for fear they interrupt my viewing of the show. I DVR it so I can see things I might miss and if something awesome happens, I watch it twice. I have watched every season with just as much enthusiasm as I had for the first season.
Last season I watched as Heather Mills and her one good leg bounced her way into history and actually made it pretty far into the season. Much farther than I wanted her to and much farther than I thought she would have gone. I am taking nothing away from her performace. She was pretty amazing, period. Take that fake leg into consideration and what she did was astounding. But, she screwed over a Beatle and for that, me no likey. That is merely a personal thing on my part.
This year the producers stepped out into another genre of what too many refer to as "the disabled." Marlee Matlin was asked to dance in the ballroom this season. Marlee Matlin is an amazing actress who has really overcome a tremendous obstacle in her life. She can't hear. She can hear nothing. No matter how loud you scream, she can't hear you, unless it is a trivial trace which just so happens to trigger her nervous system a bit. Trust me, I know that doesn't happen often for her. Oh, but let me add, she won an Oscar. Umm, and she was the first (and I believe still the only) deaf actor to ever win an Academy Award.
My paternal grandparents were both profoundly deaf. They married in the 1920s and began a family which would eventually include ten children. My grandfather was the first deaf licensed contractor in the state of Arizona. I could take you through Flagstaff and show you all the buildings my grandpa built, including churches and the original Chamber of Commerce building. My grandmother had her hands full having ten kids to take care of. I can't imagine having ten kids at all, then throw in the fact that she couldn't hear a sound and it just blows my mind.
So, every week I watch, like every week of Dancing with the Stars before, and I make my little uneducated guesses as to who will stay and who will be voted off and I have my favorites. But, every night I watch Marlee dance, I cry. I can't help it. There's nothing sad about it. I am crying tears of joy for Marlee. I am crying because I feel the pain my grandparents felt in the middle of the last century when people were unkind to anyone who was different. I cry because it wasn't that long ago that the deaf were called dumb because they didn't have the ability to understand "normal" people and because they had no auditory stimulation, they couldn't talk.
And there goes Marlee.
Dancing.
More amazingly, she dances well. She dances better than many people who have graced the dance floor in the past. Every week she sets out to prove she is capable of doing anything. Absolutely anything. She is a beautiful soul. She dances not because the music moves her, but because she can dance and she chooses to, and then she does it so well.
I don't know that there is anything more inspirational.
I am a total junkie when it comes to Dancing with the Stars. I have to watch. Every Monday and Tuesday you will find me threatening my children's lives for fear they interrupt my viewing of the show. I DVR it so I can see things I might miss and if something awesome happens, I watch it twice. I have watched every season with just as much enthusiasm as I had for the first season.
Last season I watched as Heather Mills and her one good leg bounced her way into history and actually made it pretty far into the season. Much farther than I wanted her to and much farther than I thought she would have gone. I am taking nothing away from her performace. She was pretty amazing, period. Take that fake leg into consideration and what she did was astounding. But, she screwed over a Beatle and for that, me no likey. That is merely a personal thing on my part.
This year the producers stepped out into another genre of what too many refer to as "the disabled." Marlee Matlin was asked to dance in the ballroom this season. Marlee Matlin is an amazing actress who has really overcome a tremendous obstacle in her life. She can't hear. She can hear nothing. No matter how loud you scream, she can't hear you, unless it is a trivial trace which just so happens to trigger her nervous system a bit. Trust me, I know that doesn't happen often for her. Oh, but let me add, she won an Oscar. Umm, and she was the first (and I believe still the only) deaf actor to ever win an Academy Award.
My paternal grandparents were both profoundly deaf. They married in the 1920s and began a family which would eventually include ten children. My grandfather was the first deaf licensed contractor in the state of Arizona. I could take you through Flagstaff and show you all the buildings my grandpa built, including churches and the original Chamber of Commerce building. My grandmother had her hands full having ten kids to take care of. I can't imagine having ten kids at all, then throw in the fact that she couldn't hear a sound and it just blows my mind.
So, every week I watch, like every week of Dancing with the Stars before, and I make my little uneducated guesses as to who will stay and who will be voted off and I have my favorites. But, every night I watch Marlee dance, I cry. I can't help it. There's nothing sad about it. I am crying tears of joy for Marlee. I am crying because I feel the pain my grandparents felt in the middle of the last century when people were unkind to anyone who was different. I cry because it wasn't that long ago that the deaf were called dumb because they didn't have the ability to understand "normal" people and because they had no auditory stimulation, they couldn't talk.
And there goes Marlee.
Dancing.
More amazingly, she dances well. She dances better than many people who have graced the dance floor in the past. Every week she sets out to prove she is capable of doing anything. Absolutely anything. She is a beautiful soul. She dances not because the music moves her, but because she can dance and she chooses to, and then she does it so well.
I don't know that there is anything more inspirational.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Trailer Trash
Current mood: fascinated
So, many of you know that Travis is now residing in a lovely one bedroom mobile home, trailer, tin can, or whatever you would like to call it. My best guess is that it is about 45-50 years old, because my parents once owned one with very similar features before I was born. I can also only estimate the total living space as somewhere in the neighborhood of 750-900 square feet, tops, on a good day when all the dishes are put away.
When we saw it, we were somewhat underwhelmed. But, the price was right and the landlord is a licensed state water broker (have no idea what that really means and to us he could be a licensed state witch doctor for all it matters), so there is no water bill, and ringer number three is that there is a washer and dryer in the trailer. So, only one utility bill-the electricity, and no laundromat needed for the geographical bachelor who works an insane number of hours, six days a week. OK. Yay, right?
Ha!
We noticed when we saw the trailer that there were gazillions of squirrels on the property. Maybe I am WAY too much of a chicky-chick, but I thought they were adorable and wonderful and that it would be super-awesome to live in a place with its own supply of wildlife entertainment to watch. Travis just kind of looked at them with his one expression. The landlord said he seeks ways to rid the property of them. OK.
It was maybe the third or fourth night I returned home from South Carolina when Travis called and was talking about his new place. He said it wasn't all that bad except at night. I thought I was being pretty cute when I asked him if the boogie man lived there. He said he didn't but that if one more (fill in the blank-ing) squirrel jumped and landed on top of the trailer with a resounding thud in the middle of the night he might just have to lose his mind. He said it took him a couple of nights to figure out what was making the noise which awakened him with a jolt of panic every ten minutes or so. Being the supportive and understanding wife I am, I giggled. He then told me pellet gunning the little charmers is a popular sport in the neighborhood. (Dear PETA, my husband does not own a pellet gun. There is absolutely no room in his allowance for a pellet gun. Go throw acorns at someone else. Love, Stacie)
We expected Travis' electric bill to go up in the coming months with the warmer weather on the way. His trailer is cooled by two window units on either end of the house. He said there are some days when the indoor temperature at the trailer is about twenty degrees warmer than the outdoor temperature because he doesn't run the coolers when he is not home. OK. So when I asked him about running them when he is home, he said he doesn't yet because he still has to use a little heat in the mornings to take the edge off when he is getting ready to leave. He said he just opens the front door and the two windows which aren't bolted shut and the place usually cools down within a half hour or so.
Are we talking luxury here, or what?
About two weeks ago, Travis came home one evening to a note taped to the front door. It stated that the author was the prior tennant and that there had been some discrepancy at the power company regarding our turning the power on and he also was asking if any of his mail had been delivered to Travis. The note gave a phone number and name and Travis called him back. After speaking, Travis said the guy sounds shady, as he moved out in November and we signed the lease and had the power put in our names in March. Travis said he thinks the guy is just not someone worth knowing. So that was that and he didn't hear any more from him after that.
Just last weekend Travis noticed that none of the electrical outlets in the bedroom were working. He has called the landlord who stated he would put the repairs on his list and get to it as soon as he is able. Apparently ability is a relative term. Maybe I can get to the next rent check as soon as I am able. Should we speak that language?
Since settling in and establishing a bit more of an evening routine, Travis has taken to renting movies so he might relax before going to bed. Travis really likes watching movies and always has. This past Tuesday night the kids and I were eating dinner when I got a text from Travis which read, "the cops just raided my trailer." I texted him back inquiring as to the validity of the statement. Then, my phone rang. It was Travis.
He had been kicked back relaxing in his fabulous space watching a movie in the darkened trailer. All was seemingly calm until an obnoxious pounding came at the door. Startled by such a disturbance the Platoon Sergeant bounded from his fine furniture and headed for the window to look outside. He saw no one. This angered our hero, so he took hold of the doorknob while placing a foot on the door. In one motion he both released the door and kicked it open, hoping to hit and severely maim whomsoever might be on the other side. The door swung swiftly open then rebounded shut. He again forced the door open, stepped on the stoop and half-hollered a phrase those dearest to him have heard him declare/state/ask/howl many times. Alas, there was no knocker. When he turned slightly to return to his hovel he noticed two figures coming from around the corner with their hands on weapons resting on unsecured holsters. They called a name and he answered, "No?" They asked if their intended was there and he again said, "No?" They asked if the could enter and he said, "Yes?" After much discussion it appears that Previous Freak Dude is a wanted man. Then the trailer was thouroughly searched for the presence of PFD. After that, our men in blue left, encouraging the valiant Travis to let PFD know that they are looking for him. Great.
So, one month of the lease is finished. Five more to go.
So, many of you know that Travis is now residing in a lovely one bedroom mobile home, trailer, tin can, or whatever you would like to call it. My best guess is that it is about 45-50 years old, because my parents once owned one with very similar features before I was born. I can also only estimate the total living space as somewhere in the neighborhood of 750-900 square feet, tops, on a good day when all the dishes are put away.
When we saw it, we were somewhat underwhelmed. But, the price was right and the landlord is a licensed state water broker (have no idea what that really means and to us he could be a licensed state witch doctor for all it matters), so there is no water bill, and ringer number three is that there is a washer and dryer in the trailer. So, only one utility bill-the electricity, and no laundromat needed for the geographical bachelor who works an insane number of hours, six days a week. OK. Yay, right?
Ha!
We noticed when we saw the trailer that there were gazillions of squirrels on the property. Maybe I am WAY too much of a chicky-chick, but I thought they were adorable and wonderful and that it would be super-awesome to live in a place with its own supply of wildlife entertainment to watch. Travis just kind of looked at them with his one expression. The landlord said he seeks ways to rid the property of them. OK.
It was maybe the third or fourth night I returned home from South Carolina when Travis called and was talking about his new place. He said it wasn't all that bad except at night. I thought I was being pretty cute when I asked him if the boogie man lived there. He said he didn't but that if one more (fill in the blank-ing) squirrel jumped and landed on top of the trailer with a resounding thud in the middle of the night he might just have to lose his mind. He said it took him a couple of nights to figure out what was making the noise which awakened him with a jolt of panic every ten minutes or so. Being the supportive and understanding wife I am, I giggled. He then told me pellet gunning the little charmers is a popular sport in the neighborhood. (Dear PETA, my husband does not own a pellet gun. There is absolutely no room in his allowance for a pellet gun. Go throw acorns at someone else. Love, Stacie)
We expected Travis' electric bill to go up in the coming months with the warmer weather on the way. His trailer is cooled by two window units on either end of the house. He said there are some days when the indoor temperature at the trailer is about twenty degrees warmer than the outdoor temperature because he doesn't run the coolers when he is not home. OK. So when I asked him about running them when he is home, he said he doesn't yet because he still has to use a little heat in the mornings to take the edge off when he is getting ready to leave. He said he just opens the front door and the two windows which aren't bolted shut and the place usually cools down within a half hour or so.
Are we talking luxury here, or what?
About two weeks ago, Travis came home one evening to a note taped to the front door. It stated that the author was the prior tennant and that there had been some discrepancy at the power company regarding our turning the power on and he also was asking if any of his mail had been delivered to Travis. The note gave a phone number and name and Travis called him back. After speaking, Travis said the guy sounds shady, as he moved out in November and we signed the lease and had the power put in our names in March. Travis said he thinks the guy is just not someone worth knowing. So that was that and he didn't hear any more from him after that.
Just last weekend Travis noticed that none of the electrical outlets in the bedroom were working. He has called the landlord who stated he would put the repairs on his list and get to it as soon as he is able. Apparently ability is a relative term. Maybe I can get to the next rent check as soon as I am able. Should we speak that language?
Since settling in and establishing a bit more of an evening routine, Travis has taken to renting movies so he might relax before going to bed. Travis really likes watching movies and always has. This past Tuesday night the kids and I were eating dinner when I got a text from Travis which read, "the cops just raided my trailer." I texted him back inquiring as to the validity of the statement. Then, my phone rang. It was Travis.
He had been kicked back relaxing in his fabulous space watching a movie in the darkened trailer. All was seemingly calm until an obnoxious pounding came at the door. Startled by such a disturbance the Platoon Sergeant bounded from his fine furniture and headed for the window to look outside. He saw no one. This angered our hero, so he took hold of the doorknob while placing a foot on the door. In one motion he both released the door and kicked it open, hoping to hit and severely maim whomsoever might be on the other side. The door swung swiftly open then rebounded shut. He again forced the door open, stepped on the stoop and half-hollered a phrase those dearest to him have heard him declare/state/ask/howl many times. Alas, there was no knocker. When he turned slightly to return to his hovel he noticed two figures coming from around the corner with their hands on weapons resting on unsecured holsters. They called a name and he answered, "No?" They asked if their intended was there and he again said, "No?" They asked if the could enter and he said, "Yes?" After much discussion it appears that Previous Freak Dude is a wanted man. Then the trailer was thouroughly searched for the presence of PFD. After that, our men in blue left, encouraging the valiant Travis to let PFD know that they are looking for him. Great.
So, one month of the lease is finished. Five more to go.
Being Thrifty
With respect to my moving plan I have been making trips to the post thrift shop to sell our wares. You know, the miscellaneous crap which fills our homes; mostly stuff we think we care about, but in the end, it is just stuff. That is what has been making an exodus from my house. It is no longer my home, merely a shelter in which to dwell until I again have a home.
The thrift shop opens three days a week, every week at 9:00 am. It is also open two Saturdays a month at 10:00. When the doors open, consignments are taken until the staff feels they can no longer accomodate the consigners wanting to sell on any particular day. I have never been turned away, but I am never there later than one hour after opening. In fact, I am usually one of the first people there, but not because I am trying to arrive so early. I go there after dropping the kids off at school and before hitting the gym, which puts me there most days no later than 8:20.
When I get there, I take my bag of items (most are allowed ten items per day but being on orders allows me to take twenty) and put it in the line near the front door. Sometimes there are one or two bags already there. Sometimes there are more. And, on very rare occasion, I am the first. Again, I am not trying to be there first, but if I get there early, I get out early and it makes for an easier day. I may not work outside the house, but I am a busy chick. I gots a lots goin' on.
I am one of the few non-retirees consigning regularly. Most are not just retirees, they are geriatric. Scratch that, they are uber-geriatric. When they try to chat, I smile and converse back, but sometimes they are so hard to understand. Today was no exception. There was the new old guy who is convinced that everyone cuts in front of me in line and states every day that, "She was first, she was here first, give her the first number." Usually the lady handing out the service numbers just ignores him and carries out her task like always. There was the German lady who has been in America for 61 years (she told me so) but still sounds like she just got here. And, as always on any military installation, there was the very little Korean lady whose English vocabulary is quite limited and difficult to understand. I have become accustomed to these folks, who like to make small talk but can be very vicious.
Today when I pulled up in the lot I put the truck in park and got out to take my bag to the door. When it is chilly or windy, as this morning was, everyone just takes their items to the door, places them in line and returns to their vehicles. As I was getting around to the passenger side, this one old lady (who incidentally has disabled plates) sprung to life from her driver's side seat with an enormous bag in hand, ran up the ramp to the door like an Olympic sprinter and put her things down. She was trying to beat me to the line. OK, whatever. I am not into competition with old folks, I just want to sell my crap. But, interestingly enough, they almost all act like this. I just laugh. Today, I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself. I wound up with number three.
There are technically seven counters for consigners to use and if they were all in use, there would be seven shop volunteers accepting consignments, one to a counter. Since I began consigning again in December counters number one and two have not been in use, nor has counter number seven. Therefore, the person holding service number one (like numbers at a deli counter) is usually seen at counter number three, and so on. Since I was service number three, I was at counter number five. The person with service number five would be helped at counter number three, after service number one is finished consigning. Its all good, right?
So, I set myself up and began hanging my items and my volunteer clerk was introduced to me, as she is a brand new volunteer, by the lady who runs the thrift shop. She then took the next counter. No sooner had I started to pin my third item on its hanger when some crack-head of an old lady came up behind me and started yelling at me because I was at counter number five and she had number five and she wanted to know if they handed out two number fives or if I was just so rude and inconsiderate as to assume I was allowed to go to counter number five because I thought I could. I stopped what I was doing, attempted to make eye contact (which was pretty hard because although she had two eyes, they seemed to be looking in seventeen different directions, none of which was toward my eyes), and tried to tell her calmly that they would call her number to the specified counter over the loudspeaker as soon as they were ready for her.
Then, it was on. She got pissed. She turned on her heels, bitching at me about being disrespectful and complaining that it hardly made sense to her that this type of business would allow people like me to do business there and it was totally confusing to her that she wouldn't be served at counter number five when she was holding service number five.
I shrugged one shoulder, turned around and kept hanging my clothes.
The thrift shop opens three days a week, every week at 9:00 am. It is also open two Saturdays a month at 10:00. When the doors open, consignments are taken until the staff feels they can no longer accomodate the consigners wanting to sell on any particular day. I have never been turned away, but I am never there later than one hour after opening. In fact, I am usually one of the first people there, but not because I am trying to arrive so early. I go there after dropping the kids off at school and before hitting the gym, which puts me there most days no later than 8:20.
When I get there, I take my bag of items (most are allowed ten items per day but being on orders allows me to take twenty) and put it in the line near the front door. Sometimes there are one or two bags already there. Sometimes there are more. And, on very rare occasion, I am the first. Again, I am not trying to be there first, but if I get there early, I get out early and it makes for an easier day. I may not work outside the house, but I am a busy chick. I gots a lots goin' on.
I am one of the few non-retirees consigning regularly. Most are not just retirees, they are geriatric. Scratch that, they are uber-geriatric. When they try to chat, I smile and converse back, but sometimes they are so hard to understand. Today was no exception. There was the new old guy who is convinced that everyone cuts in front of me in line and states every day that, "She was first, she was here first, give her the first number." Usually the lady handing out the service numbers just ignores him and carries out her task like always. There was the German lady who has been in America for 61 years (she told me so) but still sounds like she just got here. And, as always on any military installation, there was the very little Korean lady whose English vocabulary is quite limited and difficult to understand. I have become accustomed to these folks, who like to make small talk but can be very vicious.
Today when I pulled up in the lot I put the truck in park and got out to take my bag to the door. When it is chilly or windy, as this morning was, everyone just takes their items to the door, places them in line and returns to their vehicles. As I was getting around to the passenger side, this one old lady (who incidentally has disabled plates) sprung to life from her driver's side seat with an enormous bag in hand, ran up the ramp to the door like an Olympic sprinter and put her things down. She was trying to beat me to the line. OK, whatever. I am not into competition with old folks, I just want to sell my crap. But, interestingly enough, they almost all act like this. I just laugh. Today, I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself. I wound up with number three.
There are technically seven counters for consigners to use and if they were all in use, there would be seven shop volunteers accepting consignments, one to a counter. Since I began consigning again in December counters number one and two have not been in use, nor has counter number seven. Therefore, the person holding service number one (like numbers at a deli counter) is usually seen at counter number three, and so on. Since I was service number three, I was at counter number five. The person with service number five would be helped at counter number three, after service number one is finished consigning. Its all good, right?
So, I set myself up and began hanging my items and my volunteer clerk was introduced to me, as she is a brand new volunteer, by the lady who runs the thrift shop. She then took the next counter. No sooner had I started to pin my third item on its hanger when some crack-head of an old lady came up behind me and started yelling at me because I was at counter number five and she had number five and she wanted to know if they handed out two number fives or if I was just so rude and inconsiderate as to assume I was allowed to go to counter number five because I thought I could. I stopped what I was doing, attempted to make eye contact (which was pretty hard because although she had two eyes, they seemed to be looking in seventeen different directions, none of which was toward my eyes), and tried to tell her calmly that they would call her number to the specified counter over the loudspeaker as soon as they were ready for her.
Then, it was on. She got pissed. She turned on her heels, bitching at me about being disrespectful and complaining that it hardly made sense to her that this type of business would allow people like me to do business there and it was totally confusing to her that she wouldn't be served at counter number five when she was holding service number five.
I shrugged one shoulder, turned around and kept hanging my clothes.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
-Whole Lotta Crappin' Goin' On
Current mood: pleased
I took the little pip-squeak to the vet today.
While I was sitting in the exam room I was contemplating how much I could reallyl afford to spend on her. Of course, if you know us, you know family separations bring the Grim Reaper to our menagierie of pets. I was just praying I a) wouldn't have to sell one of the kids to pay for veterinary treatment or b) say goodbye to another pet. In the last 15 months we've lost Daisy the Bassett Hound, Fluffernutter and Marbles the hamsters (both Nolan's), and Max the parakeet (also Nolan's). *My prayer this morning at Northeast Veterinary, "Dear God, I know it isn't right for me to ask this, but please let this visit bring decent news our way. Please let this appointment not make my checkbook sad. Please let Penelope not be in any pain and please help me help my kids understand the outcome of this visit. Amen."
Then the doc came in and I wish I could pronounce her name, but I can't. But she was so nice. I brought her a poop sample in a sandwich baggie (oh relax, it was a zipper bag, double bagged) and told her our story. She asked for a fresh sample to come from Pen's hiney and took her away. Then she asked about her sorted history. With that out of the way and Penelope back in the room, visibly shaken from that friggin' Q-tip, she examined her.
The angels sang.
"She's perfectly healthy," she said. "All we need to wait for is the sample results and then you're free to go." She said it is stress and diet (we changed foods not long ago) induced colitis. I guess she is missing Travis more than I thought she would. I guess the boxes are starting to get to her. Maybe I should hide the tape roller-dispenser thingie.
Now I am seriously thinking about returning to the happy food my dogs love... Homemade.
Chicken and rice, mainly, with an occasional egg, liver or cottage cheese mixed in. I think I am going to buy a cookbook and just take care of them myself. They like it better that way too.
Prayers answered. Reasonable bill. Very healthy pet with reasonable stomach issue. No need for grief counseling.
I may rest well tonight.
I took the little pip-squeak to the vet today.
While I was sitting in the exam room I was contemplating how much I could reallyl afford to spend on her. Of course, if you know us, you know family separations bring the Grim Reaper to our menagierie of pets. I was just praying I a) wouldn't have to sell one of the kids to pay for veterinary treatment or b) say goodbye to another pet. In the last 15 months we've lost Daisy the Bassett Hound, Fluffernutter and Marbles the hamsters (both Nolan's), and Max the parakeet (also Nolan's). *My prayer this morning at Northeast Veterinary, "Dear God, I know it isn't right for me to ask this, but please let this visit bring decent news our way. Please let this appointment not make my checkbook sad. Please let Penelope not be in any pain and please help me help my kids understand the outcome of this visit. Amen."
Then the doc came in and I wish I could pronounce her name, but I can't. But she was so nice. I brought her a poop sample in a sandwich baggie (oh relax, it was a zipper bag, double bagged) and told her our story. She asked for a fresh sample to come from Pen's hiney and took her away. Then she asked about her sorted history. With that out of the way and Penelope back in the room, visibly shaken from that friggin' Q-tip, she examined her.
The angels sang.
"She's perfectly healthy," she said. "All we need to wait for is the sample results and then you're free to go." She said it is stress and diet (we changed foods not long ago) induced colitis. I guess she is missing Travis more than I thought she would. I guess the boxes are starting to get to her. Maybe I should hide the tape roller-dispenser thingie.
Now I am seriously thinking about returning to the happy food my dogs love... Homemade.
Chicken and rice, mainly, with an occasional egg, liver or cottage cheese mixed in. I think I am going to buy a cookbook and just take care of them myself. They like it better that way too.
Prayers answered. Reasonable bill. Very healthy pet with reasonable stomach issue. No need for grief counseling.
I may rest well tonight.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Little Penelope
Current mood: worried
As the "mother" of a Chihuahua I have come to understand that the bowel and urinary needs of a Chi may not always meet with designated outdoor times. I get it. That is the reason I keep multitudes of carpet cleaner in the house at all times. Fortunately, the Chis and I have been doing a relatively good job controlling this lately. Or so I had thought.
Come to think of it, Phoenix is doing pretty well too. She likes when I stay home with her so I can open the door for her when she stands in front of me and barks like a crazy lady. Crazy dog. Whatever works for you.
The evening weather has been so nice that we’ve been leaving the French doors open to keep the house cool and comfortable. This is also good because when the door is open Phoenix has no real need to stand there and look at me and bark like a crazy lady and Annabelle doesn’t need to stand on her hind legs and scratch at the door. It is really nice out tonight. I thought we weren’t going to have any issues.
What a fool I am.
When Nolan went to brush and floss I saw Penelope (note- the dog which does not tell me when she needs to go outside in any way) make a mad dash for Nolan’s room. I didnt’ think much of it ’cuz it is normal for the little dogs to go in there pretty regularly. Then I saw her mad dash her way back out looking kinda guilty. I ran in and there it was, she did it. It was icky poop. Not just poop. I sent Amanda for the Resolve while I grabbed stuff to wipe it up.
I thought that would be the end of it.
Shall we discuss my foolishness again?
I went to the washer to change out loads and by the time I got to the kitchen I could smell something wasn’t quite right. There, in the laundry room was some really icky and bloody poop. I will not go into just how icky or otherwisey it was, just suffice it to say it was bad. I knew who it was that did it, it is like mothers with kids. You just know.
I cleaned up her mess with bleach and scooped up a sample to take to the vet tomorrow after I drop the man-child off at school and little Cheerina at the airport for her state competition for FBLA. Please think kind and happy thoughts for Little Penelope. She is Nolan’s buddy and I can’t say goodbye to another again.
I am really worried.
As the "mother" of a Chihuahua I have come to understand that the bowel and urinary needs of a Chi may not always meet with designated outdoor times. I get it. That is the reason I keep multitudes of carpet cleaner in the house at all times. Fortunately, the Chis and I have been doing a relatively good job controlling this lately. Or so I had thought.
Come to think of it, Phoenix is doing pretty well too. She likes when I stay home with her so I can open the door for her when she stands in front of me and barks like a crazy lady. Crazy dog. Whatever works for you.
The evening weather has been so nice that we’ve been leaving the French doors open to keep the house cool and comfortable. This is also good because when the door is open Phoenix has no real need to stand there and look at me and bark like a crazy lady and Annabelle doesn’t need to stand on her hind legs and scratch at the door. It is really nice out tonight. I thought we weren’t going to have any issues.
What a fool I am.
When Nolan went to brush and floss I saw Penelope (note- the dog which does not tell me when she needs to go outside in any way) make a mad dash for Nolan’s room. I didnt’ think much of it ’cuz it is normal for the little dogs to go in there pretty regularly. Then I saw her mad dash her way back out looking kinda guilty. I ran in and there it was, she did it. It was icky poop. Not just poop. I sent Amanda for the Resolve while I grabbed stuff to wipe it up.
I thought that would be the end of it.
Shall we discuss my foolishness again?
I went to the washer to change out loads and by the time I got to the kitchen I could smell something wasn’t quite right. There, in the laundry room was some really icky and bloody poop. I will not go into just how icky or otherwisey it was, just suffice it to say it was bad. I knew who it was that did it, it is like mothers with kids. You just know.
I cleaned up her mess with bleach and scooped up a sample to take to the vet tomorrow after I drop the man-child off at school and little Cheerina at the airport for her state competition for FBLA. Please think kind and happy thoughts for Little Penelope. She is Nolan’s buddy and I can’t say goodbye to another again.
I am really worried.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Overwhelming
I have set certain goals for myself to achieve over the next nine months. I have a highly detailed step-by-step plan for a low-stress/high profit home sale and move. It is nice when we think we can control the world, isn’t it?
March was one of the craziest months of my life. There has just been so much going on with all of us. Travis is set in his new job. He likes it some days and not so much on other days. He is getting the hang of his geographical bachelorhood. A funny little boost to me is the fact that he has now told me more than once that he absolutely doesn’t feel like cooking anything most nights when he gets home to his fabulous little trailer. I feel appreciated when he says things like that.
I got my mother on her plane and got her back home, only to come home and try to adjust the house into a husband-free zone and get the kids to some happy place. Ugh. Still trying to work that one out, I’ll let you know how it goes. I am not so much contemplating wonderfullness on this front. Although both kids are excited about the move to a certain degree, they are both feeling a sting from it and have their moments.
I started packing almost as soon as I got Mom out of town. I want to get all our personal things packed up well ahead of time because I want to stage the house. My goal on this one is to have only the bare necessities out when we put the house on the market so we can get the highest price possible for the house. I want it sold quickly once we do list it and I want it to go easier later which means more work now. Painting will start in June and I plan to have the place looking like a palace by August.
With Travis gone there is less of a demand on my cooking and cleaning. No, he is not demanding but I like to have the house a certain way when he is here. I like to have dinner just about ready most nights when he gets home and I know he feels more relaxed when the house is clean. I like doing that for him. With him gone, I feel no pull toward being organized or cooking. Needless to say, I’ve only really cooked a couple of times since I got back from South Carolina. Most of what we’ve had for dinner has been crap from the freezer section or takeout. I sound like a whiner but eating that way makes me feel like total crap.
March also made getting to the gym difficult. So, poor eating and not working out regularly has caused me to gain weight. Maybe the stress load added to it too, but I am pretty disgusted with myself and my ass. I have been to the gym over the last few days, but nothing as consistent as I like. I had worked hard to lose the weight I gained back. Disappointing. I will get back on track.
To add to that, now I am having one of the worst allergy seasons I can remember. I hate going to the doctor, but I went Wednesday. I told him I suspected I might have a sinus infection he kind of poo-pooed me. He refused to consider that I had one and sent me on my way with the same medicines I have been taking for the last three weeks. OK. I will keep my ugly comments to myself. Since seeing him Wednesday I have begun to feel worse. I think my eyes are about to pop out of my head from the pressure, the drainage is nauseating me, the headaches are nauseating me, my upper molars are hurting me, I can’t stop sneezing, I started coughing today, I have a sore throat, I can’t sleep, but I am sure I don’t have a sinus infection. Whatever. He told me to wait three weeks before I go back to him if I am not feeling better.
My house is a mess. Aside from boxes everywhere, there is crap from our laziness. It isn’t dirty- the dishes are washed and the bathrooms are being cleaned like usual, just cluttered. We haven’t put shoes away in our closets. We have left newspapers and mail to stack up on the dining room table, which we aren’t using, we have left our books on the arms of the couches for the next time we want to read. It is really simple stuff, but it is in my way and driving me nuts.
This weekend, we clean. We clean so I can again pack. I pack so I can paint. I paint so I can stage. I stage so I can sell.
Time to get back to the gym and back on track.
March was one of the craziest months of my life. There has just been so much going on with all of us. Travis is set in his new job. He likes it some days and not so much on other days. He is getting the hang of his geographical bachelorhood. A funny little boost to me is the fact that he has now told me more than once that he absolutely doesn’t feel like cooking anything most nights when he gets home to his fabulous little trailer. I feel appreciated when he says things like that.
I got my mother on her plane and got her back home, only to come home and try to adjust the house into a husband-free zone and get the kids to some happy place. Ugh. Still trying to work that one out, I’ll let you know how it goes. I am not so much contemplating wonderfullness on this front. Although both kids are excited about the move to a certain degree, they are both feeling a sting from it and have their moments.
I started packing almost as soon as I got Mom out of town. I want to get all our personal things packed up well ahead of time because I want to stage the house. My goal on this one is to have only the bare necessities out when we put the house on the market so we can get the highest price possible for the house. I want it sold quickly once we do list it and I want it to go easier later which means more work now. Painting will start in June and I plan to have the place looking like a palace by August.
With Travis gone there is less of a demand on my cooking and cleaning. No, he is not demanding but I like to have the house a certain way when he is here. I like to have dinner just about ready most nights when he gets home and I know he feels more relaxed when the house is clean. I like doing that for him. With him gone, I feel no pull toward being organized or cooking. Needless to say, I’ve only really cooked a couple of times since I got back from South Carolina. Most of what we’ve had for dinner has been crap from the freezer section or takeout. I sound like a whiner but eating that way makes me feel like total crap.
March also made getting to the gym difficult. So, poor eating and not working out regularly has caused me to gain weight. Maybe the stress load added to it too, but I am pretty disgusted with myself and my ass. I have been to the gym over the last few days, but nothing as consistent as I like. I had worked hard to lose the weight I gained back. Disappointing. I will get back on track.
To add to that, now I am having one of the worst allergy seasons I can remember. I hate going to the doctor, but I went Wednesday. I told him I suspected I might have a sinus infection he kind of poo-pooed me. He refused to consider that I had one and sent me on my way with the same medicines I have been taking for the last three weeks. OK. I will keep my ugly comments to myself. Since seeing him Wednesday I have begun to feel worse. I think my eyes are about to pop out of my head from the pressure, the drainage is nauseating me, the headaches are nauseating me, my upper molars are hurting me, I can’t stop sneezing, I started coughing today, I have a sore throat, I can’t sleep, but I am sure I don’t have a sinus infection. Whatever. He told me to wait three weeks before I go back to him if I am not feeling better.
My house is a mess. Aside from boxes everywhere, there is crap from our laziness. It isn’t dirty- the dishes are washed and the bathrooms are being cleaned like usual, just cluttered. We haven’t put shoes away in our closets. We have left newspapers and mail to stack up on the dining room table, which we aren’t using, we have left our books on the arms of the couches for the next time we want to read. It is really simple stuff, but it is in my way and driving me nuts.
This weekend, we clean. We clean so I can again pack. I pack so I can paint. I paint so I can stage. I stage so I can sell.
Time to get back to the gym and back on track.
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