dumb thing, bad news/great news, Marcia, Marcia, Marcia, & I write like WHO?

A DUMB THING WORTH $$$:  Last Wednesday I was bound and determined to go to bed early. Reg and Curly popped into the study one after another as I was finishing my Thursday post to ask me to proofread something.

I fought them off bravely  did some editing, and just as I was headed to bed, I got an email from Airbnb. I was confused. It wasn't the name of the guy hosting us for the weekend in South Bend. It was a different name. I felt light headed. 

I never cancelled my original Airbnb reservation. I THOUGHT I cancelled it, but alas. We'd found something SO much cheaper. Instead -we stayed at a cheap place and paid for both. I won't dwell on the gut-wrenching issue this was for me, because it.is.over. But, people - it sucked. Not that there is ever a good time to toss money to the wind, but this particular time is one of those LET'S NOT SPEND ANYTHING FOR A BIT times. Ouch. 

I didn't sleep well the next few days. I kept checking my phone to see if anyone responded to my ND parent FB page where I posted ANYONE NEED A PLACE TO STAY? I also texted everyone we know with and without ties to ND. So everyone knows of my brain lapse, which is fun. 

People were interested, but ultimately no one took us up on it. I worried that someone could stay there and trash the place and it would be in may name. 

When the kids were little, I booked a hotel room for a wedding months in advance. Then at the last minute, I booked a room, not realizing I'd doubled up until I got my credit card bill. 

I plan to not do that again. It's good to have a goal.

***********

ERNESTINE:  I got a call Monday from Ernestine, the scheduler for the new GI doctor. I froze. OH MY GOSH, SHE'S GONNA OFFER ME A CANCELLATION. 

Ernestine:  Sorry to have to do this, but the doctor is gonna be out of town on November 8th (date of my rescheduled appointment). We can see you Nov. 29th. 

Me:  WHAT? BUT, HEY NOW. YOU CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN. MY BLOG FRIENDS SAY YOU MESSED UP, SO YOU SHOULD BE OFFERING ME A DIFFERENT TIME . . . 

Ernestine:  I know, I know. I'm so sorry. Hang on, I just got a notification. WAIT A MINUTE - There's a cancellation on Oct. 11th at 9:50 am. 

Me:  I'LL TAKE IT. 

Can you even? I called my babysitting friend, Becky. She will bring her kids here and cover my daycare. Tank will also be home from college that week, but not sure he would manage the baby. Coach will run home when Becky has to go pick up a kid from preschool. It might take a small army, but we've got this. 

Now I just need a few hours to sit down and write out my history, my issues, my track record, etc. Stay tuned. 

********

BK:  The chapter I'm currently working on for my memoir is about my years working at Burger King, midway thru freshman year of high school to midway thru senior year. I can easily write an entire book about that adventure. 

Last time I read for my writing group, I covered how I'd just started the job. The visor molded my worlds'-worst-'perm in a pseudo crown that refused to fluff hours even after I finished a shift. We're only allowed to read around 2,400 words, so I chopped it up my stories like I was prepping lettuce for the sandwich counter. That first part got rave reviews. My brain was in Burger King mode and I kept thinking about other stories, the cast of characters, and some hilarious incidents.

For example, I once tried to load the shake machine with the enormous 2-3 gallon bag of shake mix. 'Bag' being the operative word here. I removed the cap, then I fumbled it. Can you picture someone juggling a BAG of milk with an open nozzle? I tried to regain control over my an arch enemy that I didn't know existed in the shape of a mini-firehose with no off valve. I fought bravely, but after slipping in the puddles while wrestling this flimsy bag as I rolled around on the greasy floor - I ended up wearing 3/4 of the bag. Think crocodile wrestler minus death as the possible end result. 

Riddle me this, why, oh why, is shake mix stored in a flimsy bag with no firm structure? Why are we giving shake mix the upper hand here? My manager, who I reconnected with about 10 years ago but eventually lost touch again, was a great, sarcastic guy who was a really good boss, always maintaining his sense of humor. I had to go home and change my clothes and it was an embarrassing situation to say the least.

As I was writing part deux for my meeting earlier this week, I wondered what my 'ole BK buddies were up to. Marc and Marcia were twins that I befriended. I can't remember their last name. Everyone at BK attended public school. I was a freshman and they were all sophomores. I was the only Catholic HS kid. I googled Marc and Marcia, the HS name, class of '88. Guess what I found? 

A FB group for '88. There was an old post inviting everyone to comment on what their first job was. I searched the name Marcia . . . and there she was (with her last  name): BURGER KING, @1985. I sent her a private FB message, but she didn't respond. By the look of it, she hasn't been on FB in 7 years. Did I find her mailing address in Virginia? Yes, I did. Have I sent her a note via snail mail? Not yet. Thinking about it. 

My nephew was at ND. I texted him
our location. He asked for a photo
 of Gumby. I told him as a bonus he
 was getting a photo of his Uncle Coach,
 setting up Gumby and not overly excited
 about it. Then a few hours later, while
 nephew was tailgating with
 us, his family friends
 from KC walked up. Nephew's mom,
 Coach's sister, texted her BFF the
 Gumby Coach photo and that is how
 she stumbled upon us. Will Coach ever
 complain about having to pack a large
 green guy in our car for a tailgate again
 and set him up on top of the van? Well,
 he might - but Gumby is a beacon
 and he cannot deny that now. 

JH, BABY! 

KARI, CAN YOU EVEN? I read my chapter Monday evening. The group of about 10-12 people usually say things like:  this part was too slow, I love your dialogue, cut down the first part - your story really starts on page 3, tell us more about your relationship with (someone), this made me laugh, etc. 

This time? There were very few fix suggestions. A few things:  

Mark:  YOU'VE REALLY CAPUTRED TEENAGE ANGST. 

Todd:  THIS READS LIKE A JOHN HUGHES' MOVIE. 

While we got ready for the next reader, I texted Coach the JH remark.

Coach:  WHO IS JOHN HUGHES? 

Well, Coach knows everything about music, and we all know I KNOW NOTHING. 

As a Jeopardy contestant, Coach would never say:  I'LL TAKE KNOW YOUR FILMMAKERS FROM THE 80'S. 

Regardless, day, possibly year, made. 

*****

Would you snail mail Marcia? Dumbest thing you've done that cost you bundles? Have you reconnected with anyone from a first job or someone you haven't seen in decades? Do you know who John Hughes was? 

Marie, Marie, oh how you irritate me, & there's always JELLO shots (II)

 editing to add:  I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS SUNDAY EVENING INSTEAD OF SCHEDULING IT FOR EARLY MONDAY. THEN IT POSTED 9/18TH - the day I first drafted it, SO I'M REPOSTING IT BECAUSE I'M UNSURE IF EVERYONE WILL FIND IT. EXHIBIT B:  I MIGHT BE LOSING MY MARBLES . . . OTHER EXHIBITS TO FOLLOW IN UPCOMING POSTS.

*******

One of Dad's best friends from childhood died a few weeks ago. He lived an hour away, but he and Dad met for lunch every few months for years. Dad was shook by this loss. 

*this was the week before Dad went into the hospital. Marie was staying with them for a few days, which isn't necessary but she does this about every other week. She can work remotely and I think she likes to feel needed.

Marie texted in the sibling chat:  I'M HEADING HOME BUT DAD'S FRIEND DIED. HE'S PRETTY LOW. DIDN'T SLEEP WELL. IF ONE OF YOU CAN MAYBE FIND THE TIME TO STOP BY AND VISIT THAT MIGHT HELP. 

I visit my parents frequently. They're walking distance to my house. I purposely do not visit when Marie is there. She has a 'way' of talking to them, as if they're infants, complete with a fake voice. I can't stomach it. Why on earth does Marie think we need her to tell us that we should visit them? Ann responded to say that she already planned to visit the next day and she'd already told Dad this.

Maire:  OK, THANKS. 

I want to shake Marie. We aren't doing her a favor by visiting our folks. There is no reason to say thanks when any of us does a standard, everyday thing. Ya know? Or maybe you don't and you think I'm being a jerk. 

There are layers here. I apologize if  your layer-familiar and have grown weary of them. 

Having all sibs willing to visit elderly parents and do more than their share is a blessing. My struggle:  I see things clearly, like how some siblings think they must claw their way to the top of the favorite kid list. I'm not gonna lie - I spent too much time trying to be considered for kid-greatness. When I FINALLY stepped back, I saw my sibs' true colors and what appeared to motivate them. 

Our tailgate setup on a BEAUTIFUL day.

I'm the black sheep, damn it (think Gumby tone, since I just tailgated with him on the roof of the car). My parents enjoy my spunk. I'm no sit back and twitter about stuff. My folks get a kick out of my, um, take the bull by the horn approach. I don't have a big wig job, a fancy career, a vocab well-versed in stock market lingo, an overflowing bank account, or an Irish music talent (or an Irish music playing spouse, for that matter) like some of my siblings, but dang if my parents aren't amazed when I parade a small army of tots over to their house to play parachute on their patio. They never tire of hearing about how I score a great tailgate spot and hoisted Gumby onto my car or how I find a great deal or go above and beyond to do a billion things at once. If they don't notice that I refrain from using a baby tone when I speak to them, well -they should. 

My sister rubs me the wrong way. She behaves as if this is HER father and the rest of us are just well-intentioned neighbors who are checking in on her dad. It irks me. 

On the way to the ND late Friday night, I saw that someone was selling game tickets  on the FB ND parent page. We were tailgating, but we had no game tickets. Marie had asked me awhile back which games I was attending and I told her. I do NOT expect her to remember which games we're going to. 

I clicked the post. These tickets were the BIGGEST ticket in town. It was a HUGE game. Reg was going to tailgate with us and he would've LOVED to get into the game. Parents on the FB page aren't allowed to inflate the cost of their tickets. Face value only. 

Low and behold it was Marie. My sister. She was selling two of her tickets because their friends cancelled. $150/each. People were begging for them. Replying like mad. 

Perplexed Me to Coach as he drove:  Marie just sold two tickets to the game face-value on the parent page. She didn't ask me if we might need tickets. What on earth? 

BTW - I would never expect her to GIVE me tickets, but if she was selling them for face value, she could've asked if I wanted to buy them before posting them. Our kids attend ND together. 

Coach:  WELL, I WASN'T GONNA PAY $150 ANYWAY, BUT SERIOUSLY - AT THIS POINT NOTHING SURPRISES ME. HOW DO YOU NOT ASK A SISTER FIRST?

Two Jello shots after an
afternoon of drinking,
slowly but steadily. Yikes.

Reg, Coach, and I watched the game on campus with Lad. Lad drove to South Bend to tailgate and was monumentally helpful in loading our car, filling coolers, and buying ice Friday night before we left. At halftime, Coach and I drove GW out of the lot to escape the 2 hour post-game traffic. We watched the 2nd half 3 miles from campus. Every time ND scored, this local, dive bar with some interesting townie folks doled out complimentary Jello shots. 

In summary:  there's always booze. Guess who slept like a BAY-BEE in a full-size bed with an extra-tall husband? If alcohol is the answer to my sleep issues, then I've encountered a slippery slope. 

Soon:  an Airbnb mix-up, securing a parking spot, and a Gumby ID

Come on upstairs . . . WHO SAYS THIS? And a bummer cancellation

While we were away visiting Tank, Reg and Curly attended homecoming. Ed and his Girlfriend handled pictures. I texted a few requests. Mainly: a pic of Reg and Curly together before the dance. I knew the other moms would share group pics. Ed said the hardest part of his big brother duty was Girlfriend stressing that they weren't taking enough photos. I was sorry I hadn't better communicated my chill approach to the paparazzi scene. 

What I was more sorry about was coming home and finding out that Girlfriend was upstairs in our home. It gets worse. She was in my bedroom. AND worst of all - she was in my BATHROOM. 

I'm here to shatter the myth, people:  the upstairs of my house is barely habitable. My bedroom is SO much better than a few weeks ago, but still. It isn't LET'S HAVE FRIENDS IN THIS SPACE ready. Particularly not people who we hope still think highly of us.

I have an enormo bin of clothes that the college boys have discarded, Reg has inherited, Reg doesn't want, but WAIT now, (my confused brain) . . .  did someone discard this? Have I asked all of them? Does this fit someone? Was this put in here by accident?

It's a confusing bin of never ending-ness. I want to gather my men-folk and get them to claim or forfeit items once and for all. Until Tank is home for fall break, the bin sits in the MIDDLE of my floor, waiting. There are other WTF-happened-here things in my room. Too many to 'splain. 

Also, I made a lot of desserts last week for the upcoming tailgate and for Tank, so my house didn't get a proper cleaning. My bathroom? The last place I'd expect anyone who isn't blood related to be.

Me to Curly:  DO YOU REMEMBER ME TELLING YOU THAT GIRLFRIEND COULD ONLY HELP YOU WITH MAKEUP DOWNSTAIRS? 

Curly:  NO. I DON'T. SORRY. 

While I was still hyper-ventilating, Ed says:  YEAH, I MEAN YOUR BED WAS SUCH A MESS BECAUSE REG WAS SLEEPING THERE AND HE DIDN'T MAKE IT.

What the Hell?  Ed was like, YEAH, I THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD, BUT CURLY SAID HE ALWAYS DOES WHEN YOU'RE OUT OF TOWN, SO I THOUGHT YOU KNEW. 

What is even happening? Of course I'm counting my lucky stars that my biggest issues while I was away include:

    1. Reg sleeping in my bed,

    2. Girlfriend, who lives in a spotless castle, pretty literally, hung out in my bathroom that needed a good cleaning,

    3.  Curly chose this time to try something new with her hair and it looked, well - NOT like it has ever looked and her hair always looks AMAZING, if you catch my drift. She liked it, apparently. It looked wet. Like REALLY wet and it hung down REALLY flat - still curly, because she can't un-curly it. 

I was very confused. While in Omaha I looked at the pics on my phone. I gasped LOUDLY and Coach was like WHAT? And then he looked and he GASPED EVEN LOUDER and I wasn't going to say anything to her because it was her call and it was after the fact, but she overheard Ed and I discussing how things went at home, and how Girlfriend can't un-see my bathroom, etc. I was trying to figure out if maybe Girlfriend suggested this new hair approach or if maybe I was the only one who didn't 'get it', but Ed thought it looked less than fabulous too, and now I feel horrible that Curly overheard us. 

I told her that all that matters is that she liked it, but she is a teenager and her feelings are hurt and it feels like no amount of apologizing will help. She did later show me later-in-the-evening photos and her hair DID look like it was a bit resuscitated/fluffier.

I had a rough time sleeping in Omaha, but managed because I was able to sleep till almost 9 one morning so I felt fine. In real life, sleeping till 9 isn't an option. I told Coach, "It's fine. I'm gonna see that new GI on Wednesday." 

New GI called Monday to cancel my appointment. Someone made a scheduling error. Yadda, yadda.

I broke down crying. "You can't do this to me. You don't understand my situation." I proceeded to tell her my story. Her name was Ernestine. Can you even? Well, Ernestine tried, but she called me back and said she was sorry. The earliest she can get me in:  Nov. 8th. 

In good news, my GP has had me on an acid reducing pill for a few months. I take it in the morning. She suggested I take it in the evening too. Well, I was having the most HORRIFYING, VIVID dreams. I was waking up out of breath. I called the pharmacist and was told to take it BEFORE dinner. My doc told me to take it with dinner. I didn't take it in Omaha because there was not 'before' dinner. Eating was all over the board. 

BUT - I've taken it correctly the last three nights and I've had no pain and have slept normally. 

We are off to tailgate in South Bend and I have a cart filled with booze and food to prove it. 

A weekend of "Hi, I'm Tank's mom", wallet retrieving friends, and WAKE UP . . . it IS 9:30.

Combo party with the girls' house next door, thus
the rented tables and tablecloths vs the
 broken furniture scattered in their backyard.

Coach and I had a great time visiting Tank over the weekend. We enjoy his friends and their parents so much. There is never enough time and always more people I wished I'd gotten to visit with more, but having too many fun people to chat with is a good problem to have. 

We hit a little bump in the road Thursday evening and it threw me off my A-game. More on that later. I wanted to bring Tank cookies in addition to the pumpkin bread I'd already made him, so I pressed onward despite the distraction. I burned not one, but TWO sheets. The 'burned' cookies weren't charred, but they were darker than my standard issue. 

Tank texted earlier on Thursday:  HEY, IF YOU HAVE TIME CAN YOU GET ME A FEW MORE POLO SHIRTS. THANKS.

I texted him back:  YOU'RE FUNNY - THAT'S NOT HAPPENING. And would he eat browner than normal cookies. He responded:  IS THE POPE CATHOLIC? So I had to forgive him for asking me to go to the mall when I'm managing a heavy load at the moment. *I do promise this will be more clear . . . soon-ish.

I was still dealing with the bump when I drove Curly to school late on Friday. We allowed her to sleep in and miss consumer ec because she'd gotten home late from a volleyball tournament and had to study. 

Coach and I were 45 minutes from home when I realized that I didn't have my wallet. I was so confused. I don't even know what made me suddenly search my bag frantically for it. 

Then I realized:  I was on the phone dealing with the bump when I was on my way home from driving Curly. I hopped out of the Great White and left the wallet between the seats. We didn't drive GW to Omaha as he's retired from road trips. That old jalopy is lucky to make it to the next town. 

I called another mom who was also driving to Omaha from the Chicago burbs. She hadn't left yet. She and her husband agreed to stop at our house, put up the garage door with our code, and grab my wallet from GW. Hooray!

Life saver.

You might recall from the Costco trip I took a few years ago that Coach doesn't have a cash card. Still. STILL! I'd gotten cash out for the weekend. Plus I had my lipstick in there, my mascara, and the cord that plugs my phone into the car. The only reason my mascara was in there was because I wanted to remember to replace it - it's essentially empty. Has having it in my wallet helped me remember to replace it? No, it sure as hell hasn't. 

I could've survived without my wallet, but I wasn't sure if I'd get carded. I don't look 20 by any stretch, but sometimes they get fussy at those college bars. The bonus was we got to meet up with friends-who-deliver-wallets at the bar that night as they even brought it to where we were. Their son and Tank are not in the same fraternity, so our paths don't usually cross while in Omaha. We really enjoy them and have so many ON THE SAME PAGE things in common. They have 5 kids - many same or similar ages to ours. They get us, and not many people can say that. 

Wake up Tank! Sunday morning before we drove home, we planned to take Tank to breakfast. We agreed on 9:15 am. 

The shredded lettuce bag for the 7 layer
taco dip got a little wet in the cooler, so
 we dried it on a bath towel on our bed
 before the cookout. Some people are
 into rose petals on their beds,
or so I've heard. 

We texted him to say we were on our way. We were a few minutes early. We texted:  HERE. Then Coach went inside his unlocked house and knocked on his locked bedroom door. At least that was locked. No response. Coach was like TOO BAD. HE DOESN'T WANT BREAKFAST. LET'S GO. I went inside and REALLY pounded on the door. Nothing. I was about to give up, but then I called "TANK" and I hear a clear as day:  YEAH?

After he realized it was me:  HUH, WE SAID 9:15. 

Me:  TANK - IT'S 9:30. DID YOU NOT HEAR ME POUNDING ON THE DOOR?

Tank:  YEAH, BUT I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BUDDIES. WAIT, WE SAID 9:15 THOUGH.

Me:  DO YOUR BUDDIES POUND? AND YEAH - IT'S 9:30. DO YOU WANT TO GO GET BREAKFAST OR NOT. 

Tank:  YES MY ROOMATES DO SHIT LIKE THAT AND YES, I WANT TO GO TO BREAKFAST. 

We enjoyed our breakfast, but we were at the place that has amazing GF coffee cake and they didn't have any. Boo  hiss. 

Unfortunately my dad went into the hospital on Friday with a UTI. Horrible timing in terms of me being able to visit him or stay with my mom, because I'd just left town. My sisters were at the ND game Saturday, but my brothers were available and my sisters were around Sunday. Because he has leukemia, he struggles to fight infections. He feels good and can't wait to come home but he still had a temp of 101 Sunday afternoon. Prayers and good thoughts are appreciated. I do expect that he'll recover soon. 

May your road bumps be small, your wallets be with you, and may pounding on doors in a fraternity house not be part of your coming week. 

What have you left behind when traveling? 

Here we go again. I'll show my credentials, if provoked.

Before I went to bed after helping Reg with his mobile project last week, Lad was leaving and he and Coach mumbled something along the lines of: 

No pics for this post,
but thought you'd
enjoy this hard boiled egg. The
 shell broke open whilst cooking
 and does this look like
 a little chick or what?

How can this be true? 

Me:  HOW COULD WHAT BE TRUE? 

Reg was in bed, but he'd told Coach and Lad that the new varsity coach aka Suckie, the former boys' sophomore coach, told kids at an open gym that there were only two guys who were guaranteed a spot on the varsity team, Matt and Zack. What's this? 

Reg, all conference for the last two years, is not guaranteed a spot on the varsity team? Horse shit. We all know it's horse shit, but yet - WHY THE MIND GAMES? 

Then Suckie said that Reg and another kid play the same position and he won't need them to both play, or something. First of all, our school is NOT swimming in b-ball talent. The other kid and Reg will both be starting for the team. No question. These two boys definitely do NOT play the same position. And what EVEN is happening? 

Then Coach and I argued because Coach feels like Reg is being a victim and I was blown away because WERE YOU NOT IN THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE WHEN THEY INTERVIEWED REG? YOU WERE TEARY EYED FOR WHAT THIS ASS HAT PUT OUR KID THROUGH, REMEMBER? 

Let's assume that Suckie, who IS FRIENDS WITH EGO, is trying to play head games with our kid . . . THAT'S NOT OK. And what recourse do we have? Because we've already played our hand. The AD sucks. Where do I go? Why did they SWAP one worthless coach with another? Suckie seems to have the same mindset as the tenured Ego. Suckie doesn't teach at the school. He's been a sophomore coach. Why are we recycling coaches? 

While we'd like to tell Reg to just sit out his season, THIS IS HIS FAVORITE THING. 

Today (Wednesday, 9/13th) Reg let Suckie know that he wouldn't be able to attend the OPTIONAL open gym, because he had a golf meet. Suckie texted back to say that golf would be done by 8 pm, so he could go to the open gym. (WHICH IS OPTIONAL) Reg is in like 5 AP classes, so how can he golf for hours and then go to an open gym? Last time I checked his main role was to be a student. When will he have time to apply to colleges? 

Reg has been dealing with back pain for ages. Coach decided that Reg needs a back x-ray. It's happening Monday. He's worried that he might have a stress fracture. When Reg let Suckie know that he is scheduled to go to the doctor for back issues, Suckie messaged him:  IF YOU CAN SWING A GOLF CLUB, YOU CAN PLAY BASKETBALL.

Hey, Suckie - you who've probably never taken an anatomy class in your life, meet Reg's dad, Coach. He has a PhD in PT. He has about every available a,b,c after his name. You,Suckie.know.nothing. 

*After tonight, Coach no longer thinks Reg is playing the victim. He's now appropriately STEAMED.

Tonight, I drafted a letter to the principal. Coach drafted an email to Suckie, but he's waiting to send it until he gets to work because his work email lists all of his credentials. 

Me:  WELL, I'M GONNA PUT MY CREDNTIALS UNDER MY NAME IN MY EMAIL TO THE PRINCIPAL. LIKE, UM, ASS-KICKER. AND, ONE-WHO-SHOULD-NOT-BE-MESSED-WITH.  

May all the crap coaches in Reg's world be perpetually plagued by rice weevils. 

*********

I had so many random things to share tonight, but I'm singularly focused and blinded by anger. What would you do? 

Next weekend:  we host our
first tailgate of the
 season. Gumby will be patrolling the area
 for anyone dumb enough to save a spot.
 I made these today, GF version of Rocky
 Road Fudge Bars. I'm freezing them
 until the tailgate. They're delish,
damn it. Green food coloring so we
 don't confuse them with the
 drowning in gluten version.
What happened to this
 little corner, hmm - I wonder?  

One update I was gonna share:  I have an appt. with a GI doc at the U of Chicago on Sept. 20th. I'm not seeing a celiac specialist. I was torn, but I don't think this is a celiac issue. The scheduler was like WELL, YOU CAN GET IN SOONER (than the Oct appointment she offered first), BUT HOW FAR ARE YOU WILLING TO TRAVEL? She assumed I was IN the city. The sooner appointment is in the burbs - it's a hike, but a million times easier than the city. 

The day after my GP said she'd call in an antidepressant, she called to say that I can't take it because of the meds I take to control my pinkie pain. I decided that since I'm gonna see the new GI soon, I'll hold off on new meds. 

Oh, and - Friday, Coach and I drive to Omaha for family weekend with Tank. I'm REALLY looking forward to it. We enjoy his friends' parents so much. Reg and Curly have homecoming Saturday. Ed and his girlfriend are attending pictures and holding down the fort. 

There will be stories. 

- Ernie, aka ass-kicker

adulting is hard: the Lad edition & procrastinating is hard: the Reg addition

Dinner with Lad:  We met Lad for dinner last weekend. He talks to Coach, but he hadn't been speaking to me. At dinner, I informed him that I was the one who'd suggested (secretly) to Coach that we assist Lad in buying a house because I sensed he'd do so with or without our assistance (and by assistance, I mean possibly help with the down payment - but mostly be involved in the house hunting so that he didn't end up buying something with zero resale value in a not so fab area, that wouldn't pass an inspection). 

Coach refused, which was not entirely unreasonable, and here we are:  our son owns a shit-hole house infested with mice, plagued with plumbing issues, a broken washing machine, no garage, and no basement. He spent so much on it that he'll NEVER break even. IF he's lucky enough to be able to sell it someday. 

And I'm the parent he won't talk to. 

Lad admitted that he's still upset that I accused him of not being an adult. I knew that this was the thing that set him off. At dinner, I rattled off a list of his behaviors and asked him is those sounded very adult-like. He agreed. Nope, they didn't. 

It was an uncomfortable meal. He wept at times. I pointed out that his lack of gratitude for everything we've done for him, along with his lack of consideration were very challenging. He's burned out selling cars and wants to make a career change. Hmm, couldn't see that coming. 

Ed in the middle showing Coach and
 Reg a Michael Jordan video on his phone.
Thank heavens our family room
 can accommodate tall folks. 

My heart breaks. Lad's clearly lonely and lost. He's a great kid, but he's missing out on his 20's - strapped with a ridiculous house, an exhausting job, and two dogs. He'd told Coach in advance of our dinner that if either of us talked about medication he'd get up and leave. He admitted that he's sort of indecisive when it comes to changing jobs. 

I wanted to say THAT'S CALLED ANXIETY, but I refrained. 

Medication discussion did come up. 

Us:  YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN IT A TRY. THERE ARE LOTS OF OPTIONS. 

Lad:  I TRIED - REMEMBER? I TOOK (old ADD meds that he found in the cabinet at home) MEDS. *Insert BIG EYEROLL. 

Us: That DOESN'T count. 

Are we shocked that he didn't leave during the free meal? Nope. 

Another dog house son:  I'm looking at you, Reg. He had a project due:  make a mobile of himself. *This teacher isn't known for challenging his students. I had piles of photos ready. 

I was at Curly's volleyball game. He called to say he needed stuff from Michael's.

As I wandered the store, I called, suggesting he repurpose an old, over the door basketball hoop (coat hangers weren't allowed) to create his mobile. He located one - perfect. 

BTW - I could dedicate a whole post to the many over-the-door b-ball hoops we owned and how often they were decimated by eager, slam-dunking, carried-away pre-teen boys. 

Who can tell that I have
 no fitting photos
 for this post? Is there
 anything cuter
 than a baby giraffe though?
Snapped
this at our zoo recently. 

I also told him where to find a spool of orange plastic lacing from when I was a kindergarten room mom. Note:  only signed up for that nonsense once. NEVER again. Thank goodness I hadn't Marie Kondo-ed the spool. I left the store without purchasing anything, which was great BUT I ALSO LEFT A STORE I'D DRIVEN TO FOR NO REASON. 

I stopped to buy bread on the way home. I created a mini-grocery list in my head, so I didn't have to shop on grocery day. The store didn't have my Greek yogurt. Well, I thought they did but when I got home I realized it was the same brand, but NOT the Greek variety. 

 *#$%&#@!!

At home, I tried to hole punch Reg's photos. I own a hole punch, but I was VERY frustrated when I didn't find it. The project could be completed without one, but not the point. 

Should Reg have done this project, or at least started it, before he went to the away football game  Friday night? Before he went to his friend's lake house for Labor Day weekend? Before he spent an entire afternoon the day before hanging with friends after he asked a girl to homecoming? Yes, he SHOULD'VE. 

BUT HEY - I'm glad . . . Honestly, Lad showing up again makes my heart happy. Last night, he came for dinner. I'd suggested to him when we met at the restaurant:  Start coming over for dinner on Sunday evenings. Baby steps. 

I'm also glad Reg's excited about homecoming and that the girl he's taking is a fun friend. 

Last year he asked the egg carton girl on the corner. (scroll to  'present day' in this long post for the egg carton story). They're friends. Her family was involved in Reg's ask. Her sis even encouraged him to ask her. 

Egg carton said NO. The next day:  YES. Then back to NO. She didn't want anyone to think they were dating. 

Well, that sucked. Days before the dance, Tank was in town and he, Reg, and I were at Curly's volleyball game. 

Reg:  How long does it take to order a corsage?  *apparently, egg carton girl was still contemplating YES. I almost fell off the bleachers.

Tank:  DUDE, HAVE SOME SELF RESPECT. YOU'RE NOT TAKING HER TO THE DANCE. IT'S NOT AN OPTION ANYMORE. GEEZ. 

Anyone ready to put someone in the dog house? What are you glad about on this Monday? Do you remember the egg carton story?

Friday fun-day, tailgating with the Iceman, & a purposeful pantry purge

We packed a lot into Labor Day weekend. I chilled at the pool. (sniff, sniff - the pool is now closed for the season. Imagine the things I can accomplish inside my house without pool-side relaxing as an option?).

I don't babysit on Fridays this year. One family already requested the Friday before Labor Day. I was underwhelmed at the prospect of ALREADY losing a Friday off. 

The week prior, Mini and some of her friends drove to New Buffalo, Michigan - only a 40 minute drive from Notre Dame, to her roommate's lake house. The parents fed them lunch and they chilled on the beach. 

Mini explained that they had time because it was 'silly week.' She was surprised, if not frustrated, that I didn't get it. Silly, as in syllabus. In other words, because it's a new semester the real work hadn't started yet. No exams, just reviewing the prof's expectations. Apparently my generation was not hip to the available acronyms or abbreviations that make life fun and keep parents guessing. 

I reminded Mini of my Friday availability in case another beach day was in the works. She doubted it would happen. Then, Bam - she texted to say they were heading to the lake again the Friday before Labor Day and I was invited. Oh, MAN. 

The next morning, I told the mom I sit for that I really wanted to scoot off to the lake. She said she'd make other child care arrangements. Yippee. 

It was a perfect beach day. I called my good friend Dee Dee in Texas, the one I used to babysit for whose hubby played on the Bears' Super Bowl team, and we chatted for my entire hour and a half drive. Later that day, Coach texted me to say that there was a clinic manager position open in the same town where Dee Dee and hubby live. Imagine? The high school kids might be a tad upset if we moved. 

The girls enjoying the water.

It was delightful to hang with Mini, her friends, and the other mom. To top if off, I enjoyed a get-caught-up phone call with Delilah on the drive home. Traffic? What traffic? It's amazing how traffic is much less annoying  when I'm yukking it up with a good friend.

On Saturday Kevin and I drove to Notre Dame. If you're counting, I got to see Mini two days in a row. 

Mini's roommate's parents were hosting a tailgate. We brought food, but there would be no Gumby and no almost running people over for a parking spot. *I cannot believe how many Gumby related posts popped up when I searched for these. 

My tailgate is scheduled for Sept. 23rd. Get excited. We parked across the street at Saint Mary's, where I went to college, and walked to the tailgate field. 

As soon as we parked, the hostess with the most-ess texted me. Well, not sure 'most-ess' qualifies here because on this 92 degree day, she was in need of a bag of ice. Could we bring one? Coach and I looked around. Crap. We'd just paid $30 to park in the lot and we were already carrying 7 layer taco dip, pumpkin bread, and cookies. Where would we score a bag of ice and how would we get it to her tailgate approximately 2 miles away?

The Grotto, a beautiful
 place to stop. We opted
to stop on our way TO our car when
 we weren't weighed down by ice.

I dumped the drive-home cold drinks out of the small, hard-sided cooler in the trunk. We weren't attending the game, just socializing beforehand.

Coach ran to the hotel on the edge of Saint Mary's campus, filled a plastic bag and the small cooler with hotel machine ice, and we began our trek.

We'd contemplated bringing my buggy stroller to assist us in getting our food there, but we'd decided that we could manage without it. Dang, that buggy would've been a handy ice delivery assistant. 

The ICEMAN. He delivers.

We traded off carrying the various bags and the heaviest cooler. We'd just passed the Grotto on the edge of Notre Dame's campus when a guy in a golf cart stopped and asked us if we needed a ride. Shocked, I looked over both shoulders to see if he was talking to me. 

In all the crowds, hooray for us for looking the most pathetic. We sped away to the tailgate lot in the golf cart with our save-the-day ice. I feel like Coach should be called Iceman from this day forward. (this was specifically for Nicole, HI, NICOLE because of her love of all things Top Gun).

Sunday morning Coach called me over to the pantry. I'M WORRIED THAT THERE'S SOMETHING REALLY GROSS GOING ON IN HERE. I CAN HEAR SOMETHING. 

Brace yourself. 

I heard it too. Something 'stirring'. I grabbed a stack of brown rice bags that I store behind my mixer. The brown rice looked more like wild rice. Hmm. Why are there black specks in here?

The next bag caught my attention, because the black specks were MOVING. 

The noise? Rice weevils moving around inside bags of rice, as if the rice was being stirred. So many. SO MANY. I'd never heard of a rice weevil.  We disposed of LOTS of rice and pasta. The internet says not to stock up on rice or pasta or cereal. 

Thank your lucky stars that
 I'm not sharing a video. 

The internet doesn't live with a small we-eat-a-lot army. 

At this time of the school year, when last year's babysitting money went to pay Ed's tuition and to buy Uncle's car and I haven't worked (well, not for pay anyway) all summer and we don't have my backup income to lean on and I've had lots-a-mouths home over the summer . . . well, this a crappy time financially to empty out the pantry. 

A sad and unusual
sight in my pantry. 

Did you know rice weevils come INSIDE the rice when you buy it - as larvae? Then they can get out of the unopened rice and make their way into other boxes of flour, cereal, pasta, and rice. 

I've had better Sundays. 

The pool beckoned and Coach dealt with most of the weevil destroying. I will be dealing with the restocking of the shelves. Slowly. 

I pretended life wasn't all that challenging while reclining at the pool reading Jenny Lawson's hilarious book, Let's Pretend This Never Happened. Really timely title, don't ya think?

Tell me you've never dealt with rice weevils and I'll remind you to count your lucky stars. Favorite or new abbreviation/acronym?  

Where's Waldo: the GI doc version. Plus: Tuesday Tank, Gus Gus, & High dive

*YESTERDAY WAS OUR LAST DAY AT THE POOL FOR THE SUMMER. IT'S MY HAPPY PLACE. I AGREED TO JUMP OFF THE HIGH DIVE AS PART OF A PINKY PROMISE. MORE ON THAT LATER. I HADN'T ATTEMPTED THE HIGH DIVE IN MAYBE 15 YEARS OR MORE. IT WAS TERRIFYING. 

Medically speaking:  I called the GI office back a few weeks ago. They had me zoom with a nurse practitioner. Still no sign of the doc. They said she was coming back in the fall. "She's had a service interruption." Oh? Really. I could've told you that. 

The next time I called, I was told all of the docs in the department are leaving to go into private practice. My SIL, Aunt Leprechaun, told me that managed health care is in shambles. My GP agreed, using almost those exact same words. 

This nurse ordered a x-ray. An x-ray???

Me:  I've had ultrasounds, colonoscopies, endoscopies, and MRIs. What will an x-ray prove?

Nurse:  It'll rule out constipation. 

No one is hearing me. That is NOT the issue. It's like a bunch of nerves are twisted around one stretch of my intestines and my insides complain whenever ANYTHING passes through that spot. So, I'm done with this doctor-less place. I quit. When I spoke with my GP, we picked, somewhat randomly, another GI. I will see her in late October. I'm also on a waiting list.  

In the meantime, I decided to decrease this silly Miralax regiment by half. I now only take it in the morning and I've already slept so much better. Let me tell you, Miralax twice a day is not sustainable. My body wasn't getting a chance to be nourished. *edited to add:  false news. After I wrote this, I had 2 lousy nights of sleep. 

Aunt Leprechaun texted me that she has a patient with celiac who continued to have symptoms, like diarrhea and bloating, for 3 or 4 years. Finally her GI had her start an SSRI. An antidepressant. What now? I'm told there are a lot of serotonin receptors in the gut and they are overactivated when celiac is present. I've discussed this option with my GP and she is on board with having me try that. I'm gonna hold off on trying a medication until after I meet this new (my 4th) GI. *edited to add:  I called my GP after my rough patch last week and asked her to call in the SSRI. I haven't picked it up yet. I'm skeptical, in part because diarrhea isn't  but I did have a hard time swallowing before I was diagnosed with celiac and guess what I've noticed recently - difficulty swallowing. Hmm. So maybe my symptoms are

*****

Tank told us a story last year. His Creighton professor, who was one of his favorites - maybe economics (?), told the class that he was going to cancel class on Tuesday because it was his anniversary.

Tank:  YOU GOT MARRIED ON A TUESDAY?

Professor:  WHAT? NO. I GOT MARRIED ON A SATURDAY, BUT THIS YEAR IF FALLS ON A TUESDAY. *he died laughing. 

From that day forth, Economics professor called Tank:  TUESDAY TANK.

Fast forward to this school year. Tank is in management class. He really likes the professor. During one of the first classes, Tank raised his hand to ask a question. He introduced himself as Tank Shenanigan.

The new professor:  WAIT, ARE YOU TUESDAY TANK? OH MY GOSH. I'M SO EXCITED TO MEET YOU. I'VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT YOU. 

Tank had several buddies in the class and they roared laughing. 

Should I order t-shirts that say I'M FRIENDS WITH TUESDAY TANK and distribute them to Tank's friends for his birthday?

*****

I'm somewhat lost with Mini and her fashion sense. This is a heck of a lot funnier if you know Mini, because then you understand that she is not exactly a fashion guru (um, her suggesting I wear workout shoes with my dress in my last post will serve as exhibit A). She's a messy bun, sweat pants type. She DOES dress nice when she goes out, but I'm quite sure she gets tips from her college friends. 

compliments of Disney Wiki- fandom.
Gus Gus is on the right.

Just before she left for school, I wasn't thrilled that the t-shirt I bought for $8 was on the short side. I pointed out to her that if I wasn't careful, my muffin top would be exposed. 

Mini:  OH, GUS GUS. 

My daughter was referring to me as the Disney mouse in Cinderella. You know, the one whose shirt doesn't quite fit him. 

Can you believe an SSRI might be the answer for my gut issues? Did you have a teacher or professor who poked fun of you in good fun (or maybe embarrassed you for calling you out for something)? Did you know who Gus Gus was without me 'splaining? Do you jump off high dives?