Family portrait, the underbelly: the issue & my rant

If you haven't read yesterday's post, I think this will make more sense if you read it first. Sorry for assigning homework in the summer, and for lumping in an extra post this week. 

The issue:  Coach has a tendency to police me/the bio kids - but mostly me, or wince and make faces out of view of the girls if he thinks I said something wrong or maybe was too quick to correct. During the pre-portrait meal (like 90 min ahead of the 6:30 pm Sunday photo shoot) when ALL THE KIDS WERE HOME, there were lots of conversations going on. 

(background logistics:  the 5 men golfed during the day. The two little girls had been at a 'don't do drugs' two-night camp for kids whose parents were drug addicts and I drove an hour into the city while the men were golfing to meet the girls' bus). 

Coach, having finished eating, was standing near the fridge - on the other side of the island. The island is massive, so he wasn't near the table. He asked Rae about camp. She swiveled in her chair to talk to him. At the same time, I was facing the other direction, still seated at the table, and I asked Tank if he figured out a coworker's name or if he was still calling him the wrong name.  A moment later, Rae turned back to face the table and I caught the Frustrated-Coach/head-rolling posture behind Rae. 

Huh? 

Curly shot me a 'What's-up-with-him' look. 

Now it was time for wardrobe and the navy shirt I thought Lad would wear resembled Big Guy in a Little Guy's coat shirt scene from Tommy Boy. I was distracted and upset, but kept trying to shuffle shirts and shorts between Tank, Lad, and Reg. Ed had 'shopped' from available options when he was home over July 4th, so I knew he was all set. 

When I went upstairs to get dressed, Coach informed me that my

Is it me, or does
Coach look a little
 like a twisted version of
Bill Hader from the
 movie Trainwreck
and former SNL star?

conversation overpowered his attempt to loop Rae into a discussion that he hoped might involve the whole family, (What? People were scattering) and he didn't like that the gang didn't join in his convo starter  . . .  and he later admitted that he didn't realize that I'd already chatted with them EXTENSIVELY about camp - but I was in the car with them for 45 minutes, as part of my 2 hour round trip car ride the afternoon of the portrait - so what did he think I was doing while he was golfing? Ignoring them? 

As an aside, Rae asked me on our drive home, what I did for the weekend, and wasn't that nice? She's made great strides. Meanwhile, Kay doesn't get how to do a give and take conversation. (more on her situation next week). 

The car ride into the city was after I'd seared over 6 lbs of chicken, and chopped potatoes, and loaded two crockpots for dinner, completed my back exercises and my workout, spritzed at least 6 golf shirts and 4 pairs of shorts with water and threw them in the dryer with the tags on BECAUSE they were wrinkled in shopping bags and I still didn't know who was wearing what, searched HIGH AND LOW for 15 min in a panic when one shirt I'd planned to have one guy wear was missing - (I finally called the golfers and Lad admitted that he'd brought it home after he tried it on, because he thought I was sure he was gonna wear it, and he was going home after golf to get it - PHEW), and THEN - I laid out 12 pairs of shoes for the picking . . . 

and FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, WE CANNOT CONTROL ALL OF THIS AND IF THEY DON'T SPEAK UP BECAUSE THEY JUST GOT HOME FROM CAMP AND THEY'RE TIRED, OR BECAUSE THEY SAY LESS WHEN ALL THE KIDS ARE HOME, THEN SO WHAT - IF IT AIN'T BROKE - then what are we fixing!!! 

AND, AND I WAS NOT TRYING TO OVERPOWER ANYTHING - LIKE GIVE ME A BREAK HERE AND STOP MAKING LIVING WITH THE TWO YOUNGER GIRLS SUCH A PRODUCTION . . .

because I really REALLY can't do that anymore. It's too hard. Feelings will be hurt. Someone will say something insensitive or dumb, because things happen - and it'll be fine. We're here - heading into the home stretch. Look how far we've come. We have to relax a little. 

Families aren't perfect and neither is ours, but Coach has us walking on eggshells. The girls have lived here for 2 years and we can't keep acting as if our home is a stage and he's the stage manager (OK, so I did just reference 'wardrobe' above as if we were on a stage, so there's that). His head-roll, shoulder-slumping, furrowed-brow theatrical disappointment conducted behind the girls' backs, directed at ME!!!, if things aren't peachy - well, c'mon. Just  . . .

STOP. 

I really do like
this dress, and it
 usually looks
really good
on me - not the
best angle here. 

*The night before this Coach mentioned that he really liked the dress I wore to mass, and could that be a contender for the portrait. Wait, what? I brushed it off, but now - with tempers flaring and emotions ramping up, I wasn't sure . . . did I choose the right dress? There wasn't time to reconsider and I wasn't in the mood for chatting, and I wasn't even sure if the outfits were gonna look fine, or if the damp clothes in the dryer with the tags on would be wrinkle free in time - and is that a stain on Reg's ND shirt that Tank dragged home from the city as a back up? And oh how I wish Ed hadn't left Coach's brand new, white golf shirt with the unnoticeable golf course crest on it at the hotel during Tank's graduation. "Boys - the shoes are lined up on the living room coffee table - pick a pair." 

The portrait was fine, but I didn't realize that Coach wore black shoes till we were there. I was too mad to look at him, I guess. I'd planned on him wearing navy shorts, but he'd decided midweek to wear light tan pants. Fine, whatever - but black shoes? 

Afterwards, I laid awake worrying that I'd forgotten to stand up straight. Do my shoulders look rounded in these pictures? The photographer hadn't given any:  angle this way, or chin down, or lean in, etc. instructions and THIS HAS BEEN PLANNED FOR SO LONG, AND WAS IT FINE? AND HOW SOON COULD WE GET AN APPOINTMENT WITH OUR AMAZING FAMILY THERAPIST BECAUSE I'M UNABLE TO MANAGE LIFE ON A STAGE IN 

MY OWN FLIPPING HOME. 

*******

Do you have a loved one who censors you or signals you if you're not saying things  'just right'? Did I choose the right dress? The 4 girls all had short dresses on, but I felt like this longer dress was fancy and If I'm gonna be accused of overpowering a conversation, why not play the part of fancy?

Family portrait aka: stress fest

Last fall we attended a fundraiser organized by our friends, whose daughter died of a DIPG brain tumor in 2022 at the age of 3. It's called the Violet Foundation. (if interested in learning more about it, or donating to this worthy cause that is close to our hearts, please click the link).

I dropped most of my silent auction tickets in the bucket for a family portrait session, and we won! We had not had a family portrait since Mini was 12. Um, she's 21. We do have several very nice family photos taken with great regularity, but we'd not done something professional in ions. 

To say it took an act of God to get all of our people in one place in outfits that 'worked'* is an understatement. My home currently resembles a mall. Rarely do I have people (and by people, you know that I'm looking at the men in the bunch right? That was implied) willing to go shopping. The three oldest, all male, have moved out of the house, so there's that. Because I'm me, I played a fun game of bringing the mall to the people. 

I do not recommend. 

The thought of dragging all of the items, that didn't make the cut, back to various stores is daunting and I want the non-shopping contingent to handle the returns. 

Four of the five dresses worn by the girls/me were all thrifted. (I will leave the thrifting adventure story for another post, and yes - this might require a reminder). Rae wore the dress I bought her on sale for her 8th grade graduation. 

We went with a blue theme - and white. Shades of blue. The girls all knew what they were wearing and a few of the fellas knew, but the others were going to be a game time decision. The night BEFORE, yes I'm shouting, I asked Reg (not for the first time) if he had a pair of boat shoes. 

Reg:  Yep.

Me:  OK, can you pull them out of the mudroom, so I can see them?

Later when I got home from wherever I was, Reg:  Um, I guess I only have one. Um, one shoe.

How does this happen? He's not five. I texted the older boys, who don't reside here. Anyone have extra Sperry's or something? Ed texted a photo of 'dressy' flip flops (is that a thing) that he planned to wear. I had lost energy and barely cared, plus his GF is a fashionista, so I believed she'd given his shoe choice the nod. Fine. 

Guess who has bright white feet in the photo? Thank you, golfing tan line. 

There will be more funny filters tomorrow,
 get excited. Tank managed to create these
 with filters while the photo shoot was
 going on. Not gonna lie - even though I
 didn't look like this - I sort of felt
 like this by the time it was over.

I ended up going to Nordstrom Rack Sat. night and buying a stupid number of shoes. Mini had lost interest in project 'white sandals' - so she needed a pair and I was getting grief about contemplating wearing my navy wedge sandals with my white/blue print sundress, so I brought home a few pairs for whoever.

There were a few day-of hurdles that I didn't anticipate. The main one relates to a behavior Coach has adopted that I find exhausting. He's a great guy and he's trying - don't get me wrong, but his need to have all go 'as-planned' for the sake of Kay and Rae . . . well, it's killing me. 

*****

Can we pause here for a moment, and recognize that I've thought about this photo, focused on it, pondered whether or not we'd make it to this point, a finish line in a way, for a long time? You know, we tried to adopt before, and that didn't end well - and there've been days/stretches when I was unsure this was gonna happen. So this felt like a big deal. 

Plus, I'm busy and had I considered all the outfits enough? Would the guy outfits incorporate enough navy? Was I dumb to not check on shoes earlier? 

This is me and my boys, minus our heads.

*****

I'll explain the 'issue' in a post tomorrow. Sorry for the extra post, but I hated to hit you with a long-winded story. I've also drafted a whole summary of the adoption, Kay's test results, etc. and that's not exactly a light, whimsical, brief piece - coming next week. 

Anyone take a family photo and manage NOT to want to strangle the people in said photo? Do your people lose shoes? 

Today's theme: things that pain me

Dad update:  he's going well. Still has some pain, but off the painkillers. He cancelled the night nurses, feeling like he can manage on his own. When I brought dinner over the weekend, I re-enacted a fairly entertaining (after the fact) incident of Kay digging herself into some pretty deep trouble, and he complained that I was making him laugh too much - his stitches hurt.  

I'm feeling like I'm in a try-to-catch-up blog place right now - as in, so much going on and only so much time to write about it. When I get myself organized, I'll share the Kay situation. Um, more Italy? Um, the Mini chronicles?

****

My achy breaky back - My back has hurt on and off all of my adult life. Nothing shocking - low back stuff. Usually I do press-ups and it goes back to normal. 

Unrelated:  Reg went to
the store and couldn't
find sandwich baggies,
so he bought these.

Early on in the summer, I had a pain in my back that felt like I'd fallen down the stairs. Or, as my friend, Suz, would say - it felt like someone hit me with a shank on my back. You know, when you hit your backbone on the staircase and you bruise your spine? That kind of pain, only I didn't fall down the stairs. Thank goodness. And no one hit me with a shank. Thank goodness. 

I happened to see my GP for a physical in mid June and she ordered a bone density test (not b/c of my back, but because it was time), a mammogram, and an x-ray of my back. The x-ray showed nothing, which we figured - but I'd have to have an x-ray before they would consider an MRI. She checked back in with me several weeks later and I told her it was still feeling bruised. Meanwhile, you know that I'm married to a PT, right? 

Mini put her sandwich
in two baggies.

In addition to the bruised spine feeling, I had low back stuff happening. I couldn't do my go-to fix:  press-ups. It aggravated my bruised spine feeling. Coach first insisted I just do them anyway, even though the doc said not to do anything that brought on the pain in my spine. Coach said that doctors don't know anything. I get that PTs know more about how to address this stuff, but I still thought it didn't make sense to irritate it. 

I didn't do press-ups, but I tried watching movies while on the floor, propped up on my elbows. Mini and I watched Dirty Dancing over 4th of July weekend - she'd never seen it. By the time the movie was done, I could not get up off the floor. I eventually got on all fours and crawled to the couch to use the couch to hoist myself up. What on earth? Coach was out of town for July 4th and when he came back, I told him how the elbow thing was going. He told me to keep at it. 

We got sandwich baggies, and someone (who
I have yet to identify, but I have I suspect
 this was the work of the
person versed in all things PT)
 took the snack size baggies, ditched the
 box and shoved them in the drawer NEXT
 to the box of sandwich baggies. This is
unrelated, unless you consider that the
theme for today is:  THINGS THAT PAIN ME. 

Also, I sleep on my belly. I start on one side, switch to my belly, and then I might switch to my other side. Right now, if I sleep on my belly (which I can do, but I'm in a lot of pain when I roll onto my front and it takes awhile for the pain to ease enough for me to go to sleep), then in the morning I can barely get out of bed. What the what? Once I was up on my feet, my back pain would improve throughout the day - the longer I was up and moving, the better it would feel. My neck is wonky right now, probably because I'm sleeping weird. *SIGH*

Coach was supposed to look at my back a few times, but it never happened. Finally last week, I went to his office. The doc had now ordered an MRI and even with my insurance it was gonna cost over $2K. Coach said an MRI isn't indicated. Really - WELL, WHY DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME AND THEN TELL ME WHAT IS INDICATED. 

Have you heard of the shoemakers' children? Well, I'm here to tell you - it's a legit thing. 

After he examined me, he gave me exercises to do, and none of them included press-ups, so I guess he realized that wasn't a good idea after all. I finally asked him a few days later, if he thought I might have a stress fracture in my back. This has been my fear. He said I might, which I translate to mean:  probably. 

If I have a stress fracture, then the protocol is to stop running for 6 weeks. 

I rode the stationary bike the other day, and it didn't bother my back - so I guess I can ride the bike in order to get cardio. I can also walk, but who wants to spend time walking when it's so much faster to run?  Plus, I now have to lay on the floor and do back exercises and that's time consuming, and for me - it's easy to get to the end of the day and realize that I haven't done them yet. 

I'm grumpy. This has been hurting for at least two months. I don't run during the winter months, so it kills me to miss such a big chunk of my running season. Meanwhile, chunky toddlers are due back at my house . . . I don't know, probably mid-August, but I might put that off until after we take Reg to college, so the 18th? I'm gonna have to like, pick them up and stuff. I pick up heavy weights when I workout, but sometimes those little people aren't stationary and I don't have the mindset to get in a good position, you know? 

*****

What is paining you today? Does anyone else sleep sunny-side down? 

The Girls: the grandparents & where to go from here

(this is the 2nd half of the grandparent saga that I posted Monday - if you haven't read that  . . . we'll wait). 

After a rescheduled zoom with the grandparents in Feb of '24 we explained our position, saying how their actions (specifically having the girls' mom's identical twin show up to 'surprise' the girls) were not in the girls’ best interest. We agreed to meet in person, so they could see the girls - but we would stick around. We went bowling. The grandma talked to the girls nonstop about her kids and her grandkids. 

The grandparents met us out at a pizza place in July of '24 after the terrible awful happened (girls got a hold of an old Chromebook. Rae used the internet in the worst way possible, and Kay hopped on FB and handed out our address to a crappy, distant relative). The grandparents reiterated to Rae and Kay the importance of following our rules and listening to us, because we were giving them a life.  Meanwhile, Kay's FB msg led to someone supplying our address to the jailed mom. Kay was sneaking letters from the jailed mom to their room. 

Yeah, their mom knows where we live, and yet I still manage to sleep at night. 

The grandma insisted that the mom doesn't want the girls, never did. Only cares about drugs. I spend a few days peeking outside, expecting to see some beat up car pull up. That fear has faded, plus the court ruled no contact. The mom isn't allowed to reach out. 

The girls had an overnight weekend again in September, while we attended Tank’s parents’ weekend. We said no family visitors, but grandma had her kids and grandkids over. How is this Not Family? I guess she thinks that since her bio kids aren’t on drugs (it's the grandpa's kids that are so messed up) they don’t count. The point is - focus on them and don’t confuse them with family members they won’t have contact with anymore. 

I’ve decided the (step) grandma literally cannot be alone with the girls. She has no interest in them. Prior to the weekend, we said, “No junk food, please.” The girls said they ate every meal at fast food. The girls didn’t know about our request, so they didn't think anything of telling us how great it was to eat crap again. In the grand scheme, this isn’t the end of the world, but shit - you said you’d do things our way . . . and then?

The grandma took them overnight a few days after Thanksgiving. They shopped at Walmart where she bought them pajamas (too heavy to actually sleep in) that look like an animal costume with the head on the hood. Not exactly practical, and again - not a deal breaker, but wouldn't it be nice if they asked what the girls needed and got them something on that list?  These PJs are geared towards much younger kids, but whatever. Back when we went bowling the grandpa told Coach that he’d help us out anyway we needed. If the girls ever needed anything, just let him know.

We felt this was great news, because the girls need things. What they didn’t need were silly heavy fleece costume-like pjs. Maybe this was the year that all their grandkids got ridiculous pjs that take up an entire drawer as they double as an animal costume? 

In the fall we’d asked if they might pitch in a bit (even a tiny bit) to help with the girls’ tuition. The grandparents declined- saying they try to keep it even between all the grandkids. Really? Were your other grandkids neglected? Left to fend for themselves while you dropped stuff off outside their house, afraid of what reality you might face if you went inside? Do your other grandkids have serious trauma scars that run deep?

The switch to the tiny private school was a game changer. Great friends. No screens. No bad influence kids, who Rae in particular was drawn to at our public junior high. We saw that school switch as the only option for us to keep the girls (we did seriously consider sending them back after the July '24 Shit Show), but when we started down this path we hadn't factored in the cost of private school. *sigh* I'll share our high school situation for Rae in someday . . . soon? 

Then Rae’s January bday happened, and crickets from the grandparents. They know where we live, but didn't even mail a card or call. * Not expecting gifts, but why claim you want to stay in touch and then blow off her birthday?

* Long story but early on I’d hope to keep our address a secret from them, but we are listed and they found out our last name and looked us up. They told the girls they’d driven past our house before they moved in with us, but NOT to tell us that. Even if Coach is right:  they were being cautious/showing concern for them, etc. - they told the girls to lie to us. 

They texted in March when we were leaving for Italy/or in Italy? to ask if they could see the girls and I told them we were traveling. 

Kay’s bday was in June. They missed that one too. We wondered if they’d fade into the abyss, and we are fine with that. Neither girl has asked about them since, I don’t even know when. 

Last week, the grandma texted me. Hoping for an overnight. Our social worker has said that she understands if we don’t keep in touch with them. She dealt with them when the girls lived there. I think Coach and I will agree to do a supervised visit again. Coach thinks we invite them to our home for a Sunday night dinner. When I scowled, he said, "Eat on the deck?" We’re not interested in another overnight, which says a lot because we LOVE a break. The gparents are too out of the loop. We don’t trust them. They don’t seem overly invested, esp since they missed the girls birthdays.  

Part of me wonders if I ask the girls individually if they’d like to see their grandparents, if Rae might say NO, and Kay night say SURE. Things don’t click the same way for Kay though. She’d be happy  to visit with anyone for a change of scenery and a chance to score attention. 

Unrelated, but a pic of our family day yesterday.
We took them to the city for a beach day, etc.
This is four youngest watching Ed's
beach volleyball team with Tank as a sub. 

I've got a whole post I plan to draft about Kay's neuropsych results and what we're dealing with there.

Thoughts? Invite the grandparents for dinner? Meet them somewhere? Ask the girls if they want to see them? Tell the grandparents in advance that the girls are in need of xyz (school uniform socks, books, school supplies, lunch boxes, Kohl's giftcards for shoes), if they'd please consider that if/when buying them things?  Or do what the family therapist suggested today, say with the adoption about to be finalized, we're focusing on that right now - but maybe in a few months. 

The Girls: the grandparents (and I use the term loosely)

Our soon-to-be adopted girls have a set of grandparents who live about an hour west of us. When their mom went to jail, the grandparents drove out of state to get the four kids. (yep, the girls have two older biological brothers). 

I'm referring to their maternal grandfather and his 2nd wife, who I believe he has been married to for a long time - meaning she's been around since before the girls were born. Their maternal grandmother died of a drug overdose years ago. This we discovered when given about 500 pages for each girl to review before signing the adoption papers. (no, we do not yet have a court date, which is becoming increasingly irritating, because we hope/hoped to go to court in the summer before big kids go back to college, etc). 

The grandparents were punitive with the girls when they lived with them from October '22 till May '23 when we entered the picture. The grandma couldn't manage the next older brother's behavior so she alerted DCFS and he went into a specialized pre-adoptive foster home. The oldest brother turned 18 and hollered, PEACE OUT, YA'LL ARE NUTS and returned to his home state. When the grandparents found out the mom wasn't gonna get the kids back, they waved the white flag and said We can't do this. 

I don't fault them for that. That wasn't what they signed on for. The girls couldn't wait to get out of their house. We scooped them up the minute their school year was done. 

The girls were supposed to have visits with the brother. The social worker organized a few early on, but he apparently lost ground after seeing his little sisters (he's about 2 yrs older than Rae). He was hospitalized and due to his many issues it was decided to stop the sib visits. The girls asked about him early on, but don't anymore. The social worker explained that the courts want to keep sibs in contact, but if it isn't in their best interest then it isn't in their best interest. 

The grandma admitted to me, in a 'we just didn't have any idea what was going on' way, that they didn't ever set foot inside the daughter’s (her step daughter’s) house. When they visited, they left things on the front porch. Why? They knew shit was not good in that house and they played dumb. That's not acceptable IMO. Their grandchildren were suffering serious neglect. 

The grandma is a piece of work. She's very involved/invested in her biological kids/grandkids' lives. The social worker described what it was like when she made visits to the gpa house while the girls were living there. 

It was strange. The grandparents would sit and play cards at the kitchen table, but they made the girls stay in their room. According to the girls, they'd get bread and water as a meal if they got in trouble. When they failed to turn the light off in their room, the grandparents removed all their lightbulbs. (When they moved in, we noticed right away - they never turned off a light in a room when they walked out of it - it was bazaar. We started just calling them back until they got the hang of it). 

When they moved in with us, the grandparents told the girls that they'd stay in touch.

Mid-August ‘23 a few months after the girls moved in, the grandparents reached out and asked if the girls could come visit them for a weekend. We were like, Oh, well this will be a huge help. 

I was moving Tank back to school for his junior year. Coach had been invited to play at a fancy-pants golf course and this meant he could play a round of golf vs hanging at home with girls. We were like, “Hey, look at us - fostering girls with nearby grandparents.” 

After hearing the stories though, I was a little surprised that the girls would want to visit them, but they did. 

When the grandparents drove the girls back home after the weekend, the grandparents chatted with us on our driveway for a few minutes. 

"Well, it was REAL emotional." (I stared at them blankly) "Their mom's identical twin sister was in town. We didn't tell her that we had the girls and we didn't tell the girls that they were gonna see their aunt (who looks JUST like their mom), so when she walked in there were lots of tears." 

They said this as if it was cute, not triggering, not emotional sabotage. What on earth?

That night, the girls acted off, as if they had a foot in two worlds and they weren’t sure how to proceed. We invited them to play volleyball in the yard and they declined - opting to stand on the deck, side by side, stiff and uncertain. I was like, WE JUST TOOK A BACKWARD SLIDE. I called the social worker the next day and she didn't believe me. "She's out of state. She wouldn't have seen them." I assured her the aunt came in town. The social worker was upset and said that was totally inappropriate. 

This was July 2nd - the night before they flew
 to SC with Coach to visit his bother. Look
how comfortable I am reading to them,
despite piles of laundry/baskets everywhere.
Calmness in chaos - a gift, right?

Then in November the Grandma texted, "Can we have the girls this weekend?"

Me:  no 

Her:  Such a quick response? 

Me:  Reach out to the social worker if you need to. 

Turns out their oldest brother, who the girls claim would go off and buy himself food when their mom was MIA on a drug binge and not give them any, was in town. I guess the grandparents like to be heroes who reunite folks, whether or not it makes sense to do so. The girls have zero interest in seeing this brother again. He once locked them in their bedroom for days while their mom was gone. We’ve learned that the utilities were turned off at the house, and they were living in a home that should not have been inhabited. The girls ended up climbing out a window and down the side of the house in order to go to a neighbor’s house. 

Months later, the social worker asked us to have a meeting with the grandparents to discuss boundaries and issues and lay the groundwork for their possible involvement with the girls. They agreed to meet via zoom while they were vacationing in Florida. Then they forgot about the zoom. Priorities much?

*****

This is a long ass story, so I’ll post the rest of it tomorrow. Bottom line:  nothing is  simple. What’s feeling complicated in your life right now?  Oh, and Mini week will be forthcoming. I wanted to post this, because it's weighing on me. Also weighing on me - I need to switch to aluminum free deodorant - recommendations?

Tank week (extended): Airport shuttle (con't) - the Adventure

(this is a post continued from yesterday - if you've not read my last post, I suggest you do that now. We'll wait. Um, this is long - but I'm leaving it alone. If you don't have time, maybe finish reading it tomorrow?)

Tank was flying BACK to Minnesota. Another friend, another lake house. Living the dream.

I'd told him that we'd leave at 6:40 am for his 8:50 am flight. I was worried about rush hour. As I don't generally need to drive places during that hectic hour, I was uncertain how it might impact our airport drop off. Better to be safe, than sorry. 

My eyeballs decided to protest my use of contact lenses that week. Why? It's an unsolved mystery, but nonetheless, I was wearing workout clothes and glasses. I checked the GPS to Midway. I think it said 30 min. In no traffic, I can do it in 25, so not bad. 

Reg had agreed to drop Kay at the pool and Mini at the train. I told Kay, UNLESS THERE'S SOME SORT OF HORRIBLE TRAFFIC ON MY WAY HOME, I SHOULD BE THERE AFTER SWIM PRACTICE. Ray was caddying with Reg. And maybe Curly? Who can remember. 

6:42 am:  Tank and I hopped in the minivan. 

6:52 am:  We were on the Stevenson Expressway, heading to Midway Airport. We were chatting. I happened to look down. When I wear my stupid glasses, I can't see close, so I lifted my glasses to verify. OH SHIT. 

Me:  TANK, WE'RE ON EMPTY!

I made him hit whatever button in the Odyssey reveals how many miles we would have until we ran out of gas. He hit the button. 

FOUR. MILES. 

Me:  TANK, WE'RE NOT GONNA MAKE IT. WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF GAS IN FOUR MILES. (insert deep hissing sounds coming from your's truly. I was high pitch squealing, nearing panic mode). There were no upcoming exits with gas stations.

I hollered for him to ask GPS for the closest gas station. I thought we should go north on LaGrange Road. He told me to go south on LaGrange. (this is like industrial  type places, maybe the expressway goes over a railroad yard or something non-pedestrian like). Mistake. There was nothing. 

Tank:  It says 12 minutes. 

Me (whimpering):  WE'RE NOT MAKING IT 12 MINUTES.

At Archer, he told me to exit. This was now officially the wrong direction. Then he told me GPS wanted me to do a u-turn, but there was nothing worth turning around to. We'd already been down there. I started to cry. 

Tank: THERE'S GOTTA BE SOMETHING DOWN HERE. JUST STAY THIS WAY. THERE'S LIKE HOUSES AND SHIT- GOTTA BE A GAS STATION.

Then he spotted it:  LOOK! THERE'S ONE RIGHT THERE. OK? OK! WE'RE FINE.

7:02 am (That's when I took the dashboard photo):  We rolled into the gas station. He got out to pump and I took a photo of the

4!!!!

dashboard and sent it in our fam chat:  WHO USED THE MINIVAN YESTERDAY AND DIDN'T FILL IT UP. TANK AND I ALMOST RAN OUT OF GAS . . . 

We followed the GPS directions to Midway, because I'd never gone to Midway from Archer Avenue and like 79th Street? A moment later, it dawned on me.

Me:  OH. SHIT. IT WAS ME. I DROVE THE MINIVAN YESTERDAY! WHAT? HOW DID I NOT NOTICE? 

Upon review of the day before, I remembered rushing to the hair appt. and to Dad's appointment. Then Tank admitted that he drove it to get Mini from the train and he noticed the low fuel, but knew Mini wanted to get home after a long day in the city. I don't drive the same car everyday. I'd just filled up a car, but that was Tex. Curly drove the minivan home from the swim meet. She didn't notice the low fuel light, but she drove it less than 2 miles.  I didn't notice the low fuel light the day before - could've been because I was in such a hurry. Oops. 

With a full tank - order was restored and GPS says we're gonna get to Midway at 7:35ish I say to Tank:  Hey, Dad is flying to North Carolina for the 4th, that's where you're going too, right? I'm wondering if you're on the same flight. He's flying Frontier. 

Tank:  That's nuts. I'm flying Frontier too. 

Then we chatted a minute about when he was returning from Minnesota, which kid this was he was visiting and who else was going (I can't keep it all straight). As we approached Midway, Tank asks me:  Where's the United terminal?

Me (I'm blanking on the fact that he just told me he was flying Frontier the following weekend):  What? I don't know. Doesn't matter. Don't talk about next weekend. Let's just get through this one. 

Tank:  This is for this weekend. Where's United?

Me:  United flies out of O'Hare.

Tank: We're at O'Hare. 

Me:  No, we're at Midway.

Tank:  (here's where Tank says words that I never imagined could cause me so much stress) MOM - MY FLIGHT'S OUT OF O'HARE!!!!!

Me:  WHAT? WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT?! YOU JUST WATCHED ME DRIVE TO MIDWAY . . . TANK, YOU'RE GONNA MISS YOUR FLIGHT.

*let's pause here to recognize that kids growing up with GPS at the ready are sometimes at a disadvantage. I knew which direction Midway was when I was like 11 years old. I knew O'Hare was north from our house on 294. And Midway was on the south side - not far from my Irish dancing classes. 

7:35 am:  Anyway - We were in front of Midway - instead of exiting to the ramp to drop off passengers, I stayed the course. The woman right next to me watched me LOSE my mind. She couldn't hear the shouting and hollering and pure panic on the inside of our car, but apparently our arms-flailing, mouths-flapping, head-bopping was mucho entertaining, because her eyes were popping out of her head and she was giggling. 

I floored it. Sped up to the light. Saw the green arrow, inviting me to turn left onto 63rd. Not gonna lie, I felt a little like Matt Damon in the Borne Identity when he hops in the driver's seat and asks the girl who owns the car, "Do you take care of this car? How old are the tires?" or something. 

I fix my eyes on the road and tell Tank:  Put O'Hare in the GPS. I think it'll have me turn . . . 

The GPS told me in a calm voice that only frustrated me further:  'Take a left on 63rd.' Where was GPS's anxiety? 

I sped along, weaving through traffic, fortunately making most of the lights. When I was on Archer, I needed to get in the left lane so I could get back on I-55 (the Stevenson). The cars waiting to do this same thing formed a somewhat-stationary, never-ending line. A traffic light separating us from getting anywhere near the ramp to I-55 kept turning red before we could progress. Damn. Finally, I pulled an A-hole move and I got in the right lane, made it through the impossible traffic light and now was positioned next to all of the cars that were waiting patiently. No one wants to let in the A-hole person who is trying to sneak in when it isn't their turn. 

7:45 am:  I spotted one car with the windows down. It was 85 degrees out.. 

I pull alongside Mr. I-Don't-Do-AC, roll my window down, and I 'splain as best I can in a not-so-calm voice, distraught showing on my face:  I THOUGHT HE FLEW OUT OF MIDWAY AND HE FLIES OUT OF O'HARE, HE MIGHT MISS HIS FLIGHT . . . 

No-AC guy is about 28. He saves the day with a wave to get in front of him. 

I speed thru traffic on I-55, looking for space to pass other cars and weaving. When I saw an open stretch, I floored it. 

Me:  CALL DAD, TELL HIM TO TEXT ALLISON (kid is on swim team with Kay) HAVE HER GET WORD TO KAY THAT I'M GONNA BE LATE. SHE CAN WATCH THE NEXT PRACTICE. 

I also had him send messages to Kay's coaches thru the team snap app, so someone would let her know I'd be late. 

At the oasis exit thing, I faked like I was getting off to get gas, but we all know I ALREADY GOT GAS, and the funny thing is - I THOUGHT THAT WAS STRESSFUL. Bah ha ha. I drove up to the oasis and then blew right on thru to the other side to join the expressway, thereby making better progress because it is RUSH HOUR and most of 294 is a parking lot.

7:55 am:  GPS has 8:16 am as our arrival to O'Hare. Flight is at 8:50. 

Tank keeps apologizing and we reviewed what happened, him thinking he said O'Hare and me quite confident he never said O'Hare, and me admitting that when he flew Southwest the weekend before to the same destination, I probably just went on autopilot and was in Midway mode. By now, I've moved beyond How We Got Here, and I'm more focused on How We Are Getting There - with enough time to get thru security. This is O'Hare - security can be a beast. 

Then the Traveling Wilbury's End of the Line song comes on the radio. Tank turns it up, blaring the lyrics:  'Well, it's all right . . . " 

That's my kid in the baseball hat, making a run for security.

Tank:  Hey, this is a good song to listen to right about now. 

I gave him the too-soon-to-laugh-at-this-shit look. 

I pull up to O'Hare's United terminal and drop him off at 8:09 am. He kisses me, thanks me and I yell:  GO!!!!!

A couple of people in security allowed him to hop in front when he shared his WAS AT MIDWAY, FLIGHT'S HERE, OOPS scenario. He called me about fifteen minutes later:  I'M AT MY GATE! 

Well, that was a two hour trip in the car. I could've like GONE SOMEPLACE. No one gave Kay the message and she'd started walking home, but was hanging out in the shade under a tree waiting for me. 

In case you are wondering, Tank was not on Coach's flight the next weekend. That would've been too easy. I drove him to O'Hare Thursday morning, July 3rd. And I picked him up in the middle of rush hour on Monday evening, July 7th - also from O'Hare. I hope he enjoys city life, because I think he needs to stay in town for awhile. 

I might need to join GW's (our big-ass van) status as a former airport shuttle. 

*****

Have you ever messed up a flight or an airport?  Run out of gas?

*Dad update* & Tank week (extended): airport shuttle (part 1), the car shuffle game

Thank you for the prayers and good thoughts for my dad. Surgery went well. His recovery has been smooth and steady. He's expected to go home Sunday (drafting this between Curly's games Sat.). He's upbeat and making great progress. In the sib group chat (where if you're not careful, your previous text might get red circled and resent) there are a few photos:  Dad watching the White Sox game from his hospital bed, and simultaneous photo of Mom watching the same game from her couch at home. Old habits. 

*****

Tank starts his full time 'real' job today, July 14th. Prior to joining the real world, he's been caddying, making money, and helping out with our landscaping. He also made plans to visit friends out of state three consecutive weekends. He needed rides to the airport. Uber is always an option, but if we can save the kids money - I'm willing to drop them at the airport. We live about halfway between Midway and O'Hare. 

Tank is so much fun -always willing to pitch in and help out in anyway that he can, so I was happy to oblige. Understand, I didn't have to be the driver, we have other drivers - but each time it just so happened that I was available. Nothing was set in stone in advance. We don't roll that way. 

Tank travel - Weekend 1:  June 19th, I drove him to Midway for his flight on Southwest to Minnesota to hang at a friend's lake house with a bunch of buddies. It was rush-hour and we probably left a few minutes later than we should. I was slightly nervous, but he wasn't checking a bag and it was fine. I picked him up that Monday. Or was it Tuesday? Fuzzy, but whatever. He had a great time. 

Setting the scene leading up to Tank travel - Weekend 2:  Thursday, June 27th. Busy day. Curly got a haircut. When she wears her hair down, the gallons of product weigh it down. It looks like a wet mop. The wet mop look is banned from our upcoming family portrait, so I insisted she visit our awesome curly-girl specialist in hopes that we could gather tips of on other ways to style her amazing hair. I followed Curly to the appointment about 15 minutes after she left, so I could be there for the tip gathering portion. I had Kay with me, but left her with Curly. Curly was taking Kay and Rae to the pool after hair. I was taking Dad to an appointment. 

Dad called me when I was racing to get to the hair place (opposite direction from Dad's, of course). 

Dad:  Are you still taking me? 

Me:  Yep, I'll be there, but I won't be there 30 minutes early (this translates to:  I'm not Ann or Marie). Not gonna happen. I'll be there at 12:45. (appt at 1:00, 15 min away).

Curly-girl specialist:  Your hair looks wet because you're prob using too much product. Use a pea size amount. yadda, yadda, yadda.

I heard pea size amount, nodded profusely, then curly-girl-specialist

See those tight-ass curls at the haircut?
 Curly's hair is so SO tight.

trimmed a few strands on my noggin so I can avoid a haircut prior to the portrait. I waved over my shoulder, and zipped over to my dad's to take him to the cardiologist so he could be cleared for his upcoming surgery. 

In the evening, the girls had a swim meet. I had book club. Tank picked up Mini from the train. Coach was working. Reg offered to do my volunteer position at the meet until Coach could arrive, because of my book club conflict. I went to the meet for the first 15 minutes to get Reg acclimated. 

***Before I left to drop the girls at the meet, I struggled to get out of the driveway. Reg had parked Tex directly behind the minivan and then failed to hang up the Tex fob. Frist the girls got into Tex, but when I was fob-less, I told them to hop in the minivan. I tried my best to jockey minivan around Tex, almost taking out a bush, (the single garage door won't go up currently, so I couldn't raise the door to buy myself a few inches). I was forced to abandon that mission. I hopped in the kid car, K and R dragged their gear into kid car - for the record this was the third car they were hopping into, and when Reg showed up in Tex to the meet, I swapped keys with him because I try to avoid driving kid car at all cost. In the meantime, our missing fob meant the girls missed warm ups (no biggee). When they got out of the car to run into the meet, I sat in the kid car to decompress, and paint my toenails. Do not recommend (car jockeying with zero space, toenail polishing in a cramped car, biting my tongue to not say ALL.THE.BAD.WORDS when the girls were in the car that I couldn't move, all of the above).***

Curly said she'd pop over to cheer for the girls. This pool is a 3 minute drive from our home. It was 110 degrees outside, and I was dressed cute, so once Reg understood his Bull Pen role, I bolted. 

Hours later during book club, Mini texted:  Am I taking a car to the train, or getting dropped off?  

Thus prompting our nightly game of 'car shuffle' -it starts just before the first person (usually Coach) goes to bed. If we're watching a movie, the movie is paused and the viewers of said movie become irritated to which I say, SHUT IT - LET ME THINK. Then we review what's on the agenda the next day and how we'll juggle 4 cars for 7 drivers. Not gonna lie, I'm central to this activity because I tend to KNOW STUFF. 

I was trying to be present during book club chat, but I was also about ready to head home as it was 10 pm, and the discussion was Meh. We read 'The Rose Code'. It was fine- um, mostly good, but I felt parts were emotional sabotage/contrived. I was in the minority. 

Me texting in the group chat:  Wait, remind me what time is your flight tomorrow, Tank? 

*crickets* I bailed on book club in lieu of sleep and playing car shuffle in person, walking in the door at 10:30 pm. 

Tank comes up from the basement:  Sorry Mom. I was practicing my flute. My phone was charging and I missed your text. My flight's at 8:50 am. 

Me:  Whoa, Nelly. Game changer. Scratch our plan (the one we'd been hammering out.) 

I agreed to drive Tank to the airport. 

Tank apologized repeatedly. I went to bed. What could possible go wrong here? 

Turns out:  So.much. 

Sorry, this is a long ass story and this portion was mostly background. Hang tight, because the adventure portion, that I'll share tomorrow, is more entertaining than the background. I told the basketball moms this tale over dinner Friday night and more than one mom was cry laughing. I might be a better in-person story teller, because Fun Fact - I do faces. Still, I hope you tune in tomorrow. 

Have you read The Rose Code? Thoughts? Ever tried to get a car out of a crazy tight spot with good results? Do people still do their own nails, or is it just me?

Tank week: Wait, what's that address?

Jug for Dad's prep. I cringe, wondering
 if it is similar to the go-lytely crap I  had
to drink for my first colonoscopy
about 30 years ago. Looks similar. 

Good morning. My dad's surgery is tomorrow (Thurs.) morning. Prayers are appreciated. There's been a rush to get his estate in order, just in case. Plus, I learned they're removing 20 inches of his colon. He's 85. This won't be easy. I'm posting this early since I have it ready to go. I'm planning to wait till he's out of surgery before I drive to Louisville for Curly's tournament. She's leaving today with her teammate. 

Thank goodness last weekend was relaxing, because I'm racing to get ducks in a row:  prepping meals, packing, doing laundry, arranging rides (DCFS will drive Kay to and from summer school a few times), and the minivan is at the dealership (long-ass story) - 50 minutes away. Headache. Plus a certain someone is moving out this week. Um, I'm spread thin. I'm not sure how often I'll blog or comment in the next week, etc. Hell, I'm already really behind. I apologize. 

*****

Tank was thrilled in September when the place where he interned offered him a job. He planned to copy Ed:  live at home for close to a year, save money, then move  downtown. A high number of grads from Ed's college end up in Chicago, so Ed knew kids who commuted for a year and then were ready to move downtown. Creighton has less of an alumni presence in Chi-town, so Tank was at the mercy of when he knew kids looking for a roomie. 

In the spring, Tank called fretting over a decision. Let me preface this with, 

    1. Tank has a hard time with big decisions. 

    2. Tank is friends with lots of guys older and younger than he is. He's tight with a group who graduated a year ahead of him. He flew out to Boston for a weekend to hang out with them last fall. One of the guys from the Boston trip, 'Bill', spent the year living at home in MN and was moving to Chicago, hoping Tank would be his roomie.  

Tank was excited, but bummed. Of all of the kids, he's the most focused on saving a buck. He was torn about the opportunity to have a great roomie and the chance to sock away some dough. He tried to wiggle out of deciding, claiming we needed him home to help with the girls. 

Well, that'd be amazing, because he's a huge help with the 'farm hands', but I was like:  Yeah, no. We aren't relying on you. We'll miss you, but it sounds like this is the right time for you to get an apartment. (I said this into the phone, but turned away and sobbed softly- thinking - NO! DON'T DO IT. LIVE AT HOME FOR 6 MONTHS). 

He jumped at the chance to have a roommate. Plus Ed is downtown. It'd be fun. I suggested he come home every few weeks and I'd make a bunch of meals for him - like I did for Reg when he was playing b-ball in Indiana. Tank and Ed will not have a car in the city, so this won't be easy - but I'm accustomed to cooking for an army anyway, right? 

Bill's high school friend decided to move to Chicago too. Now there were three. Tank was like, Cool - more people to share the rent. Then one of his closest friends from Creighton got an interview in Chicago. Weeks passed, and Tank called: "Sam got a 5th interview."

What? Can they just give him the job already? What other questions do they need to ask him? 

Sam got the job. Tally = 4 guys. Tank was pumped. They found a realtor. The rental climate is insane. Places get snatched up. (note to self:  Why haven't you invested in a place to rent out down there?) The realtor sent them info on a place, and they pondered too long. The place was gone.

Me:  (when Tank told me) Crap. You've gotta be ready. When she sends you an address, ask Ed if the location is good. 

Tank:  It's fine. She's already sent me a few other addresses. One's on Briar. What street does Ed live on?

Me:  I don't know. Wait, I'll look at my Amazon. He uses it all the time. (this is a different post for a different day, but guess how I know he uses my Amazon? Well, my order of teen maxi pads didn't end up at Ed's place because I messed with my shipping address, did it?  We were, ahem, in need of those supplies on the home front, ED!) 

Me: Um, OK, his address is 1234 Briar. (fake address, friends - in case you were considering sending him more teen period gear)

Tank (spun around so I couldn't see his face): Um, Mom. The address for this place is 1233 Briar. I don't wanna live there. Too close to Ed. 

*classic Tank messing with me.

Me:  What? Tank! You have to get this place. Call Ed. Right now.

In case you're unaware:  Chicago's HUGE. Granted, Tank was looking to live in the same neighborhood as Ed, but that neighborhood:  HUGE.  What.are.the.chances? 

Ed called me MOM, HE HAS TO GET THIS PLACE, IT'S RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME! I was like, BELIEVE ME, I'D BE THRILLED, BUT ALL OF HIS ROOMIES HAVE TO FILL OUT THE APPLICATION AND GET ON BOARD. (yes, I was shouting, because I was like We're trying!) When Tank visited Ed at college, well, his buddies enjoyed him. Shock. 

To think, my house might
 not look like this soon.

Ed toured the place to save Tank a trip to the city. If I train downtown that's roughly 49 minutes. Then I'm in the loop. Ed lives in a neighborhood further north, near Wrigley field. Driving there usually takes about an hour, worse if there's traffic. It's not really easy to get back and forth from us to the north side of Chicago. Traffic bites. Anyway, Ed took a video while touring the apt with Tank's realtor. 

We aren't sure what the story was. Hoarders? I've never seen so much stuff and I live with lots of people. Ed's running commentary and the dialogue between he and the realtor is hilarious. "Oh, um. OK, wow. They have more shoes over here. What do you think that smell is?" Anyway, Ed recommended they get it. Three bedrooms are enormous - a very strange layout with rooms that wind this way and that. Then there's a 4th tiny room. Three bathrooms. 

Ed's place is top notch, high end, gut job rehab. Ed was like, OK, it's not like my place, but it'll work. He suggested they offer to sign a 2 year lease and pay $25/more each a month in rent, because someone had already applied for it.

The realtor didn't send the application to Tank in a timely manner and that slowed the process. It was hard to upload documents like paystubs when all the applicants are starting jobs. This was end of May, my last day of babysitting. Mini and I decided to go on an adventure. *More about our adventure during Mini Week, if I decide to make that a thing? We knew Tank would have a blast if he joined us, but he opted to stay home and fill out the application. 

A few days later, he was at his friend's lake house and he called me:  WE GOT THE PLACE! He'll start moving his stuff downtown in a few trips this week. He starts his job the 14th. I'm so excited for him, even though I'm gonna miss the heck out of him. 

*****

Do you think Tank coming home for meals will pan out? (get it? Pan.) We will have an extra car at home when Mini and Reg head to college. Hmm. I think it'll be more of a hassle than it's worth for Ed and Tank to keep a car in the city. Anyone interested in a Mini Week? I've still got another Tank post - maybe the craziest one yet. It's not drafted, but it's a doozie. Hopefully I share it next week. As Coach's former office manager once said, DANG, I WANT LIKE A LIVE FEED IN YOUR CAR. This would've been the time to hook that up.

Tank week: Would you stitch this? (plus unrelated wardrobe options for our family portrait)

Welcome to Tank week, where I've combined Shark Week with Shark Tank to bring you funny stories about Tank. The man, the myth, the legend. 

*****

Before we dive in, Coach flew with the three youngest girls to visit his brother in SC. His brother has 9 kids (most of whom are girls), so if this cousin isn't willing to hang with you - that one will most likely step up to the plate. Not gonna lie, this has been a very relaxing, chill weekend for me and I have enjoyed it immensely. 

Last week, I had a call with our family therapist, who is the bomb. She 'gets it' or maybe more specifically gets me. I can admit to feeling frustrated with no fear of judgement. She's lovely, supportive, and offers great suggestions. Anyway, I told her about Coach's travel plan and she was like YES! YOU NEED THIS! Truer words were never spoken. 

They flew out Thurs. evening and I woke up on the 4th after sleeping for 10 hours. That's  ten, I mean - I didn't even know that was possible. I slept 9 the next night and Sunday morning opted to hop out of bed to tackle all the things I still wanted to do at 7:30 am, after roughly 8 hours of sleep. 

Everything feels possible, and damn it - I'm here for this kind of refresher. 

*****

Commercial break over:  On to Tank talk. 

If you recall, Tank got stitches in his eyebrow in early Jan. after seeing a buddy at a bar, spinning said buddy around, and then falling and catching his eyebrow on the bar or a stool? He was in Milwaukee for the Creighton vs Marquette game. 

Fast forward to Feb. 8th. AS IN - TOO SOON AFTER THE FIRST EPISODE OF STITCHES IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2025.

I woke up to a text from Tank. I THINK I NEED STITCHES IN MY TONGUE. 

Huh? I called him, as one does, hoping to be debriefed. Voicemail. I texted him. Called again. Crickets. I gave up and was working out in the family room when Coach returned from working out or something. 

Me:  Tell your son that  if he's gonna send an alarming text he better damn well be awake when I try to return his call.  

Tank finally called:  Sorry I went back to sleep. I think I'm gonna head to urgent care. I'm so mad at myself, because I wanted to get front row seats at the game today. I have no idea how long this is gonna take. (I didn't type it up to reflect that he was talking funny, but trust - he was talking funny). 

Marquette was in town to play Creighton. Notice a pattern here? 

Being the mom, I asked the burning question:  WHAT HAPPENED? (brace yourself).

Tank:  Well, I was planning to stay in, because I wanted to be up early to get in line for the game. Then a couple of younger fraternity brothers stopped by my house. They wanted me to help them get our rock back. Another fraternity took it like a long time ago and it isn't theirs. So I said HELL YEAH. 

Picture me, nodding along, like this tracks. 

Tank: So we get to the house where our rock is, and they hoist me up cause I'm gonna be the first one over the fence (naturally). I wasn't ready, and yeah - I'd had a few drinks (naturally). I lost my footing and I fell and bit my tongue. So there's a hole in my tongue and I googled it and it says most tongue cuts heal on their own. 

Thank goodness for Google, right? Because otherwise a college dufus might not know when to seek medical help. 

Tank was upset. He felt dumb. One of his best buds is a year younger and his dad is an ear nose and throat doc. Tank reached out to Dr. Hart, and in the meantime, I tell him to call urgent care. I felt like this might not be their gig. He called me back, 

Tank:  Yeah, they said no. I've gotta go to the ER. 

Me:  Well, shower and get dressed for the game (priorities might be a tad off here, but I tend to get on board easily with the things the kids are trying to do) and take a few soft snacks with you, so you can eat something and go straight to the game. 

He hangs up and calls a kid with a car to take him to the ER. Then Dr. Hart calls him. "Tank, I've seen the photos. I think you're gonna be fine. Skip the ER. You don't need stitches. We don't always stitch the tongue anyway. Keep the area clean and go have a good time." 

Tank calls me back, ELATED (aside from his newly acquired speech impediment, he sounded peppy):  Dr. Hart says I'm good to go. He says he'd give his son the same advice if he bit through his tongue falling off a fence (implied:  trying to steal back a fraternity rock). 

Oh. Really? 

Tank goes to the game. Our niece on Coach's side graduated the year Tank was a freshman. She confided in Ed recently that when she was a senior everyone knew Tank. "He was like a celebrity on campus." We've vowed not to share that info with Tank. Anyway, she happened to be in town from AZ for the game, and he bumps into her, and shows her his tongue.

When I checked in with him later, Tank was pumped. 

Tank:  I was on the Jumbotron, showing my friends my tongue laceration. The whole stadium sees my friends looking in my mouth.  (I assume so did his older cousin)

A few days later, Tank goes to the Creighton dental school, because it's cheap and his teeth/tooth? feel a little off. Maybe he's been grinding? Or, as his mother pointed out, maybe he jacked up his teeth in his recent fall. 

While they are checking on his teeth, the dentist says WHOA, WHAT'S GOING ON OVER HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TONGUE?

Tank explains, and Guess who needs stitches? They numb him and take care of it. Seven stitches maybe? A few days later, those stitches dissolve, as they are intended to - but, the divot in the tongue really isn't any better. So, he goes back to the dental school and a different person stitches it up AGAIN. 

If we're counting, he's now had stitches thrice in 2025 and it's not even middle of February. 

Tank's very pleased with himself, because this has only cost him like $50, as opposed to the $600 bill we got for anesthesia alone for the Jan incident. 

Tank:  You should've seen it- every dental student was looking in my mouth. It was like a teaching moment. They asked if they could take photos and stuff and I was like SURE. 

Unrelated:  we are having a family photo end of July. We're going with shades of blue. Two younger girls in the floral prints. Curly navy sundress, and Mini white sundress. I think the boys will wear various colors of blue golf shirts, etc. I laid the dresses out last night- and I'm worried that the navy dress won't work. Thoughts? If I have a brother wear navy, then are we good? Stories to follow on how we sourced these dresses. Only one is from a store - the rest THRIFTED. Just call me Elisabeth. My dress is in the middle. I love it so much. Laying it on a couch doesn't do it justice.

Later, he admitted that after his fall, he stood up and told the rest of the guys, while his tongue is bleeding, I CAN'T BE DOING THIS SHIT ANYMORE. I'M 22 YEARS OLD AND I'M STARTING A FULL-TIME, LIKE, REAL JOB IN FOUR MONTHS. I decided that this was a good sign, that this was a lesson he had to learn on own. 

For those who might be invested in the 'rock' portion of the story:  They did not get the rock that night. Tank described it like it was a headstone type rock with their fraternity's name on it, etc. But, they did go back. They  removed it, and it is now in a place of prominence at the house that Tank lived in (I found myself wanting to type:  THE HOUSE THAT TANK BUILT). Other fraternity brothers are living there this year. Translation:  all is right in the world. 

The 1st tree branch quote, Calling all Cars & This is key

Reg helped too, he took Rae to her eye
doc appointment so I could supervise the
 process and be sure no one was getting crushed.
 When Reg got home, he pitched in. He and I
moved cut up pieces to the side of the house.
 I legit lost a nail when hauling the logs.
My damn fingertip bled, but if that's
 the only ouch we had - I'll take it. 

Tree update:  It's down. Coach and Tank dismembered the dead tree, whose branch fell on me last week. We rented a chain saw. It was a chore and a half. 

The initial quote:  I texted Coach the photo of the tree branch hovering over me. Before he said the sweet thing about It would be bad if you died any day . . . he responded to my text with this:  WHO PUTS THEIR CHAIR UNDER A DEAD TREE?  

Yep, he did. I texted back that I could've really been hurt and he changed his tune. We are a wise-ass group, so we usually lead with wise-ass remarks. 

Reg calls the deck 'open concept' now. I don't
 like open concept for my deck. We are
 on the corner, and I already feel so 'seen' when
 I'm on the deck. Not in the way I want to
 feel seen. For those of you who know
 who Mary Ann is, that's her
 house in the background. Ugh. 

*******

Calling All Cars:  Weeks ago . . . I'd driven to my folks for my poop patrol duty (who's tired of this phrasing, show of hands? OK, gotcha), and I invited the kids to snag my car, because I could drive Da to the hospital in his car. Dad owns an old Rendez Vous that he shouldn't be driving anymore, but we've yet to convince him to give up his keys. I shared a tragic story with him the day I took him for his procedure and I think I got his attention.

***

This is the tragic event, that I described to my dad. It's difficult to fathom. Skip past the *** if you aren't up for reading about this horrible accident.

A couple in their early 50s were driving home from the grocery store on a Friday afternoon in late April in a town near where we live, and someone had a medical emergency and plowed into their car. They were both killed. Just a side street. Not an expressway. The accident was a few blocks from my brother's house. The family lived a few towns over from us. The wife had been a patient of Coach's on and off for years. He really liked her, and he felt horrible when he realized she and her husband were the victims of this accident. Their 5 kids range in age 17-25. My heart hurts. Hard to imagine.

 I told my dad that I know he wouldn't want to harm anyone, and that it doesn't make sense to risk causing an accident. When we age, our reflexes aren't as sharp. Just fact. We learned that the person driving that car that caused the accident was later diagnosed with a brain tumor. 

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The night I was at my folks' house, the kids were heading in so many different directions that they needed all three cars. Coach had the 4th at work. Since we live close to my folks, Reg came on a scooter to grab the car that I'd driven there. A few minutes later I started getting panicked texts:  

Where the Ef is the Fob to the minivan?  

(we lost a Fob a long, long time ago to the minivan, so we were down to one)

It was me - the last one to drive it. And I couldn't remember what I'd done the day before. LIKE I DREW A BLANK. Where had I gone? What was I wearing? Nothing (I mean, I was wearing something - but couldn't remember what). So, that sucked. Mini and Coach had to swap cars at the meet when he came to relieve her after work. Remember how he camouflage-parked it accidentally and she couldn't find it?

Meanwhile I put on my thinking cap. Was Nana's Alzheimer's contagious? Then Coach texted to remind me that I'd taken Rae and Kay to the health club. Hmm. Clear as mud. I looked all through my purse and I didn't have it. I felt awful for making everyone adjust their plans back home due to me misplacing the keys. 

After doing the prep - dad wanted to stay up super late to be sure he didn't have to 'go' again during the night. I was like DAD, WE HAVE TO START THIS AGAIN AT 4:20 AM, CAN WE GO TO BED NOW. He told me to go to bed, but I was worried he'd be weak and fall. So, it was a late night and an early morning and my brain was foggy - 

Anyway, the next day I was driving to the pool with Kay. That's when I remembered worrying that it would drizzle on my laptop as I left the health club with K and R the day before. Drizzle being the operative clue. At a stoplight, I texted in the family group chat:  WHOEVER GETS HOME NEXT - CHECK MY RAIN COAT POCKET. Because on this day - it was blazing hot out. I couldn't fathom wearing a coat. 

Curly was home, and she texted a photo of her holding the damn Fob and my raincoat. Guilty as charged. Phew. On Monday, Reg is taking the minivan to a Honda dealership with two spare Fobs that Lad has scrounged up for us from cars going to auction at his dealership. And we will have three Fobs for that car. Who's excited? (Well, hold the phone. This last thing didn't work out as planned. Reg and I drove two cars there in order to leave the minivan. Um, waste of time. The dealership wouldn't program the Fobs. Then yesterday I drove the minivan an hour north to the dealership where the car came from - our friends own it- for an open recall of the fuel pump and They had no problem programing one Fob - the other wouldn't work). 

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Is it just me? Do you sometimes DRAW A TOTAL BLANK on what you did the day before?  Anyone have a good system for convincing elderly people to surrender their driving duties?