Dearest Leo,
Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of the day you came home with us. It was slightly over-shadowed by Zoe's homecoming. (I forgot until about 10 pm.) I wanted to mark this occasion, not with urine, as you are so fond of doing, but with a letter.
You came home a three pound little peanut of a thing. I, frankly, doubted the longevity of your life in this family of graceless, klutzy people. In a year, you've tripled in size and learned to dodge and weave.
You steal my blankets, socks, and snacks.
You hog the bed.
You refuse to allow snuggles that don't place you smack in the middle. You bark at your 'dad' when he hugs me. You bite Zoe's feet and toes when she tries to lay down next to me.
You chew on shoes.
You sometimes get so busy harassing the cats that you forget to go to the bathroom when you're outside, until you've come back in and no one is looking.
You don't like rain, thunder, lightening, snow, or cold temperatures.
You chewed through TWO gates that were designed to keep you in the pantry. It's a four foot by six foot space of your very own. We've put sweaters and blankets and towels along with you, toys to keep you company, food and fresh water, and still, in some Shawshank Redemption-esque effort, you tunneled your way out of there.
You make every effort to knock over the garbage and eat it, despite your bowl of dog food and the seventeen different kinds of treats that we provide for you.
You sometimes chase birds out into the road. Last week, at 8am, you were a quarter of a mile from the house on your way into the cornfield across the road, and there I was, behind you, still in my pajamas, flip-flops on my feet, with my 'just out of bed' hair, trudging through the ditch while the whole of Saunders County drove by. You see, you were hidden, so all the passing cars could see was a disheveled looking woman, talking to herself and calling out to no one, "Let's go get a treat!" When you finally decided to follow me home, I was so angry, I blocked you in the pantry. Five minutes later, you jumped up on the bed next to me and promptly laid your head on my lap and fell asleep. I forgot about the holes in the gates.
You tore holes in the window blinds at the foot of the bed because you like to lay there and look out the window at the yard.
You bark in the middle of the night at things I can not see, and then you dive under the covers when I go to investigate. Remember the time you hid under the bathtub and it took me 15 minutes to convince you to come out? At 2am?
You sometimes have dreams in the middle of the night that wake me up. I don't know anything about dog dreams, but on the off chance that you're having a nightmare, I wake you up. And you act all haughty because *I* disturbed *you*.
You love to go for rides, but you're scared of the window being rolled down.
You develop a severe case of AD/HD when we have company.
At one point in time, every single member of this family has used the phrase, "I can't get up, the dog is sleeping on me".
You take my side in every argument that I have. Never questioning who is right or wrong, you just follow me around, making sure I understand that you're on my side.
You've laid next to me when I was sick, looking at me like you were just as miserable as I was.
You keep me from being lonely.
You are happy to see me when I come home, whether I've been gone five minutes or five hours.
The last year of our lives has been fuller, funnier, and more interesting because of you.
We (I) named you for Leonidas of Sparta, from the movie 300. At one point in the movie, the Spartan King Leonidas says, "In the end, a Spartan's true strength is the warrior next to him. So give respect and honor to him, and it will be returned to you." Respect and honor, Leo. I'd say we're about even.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Tuesdays with Crazy
The scene opens on a balmy Tuesday morning at 5:15am. The Woman struggles to shut of the blaring alarm at her head, inching slowly off the bed, headed for the coffee pot. Never mind that it's her day off, and it's been nine hundred days since she slept in. No, never you mind that. The woman lays her head down on the kitchen counter and waits, watching her only heart's desire pour into the cup beneath the Keurig machine. She closes her eyes, briefly, until the sound of dripping is done. She adds her cream and sugar and takes her first sip. It's amazing.
Heading to the bathroom, she glances at herself in the mirror and realizes that she has hardened shredded cheese stuck to her cheek, because she lay her head on a counter that she forgot to wipe down before she went to bed very, very late last night. It's alright. Don't worry. She has her coffee. She sighs, deeply. It looks as though someone neglected to replace the roll of toilet paper again. It's alright. She'll take care of it.
The woman dresses herself. Sports bra, shorts, tank top, flip flops. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail and heads for the truck. Once outside, she realizes that it is 87 degrees with 70% humidity, and her hair does this funky curly-only-at-the-sides of her head thing that makes it kind of look like she is possibly growing wings above her ears. The good (?) news is, this is as cool as it's going to be all day. The bad news is, her family has been rocking the One Vehicle With No Air Conditioning venue since this time last summer. It's all good. Her husband bought her one of those Spray/Fan combo things. She's covered. (In sweat. At 5:30am)
The woman drops her husband off at work and heads back home, hoping against hope that she will have a chance to shower when she gets there. And, also, to refill her coffee cup. She is about ten miles from her house when the first cup of coffee decides it's done it's job for the day and fills her bladder almost to bursting. Ten miles. So close, and yet.......there's a tractor, slowly making his way through morning traffic.....finally able to pass him, she turns at the blinking yellow light and low and behold! What do we have here?! A train, stopped across the tracks. Two LONG miles from this woman's driveway. She does a careful, three point turn to make her way back to the busy highway, drives another mile down and narrowly escapes being smashed to little, tiny pieces by a semi-truck. Finally, blessedly, she is home.
Waiting at home for her are her four children two Grandpeeps, and her doggie. She thinks they will still be asleep. She is wrong. GrandBoy #1 comes around the corner, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and asks for breakfast. Daughter #3 comes down the stairs and smiles and hugs her mother and begins to question the plans for the day, specifically whether or not said daughter will be going to the pool. Daughter #3 thinks that maybe her sweet Mommy didn't hear her the first seventy-nine times she asked, so she continues to ask about the pool while GrandBoy #1 continues to ask for breakfast. The woman just watches the coffee hit the bottom of the cup and says goodbye to all of her showering dreams. She takes her first sip when GrandGirl joins the party. GrandGirl has urgent diapering needs. GrandBoy decides to try to locate a specific Matchbox car in a large bucket FULL of Matchbox cars by emptying the bucket into the middle of the living room floor. Daughter #2 makes an entrance, drops to the middle of the dining room floor and stretches out in a Zombie-esqe fashion, thus ensuring that GrandBoy #1 and GrandGirl will be asking several thousand questions about WHY this is happening. Doggie now has urgent bathroom needs that will wait for no Zombie, Daughter or Grandperson. The woman takes him to the yard, careful not to let him down to run around Zombie Daughter or the GrandPeeps, because Doggie has a social anxiety disorder which causes him to be unable to EVER sit still or stop licking the faces, noses or ears of the GrandPeeps, which makes the GrandPeeps VERY unhappy, indeed.
Outside, Doggie greets his Yard Cat friends (there are 5), relieves himself on the tire of the woman's truck, spots a bird off in the distance, and pretends that he has a shot in hell at catching the bird and takes off. The woman takes a deep breath and decides that, yes, despite his tendency to get on a lot of nerves, the family would, in fact, miss him greatly. She follows after him, barely able to see his tiny rear end disappear into the bean field. She tracks him down to the fifth row of beans, where he is laying claim to seventeen plants for his ever-growing empire. The woman whistles, threatens, cajoles, and begs her Doggie to come with her back to the house, where even at half an acre away, she can still hear the GrandPeeps asking for breakfast. The Doggie eventually decides to follow her back, stopping at every 10th blade of grass along the way, making a valiant effort to remind the other animals in the kingdom that Doggie's Empire is vast and well-tended. They are halfway back to the house when an insect that the woman is pretty sure is a first cousin to Mothra lands on the back of the woman's leg and bites/stings her. Doggie misinterprets the woman's simultaneous leg slap/arm wave/terrified screech as an "I Really Want To Play And Chase You Around The Yard Dance" and behaves accordingly. The woman has no time to mourn the loss of muscle control in her lower extremity, she has to act fast and grab a hold of the Doggie before he makes his way into the next county.
Back at the house, the woman examines the bite/sting on the back of her leg and can find no evidence of the bug bite whatsoever, ensuring that NO ONE, ever, anywhere, will believe what she just experienced. She hangs her head.
She feeds the GrandPeeps and Daughter #3, dresses the GrandPeeps, redresses herself, packs diapers, wipes, her purse, her phone and Daughter #3 and heads back outside into the humidity. GrandGirl goes into her car seat. GrandBoy #1 goes into his car seat. Daughter #3 (still asking about pool plans) goes into the passenger seat. Daughter #2 was supposed to have been coming along, but has since made her way back to her bed. (Hopefully. Possibly she only made it as far as the floor next to her bed. The woman forgot to check.) They drive, with no air conditioning, down the highway to the woman's Mother's house. During the journey, the GrandPeeps ask twenty-seven million times where the group is heading and why they are heading there. The woman stops answering. Daughter #3 is not as jaded as the woman, and therefore, continues to give the same answers to the same questions at the top of her lungs to the GrandPeeps, making the woman think that Daughter #3 should possibly have her head examined before starting fourth grade this year.
Upon arriving at their destination, the Woman must now engage in a battle of arms, legs, and car seat buckles to unload everyone and get them to the door. The woman's Mother answers the door in her pajamas. This is especially strange to the woman, because it is now nearly 8:30am, and the woman's Mother has a long history of preaching the benefits of early rising to the woman. The woman makes herself a cup of her Mother's coffee. The two of them take GrandPeeps and Daughter #3 outside to play, because Mother's yard is shady and it's only Almost Unbearable. While playing in the yard, a bug makes it's way into the woman's coffee and drowns. GrandBoy #1 finds this hysterical. The woman, less so. At 9:45am, they all head inside for a drink and to enjoy some good, old-fashioned air conditioning. The woman's Mother tells Daughter #3 and the GrandPeeps that there are cookies in the cookie jar, which is sitting on the counter. The woman tries to say No Thank You to her Mother, on behalf of the group, however, the Mother won't take no for an answer and insists on feeding cookies to the GrandPeeps before 10am. A move which assures the woman that her Mother is no longer the woman who raised her. In the woman's experience, her Mother believed that snacks containing sugar should be consumed by children between 2pm and 2:01pm.
The woman, once again, engages in Epic Car Seat Battles to place the GrandPeeps into the truck to leave, though it is made slightly more difficult by the sugar-induced spasms the GrandPeeps are now experiencing. The woman now realizes that she needs to put gas in the truck. She stops at a gas station, and because she is educated, and it is hot outside, she removes GrandPeeps from the car seats, takes them inside to pay for the gas, ends up buying half of the gas station, takes them back outside, returns them to the car seats, and heads for home. All the while, Daughter #3 has not stopped asking about what time the pool opens and when they will be going and who will be going with her. The woman is drenched in sweat and feels as though she may need to pull over to vomit before reaching her driveway. The GrandPeeps are in danger of falling into a sugar-induced coma in the backseat. They make it safely inside the blessedly cool house. Daughter #2 is fully awake and functional. Also, Son has now joined the land of the living. His first question to the woman is whether he will be able to go to the pool as previously planned.
The woman makes lunch while washing dishes and scraping hardened cheese off the counters. While Daughter #2, Son, Daughter #3, and the GrandPeeps eat, she folds a load of laundry. She finds that the Universe has rewarded her for doing the laundry of people who are perfectly capable of doing their own laundry by leaving $7 in her dryer. She is appropriately thankful. She shares the message on Facebook. While updating her status, GrandBoy #1 enters the room and informs her that, "Fun time is OVER." The woman laughs at him, and is promptly sent to time out. The fifteen seconds of 'time out' is blissful for the woman. It is exactly what she needed. Fifteen seconds to reflect on her life as a parent, grandparent, wife, daughter, maid, chauffeur, the list is endless. The woman is then informed that GrandGirl has another urgent diaper issue that requires immediate attention.
The woman tracks down Son, who has retreated to his video game paradise, and Daughter #3, loads them up and takes them to the pool, handing them her hard-earned $7 Laundry Lottery Winnings for snacks. Daughter #2 is left in charge of GrandPeeps. When she returns, the woman finds that Daughter #2 is asleep on the couch, as is GrandBoy #1. GrandGirl looks to be nearly dormant. The woman silently celebrates. She does not know what to do with this windfall. Shower? Nap? She decides to type up a quick blog entry.
Heading to the bathroom, she glances at herself in the mirror and realizes that she has hardened shredded cheese stuck to her cheek, because she lay her head on a counter that she forgot to wipe down before she went to bed very, very late last night. It's alright. Don't worry. She has her coffee. She sighs, deeply. It looks as though someone neglected to replace the roll of toilet paper again. It's alright. She'll take care of it.
The woman dresses herself. Sports bra, shorts, tank top, flip flops. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail and heads for the truck. Once outside, she realizes that it is 87 degrees with 70% humidity, and her hair does this funky curly-only-at-the-sides of her head thing that makes it kind of look like she is possibly growing wings above her ears. The good (?) news is, this is as cool as it's going to be all day. The bad news is, her family has been rocking the One Vehicle With No Air Conditioning venue since this time last summer. It's all good. Her husband bought her one of those Spray/Fan combo things. She's covered. (In sweat. At 5:30am)
The woman drops her husband off at work and heads back home, hoping against hope that she will have a chance to shower when she gets there. And, also, to refill her coffee cup. She is about ten miles from her house when the first cup of coffee decides it's done it's job for the day and fills her bladder almost to bursting. Ten miles. So close, and yet.......there's a tractor, slowly making his way through morning traffic.....finally able to pass him, she turns at the blinking yellow light and low and behold! What do we have here?! A train, stopped across the tracks. Two LONG miles from this woman's driveway. She does a careful, three point turn to make her way back to the busy highway, drives another mile down and narrowly escapes being smashed to little, tiny pieces by a semi-truck. Finally, blessedly, she is home.
Waiting at home for her are her four children two Grandpeeps, and her doggie. She thinks they will still be asleep. She is wrong. GrandBoy #1 comes around the corner, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and asks for breakfast. Daughter #3 comes down the stairs and smiles and hugs her mother and begins to question the plans for the day, specifically whether or not said daughter will be going to the pool. Daughter #3 thinks that maybe her sweet Mommy didn't hear her the first seventy-nine times she asked, so she continues to ask about the pool while GrandBoy #1 continues to ask for breakfast. The woman just watches the coffee hit the bottom of the cup and says goodbye to all of her showering dreams. She takes her first sip when GrandGirl joins the party. GrandGirl has urgent diapering needs. GrandBoy decides to try to locate a specific Matchbox car in a large bucket FULL of Matchbox cars by emptying the bucket into the middle of the living room floor. Daughter #2 makes an entrance, drops to the middle of the dining room floor and stretches out in a Zombie-esqe fashion, thus ensuring that GrandBoy #1 and GrandGirl will be asking several thousand questions about WHY this is happening. Doggie now has urgent bathroom needs that will wait for no Zombie, Daughter or Grandperson. The woman takes him to the yard, careful not to let him down to run around Zombie Daughter or the GrandPeeps, because Doggie has a social anxiety disorder which causes him to be unable to EVER sit still or stop licking the faces, noses or ears of the GrandPeeps, which makes the GrandPeeps VERY unhappy, indeed.
Outside, Doggie greets his Yard Cat friends (there are 5), relieves himself on the tire of the woman's truck, spots a bird off in the distance, and pretends that he has a shot in hell at catching the bird and takes off. The woman takes a deep breath and decides that, yes, despite his tendency to get on a lot of nerves, the family would, in fact, miss him greatly. She follows after him, barely able to see his tiny rear end disappear into the bean field. She tracks him down to the fifth row of beans, where he is laying claim to seventeen plants for his ever-growing empire. The woman whistles, threatens, cajoles, and begs her Doggie to come with her back to the house, where even at half an acre away, she can still hear the GrandPeeps asking for breakfast. The Doggie eventually decides to follow her back, stopping at every 10th blade of grass along the way, making a valiant effort to remind the other animals in the kingdom that Doggie's Empire is vast and well-tended. They are halfway back to the house when an insect that the woman is pretty sure is a first cousin to Mothra lands on the back of the woman's leg and bites/stings her. Doggie misinterprets the woman's simultaneous leg slap/arm wave/terrified screech as an "I Really Want To Play And Chase You Around The Yard Dance" and behaves accordingly. The woman has no time to mourn the loss of muscle control in her lower extremity, she has to act fast and grab a hold of the Doggie before he makes his way into the next county.
Back at the house, the woman examines the bite/sting on the back of her leg and can find no evidence of the bug bite whatsoever, ensuring that NO ONE, ever, anywhere, will believe what she just experienced. She hangs her head.
She feeds the GrandPeeps and Daughter #3, dresses the GrandPeeps, redresses herself, packs diapers, wipes, her purse, her phone and Daughter #3 and heads back outside into the humidity. GrandGirl goes into her car seat. GrandBoy #1 goes into his car seat. Daughter #3 (still asking about pool plans) goes into the passenger seat. Daughter #2 was supposed to have been coming along, but has since made her way back to her bed. (Hopefully. Possibly she only made it as far as the floor next to her bed. The woman forgot to check.) They drive, with no air conditioning, down the highway to the woman's Mother's house. During the journey, the GrandPeeps ask twenty-seven million times where the group is heading and why they are heading there. The woman stops answering. Daughter #3 is not as jaded as the woman, and therefore, continues to give the same answers to the same questions at the top of her lungs to the GrandPeeps, making the woman think that Daughter #3 should possibly have her head examined before starting fourth grade this year.
Upon arriving at their destination, the Woman must now engage in a battle of arms, legs, and car seat buckles to unload everyone and get them to the door. The woman's Mother answers the door in her pajamas. This is especially strange to the woman, because it is now nearly 8:30am, and the woman's Mother has a long history of preaching the benefits of early rising to the woman. The woman makes herself a cup of her Mother's coffee. The two of them take GrandPeeps and Daughter #3 outside to play, because Mother's yard is shady and it's only Almost Unbearable. While playing in the yard, a bug makes it's way into the woman's coffee and drowns. GrandBoy #1 finds this hysterical. The woman, less so. At 9:45am, they all head inside for a drink and to enjoy some good, old-fashioned air conditioning. The woman's Mother tells Daughter #3 and the GrandPeeps that there are cookies in the cookie jar, which is sitting on the counter. The woman tries to say No Thank You to her Mother, on behalf of the group, however, the Mother won't take no for an answer and insists on feeding cookies to the GrandPeeps before 10am. A move which assures the woman that her Mother is no longer the woman who raised her. In the woman's experience, her Mother believed that snacks containing sugar should be consumed by children between 2pm and 2:01pm.
The woman, once again, engages in Epic Car Seat Battles to place the GrandPeeps into the truck to leave, though it is made slightly more difficult by the sugar-induced spasms the GrandPeeps are now experiencing. The woman now realizes that she needs to put gas in the truck. She stops at a gas station, and because she is educated, and it is hot outside, she removes GrandPeeps from the car seats, takes them inside to pay for the gas, ends up buying half of the gas station, takes them back outside, returns them to the car seats, and heads for home. All the while, Daughter #3 has not stopped asking about what time the pool opens and when they will be going and who will be going with her. The woman is drenched in sweat and feels as though she may need to pull over to vomit before reaching her driveway. The GrandPeeps are in danger of falling into a sugar-induced coma in the backseat. They make it safely inside the blessedly cool house. Daughter #2 is fully awake and functional. Also, Son has now joined the land of the living. His first question to the woman is whether he will be able to go to the pool as previously planned.
The woman makes lunch while washing dishes and scraping hardened cheese off the counters. While Daughter #2, Son, Daughter #3, and the GrandPeeps eat, she folds a load of laundry. She finds that the Universe has rewarded her for doing the laundry of people who are perfectly capable of doing their own laundry by leaving $7 in her dryer. She is appropriately thankful. She shares the message on Facebook. While updating her status, GrandBoy #1 enters the room and informs her that, "Fun time is OVER." The woman laughs at him, and is promptly sent to time out. The fifteen seconds of 'time out' is blissful for the woman. It is exactly what she needed. Fifteen seconds to reflect on her life as a parent, grandparent, wife, daughter, maid, chauffeur, the list is endless. The woman is then informed that GrandGirl has another urgent diaper issue that requires immediate attention.
The woman tracks down Son, who has retreated to his video game paradise, and Daughter #3, loads them up and takes them to the pool, handing them her hard-earned $7 Laundry Lottery Winnings for snacks. Daughter #2 is left in charge of GrandPeeps. When she returns, the woman finds that Daughter #2 is asleep on the couch, as is GrandBoy #1. GrandGirl looks to be nearly dormant. The woman silently celebrates. She does not know what to do with this windfall. Shower? Nap? She decides to type up a quick blog entry.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Dream Apartment
There's a first floor apartment in a long gray building that stretches on, seemingly for miles. The walk way up to the front door is lined with the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen, bold and bright, a dizzying array of colors so perfect, it hurts my eyes to look at them. I reach the front door, always, always, searching for the correct key to put in the lock. In wrought iron, off to the left of the red door, in a scrolling print, it says 'Unit 9'. When I finally find the correct key, I open the door to a beautifully decorated apartment that smells like clean laundry and feels a lot like home. The emotions are always the same, its a welcoming, coupled with guilt that I haven't been here for so long, and a need to hurry and get back out again.
I am always searching for something. Sometimes an item of clothing, sometimes an errant car seat, once, a framed picture of my mother and father. Though, I've never had any idea of what item I am looking for until I happen across it.
There's a vibrant, extra long, indigo colored couch along one wall, and every time I visit this place, I have a need to stretch out upon it and take in my surroundings, but I fight against it and have never even sat upon that glorious piece of furniture. It's usually at this point that I have an impending sense of urgency, and I rush off past a wall of shelves that contain a truly staggering number of books and pictures and, oddly, a jewelry box that is ALWAYS open, the ballerina forever dancing to some tune that I don't recognize.
I take a right, past the shelves and enter the bathroom, it's spacious, and it's the only room in this place that the decor ever changes from visit to visit. I always move the shower curtain to the side, checking for something behind it, but I have never seen anything there.
Exiting the bathroom, I move to the right, once again, and suddenly am surrounded by every shade of purple I've ever seen. There's a bed, and a beautiful, gleaming, eight drawer dresser, but I have never made any effort of move towards them, I head straight for the closet door in front of me. When I open it, I leave the neat and orderly behind me, and move into chaos. Things are strewn about, piled and tossed carelessly around. It's mayhem. I know, with whatever powers I possess, that whatever I am looking for is in this place. It's huge. Bigger than all of the other rooms in the apartment, combined. I'm not scared. I'm resigned, and I always take a deep breath and feel overwhelmed but determined and I start my search.
While I don't have a concept of what it is that I am pursuing, I know that I will find it, that I will move a box, dig into a pile of discarded clothing, push aside a chair or an empty shelf and, there it will be, waiting to be plucked out of oblivion. I have such a feeling of elation when I finally find it. Then a moment passes, and I'm stuck with an almost crippling sadness because possessing this item means that I have to leave this place. I have a desperate need to turn to someone for comfort, but I am always alone here. If I've come with anyone, I've long since left them behind. I pull myself to my feet and dry my tears and take a long look around at the disorder that surrounds me on every side, and I turn and walk back to the door, but I always stop and follow the wall to the right. There's a staircase hidden in the corner. Whatever lies at the bottom of those stairs has never managed to lure me to attempt descend them. I stand at the top, staring down at darkness, and it seems like a lifetime passes. Then, I simply turn back, back through the purple room, polished and pretty, back into the living room and always, I take a second look at that magnificent indigo couch and promise myself, "Next time", and I leave with a click of the lock to whatever waits on the outside.
This place, this dream, it's my sanctuary. It's a gift to visit, but I never, ever, not once, look back on my way out the door.
I am always searching for something. Sometimes an item of clothing, sometimes an errant car seat, once, a framed picture of my mother and father. Though, I've never had any idea of what item I am looking for until I happen across it.
There's a vibrant, extra long, indigo colored couch along one wall, and every time I visit this place, I have a need to stretch out upon it and take in my surroundings, but I fight against it and have never even sat upon that glorious piece of furniture. It's usually at this point that I have an impending sense of urgency, and I rush off past a wall of shelves that contain a truly staggering number of books and pictures and, oddly, a jewelry box that is ALWAYS open, the ballerina forever dancing to some tune that I don't recognize.
I take a right, past the shelves and enter the bathroom, it's spacious, and it's the only room in this place that the decor ever changes from visit to visit. I always move the shower curtain to the side, checking for something behind it, but I have never seen anything there.
Exiting the bathroom, I move to the right, once again, and suddenly am surrounded by every shade of purple I've ever seen. There's a bed, and a beautiful, gleaming, eight drawer dresser, but I have never made any effort of move towards them, I head straight for the closet door in front of me. When I open it, I leave the neat and orderly behind me, and move into chaos. Things are strewn about, piled and tossed carelessly around. It's mayhem. I know, with whatever powers I possess, that whatever I am looking for is in this place. It's huge. Bigger than all of the other rooms in the apartment, combined. I'm not scared. I'm resigned, and I always take a deep breath and feel overwhelmed but determined and I start my search.
While I don't have a concept of what it is that I am pursuing, I know that I will find it, that I will move a box, dig into a pile of discarded clothing, push aside a chair or an empty shelf and, there it will be, waiting to be plucked out of oblivion. I have such a feeling of elation when I finally find it. Then a moment passes, and I'm stuck with an almost crippling sadness because possessing this item means that I have to leave this place. I have a desperate need to turn to someone for comfort, but I am always alone here. If I've come with anyone, I've long since left them behind. I pull myself to my feet and dry my tears and take a long look around at the disorder that surrounds me on every side, and I turn and walk back to the door, but I always stop and follow the wall to the right. There's a staircase hidden in the corner. Whatever lies at the bottom of those stairs has never managed to lure me to attempt descend them. I stand at the top, staring down at darkness, and it seems like a lifetime passes. Then, I simply turn back, back through the purple room, polished and pretty, back into the living room and always, I take a second look at that magnificent indigo couch and promise myself, "Next time", and I leave with a click of the lock to whatever waits on the outside.
This place, this dream, it's my sanctuary. It's a gift to visit, but I never, ever, not once, look back on my way out the door.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Teachable Moments
Yesterday morning, Zoe woke up with a Kinda Gross left eye. I live in the state of Denial, and I love it here....it's pretty and there's a lot of flowers.....so I assumed that the 'Maybe It's a A Spring Cold, Possibly Allergies' that she's had since last Thursday had irritated her eyes and I watched. It got progressively worse as the day went on. Kinda Gross turned in to Really Gross, and then she woke up this morning and skipped straight to Nasty Left Eye, Kinda Gross Right Eye. So, I packed up my bags and moved from Denial into Admittance. My kid has pink eye. In both eyes. (Overachiever!) We spent much of yesterday with me telling her to WASH YOUR HANDS!
I called the doctor's office at 8am today, made an appointment for both Zoe, and Austin, who doesn't have Nasty Eye problems, and off we went. For a Monday, the doctor's office was surprisingly on time and efficient. We were out and on our way to the pharmacy in a little over a half an hour.
The pharmacy is where the wheels fell off the cart a little.
The pharmacy is where Unhappy Lady was working.
Unhappy Lady, who told me that the prescription for Zoe's eye drops was going to be $84 and some change. She looked me up and down, and in a VERY condescending tone, asked if I would like for them to call the doctor to see if they could substitute something cheaper. I, very politely, said, "That would be great, if you could." She came back with a humpf, and told me it would be about fifteen minutes. I am a reasonably intelligent, adult woman. I know when someone is being snotty to me. I know when I am being judged, and I know that when her eyes looked at my left hand, she wasn't admiring my wedding band set. She was checking to see if I had one. So, I'm standing there, feeling judged, with two of my kids, and I thanked her and walked away.
The kids and I went to pick up a few other items while we waited, returning in fifteen minutes, and I approached Unhappy Lady, once again, to ask if the prescription was ready. She was so short with me, and so incredibly rude about telling me that the eye drops, were not, in fact, ready, that I wanted to take her snark, add some sarcasm, (it's my second language, after all) and shove it all back down her throat.
Then I glanced down and saw the (slightly disgusting) eyes of my daughter, and I looked back up and said thanks and took a seat on the bench.
About five minutes later, another pharmacy employee called Zoe's name and we went to the counter, paid $4 for the eye drops, and walked out the door.
Later, on the way home, Zoe and I had the following conversation.
"Mommy?"
"Hmm?"
"Why was that lady so mean?"
"I have no idea."
"Why were you so nice to her, after she was mean?"
"I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"What does that mean?"
"It means.... maybe she was having a really bad day, and I didn't want to make it worse."
"But didn't she make your day worse by being mean?"
"I guess, but my mom always said, 'two wrongs don't make a right'. That means that even if she was nasty to me, it doesn't make it any better for anyone if I'm nasty back to her."
"Was she mad because you didn't want to pay $84 for the eye drops?"
"I don't know, maybe, I guess."
"Do you always be nice to people who act like that?"
"Not always."
"Why?"
"Because I'm human. Because I have bad days, too."
"Maybe it helped her day that you smiled at her."
"Maybe. But for sure, it didn't hurt anything, and it didn't cost me anything, either."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"I'm glad you're my mom."
"I'm super lucky to be your mom, and I'm glad you're my kid."
So, Unhappy Lady, thank you for giving me the opportunity to teach my kid something. Believe me, this story could have gone in a completely different direction. I'm glad you were on our path today, I'm happy to have had the chance to smile at you, and I'm really grateful that you helped my family save $80, because my children have been raised to enjoy the finer things in life, like....food and lights. I hope your day got better. Mine absolutely did. I dropped the boy off at school, brought my Icky-Eyed girl home, gave her the discounted eye drops and watched Frozen. (Again.) I don't know what prompted your judgement, and truthfully, I don't care that much. I just, truthfully, and from the very bottom of my heart, hope you have a nice day.
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