Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

The Husbandly One is taking tomorrow off so that we can take the van in to be poked and prodded and see what exactly has happened. One of the problems with modern vehicles is even if you pop open the hood, you can't really see anything, because everything is sealed up in its own little compartment.

I popped it open this morning, and all I saw was an odd cap that didn't seem to belong to anything lying on top of an air hose. And when I looked under the car, I saw a rod-like thing hanging down and resting in the wheel well from somewhere up in the engine. This, by the way, isn't why I said the van threw a rod. I based that on the fact that when I started the van, and revved the motor a little to keep it running, it sounded like everything suddenly fell out, and then I heard this rhythmic banging sound... not good. Not good at all.

When THO got home, he popped the hood and took a look, and that's when we discovered the serpentine belt had also come very, very loose. As in, you couldn't even tell where it belonged.

Nope, not happy campers, not we!

Also, I can't get hold of the Nurse of Doom to get the results of the Impertinent One's blood work from Monday. Her antigen titer had dropped from 75 to 65 last week, and they want it down into at least the forties before she's allowed to go back to school, and even then, it will only be for half days. Oh well, we go back for a followup on Monday. Besides, I know the Nurse of Doom will only give the sheets a cursory lookover then say, "Everything looks fine, she can go back to school on Monday." This time, however, I won't be stupid enough to ask over and over, "Will you please look at page 3, and read the EBV VCA IGM line to me?" Because she won't know what the hell I'm talking about. Seriously.

She's a great X-Ray tech, gets clear, clean, non-blurry shots of even the most difficult patients, but good at reading test results? Not so much. So now you know why they keep her.

I won't even go into the drama that is moving my mom, and dealing with greedy oldest niece. Oy, what a month so far! And I think I might take the Sirius/Remus art down and tuck it away for a while. Just because. *sigh*

February, I am so far not impressed with you at all!

So, there I was, about to pop some chicken in the microwave for my lunch... and my phone starts ringing. It's Ms. Teacher calling me, telling me she got my message.

What? No, she had no idea the Impossible Son might be getting bullied! She's never seen anything, except maybe when they're standing in the lunch lines, and then they're only just kind of jumpy, wiggly, and just... acting like little boys!

What? Define acting like little boys? Well, they just can't keep still, can they? They jump, skip, kind of nudge each other, that sort of thing.

The playground? Well, they have a P.E. teacher for P.E., and I haven't been on the recess rotation this semester, I'm helping with testing and tutoring, but the teachers that are outside on the playground haven't reported any problems. Well, wait, I'll take that back. Last week, Mr. Manzie was put in time out for throwing a rock at another little boy. What? My goodness, how did you know, did X's parents say something to you? Oh, you mean X is the one you think is bullying Impossible? Well, I've never seen anything... but then I have 14 kids in my class. It's the biggest second grade class at our school, and it's a little hard to keep my eye on them all. And you know, the girls are so much easier to deal with than the boys!

I don't think I have to go any further, do I? The woman is oblivious, and she has mentioned to me repeatedly all year how overwhelmed she is by fourteen students!! Fourteen!!! Honey, when I was in elementary school, there were sometimes thirty six kids in my class with one teacher... and no teacher aides. And there were never less than thirty two. When I got into middle school, I went to a "magnet" school that boasted about smaller class size, which translated to 24 students to a teacher per class. And she's complaining about 14? Granted, at my son's elementary school, the usual class size is ten to twelve.

And the thing about the rock throwing? That is so unlike my son that I am stunned! What really blows my mind about this is the fact that we had to punish Mr. Manzie for doing the same thing last night. He threw a rock at one of the Fireman and Coffee Lady's kids. This, after the kid in question had been shouting something at him that the Impossible Son refused to discuss, but would get red in the face every time he thought about it, looking toward me with his lips pressed very tightly together before looking back down at his feet. In other words, he had put up with it as long as he could, until he finally snapped and threw a rock. The fact that he threw a rock at the kid who was bullying him doesn't seem to be much of a coincidence now.

The thing is, the Impossible Son is such an incredibly laid-back little guy. Stuff usually rolls off his back like water off a duck... but he can get his feelings hurt, and when it happens... he just wilts. He goes off to be by himself, just to get over his mad, and then he's back and all smiles again. He's very like me in that way. However, if you keep pestering him, and don't let him get over it... well... the results are never good. But it doesn't happen often, and it's very rarely physical.

*sigh*

I also asked about his math scores (again), hoping to get a more definitive answer. Ah, vain hope, how you fade against the light! Okay, that's me being overly dramatic, but, jays, I'm telling y'all... "Oh, he's doing fine, he's doing so much better, it's mostly a matter of him staying on focus, and yes, there's some test anxiety there, but I'm sure we can work him through it..."

Yes, because last semester, his math test scores were so much higher, and suddenly this semester, he's tanking, oh, yes, thank you, that all makes so much sense now! How silly of me to be concerned!!

I have higher hopes of the school counselor.

The Husbandly One wants to transfer him to another school. I pointed out to him that Mr. Manzie's problems are specific to one teacher, a teacher who is new at the school (and new to teaching), and not with the school per se. If I thought it was worth it, I would ask that he be transferred to another class, but we only have three and a half weeks left. He does have good friends in his class (his best friend is in the class), and I had told him this morning to stick with his friends and ignore anyone else. When I picked him up after school, he came racing to me as usual, and threw his arms around me, hugging me a little harder than he usually does.

"I really love you, Mom," he said, and I hugged him back, telling him I loved him dearly, dearly.

He grabbed my hand so we could start walking to the car. "My teacher said you called today. She said you called five times!!"

"Um... yes, yes, I did," I said, wondering what was going on.

He grinned and said, "I'm glad. I'm really glad!"

"Oh? Why?"

"Because she told me what a good job I'm doing in math, and that she's proud of how hard I've been working."

"I see," I said, wondering where this was going. "Well, so... how was today?"

"It wasn't too bad. I stayed with my friends, like you said, and I had a really good day." And he started skipping along happily beside me, chattering away like a little bluejay, and I wondered again about how resilient kids are, and that sometimes, all it takes to make me happy is to see him cheerfully skipping along beside me, talking about silly things, and making the odd little noises boys are so prone to making, all in an effort to gross me out...

I guess we'll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings...

I am the world's worst mother.

No, really... I am.

The Impossible Son has been having this vaguely persistent tummy ache for, well... close to two months now. He's been to the doctor, we've done blood tests, ultrasounds, the works. And... nothing. It is possible his appendix could be acting up, and we've been keeping an eye on it, but really, I suspect another cause.

Stress.

And I think there are two sources.

One, he's making 90's and 100's in every subject... except math. So, I've been going online to the school's website (which is not very user friendly) to check on things through the family access portal. I finally managed to dig my way in to looking at his daily grades.

His grades on his daily math class work are actually rather good. Mostly 100's, a few 80's here and there.

Then... you look at his score for the test on Friday. And they're all in the 50's. Mostly 55, and 56.

He's tanking on the tests, and that is bringing his grade down to an F, which sort of puzzles me, because when I averaged his grades out myself, counting the tests, it should be around a C. And that's making me wonder how much those test scores are counting toward his total math grade.

Not that I have a great deal of confidence in his teacher's ability to teach math because so far, what I've seen and heard makes me think she's one can short of a six-pack where math is concerned.

Then... there's the two boys in his class that are picking on him.

Did I mention the teacher seems to be avoiding me?

I've been trying to talk with her, meet with her, etc, and... she's not playing ball.

So my son has a stomach ache every morning before school, is completely miserable, and begs to stay home, and by the time I pick him up in the afternoon, he's happy, and the tummy ache is mysteriously gone. Until bedtime, when it's back, because the Husbandly One or I said, "Time for bed, you've got school in the morning!"

*sigh*

So, this morning, he begged harder than usual to stay home, saying he just couldn't do it, his tummy is really hurting, Mom, please, let me stay home today.

I look at him. His color is good, he's not over-salivating, or swallowing excessively. I give him kid Motrin for the headache, and a kid's Tums for the tummy ache (usually settles it right down) and say firmly, "Sorry, but you have to go to school. You have no fever, you're not throwing up... I think you're going to live."

The look of betrayal is hard to take, but I'm the mom, I've got to make tough decisions... I took him to school.

He was quiet most of the drive, until after I dropped off Miss Priss, and then he asked again, "Mom, really, my tummy really, really hurts, please, please take me home!"

I look at him in the mirror. Color is still good, no excessive swallowing, etc... "Dude, you have to go to school."

He tries a couple more times, and I don't back down, so he's quiet the rest of the way to school. Then, when he gets out of the car, he looks toward me, his bottom lip quivering, and his eyes are full of tears, and I feel like I'm sending him to his execution.

I am a vile betrayer. I am worse than a wicked step-mother. I am the world's worst mom.

*sigh*

Needless to say, I will be paying a visit to the school today. His teacher will talk to me. Because I really don't think I can do that again.

Whew, well, now that I've got a bit of emotional distance, I can give you an example of the problems my semi-hysterical sister threw in my lap. And to give her a bit of credit, she is so stressed and strained right now that I think she is close to snapping.

1. My dad is losing weight at an alarming rate. He's losing weight, because he's spending 10 to 12 hours at a time sleeping, with maybe one or two hours in between the sleep sessions. His speech is slurred, and he's having trouble getting around, and at times is very cranky. And the other morning, when my mom finally got him to wake up, he sat up, took her hand, and said, "Don't worry, My Taw, I asked, and we're 8th in line to get married."

He hasn't called my mother his "Taw" since 1947.

Mom freaked and thought he had had a stroke, because he didn't seem to know where or when he was.

After some very pointed questioning, I reasoned that it wasn't a stroke, it was the massive doses of hydrocodone he was getting. A whopping 1 to 2 TABLESPOONS as needed!!! AND Phenergin!!

Of COURSE his speech was slurred, he was having trouble getting around, having very vivid dreams, and was SLEEPING all the time!! Cut the dosage back to 1 to 2 TEASPOONS and it's amazing how much better he's doing!!!

He's supposed to go in tomorrow to have a feeding tube installed (makes him sound like a car getting options, doesn't it?), since he's still having so much trouble swallowing and eating.

2) Mom and Dad still don't have electricity at their house, though the people across the street do. I suspect that the transformers that route the power to my folks' side of the street have been trashed by the storm. When Alicia hit us in 1983, a tornado spawned by the storm drove a tree through four of the transformers and totally trashed the entire series, so they had to be completely replaced and re-routed. It took four weeks. The Practical Sister is frantic that our parents do not need to be in a house without electricity, and she is quite right. Dad is on a liquid diet, and they need to be able to use a blender, and the refrigerator. Mom is actually doing it all by hand right now.

Since the Blonde Sister is the only one who has electricity at this time, and my dad simply cannot handle the three and a half hour drive here to my house, my proposal is that after his surgery at M. D. Anderson tomorrow, the Blonde Sister should retrieve them from the hospital and bring them back to her house.

"But... that will piss Daddy off!" she protested.

Which I have no patience with at all. "Then he'll just have to be pissed off," I said, because, you know this is really starting to piss ME off. "Good grief, the man is 85 fucking years old, he's weaker than a three day old kitten and the worst he can do is just throw a hissy fit! What do you think he's going to do, yank off his belt and whip you with it? I don't think so!! Suck it up and get over it! If he yells at you, just let your eyes glaze over, nod in the appropriate places, tune him out, and just keep doing what you're doing. Because he does not need to be in an un-air-conditioned house after having had surgery, end of story!!"

*insert eye-roll here*

GEEZ!!

3) The Practical Sister's daughter, D, is 36, and bi-polar. And she is not even close to stable right now. She's taking lithium at the current time, and it is tearing her apart. First of all, it's destroying her teeth so she's in constant pain from that. She's already had 10 root canals, trying to save them. And yesterday, she had 6 more root canals done, to try to save more of them.

The lithium is also wreaking havoc on her gastro-intestinal tract, nauseating her, causing pain, bleeding, etc. And now, she's throwing up nearly constantly, which is also wrecking her teeth.

Her doctor says she's sorry, but this is the only medication D can tolerate, since she's also diabetic. I find this doctor's definition of "Tolerate" to be rather... loose. Because it doesn't look like she's tolerating it all that well, in my opinion.

In the meantime, the therapist she is seeing has told my sister, "oh, by the way, you can't leave D, because she's always better and more stable when you're around, so no going off for one or two hours for a bit of relief, and oh, yes, no conflict, because it's bad for D and makes her worse, oh, and don't argue with her or yell at her, either, because that will make her worse, and don't expect her to be any sort of parent to her kids, because that's too stressful for her, too, so you should take that over for her, oh, and did I mention, speaking of her kids, I told her husband he should divorce her and take the kids with him, because that's better for everyone concerned... well, except for you because you have to stay with her ALL THE TIME..."

The Practical Sister is so stressed and strained at having to deal with taking care of her daughter, her grandchildren and our parents, that she's about to break. And she won't break by going crazy. She'll break by having a heart attack or a stroke. And I don't think anyone except for my mother and myself has even come close to considering that.

My solution to that last part was a long talk with my mother yesterday. They have a home health care worker who comes in once a week. I got Mom to admit that she cannot keep doing things the way she's been doing them. She can't take care of Dad all by herself. She's exhausted. So, I convinced her to talk to both the home health care worker, and Dad's oncologist about hospice care. And help in contacting eldercare services in Houston for housekeeping assistance. And I'm going to keep working on her to get her to accept getting Meals on Wheels. She doesn't want to give up control of fixing their meals, but I asked her if there was any reason she couldn't liquify the food Meals on Wheels brings, and she couldn't really find anything to object to in that.

THO and I have also talked about taking Mom and Dad in to live with us temporarily, at least until power is restored at their home. These are solutions I can work on. I can't do anything about my niece, except listen when my sister needs to vent, and wish I could go to Houston to beat the crap out of both D's doctor and therapist, both of whom seem to have gotten their degrees from LooneyToons University and Medical School.

I just want to thank you all for your support over the last couple of days. Sometimes, the things the Universe seems to want to dump in my lap are a bit overwhelming, but it's been just that much easier, knowing there are people out there thinking of me and sending me hugs and other comfort. In this case, the thought does count, and I feel them all, every single one.

Love,

Auntie

Dear Real Life,

Please to stop rearing up your ugly little head and adding more drama to my life. I have all the drama I can handle right now, and really, I just don't think I can handle any more.

Really.

If anyone wants me, I will be hiding in my closet, with a paper bag over my head while reciting, "It's going to get better, it's going to get better, it's going to get better," until I either lose my voice, pass out from oxygen deprivation, or dissolve into tears. Whichever comes first.

No love, and much hysteria,

Auntie

I am sicker than a dog, y'all.

My throat's been sore the past couple of days, but I just figured it was (1) sinus drainage and (2) the fact they had a generic rather than Zyrtec-D at the pharmacy last time I went to buy more, and the generic just ain't doin' the job.

Then last night, it got worse, and I started losing my voice a bit, so I asked the Husbandly One to make me a hot toddy. Now, I have a very, very low alcohol tolerance, so THO is always rather careful when he makes toddies for me. I can always tell when he wants me to sleep because he'll make them a little stronger than usual, and we're both a little sleep deprived at the moment. So when I started feeling whoozy, I thought, okay, either he made this a little stronger than usual, or my tolerance level has dropped, because it's been a while since I've had anything alcoholic.

Finally, I woke him up and made him take the Impossible Son to his bed a lot earlier than I usually do, because I literally could not stay up any longer. He did, and decided to take an opportunity to get on the computer while I went to sleep. Next thing I know, I'm shivering under the covers and it feels like someone's been beating me all over with a bat. I had a FEVER!! After Advil, and a hot shower to relieve my body aches, I crawled back into bed to pass out for the rest of the night.

Now, my glands are HUGE, my throat is red and swollen, and while I have no fever at present (thanks to the Advil, again), I feel like crap. I suspect Strep.

Think I'm going to beg THO for a slushy. Because my throat HUUUUUURTS!!!

*whimpers and curls back up under the quilt*

My sister emailed me this morning. The family dinner this weekend has been indefinitely postponed. My oldest niece (age 36) tried to take her life last night. She didn't succeed. She's in ICU.

I'm handling it pretty well, because truthfully, I'm not surprised. The only thing that does surprise me is that it didn't happen sooner. She's bipolar and ... been in a slump for a while. I had hoped she'd pull out of it. She's in therapy, and her mother and her husband kept assuring me that that, plus the medication, was making a difference. Except the medication is tearing up her gastrointestinal tract, and dissolving the enamel on her teeth, thus causing nearly constant pain.

*snort*

Like I said... I'm not surprised. Though it would have been awfully nice to have been proved wrong this time.

You know it's time for glasses when you're driving down the road and approach your vet's office, look casually at his marquee and think, "Wha-a-a-a-at??? Snail Avocado Trancing???"

Then, when you're almost on top of it, you see it says, "Snake Avoidance Training."

...sigh...

Our kitchen sink drain stopped working last Friday.

*grumbles*

The Husbandly One thought a steel wool pad that had accidently gone down the garbage disposal was the culprit. Oh, if only things were that easy! Well, my solutions didn't work, THO's solutions didn't work, so it was time to call a plumber. THO's attempts with a plumber's snake had proved there was a blockage, but it wasn't an SOS pad.

So, the plumber came yesterday. Gets his big, MOTORIZED snake and sends that into the pipe. It goes through the bend, goes down past the first turn, hits the second... and the cord starts wrapping around the plumber's big arm.

Nope, not a good sign.

He tried various angles, tried peering into the pipe, and then said, "Is this house post and beam?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well, that's good," though I can see he's not wildly enthusiastic about crawling under our house. Well, to tell you the truth, neither am I!

So, he crawls under, knocks around, and then... comes out, filthy and sweaty. And says the Words of Doom.

"You have a broken pipe."

*slumps*

And no, it's not the PVC pipe from our house. It's the ancient, cast iron pipe that was probaby laid back in, what, 1883? Or 1922. Or 1950, though I don't think they were still using cast iron for water pipes then, but who knows? Anyway, it has rusted through, and fallen in on itself, and is blocking out-going water from the kitchen sink. This means either involving the city and lots of digging, delays, and MONEY, not to mention dealing with the Good Old Boys at City Hall (I don't do so well with Good Old Boys)... or tying the line into our washing machine's drain, with some trenching under the house, and much less money.

Guess which option we chose?

This means washing dishes on the back porch for now. In a big wash-tub, you know, the kind your great-grandma did her laundry in?

Yay whoopee yay.

Oh, and I went to the dentist today to get my last crown put in, thought, "Great, I'm done until next year!"

Suuuuuure...

"Mrs. J, you'll need to come in again. One of your older fillings is crumbling and needs to be replaced."

O_O

"Um, can we put it off until next year? When our insurance starts over again??"

The assistant smiles sweetly. "Sure, if you don't mind having a root canal, as opposed to a filling."

*sigh*

Yeah. So, we're looking at a bill of between $700, and $1000 for the plumbing (yes, yes, I know that's actually pretty good. I know my parents paid twice that when they had a similar problem last year, and it went HIGHER becaues the city got involved), and then another $230 for my filling.

Ay-yi-yi!!!

Roller-coaster... off... now... please?