To Hell and Back

A week ago, one of my good friends and former neighbors sent out a group e-mail announcing that they were spending two days at Schlitterbahn, did anyone want to join them. In a moment of sleep-deprived insanity, I sent the e-mail to B and asked if he thought I should take the kids. I figured he’d say “Are you kidding me? That place is expensive! We need blinds in the windows before we need to go there.” Instead, his reply was, “Sounds good. Have fun.”

He basically threw me under the bus.

Then I made the mistake of telling the kids about it. And once you tell kids about a trip to Schlitterbahn, there is no turning back. They spent the week singing the song from the commercial, and the big girls regaled Campbell with stories of HOWAWESOMEITISTOGOTHERE!

I decided to approach the trip calmly: I made plans for meeting our friends and parking, packed a cooler with food, and organized my pool bag. And it worked, at first. We rode rides, we met up with our friends right on schedule, we stayed together as a group, the little kids didn’t freak out. It was all mostly good. It was also hot and crowded. And we walked more than we rode. Did I mention it was hot and crowded? I get panicky in crowds and heat, especially when trying too keep my eye on four kids and five inner tubes, and I may have had some not very good moments, but I’m not saying.

As we went along, I mentally checked off items on my Schlitterbahn Bingo card:

• Women with leathery skin and stretched out tattoos – check
• Shirtless men with beer guts sitting in tubes scratching themselves – check
• Walking proof that inbreeding is a bad thing – check
• A toddler in the kid pool wearing a regular diaper seven times its normal size – check
• Band aids in the pool – check
• Teenage boys in packs acting like jackasses – check
• Shrieking teen age girls who should be told that wearing a fringed bikini top is never a good idea – check
• Giant fake boobs on display – check
• T-shirts with horribly offensive drawings and slogans on them – check

But we survived, and the kids had a lot of fun. We all got Slushees and giant pretzels and finished the day absolutely waterlogged. I was so grateful that my neighbor and her family were there with us. They helped me keep track of everyone. Because of them, the big girls were able to go off and ride the big, fancy rides while I hung in the little kid pools with Campbell and Elizabeth. Campbell has decided he wants to live at Schlitterbahn. Shudder.

Now my kids can never ever say, “You never take us anywhere!” ever again. On the other hand, I think I’m going to get asked “When can we go back?” every half hour between now and the end of the summer.

No pictures. I deliberately took myself offline for the day and left my phone in the car. It was nice to be disconnected.

False Advertising

People out here in Dripping seem to have odd ideas about names for their business establishments.

A few weeks after we moved out here, B mentioned that he was looking for a good, local place to get his hair cut. I told him I’d seen a place in downtown called The Barbershop, complete with the striped pole outside. I left for a work meeting and forgot all about it, until a text from B arrived: “The Barbershop you told me about is a bar. I walked in there at 11:00 am asking for a haircut.” I may have snort laughed in the middle of the meeting.

For the past few months, I’ve been driving this place called “Up in Smoke” and figured it was a barbecue joint. One day guys were out back making their own charcoal. So when B asked for barbecue for dinner, I thought it would a perfect place to try. When we pulled in, there were lots of cars in the parking lot, which I figured was a good sign. I left Ella in the car and waltzed into the place to find a dark, smoky honkytonk filled with drunk people. I asked a woman sitting at the bar if there was barbecue there, and she looked at me like I was an alien. I walked out quickly before there were problems, grateful that I hadn’t waltzed into a bar with my 11 year old.

On the way home, we stopped at a second place that had a sign outside that said “Real, Old-Time Barbecue,” and I made Ella get out of the car with me. Turns out it was a liquor store and there was a wine tasting going on. Everyone stared as the guy at the counter directed me to their barbecue section – a cooler of commercially packaged sausage and brisket. We left quickly, and I felt like the mother of the year taking my daughter to her first liquor store.

We did finally find a real barbecue joint in Dripping, but it took a few U-turns and driving slowly past places to figure out if they were really what they said they were. When we finally stopped, we knew we were in the right place based on the smell of barbecue in the parking lot. I was very relieved to walk in to a clean, well-lighted, family-run establishment. And the food was delicious.

There’s a new place opening up near us called “Pieous.” With the luck I’ve been having, it will probably be a bible store.

Not my imagination

So I haven’t been feeling well the past few weeks, and it’s been getting worse. It’s not that I feel sick; instead, I just feel off. And tired. Oh so tired. Not in an “I have four kids and don’t get enough sleep” way but in an “I don’t think I can actually walk across the room” way. I feel like my body is filled with cement and that I’m breathing at altitude. I have asthma, and this is not asthma related. I just can’t get enough air in. To add to the fun, my hands tremble so badly that I have trouble knitting and typing, and I keep losing my balance and tipping over. Then there’s the whole blood pressure bottoming out stuff. And getting words mixed up; just a few minutes ago I told Ella to help get Elizabeth some groceries. I meant grapes, not groceries.

Basically, I’ve been a mess.

I haven’t said anything about to anyone, not really even B, because it’s just such a vague list of symptoms. There’s no one big thing I can point to. And because, oh my dog I do not need anything else to deal with right now. Between my migraines and depression, and Ella’s knee, and B’s ongoing stuff, I just don’t have the bandwidth for more. I ignored the symptoms and powered through.

And then it got worse. I woke up Monday feeling awful. I couldn’t walk up the stairs without gasping, let alone run. FeeBee is very upset with me. Yesterday I finally called the doctor and made an appointment for this morning.

I felt kind of silly going in and listing the symptoms for the nurse. I told her I felt a bit like a Victorian woman who just needs smelling salts and a fainting couch. She laughed and then sat down to take my blood pressure, which was low. Then she looked at me hard said, “Sweeetie – you look peaky. I don’t know how else to describe it. Peaky.”

I wanted to burst into tears and hug her. The relief that someone saw what I was feeling in some small way was overwhelming.

My doctor has ordered a full complement of blood work, which I have to do tomorrow morning after not eating for 12 hours. He’s guessing that my thyroid’s out of whack, which would make sense given that my mom has had thyroid problems, and her sister had thyroid cancer, and my cousin had major problems. It seems to run in the family. He also referred me to a cardiologist for a heart scan, just to be safe. I’m fine with being safe.

In a strange way I feel better knowing that there really might be something wrong. This isn’t my imagination or my being weak and unable to power through. So I’ll cut myself some slack, rest as much as I can, wait for lab results, and hope for conclusive results.

Running again

I’m running again, have been for weeks now. But I didn’t want to say anything and jinx myself. The difference now is that I’m not keep track in any shape or form of how far or how long or how often I run. I have set absolutely no goals in terms distances or times, and I haven’t registered for any races. I even pulled my name out of the lottery for the NYC marathon. The thought that I had a chance of even getting an entry was making me panic.

It’s all because of FeeBee. When I get up in the morning, she expects me to take her out for a walk. And those walks slowly morphed into runs. Now when FeeBee sees me get my running shoes on, she does backflips around the house and howls. I have to get her out the door to keep her from waking up the entire house.

FeeBee is the best coach I’ve ever had. She does not care that I didn’t get enough sleep or that it’s dreadfully hot and humid. If I don’t put her on the leash and take her for at least three miles, she follows me around all day, heaving big doggy sighs.

I’ve even made it down to the Trail the past two Friday mornings to meet up with running friends. I have no hope of being able to keep up with them, but it’s nice to see other people. Plus, Friday runs now end with a dip in Barton Springs, which is a lovely way to start the day.

For now, my only goal is to keep running, or even walking, through the summer. That way when things cool off in October, I won’t be starting from scratch. I think I can handle that, with FeeBee’s help.

It seemed like a good idea at the time

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or you don’t have at least one astronomy-obsessed kid, you knew that yesterday Venus went between us and the sun. It won’t happen again for another 105 years. (Ella is sitting next to me making sure I get the facts right.)

We failed in our quest to have solar film delivered to the house in time to see the transit, which Ella has reminded me of about every 5 minutes since she found out that overnight shipping isn’t always overnight.

Anyway. There was an article in the paper about how the UT Astronomy Outreach group was sponsoring a transit viewing on the roof of one of the buildings on campus. Thinking it would be a great field trip, and remembering my resolution to actually get out and do things, I loaded my four into the car. Then the new neighbor, who isn’t actually a neighbor but is just housesitting and boy are we going to miss them when they leave, said that her oldest son had really wanted to go, but she just couldn’t get herself together, so she promised them barbecue for dinner. So I did what any sane, reasonable mom of four would do, I offered to take him with us. Because really, once you are dragging four kids, one of whom is still on crutches, on an insane adventure, what’s one more? For the record, he was the best behaved member of our group.

We made it in to UT with time to spare and hoped to find street parking near the building. There wasn’t any, so we had to park in a garage a few blocks away and then hike uphill. Poor Ella was struggling on her crutches and had to rest every few minutes.

I knew we were in trouble when we walked into the building and found ourselves at the back of the line just to get on an elevator to the top floor. And then it got worse. We got off the elevator into a packed hallway, where the lined doubled back on itself. Ours was the last group that was allowed to stay in the hall, everyone after that got herded into the stairwell, where the line went down multiple floors. If we had been five minutes later, we would have been in real trouble.

Fortunately, the kids, even the little ones, were really good, much better than I expected. I can’t say the same for some others in the hall. It was crowded and hot and humid, but there were interesting posters on the walls, and we saw some friends.

At one point, when the line doubled back next to a window, there was a volunteer with specially coated glass letting people look at the sun. I was amazed that we could see Venus, no magnification required. The distances and sizes just baffle me.

After more than an hour, we made it on to the roof, where we stood in more lines. The astronomy group did a good job, though. They had lots of volunteers and telescopes, plus binoculars with special filters, eclipse glasses, and a pinhole viewer. The kids kept busy and were able to see the transit several times.

Despite the lines and the heat and the crowds and the broken payment machine at the parking garage that wouldn’t let anyone out, it was worth the trip. Ella, Lily and the boy next door had a good time. Campbell and Elizabeth got P. Terry’s for dinner, so they considered it a successful trip.

And I get “Mother of the Year” award for making it all happen.

I can’t keep up

I am so far behind on so many things that I’m kind of paralyzed. I don’t know what monumental task I should attempt first.

Before we moved, back when we were living in a tiny house, I thought keeping a big house clean would be easy. I told everyone that it would be so much better when I had a place for everything and everything in its place and I wasn’t trying to cram six people and their belongings into too small of a space.

Oh how naïve I was.

Yes, we do have places for everything. But I can’t get the kids to put things in those places. We have tons of storage, but we moved in so quickly that everything just got thrown in closets with little to no organization. I’m still rearranging things. And the kids have their own rooms in which to keep their own stuff, but their stuff still wanders the house.

I feel like I spend my days constantly picking up the stuff they drop.

Then there’s the actual cleaning. Just vacuuming the downstairs takes forever, and I have to do it almost daily thanks to a black dog and four messy kids. Keeping four bathrooms clean has defeated me. A new neighbor came over today for an impromptu playdate, and it occurred to me that I didn’t have a single bathroom that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have her use.

My dining room is filled with folded laundry. B, half joking, asked if I wanted him to turn the whole room into laundry and craft space. I’m still considering it. The laundry on the dining room table is just the tip of the iceberg. The laundry room itself is piled with clean laundry, most of it not in baskets. My kids have gotten used to digging through mountains of clothes to get dressed.

This Sunday I mowed the lawn. One of my friends asked why I wanted to mow the lawn considering everything else I need to get done. My response: “It’s the only chore I do that stays done for more than five minutes.”  Another friend suggested hiring a cleaning lady. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Because she’d clean, the house would be spotless, and then one of the kids would spill something on the floor and I’d lose my mind.

I think unfolded laundry and a little dirt is better than a nervous breakdown. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Open letter to the people at our neighborhood pool

Dear neighbors,

In order to prevent me from bitch-slapping you and getting banned from the pool this summer, here are some things to remember:

1. Watch your kids – There is no lifeguard at our pool. That means you are actually responsible for the safety of your kids. Sitting with your back to the pool so as to catch the maximum number of rays is stupid and unsafe.
2. Don’t put your kid in a floatie – You may think they are safe since they have some sort of flotation device on them. But they aren’t. If you’ll look closely, the pink, Dora water wings are not USCG certified flotation devices. They are NOT the same thing as life jackets. Putting your kids in water wings or floaties is dangerous. It gives both you and your kid a false sense of security. He thinks he’ll be fine in the pool no matter what, and you think you don’t have to watch him. When I was four, I sank to the bottom of a pool because my floatie popped off. Fortunately, my parents were sitting right there and Runnerdude fished me out.
3. No cigarettes or glass bottles -  Seriously, go outside the fence to smoke. No one wants to sit outside at the pool and smell that. And no glass should go without saying. You drop that beer bottle, glass goes everywhere, and some barefoot little kid ends up needing stitches. If you insist on drinking a beer at the pool, drink out of a can or a plastic cup.
4. Expect to be splashed – If you are sitting on the edge of a pool full of kids with your feet in the water, you cannot get mad if you get splashed by kids. If you don’t want to have your hair and make-up ruined, get out of the splash zone.
5. First come, first served  – No fair dragging all the chairs and lounges and tables and draping them with towels to reserve them for friends who may or may not show up at some point during the day. Also, it’s rude to put a pop-up cabana right next to the pool for your private party; you’re blocking traffic.
6. Turn down the music – It’s great that you like Christian death metal music, but I don’t. The pool is noisy enough without having to listen to competing boom boxes. Use headphones.
7. Watch out for little kids – If you turn your 14 year old and his four buddies loose with super soakers and they knock down my little kid in the baby pool, there’s going to be a problem. And if your kid pushes mine in the pool, I’m going to say something to him. I don’t care that you don’t believe in saying “No.”
8. Put your boobs away – We’re all thrilled that you have such expensive ones, but that itty-bitty bikini wouldn’t even be appropriate on the beach in Brazil. Plus, you’ve got to be pushing 50. I’m not saying you don’t have a great body or that you have to wear a sensible skirtini. Just cover up a little please.
9. It’s been 25 years – You are not still a studly high school football player. Please stop crashing into other swimmers while you play catch with your buddies, dude.

Seriously, it amazes me how poorly people behave at the neighborhood pool. It’s like their manners and common sense dissolve in chlorine. I came home from the pool this morning so worked up that B suggested, very gently, that maybe I not go back when there were crowds. I think he’s afraid he’s going to have to bail me out.

What gets me the most, are the dangerous conditions that parents put their kids in. They turn little kids who can’t swim loose in the pool and then walk away. The water may only be 18 inches deep, but kids can still drown.

I spent my high school years as a life guard and swim instructor. In college I became Water Safety Certified, which meant I could teach other people to be life guards. I ran a summer swim program for hundreds of kids. I take pool safety seriously.

Twice I have been involved in pool emergencies. The first was when I was coaching at UF. I walked out of my office to hear the life guards shouting. I called 911 and then got in line to take turns with rescue breathing. One of the rec swimmers had been practicing holding his breath on the bottom of the pool. He was an experienced swimmer and SCUBA diver, but he still died. In a pool. Surrounded by life guards and swimmers. EMS was on the scene in three minutes. He didn’t splash and shout and flail around. He very quietly just sank to the bottom.

The second was during swim lessons. I was supervising several groups of instructors and kids, when a little girl, who was playing around out of her instructor’s line of sight, bounced herself off the step and into deep water. By the time I fished her out, her lips were blue. Fortunately, she immediately coughed vomit and water all over me and started screaming for her mother. But another 30 seconds, and it would have been a different story. As with the other guy, she slipped under the surface without any splashing or flailing around.

Please be safe out there.

And don’t be assholes.

It’s always something

To quote the late, great Roseanne Roseannadanna, “It’s always something. If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.” She was right, and, quite frankly, I’m tired of it.

Just as I thought we were making real progress with the stuff that’s going on with Ella, just when I thought we were going to make it to the end of the school year relatively intact, just when I let my guard down – Whammo!

The school nurse called Tuesday morning to tell me that Ella had taken a bad step during PE and was in the office complaining that her knee hurt. I asked how bad she thought it was, and the  nurse said she thought it would be fine after a little ice and elevation. I told her to call me if it seemed like Ella was still in pain. And then I didn’t think about it again.

Until Ella hobbled off the bus, her face white with pain. She had spent the whole rest of the day, gimping around and trying not to cry. My heart just broke, and I said a few unkind things in my head about the nurse.

I called the doctor’s office yesterday, and they wanted to see Ella. So I warned my editor that I might be late to join in a conference call, packed my computer and the kids into the car, and headed into town.

Fortunately, our doctor’s office is small, and there’s rarely a long wait. The doctor saw us right away and recommended x-rays. I had to load everyone back in the car to drive across the street, because Ella could only hop along, not walk. She was quite pitiful.

I managed to keep the littles entertained in the waiting area while Ella had x-rays done, and then, miracle of miracles, the pharmacy in the building had Ella-sized crutches in stock.

The x-ray didn’t show any fractures, but there’s definite signs of soft tissue damage in Ella’s knee. It could be an ACL or meniscus tear. Or it could just be swelling. The only way to tell for sure is an MRI.

I solicited recommendations for orthopods from friends and started making phone calls. Unfortunately, the soonest I can get her in with someone who takes our insurance is next Wednesday.

By bedtime last night, Ella was in real pain, even moving her knee hurt her. She resorted to scooting up and down the stairs on her rear instead of using her crutches. The poor thing couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep in.

She’s at home this morning, and the swelling and pain have gone down. My hope is that there’s nothing wrong that a few days of rest can’t fix, and she’ll be up and around again. But I’m not holding my breath.

It’s always something.

The day was seized

Knittergran was in town for the weekend, and we kept her very busy. Saturday was one for the books.

We started the day by heading in to Lily’s spring ballet recital. Because I wasn’t sure about traffic and parking, we left the house pretty early, so early that we had 45 minutes to spare. To keep Elizabeth and Campbell from destroying Ballet Austin, we wandered over to the farmers’ market for coffee, lemonade and breakfast tacos for all.

Look at me! Wearing an actual dress. Elizabeth’s attire got plenty of laughs and comments.

The ballet recital went off without a hitch. Lily had her serious ballet face on through the whole thing. Afterwards, we gave her flowers and presents, and she was just thrilled to be the center of attention.

From ballet we headed to South Congress for lunch at Guero’s. I don’t know what I was thinking braving South Congress on a nice Saturday. There were hipsters and tourists and hippies everywhere. We got the last available table at Guero’s, which was packed and noisy. Fortunately, they know how to turn tables there, and lunch was delicious and fairly fast.

Because we were within smelling distance of a yarn store, Knittergran insisted on a walk down to Hill Country Weavers. It was quite a challenge keeping four reluctant, tired kids together in the crowds, but we managed. I didn’t even try to go yarn shopping. Campbell and I sat on the swing on the front porch of the store and watched the crowds go by.

Hill Country Weavers is right next to the Hey Cupcake trailer, so of course we had to get cupcakes. Their new John Lemmon is to die for, by the way.

Knittergran wanted to stop in one more store, but the littles were DONE. I took them back to the car while Ella and Lily went shopping with Knittergran. And then we headed for home.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the day’s adventure. Knittergran, ages ago, had promised to buy Ella a sewing machine, and Ella decided that Saturday was the day. We did research online and found the machine we wanted at Walmart. According to their site, they had one available in a store about 30 minutes from the house. So off we went, Elizabeth in tow.

It turned out that the machine they had in stock was the floor model, which they weren’t allowed to sell us. So we went to Target, and we ended up empty handed there, too. But we did get a rug, curtains and a lamp for Ella’s room, a lamp for Elizabeth’s room, and curtains for Lily’s room. And some cute shoes for me.

I don’t remember the last time we had such a busy day. Knittergran is going to collapse from exhaustion when she gets on the plane today. Campbell and Elizabeth will miss their constant audience.

Finally

I am terrible at buying presents for my husband. He ends up returning, giving away or not wearing whatever I manage to buy him. In my defense, he is incredibly picky about clothes given that he lives in shorts and polo shirts. I marvel at my friends who can buy clothing for their husbands. The only way I can do that is if I text him a picture of the item from the store for pre-approval. And even then, there’s a strong chance whatever it is will just get tossed into the back of the closet.

There have been a few successes, like the final season of the Sopranos on DVD, a sling player, and a book here and there. But the misses have been epic – “Why did you think I’d like a sprinkler that looks like a tractor for my birthday?”

This year, though, I scored big time. B loves popcorn, as in would eat it every day loves popcorn (as long as it’s not microwave popcorn). We have a cupboard in the new kitchen just for popcorn supplies. B’s beloved air popper died about a month ago, and he put a new one on my shopping list. It turns out that air poppers are hard to find in stores – Target, Walmart and HEB don’t carry them.

But then . . . I decided to look for an industrial size popcorn popper, like they have at carnivals and fairs. We’ve rented them a few times for parties, and B has always loved having one in the house.

After some searching and calling rental places about used ones, I found a brand new one for a steal online. I did double check with B before I hit “buy,” but we kept it as a surprise for the kids.

Ella correctly guessed that I had gotten a new popcorn machine, but she figured it was just another air popper. So when she and Lily came home from school and found this on the dining room table, there was great joy and celebration.

We now eat popcorn every single day, and our house constantly smells like a cheap movie-theater. But I finally managed to give B a birthday gift he likes.