Creepy Shower

There is something about me this year that is apparently very attractive to arachnids.  I am not particularly fond of our 8 legged friends.  I respect them.  I appreciate the job they perform.  I even go so far as to leaving one or two around the house because when they move in, other crawlies who freak me out way more, move out.  If they don't move out, Creepy shows wonderful hospitality and invites them to dinner.  I'm all sorts of good with that. However, I do not wish to get up close and personal or cuddly with them.  I certainly do not wish to share a shower with one!

After a sleepless night and a pain filled afternoon (I fell asleep at 8am and slept through until 3pm), I was tired of wandering about the house alone in a funk.  I was on the B list of invites.  The afterthought.  The "we're already here and oh, she's home alone so we might as well invite her" invitation to the party.  Generally maintaining a tight budget, and having holidays where proper etiquette calls for gift giving, the budget is definitely constrained.  This leads to limited options. 

The list of possibilities turned towards, "What do I need?"  Cat food.  Always need cat food.  Coffee.  The can in the kitchen is running low.  I need creamer to go with the coffee.  I love me some java!  Food, "people food," of the vegetation variety.  I am seriously lacking in the vegetable department of my diet lately here.  Running low on some toiletries, too.  Oh, and TP. 

I need more toilet paper as well since I have a lovely little nephew (Thing 2) who pretends to be a cat while he sits on the throne with his drawers around his ankles singing (he still sings while he poops, but at least now he closes the door), and unrolls it all into a crumpled heap on the floor.  I will roll it up for him to use.  Occasionally, HE will roll it back up - usually into a wad of nastiness, soaking wet, after he uses it as a submarine IN the toilet.  Yeah.  NOT using that.  I am not wiping my sacred areas with le papier hygenique after it has been so disrespected on the dirty floor that they wander about on after walking in chicken poop outside, nor after it has drifted along in a sea of l'ocean de toilet. Nope. I stash a "private" roll for personal use in a secret location in the potty room.

Being a Sunday, stores close earlier.  Bummer. :-( My options again have dwindled.  My preference would have been Petco for the cat food where I can grab the HUGE bag of Blue dry food for my babies.  Having 6 cats to feed, the huge bag is a good thing.  They also have more options in the canned food department, and way more in the kitten formulations.  Everyone, except Seiji, is still under a year old and needs the extra calcium.  Dollar Tree is a great option for a lot of the things I need, but again, time constraint.  This pretty much leaves Walmart for 24 hour one stop shopping convenience.

The pain meds were beginning to kick in (YAY!) and raising my funk just a wee bit.  How to raise it more?  A bit o' pampering!  I was thinking a nice shower, shave, some lotion/body oil, maybe my Foot Works cherry ice sloughing stuff for my tootsies...oh yeah!  Off we go!  Into the bathroom, brushing through the mop of curls in preparation for a nice shampoo and deep conditioning, gathering supplies such as a brandy new razor and making sure there's enough shave gel left, enough Lavender body wash, my tousle hair products...  I did a pre-requisite facial complete with Cranberry Pomegranate exfoliant scrub and plunked in my contacts so I could see what I was shaving (ALWAYS safer that way, I have nicked things that should NEVER be nicked shaving blind before).

I set the controls for a nice lukewarm shower.  I pulled the doo-dad to switch it from tub to shower nozzle.  I returned the curtain to its closed position to maintain the waterfall IN the tub and not all over the floor.  Jammers off, slippers off, and into the warm, wonderfulness I stepped.  Ahhh!  Rinse the stress away!  I let the water caress my shoulders, my back, my chest, and brought my leg up to wet my thigh...

Why are there legs scurrying to hide under the shower curtain? :-/  Deep breath.  Why are the legs so BIG?  Deeper breath.  Ok, Donna...courage!  Bravery.  Channel it, girl!  I took another breath, closed my eyes, prayed a bit, and then carefully moved the curtain a bit to the side.  HOLY $&^!!!!!  That bugger is GINORMOUS!

There, staring at me, was a spider.  Not just any spider. A HUGE spider.  The body alone was a good inch in diameter.  The legs?  Oh yeah, those were some legs!  This bugger would have NO problem hitching a ride down the highway!  I did not have the ability to jump into my clinical, scientific brain and get out a measure to check it exactly, but my best educated guesstimate would be greater than 2 inches in diameter in total.  HUGE spidey.  Huge, ginormous, UNINVITED, spidey. For all I know, it may have even been hairy.  I was NOT about to check.

I jumped out onto the Blueberry Fields bath mat, grabbed a towel to dry off my feet before I slid on my tush running for help. Because really, how do you explain THAT in the ER? "Yes Doctor, I seem to have fractured my coccyx when fell down racing for a sandal to eradicate a HUGE arachnid that was sexually harassing me in the shower."  What are the ICD-9 and CPT codes for that encounter?  Does insurance cover that?  Or does that fall under the "not medically necessary" denial category?

I was modest enough to take the extra 5 seconds to wrap my bathrobe around myself even though no one was home.  I went to my closet.  I stared in at my collection of foot wear.  Too new.  I like those boots.  Too much traction, not guaranteed to adequately smush.  Oh, that flip flop might work! Wait, no, thin sole, I'd have to get really close... Ah ha!  Heeled wedgie sandal!  Perfect!  I'll be 2 1/2 inches above the little bugger!

Armed and dangerous, I entered hostile territory!  I stood at the shower, water still running.  Sue me, I wasn't brave enough to reach in and shut it off before.  I peered in the curtain.  Where is Creepy???  AH!  There!  On the wall side of the tub now, making an escape, trying to adhere with traction toes to the slick side wall.  But alas, the jacuzzi tub is more than Creepy can manage!  This is probably why Creepy was still at the bottom of the tub, poor thing probably hadn't been able to get out.

Karma.  The law of three.  And ye harm none.  Damn!  I sat on the edge of the tub holding my  sandal contemplating the feasibility of Operation Spider Relocation instead of Operation Spider Assassination.  I came to two conclusions:

#1-  There is NO way I am getting THAT close to Creepy while it is ALIVE and unable to tell me it will not jump unexpectedly and freak me out.  It's cousin, who decided to be a perv last month on the OUTSIDE of the shower curtain, at least had the decency to be MUCH smaller and STAY OUTSIDE THE CURTAIN!

#2- There is a sign just inside the front door that says, "No trespassing.  Violators will be shot.  Survivors will be shot again."  I can't shoot the rifle in the house.  I don't want to blow up the bathtub.  Therefore, my option is a sandal.  He is trespassing.  I have justifiable grounds for termination!  He had fair warning!  It's not MY fault he can't read English!  Maybe I should post translations of the sign on other languages, just to be fair...

Next problem: How to get close to Creepy, without freaking that he'll jump!  Hmm, shower is still running.  Channel my Zen...  Didn't the Chinese do water torture?  Or something?  Move the curtain...a nice little rain fall...

Spidey did not like the rain.  Spidey rolled up onto a little bally and slid down toward the mesh drain cover I put in there.  No movement.  I turned the water off.  I sat there.  I watched.  I waited.  Spidey didn't move.  Creepy wasn't all that Creepy this way.  In fact, it was rather sad.  :-/  I waited some more.  I thought about how to move the body.  I hate post-mortem care.  I debated calling Glen, he's good with spiders.  Then I decided I didn't want to look like THAT much of a wuss. 

I went into my room and grabbed like seven or eight paper towels.  I walked back into the bathroom.  I stood over the Creepy Spidey corpse.  I apologized.  I prayed that I would be forgiven.  Then I whacked that bugger with the sandal and scooped him up with a giant wad of paper towels so I could take a shower.  

Kamikaze Tree

July 21st 2013 

Stupid Allergy

They're trying to kill me. But not on purpose. Jeremy had a Shrimp Cup O' Noodle, spilled the water on the counter. Dave moved my coffee spoon, right where Jeremy had spilled the water. I made a cup of coffee, used my spoon, started drinking my coffee...THEN realized the spoon was contaminated. Benadryl on board due to puffy tongue and difficulty talking.  Stupid food allergies and cross-contamination. *mumble mumble grumble groan, Blech!*

July 22nd 2013

Kamikaze Tree

I ran out to Wawa tonight. I asked Lisa and Dave if they needed anything. They said no. As Dayna Leigh and I were heading down the drive, I noticed Glen's truck at the barn. So I stopped, figuring I'll see if he needs anything. I put the car in reverse, took my foot off the brake, and rolled backward, carefully aiming around 23059A (The HUGE pot hole that's large enough to deserve its own zip code). And then my car stopped abruptly with a crushing noise. I put my foot on the brake, put it in drive, rolled forward, and put it in park. I looked in the side mirror. Tree. First time in my LIFE I have ever hit a tree. Broken lens, cracked the bumper. And Glen didn't even need anything from Wawa...

Size D Cups

I went to the mall with Dayna today. We went into Spencer's. I'm still not completely used to sales associates greeting me when I walk into stores. So the one guy asks if we need help. Nope, just browsing. We get to the t-shirts. Second sales guy comes up. All I can think is, "I can click a Master lock through that plug." He sees my Quack Pack shirt and says, "We have lots of Duck Dynasty stuff." I reply that's cool. Then he says something that sounded like, "We have size D cups," while gesturing to my chest. I think to myself that's a really weird comment...but I say "Ok...thanks!" As we leave the store, I turn to Dayna and say, "Did that guy seriously just comment about my boobs?" She looks at me weird. I explain how he remarked about the D cups. She laughed and clarified, "No, Mom. He said 'We have Si's TEA CUP." Quack pack shirt, Uncle Si proudly displayed on my left boob, hence the gesture there... yeah, MUCH more appropriate to tell the customer you have a tea cup...

Toilet Therapy

How do you know you raised your kid right? When you inadvertently leave your cell phone in the bathroom and then find it on your bed. And then you hit the button and find a memo that says, " You forgot me in the bathroom.  I'm gonna need therapy for everything I've seen."

Lyme is NOT My Favorite Citrus Fruit

Tuesday, July 2nd 2013

The past two days I have been feeling very "Blah."  I've had a headache.  I have been EXHAUSTED!  I would be awake for 2 hours and want to lie back down and go back to sleep.  I would force myself to stay awake.  I would get dressed and DO something - ANYTHING - just to stay awake. 

I was zoning out mid-sentence.  I would be talking, stop, look at the person I was speaking with and say, "What was I saying?"  I couldn't for the life of me remember what I was talking about.  I would hear the first three words of their sentence, the last two words of it, realize I missed the entire middle and ask them to repeat it.  I felt horrible.  I didn't mean to not pay attention.  It was not intentional.  It was as if my brain was a fog.

I hurt - all over.  My everything hurt.  My head, my neck, my shoulders, my arms, my back, my hips, my legs, my knees, muscles, joints, everything.  It was a little hard to differentiate at first because I regularly have so much back pain.  My back pain frequently radiates down my legs.  I have been suffering the patellofemoral pain lately in my knees as well.  But this?  No. This was worse.  WAY worse.  I felt like I was dragging bags of cement around just to move myself.  I was weak.

I thought maybe I just overdid it with the excitement of Dayna Leigh coming down this past weekend.  I saw Marty and my friend Ari. We had a busy day on Saturday.  Maybe I just exhausted myself and after whatever went on with my back last week and my knees the proceeding weeks, maybe my body was just yelling at me to SLOW DOWN!

There's something about me noticing things in the potty lately.  Two weeks ago I noticed a tick on my hip while visiting the potty.  Monday early morning, as I was visiting the potty, it felt as if someone were scraping sandpaper down that same hip as I moved my super soft cotton undies.  :-/  ???  Sigh.  Deep breath. 

I braved a look.  Sure enough, plain as day, no spotlight needed, it was a beacon all its own - a bright red four inch bulls-eye!  That's my luck.  The kids constantly have ticks pulled off of them.  The dog constantly has ticks pulled off of him.  I find one tick latched on and I am the one with the glaring target on my hip! 

I did some research on the CDC's website.  I pretty much confirmed my symptoms followed the pattern of tick-borne illness.  They also fit right in the timeline to present as well.  Great.  Looked like I'd be making a call to the doctor's office to get some antibiotics and maybe some blood work.

By Monday night, I was feeling so miserable that I went to bed early.  I forgot to take my night meds.  I realized it after I was already snuggled in bed.  I had finally gotten comfortable.  I didn't care.  I was not moving.  One night was not going to cause me to die from lack of meds.

Tuesday morning I woke up bright and early. I felt rested.  No one else was awake. I had the whole house to myself!  Lovely peace and quiet!  It's a rare find around here!  I enjoyed my coffee out on the porch while I checked my email and Facebook messages.  I sat inside for a bit with my coffee enjoying my couch.  I heard the voices of children.  I grabbed another cup of coffee and took off for the porch!  If I got out there fast enough, maybe they wouldn't know I was up!  It worked!

At about 9:30 am, I felt a warm flush feeling and started to sweat.  I thought maybe it was the humidity, it was a warm day.  I ventured inside, announcing my consciousness to the children.  I went upstairs and crawled into my bed and felt my back start to relax and straighten out.  Then I felt the chest discomfort.  The dizziness was soon behind.  The anxiety quickly followed.

I got up and took a shower.  If I was going to the emergency room, I was determined to be freshly showered, clean, and smelling pretty - even if my hair was in a haphazard bun wound atop a messy ponytail on my head.

I texted Lisa.  At 11 am she was still in bed. At 11:17, she still hadn't answered. I texted again.  At 11:30, I called.  I REALLY didn't feel well.  I was lightheaded and queasy.  I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest.  I was having palpitations.  My pulse was rapid and thready.  She agreed I didn't look good.

Dayna woke up to watch the boys.  I told her I was going to the doctor.  I didn't want her to worry.  Lisa drove me to the hospital. We went to a different one this time.  As we came off the exit ramp, she pointed out a little cemetery.  I told her not to get any ideas.  If I died, I did not want to be buried there.  I wanted to be cremated and sprinkled.

The ER had scant parking.  You would think they would have more convenient parking for EMERGENCY patients.  Nope.  You have to WALK a mile to the door.  I guess it discourages people who aren't having true emergencies - either show up via ambulance and get VIP shipment right in, or you can walk, hobble, fall down, etc.  on your way to the door.

I was triaged right away.  They did an EKG right in the triage room.  I commented my vitals must have been pretty good to warrant that.  They said it was protocol.  Maybe. I'm certainly no expert, but I did watch the ticker-tape print out.  It looked good.  Nothing was obviously bizarre.  That helped calm my nerves a bit. They sent me back to the waiting room.  That also calmed my nerves.

A little Iranian lady called me to draw blood.  I found out later she was Iranian.  She had a very thick accent.  I had no idea she called me.  Lisa deciphered what she said and told me to get up.  She was good. I didn't really feel it. She got me first stick. That takes talent.  The RN at the last hospital last week blew my good vein.  The ONE good one I have.  The Holland Tunnel of veins that I "save for emergencies" in case I am in a car accident and a medic needs to start a line on the fly in the field to administer blood and needs a good large bore. Nope, that murse went right through it and gave me a nasty bruise. This little lady?  She hit the small sclerosed one in my left AC.  And I didn't feel it.  And I didn't feel her change tubes.  AND I didn't bruise.

I went back into the waiting room.  I spent the time listening to the annoying woman sitting on the other side of the room.  There was a sad looking lady in a wheelchair and another woman accompanying her messing around on a laptop chattering off constantly.  At one point, I typed out on my phone and showed Lisa, "Is it bad that I listen to that woman and all I think is Adam Sandler's mom in the Waterboy?"  Seriously.  She had the same amount of brains.  She had the same dialect and accent.  I was waiting for her to talk about ornery alligators and toothbrushes.

Lisa spent the time reading the new blogs I posted.  She laughed.  I took that to be a good sign. I guess the muse was with me.  I was called in to register rather quickly.  The lady in there was pleasant as well.  I had to change my insurance information. I switched to straight Medicare this week.

"So no more Humana?"  Sigh.  "Medicare doesn't cover everything," she advised.

"Humana didn't have doctors who treat my condition in network and had a very difficult referral process.  I had it for six months and have not been able to get the care I need.  It's no good to me if it doesn't allow access to the doctor I need care from. It doesn't matter if they cover it, if they have no provider, they don't cover it."

Then I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  By then, I was feeling pretty confident I was NOT having a heart attack.  Surely if they thought it was an MI they would not leave me in the waiting room for an hour.  Surely if it was something serious, they'd have me in a room with an IV and beeping monitors by now.

They called me back.  The nurse had me change.  I got more stickies and cables and hooked up to a monitor in the telemetry section.  Uh oh.  Maybe the blood work showed something. :-/  Great.  Now I am worrying again.  Lisa said it might just be precaution.  Yeah.  Let's go with that.  BP was better, heart rate was down and no longer 127.  We reviewed my symptoms and the meds ordered.

"Have you ever had morphine?"

"Yes."

"You do ok with it?  No allergies?"

"Honestly?  It gives me a migraine and no pain relief what so ever.  Percocet is more effective and doesn't give me a headache.  Dilaudid works well, too.  Morphine just makes me feel like garbage."  The nurse left the room, came back in and said, "Okay, got that fixed.  Any problems with aspirin?"  I said no.  I showed him my hip.  He said we were definitely showing that to the doctor, which we did. 

He aimed for my left forearm with his IV stick.  It hurt.  I did makeshift Lamaze.  I clenched my eyes and curled my toes and grabbed the sheet and tried to remain still.  I reported that whatever he was doing hurt a lot.  I asked Lisa if he was digging.  She said no.  The nurse said he thinks he hit a valve.  Fantastic.  He pulled the line and called in reinforcements. 

The IV guy got me first try - in the same site the phlebotomist used.  He also pulled a vial of blood to "check for a blood clot in my lung."  I'd already had a chest x-ray.  Now I was worried again.  Depression set in pretty quick. Here we go again.  Repeat five years ago.  Been here, done this.  Lisa was fantastic support.  I didn't have that last time.  I was much more alone and afraid then.  I had my Mom with me when I went to the ER that time, and she came to see me in the hospital, which was fantastic and greatly appreciated.  But I didn't want to be a burden.  Dayna was younger, I was more focused on making sure she was taken care of, so I made sure Mom was taking care of Dayna, and I dealt with it myself.  I kept feelings in so I wouldn't worry people. I know Mom worries, and I didn't want her to.

After a few hours, all tests came back good.  YAY!  The doctor came back in to report the good news.  He said he has no idea why I am having chest symptoms, but the rash and the tick bite history definitely suggest Lyme.  He suspected if I had waited longer I would have begun experiencing high fevers, sweats, and much worse symptoms.  "It's probably all related to the tick."  We did a repeat cardiac enzyme just to be sure and safe.  At this point, Lisa couldn't resist.

"Can I ask you how tall you are?"

"Sure."

Quiet.

"Go ahead and ask me."  The doctor grinned.

"How tall are you?"

"Six - eight."

"I knew it!"  That's exactly what she estimated.

At 3:30pm, I met my new nurses.  Shift change report happened at my bedside.  There was a young nurse.  She was very quiet, didn't say anything to me at all.  There was an older nurse.  The leaving nurse asked if we could show them my hip.  I said sure and whipped it out!  He said, "What does that look like?"  The young RN looked.  Blank stare.  Head shake.  Shrug.  The older RN looked and said, "Oh, you got bit!  You did the right thing coming here!"  From that moment, I knew I didn't care for the little girl, but I LIKED that lady!

I had a dose of IV doxycycline.  The young RN came in with the med and tubing.  She said nothing.  She made no eye contact.  She went to the computer.  She typed something.  She picked up the scanner and asked for my barcode.  I held it out so she could scan me like produce.  (I wonder if it starts with a 9. Maybe I'm organic!)  She wandered to the other side of the bed.  She hung the bag.  She dropped the tubing on the sheet next to me.  She walked around the bed and took my IV site.  I picked up the tubing and held it for her.  She said thank you and swabbed my port.  At least she did that.  She did not flush my lock.  She connected it.  She walked back around and started the pump.  Immediately an inch long air bubble ran into my arm.  :-/

A few moments later as I was watching my line, I saw a wonderful section approximately a foot long that appeared to be all air with a few droplets of liquid stuck to the sides of the tube.  Lovely, the dunce can't prime tubing.  I clamped the line.  The pump began beeping. I prayed the older nurse would come check and the younger personality of a slug would stay away.  I got lucky.

I played dumb.  I politely explained I was worried, got nervous, better safe than sorry, yadda yadda.  She fixed it with no problem for me.  All was well after that and I didn't see the slug again, which was fine by me.  I didn't trust her to touch me anyway.  I have standards.  She blew it.

Lisa asked the nurse to order me a lunch tray since I hadn't eaten and I was a bit woozy - especially after 10mg oxycodone, 324mg aspirin, several tubes of blood drawn, and now doxy.  I was sad.  The kitchen slaughtered the spinach.  No spinach should have to endure that torture of being harshly chopped and boiled to a nasty blob of unrecognizable tasteless mush pile.  It should be prepared with respect so it can sit proudly on the plate and proclaim, "I am healthy, delicious and nutritious Spinach!"  I also had what looked like a microwaved frozen On Cor possibly turkey of some sort meat product covered in slime.  The roll was tasty. 

As I opened my cutlery pack - plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin with a paper strip stuck around it - Lisa noted, "Someone wrote on your napkin."  I opened the message from my secret admirer.  Maybe it would direct me to hidden treasures!  It was math.  What a letdown!  The nurse wandered by as I sat there reading 24 minus 15 equals... "OH! That's disgusting!"  And she yanked it out of my hands!  "It never ceases to amaze me around here!"  She grabbed me some fresh paper towels from the dispenser.

The nurse came in to take out my IV.  I asked her if she knew about how long before I started feeling better.  She said I would start to feel a little better from now on with the medicine on board, but "it'll be about 3 days before you're back to running around with your hair on fire."  I got my discharge papers and booked out to Walgreen's.  I splurged on a pair of sandals for $7 while I waited for my antibiotics.  I came home, thanked Dayna, and plopped on her bed to chat.  We attempted a nap.  Why?  I don't know.  It's impossible in this house.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 make certain EVERYONE in the county is awake from 8am until midnight!

Attack Of The HUGE Beetle

Last night as I was coming in from the porch with Dayna Leigh, a HUGE (and I mean HUGE) beetle-type bugger snuck in and cavorted up the stairwell. Lisa and Dave sat on the couch saying, "Close the door!" I hollered, "Not until it's OUT!"

I said I need a broom. I walked a lap around the center of the downstairs, because the broom is never where it's supposed to be, grabbed said broom, and returned to the stairs.  I found three cats on the stairs tracking the beetle. It was adorable. Seiji, Aslyn, and Romeo were on various levels of the steps all eyeing the bugger as it flew haphazardly into walls.  If you've ever watched a beetle, you know what I mean.  They are not the brightest bugs.  They tend to kamikaze smash into anything solid.  Then they bounce off, and come back and do it again!  It's like they are trying to knock sense into themselves.

Dave said, "Hit it!"

I said "I can't!  The cats are right there!"  By this point the bug was on the railing, and all three cats had raced over and had paws up looking at it with differing expressions. 

Seiji, being the oldest and most experienced, appeared the old sage.  His look clearly said, "Children, this is a HUMONGOUS crunchy black bug.  Note the extra long whiskers atop its head.  See how they bend and twist.  Note the wings.  If you were to try to EAT that thing, I doubt it would taste yummy. It would definitely be crunchy and clean your teeth, but it'd probably taste putrid! MUCH better to stare at, observe, and play with!"

Aslyn is very studious.  She is MY kitten.  She is quite smart.  You can see the intelligence in her eyes when she is looking at things.  She ponders.  She THINKS!  She KNOWS!  She is the kitten nerd of the household.  She took in the wise teachings of her senior brother.  She got right in there to examine the specimen, but maintained a safe distance, possibly due to lack of a hazmat suit.

Romeo is a typical little boy.  He is curious. He is impulsive.  He is macho!  He will hiss and spit and declare his manhood!  He is skittish and stereotypical "Fraidy-cat" and a big Momma's boy affectionate mush (which we're all fine with).  He had no problem jumping in when Big Brother Seiji wisely taught about the Huge Crunchy Black Bug with Big Whiskers - until the bugger decided to fly again.  Then Romeo quickly backed up and bolted halfway up the stairs safely out of reach to let his little sister and adopted big brother handle the job.

Now armed with a broom, and attached dust pan, glasses on face so I could see my target, daughter manning the door to swat the criminal out of bounds, we were ready!  The kittens were done with their lesson.  The bug was done sitting still for examination.  It flew.  At my face.

I swung!  Four feet of broom sliced the air in front of me!  A HUGE black beetle bug zoomed past my zero'd target zone into my personal space.  I attempted to re-calibrate my strike.  It was impossible.  Bristles were four feet in front.  A 1 inch diameter pole was connecting them to my hands and being quite useless against a bug that has NO concept of tactical flight patterns, but somehow it managed to avoid every swish I made.

The dust pan fell off the broom handle.  It landed on my head and proceeded to slide down my face, taking my glasses crashing to the floor with it!  I'm BLIND!  (Seriously, with a -9.25 prescription, I was effectively blind.)  I held out the deadly weapon to my second in command (my daughter, of course).  She stood stunned for a moment (at least I think she did, I couldn't see squat).  Then the broom left my hand.  I stooped down, aimed for the glare, and scooped up my glasses before moving my feet and retreated to nurse my wounds.

Reinforcements arrived.  The broom was handed off to Lisa.  See made it to the stairs, identified the target, and exclaimed something incredibly un-lady-like.  It was along the lines of, "Holy ^%#$!"  Dave sat safely on the couch.  His contribution was to advise her to "hit it."  Gee.  How helpful. 

She responded, "You have to come see this." 

"After you hit it."

She wacked it.  The broom went down.  It stayed down.  Dave rose from the couch.  He retrieved the dust pan from the floor and approached the stairs.  Lisa asked if he was ready.  He told her to wait.  He then poked and chopped at the broom bristles.

"Are you trying to decapitate it?"  Seriously?  NOW you're going to be a man?  After the women-folk have subdued the perpetrator?  NOW you're going to chop it up with a dust pan?  Our hero!

Lisa moved the broom.  A similar sailor-ish expletive escaped Dave's lips. 

"I wasn't kidding when I said the bugger was HUGE!"  Why does no one believe me?

Dave scooped up the beetle, observed it for a moment, and commented that, "only four of its six legs are currently working."  That makes me feel so much more comfortable.  Actually, it makes me feel a little bad for the bug.  Not that I like bugs.  I generally don't.  But I DO appreciate their necessity in the world, and respect their right to exist in it.  I even have a spider living in my room.  I have less of a bug problem in there since its arrival, so I leave it alone.  When we first moved in, I had my windows open one night and all sorts of little buggers came through the screen to hang out with me.  I didn't like that.  So Aragog III stays, rent free, all you can eat buffet.

Ticked Off

June 17th 2013

Last night I found a tick on my hip.  Yes, my HIP!  UNDER my underwear!  The perverted little bugger was trying to get a free show.  He obviously never got the memo that my nether ye-ah is off limits!  Special invitation only!  And I haven't invited anyone in a really, REALLY long time!  It certainly is not going to be an arachnid!

Back to the story.  I entered the bathroom and prepared to potty. During normal procedures, I felt a suspect bump.  I looked.  It was dark.  I scraped my finger nail and flicked the perpetrator off onto the floor.  I then proceeded to quickly examine him, identify his species, grab appropriate PPE (personal protective equipment - in this case a wad of toilet paper), apprehend the criminal and sentence him to life in a septic tank by means of a swirly. 

Anyone who knows me, knows I have anxiety issues.  Anyone who knows me well, knows I am sensory sensitive.  This means a few things.

·         

•       Don't invade my personal space.  BACK UP!
• ·         Don't touch me unless I have given you permission.
• ·         Do not come anywhere NEAR my face unless you are a doctor I am seeing for treatment.
• ·         Please do not swing or throw anything near or at me.
• ·         I am claustrophobic.  Even small bathrooms make me nervous.  Tight necklines on shirts are unbearable, I feel suffocated and choked, I cut them off.
• ·         I am extremely tactile sensitive.  If the breeze blows and my little peach fuzzy blonde arm hairs move, I will feel it and will probably either brush my arm or look to make sure there isn't a bug there.
• ·         Finding a bug anywhere on me will give me the heebie jeebies for HOURS!
• ·         I cannot tolerate bugs and food at the same time.  If I am eating, please don't even mention bugs.  Do not mention bug bites.  Do not mention any bug facts or trivia.  Do not show a picture of bugs.  Do not watch a TV show about bugs (or carnivorous crustaceans). And definitely do not point and say, "Hey!  Look at that bug!"  I will lose my appetite, and will have to calm myself to prevent vomiting.

That being said, you can probably imagine the level of heebie jeebies I was suffering after finding a tick so close to my most holiest of holies.  I proceeded to do a body scan.  I could clearly see the ventral side from the belly down easily.  I could see the front of my shoulders and arms.  I could not see my posterior.  I turned in the mirror and tried looking. 

I noted a brown bump on the backish side of my neck.  Freaking, I grabbed the bugger and yanked it off!  It was not a bugger.  :-/  It turned out to be a pigmented skin tag I was unaware I had.  Aside from OUCHIE, lemme tell ya, it BLED!  I sat for the next 20 minutes holding a pressure dressing on my neck.  Of course, all the stress had me woozy.  Topped it all off nicely.

The next morning, I proceeding to ask Lisa to look and make sure it was ok.  For the following two days, I proceeded to show Lisa assorted "beauty marks" and freckles I was unfamiliar with to confirm they were in fact beauty marks and freckles.  Through it all, I said a lot of "Thank You" and "I can't see my butt, I had no idea that was there!"

The joy of being Irish, fair skinned, fairly freckly, and anxious about bugs!  

If I Were A Chicken

At 2am I realized I hadn't checked the chicken coop.  We've been forgetting to close it up after twilight lately and we're down two birds. :-(  We lost an Australorp to a noisy attack a few weeks ago.  By the time I ran downstairs, threw on shoes and grabbed a broom, all that was left was a trail of feathers and a flock of traumatized chickens.  Two weeks ago, Dave stepped out to go to the store one night and had three chickens greet him on the front porch.  After searching the flower bed with flashlights, all but one chicken was found and returned to the coop.  We waited a day to see if maybe she just took off hiding, but Kimosabe hasn't come home. :-(

So tonight I went out, flashlight in hand.  I closed the front gate of the coop.  I lifted the roof and did a head count.  Eleven.  :-/  We're supposed to have sixteen.  I counted again.  Still eleven.  I went to the other side.  It was less crowded and I thought maybe I'd get a better view underneath, just in case anyone is sitting on someone else's head.  No doormats.

Sometimes it's easier to figure out who we're missing and who we still have.  Sometimes, with this many birds, it's easiest to do that in categories.  Roos first: Tanner- check!  Attica - check!  Leroy - MIA.  Brown Leghorns:  Wasabi - check!  Martha Jones -check!  Araucanas:  Pippa - check!  Sunshine - MIA.  Stripey - check!  Golden Laced Wyandotte:  Goldie - check!  Silver Laced Wyandottes:  Fluffster: check!  Chica - MIA.  Brahma:  Lightning Blast - check!  Austrolorps:  Lolli - check!  Can't figure out which one you are #1 - check!  Can't figure out which one you are #2 - MIA.  Red Sexlink: Polly - MIA.

So I'm looking for Leroy, Polly, Sunshine, Chica, and an Austrolorp.  I'd love to tell you which one it is, but since they got feathers, I can't tell them apart.  Lolli has paler skin and more beetle green in her feathers than the other two.  As for which one is Twinkle?  I have NO idea!  I have to wait for Dayna to come home and tell me how to sort that one out.

Now, if *I* were a bird, where would I be if I wasn't sleeping in my bed?  Easy.  A tree.  There are a few problems with that idea.

One is that these chickens weigh about 5 pounds.  That's a bit of a load to lift off the ground.  Their wings work.  They flap up a storm when they want to.  They're especially skilled at propelling the bird across the yard at speeds you'd think would be aerodynamically impossible.  When you factor in the weight distribution of their bodies atop their skinny little legs and splayed toes, it's an amazing feat of physics that the avian doesn't topple over just standing still.  Now add to the equation a velocity approximately equal to a seven year old on a two-wheeler bicycle.  I'm telling you, it's a miracle of God that poultry is as agile as it's proven to be.  Some days I wonder if the wing flapping is for added speed or if it's more a function of balance, akin to a tightrope walker holding his arms out straight when on a high wire. 

Back to the point, their wings are not sufficient for long flights or high flights.  They are adept at jumping and flapping and coasting.  When Pippa was a baby, she imprinted on me.  She would get SO jealous when I would handle another chick that she would actually take off from across the room and fly onto my head to yell at me.  Now she mainly hops from the top of the run onto the roof of the coop, about 6 feet high.  I have seen Leroy jump/fly onto the door of Sheldon's stall at the barn.  If the stall door is open, he will then head up to the roof of the barn.  I have never witnessed a chicken jump over about four or five feet, or "fly" further than about five or six.  Maybe my chickens just don't.

Second problem is that our trees are mature.  They are all beautifully majestic.  In other words, TALL.  Their lowest branches are still pretty high.  With the height and distance of the bird's flight restricted, any of these trees would be impossible to roost in.  We have a few smaller, shorter trees, but I doubt their branches would be sturdy enough to hold a chicken comfortably without bowing.  Forget it if they wanted to roost together like they normally do.

That in mind, scratch the tree idea.

They like hanging out under the deck.  Bad place to sleep.  Only two sides have "exits" and it gets consistently narrower in height the further south you go, no room to jump over a predator.  They'd be an easy target to a predator with a good sense of smell.  Even if the predator made noise stalking through the dried leaves under there, the chickens would make easy prey.

They also like the flower border around the house.  This provides abundant cover for hiding and ample space to retreat and escape.  However, it also makes a poor roost since it is low on the ground, no high roosts, and easy targeting for a predator with keen scenting abilities.

I turned around looking at the yard.  Think.  Think.  I noticed the shed light was left on.  I walked a few steps to go turn it off.  No sense wasting electricity.  The door was also left cracked open.  Hmm, I wonder...

Sure enough, there on the shelves along the back of the shed were Polly, Leroy, Sunshine, an Australorp, and Chica :-)  Good place to pick.  Enclosed, high up, light on, only one way in and they were facing it.  Smart birds!

Alright, now to get them back into the coop!  Wyandotte first.  I pet Chica and scooped her up.  She flapped enough to cause a mini tornado!  Chica never was much of a cuddler.  Even as a chick, she was always a bit off in the corner and skittish.  I got her calm and walked out to the coop.  I raised the roof, showed her her flock mates and encouraged her to hop in.  She perched on my hand.  I moved her further in and told her to get down.  She refused.  I bounced my arm to encourage her some more. She unfurled her wings for balance and stayed put.  :-/

Okay.  Let's try the other side.  I walked her around the less crowded side of the coop.  I raised the roof and put my hand in.  She stayed put.  I tried putting her down.  It didn't work.  Somehow, she ended up on my head.  It is very awkward to be holding up a somewhat heavy piece of particle board roof with one hand, a flashlight in the other, and have a chicken on your head.  To make it worse, this is the part where a spider fell on me and I wigged.  Use your imagination. 

I walked over to the run opening.  I lifted the chicken off of my shoulder.  I TRIED placing her gently in the run.  She walked up my arm back onto my head.  :-/  Chica was NOT cooperating.  I blindly groped for the chicken, got hold, and successfully got a claw scraping underneath my glasses just under my left eye.  BRILLIANT!

After that escapade, somehow the bird ended up walking down my back.  I ended up bent forward at the waist, and the chicken was perched...hard to explain...kind of the top of my hip and butt at the same time, I was on a weird angle.  Needless to say it was awkward, and would probably have made a very humorous picture.  I don't quite remember how I managed to get out of that predicament.

The remaining four birds were not nearly as difficult.  I plopped all of them into the top of the run and let them figure out how to walk up the stairs into the coop by themselves.  I was kind enough to hold the flashlight for them and say Night-night! 

Saving My Bedroom

With a few days left until the move, we were getting down to the wire.  A lot was left to do.  A few more boxes were acquired.  We were packing (or rather, Dad was packing), Lisa was trying to pack some and clean some, and I was throwing some bags and boxes together to move.  We would take a few loads over per day between the Suburban and the Maxima.  We'd unload, unpack, throw the empties back in the vehicles, repack them and do it all again the next day.

Dave's brother, Glen, managed to snag some Chiquita banana boxes from the grocery store he works at. We looked like we were moving liquor and produce.  When Dad made enough of a dent in the downstairs, he commented how my room was next.  Lisa began talking to me. 

"I'm sorry. I can't talk right now.  I have to go save my bedroom."

"What?"

"Dad's on his way upstairs.  I have to save my room.  You'll understand when you start unpacking."

I raced up the stairs as fast as my damaged legs and stenosed spine would let me (which isn't very fast at all).  I asked Dad what he was doing.  I directed him to boxes and began UNpacking the garbage bag he had begun packing.  I reorganized it.  I threw garbage in the garbage, keepers in the bag, stuff I needed to know where it was immediately in my purse.  I directed him to the bookshelf, the toiletries on the dresser, the computer desk - anything that really didn't matter if it was immaculately organized alphabetically according to my OCD standards and stuff I would not need right away.  He did a fine job :-)

On Tuesday, April 30th we had a rented truck and formally moved to the farm.  It took more than one trip.  It also took another week or so of back and forth trips to the house with the Suburban and the cars to load up and clean up.  But that's another blog, or set of blogs.

As Lisa began unpacking some boxes, she began to realize what I had meant.

"Your Dad doesn't really organize, does he?"

"Nope.  Not at all."

"Yeah.  There doesn't appear to be any system to how he packed anything."

"Yep.  If it's there and needs to move and he has a box, it goes in the box.  That's how it works.  Now you understand what I meant when I said I had to "save" my bedroom.  I wasn't kidding."  :-)

Uncle Henry Talks to God

Dad's first week in Virginia was interestingly eventful.  My nephews, Jeremy and JJ, were pleased to have someone else in the house to torment...I mean, PLAY with.  The first dilemma was "What should we call Donna's Daddy?"  After a few hours of thought, Dad settled on "Uncle Henry."  That was fine - until the five year old started thinking about it. 

"So is he the Daddy and you're the Mommy?" asked JJ.

"He's MY Daddy," I explained.

"But is he the Daddy and you're the Mommy?"

"He is MY Daddy and I am DAYNA's Mommy."

"So he's the Daddy and you're the Mommy."

"No.  Not like that."

"But you're Aunt Donna and he's Uncle Henry."  :-/

"Well, yes, I see why you're confused now.  We're not married.  Like how Uncle Glen is Uncle 

Glen and I am Aunt Donna but I am not married to Uncle Glen.  Uncle Henry is MY Daddy.  I am DAYNA's Mommy."

I think he finally understood at some point, but it took a while.

Dad was a lean, mean, packing machine!  The man didn't stop!  If there was a box, he found stuff to put in it!  If there wasn't a box, he FOUND something to use as a box.  The living room?  Cleaned.  Garbage out.  The dining room?  Same deal.  The kitchen?  Done.  We were seeing floor that hadn't been heard from in MONTHS. 

I sat out on the front porch with a cup of coffee one morning and kept Dad company. 

"The lady across the street just went inside," Dad reported.

"What lady?" I asked.

"The one in that house there."  He pointed directly across the street.

"Dad, it's a guy who lives there."

"Well, there was a lady just outside smoking a cigarette."

"No, Dad.  It's a young guy.  He's like in his mid-twenties.  He lives alone.  There's no lady there."

"Well, it LOOKED like a lady."  Dad then proceeded to pull his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on his face.  "Nope.  These aren't helping either."

"You're not wearing your hat today."

"I can't find it.  The boys hid it on me."

"Are you serious?  They stole your hat?"

"Yeah.  They did it yesterday, too.  I found it in the pantry then, though."

Sigh.

Almost as if on cue, the front door opened and two loud, boisterous boys came barreling through allowing the door to slam shut behind them.

"JJ!  Did you take my dad's hat?"  A look.  "Did you?"  A weird smile sort of expression. "Go get it and give it back."  He retreated into the house without a word.

A few moments later he returned, hat in hand.  He handed it over and advised, "It's going to be cold, though.  It was in the freezer."

I really wish I could say that was the only thing the boys hid on Dad.  It wasn't.  Maybe I should preface by saying this is not a Catholic household.  Lisa and Dave were both raised Christian, but they are not church goers.  They are spiritual in their own way, but they are not Bible readers nor do they mention Jesus.  I am open in a more philosophical, metaphysical way with the boys.  I teach eclectic respect, differing belief systems and mythologies and such.  So Dad and his openness and visual presence was a bit different for the kids. 

They didn't understand his meditations.  They didn't understand his pacing the back fence and mumbling.  They didn't understand why they couldn't bother him when he was doing that.  And they didn't realize that the little red beaded bracelet with the cross was NOT just a pretty little bracelet with a cross charm - UNTIL they hid it from him and we got VERY angry about it and made them give Uncle Henry back his Rosary Beads so he could "talk to God."  After we explained what Uncle Henry was doing, JJ asked Uncle Henry to ask God next time he talked to him to make his nightmares go away.  

Dad's Trip to Virginia

April 21st 2013

After dropping Dayna off at her father's, I decided to stop in at my father's to take a break from driving.  Unsurprisingly, Dad made up the couch and would not let me head back home.  He told me I was spending the night. 

It was a good visit.  We chatted quite a bit. I told him all about Virginia.  I told him about how we were moving soon and the circumstances of trying to pack and all.  I said, "Want to come?  I'm sure Lisa and Dave won't mind the help."  He laughed.  He said he has the cats.  He has the house to take care of.  He wasn't prepared for a vacation.

Around midnight or so Lisa texted me to find out if I was heading back or crashing at Dad's.  She instructed me to spend the night and bring Dad home tomorrow.  I told Dad, he smiled. 

The next morning I heard Dad talking to Marty as he was leaving for work.  "Would you be able to take care of the cats for a few days?"   {insert big grin here} I fell back to sleep.

When I got up, Dad handed me a coffee mug and spoon, non-dairy creamer, and a bag of sugar.  He informed me he had to take a shower and pack a bag.  He was coming to help me pack since he knew my back was bad and Lisa and Dave were so nice to help me move, he was going to help them move.  He's only ever been to Virginia once, it was Virginia Beach, and it was a LONG time ago.  This would be a brand new experience for him. 

Dad usually describes himself as "having a condition." He has trouble with anxiety.  It's especially prominent in new places and in crowds.  He tends to talk to himself.  Sometimes loudly.  I'm not sure he knows he's doing it a lot of the time.  Most times it's harmless.  I've lived with him my whole life, so I am quite used to his quirks.  Sometimes I will intervene, other times they play out on their own with no problem. 

I was a little worried about how he would tolerate being away from home.  I knew in the long run, the environment change would be therapeutic.  It has been for me.  At first though, I was nervous how he would adapt to a noisy house full of people with two small, active children!  All in all, it went well with just a few minor bumps.

We set out with a full tank of gas onto the Garden State Parkway south bound to exit 98.  We followed the twists and turns to briefly visit Route 34 and enter I-195 west.  I don't think Dad has ever been on 195 before.  I'm quite familiar with it from the time I lived in Manchester.  I had some doctor's visits over in Hamilton and took 571 -->537 --> 195 to get there. 

At exit 6, we merged onto the ramp for the NJ Turnpike.

"Prepare for the ugliest hour of our trip, Pop.  Once we survive the Turnpike, the rest is easy, piece of cake, and beautiful-aside from about 45 seconds of tunnel in Baltimore.  That keeps my anxiety through the roof.  I usually pray through the whole thing.  We'll be fine."

About a half hour in, Dad was still looking a bit high strung. I asked if he was ok.  He said he was.  I assured him the trip gets better.  We stopped at the last rest stop in NJ.  Then we got back on the road.

Delaware Memorial Bridge.  One of my favorites.  I don't know what it is, I just find that bridge to be really pretty.  There is another one or two along the trip I find beautiful, I cannot remember their names.  I will try to take note next trip.  Into Delaware we crossed.  As a good tour guide, I notified Dad.  He asked how long we'd be in Delaware.  He was surprised when I replied, "About a half an hour."  Then I added, "But don't worry.  They make up for it by raping us in tolls.  It's like $4 in and $4 out.  Smallest state in the country, but highest toll price tag per time you drive through!"

By the time we entered Maryland, Dad was calming down.  He put his glasses on and was beginning to remark on the beauty of the scenery.  He commented how he knew he was feeling better - he needed his glasses to see!  Usually around the house, he wanders about without them. 

We came upon the tunnel and sailed through with ease.  I breathed a sigh of relief on the other side. 

Dad said, "That wasn't so bad."

I said, "No.  It's usually not horrible.  I just HATE tunnels.  I was praying the whole time.  I always do."

"I was, too." He confided.

Welcome to Virginia!  Two hours left!  Home stretch now!  I'm smiling because I am almost home.  It's amazing how it hasn't even been a year yet, and I feel like I am coming home coming back to Virginia.  I did not feel as if I was coming home bringing Dayna Leigh back to NJ.  It's kind of sad to think about.  I spent so many years of my life there, but it doesn't feel like "home".  I guess it really never did.  I never felt "home," I just felt "I live here," but it wasn't how I define "home."  Where I am now, in Virginia... THIS feels like HOME.  Where I am SUPPOSED to BE.  I BELONG.

"It's beautiful, isn't it Dad?"

"Yes, it is."

"And there aren't any tolls.  Makes you wonder what they spend all that toll money on in NJ."

"Heh.  That's a good question!"

I got off I-95 a little further north than I usually would.  I drove Dad past the barn first.  It was dark, but I wanted to show him the horses and chickens:-)  I wanted him to see the nature and land before we hit suburbia.  At the traffic light at Brook Rd, I hung a right.  Then I immediately jumped three lanes left and made a left onto Cedar Lane.  Dad grabbed the door handle and made a sound sort of like, "WHOA!"  I could almost see his eyeballs fall out of his head and roll across the floor mat in my peripheral vision.

"It's ok, Dad.  We're not in Jersey.  You can do that here."

"You would never be able to do that back home!"

"Nope.  You can legally hang U-turns in the middle of the street here, too."

After a quick check in at the barn, we headed to the house.  The kids were up and crazy waiting for me to get back.  Dinner was waiting.  The dog was happy to see me.  The kitten missed me.  It was a very animated and warm welcome home.  :-)  I think Dad may have been a little overwhelmed, but he handled it like a real trooper, right in stride!  He even fell in love with the dog.  He commented how he could understand the dog.  Dad's got really poor eyesight, the dog is deaf, they both have ailments, they're on the same wavelength.

Dad called Marty to check in and make sure the cats were ok and the house was still standing.  He dialed Marty's cell number.  

"Hello?"

"Hello?  Marty?"

"No, there's no Marty here."

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I must have the wrong number." And Dad hung up.

Dad's cell phone rang.  Caller ID says it's Marty.

"Hello? Marty?"

"One smart ass remark and you hang up?"  :-)

Yeah, it runs in the family genes...being snarky and fluent in sarcasm is kind of a pre-requisite.