The Wedding

 OK folks, it's been over a week since the wedding and I have promised you full disclosure. I apologize for the delay. This past week has been hell, which I'll blog later.

Just to remind everyone, I was headed off to Massachusetts for a friends wedding... at a funeral home. yes, it was just as blog worthy as I had anticipated. Maybe even more so.

J and I arrived at Logan airport at 9AM the day of the wedding. When we left Raleigh at 7, it was a nice 65 degrees. Walking outside in Boston, to a "cool" 40 degrees, we both winced and lamented that it was FUCKING COLD! Ahh yes, we can admit that we have fully acclimated and are now southern.

IF you're familiar to Massachusetts geography, you'll wince in sympathy when I say we had to drive from Boston to Gardner, then to Southbridge, then to Waltham in one day. For those of you not in the know, just assume I said we drove all across the state a couple of times.

We headed to Friendly's in Gardner to grab some food for the first time of the day, meeting one of my best friends, Greg. After, we rushed to J's moms house to quickly change for the wedding. Which was awesome, cause we couldn't figure out how the hell to make the state of the art dryer which caused J to panic as he pictured himself showing up in a wrinkled suit.

For the first time in about 12 years I put on pantyhose. I remembered, as I tried to shove my legs into those tissue paper thin fabric how much I hate them and the person who invented them. But I didn't have enough time to really gripe as we had 30 minutes to go from jeans and ponytail to fashonista.

We dove into the tiny car that can really hold only one full person, and put the pedal to the metal for a 90 minute drive to the wedding/funeral home, straight across the other side of the state. As we're driving through Worcester, I realize that, of course, I have a giant rip in my fucking pantyhose. I mean, how could my day not be complete without that? So I sat there for a moment, contemplating the aerodynamics of wriggling out of the confining ripped pair I currently have on while replacing them with my spare. In a teeny tiny car. On the highway. In the second biggest city in the state, therefore ensuring plenty of people to peep my panties. Did I dare to expose myself in order to look perfect for the wedding?

You bet your panties I did.

And the state of Mass males were happy to see my cute panties and I was happy that I was flexible enough to perform such a crazy thing without killing myself or J, as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.


The wedding/funeral home itself was perfect antique New England. Pink wallpaper, tons of tiny rooms, gorgeous drapes lining the windows, dead bodies in the basement. You know, quaint. We met up with our friend, the groom, while we waited for everyone to arrive and sit. I met old friends we haven't seen in years, small talked with the family members, and tried to be on my best behavior and not go poking into random closed doors, looking for coffins. I did ok.

To my macabre delight, five minutes before the ceremony was to begin, the owner received a call for a "house removal". That's PC for a dead body in someones house. He came out and projected that we had to hurry it up as he told them he'd be there in 45 minutes for pick up. I am so proud of myself that I stayed straight faced, but I did go email myself this little tidbit so I wouldn't forget. Not that I could.

We started gathering at our seats and someone came in and said we could start as the girls were done in the bathroom and ready to go.

Awesome.

The last tidbit that made this absolutely perfect was that as I sat down, I noticed a display case beside me, cut into the wall. Expecting a pretty display of flowers or something, I was caught off guard seeing a GINORMOUS creepy Hummel, staring at me with a wicked grin.

 

Seriously, how can a wedding/funeral home not be complete without a two foot Hummel boy, grinning at you while you say goodbye to a loved one, or watch your friends say I do?

The ceremony lasted a total of five minutes once it began. Which is a good thing since they forgot to tell us guests to sit down again. Yes, we stood the entire time. 

And that, my friends, was the wedding at the funeral home. It was awesome!

Writing For The Win!

My family has a history of atrocious handwriting. I was fortunate enough to bypass this, and my handwriting is actually legible, if you ignore my doctors worthy signature, done in total haste. My father's handwriting is so awful that each time I receive any correspondence from him, it takes J and I hours to sit there and try to decipher it.

My brother also has atrocious handwriting, and while in school, it was utterly painful for him to sit down nightly and write out essays. Both of these family members have ADHD.

Xavier is the same way. He also literally cannot sit down long enough to write out a good essay. Unfortunately come fifth grade, essays will be a big part of his school work. Fortunately, he has an IEP that allows him the use of a computer to type out his essays. Even with a computer at hand it's still hard to keep him on track long enough to write. Because of this, even during vacations, I have to have him sit down daily and practice his writing skills. It sucks for both of us, but over this year he has started to get better. I still need to light a firecracker up his ass once in awhile, but we have gone from him only writing a paragraph per hour to four paragraphs per hour.

Starting this quarter, in order to prepare the kids for fifth grade, Xavier's teacher has started making the kids write weekly book reports. Both Xavier and I groaned loudly at this announcement, knowing it was going to be hell for us each week. But as a team, we sat down and figured out a schedule he could work with, and I would help him look for grammar errors.

The suckiest part of this is that the writing has to be two pages long, and no bigger than twelve font. I saw that and smiled, because if that wasn't in the rules I would have happily let Xavier use 46 font.

I can't even begin to tell you how surprised both of us were when we received his first paper back. Xavier, the one who hates writing, got a 4 on his paper, which for elementary school here, is the highest grade you can get.  One is the worst, three is great, four is above grade level. We were so excited that it is now framed on our fridge.

I guess all that wine chugging and working on vacations worked out. I'm so proud of the little bugger!

Pharmcists and Medication

Sometimes having a child with special needs sucks, and not in the way you would think. While dealing with the issues you know you have to face on a daily basis can be soul grinding at times, it's the things you don't expect to deal with that really slap you upside the head and make you want to go postal that do it.

Take meds, for example. A typical parent doesn't need to worry about medication on a daily basis for their child, nor do they need to schedule in the monthly drive to pick up the prescriptions, and then go get the meds dropped off at the local pharmacy. And if they need meds when their child is sick, it's usually a short term deal.

With Xavier and ADHD, medication is a major part of how he can cope. It's not a be all end all, but when added to behavior modification, a good schedule, and a lot of adults there to help, it allows him to live as normal a life as possible. And his meds are the kind that I can't randomly call up the pharmacist and ask for a refill. I have to contact his doctor every month, drive my ass down there, drive it to the pharmacist, and hope like hell I don't get a new person. Because new pharmacists suck.

Why?

Because every time I get a new pharmacist, I have to go through the rigmarole to prove that YES my son DOES need "all those" medications, and that I am not using him as my recreational drug supplier. I have to slowly spell every ones name, age, birth date, social security numbers, all former names of pets, every address I have ever lived at (which I think I'm now up to 13?) and wave my passport for a stamp of approval. Unfortunately, my local pharmacy has a turn around like a carousel and I have to go through this shit every few months. I think it might be time to find a more stable pharmacy environment.

Then I have to wait to make sure that the pharmacy even has the medications in stock (which half of the time they don't in which I run around in a panic, trying to find another pharmacy that might and deal with a new pharmacist). And then I have to deal with the POS insurance companies, who also think I might be a druggie, and randomly refuse us the meds needed because we put in the prescription 23 seconds too early.

Today I dealt with two of these issues and a new one: my credit card company decided that it wasn't me trying to buy the expensive medication I do every month on the SAME card, but was a thief and refused to approve unless I called and proved it was me.



This morning I met the new pharmacist. She bounced over to the drive through window like Tigger on crack.
Pharm: Hi, may I help you???
Me: Yes, I have three prescriptions to fill. ( I hand them over. She looks at them for a good minute, scrutinizing the doctors signature, making sure it wasn't a photocopy.)
Pharm: Maam, are these prescriptions for you?
Me: No, my son.
Pharm: And he needs all three of these?
Me: Yes
Pharm: Really? He needs both (##) Concerta AND (##) Concerta?
Me: Yes, he does. You can check your records if you wish.
Pharm: Have you filled here before?
Me: Yes. And he has had that same prescription filled here for many months.
Pharm: I see. I am going to go check, ok?
Me: (nodding in resignation and leaning back to catch a quick nap while she raids the files).
Pharm: (5 minutes later) Yes, I see that he has had his prescription filled here before. This is the same one?
Me: Yes.
Pharm: Can you tell me your sons name?
Me: Xavier
Pharm: and his date of birth?

I tell her through gritted teeth and finally she seems to either believe me or she knows I'm about to lunge through the window, grab her cutesy Bugs bunny tie and choke hold her until she puts the damn order in. She checks to make sure they have the medication (someone above realizes I've had enough at this moment because oddly enough they have all three in stock) and I tell her I will pick them up this afternoon.

Which I do, and deal with a new issue entirely, and one that nearly had me ( and the kids) go crazy with how much time we sat with thumbs up our asses.



I have a very specific credit card used solely for medication purposes. For some random reason, this time when I went to pay for Xavir's meds, the credit card company decided to refuse on the basis that they thought the exorbitant prices of meds was not what it was every month, but that the card was stolen. Which meant that I had to call in and prove it was me.
 So I sat there, on hold, for fifteen minutes waiting to talk to a person. And when I finally got a person I realized that in my frustrated haste I called the wrong number. Instead of the credit card company I got a Presbyterian church (which has an 888 number by the way... who knew?).

Instead of waiting on hold again for an ungodly amount of time I asked the pharmacist to try again. If it didn't work Id just come back later. She swiped the card, and voila! It worked. I have a feeling that it wasn't my credit card, but that the new pharmacist fucked up.


Shit like this makes me so grateful for alcohol.

Die

Soren has finally exploded in his vocabulary, for which we parents are truly grateful. for the most part. There are definitely some times where we really wish he wasn't picking up words and phrases so fast, as well as wishing he was not the youngest of three boys. Because we have learned that his brothers are both the best and worst teachers for him.

I could sit there for hours, repeating a word to Soren and he wouldn't give me the time of day. But anything out of the mouths of Ashe or Xavier, and Soren is doing his damndest to mimic each syllable.

So when both Ashe and Xavier started making fun of Dora, Soren's favorite show, I tried to keep on their butt about it. I knew Soren wold start picking up some of the phrases the boys would use to bond in their brotherly way. And I was right. Because despite my high end efforts of stopping it from happening, Soren came up to me recently and told me that Dora and Boots die. And then he giggled and ran away.

I had hoped that maybe he was just parroting back the phrase I heard Xavier and Ashe snicker to each other quietly, hoping I wouldn't hear. (When will these boys learn I hear everything?) But again, my hopes were dashed when not long after, Soren was playing wit his toy Mario on the table and it fell off the ledge. Soren looked up at me and said "UH OH, MARIO DIE!!!". Great. Just fucking great.

So now I have to sit the little tyke down, and try to explain the difference between a toy falling and death. Thanks boys. Thanks a million. By the way, you're both grounded the next time I hear the word die out of your mouths.

Strawberry Season

Strawberries are one of the most coveted food sources of my family. If we buy two pints of strawberries at the local food store, they're usually gone before all of the groceries have been brought into the house. And then the boys clamor for more the rest of the week. But nothing, I mean nothing, beats the taste of sun ripened, just picked off the vine by your very own hands, fresh as you can get, strawberries. Everything else pales in comparison. It makes the strawberries in food stores taste like cardboard.

Fortunately for us, we have a kick ass local farm stand literally a minute from Xavier's school and starting mid-April they open up their pick your own strawberry patches. I am writing this in April (sorry for the late publishing but I didn't want to spam blogs) and we just got back from our first strawberry picking expedition of the season.

our ginormous bucket of fantastic strawberries. No, you can't have any! MINE!!

After school today I whipped over to the berry patch with three excited kids, all of us ready to gorge on strawberries until our stomachs were crying out in pleasured agony. I grabbed one of the giant buckets they offer, refusing to allow each boy their own. While technically we "could" have easily eaten $40 worth of strawberries, I didn't feel like paying that much and dealing with juicy red poop for the next week. One bucket it was, to the disappointment of my spawnlings.

We headed over to one of the rows and I loosed the boys with a whoop and they took off. Until a butterfly gently floated by Xavier, and he freaked out, remembering that he hates bugs of any kind. Instantly he ran back to me and started up a commentary about each passing insect as I slowly made my way down the row, searching for ripe berries.

"OOOOOOH, go away spider!!!"
"That's not a spider, that's an ant."
"Seriously???? It's gotta be the biggest ant ever!"
"Ummm, it's normal size. Move over, you're blocking the berries."
Ashe (yelling three rows over): "MOM! I GOT ONE!" I smile and wave. Soren's two rows away, popping berry after berry in his mouth. He notices me looking at him and grins, red juice and mashed berries dripping down his chin.

"Holy cow! That butterfly almost ran into me! Can butterfly's be dangerous????"
"Ahhh, no."
"Promise?"
"Xavier, do butterflies look like they can hurt you?"
"I don't know."

Ashe (yelling four rows over): "MOM! I GOT ANOTHER!!!"" I smile and wave. Soren's still popping berries in his mouth. I'm glad I put him in a dark shirt today.

"HOLY CRAP LOOK AT THAT WOLF SPIDER!!!!!"
"Xavier, that's not a wolf spider."
"How do you know???? It could be!!!"
"You know what? Since you're not picking any berries, and obviously you're not having fun out here, why don't you wait for us by the car? We won't be much longer."
"I'm having fun!!!"
"......Really, dude?"
"Really. I just don't want to pick strawberries anymore."
"You haven't picked any."
"I'm ok with that."

After filling the ginormous bucket in 15 minutes, the boys and I head back to the stand to pay. As we step in line Xavier starts telling me how he wants to be a farmer when he grows up, and he's going to not only have a strawberry farm, but he'll also raise dragonflies and bees, and possibly even some butterflies. I just stare at him in bewilderment, wondering if he's on drugs. This, coming from the kid who merely minutes ago, was ready to jump into my arms when a dragonfly raced by a full row away. Instead of asking him where his stash is and could I have some, I instead smile hesitantly, and tell him I'll be the first in line to pick strawberries at his farm.




Oh yeah, the strawberries are already almost gone. And we've only been home for an hour.