Apr 11, 2012

Cup of Java With That Urine?

So I recently got my income tax return.

"How did you get such a b-i-g return?" the bank teller asked in a way too loud voice.

'I am poor. I have lots of children." I replied.

"Wow!" she responds. "And how much would you like to put in your savings after you pay off your Visa?"

The Visa containing the surgery costs? Yes. I pay $457.00 a month for Blue Cross Blue Shield and Blue Cross Blue Shield didn't pay one penny of my November orthopedic surgery.

The Visa containing the van costs? Yes. Remember when it was towed away? Posting bond for Charlie Manson would've been cheaper.

The Visa containing living expenses because the recovery from surgery in November was far more painful than I anticipated? Morphine every six hours! Who knew Morphine and Sweet Tarts were basically the same composition? My Friend Big Daddy Dr. Weed had the same surgery at the same place one hour after mine and ended up getting staph in his wound followed by MRSA and is only recently able to walk without agonizing pain.

Maintaining a full work schedule during all of this? You must be kidding? We supplemented my lack of income with my Visa and measly savings.

And then there was the Teenager's hospitalizations in December, January and March. Oh, and lets not forget The Boy's hip fracture two days after the Teenagers March surgery.

"So your Visa is paid off. How much of your income tax return would you like to put in savings, now? Your current savings balance it $9.00." The bank teller announces to everyone in the lobby.

Was she jealous or something? She can certainly have my children if she wants a better income tax return.


We are basically shut-ins due to the hip fracture. My primary contact with the outside world is work. Who knew work could be so exciting? When Iris arrives I run screaming down the drive way. Free at last.

I sit here day after day after day after returning from work and listen to things like...

" I sure am glad I'm not a tree." From The Boy.

"Why?" I lamely inquire.

"Because it would be sooooo boring just standing there all day."

Who thinks this way?

I haven't slept since March 22nd.

"Mom! I am having jaw pain!"

"Mom! I have to pee."

"Mom! I have to poop."

"Mom! I need pain medicine!'

"Mom! My foot itches!"

"Mom! My splint is too tight."

"Mom! I need a drink of water." At 2 am?

"Mom! I'm having a muscle spasm."

"Mom! I got a potato stick stuck in my wisdom tooth hole."

And if that's not bad enough The Baby has developed the annoying habit of calling me by my first name if I don't answer to "mom."

Alright. Which one of you brats told her my first name?

And speaking of The Baby she is up half the night with her horrendous sleep disorder and the other half just because. Just because everyone else in the family is up.

I stagger out of bed at 6:00 am to get The Baby on the bus before work and find lemonade on the stove in a large plastic cup. I ponder it while making coffee. I don't recall lemon-aid in our house...

Capri Sun.



Dear God it suddenly hits me.

"BOY! Did you put urine on the stove in a plastic cup?"

He can finally sit in his wheel chair this week without pain but the chair won't fit in to our bathroom door so he pees in any available receptacle when I am not looking.

He knew I was perturbed by the urine on the stove so the following day it was placed on The Baby's highchair tray. Ah! Much better.

I wander in to the garden this week to sip my coffee seeking home-grown "respite." After I thoroughly wash my coffee cup first just in case The Boy decided to take a leak in that too.

I notice a little black speck on the rim of the cup and remove it. Coffee grind I presume. Until I swallow a soft, fat blob of something which I spit back in to my empty coffee cup. The blob has legs.

Garden beetle? I look closer. Oh my God no! Cockroach? I can't even go there.

I prefer my coffee black like my anal cercus

Apparently that coffee ground was a bug turd.

"Ack! Ack! I think I just drank a cockroach! I'm going to die!" I'm shrieking now. It's difficult to vomit when you are shrieking which is a good thing.

"Protein." The Boy suggests. "I eat ants you know. They taste like Hershey's chocolate."

I consider switching to Godiva while I run to the internet to see how long I have to live.

I find this:

Chocolate Allergies Linked To Cockroach Parts at The Body Odd site.

No words.


D said...

BLESS YOU HONEY...Just bless you

Elisa said...

Haha...great stories. Hey, I think what you are doing with the kids is awesome. I love what you wrote under "the baby". Love it! God bless you.

Anonymous said...

Sending hugs and OMG, a bug turd on your coffee cup. I just tasted a little bit of vomit in my mouth. Hang in there honey:)

Low Maintenance Mama said...

Bless your heart.

Island Rider said...

I have nothing to say excpet your deserve a great big tax return!

A.M. Mama said...

I think the way you ended your post is the only thing left for the rest of us to say in our comments.

No words.

But I DO have to say that it's after 11pm and since I CAN'T shriek out loud reading about your coffee "extras", I am pretty close to the other option like Lilith above.

Oh my word.

Birdie said...

If I was in a bank when something liked that happened I would have gone to management. It does not matter who you are, you deserve privacy. It is a legal right and that "teller" had not right to tell the entire bank your financial situation. Grrr. It makes me so mad! If you were wealthy that never would have happened.

And I don't know what to say about the rest. Go buy yourself some real chocolate (the expensive kind) with some of that money.

Elizabeth said...

I'll use one of my favorite phrases:

You just can't make that shit up.