Things I Love On A Rainy Saturday

Bougainvillea against a wet, wooden fence.

Memories of Haiti

 Our very first potato

 A meal fit for a mouse

 Brick paths and weird tropical plants from my father

 93 years old on February 21st

 Our resident black racer who thinks she's Nessie

Navigating the Loch

Orchids in the back yard that grow themselves

Where did you come from and why do you stay?

Vines that marry

I now pronounce you Black-eyed Susan and Jasmine

 That the children have to walk under the vines to swing

Surrounded by fragrance 

 That Orange and Purple really do go together

In the garden, of course

Delaware, I Salute You!

Delaware state bird.

Up all night with The Baby who moaned, groaned, and yelled for me. This is the nightly norm for The Baby but in my sleep deprived delirium it seemed a tad more excessive.

This morning she has a temperature of 101.

"I sick. Are you sick?" she moans.

I can't figure out if I am also sick which seems to be a genetic trait from the paternal side of my family. Generally when my temperature reaches 103 after days of a "headache" I decide to use a thermometer and then am amazed at how sick I am, how long I have actually been sick and how I had no clue regarding this fact.

Not being in touch with one's own health issues is also characteristic of "extreme caretakers." You know who you are and many of you are reading this blog.

Come to think of it following an "extreme caretaker" around for 24 hours might be a good premise for a new reality tv show. Besides I'm bored with watching re-runs of Hoarders on Netflix. I could use a dose of wallowing in the misery of someone I actually have something in common with.

So I'm exhausted this morning and stagger after my cup(s) of java when The Boy hollers for me. I figure he has to wee wee.

"Mom! What did you do with the snake?"

The snake? What snake?

"Why did it have polka dots on it?"

Fever dream?

When I get The Boy up for school he cannot decide if he feels well enough to go to school or not even though it turns out that he does not have a temp.

Can't decide if he's sick. Uh. Oh. Sounds like it might be genetic and environmental.

I pack his lunch, and back pack and in doing so I find that he has a big art project due today. The letter from his fabulous art teacher informs me that The Boy has chosen the states of Texas and Delaware and that I was supposed to research these two states online last night with him and send in many, many facts and photos corresponding to those chosen states.

I can also use "weird " facts for example the "fainting goats in Montana."


Fainting goats? I seem to have missed this somewhere in the past 60 years of life experiences. The only thing I know about Montana is that for every one woman there are 12 men. I considered moving there when I was young and had hormones. Now I'm old, have no hormones and hate the cold so Montana no longer entices me.

And Delaware? Where is Delaware actually? Does any one live there? I have never met a soul from Delaware and in Florida we have tourists from all over the United States so I have to wonder does Delaware really exist? And more importantly did The Boy choose Delaware because it rhymes with under wear?

In researching Delaware for 20 seconds this morning I discover that not only does Delaware exist it actually has a chicken for it's state bird! Any state who has a chicken for it's state bird and whose residents do not spend winters in Florida annoying Floridians is worthy of praise!

Kudos, Delaware! I stand and salute you!

The Boy has been to Texas, however, so i ask him what he remembers about our vacation to Dallas.

"The cashews."

The train ride to Ft. Worth? The longhorn steer run in downtown Ft. Worth? The Dallas children's science museum? The book depository museum and grassy knoll where JFK was assassinated? The Los Lonely Boys concert in downtown Dallas? The vintage train museum?

Gone.

"The cashews."

I remind him of the strong Mexican culture we also encountered when purchasing those cashews at a local farmers market and asked if he encountered a strong Mexican culture in Dallas what country does he think borders Texas?

'Tokyo?"

Sick or not sick I predict it's going to be a long day and an even longer art project.

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.

Fool!

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.

OJ.

Water...

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.