Sunday, March 27, 2011

pirates in the morning

Punkin has been very interested in pirates lately. The other day he took a strip of plastic bag (that he had shredded) and wrapped it around his head, "PIRATE! ARGH!" This morning I went to get him a piece of cloth for a headband, but the only thing I could find was the ties to our bathrobes. Eh, it works. Now for an eye patch.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

because i know you've been waiting

This is my new kitchen. It's definitely tiny, but I like it. The appliances are an upgrade and the dining area is big. I think having a small space will force me to keep it very clean. I'll post more photos when I have art on the walls. Oh, and there's children upstairs -- children who run. :)

i won't even mention the pee on the floor

Some days are better than others. Yesterday started out awesome. We had a nacho luncheon at work, which is exactly what it sounds like; everyone brought an ingredient for nachos and we stuffed our faces. It rocked.

Then on the way home the cable guy called and asked if he could come EARLY to install cable and internet. Um, YES. So I get home and he's there tinkering around outside. Then he comes in and tinkers around inside for a while. There's a minor issue that he has to call in about, but he makes sure the internet is working and leaves.

Then I realize he never checked to make sure the cable was working, so I turned on the TV and, I know you're shocked, but all I got was fuzz. WAH. So I looked behind the TV and he never actually hooked up the cable from the wall to the television. And since the cable ran from the wall to my modem, I couldn't hook it up to the TV. There are two cable outlets and I have an extra cable wire, so I checked the other one, but sure enough it didn't work.

So I'm on the phone with the cable company and Punkin decides to flip out about something, probably food related, and the woman thinks I'm an idiot. I tell her that the guy never hooked up the cable to my television, he only hooked it up from the wall to my modem and she of course asks, "Well, did he leave any cable behind?"

"No, but I do have some."

"Is there a place on the back of your TV to plug it in?"

Of course now is when Punkin starts banging in frustration on the wall. "Of course there is, but I can't plug the cable in to my TV because the cable wire is going to my modem. I would have to unplug my modem."

"Well, I'm not asking you to do that."

I take Punkin to his room and he begins screaming. "In my other apartment, I think I had a splitter for the cable wire so part of it went to the TV and part of it went to my modem."

"Can you check the other outlets?"

"The other outlets?" At this point I have no idea why she is asking me to check the other outlets, as Punkin is yelling, "I BROKE IT! IS BROKEN!" and I can't concentrate on the woman on the phone who thinks I'm an idiot. I walk into his room to see the curtain rod dangling from the wall, bent to the point of being unusable, and his face covered in tears.

"Maybe there was just some misunderstanding and that's why those other outlets weren't activated."

"No. My main TV is not hooked up. It's not the additional outlets. It's my main TV."

"If you would just check those other outlets for me because sometimes they are left there but aren't activated."

I am literally carrying my small TV from my room to Punkin's room, plugging it in, and plugging in the cable cord. "There are four other outlets."


"Yes. This one works. It's my main TV." Somehow I get us back on track and I tell her again that the cable is running from the wall to the modem, but not to my television. "There's another cable outlet here next to the other one but it doesn't work. There is currently no way to run the cable from the wall to my TV without unplugging my modem."

"The other one doesn't work."


"Ok. So you need a splitter."


"Okay, I will send someone out but it may not be until Tuesday from 8-10am."


So I hang up and rush to hang the curtains from my room in Punkin's room, get a pizza in the oven, and take a shower before respite arrives. And then I feed Punkin the pizza. And then I clean up the pizza. And then I decide to double-check the schedule and, yes, the worker was to arrive a half an hour earlier. I call the respite agency and the woman there cannot reach the worker who is supposed to be at my house. She said she would try to send someone else, but most likely would not be able to find anyone. So much for a girls' night out that I've been planning for a month. WAH.

I try unplugging the cable from the modem and plugging it into the television so that we can watch cartoons, but the picture is terrible. Looks like there's going to be a bigger issue than a splitter. WAH.

So I eat some pizza and call my dad to whine. He brings me beer and after entertaining Punkin, which may have saved Punkin's life and me some jail time, we put Punkin to bed and watch Napoleon Dynamite.

Everything is right again with the world until 7:30 am when my son is running away from me in WalMart and his pants fall down. And instead of stopping to pull them UP, he slows slightly to pull DOWN his tighty whities. The woman who caught sight of him before I yelled, "PUNKIN!" and he yanked them back up was not very amused. Punkin, however, held his hand up to his mouth and snickered the entire way back to the cleaning section when he grabbed a mop and ran away from me a second time. That time I chased him, as I didn't know where the mop might end up.

So now it's about 8:00am and I need to stop by Target to buy a puzzle rack because no one else sells them. We manage to survive that experience with most of our dignity and make way towards his doctor's office to pick up the one thing we REALLY need -- his prescription for Ritalin, of which we currently have one dose.

It's 8:32am and I'm being told that they do not have the paper copy nor computer record of his prescription for Ritalin. The nurses working there are not the usual staff, so there's some lack of understanding about what I even need and what can be done to remedy the problem. WAH.

And then it happens. Just as I'm about to lose it completely -- tears and everything -- a third person checks the box and finds that the magical piece of paper has been there the entire time. Or maybe God knew I was about to break and just made one appear. Either way, we got what we needed. I looked at her and said, "It's an ADHD miracle!"

So on the way out of Target I snagged some Dove dark chocolates, the ones with the promises written inside. On the way home I opened it and it read, "Celebrate life's small victories." Indeed, Dove. Indeed. I mean, he DID pull his pants up when I told him to. And he laughed about it, which means he knew it was socially inappropriate. Add that to the prescription miracle and the fact that we're getting our entire $500 deposit on our last apartment refunded and I'd say we're doing all right.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

stomping day

Today was our last full day in our apartment. At 8:15 this morning Punkin decided to march in place in front of the television, stop for 30 seconds when I asked, and then start again. He repeated this for several minutes. During one of the 30 sec0nd intervals, Squiddie banged at us and Punkin, being oblivious as he is, stomped in response. It was REALLY hard not to laugh as I told him, "No marching in the house," and led him over to the couch to work on a puzzle.

Did I tell you my kid -- MY KID -- likes puzzles. At home, too, not just school. Just sayin'. Moving on.

I think any time you're ending a relationship, be it with a person or a home, it pushes you in ways to make moving on easier. My mom says this about teenage girls who are going off to college. For me it happened at 3:36am when I heard shouting and banging, went to the window, and witnessed, as I was dialing 9-1-1, a man shatter the sliding glass door of a neighbor's apartment with his fists. So that was neat.

Punkin and I had a lot of fun unpacking the majority of the kitchen in the new place. Then my mom had the pleasure of dealing with me at the store going, "Uhm, well, maybe, what do you think, uh, okay, maybe this one, well maybe not," over various options to fill an awkward space under the counter in the kitchen.

Tomorrow the real move swings into action; I can't wait for it to be over.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

meanwhile, i desperately await a call from the pediatrician

Have you ever seen a fish flopping in a puddle of water on a dock? It was like that. That sort of unbridled, thwacking energy flinging from side to side combined with the power of at least two cheetah cubs took over my son this evening and wouldn't let go. It was rather amazing, actually.

It's sort of been climbing a scale from "eh" to "oh boy" to "HE HAS TO STOP" over the past month and just tonight my dear friend Jennie asked me, after I told her that there was sadly no more Ritalin left in our day, "Is there anything you can give him to calm him down?" I had to say, "No, no there's not. Maybe a Mountain Dew. I really don't know. I called his doctor."

I tried "jumping" him upside-down on my lap; he flounced off. I tried bouncing him upright on the ball; he purposely fell over. I tried squishing him; he squeezed out. So we went back to brushing. I think it worked. Either that or he finally pooped out. The effect wasn't immediate, though, like in the past, so it was difficult to tell. I need to give it a few more days. Brushing is a pain, but it's better than Fish Cheetah Boy.

So anyway, we're moving on Sunday. I am so excited because it's a ground floor and it has a pool and a playground. We're going to stomp our feet all day long on that ground floor. And I've been such a high-strung mess at home trying to avoid being the recipient of any more delightful notes that I think it's rubbing off on Punkin.

But just like he always does, he brought me back down to earth with a good laugh. He hates when I wash his hair because I have to dump water on his head. So tonight while he's in the bath, before I even have a chance to break out the soap, he turns to me with the water cup and says, "Ready? One more time!" and I got a (very much deserved) face full.

Friday, March 11, 2011

in the world of neighbors, he is squidward

You know that crabby guy with the big nose who watches fancy television? The one who was finally happy for a few short days only when he went to live among his kind in Squidville? That, for some reason, is how I characterize my new neighbor, who has taken to banging on the ceiling and writing notes in all caps with an excessive number of exclamation points to every resident in the building. We also now have assigned parking because one person, who has lived here all of two months, claimed it was an issue. Whatevs. I got the spot closest to the door.

I realize, though, that if HE'S Squidward, I guess that makes us SpongeBob and Patrick. But considering we rock out on fake guitars and (still) throw our puppies in the potty, it's probably warranted.

I just really want to ask him what he thinks he's accomplishing when he blasts his music the second he walks in the door. Because if he thinks he's going to annoy ME, he really needs to up his game. I work in a preschool.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

can't even make this up

I've told quite a few people this story already, but I don't feel it's lived up to it's full glory until I've shared it with the entire internet. Some things are just too awesome to keep to yourself.

A while ago I posted about my frustration over Medicaid's denial of Punkin's usual acid reflux medication. The new liquid medication did not go over well and Punkin soon began vomiting and waking during the night. After playing phone tag with his pediatrician for a week, we received a new prescription for yet another drug. This one, though, is in pill form.

On Friday I was washing my hands at work after changing a rather noxious diaper when the school nurse walked in. "Punkin just threw up. A lot."

I went to collect him and he was as chipper as ever. I thought that maybe since we had changed medications that it wasn't working and his reflux was bothering him again. I took him home to rest, which he didn't seem interested in at all.

While I was on the phone with Social Security, having a mild heart attack over whether I had surpassed my resource limit, he apparently ate a half a bag of peach ring gummy candies. Then the ladies showed up with my Mother of the Year Award and coordinating handbag.

Not five minutes after I took the remaining candy away, he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the couch. Peach vomit everywhere. "What happened, Mom?"

"You're actually sick, that's what happened."

I cleaned him up and he settled himself flat on his back on my lap. A new episode of SpongeBob was starting when he began making that all too familiar gagging sound. I quickly sat him up and the vomit, I kid you not, streamlined directly into my right eyeball.

"Thanks for that. Guess it's time to go see if I still have those antibiotic drops for pinkeye."