A Boatload of Drugs and Death Threats
Yesterday I went to see my allergist. He walked in the room, said "hello" to me and Barry White said hello back. He knew I needed help.
He examined my popping ears, my blocked by the Great Wall of China sinuses, and my itchy throat and said I looked "very allergic." I assured him I've been taking all my meds and then some regularly. Pataday eye drops once a day, Patanase nasal spray twice a day, and half an Allegra because if I only take half I just get cranky. If I take a whole tablet, I get cranky and want to wrap my car around a tree.
He said he wasn't sure what the problem was, but when he checked my allergy testing results he nodded. It's late summer pollen time people and I'm living next to a weed filled lot. That can't be helping things.
He told me we'd hit this foggy head with everything possible and if I'm still miserable in a week, then my only other option is going to be allergy shots. He prescribed Prednisone, a Z-pak, Veramyst and told me to take Mucinex too. That's on top of my crank-inducing Allegra, Patanase and Pataday. I cracked up laughing when he said he was prescribing Prednisone. The last time I took that I was suffering from a serious case of poison ivy and Prednisone did not make for a pleasant me. I was irritable to the point that my family pretty much avoided me and I believe it was days before Mr. BBM even dared to enter the same room with me.
Combining Pred with Allegra? Someone is probably going to have to die. It's also likely I'll gain about 20 pounds. Here's hoping the extra weight opts for the chest area and leaves my butt alone.
He told me I should have Mr. BBM talk to me from behind a door for a couple days and that Mr. BBM should also mow the empty lot.
So I weed wacked half of it before all three of my batteries died, came inside, blew my nose 1000 times and it seems to me that the Great Wall of China is starting to crumble. I'm finally starting to be able to breathe a little bit.
Here's hoping the side effects from all these meds don't kill me (or make me kill someone else) first.
A Threat that Works
Yesterday I was going through a stack of papers on my counter and came across an envelope from U.S. District Court. Mr. BBM received a jury summons a couple weeks ago and he was supposed to fill it out and send it back within 10 days or else he would be deported or something.
I cautiously opened the envelope to find that he had yet to send it back. Fantastic.
So, before I left to take Big I to ju-jutsu I wrote him a note with a couple post-it's and a black Sharpie and left it on the middle of the kitchen island. The note said:
"Fill this out NOW before I'm a single Mom and you're trying to avoid picking up the soap in the community shower."
It's in the mail today.
Give me my Meds or I’ll Cough on You
Yesterday I woke up to find out that I was completely out of my allergy eye drop and nasal spray, and trust me when I tell you that I desperately needed them and now. I immediately got on the computer and plugged in my refill info at my pharmacy. I did this at 10 a.m. It said the earliest I could pick it up would be 2 p.m.
You've got to be kidding me. It takes two hours to drop an eye drop bottle in a bag?
I then realized that my nasal spray was a doctor's sample and that I hadn't yet filled that prescription. So we got in the car and went to the Rite Aid drive-through. It was noon.
"When would you like to pick this up?" the girl asked me.
"I'd like to come back in an hour," I told her. I had to go suffer through a visit to the grocery store anyway. I figured an hour was plenty of time to drop both an eye drop and a nasal spray in a bag.
I guess they're making the drugs there because the girl told me there was no way it would be ready before 2 p.m.
I drove off in a huff, possibly screeching my tires out of the drive-through aisle and called Mr. BBM to tell him how outraged I was that my clogged up head was going to have to wait another two hours for my meds.
I went into my grocery store and realized for the first time, that there was a pharmacy in the back. A polite young guy was working there and I told him I wanted to ask him a hypothetical question.
"What if I brought you a prescription for a nasal allergy spray? How long would it take you to fill it?"
"About five minutes," he said.
"Ok, what if I also need an allergy eye drop prescription. How long then?"
"About five minutes," he said, grinning ear to ear instead of scowling at me like the Rite Aid girls.
I figured I'd throw him for a loop. I have walked into Rite Aid with very sick kids, barfing sick kids and they have told me I'd have to wait a good hour for the medicine. When that happens, I usually either take the prescription elsewhere or stand there and make my children look as if they're about to barf right now. It's amazing how that works to make them move faster. Unfortunately, I don't think they were feeling very threatened by a congested Mom in the drive-through. So, I asked the grocery store pharmacy one more question. . .
"Well, what if I also have a sick kid and you actually have to mix the medicine for them. Add to that my eye drop and nasal spray. How long then?"
"About five minutes," he said, then added, "Wait! Have you been here before?"
"No, does that change things?" I asked him.
"Yeah, it would add about two minutes, but only for the first time," he said grinning so brightly I practically needed sunglasses.
Then he smiles even bigger and says, "Let me guess. . . you just came from Rite Aid right?"
"Yeah you would be correct," I told him, "but this is the last time I'll be coming from there."
Of Insults, Stripping, and Riding Escalators Like Buddy the Elf
I've been solo with the girls since Sunday while Mr. BBM has been on a business trip. Picking up his night time duties like bedtime and feeding the cats has thrown me for a real loop. The first night almost literally, as my cat decided to weave in and out of my legs as I was trying to put his food down and I nearly fell on my butt.
I decided the girls and I needed a change of scenery yesterday so we went out for lunch and then to the mall to cash in some Gymbucks. I should have known it was going to be an interesting day when Lil C whined for a good hour before we left.
However, we got to the restaurant and were having a nice meal. For a change, Lil C wasn't sitting directly on top of me and chose instead to sit on the opposite side of the booth with her sister. This was working out fine until a very overweight woman decided to leave the restaurant. Lil C's eyes locked on the back of the woman and I desperately tried to distract her. I knew what was coming; this wasn't the first time.
"Ooh, look, what's that outside? Is your lemonade good? What flavor is it? What did you color? What a pretty picture you drew there. . . "
And then she said something to the effect of, "Mommy, you are not big like her Mommy. Your butt is not big like that" as I pretty much sprawled across the table trying to physically close her mouth and over talk her so that the poor woman wouldn't hear.
I don't know why she felt the need to reassure me that my butt wasn't big. I mean, it was a nice thought; but clearly my 3-year old is lacking the filter.
Later we went to the mall and there was a woman making pancakes in the department store to demonstrate something they were selling. The girls both ate a pancake while we chatted with the woman. She looked to be only about in her 50's, but that didn't stop Lil C from saying "Yook at the nice yittle old yady. She's a nice yittle old yady Mommy." It was like she was a skipping record or something. I tried to make it seem like she was calling herself a "yittle old yady" and turn it around on her. But she became even more adamant about insuring this woman knew that Lil C thought she was both little and old.
I was horrified for the second time of the day, but the woman was so nice that she just kept talking to us. I was ready to leave but I wanted to check one more store for something.
We walked down the mall and I stopped to look at some sunglasses on the way. I was trying them on and asking the girls what they thought when Big I erupted in laughter. I turned around to see Lil C holding her dress up at her neck and shaking her butt. I instantly flashed back to the night we were taking care of our cats at my sister's house when our house was being built. There was Lil C spinning around a pole in the basement like a professional. Mr. BBM and I just shook our heads. I was having another one of those moments.
I quickly told her she wouldn't be wearing dresses anymore if she couldn't keep her clothes on while Big I whispered that she had also kind of pulled her underwear down a bit to reveal her little butt. Yeah, exactly what a Mom wants while standing at a kiosk in the mall.
We quickly moved to the final location and went up the escalator. On the way up, Big I asked me about whether or not it was possible to have the escalator suck your toes off. I told her "yes" and that she needed to step up and off quickly at the top and bottom. Apparently I scared her, because when we were finished upstairs and coming back down, I turned around to Big I's panicked yelling. There she was, sideways with one foot still on the stationary platform and the other slowly inching away from her as the escalator put her into a full on straddle.
I screamed for her to get her other foot on and she quickly dragged it on, but not before having the edge of the step scrape up the traveling leg. It reminded me of that scene from Elf, where Will Farrell rides the escalator for the first time.
I figured it was time to take my little insulting stripper and accident prone daughters home. This is why I don't shop that much.
Transformation: Form of Pincushion
Sewing is not my thing. It's never been, not even when I was able to hand stitch pillows together in Home Economics class, not when I tried to make MC Hammer pants. I've just never been good at it or enjoyed it. I've always been a little jealous of those who can sew outfits, curtains, whatever. It's just not me. In fact, the sewing responsibilities usually fall on Mr. BBM in this household. I just don't have the patience for it. I can't even make a button stay on a coat longer than a day or two.
So you can imagine how frustrating it was for me to see that I had to sew a patch on my new black belt. Black belts are like the thickness of a California Redwood tree. Sewing anything onto them is especially challenging.
The night I was promoted, I asked Mr. BBM if he would sew my patch on, but it was late when we got home and it didn't happen. The next night, I asked him to try.
He broke two needles in the process, the thread tore halfway through the project, and it was barely on when all was said and done. Half of it was lifting up so I ripped it off and decided I could live for a class or two without my kobudo patch sewn onto my belt.
Last week, I went to the fabric store in search of Patch Attach. I've heard wonderful things about it and figured the couple dollars was well worth it. I came home and opened it up. Mr. BBM promptly threw the instructions away. I discovered this while he was at work. He's a lucky man.
I looked it up on the internet and found the instructions. You're supposed to apply the glue and then let it sit for 10 minutes before affixing to the fabric. So, I prepared the patch and promptly forgot about it, never getting the chance to glue it onto the belt. I even set a timer. Unfortunately, you can't hear a timer when you're outside helping your daughter ride her bike.
I came inside, noticed my mess-up and scraped all the Patch Attach off with my fingernail. I applied the glue again. This time I followed the directions, waited, and then pressed it onto my obi. I had the iron waiting. I followed the directions exactly. I finished with the iron, picked up my obi and off fell the patch.
You've got to be kidding me.
I repeated the process by scraping the glue off again. I also cleaned off the surface of my belt. I even scraped the back of the patch a bit with a knife just to make sure the glue would take the second time around.
It didn't.
Mr. BBM came home to find me in a fury of frustration. I wanted to get mine on before Lil C found it and decided to shove it down the air conditioning vent, like she sometimes does with random Cheerios she finds from time to time.
So today I went back to the fabric store. This time I took my belt and the patch along. I walked up to the woman who looked like she sews wedding gowns over her lunch hour and asked her what I needed to make this work.
She led me to some curved needles and I then went to find the most heavy duty thread I could find. I couldn't find fishing reel so I settled for coat thread. I also bought a thimble. Mr. BBM's fingers could have strained pasta when he was finished with his first attempt. I knew he wasn't going to volunteer to help. This time it was up to me. This time, I wasn't messing around.
Tonight I settled down around 10 p.m. to start the kobudo patch project. I went through several transformations during the 70 minutes it took me to sew that patch onto my obi.
I became my Mom. . . "Oh for Pete's sake. . . ".
I became my Dad. . . "Son of a . . . . "
I became a hypochondriac. . . "I think I have arthritis or something. Why is this so freaking hard to get the needle through? Why do my fingers hurt so badly? Something must be wrong with me!"
I became Big I. . . (throws head back and moans audibly so the entire house can hear before making horrible sounds with my throat and then almost screaming out "WHY? WHY? WHY?" while watching myself make horrible faces in front of a mirror before realizing that I'd wake up the girls and that might make things even worse).
I became my father-in-law as I thought, "Now who could I get to do this for me? Who's better at sewing than I am? Who could I compliment right into them doing this for me?" (I realized the answer to a better person was "everyone" but that no one was really biting to help).
I became Lil C as I contemplated having a snack instead of putting myself through any more of the torture.
I became a pin cushion, literally, as I stuck the curved needle right into my middle finger and out my skin a centimeter over from the starting point. Ouch.
And then I turned back into myself and decided that this too was part of my black belt test; this too was a mountain I'd have to climb, a test of my patience and ambition. I assured myself that I could do it, and I did. It may have taken me 70 minutes. My fingers still hurt typing this now, but it's done. The kobudo patch is on and I can officially go back to the status of "not sewing" again.
Unless of course, someone is looking for MC Hammer pants, in which case, we'll talk.
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