Stop Touching Me!

There seems to be this common misconception that I don't like to be touched, and I particularly don't like to be hugged. That is simply not true. However, if you think that, I probably just don't want to be touched by YOU.

I actually really like hugs. From people I'm very close to. I think hugs are appropriate behavior when some gets married, or when you're consoling someone at a funeral, or you're greeting someone you haven't seen in 3 years. I do NOT think hugs are necessary when you see the person every day, or even every week, and definitely not if you've never met them before. (Although I will break this rule when meeting family members for the first time).

I also don't have issues with the whole touching thing, when appropriate. I will sit so close to my best friends that we're practically in each others' laps...which is fine. But that's never a good idea if you're not on my unspoken, unwritten, highly important Touching Allowed List.

I'm not trying to be cruel, or even uppity. I won't hug some of my best friends...because the NOT hugging is part of our relationship. But I WILL hug some of my other best friends...again, because it's part of our relationship. I just don't think you can go carte blanche on hugging. There are too many factors involved. People that go around hugging willy nilly have no boundaries.

And people who say I don't like hugs are just plain wrong. I love hugs. It's the people I don't like so much.

Happy Birthday to Me ~ Part 4

The birthday celebrations are really rolling now. I hope I can keep up the momentum through August. (yea, like that will be a problem!)

So...I got my first tattoo 5 years ago when we visited SuperHubby's family in PA. It is a cross with a shamrock in the center and it's on my right ankle. In case you were wondering. And I know you were.

Ever since then, I have become addicted. I really wanted another tattoo. Several, actually, but I figured maybe I should take things slow. Plus, they're sort of permanent, so I wanted to make sure I chose the right design, in the right spot, for the right reason.

Never one to jump into things, it took me 5 years to make up my mind about tattoo #2. SH and I went Friday, and here I am with Chuck, our tattoo artist at the Blu Gorilla.


And the final product :: a heart and Celtic knot intertwined together, shaded blue, in honor of Spanky and FrogBoy.

To quote Spanky: "Mommy, you're gonna be all tatted up by the time I graduate from high school." Out of the mouths of babes.

Happy Birthday to Me :: Part 3

Another thing I had on my birthday wish list was a puppy. I've been trying to convince SuperHubby this was a good idea ever since we moved back to Mt. Pleasant almost 5 years ago. We had to give up our Boxers when we moved, because they were too big for our townhouse, but a smaller dog, well...that would work.

Slight problem: SH doesn't really like small dogs. He wasn't working with me on this one. So I suffered in semi-silence and hatched my plan. After all, he couldn't refuse my ONE 40th birthday wish, right? (Yes, I know, it seems like I have a LOT of "one birthday wishes" - it's true).

Anyway, he finally started seeing things my way. I've always wanted a Boston Terrier...or a Pug was my second choice...so the hunt was on. We searched online for rescues, but they were all out of state and very expensive, and I wanted to meet the dog before I got it. So I decided to go the SPCA route.

I started looking online and found the PERFECT puppy...a Boston Terrier/Pug mix. I went to meet him and fell in love immediately. Even better, he was very obviously in love with me. I brought him home May 2.

He is 8 months old, and he's the best dog ever. He is completely house trained, crate trained, he doesn't bark, he doesn't jump...he's just great. He acts like he's been part of our family forever.

I named him Jovi.

Happy Birthday to Me...Part 2

Ok, so confession time: I have an extensive list of things I want for my 40th birthday. Hey, you only turn 40 once, right? Most of the wishes on my list are seemingly impossible, which makes this post even more exciting.

One of my dreams has been to see Jon Bon Jovi in concert. In person. In all his gorgeousness. So I was going to do that this year...for The Circle tour. Unfortunately, I didn't have the cash when tickets went on sale, and Jon's sort of a big deal, so the concert was sold out when I could swing it financially.

Fast forward to mid-April. Naeem and Ashley, who were formally on staff at Seacoast and started their own church, Mosaic, in Charlotte, were going to the concert. And had 2 extra tickets. Naeem decided to have a contest on his blog for the 2 extras. I read it and dismissed it...until I realized (1) this is my dream, and (2) you can't win if you don't enter.

Well, several people entered, so they decided to let his blog readers choose the winner. All you had to do was get the most votes. Well, apparently I took this way more seriously than the rest of the finalists, because I WON!

Yep...I was going to see BON JOVI.

I took the sis-in-law. Here we are on the way to Charlotte. Yes, we rode with the top down the whole way there.



The concert was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Ok, I've only been to a couple of other concerts in my life (Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, and many, many Statler Brothers concerts). But this was THE concert. And man, did Jon look amazing. And he sounded even better.



I know I'm biased because he is my most favorite person on the planet, but I think what I enjoyed most about his performance (other than how incredible he looks and sounds, which frankly is just a given) is that he seems to truly enjoy what he's doing. When he smiles, which he does a lot, it seems very genuine. He thanked the audience so many times that I lost track. And, oh wow, that smile.



So yeah, best birthday present EVER.

Happy Birthday to Me - Part 1

I'm gonna be 40 in August.

There, that wasn't so hard to say. Anyway, I love birthdays. I love celebrating birthdays. I personally think my birthday should be celebrated year-round.

Unfortunately, I've had some real stinkers. Many times when I was young, the first day of school was my birthday. SuperHubby has had quite a few brain surgeries on or around my birthday, and FrogBoy was diagnosed with autism the day after my birthday. SH forgot #38, which frankly made him very UNsuper that year, and he had a migraine and slept through #39. So I figure 40 has to be better.

So this year, I had big plans. I found out Bon Jovi was playing in Charlotte, and I figured they did that just for me, so I decided I'd go. Since I love Jon and he will love me as soon as he meets me and all that. Sadly, tickets went on sale in October, when I had no money, so I gave up the dream and figured it was not meant to be.

Tax refunds came and I was looking for a way to celebrate. Thought we'd do a big family trip. But SH keeps doing the migraine dance, so I couldn't really make firm plans, and everything I came up with was deemed BORING by the boys. Which squashed my ideas of family fun.

Then I hit on it. A mini-vacation for each of the boys, separately, just them and me. This past week, during spring break, Froggie and I went to the Lego outlet in GA.

Spanky's trip comes later. As for Bon Jovi, that chapter is still open...

Aunt Freda

Last month we buried my Aunt Freda. Actually she was my great-aunt, one of many I grew up thinking was my "real" aunt, only to discover that while I have a plethora of great-aunts and step-aunts, I only have one full-blooded, true-by-definition aunt. But I digress.

My grandmother was one of 12 kids. Yikes. They were raised in Paris, Tennessee, and they were poor (with 12 kids, who wouldn't be?). Three boys, nine girls. Grandmama is #10. Aunt Freda was #11.

Her full name was Esta Freda. Did I mention they were very country people? Her sisters called her Esta Freda or Freda. To us kids, she was just Aunt Freda.

When we were growing up, we did everything as a large, extended family. I mean everything. There were 5 sisters and their families who lived in Charleston, so during the summers we all would go to Aunt MaeDell's and swim in their pool. At Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, everyone came over to my grandparents house. We were the sort of family where 2 of us lived next door to our grandparents (those were the houses we spent the most time at as a large group, because we had the most room). We're talking 5 families, 3 generations in each family. LOTS of people. And we were never crowded.

Aunt Freda had a tiny house. But she had a big heart. She raised her granddaughter before that was the thing to do...because it needed to be done. Because of this, I spent a lot of time at her house growing up (her granddaughter, my cousin, is a year older than me).

Aunt Freda was the cool aunt. She watched soap operas and read Harlequin romance novels. We're pretty sure call-waiting was invented for her. She could keep that grapevine buzzing....always to check on her sisters, her sisters' kids, or the grands. And she was funny.

Aunt Freda had these little sayings...like "Whatever smokes your drawers." To this day I don't know what that means, but I know it's good.

And she was quirky. I love quirky, and she had it in spades. When she would make hotdogs, she would dry them off with a paper towel, so your bun wouldn't get soggy (yes, I have adopted this Aunt Freda-ism). And when she washed clothes, she would never, NEVER wash underwear with towels, because then you had nasty stuff touching stuff that needed to be clean when it touched you...which just wouldn't do!

It's funny how small things work their way into your daily life and you don't really realize where it came from until you stop and think it through. In the last couple of weeks, I have chuckled more doing laundry and making hotdogs than ever before. And that's a good thing.

It's just Grandama and Aunt MaeDell now. Rather than blogging about how much I loved them after they're gone, I think I'll tell them before they go.

Different Day, Different Brain Issue

Two weeks ago we had some excitement in the Fitzgerald household. SuperHubby had been sick for a few days, nothing unusual, just a little stomach thing (okay, a big stomach thing...but it always seems little when you're not the one barfing). It started on Friday and lasted through the weekend. He didn't have migraine symptoms, or shunt symptoms, so I figured I'd let him just take the weekend and sleep it off.

Well, sleep he did. He slept from Friday night straight through to Sunday. Only got up when he had to barf, which frankly was way more than I could tolerate. I can handle a lot of things; that's not one of them. So when he wasn't puking, I let him rest, and I brought him pain and nausea meds as often as he could take them. I thought that was mighty nice of me.

Well Sunday he just seemed off. It occurred to me that most of his symptoms possibly could be shunt symptoms after all, including the sleeping for 3 days straight, and I started to grow concerned. When he got up at one point, he fell over, taking me with him, and bounced off the wall and the bed before landing in a heap on the floor, unable to move. Spanky had to help me get him back in bed. It was time to call in the big guns.

One of our pastors came over and helped me load him in the car. This was a good thing, as he was dead weight by this time. I couldn't handle him. I took him to MUSC and we hung around our home away from home for the next 9 1/2 hours. While the security guard at the door seemed to recognize the severity of the situation, the doctors, sadly, did not.

Immediately upon arriving in the ER I asked that they check his shunt for malfunction as well as infection. Since they were doing tap of the shunt for CSF, I also asked that they check for meningitis. A friend of mine recently had meningitis and the symptoms were eerily similar. I figured it was either shunt or meningitis. I was assured they would test for both.

After 7 hours, they decided to send SH home. I wasn't in the room at the time. It was the one time I had left. Coincidence? I think not. Once I got the word, I was none too pleased. I explained to the nurse that I'd been down this road before, many times, and I felt like I knew what I was talking about. Not to say he didn't, but he didn't. Anyway, I had to deal with the nurse, because I never saw the doctor. So I was ticked.

I pointed out that when a woman comes into the ER with a typed medical history, and it takes a whole page in 8-point font, you might want to consider listening to her opinions. Maybe. The nurse agreed. Poor guy, he actually was on my side. He just wasn't getting any slack from the doctor, who really just didn't want to be wrong.

So I showed my butt. For 2 1/2 hours. I fussed, loudly, about every single reason SH shouldn't go home, how I couldn't manage getting him there, how if he died it would be on them, just not nice things at all. Finally they agreed to let him walk down the hall first to test his steadiness. He failed miserably. I then pointed out that he'd run 55 miles exactly 1 month earlier, and now he couldn't walk 3 rooms down the hallway. He got to stay.

So he was admitted at midnight. He ended up staying from Sunday until Friday. Diagnosis? Meningitis. Yes, I said that. Yes, they ignored me. Yes, they pumped him full of heavy-duty antibiotics anyway, just in case, which quite possibly saved his life. (go me)

So, that's the saga of the newest brain "hiccup." Just to keep things fun.

All I Can Say Is "Wow"

Ever think something is your fault, but convince yourself that maybe it's not, and even if it is, there's nothing you can do to change it, so you decide just not to worry about it? That's what I've pretty much done for the past 12 years. I've always felt like all of FrogBoy's medical issues were somehow my doing, related in part or in whole to the medicine I took while I was pregnant with him. I remind myself that the doctors told me it was better to take the medicine and roll the dice than to not take the medicine and have a seizure while pregnant. I remind myself that I love him exactly as he is, and God gave me this child for a reason. I remind myself of a lot of things. Then I spend a little time not thinking about it, and eventually start blaming myself all over again.

This week, I discovered that it actually is all my fault. Indeed. Well, not really my fault; more the manufacturer of the medicine I took way back when. (Actually, I still take it, but that's not the point, now, is it?) Anyway, turns out this particular medicine causes birth defects...many of the issues Froggie deals with...some much, much worse. When faced with what could have been, I realize we are truly blessed.

Still, this cuts deep into my core. I am wounded, broken, raw. I wonder if he will forgive me. Will I forgive myself? I don't know...

So, finally, after 12 years, I have answers. I've been wanting answers. Not these answers, especially not these answers, but it is what it is, and now I know. Now I guess I have to live with what I've learned and move forward.

Home for the Holidays

Several years ago, when I first started blogging, I wrote a post called "The 12 Irritants of Christmas." It was a great post, if I do say so myself (and I do). It's one of my favorites. And it helps that every Christmas I pass the inspiration for many of those irritants. (Tacky yard displays? Check. Decorated cars? Check. Freaky people in the mall? Double check.)

This year, the holidays are a little bittersweet for my family. In June we lost 2 people that were close to us ... as much as either of them could be close to anyone.

At the beginning of June, our friend David died from pancreatic cancer. He'd been diagnosed last Thanksgiving. David was a small, quiet man who worked with us at the church, and SuperHubby and I kind of adopted him. He spent most holiday dinners with my family. He didn't say much, but when he loved you, you knew it. I hoped he knew we loved him. When he died, I was given a gorgeous scarf he'd made for me and set aside to be gifted only after he was gone. Yeah, he knew.

Then at the end of June my grandmother's husband, Van, died. He'd fallen at their assisted living facility, hit his head on the sharp corner of a wall, and never recovered. He was married to my grandmother for 20 years, and in all that time he never complained when we talked about how much we loved and missed my granddaddy. He knew my grandmother could never love him as much as she had Granddaddy and he was okay with that too. He didn't say much, and often grumbled when he did say something. He was in hospice near my house, and I really didn't want him to die alone, because I wanted him to know that he was loved. True to his nature, he passed away right after the nurses had checked him. He was totally alone. I got there about 20 minutes too late. I was afraid he'd never known I cared. My grandmother told me later that he told her he loved me. He knew.

So Thanksgiving was tough this year, and Christmas will be hard too. We have 2 empty chairs around our holiday table. But Van and David both loved the Lord, and they knew where they were going, and so did we. We rejoiced in their homegoings. There may be 2 empty chairs around our holiday table, but they are both spending their holidays at home.

God's Provision

So my previous post was about Froggie getting braces, and all that will entail. Anyone who draws breath knows we can't afford to pay for braces, so I thought I would explain how God provided them for us.

We've been discussing the need for braces for Froggie with his dentist for years, but we needed to get to a certain point in his growth before we could moved forward. Over the summer, it was finally time to take him to an orthodontist for a suggested plan of attack. After a couple of hours, the plan was in stone...and boy was it gonna cost us!

I felt horrible, because the orthodontist kept stressing how important it was to start as soon as possible to prevent loss of permanent teeth, the need for dental implants, etc. I felt like a failure as a parent when I had to tell him, "I just can't afford it." They offered us a 10% discount for SuperHubby being a minister. Still no. We couldn't even handle their payment options. They changed them - very graciously - but I still didn't feel like it was something we could take on. I hated myself for letting down my little Frog Man.

Then it dawned on me. Maybe I could get a grant. I contacted the grant folks, and got a big fat no. But I also got a big fat referral to an agency specifically designed for Froggie's type of dental need. I got in touch with them and the ball started rolling - fast.

In order to qualify for this program, you have to have a serious, life-altering issue. They take all sorts of measurements of your mouth, and you're graded based on that and some other criteria. Base score to qualify is 35. Most kids score around 36 - just hovering over the minimum. Froggie scored a 42.

Since I'd already taken him to the orthodontist, the paperwork was easy to do, and the case worker came out to the house shortly thereafter. She pushed him through at the cranial facial clinic at MUSC and what could have been a 6-month process was about a 3-month process.

Our contribution? We have to make sure Froggie takes care of his braces. We have to let them know every time he has an appointment (so they can approve payment). Basically, we have to be adults.

When I found out Froggie needed braces, I felt horrible for not being able to provide for him. Through prayer, I was led to the program I needed, and God has provided abundantly more than I could have asked or imagined.

Never think He won't do the same for you.

Braces!

It's been about a year in the making, but on Tuesday, December 1st, Froggie started the process of getting braces. I say "started" because, of course, nothing is simple in our house.

Because of the seriousnes of his jaw problems, it turns out that there is a very extensive plan for fixing said problems. Tuesday was just the beginning.

Froggie now has braces on his upper teeth only. This is to get things aligned and straightened enough to have oral surgery to pull down an upper tooth that's killing it's next door neighbor. I found out Tuesday that when he has the surgery, they will put him completely under anesthesia. This does not make me happy. I am trying not to dwell on that aspect of the process.

Once he has the oral surgery, they will put a little pulley system on that particular tooth and hook it up to the braces and pull that tooth out. In addition to the braces not being comfortable, that little dealio will probably be painful for him. At some point after oral surgery, they will add the bottom braces.

Supposedly he will have the full braces on for 2-3 years, at which time they will remove the braces and figure out which jaw should be broken to fix THAT problem. At this point the orthodontist is 98% sure he will have to have the jaw surgery, which will require breaking his jaw and wiring it shut. After that fun, he will get to be in braces yet again, probably another 1-2 years.

Seriously.

To top things off, his underbite is so severe that they had to put a bumper brace on the back of his bottom front teeth. It's halfway up and would annoy me like nobody's business. It's there to keep him from closing his mouth all the way, because if he did, he'd knock the braces off the upper teeth. This means that even when his mouth is closed, he has about an inch of space between his upper and lower back teeth. It feels like he can't chew his food.

Really.

He did pretty well getting the braces on - which took over an hour - although he did try to talk the entire time. He has asked about a dozen times a day since then when he's getting these stinking braces off. Could be a long adventure.

I rewarded him with a Lego for his troubles. He seemed pretty happy about that at least.

An Interesting Month


Yes, I realize this is a couple of months late in coming, but that's life. Especially with the month we had in October.

It started with a visit from one of our New York cousins at the beginning of the month, when Grandpop came home. We had a lot of fun hanging out with Matt and the rest of the family.

Then SuperHubby left (in the middle of Matt's visit - poor planning!) for a conference in Atlanta. The day he left, FrogBoy was injured at school. He was walking to the back of the school, and the automatic door opened FAST and smacked him in the forehead. He had a huge bruise, a dent running down the length of his face, and a serious "head-ick." So while SH was gone, I got to study him for a concussion for 3 days.

We had about a week of calm, and then Froggie had to go to MUSC for a scheduled visit with the cranial facial clinic about his jaw issues and getting braces. Not to be outdone by his little brother, Spanky picked the EXACT day and time as that appointment to get injured at school. He was tripped in drama class, landed on his wrist wrong, and ended up with a major sprain (which was determined after 2 visits to the ER, a CT scan and an MRI). Yes, only Spanky could get hurt in DRAMA class.

Needless to say, we were happy to see October come to an end!

Lessons from My Dad

My dad is nuts. Absolutely, positively, don't-bother-calling-back-cuz-he'll-be-the-same -(or worse)-tomorrow looney.

Back in the day, before we realized he was crazy, Dad used to impart his wisdom at regular intervals. He actually still does, but we just say "Yes, Dad" and move on. However, when I was a bit younger, I learned a few lessons from my dad. I notice remnants of these lessons sneaking into my life every so often. I shall share them now.

Nothing good ever happens at 3:00. Of course, this statement was almost always accompanied by examples. "What are you going to do at 3 AM?! Nothing! Nothing good can happen at 3 AM!" "Why would you want to be out at 3 PM? You'll just get caught in pre-rush hour traffic! And that's NOT GOOD!" Apparently regardless of whether it is 3:00 AM or PM, it's either too early or too late for anything good to happen. He's almost right. Almost.

Never trust a blinker. Okay, I'm going to confess, I still use this principal. Basically Dad's theory was you should never turn in front of a car with it's blinker on, because the idiot driving said car probably either doesn't realize their blinker is on or doesn't really mean it, and if you turn in front of them, you'll get hit, and it will be your fault and you'll probably die, and that's not good.

Always carry emergency money. Before debit cards, Dad felt like my brother and I needed to have "emergency cash" on us at all times. For important things, like if the car broke down or we were going to be 3.2 seconds late getting home. Dad provided the emergency cash, which was generous. For my brother, it was $20. For me, a shiny quarter. But I'm not bitter.

Naps are good. Another Dad-ism I like. Dad has always been a lover of his naps. Back in the day, he'd take an hour nap daily (perk #1 of owning your own business...extended lunch hour that includes a nap!) and a 2 hour nap on Saturday and Sunday after golf. As the years have gone by, Dad's naps have grown a little longer. He's currently napping about 18 hours a day.

Fun will kill you. I know, it sounds like a real downer, and sometimes, honestly, it is. But he's right. Planes crash. Cruiseliners sink. People get shot while hunting. Fair rides fall apart and kill everyone on board. It's a dangerous world we live in.

Sometimes you just have to walk away. No, not a divorce reference. When I was 18 and getting my first car (I was a late bloomer in the driving department, what can I say? See the previous Dad-ism for a possible explanation), I found my Dream Car. It was a fire engine red Sundance, adorable, and in my price range. Dad was putting down $1500 and I had to pay the rest in payments. The dealership didn't like Dad's price and Dad didn't like their price; so he wrote them a check for $1500 and tore it up in front of the salesman and forced me to leave. I cried all the way back to our office. He insisted they would call before we got back. When we got to the office (a 10 minute drive away), we had a message to come back for the car. Quite possibly the smoothest thing my dad ever did.

There's plenty more from Looney Tunes Land, but I prefer to meditate on these lessons - the ones that really stuck. They aren't pretty, but they ARE 100% Dad.

Oh Happy Day

Today has been an amazing day. Well, not amazing, but really, really good. We like good days around our house.

I had a meeting at Froggie's school to review his IEP and discuss his progress so far in middle school. I figured since he's been there 2 weeks, they've had time to come up with a laundry list of questions for me...and I wanted to check on him.

I was a little concerned going in because yesterday one of his teachers emailed me and let me know he'd used a couple of racial slurs against a little girl in his class. This girl has been in his class for several years, and they get along great, so I was surprised. But I was afraid of what that might mean during the IEP meeting.

Turns out, FrogBoy's doing great. To the point that all of his teachers placed him in the top half of his class as far as making the transition to middle school and coming to class prepared and doing grade level work. The extra accommodations we put in his IEP last year don't even seem to be needed at this point...he's handling things that well.

The best part? His science teacher said he's so talented in science she would like to move him to the Honors class. She's not, but only because it's a larger class than the Advanced class, and she wants to be able to offer him more individual attention. But she's bringing in Honors work for him so he won't get bored. And he's smart enough to handle the work.

In our house, this constitutes a VERY GOOD DAY.

Don't Look a Gift Card in the Mouth

Can I gripe for a bit? Can you really stop me?

I have a simple question: Whatever happened to people actually thanking you when you give them a gift? I have always believed it was right and proper to send a thank-you note toot suite upon receiving a gift, and I have instilled such in my boys. Not that they would ever think to do it on their own...but with a little guidance (and threats), it always seems to get done.

I have found, however, that I may be the last of a dying breed. I have given many gifts in the past few years, and unless I am standing right there when it is opened, I don't get so much as a "thanks, nice gesture, crappy gift, whatever." Just no acknowledgement whatsoever. And that ticks me off. Bad.

I personally don't think people should expect gifts. I know a lot of people who do, whether its their birthday, Christmas, or just because they are all around awesome people and feel they should be rewarded for it. And you know what? If people don't mind giving you gifts, then good for you. But at least be appreciative.

I used to hate giving gift cards. Too impersonal. But then I realized if I just put some thought into the gift card, or gave cash (for those hard-to-shop-for teens), I would be doing everyone a solid. Learned that one the hard way - from a niece who was refreshingly honest about a purse I thought was cool but was clearly NOT.

These days, I'm stumped. If I send gifts in the mail, or put them on a gift table at a reception of some sort, and I don't get a thank-you, how do I know my gift was received? How do I know I was properly credited with giving a great gift? I can't very well say something. THAT would be tacky.

That said, I don't think you should give gifts expecting anything in return. A gift is just that, a gift. And yet, I wonder what it says about society that we don't thank people anymore. I personally try to thank every single serviceperson that helps me throughout my day: at the store, at the pharmacy, at the doctor's office...this week I even thanked a creditor who called to tell me I would be turned over to collections for a whopping $4 bill. He was, after all, just doing his job, and he wasn't rude about it...so why not thank him? I can honestly say he sounded a little surprised...and I'll bet he was nice to someone later because of it.

I guess my main point is, let's not take each other for granted. Good manners are a great thing.

What a Week

This has been one doozie of a week. Well actually, if I'm going to complain, and I am, it's been a heck of a month. But this week capped it off perfectly.

At the end of last month, SuperHubby had his first ever migraine. I say first ever because it was the first one he's ever had that has been totally, completely, 100% debilitating. The neurologist assured us he's been having them for years and just didn't realize it because they weren't as bad as the one in May. That's very comforting.

I spent 2 days ferrying him back and forth to different ERs for different treatments. During that time, my grandmother's husband fell at their assisted living facility and hit his head and had big issues from that. He had to have brain surgery. Yes, really.

Fast forward 10 days. SH has another migraine. Only minor stuff was going on that week, so while it really stunk for him, it was more of an annoyance for me. Just some schedule adjustments and all was well. During that time my grandmother's hubby went to hospice, so I had to juggle some things, but it was do-able.

Fast forward another 10 days, to the beginning of this week. Granny's husband passed away on Monday. He was 91, loved the Lord, loved my grandmother, and had a really good life. So we were sad but rejoiced for his homegoing. Funeral was set for Wednesday, with SH and Spanky and 2 of the pallbearers. Froggie's job was pushing Grandmama's wheelchair.

Yeah, that apparently was too much planning, because on Tuesday SH got hit AGAIN. Yes, really. Third major migraine in 4 weeks. He ended up missing the funeral completely (actually, he missed this week completely, but that's another story), and I started something I'm fondly referring to ask Lori's Taxi ... Service with a Frown. I was shuttling kids everywhere (because, of course, we had camp and therapies this week on top of everything else!). After many calls to the neurologist, I finally decided yesterday they were going to get the not-so-pretty side of Lori. Luckily, I was wise enough to ask for prayer before I called, and I didn't go crazy on them right away. He's my neurologist too, after all.

End result: SH had an infusion treatment yesterday, which just means he got an IV cocktail that went straight to the migraine, which I still find very confusing and extremely cool all at once. It seems to have done the trick, and he's feeling much better, although the doctor told me to keep him immobile for 2 days. That should be a challenge.

So we made it. I'm grateful for all the prayers of my friends and family, and I'm grateful that my hubby is feeling better. Most of all, though, I'm grateful this week is finally ending.

Happy Easter (+7)

So we have a strange little "tradition" in our family. Since SuperHubby and I both work during Easter services, we usually aren't able to go out to my aunt and uncle's for Easter and the massive Easter Egg Hunt. Most of the time we just miss it altogether; last year, because of unforeseen monsoons hitting the area, our egg hunt actually happened at Thankgiving. This year, we postponed the celebration one week, which happened to also be my grandmother's birthday, and we had a great time with what I'm afraid may be the last of the big egg hunts. We stuffed and hid almost 300 eggs (the boys and I stuffed, SH and The Professor hid).

I helped hide a couple of eggs. We have a tradition of hiding 2 special eggs...a gold and a silver egg. The silver egg has silver coins in it; the golden egg has 5 gold $1 coins. The Professor and I hid the silver egg inside my gas cap. Hey, the kids are older now, let 'em work for it!

Spanky found the silver egg...but only after my sis-in-law gave the hint "THINK SILVER!"

And Froggie found the golden egg. He was so proud. He didn't even care that we told him where it was.

Cell-abration

So everyone always uses their blogs to complain about companies; I'm guilty of that myself. But how often do we use our blogs to give kudos when we get superior service? I'm here to start that trend, friends.

A few weeks ago, I got my cell phone bill. I have been with the same company for 10+ years. First it was Suncom, then a few months ago they were bought out by T-mobile. I wasn't sure how I was going to like the change, frankly, but with 3 of us having phones (and no landline), they were the only ones I could afford.

Anyway, I got my bill. And it was TWICE what it is on a normal month. So clearly they forgot to apply my payment, right? Wrong! I looked it over and found $132 in texting charges, courtesy of the Spankster. Not good.

Now we have unlimited texting, but Spanky, being Spanky, got into trouble as only he can manage. He found a way to send (and receive) texts to chatrooms...stupid kid chatrooms...at 99 cents a pop. Do the math...that's almost 150 texts! Oh yeah, I was ticked!!

We had some intense moments of fellowship. We had some grounding going on. And then, 2 days later, it hit me...He probably didn't stop with the texting before he knew that I knew about the texting. So I checked online and found that waiting to be applied to my next month's bill was another $567 in text charges. Yes, really. Almost 600 more texts.

I was livid. First, that amounted to $699 additional on our cell phone bill. We don't have that kind of cash. And we can't afford to be without our phones. So I was a wee bit upset. Second, he was texting during hours when he should have been sleeping, studying, or at the very least NOT texting. Angry didn't come close to describing how I was feeling.

I was also worried about the $699. So I called T-mobile. I asked for help. They graciously blocked his phone from ever sending or receiving one of these chatroom texts again. I was grateful. I was also feeling confident, after talking to the representative, that they might be willing to help me out a little. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do until the bill processed through the system. I was instructed to call back in a week. Until then I was stuck.

So a week later I was in bed with the flu with nothing to do but wonder how we were going to pay this $699 bill. I called back to T-mobile, and after spending over 30 minutes on the phone with a new rep, he backed off the original $132 and made a note in my file to back out the other $567 next month when it processes on the bill.

So....long story long...I love T-mobile! They were nothing but kind, respectful, pleasant, and extremely helpful every time I called. Every one of them sympathized with the fact that my 14-year-old had run up such a high bill...one even complimented his ability to get a bill that high. They had to get all sorts of approvals to get the $699 taken off my bill, and they never acted like it was anything but a pleasure for them to help me.

The end result? I'm a lifelong T-mobile customer now. They've earned it.

Oh, and anyone who needs cheap slave labor, Spanky still has to work off the bill...and donate the proceeds to charity. Just don't tell him I got T-mobile to back out the charges. We haven't told him that part of the story yet. We're waiting to put the exclamation point on our lesson with that one.

What Do YOU Want to Be When You Grow Up?

On the way home from school yesterday, FrogBoy asked, "When's payday?" How strange. I said "Tomorrow" and figured that was that. It wasn't.

Seems my payday is his payday. Or so he thinks. I tried explaining that he doesn't get an allowance, to which he responded, "Aw man. I really need to get some money. I need to buy some things."

Since it would never occur to Spanky to EARN money, I figured I'd take this as far as it would go. I asked what he thought he might like to do to earn money. His first choice? A lemonade stand. Sounded like a lot of work to me, so I told him we didn't have any lemons and asked for another idea. Then it got fun.

"I could be a personal chef."

"For the family? Are you going to help Daddy cook dinner?"

"No, I'll be a Lego chef. I'll make Lego meals."

"Well, that doesn't really help the family, so I can't see why we'd pay you for that. What else do you have?"

"I could be a weatherman."

"Oh, you mean you'd tell us the weather?"

"Sure."

"Well, they do that on TV. What else?"

And then, the angels sang.

"Well, I could help you with the laundry. I could fold clothes and hang up shirts. Would that help?"

Oh yeah, Froggie. Now you're speaking my language.

365 - No Way. 24 - Possible.

My sis-in-law is a kooky one. I mean that in the most loving way. She's a big photo-taker, and she came up with this idea to chronicle her family's year in pictures. Specifically, she will take a photo every day and post it on her blog with a little caption - or maybe a story - telling what it's about. Hence her "Project 365" and the first part of this post's title.

I take a pictures a lot...of things most people probably wouldn't...but I don't think I can come up with an idea every day. Sis-in-law takes pix of her kids, and her car, and the grass, and toothpaste. (Not yet - but she might now that I've given her the idea!). She takes pix of dishes and people watching TV. And she weaves a family story out of it. It's pretty cool. But I don't have it in me.

So I've decided to do my own project. I chose 24 because there are 24 hours in a day, and I figured if it came down to December 31 and I hadn't done anything, I could just take 1 picture every hour for a day and still meet my goal. The real goal, however, is to take 1 photo per week at least every other week.

So far I'm on track. We'll see how long it lasts.