Category Archives: Crisis DuJour

Lesson the Second

Crisis DuJour, From My Brain to Yours, Highly Flammable, The Joys of Home Ownership, This Just In!, , , , , , ,

It’s gonna be a Bah Humbug Christmas

I’m making a list and checking it twice.

Finding out where I’ve been naughty or nice.

Grumpy-clause wonders where her money’s gone!

*

September

BedBug False Alarm ($175), real Scabies Fiasco. (Untold dollars.) Still scarred by that experience. Haunted by phantom itching everywhere.

September – October – Deck Detailing (at least $500) Impulse to stain a naked fence leads to, manic purchases and lots and lots of kneeling to sand wood already in place. (Not recommended.) Then comes the staining!

Cold weather is coming, so I hire two neighbor girls to help me out. They are pre-teenagers on the cusp of being human. They are enthusiastic though, like overeager puppies throwing themselves at a basket of rubber balls–things fly everywhere.

Knotty Knotty Pine–While they paint, I run to Home Depot for a variety of supplies – one of which requires me carefully putting a plank of wood in my Toyota Prius V. (The V is important. If I hadn’t owned a V, I wouldn’t have tried this. And, likely have saved myself money and hassle.) There had been a bad board–with a big knot that caused the wood to split mid-way along the rail of our ramp.

I get to the Depot. They are super busy. I decide to just go grab a board, get it cut and get back home. I check out and the cashier hears about my great adventure in deck maintenance. Looks at my board, looks at me and says,

Clerk: “You know this isn’t deck planking, right?“

Me: *Blink Blink Blink* “No. I did not know there was such a thing as deck planking.”[Despite the fact that is exactly what was written on the note a helpful clerk had written up for me.]

I decide, screw it and buy it anyway. How bad could it be if it was a little thicker?

Banging Wood in the Parking Lot: Putting things in my trunk, the cart with the board starts wheeling away. A good Samaritan grabs the cart, then the board, and shoves it in my car and slams my trunk. He waves and walks away having done his good deed for the day.

I walk to the front of the car and see this:

Thicker Wood is Bad! I end up paying for it, and losing a Saturday going to Safelite Auto Glass–being terrified by a giant attack spider–and getting the price of my window down to $436.17.

Anyhow, the day of the window fiasco, I schlump back to my house, cursing my fate to discover…

The girls are staining my deck steps instead of the railing…because they accidentally dumped a pan they were filling with expensive stain down said steps.

*Sigh*

I pay them for three days of labor, but then call it ‘good enough’ because I have to save money because a tree in my yard suddenly looks very under-the-weather. Limbs are turning black and dropping off.

I call the city to ask for help. Turns out, despite the fact that the same city parked in front of my house for about 3 months during the hottest part of the summer and dug up the road right next to this tree, even digging into my property to cap an old water main, their arborist claims my tree was already sick and dying before that happened.

I have my own arborists who agree–digging up the roots definitely could effect the tree. But, I am too tired to fight city hall. I take the lowest bid from Top Down Tree Service so that the tree can come down before the winds can bring it down.

Felled Wood: $1184. Not dropping a tree on a person’s head? Priceless!

Catastrophe almost averted: I am just about to relax when…I come home to find my house filling with gas–the person watching my son is unable to smell death coming.

DTE is called, a very competent woman comes and checks my home. I shiver outside with my son as he has snit fits about the door being open. The next day we call a plumber to replace a Gas Cock (yes, my dryer is a boy!) and we are safe once more.

Sommerdyke Plumbing: I paid $218.75 for that cock.

By November, I am twitching and looking at all my appliances sideways. I’m afraid to go anywhere. (Hold that thought.)

I am feeling the cold winds of winter blowing…through the cracks in my front door. I go to Home Depot and a clerk, who shall not be named, suggests these “EASY TO INSTALL” weather stripping.

Me: “What if there are nails in the way?”

Clerk: “Oh, I’m sure there won’t be–it won’t be a problem.”

SPOILER: It was a problem

Turns out there wasn’t a strip of trim holding the decades old weather stripping in place. Nope, it was the entire door jam and very sunk-in nails doing the job.

SIDEBAR: Perhaps certain people shouldn’t own crowbars? Maybe licensing should be required?

Thankfully, there is an area service provider I call in emergencies that I have caused.

It is not called HELP ME I SCREWED UP AGAIN but it should be!
Home Repair Services of Kent County takes my call. This week, I get a call early Monday morning.

WARNING–SERIOUSLY LEWD PARAPHRASING FOLLOWS

Mark: “Hello. I have a few minutes this morning to check out your issues.”

Me: “Oh, it’s gonna take a lot longer than that to fix all my issues.”

Mark: “I’ll take a look and then come back later. How does that sound?”

Me: “Come any time you like.”

After assessing the damage, Mark shows up later that day like a superhero and fixes my door!

Afterwards, I thank him profusely and ask tentatively:

NOT PARAPHRASING AT ALL

Me: “So how much is this gonna cost me?“

Mark: “Twenty-five.“

Me: “Twenty-five hundred?“

Mark: “No. Twenty-five dollars.“

Me: “I love you.”

I slip Mark a $5.00 tip to forget I said that.

I am deliriously happy. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, and getting just a slap on the wrist feels like redemption. Then I spot a thing I have been avoiding seeing out of the corner of my eye while driving in the parking lot of my super grocery store chain.

Me: “No NO NONONONONO!”

After conversations with my car insurance and Safe-Lite Glass Replacement they have the same response to warranty/coverage:

“Not It!”

**SIGH**

I decide to forgo fixing the window for now. We’ll see how long it lasts through the winter.

As I contemplate the bleak holidays ahead, I consider canceling my son’s camp weekend in January 2026.

And that’s when the email arrives from the camp Indian Trails, saying.

“Your son has been awarded a scholarship for the balance of your camper’s weekend!”

So here is Lesson Number Two, just in time for the Thanksgiving Holiday.

BE THANKFUL FOR THE GIFTS YOU ARE GIVEN–BE THEY SMALL OR LARGE. THEY MAKE THE DIFFERENCE WHEN TIMES GET HARD!

Lesson the First

Crisis DuJour, From My Brain to Yours, StayHomeStaySafe, Universal Coverage - In a Bad Way, , ,

I am summarizing a recent experience into a helpful life lesson, I feel someone should learn from my mistakes. You’re welcome.

*

Sept 6 – Itchy inception. Yard work and two red dots on shins convince me I have mosquito bites. But the new plants are planted. Hurray!

Sept 7 – Wake up itching–more spots on legs. Convinced I have bedbugs, I spend the next two days packing every damn thing in my bedroom. It’s a lot. Bags everywhere. I haul boxes to the basement. Wash everything in hot water. Bake it at 500° until smoking.

Sept. 10 – By Wednesday, I have more bites than I can count – frantic itching everywhere. I see the VA doctor for annual physical – I mention the bedbugs and show her the numerous bites. Her response (from the doorway): “I don’t think it’s bedbugs. I’m writing you a prescription.”

NOTE: I do not ask her what she thinks it is. This is lesson the first. ALWAYS ASK FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS!

I go home with Permethrin cream. I slather myself and hope for it to work regardless. I have covered all mattresses in the home with bedbug proof materials, the couch has a nice new plastic sheeting. I have sprayed likely surfaces with over-the-counter bedbug napalm. I dream of chemical Armageddon raining down on the small blood sucking creatures.

Sept. 11 – Bites have spread up my neck and all over my face. Even my eyelids are puffy and sore. I’m beginning to doubt I have bedbugs. But I call an exterminator/inspector and schedule an appointment.

Sept. 12 – Inspector arrives–barely in his twenties. He examines my whole bedroom, common area, and basement. Conclusion: “You don’t have bedbugs. That’ll be $175.00.”

Now realize, based on a Google search of my medication, I truly have scabies. And that Alexei has not been treated. Frantically call his doctor’s office for an Rx for the kid.

Sept. 13. – Saturday – I realize that though I have boxed everything in my bedroom and changed sheets like a germaphobe with OCD every single day–I forgot to clean my new CPaP headgear, mask and my keychain around my neck and realize I have likely reinfected myself. I go to an urgent care to get a new RX for me. (One tube is not enough for two treatments, fyi.)

Both Alexei and I treat ourselves that evening–going to sleep wearing the white, medical-grade insecticide. We can shower when we wake.

Sept. 14 to 19 – I go nowhere–other than slowly out of my mind. I send messages to my doctor’s office that get crazier by the day. My son, thankfully, has his father’s constitution. He does not exhibit any sign of infection and goes to school. I stay home and scratch and scratch and scratch.

Sept. 20 – Second treatment of Permethrin. I am convinced this cream is a panacea and that I will never see the end of these little )⚡︎&@%$! burrowing blood suckers.

Sept. 21-22 – I swear I am never going out in public again. I break up with the massage chair at the mall (one of several possible culprits for infection based on the timeline.) I stand everywhere I go, just in case. I am a complete nutbar even though I’m supposedly cured.

Sept. 23 Starting to feel better. The doctor’s office calls me in to double check and to give me flu shot. I get a clean bill of health.

After this ghastly period, you would think my bad luck was used up for the year. You would be wrong. But I’ll save that tale for another post. This was traumatic enough.

Now I dare you to go sit in public, especially at doctor offices, and not wonder who was sitting in it just moments before? And does it feel like something is crawling under your skin? It just might be!

Fun Fact: Scabies can live on surfaces for up to two to three days.

Fun Fact #2: The first time you get scabies, you might not have a reaction right away. According to Google:

“First-time infections cause itching and rash in 2-6 weeks, while a second infection triggers symptoms in just 1-4 days because the immune system has already been sensitized.”

This was my second bout. And hopefully, my last.

Here’s a picture of me at my maddest, baddest, and most dangerous to know.

From Santa, With Love

Crisis DuJour, Family, Parenting Heart Palpitations, Photographic Memories, Self-flagellation, , , , , , , , ,

To all the parents who stayed up late wrapping presents, I salute you!

Continue reading From Santa, With Love →

Waiting for the Other Balloon to Pop…

Crisis DuJour, Heartbreak, Rambling Rose, Welcome To Autismland: Population YOU!, , , , , , ,

Today I had an experience that summed up 2023 for me…it involved my son and the quest for an imaginary balloon. Please accept this story in lieu of a holiday letter that I haven’t written or sent yet. 

________________________________________________________________

My son wanted this for Christmas:

EXHIBIT A:

For a long time, it was unavailable on the Walmart.com website. Then, finally, I saw there was a link to order said balloon–about two weeks before Christmas. I gladly paid over $11.00 for the dumb thing and, when the package arrived, I stored it in the closet where all things are locked safely away from my kid. (It’s like the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts, only much smaller and I have to stock it.)

The Day before Christmas came along (which to most people means December 24th but because I suffer from a failure to look at a calendar turned out to be December 23rd this year, sigh) and I opened the delivery package to discover I had been sent this balloon instead:

EXHIBIT B:

BALLOON TRAGEDY OF MEGA PROPORTIONS

It’s still a Poppy Trolls Themed Balloon, so no big problem, right?

!!WRONG!!

He wants the round one. He is autistic. He just wants the head of the troll doll, not the entire inflatable corpse! These things matter, people!

So, I immediately went to the email confirming receipt of my product to file an angry, pre-Christmas rant about how the evil Walmart goons had ruined my child’s Christmas. (It hadn’t, but it did panic me about what I was going to give him despite having all the other things he wanted. Mostly.)

I held onto the wrong balloon and waited for the reply. The Walmart-affiliated distributor apologized and gave us a full refund within 24-hours. They even said we could keep the balloon. Alexei was perfectly happy when he got it on the actual Christmas Day celebration on the 25th–which was only one of two presents he got that day because of my calendar-math related issue mentioned earlier.

Fast forward to today: Alexei got a Walmart gift card from Grandma Mary for Christmas. He has been a good boy and he’s been asking for an “Emoji Balloon” repeatedly the last couple of days. He’d seen the picture on the Walmart website. [I bet you are sensing what happens next.]

EXHIBIT C:

I decided it was an easy way to make him happy. We drive to the store and…no such balloon exists. They are selling Valentine’s balloons not to mention a Valentine Spaghetti Sauce and Noodle basket–when did that become a romantic gesture?–and it’s still only December!! What the actual H*LL?

The kid buys a stuffed Paw Patrol toy that he immediately wants when he sees it–despite having various versions of the same toy already–because it is dressed in the costume from the most-recent Paw Patrol Mighty Pups’ movie merchandise.

[Sidebar: we watched Mighty Pups last night. My absolute favorite line in the movie comes from a television reporter who is commenting on the franchise toys marketing the upgraded uniforms for the super-powered Paw Patrol team: “To all the parents out there, I’m sorry.” ]

Most parents would give up at this point. Not me. [Insert cackle of madness here.] We drive to our local Party City store.

There is an entire wall of balloons available, but, alas, no Emoji Balloon. There is also a line of customers getting balloons. Apparently people want to celebrate the New Year in style?

I get the clerk’s attention as she fills and ties balloons.

Me: “Hey, do you have any emoji balloons?”

Clerk #1: “No. I’m sorry. You know, a lot of people ask for them. We really should carry them! I’m sorry we don’t have them.”

I look up at the hundreds of options of mylar balloons overhead and try to convince the kid to pick something else.

Me: [encouraging flexibility] “Hey, would you like a Trolls balloon instead?”

Kid: [inflexibly]”Emoji balloon.”

The clerk is listening and when asked, pulls out a trolls balloon.

Clerk #1: “We have this one!”

If you can believe it, it’s the same darned balloon I tried to order for Christmas!! [See Exhibit A above.]

Me: “Hooray! We’ll take it!”

This will make the kid happy! The clerk blows it up–even asking what color string she should tie it with. She hands it to me. I hand it to the kid. He responds:

Kid: “Emoji balloon.”

He’s nothing if not consistent.

Clerk #1: “We have yellow balloons if you want one of those!?”

This one is trained very well, I can tell.

I sigh and tell her yes. As she finishes tying it off she makes a brilliant offer:

Clerk #1: “You know, I have a marker. I could draw a smiley face on it, if you like?”

Me: “OMG–yes! Thank you. You are a genius!”

When we are checking out. I mention to the cashier how nice the young lady who helped us was.

Me: “Is there anyway I can tell someone what a good job she’s doing?”

The young lady points to a QR Code that says:

“Highly Satisfied today? Scan below to give us your feedback for $5 off on your purchase.”

I take a picture of it, saying,

Me: “I’ll do my best, but I have a hard time filling these things out.”

Clerk #2: “Oh, I can help you with that.”

Within less than the time it takes to blow up and tie two balloons, she walks me through the process. I even ask for her name and add it to the customer satisfaction survey.

Clerk #2: “There you go. Now you can use the discount!”

She finishes ringing me up and wishes us a Happy New Year. I sincerely hope that Mariana and Delaney at Store 431 get a Happy New Year bonus for their exceptional help.

Because, as it turns out, 2023 wasn’t finished with us yet.

EXHIBIT D:

ALL THAT’S LEFT IS PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE

When we got home, I stopped to take a picture of my giggling, happy child before opening the door to let him in. Then, I turned, remembering I’d seen there was mail in the box as I was driving up. I let go of the door too soon…and I hear the worst sound:

!!POP!!

One of the balloons did not make it into the house. It got killed on the doorstep. Sigh.

Fortunately, my son enjoys deflating balloons, so he wasn’t as broken up about it as I was.

So if all 2023 does is to deflate your joy by half, I guess, that’s about as good as it gets!

Reading While Driving

Crisis DuJour, Highly Flammable, Reading-The-Eighth-Deadly-Sin, , ,

You might think reading books on tape is a safer alternative to reading them the old-fashioned way. That depends on the book.

I was running errands the other day and, because my son wasn’t in the car at the time, I could enjoy a slightly more adult content behind the wheel.

I was listening to The Things We Leave Unfinished by Rebecca Yarros and I got up to Chapters 21 and 22.

These were two very hot and heavy chapters. A lot of unresolved sexual tension finally was released. In the book, people! I had both hands on the wheel! Unfortunately, I also had a lead foot on the accelerator. I looked down after the climax to see that my car does indeed reach into the 90 mile an hour part of the dial. Who knew?

I’m lucky that I didn’t get pulled over. Can you imagine trying to explain to the officer what had happened?

Police: “License and registration, Ma’am.”

Me: “Uh, yeah. Sure. Here you go.”

Police: “Are you aware that you were going 95 miles an hour–in rush hour traffic!?”

Me: “Eep. Um. No, I’m sorry, Officer…but in my defense, it was a really good book!”

Read responsibly, people.

And preferably in bed where that kind of delicious smut belongs!

Bonus:

And if you thought this was a ridiculous post, here is a link I found while searching for an image to steal about an accident reported in the UK citing an Audiobook Accident via the High Point Police.

Sadly, they do not include the name of the book that caused the wreck. I could use another audiobook as I have a trip coming up this weekend.

Passive Aggressive Cookies for Open Door Policies.

Crisis DuJour, Parenting Heart Palpitations, This Just In!, Welcome To Autismland: Population YOU!, , , , , , , , ,

I am baking cookies. The smell of freshly ground cardamom is overpowering at first, but then melds with the warmth and smells of baking in the oven.

I am an American and I do not possess a good sense of what a 3 mm thickness looks like, nor do I have a ruler, so I have to open and shut the oven door repeatedly trying to figure how long it will be before my already brown cookies are ‘browned’ at the edges. I guess wrong with the first batch, so after figuring out they need at least 15 minutes, I pop that batch in again until I fear burning the pistachios.

“Pistachios?” You might ask.

“Yes,” I say, “Because of my son.”

“Oh, he likes them then?” You presume.

“No. He doesn’t. These cookies are for me. He doesn’t get any!”

I stand in my kitchen guarding both the baking cookies and my son from accessing my bedroom.

I currently have a most reluctant and unexpected open door policy.

Answering the question: What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

I’m am very good at holding onto my mad. This happened yesterday and in response, I took all of his stuffies until the door is fixed. I made him write sentences based on how much the guy estimated it would cost to fix the door jam. (Hint it took about 8 pages of tiny print to write them all.) And today he’s cleaned and vacuumed most of the house and swept half the garage.

He doesn’t get any trips or treats until the door is fixed. Subsequently, I get to listen to a litany of requests to “Fix door.”

He’s even insisting on an exact time of repair.

“10 a.m. tomorrow, fix door.” He is standing next to me as I type this.

This is the parenting paradox. Anything you do to “punish” a child’s misbehavior rebounds on you. He can’t go on trips to Burger King–so I can’t go there either. He isn’t allowed to get the highly desired items from my room, so I have to guard him at all times.

It’s going to be a very annoying end to our summer.

At least I have cookies!

The Struggle is Real

Crisis DuJour, From My Brain to Yours, Rambling Rose, , ,

Why do we make the choices that we make?

I ask myself this after I fell into a blackhole this week watching a marathon of Chinese Soap Opera–56 hours later I’m still trying to figure it out.

How can you watch this many hours and not remember the plot at the end? It’s a mystery.

*****

Life has calmed down–as much as it ever does. I have moments of time available–between loads of laundry, shopping, cooking, cleaning, boy-child wrangling and working. I should be using that time wisely. I tell myself, “You should be writing.”

But it is so hard to get myself focused. There is something fractured about being me that has worsened over the years.

Have you ever lived your life expecting that ‘someday’ you’d figure things out. You’d wake up and–BAM–you’d have your act together. Life wouldn’t be so hard then? You’d definitely have a handle on being who you are!

I’m fifty-five and it hasn’t happened yet. It is dawning on me that I’m not going to have that life-altering shift of perception–the epiphany that opens wide my mind, steers me toward a better version of myself. Someone who is capable. A real go getter.

And each day I wake up and find I am still just me…it’s hard. Really, really hard.

It is somewhat disappointing to reach this realization. I’m not only not getting any better at life, I may actually be getting incrementally worse. Mostly it feels like I am floundering. I’m a human placeholder in a game I can’t win, playing against formidable forces I can’t see against insurmountable odds…and I think I’m facing the wrong way on the board and possibly missing a few pieces. (This analogy may have gone astray.) What I’m saying is, it is exhausting facing life like this. Some days, I want to give up.

Life can be discouraging that way–if you forget to look for the positives. If you don’t count the sunshine that follows the storm. If you don’t take pleasure in the small victories–like matching all the socks in the laundry. (Throwing out the single ones is just good mental health, in my opinion.) Or watching the fuzzy-butted squirrels outside the kitchen window as they stuff their face with just one more peanut. The smell of clean laundry warm right out of the dryer. Snifffff…ahhhh! (What? It can’t be only me who does this!)

Depression filters the world grayer. Drains the energies. Zaps the mind’s ability to combat the inner demons that tell you “Give up. You can’t beat this.” This inner critic chants in a hateful, hurtful voice spewing a litany of failures on repeat just waiting to bring you down. It is a broken mirror that reflects how much you are not like the person you thought you would be by now. It drowns good intentions in bile and self-loathing.

But, it only wins if you listen. If you believe its lies. It’s false protestations. If you don’t take into account the good you do. The people who love you and the people who you love in return. The worth in facing a day despite every instinct that would have you crawl back into a hole to sleep or fall into a Netflix coma to escape the daily grind.

I struggle to beat back these feelings. To see my worth. To feel it. But, I am still trying. Every day. I try to make good choices–even if that means that having tofu and stir fried vegetables for lunch is my crowning achievement in a day full of suck. That, and I got a shower. And I sat down to my computer to put my feelings into words.

Being who I am hasn’t been easy. I struggle. I fail. But I get back up again.

And maybe, at the end of the day, that is something to be proud of.

If anyone else has hit the doldrums of winter and is in need of encouragement–spring will come. Eventually. And I will join you in a little sun worshiping when it does. Until then, hold on. And remember, you are not alone.

*

You’ve read this far bonus:

I’ve just learned that February First is National Dark Chocolate Day. Dark chocolate is nature’s way of saying, “Yeah, life can be bitter…but it can be a little sweet too. Have a truffle today! You deserve it!”

And, for anyone needing help, please consider talking to someone. The Lifeline number to call for suicide prevention is now 988 or you can use the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-8255) it is a toll-free hotline in the US. You can check out the webpage at 988Lifeline.org.

Angry Birds – Swan Lake Edition

Challenge Accepted, Click Bait, Crisis DuJour, From My Brain to Yours,

The story I am about to relate is entirely true. I have no proof beyond a few still photos and a panicked ‘before’ video. Now that I am home and pond scum-free, I’m not even sure I believe it happened. You be the judge.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

Continue reading Angry Birds – Swan Lake Edition →

Breaking Bed

Click Bait, Crisis DuJour, From My Brain to Yours, , , ,
It’s TACO TUESDAY every day with my son’s foldable, soft mattress from Talsma’s Furniture.

Just over four years ago, Talsma Furniture sold me a Serta RestoKraft mattress with a five-year warranty. Apparently that warranty only holds true if your mattress has no stains. The fact that my son’s mattress can be folded like a soft taco is immaterial.

I’m vexed, miffed, and annoyed. And I have a blog.

If you want to give me an early birthday present–please share this as frequently and violently as most people share their political rants in an election year. Let the stuffing fly!


#SertaWarrantyFail

#RestoCrap

#TalsmaFurniture

An Oldie But a Goodie…

Crisis DuJour, Friends, Rambling Rose, Travel Broadens the Mind, , , ,

I am driving back home Sunday, through a raging storm when the call comes over the radio:

“Beep Beep Beep…please be aware that a tornado watch is in effect for West Michigan counties from now until 8:00pm tonight.”

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a tornado–I’ve been lucky not to–but the minute you know it is a possibility, you start seeing potential tornados everywhere you look. They become tornados of the mind. This is one of those imaginary journeys…

***

Continue reading An Oldie But a Goodie… →