Author Archives: debaucherysoup

Step 1 of Operation send NIC to the UK

Downloaded, completed and printed passport application.

I have decided to tell myself “Nic is going to England”.

No ‘maybe’, no ‘if I can’.

“Success is sequential, not simultaneous” it says on a white board in our office building …  One step at a time for a goal I’ve already decided WILL be realized. 🙂

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If you love someone – get them out!

Nic will be 18 in 18 days.  I’ve struggled with this, of course, I want to keep him close.  I don’t want his childhood to be over.  I don’t want to lose what we have. 

But God doesn’t have grandchildren. 

Nic has his own life waiting for him.  AND, it is HIS life.  I can want things for him – as parents, we do that.  But unless he wants something for himself, it’s not going to happen. 

I could hand him a golden ticket to an Ivy League university – all expenses paid, but unless he WANTS to pursue academics, it would be a waste.  

Tonight, my sons eyes lit up and I saw in him a ‘want’.  A want that I can totally get behind.

My mom just returned from England.  She was visiting my Nannie who just turned 90. 

 I was born in Windsor, England.  Lived there until 1980, when we immigrated to the US.

Before that move, my mom and I traveled.  We went from France to India cross-country.  That deserves a post of its own.  But suffice it to say, I experienced A LOT.  We were crossing borders before they shut them down, Argo had nothing on us. 

I digress.

Nics eyes were shining.  We had been to my moms to collect the bits and pieces she brought back for us. 

Photo time!

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The English sweets I requested.

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Nic with the Union Jack he requested

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Me counting the English currency left over. No, I didn’t get to keep it.

Now look at this photo – this was taken around the corner from my house. 

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It says ‘Get Out’.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know who sprayed that on there.  I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind the tagging. 

Get Out.

Back to Nics shining eyes.

I still have a lot of family in England.  And friends.

Nic has said before that he wants to go to the UK. 

He’ll be graduating High School in May.  My mom will be returning to England in July-ish. 

I will be getting paperwork for a passport.

I will be saving every penny I can save.

I will push Nic out of this desert nest and into my home country.

I want him to have an experience.  I want him to make some memories.  I want him to be submerged in other cultures, other languages, other ideas and lifestyles.  Nic wants this too.

I imagine him traveling to France, perhaps staying in a Hostel.  (Hopefully not one out of that horror movie!) 

Meeting family members he’s never met before.  Spreading his wings and figuring out what he wants next. 

I will miss him.  I don’t want him just going for a few weeks – I want him to take complete advantage of being overseas. 

I WANT to miss him.  I want him to return (if that’s what he chooses) and have a purpose.  Not be stagnant in a small town and enrolled in community college, while vying for one of a few part-time jobs in this area.

Hopefully, he’ll return with memories of adventures and an idea of what he wants to be and how he wants to achieve that.  And I’ll support whatever that is too.

My mind is reeling trying to think of how to make this happen for him.  What can I sell?  How can I save?  I will do this. 

I will do it as if his life depends upon it – because in a lot of ways, it does. 

Like pulling teeth … (Or, ‘don’t go into the light’).

I had never given the term ‘like pulling teeth’ much thought until yesterday.  I think I equated it with having to do something difficult due to the task not being pleasant.

I no longer think that.

Yesterday I got the tooth that was the root (ha!) of my mouth problems pulled!  YAY!  It only took 2 years of putting off, saving up for and bitching about.  But it’s out now.

Let’s talk about that.

I brought a friend, or rather, a friend brought me.  I was playing it pretty cool all day until it was time to leave for my appointment, at which time I started getting silly and nervous. 

I’ve never had a tooth pulled while I was awake.  And the ‘Queen of Googling’ wasn’t touching that with a 100 ft pole.  Fear of the unknown is pretty bad, but fear of online tooth extractions trumped the unknown.  Hell no was I going to subject myself to such images … add my imagination to a little information and there is no way on this green earth my arse would have gone to the oral surgeon.  Nope.

I got in the truck.

Some small talk, some laughs.  We arrive. 

Crap.

Funnily enough, I knew the receptionist.  We both gave each other a ‘I know you from somewhere’ eyebrow and we figured out from where.  A bank we both used to work for. 

Nice.  I had two friends with me now. 

The doctor (do you call dentists that?) was running late.  We ended up waiting almost an hour in the reception area.  Enough time to render me deer like – ready to gallop off at the crunch of a leaf. 

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My turn.

Okay.  I can DO this.  Besides, my friend has better things to do and has waited with me – it had better not be for nought!

I’m in the chair and I’ll fast forward to the actual procedure, because there was lots of nervous chit-chat in between sitting in said chair, and procedure.

The shots.  I have to admit – this guy was good.  No matter how you stick a needle into someones mouth, it’s going to smart a little.  But, he was quite gentle.  Had a knack.  Guess if you’re going to have ‘Surgeon’ next to your name, you’d better have earned it.  Thumbs up for his hypodermic skills. 

So I’m numb now – and of course, we have to test this out.  Oh, I should mention, I’m not going to be naming any instruments.  I have no idea what he put in my mouth. (hey now!)

I did not want to psych myself out by having a peek at sharp scary objects or grabby looking gripping things. 

So he’s pushing something into my broken tooth.  Nope don’t feel it.

Hey – this is going alright!  I can do this! 

Then he said: Because it’s an upper side/back tooth, it’s actually positioned by your sinuses.  If there’s a hole afterward, I’ll repair it the best I can.

Wait, WHAT?!?!

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I almost threw up.  The idea of a ‘sinus hole’ for Gawd sake! 

Believe me when I say – if my friend wasn’t sitting in that waiting room, I would have left the building.  I would have saved up more money and insisted on being asleep for the procedure.  I did not want to witness the discovery of any ‘sinus hole’.

But I did have a friend sitting in the waiting room.  And I was not going to see her until my mouth was 1 tooth less.

I’m ready.

Back to that term – ‘Like pulling teeth’.  Yeah.  Ummm ….  I was told to expect ‘pressure’.  Pressure.  Press-ure.

To me, that’s like someone poking me in the cheek or arm.  Or pushing down on me. 

Not, in any of the ‘pressure’ examples I was conjuring, was there a version where my entire head was bounced and yanked around by the tooth!

Holy COW!  This pulling teeth deal is a violent thing!  Those puppies are IN there. 

I didn’t realize how hard someone has to pull to remove a tooth!  How do they just come popping out during a fight in the movies?   (I think I would have rather the dentist just used a left hook)

There are noises that accompany the yanking.  Noises that apparently only I can hear.  (He told me this).

Cracking, breaking, crunching sounds. 

And just when I thought  I couldn’t bear anymore, it was over. 

No sinus hole either.

I left with a cheek full of gauze, minus 1 tooth and $200 lighter.  Oh, and also came out with a little bump on my head – from hitting that light thingy above the chair while getting up.  What a nice way to end the session – I wanted to giggle, but couldn’t really open my mouth.  I think that smack on the head was the most painful part of the whole visit.

If you must have a tooth pulled, just go!  Get it over with.  You’ll be okay. Just watch out for the light.

Do NOT go into the light.

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My milkshake brings my boy to a laugh

So, I got a LOT done today.  Decided tomorrow is CHILL OUT day!  Cleaned the house, went to the laundromat, did my extra weekend job tonight instead of having to set the alarm for Sunday morning.  Anyway – long story short. 

I’m at the grocery store.  Clean laundry in the car.  I had asked my son what he wanted added to the grocery list and his response was ‘Milkshake’.  Milkshake??  “From where??”  “By the flowers” he types back.

OK.

I can do this.

I finish up my shopping and head for the flower section.  A-ha!  Mini fridge thingy with cups of milkshake inside. 

What flavor?  Crap!  I grab vanilla and head for the check-out. 

“Hello beautiful” The cashier says.  (Pretty sure he has a little crush on me, he’s very friendly whenever I run into him at this store).

I help pack my items in my green bags – chatting away with the cashier.

He holds up the milkshake that has a little damage to the rim.  Says something about making it.

“That’s OK,” I say, “Pretty sure the insides will still taste the same”. 

I’m oblivious to what he actually meant at this point.

I get home. 

Proudly unpack ‘the milkshake’ and raise it up to show my son like it’s a trophy or something.

My son starts to laugh.

Eh???

“Um, you’re supposed to make those”. 

Eh????

“There’s a machine next to the freezer that you put it in – you make it”. 

Pffft.

He also made some comment about next time he wants clam chowder, maybe I could just hand him a can. 

I had a few comments for him, but I’ll keep those out of the post.

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Little laundry girl

There’s an adorable little girl at the laundromat.  She’s sleepy – lids are heavy, but she’s having fun finding laundry carts and pushing them like little shopping carts.   The mom is patient with her too.  When she dropped her french fries on the ground, she just picked them up.  Mom and Grandma are trying to fold 4 dryers worth of clothes.

Not much fun for the little one in adorable pink soft boots.

It makes me smile though, because she’s being a trooper, and her guardians are kind and keeping an eye on her.   Of course there are one or two patrons that have cut her the eye because God forbid, she pushed a cart in their path.

It makes me sad – and mad – when little ones are left unattended or yelled at in stores for, well, just being ‘little’.  An hour of grocery shopping, or waiting at a bank isn’t that thrilling for us, lets be honest.  Imagine sitting in a cart or being told to hush or stay still for that long.  Especially when their furtive imaginations and boundless energy longs to be free and to explore.

The one pat on the back I can give myself, is that I loved doing things with Nic when he was little, and put myself in his tiny shoes.

When he babbled in the shopping cart – I leaned into him, responding with things like “Really?  Then what happened?”  I found endless joy in his curiousity, his mischievious side and took great pains to remain calm when a trip had to be endured even though he was tired and cranky.

I’m looking at little laundry girl and thinking of Nic.  If he could just be small, for 24 hours,  I would love that.  I wouldn’t wish him little again – his life is in motion.  But, to hold him one more time – to pick up his spilled food that his tiny hands couldn’t hold on to, to chat with him in the grocery cart.  Oh yeah.  One day.  Just for 1 more day.

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