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Musings from the Laundromat: College and Hypoallergenic Tortoises Edition
Ah college … the smell of new books, freshly sharpened pencils purchased lap tops, and visions of professors and libraries …
Nic’s first day of classes went well. I came home to him smiling – feeling confident – a sheen of ‘eau de higher education/grown up’ glistening on his skin.
Then he had math.
I received a call at work approximately 10 minutes before it was time to leave.
“That math class is so stupid! The teacher doesn’t explain and I have no idea what PAGES we’re supposed to do!!”
“OK, calm down – we’ll talk when I get home.”
My little bundle of college joy was freaking out.
The entire way home, all the cogs in my mind were turning.
Tutor … I could find a way to get a tutor. He can find his math teacher before the work is due and ask for clearer direction. He has to pass or his grant will be due and payable! Who do I know that’s good at math?? Why does he stress out so quickly? What did I do wrong? He used to be good at math.
Considering the fact that my drive home is 10 minutes, these were a lot of thoughts. And now that I’ve typed them out, I think I answered my ‘why does he stress out’ question.
Came to the conclusion though, that unless he wants to succeed – it didn’t matter what idea ‘Momma’ came up with.
We sat and discussed this. He said he would find a way.
I have to let go. I can’t solve problems for him anymore. I can steer him back to the crux of the situation though.
“Do you still want a degree?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ll find a way. If you want it, you just will.”
Inside I was agreeing with him though, that math does suck.
Now another bundle of joy story.
Friday, it was planned that I would accompany one of my nearest and dearest friends to collect her grand baby for the weekend.
I was happy to go along for the ride – besides getting to sniff baby head and bite little toes, the 45 minute drive was a great way to catch up with my friend.
We arrived at my friends mothers house and … OH! Look at this tree! It lives in her moms yard and when I saw it, I thought of Harry Potter, then of course, I had to take a photo.
Back to the story.
We enter the house and I headed straight to baby after saying ‘hello’ to friends mom.
You may only see a foot as I don’t know if the baby’s mom would be okay with some random person posting photographs of her daughter online.
I thought we were heading back to our town, but it turned out we were going to dinner.
I’m always up for dinner.
Long story short …
OK!
So we’re at the restaurant, and I’m remembering that not so long ago, the baby’s foot was a lot smaller. And the baby was doing all kinds of things baby couldn’t do last time I saw her.
“She’s getting so big!”
“Well, last time you saw her she was 3 months old.”
No way. Couldn’t be.
“It can’t have been that long!”
Apparently, yes it could have been that long – and my friend had proof.
Friend and friends mother exchanged glances and I knew, there was a very good reason they were certain of the last time I saw baby.
“That’s when we found out she’s allergic to animals.”
OH NO!
Butters.
Color me guilty and embarrassed … but then, I turned it around.
“So! I will always be part of her story! She had a ‘first’ after being at my house!”
*groan* I know! It’s not a good first! I was trying to stay positive.
I looked at my friend and said “You’re welcome.”
The drive home was filled with more catching up – and baby fell asleep.
My friend and I were yawning – but she had one more stop.
“I’ve got to see if the tortoise is outside of the chamber.”
“Oh my gawd, we’re those old people who stop and look at things like ‘Worlds Largest Ball of Yarn’ on road trips.”
Then: “It’s dark, how are we going to see a tortoise?”
I needn’t have worried.
“What’s it made of?!?”
“Metal I think, get out and touch it.”
“I’m not touchin’ it. You’ll leave me here.”
“No I won’t.”
“Well, I’m not touching it.”
“You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?”
____________________________________
Yes, Denice – yes I did.
Butters – and how I’m not going to be eaten by cats
I always assumed I’d meet my end dying unnoticed in my house, then being partially eaten by my copious amount of future cats. My body perhaps found by the Laundromat Lady when I didn’t show up on a Sunday to muse?
Turns out Butters is what I have to worry about.
I know this because last night as I was on my belly, inching across the floor – she tried to eat me.
Okay – rewind.
You might like a little back story.
(And funnily enough, that’s what it is.)
I was in my sons room saying ‘goodnight’ and asked ‘Can you crack my back without lifting me?’
Nothing worked, so I lay down on the floor and Nic stepped on me. I was stretched out and pulled myself forward on my elbows to lengthen my spine. It felt good.
So while I was down there – of course, I went into tangent mode.
‘What if I had a broken leg and had to get to the door??’
Only way to find out if I could reach the front door was to try it.
You know, like anyone laying on their childs bedroom floor would think to do. Nothing weird here.
So I’m pulling myself using only upper body strength across his carpet.
A military belly crawl, only, I wasn’t allowing myself to use my legs – they remained dead weight. (Remember, my imaginary broken leg … of course, I wasn’t factoring in the pain I’d have to contend with should I actually have a broken leg, but we work with what we have.)
I encountered tile and was unable to get a grip due to my flannel pajama bottoms and fleece sweatshirt. (*Note to self, break leg in clothing with more traction.)
I should have stopped there – experiment over. I was screwed once I hit a slippery surface.
But Nic’s in the spirit of things now and pulls me across that obstacle.
Next the kitchen.
By now – Butters has noticed me in a vulnerable position on the ground. Does she worry? Look upon me in curiosity? Go for help?
No! She attacks.
I’m scooting across the kitchen rug and intermittently having my head chewed on.
I tried playing dead – but she just kept running off and returning to gnaw on me.
“I’ve got her! Go! Go!”
Nic held her back as I inched into the living room.
Why am I still doing this?!? Because I’d come that far – that’s why.
I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going now, but it was very apparent that if I were home alone and did have to wriggle to a phone or an exit without using my legs, Butters would be the reason I wouldn’t succeed.
Experiment over.
I hadn’t quite forgiven her after I climbed into bed.
I lay there on my stomach, getting comfortable, my head turned to the right when I heard snorting and felt warmth on the back of my head.
*sigh*
Really??
I sleep on a California King sized mattress – there’s enough room for me, Butters and both sets of Charlie Buckets’ grandparents!
Yet, Butters, obviously exhausted from attacking me, was snoring less than 5 inches from the back of my head.
She has a side! This is ‘homeless dog’ that I took in that now has a side of my bed.
She doesn’t like to cuddle, so I decided it was likely she was guarding me like one of her bones.
(Oh gawd, what if my imaginary broken leg is a compound fracture?!?! She’ll try to drag my sticky-out bone off!)
Anyway, she was still tired this morning (good!) so I managed to capture evidence of her close proximity. Then I just pestered her for photos to be annoying.
She’s getting really sick of the camera.
Perhaps I need to remember to break my leg in clothes with traction and a camera around my neck … then I stand a chance.
Butters on the left, my pillow on the right.
Me being happy I was annoying the dog
Imaginary pie
My boss brought quiche in today. (Besides being a loan officer, he’s a restaurateur – which really works to my benefit considering I like to eat.)
My piece didn’t stand a chance – I heated it up and poured my small ramekin of hot sauce on the side of my paper plate and devoured.
A while later, after he’d just eaten his, I went into his office and sat at his desk to discuss a file with him.
Now, I KNEW he had eaten quiche. But, in the split second that I caught a glimpse of his empty paper plate, stained orange from the sauce – topped with his crumpled napkin, my mind saw something completely different.
____________________________
Me: Want to hear how my mind works?
Him: (Audible eye roll)
Me: I KNEW you had quiche – but when I glanced at your plate, what I saw was remnants of pumpkin pie with a mound of whipped cream
Him: You need help
Me: No, I have an imagination
Him: No, you really need help
____________________________
I kept smiling – but inside, I was frowning and I actually allowed myself to wonder for a moment if perhaps I really am a little teeny-tiny bit crazy. (I even asked my best friend – who assured me via email I’m not. Then again, birds of a feather …)
I left clutching the file to my chest and wanting to smuggle his plate out to serve as ‘Exhibit A’.
I would then have been able to show it to other people in the building. I needed confirmation that it wasn’t just me. After all, it was only this week no one could see my snowman’s arm!
Instead of giving more people reason to believe I need help of the mental kind, I have reenacted his plate using mine. (Which isn’t weird at all … okay, it’s totally weird, but it was the lesser of two weirds.)
You can’t tell me this doesn’t look like pumpkin and whipped cream! No? Squint.
A Monster in my bra
So I’m innocently enjoying a packet of fruit snacks at my desk, of the Monsters Inc. variety …
When suddenly a fruit snack got away from me and went here …
I stood up, did the ‘something-fell-into-my-cleavage’ shake. And this guy landed by my shoe:
My comment to my boss?
“Good thing it was Mike – he only has one eye. He didn’t see much.”
The Dentist … (insert dramatic music here)
That was my status this morning. Oh my funny cousin in Switzerland – and his comments. But he’s on to something. Yes, yes I do love my dentist.
This has not always been the case. For years and years I have had a deep and morbid fear of ‘The Dentist’.
I’ve shared the story before of how I broke my two front teeth in High School I’ll tell it again. (That’s what I do, I’m getting old. I repeat stories now.)
Those were the dental wonder years – my perfect, straight teeth. *sigh*
My dentist, who I never feared visiting back then, was even going to take a cast of my teeth to take to schools as a model. You remember those models? They’d whip a set of choppers out of their box of tricks and show you how to brush properly on them.
Oooo! Remember the chewable tablets that turned your teeth pink to show you how much plaque you missed when you brushed? Those were fun too.
Anyway, (tangent queen is in the house), I had PERFECT teeth. Never needed braces. Never had a cavity. Gold star for me.
Then came my Junior year.
That’s me on the right. Oh how I loved cheerleading. I’d make up routines at home, even messed around with a baton (which we didn’t use in cheerleading, but I had spirit! Anything spirit related, I was honing in those skills.)
One weeknight, I was on my bed, chatting with my brother Jamie, twirling a baton whilst on my back. I threw it up in the air and …. SMACK!
My perfect teeth were no longer perfect.
The semi-circle of ‘nothingness’ where ‘somethingness’ used to be on my two front teeth was pretty perfect though.
Off to the dentist.
Bonding was pretty new back then. (Gawd I’m old.) I think he was pretty excited about using this ‘new technique’. After what felt like hours of application and blue lights – my smile was back.
Went downhill from there – in my 20’s … my first cavity.
I won’t bore you with the progression of dental dilemmas, (you’re welcome) but let’s just say, that after a dentist told me “you can’t possibly FEEL that” as I writhed in pain in a chair, I wasn’t hell-bent on returning anytime soon.
So I didn’t. I put such appointments off until I couldn’t bear it anymore.
Then later it became a money issue. With no dental insurance, you’d better have just inherited some money to get work done.
Then it became a ‘I’ve waited too long and now it will only be worse and I am scared to hear what he’s going to say’ issue.
They call those teeth out you know! While frowning. And the assistant is jotting the numbers down and cutting her eyes at you from under her disappointed lashes.
It’s like hearing a list of crimes you’ve committed! “B4, G13, O22” … oh, wait, no, that’s Bingo.
But you get the picture.
And all the while, you’re gripping the arms of a chair like this:
And all you can think of, other than “that’s a long list, I might have to sell a limb or an organ to afford it”, is this:
I got brave. I was tired of not smiling. I had a lot to smile about. I LOVE life. And dammit, I was going to smile.
My first visit, found me covered in sweat (it was not hot out) and flinching at the innocuous bib they put around my neck.
I found muscles I didn’t know I had as I tensed up into a perfect impression of a plank of wood. Not easy to do in those chairs. But I accomplished it.
Keep in mind, this first visit was just a xray and assessment. Didn’t seem to stop me from grasping the assistants hand though. I love her. ❤
Long story short – $1,975 later and with only two small procedures to go, I am a PRO at the dentist.
The assistant took my hand in hers today and I didn’t even need to squeeze it.
I lay there, not caring about the needle – after chatting with everybody in the office and breathed slowly. Relaxed. Gazing out of the window at the clever little garden they have outside.
I occasionally blinked at the water they rinsed me with when it got in my eye … ok, I did almost drown once, she wasn’t quick enough with the suction, but I managed to swallow before I died.
Afterward, the dentist smiled when I showed him my list. I’ve been crossing off each completed procedure. I felt like a kid showing her parent a picture I’d made at school. “Put it on the fridge!”
Only two small procedures to go! Then it’s into the hygienists chair for a cleaning.
Oh gawd … Wait … I remember them!!! They poke, and floss too hard!
*Shudder*
But, I will be brave.
And I will remember … when it comes to car problems, relationship problems or teeth problems, deal with them immediately! The longer you put it off, the worse they’re going to get.
Debauchery Soup 