deus ex mama
i’ve been informed by some people that they’d prefer to see more funny. i’m not feeling like miss yuks-a-lot this week, considering there’s been a death in my friend’s family; so here’s some recent funny.
by the time we got to gimme shelter
we’re gonna turn this mother out
one day, i’ll get us kicked out of elementary school
there are loads more in the archives; i just don’t have the chance to scour.
(now get off my back 😉
i’m sitting here with a wee bit of ben and jerry’s light phish food (here’s the phull phat version, my medication of choice during my pregnancy with hellboy), freaking out quietly. while i’m still chagrined that this stuff goes for $4 a pint (MAYBE $2.99 on sale on a cold day in hell), it’s WAAAAY cheaper than what i found out i would be paying for the IVIG if i *didn’t* have health insurance.
see, i got an interesting letter today informing me of my benefits. the IVIG alone — and we’re not talking any of the tubes or IV apparatus, we’re not talking about the nurse who has to hook me up and take me off and monitor me, and we’re not even talking about the freaking doctor visit, which of course, i would get charged above and beyond all of it — would cost a couple thousand. each time. and i have to go every 4-6 weeks. ad infinitem.
now, as my friend suzanne likes to say, we (she and i, not the Royal We) have the mathematical ability of raccoons. (okay, so now she’s in a position of serious responsibility that requires mathematical ability, and i’ve proven that i can make it through graduate level courses which require things like the application of quantitative techniques. but old fears die hard.) but even so. i can do the math and figure out that, at a rate of every 6 weeks, this would cost over $30,000. A YEAR.
i could kiss the feet of the people at my insurance company. i could kiss the cheeks of the people who are coordinating this life-saving stuff for me. and i should probably kiss anything BS wants for having health insurance and for providing this life-saving paper for us all. but it does make me wonder heavily about all the people out there who don’t have good health insurance, or health insurance at all. and it makes me wonder about all the people who don’t seem to want to have any sort of national health program beyond medicaid and medicare.
i may yet become an activist on this frontier. i find it so frightening that i get access to quality care simply because i can afford the insurance, the co-pays, the out-of-pocket expenses. what if i couldn’t? where would i go? should i simply die? i shudder to think about that; i have a feeling that is the case for a lot of people.
people who knew you in high school generally are not the people you want to know when you’re a grownup. they knew a younger, sillier, more idealistic, and probably more obnoxious version of the person you’ve (hopefully) become. i speak to very few people i knew back then. however, i’ve just gotten news that the father of one of the few people i do still know and see has just succumbed to a long and arduous battle with cancer. because of my knee being what it is, i don’t think i will get up to NJ for the funeral, which troubles me a great deal. i know that this person would be there for me in a tough situation. i feel like i am letting her down in a tremendous way.
what i can do, of course, is share a moment i remember about her dad, a tough but very warm man. i didn’t get to know him much until i was in college and my folks had moved a lot closer to where her folks lived, in scenic edison, nj [motto: edison is the bagel; metuchen is the hole.] he rode on the first aid squad, which, in time, my friend did, too.
at christmastime, 1986, i was a senior in college, slaving away on my honors thesis. it was just around breaktime when my friend told me that her dad had tickets to the radio city music hall christmas show — would i like to go? even though i had spent a zillion years living near NYC and visiting my beloved aunt in the east village, i had never, ever been to radio city. lots of broadway shows, to be sure — my folks adore broadway (so yes, despite the fact that i like some really hardcore music, i also can sing showtunes with the best of ’em) — but for some reason, my folks never wanted to go to radio city.
so off we went, we three jews, to the christmas show. much of that year is blurry to me, for reasons i won’t get into. but that trip. i remember the rockettes and thinking, wow, they do the same damn thing, over and over, to different songs. but they never fail. it was a well-done performance. afterwards, though, i have a very strong remembrance of the chestnuts that were being roasted by street vendors — their sweet, smoky scent still permeates my head on some winter days. and for some reason, i remember hearing diamonds on the soles of her shoes on a permanent loop in my brain. we walked through manhattan, and i remember thinking that i’d remember that day forever.
and i have.
thank you for your generosity and for an unforgettable day. even bit players in your life like me will think of you fondly always.
our beloved old video garbage day has broken. a wonderful former colleague of mine stars in it and produced it. sadly, we are not in touch any longer. we can’t seem to find out where we might replace it.
jools is going to go insane.
if anyone out there knows how we can get a new copy, i am all ears.
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute? – Emily, from Our Town by Thornton Wilder
having nearly lost my mother twice before i was in college, i’ve always been a sort of carpe diem kind of gal, though there are plenty of diems i wished i’d carpe‘d and didn’t. days, weeks, months, years pass; and sometimes, i miss things. i forget things. it’s probably the main reason i write in a blog. i want to remember things – crazy things people say to me, funny moments with my family, that sort of thing. i may be one of the snarkiest people you’ll meet, but when you get up close, you find i am a giant mushball crybaby. especially on days when i have to face up to things like my mortality.
the good news, of course, is that there’s a treatment, IVIG, for my CVID. the infectious diseases doctor who is able to get me IVIG and who is graciously willing to take me on as a patient as a courtesy to my wonderful hematologist (and don’t think i don’t know that this life has me feeling like a professional patient who collects doctors like my kids collect Pez dispensers) has really moved the proverbial ball forward. the company that provides the IVIG has been contacting me today, getting health and insurance-related information from me. i am astonished at their efficiency; and i am wildly, wildly grateful that i possess solid health insurance that will allow me to do this life-saving activity without bankrupting my family. oh, i wish my family knew how grateful i am to each and every one of them. and they never really will.
when i push beyond the gratitude, i find i have to face up to this ridiculous fury i possess. it’s pointless, really, to be angry about something over which you have absolutely no control. i mean, i can be mad at myself for being fat. i can be mad at myself for not being kinder to people in my life. i can even be mad at myself for falling on the ice and ripping up my knee (though that, of course, was unintentional.) but i didn’t do this to myself. i didn’t cause my immune system to not be strong. hey. i drink my green tea. i eat my veggies. i even was exercising to make myself strong. but my genes? they just are what they are.
when i was a little girl, my mother instilled a mantra in my head, a mantra she still tells me, a mantra i have carefully taught my children. she always told me that she loved me no matter what. and of course, i love my children no matter what.
i guess this is the point where i have to look at myself and tell myself that i love myself no matter what.
tonight, i put on van morrison; and as he sang have i told you lately, i danced with my children. BC, of course, snuggled in my arms as she tried to lead while we danced (she’s just like her mom). and jools grabbed his blanket, danced with us in a big hug for about 10 seconds, then started to do his crazy pee wee herman meets david lee roth maneuver. i didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. of course, though, i knew at the end of the song, when poor BC had damp hair, i’d become a mushball mom again. and it was ok. “i love you, mama,” BC said as she looked up at me and smiled.
i guess if she can love me, so can i.
jools would like to have a cars-themed birthday party this year. (to be more accurate, he wants a “lightning nu-queen party.”) i recently made an inquiry on DC Urban Moms regarding where to hold a birthday party and whether folks had a better idea of fun, car-themed activities. one mom wrote that she has had it with parties and people upping the ante on “events”.
i totally agree with her in the sense that i see little sense in making a birthday party some elaborate experience with a hired entertainer. as one who is party-planning inept, i even found an old birthday party book i cherished as a child and bought it (online — is this a great country or what?) for ideas. and i’m very grateful for the legions of parents out there who are sharing party ideas with me.
to borrow liberally from my posting, i am interested in places **outside** my home to host the party. last year, we had a simple, traditional party in the house. jools and his buddies tore my house apart and left BC crying for days because several of HER toys ended up broken. maybe we could hold it in my backyard, though it’s is a big hill/luge run (which actually might make it interesting if we try to race cars down it, now that i think of it, though i’ll have to have massive first aid supplies on hand if that happens.) in short, though: my house is a disaster, and i don’t feel like putting it together at the moment and then having it torn asunder. i ain’t doin’ it. i just had knee surgery 🙂 i want the party out of there.
i’m also very grateful that people are sending me ideas for games and such. there are some inexpensive locales (like community centers), and so if we go that route (to get the party out of my house), it’s helpful that people more creative than i’ll ever be can share ideas for simple activities that will be fun for the four-year-old (and under) crew. (i’m definitely enlisting BC to wrangle the kids this year. maybe she can do face painting? a big win-win.)
birthday parties for kids under two are a piece of cake. why people hire entertainment for toddler parties mystifies me when these kids would be entertained playing with a giant cardboard box. i can only guess that there are older children at parties and so the party thrower wants those kids entertained. but i have been to some really over-the-top weddings/bar/bat mitzvahs where the solid gold dancers (as i’ve dubbed them) recruit you to the dance floor, where you have your picture taken and put it keychain frames, where you get glow-in-the-dark necklaces and blinking hats, watching the video montage of the family members play with careful musical editing, etc. etc. ad nauseum. i agree that things have gotten out of hand in partyland. hell, my husband didn’t *have* birthday parties growing up. his mom made his favorite dinner and then cake. the end. and i think my biggest birthday was the time we went to howard johnson’s — i got ice cream with a cookie in it and then my friends and i got to swim in an indoor pool, which was big stuff back then in the 1970s. usually, though, we ate cake and ice cream and ran around the house until we all felt ill. it was great.
the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel: BC, who will turn 9 this year, wants a small sleepover party. two or three friends. that’s it. i can hardly wait 🙂
sunday was our 17th wedding anniversary. yes, 17 years of wedded bliss. or something like that. you could not find two more different people who have so much in common. i’m sure people have looked at us over the years and marvelled that one of us didn’t end up with a toilet seat cracked over his/her head at one point or another. i’m sure he’s been tempted to do something like that. i know i have.
[to anyone out there who doesn’t know us: that last bit was a joke. really. put down the phone. no need to call the authorities.]
anyway, because i have not been getting out as much as i normally do (and couldn’t find what i wanted online), i did not yet get BS a present. (yes, i suck.) he kept saying to me, don’t worry. i ordered your present a long time ago, and it still isn’t in. so all the while, i’m wondering — what on earth did BS think of, in advance no less?
it came in yesterday, a day late but still wildly appreciated.
BS got Pat DiNizio, the main songwriter and lead singer of the Smithereens, to hand write a copy of the lyrics of my favorite Smithereens song, beauty and sadness, for me!!!!!!!!! i know most normal women out there are more interested in jewelry and other crap like that, but i actually cried. the smithereens hold a very special place in our life story together, and BS definitely put a little thought into this. to borrow from this is spinal tap: i’m shocked. and stunned.
and thankful 🙂
on friday night, we decided to go out to dinner near the ballston metro stop. we were walking to the restaurant through the massive bus stop area, me on a crutch; because while i can walk fine without a crutch, i usually take it along when i am walking more outside of the house. i get tired, ya see.
anyway, so i’m walking on my crutch when we come upon a lady. she’s clutching her bible and shouting out to her Lord. she takes one look at me and starts shaking and rocking and screaming: “Lord Jesus, you must HEAL this lady, I call upon you to HEAL this lady NOW! she needs you, Lord, so please, PLEASE, heal her.”
i was tempted to throw down my crutch and walk right then and there, but i was afraid that this poor woman would have heart failure. so i lumbered on.
apparently, crocs might be hazardous to your health.
[note to self: should i end up back in the hospital, i should write a note that indicates that a) i am allergic to most antibiotics, b) i wear contacts, and c) for G-d’s sake, someone needs to remove my daughter’s footwear.]
