Things I have thought in a weekend-

I am reading Anna Quindlen and on the back where fellow authors praise her work, I see a quote that says she is America’s resident sane person. I think to myself how lovely. I want to be that. Nope. I’m more America’s resident crazy person. (I know I shouldn’t use the word “crazy.” I haven’t found the replacement word yet. I don’t mean mentally ill although I am technically diagnosed and medicated for depression. I mean offbeat, slightly off-center, tilted, unusual maybe like Cyndi Lauper without the music career and riches? Cuckoo. Nutty.
I should probably buy a lottery ticket tonight. I have a feeling it is my day to win it big. Like say, 7 million. I do not need the biggest Powerball of all time. Seven mill sounds reasonable and like it could last me. I would keep my condo and redo it – every square inch would be divine inspiration and colorful. Patterns on patterns interspersed with just the right amount of white and dark. Damn, I would still have to deal with the dog hair. No amount of money would get rid of the shedding. Even if I had a maid, the dog hair would still find it’ insidious way into all the perfections. Only, one way to get rid of dog hair. Get rid of the dogs. Nope. Maybe I don’t even need the 7 million. Maybe I could just vacuum more.
The grandbaby could come any day. Any day. Oh my Gosh. I’m not packed. I need to pack Mim and I about 4 outfits each and have the bag ready. But then what would we wear? Four outfits out of circulation and waiting in a bag in a car is a lot. Maybe just two outfits, but then in the photos of us and the new baby, Mim and I would be wearing the same thing over and over. Wait. I’m taking the photos so who cares what I wear. And Mim has enough clothes to spare four outfits. What car should I put the suitcase in? The green car is not drivable because it needs shocks- it has had three flat tires within a month. BeBe doesn’t want to put money into the green car so she and George worked out that BeBe would buy George’s black Subaru. George rides his bicycle to work. George is going to fix up my dad’s old truck that has been sitting in our condo parking lot with an unsightly green sticker saying it will be towed for the past four months. The truck isn’t running but that is a minor detail and George is will ing to put money into fixing it. Dolly was the owner and driver of the truck but she is going to college in Massachusetts and she has to put money into tuition not the old beloved Chevy. My silver Subaru works but Dolly and BeBe drove it to my mom’s house in South Carolina. We are all sharing and juggling cars. Maybe I should pack the suitcase and put it by the front door. Not inside a car. I want to get to the birth in time to take photos. It takes at least six hours to get to Covington, Louisiana. It takes one hour for me to leave my job and check Mim out of school. So that makes seven hours. Will the labour be long enough? It isn’t right for me to want to slow down the labour just so I can be. there and see the miracle. And photograph the miracle. I need to pack my mouth guard and our medicines. I can’t forget my Lexapro but I’m not even sure i have enough. I probably missed my appointment with the nurse practitioner for the fill. I hope I can have an appointment before the baby comes. Mim needs an appointment first. She bit off a thin jagged slice of a silver filling. The silver splintered and pricked her inner cheek Friday. The dentist said they could probably fit us in on Monday or Tuesday. I need to get my mouth guard remade. It still works but the back right edge was chomped off by Posey, BeBe’s dog. Posey likes to lie in my bed because that vantage point is her best view to wait for BeBe to return. BeBe doesn’t know that Posey ate my mouth guard. It cost $600. And beBe will feel bad if she knows. So shhhhhh. Those flat tires ate all of BeBe’s reserve fund. The mouth guard can do it’s job without the back edge.
This will be the week I find Mim a therapist and myself a therapist. Mim’s meltdowns have taken an uptick with school starting. the only recommendation I have is for a woman 45 minutes away and I cannot make that happen on a school day. I need a therapist. I’m fifty and I am lacking boundaries. Or maybe I am not cut out for boundaries. Or I have clear boundaries but there are people out there who will run right over the orange cones and then sped up when they see the locked gate, burst through the chains and jump a curb to fly over a blockade. I’m pretty sure that is it. I have fucking awesome boundaries. Like since we are married, having sex with other women is out oft he question- so he lies for seven years. Or I cannot be your friend because you were rude to Mim- so she says I’m the only one who can help her children. I have boundaries dammit. Some people do not respect my boundaries. But a therapist couldn’t hurt and I’ve been napping too much anyway. I hope they will take my insurance.
I can finally focus on getting the kitchen redone. This will solve so many problems. I will want to cook more. We will eat out less and save money. A functional kitchen. Yep, that is the answer. I need a woman contractor. Does anyone know a woman contractor that they can recommend? I swear I screen shotted something about one once. Where is that info? I am hard to please because I have boundaries- and my kitchen is a small job and small money but I do not want normal stuff. I want a tiled Lady of Guadalupe above the kitchen sink. I like things the way I like them which is usually not available at Home Depot. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I want to go to Dolly’s college family weekend in October. In Massachusetts. I haven’t even seen where my child is going to college. She leaves the same week the grandbaby is due. Walt is going to drive Dolly up with all her sweaters and boots. I’m going to magically arrive in Louisiana in time to witness the birth of a new human. How can I miss Dolly’s departure? This is life. I shrink back. My head hangs slightly. My upper lip pulls tight and my lower lip rises as my teeth grind. Breathing forgets to go deep. My gums feel bruised on the right front side. The college weekend will be a wonderful opportunity. Mim will need to come with me. She will nto fly. She will have to fly. I mentioned the idea of a Massachusetts flight once and she said No. the she said let’s practice drugging me on. the Metro. I said “Wait. I thought you like the Metro.” She said not anymore. I said “We aren’t drugging you. We are going to ask the doctor for medicine to help you not be scared of flying.” …How will I that work? I can’t carry her anymore. If she was knocked out, I guess I could request a wheel chair. This sounds hard. Doesn’t it? I want to visit Dolly and show her that the world does not revolve around her other siblings. It can revolve around her for at least a weekend.
Mim’s meltdowns are increasing in frequency since school started two weeks ago. Already? Yep. Already. I see some options- a. pull her out of one or two general education classes and put her in more special education classes to see if that reduces her stress level, b. beg her school to restructure the co teaching program. Currently, Mim has seven classes a day. Her core classes each have a different general education teacher and a different teacher for kids with IEPS. Her electives have a different general ed teacher and a different assistant teacher. She also has a speech therapist, a guidance counselor, an occupational therapist, an IEP case manager and two administrators. How can this many adults know my child and how can my child understand the different expectations and personalities of this many adults? Is this even possible? c. I could get a job at another charter school in Dekalb County that has middle school and high school. It is set up for inclusion. Each class has 16 children or less. The mission of this school is to meet children with and without IEPS where they are. I have to work at this school for Mim to go there. I do not live in there catchment area. d. I could sell my condo and find a place to live in Dekalb County (just one county over) and enter the humongous lottery to get into that Charter school that seems suited for kids like Mim but the lottery would be impossible to predict so I could move for nothing. I’m thinking a. temporarily and c. next year with some of b. thrown in because I am an advocate.