The Walmart Saga

My respect for the elderly was deeply ingrained as a child. There's no way to politely walk away from an eighty-seven year old woman in Walmart with the scary ability to latch on like an octopus and force a twenty minute conversation upon my person. What exactly stood out about me that begged this woman to flag me down? Mums. Chrysanthemums. The kind that appear on my porch annually within the first week of September (because September 1st is reserved for hanging my fall wreath on the door-- and don't think I'm obsessive about my seasonal ornamentation, this only happens in September). But back to the mums, two small pots-- of the burnt orange and yellow varieties-- and they were chosen proudly by Paxton who had begged go along for the trip (something about being out of milk for two days and not trusting me to deliver and further impeded his desperate need for cereal). The dairy section of Walmart is where I was backed into a superfluous, one-sided conversation.
Here is what I learned from this little old lady with thinning white hair and oversized, cat-eyed sunglasses that were so dark I couldn't even make out her facial features.

1. Mums return every year, and if replanted will come back and multiply. I've never had this experience. I generally kill them (accidentally, of course), before December 1st. I was hoping she'd tell me how not to kill them, but it was a repeat of the comment "But they are hardy." Apparently, there's no helping me if I kill the hardiest plant (named a HARDY mum) known to man. 
2. She let me know that lilies were just as hardy, and the ones you get from the store at Easter-- EASTER LILIES (now I think she's questioning my intelligence since I obviously kill hardy mums) can be replanted as well. Her grandfather owned most of the county I live in and parts of two others and along the fence row to the home place were planted lilies. They came back every year. She always wanted to know what kind of lilies they were (I almost suggested the Easter variety but that's pushing the limits of what I would ever say respectfully to a woman of her age), but it was the Depression and she was six years old trying to feed her family. I stalled on the bit about being six... maybe I misheard her? But that was a time most people didn't experience childhood the way we think they should-- and it fits her mid-80s range of life. But the lilies. I should try lilies, she says, unless I think I'll kill them, too. (More than likely.)
3. She volunteered with the Optimist Club for 63 years and that's saying something since the organization is only 100, and she learned the value of sports. She pointed to Paxton and wanted to know if he was in sports yet. She informed me that boys not kept busy with sports ended up as drug addicts and he needs to get involved straight away. Oh, and not to let him play T Ball because that makes boys scared of the balls. He needs pitched baseball. Remember pitched or thrown balls keeps boys off drugs. They are too busy chasing the balls to be idle.
4. She and her husband had a good life, but then he got sick and died. She had to bury him in her coffin because they thought she would go first and hadn't bought his yet. And it's the fault of the Affordable Care Act and that President Obama. She didn't vote for him. She voted "Christian" unlike the people that voted for all the crap and ruined her life. I may have zoned out a bit after that. I'm always struck by how black and white people take life and use labels to identify an obvious conservative as the Christian vote and make the "others" fall into an evil category that borders on Satanic, as it's clearly the opposite, as liberals are bad. It's a long history.
5. Her health woes continued. I was desperate to move on. Paxton was agitated. He was speaking to me in full on burp sentences. "Let's gooooooo..." in burp is quite impressive and adamant.
6. She was adept at blocking my retreats and following me, her conversation never letting up as I attempted to maneuver myself away. We were blocking a good chunk of aisle that people were actively perusing. She has mad skills. I kept telling myself she was probably lonely and had no one to talk to. But seriously... twenty minutes. And I said nothing after I told her I killed mums, other than to nod and mmmhmmm noncommitally.
7. The girl who delivers my mail walked by me three times while the lady continued to drone on. I made eye contact and tried conversing with her, trying to give the old lady the hint that it's been fifteen minutes now.... But the mail girl didn't get the hint. She's dead to me now. I don't care how nerdy her shirt is when she delivers the mail tomorrow. I'll be wearing a plain t-shirt and there will be no geek out comparisons.
8. The old lady knows all about the medical system in northwest Arkansas and how bad it is. And her pacemaker is faulty. She KNOWS because she heard it from the physician that Vice President Dick Cheney (such a good man) saw when he was in office. She tried to switch to him, but that Affordable Care Act wouldn't let her switch doctors. He told her so.
9. I seriously need to learn how to politely make people stop talking. I don't even talk to people I like as much as these random people that assault my being with their verbosity.
10. I would shop somewhere else besides Walmart, but it's northwest Arkansas, and I do enjoy running into most people I know. It's just these people I don't know that are killing me slowly with unsought conversations. Maybe I should go at midnight.

Chaos Smoothers

I told myself in April that once May hit, life would slow down and I could regroup. I also told myself I would take up the reigns of the personal blog, since The Rambling Historian had such a solid run during the semester for our homeschool co-op.

And then...

Life imploded.

I say imploded and not exploded because in retrospect, the last two months seem to be some elegantly orchestrated chaos. Just this shimmery, shiny bubble where big things happened and all the details just danced around the edges and smoothing the chaos in ways that brought about the best of outcomes.

For example, Paxton's brain went on the fritz. The first couple of times it happened we attributed it to heat overexposure. By the fourth or fifth time, his symptoms had escalated to that of watching a drunk midget having a stroke. It's not a good look for a six year old boy. The husband was with us for that one. Someone told me how wonderful it was that he was home for this ER run for once. I think it's one of those chaos smoothers. Most other ER runs of the last decade have been made sans husband; like the time I was carrying a bleeding toddler on my hip and dragging a three year old into an emergency room wearing a blood stained t-shirt with the words "Guess What's Cooking" wrapped tightly around my eight month pregnant belly. There's really no dignity left at that point.

This kid's brain event was weirdly my entire focus. I didn't even know where the other kids were or who was watching the dogs until a day or two later. Then came the insurance hassles, appointments, referrals, and the "soonest we can get him in is the end of August." It's not the best way to live-- on tenterhooks, wondering if his episodes will continue and knowing our one option is more ER visits until that elusive appointment. His brain decided one more doozy of an episode would do the trick and we went straight to Arkansas Children's in Little Rock. Lovely, lovely place. I would never hesitate in returning or telling others to go there as well. He had a 26 hour EEG-- I used selfie mode on my phone so he could watch the tech glue the wires to his head, to which he proclaimed "I am sooo cute!" Uh, sure.-- and then an MRI, which was seriously the best part because I got to be there for the laughing gas. "It smells sooooo good... it's cherry."

He believed his hospital stay to be the best vacation EVER. They brought him food in bed. He got to order whatever he wanted to eat, and he could watch TV and pick what he wanted to watch, he received some amazing Lego sets, his bed could recline and it was like a ride for him, and above all, he got to relieve himself in a urinal that kept tabs on how much liquid waste his body produced-- "How much this time, Mom?!?!" Nobody needs to be that excited about urine.

Paxton's brain also made sure this second ER visit happened on the husband's days off. That was fortuitous and chaos smoothing. The diagnosis was complex/complicated migraine. He's on daily medication and has done brilliantly on it. I got the statement of benefits from the insurance company and was more than pleased to see that nothing was owed on our part for the $20,000.00 bill. Fairly certain chaos smoother should be a hashtag. #chaossmoother 

All while this little man was doing his weird brain thing, all three girls needed to be prepped and ready for camp. Looooong story short, the pediatrician's office where we used to go took like five months to remember to send over records to our new family clinic. I needed shot records. After way too many hours trying to get administrative types to get records to the right places, I finally was ready to get Evelynn her tetanus shot. The Health Department didn't think to tell me I needed an appointment to get this done when I had talked to them previously, and they offered the soonest available date... in the middle of the girls' camp week. Did you know you could get a prescription from a doctor for a tetanus shot and got to Walgreen's where they administer said shot? Blew my mind just a tad. #chaossmoother 

This could easily be an album cover.

Volleyball took up quite a bit of time the early part of this summer-- Evelynn is playing this fall. I gulp at the magnitude of volleyball events sucking up so many dates in my calendar from May to October but her love for the sport makes it worth it. So practices and fund raisers were sprinkled around the brain thing and camp and business. Weirdly enough, these things never clashed; where one event stopped, the other started. #chaossmoother

I had decided months ago that when the girls were at camp, I would redecorate their room and clean out the other room. The request dubious-- a combination of Star Wars and Audrey Hepburn. Sometimes I am amazed at how diverse they are in their interests and revel in how unique they can be... and then they ask for Star Wars and Audrey Hepburn. Good thing I had months to consider this. 

The cleanout was real. The girls' things were completely cleaned out and organized. Evelynn's room was insane. Have you every cleaned out an artist's quarters? It's like all the papers, pens, pencils, markers, and pastels breed in the corners. No one tells you these things when you are feeding a passion at a young age. She has mad skills. And I know that these things are important to her craft. But I found like 500 hundred writing utensils in every nook and cranny.

That's a cubby box that is about 1/3 to 1/2 full.

Cleaning out the rooms and sorting through mountains of clothes the kids have outgrown is the most freeing aspect of regrouping. All four kids have been all growing monstrous amounts for the last three months. No one tells you these things when you have kids close together. Oh, you bought new clothes for summer? How about we all outgrow them before summer even hits full force. Out with the old, in with the new. #chaossmoother

Somewhere along the way, we picked up another cat and four chickens. The husband and girls were out for a run on a trail and found an abandoned kitten. He is super young, but he has done well. After much discussion, he was dubbed Yondu. After a week or so, I think Toothless or Night Fury would have been better because he looks just like that dragon in cat form. He's quite sweet and cuddly, a far cry from our other cat, Fleur, who only cares about people when her food bowl is empty. Having another animal that is easy-- #chaossmoother

 This is the general standoff between Oaken and Yondu. Neither is quite sure the purpose of the other. 

The homeschool life hasn't slowed down much either. I can't even remember what happened that I neglected to post the last two lessons on the other blog... I think I hit the end, walked out of the building, and was done. I may or may not have emptied that particular book bag yesterday (said in the smallest of voices). Someone did ask my girls when the end of their school year was and they told the person "I don't know... we haven't really been doing much of anything." One of that fantastic 'pinches bridge of nose' moments. The clarification is I really didn't have an "end of school year" date. The last two years have been more 'year round' school, so we can fit in travel, our homeschool group activities, and a bit more wiggle room in our schedule. While we don't do the extras-- like science, history, and language arts-- we continue with reading and math. Three months without those two and it's chaos once September hits. #chaossmoother

I'm already gearing up for the next school year. I sold some old books at a sale that was somewhere between the brain thing, a volleyball camp, and a tetanus shot. Out went the pre-K and kindergarten books and other items for the first time in many years. I didn't sniff once over that. Pre-K and kindergarten teachers are a special breed of people, and I'm thoroughly ecstatic to no longer be in that realm. I lost the surface of most the shelves and desks in our school room/office, and even some floor space for the last month or so, and finally found it yesterday, as I did the massive switch of incoming/outgoing books. I seriously considered another bookshelf, but reigned myself in and actually removed quite a few redundant and out of use books. I sniffed over that dilemma. What's done is done. I found my desk, and cleaned out files. And the final check was written for the travesty of the Pennsylvania house became in the last four years. That whole mess and stress has ended and it seemed so exceptionally anticlimactic. So I gathered all the files of old bills and mortgage company paper work that dogged our steps for years and........ I BURNED THEM ALL in a giant pile outside in the yard. Now that, THAT, was the cathartic gesture I was looking for. #chaossmoother

I think that brings us up to the now. Life can get to be such a blur and I tell myself to write it down before it fogs over and is lost. I won't always want to remember the chaos, but I want to remember what made it all smoother, running along from imploding bubble to the next.

This Week in Parenting

I have to say that as the kids get older my days of standing on the edge of the cliff of insanity are fewer and far between. Something about not having babies or toddlers is less manic than it once was. Nowadays, when parenting gets sketchy, I google memes. It's like a weird encouragement in believing that if someone made a meme about their children, and it fits so well with my experiences, then I'm really not alone and that this insanity is, for want of a better word, "normal".  It's been super cold outside and they have spent an inordinate amount of time inside lately, so I'm sure that's what this boils down to... right? The following memes perfectly sum up the last week of parenting for me.