Let Me Off the Roller Coaster (Before I Throw Up)

There are days when, at the end of it, I am exhausted, even though I have managed to get nothing done.  Well, not nothing.  You know, there's that whole parenting thing, where you keep them alive and teach them to be functional members of society.  That does take up a great deal of time.  But you know what I mean: the laundry piled up ever higher, dinner was take-out, and the house is so filthy the cats are about ready to break out the vacuum cleaner themselves.

I am exhausted from the roller coaster.  My days can swing from  up to down and up again so fast it's dizzying, nauseating, and exhilarating all at once.

There was the morning rush, which isn't normally a rush but this morning I overslept.  My morning normally runs like a finely-tuned Swiss clock, or maybe more like a 1987 vintage Swatch that needs new batteries, but still, it works for me.  I have exactly enough time to have one cup of coffee, post my blog link to Facebook, and pack lunches before anyone else is even awake.  Then I take my shower while the kids eat breakfast and read the paper watch SpongeBob.  This morning that got all. fouled. up.  And it turned into chugcoffee-slapsandwich-ponytail and out the door morning.

I got the three regular-school kids off to school and returned home with the Peanut Butter Kid, who's on homebound schooling.  I started on some math and finally took my shower, because a shower is pretty much the key to my day having any success at all.  Then we were off to see our new pediatric orthopedist to follow up on some twisty stuff we have going on with her feet and shinbones.

I was kind of dreading this appointment, because I really thought the doctor was going to say the PBK needed either braces or orthotics.  And while those can be difficult to get used to, I wasn't really worried about the PBK hating leg braces.  Braces come in all kinds of awesome colors and patterns nowadays.  Plus, we know the coolest, prettiest girl who happened to wear leopard-print leg braces for a while.  So I think the PBK almost wanted leg braces.

I didn't want them, though. I'm almost ashamed to admit this, but it's not because I don't want my daughter to be physically or socially uncomfortable.  It's because our insurance sucks.  Our new insurance is one of these plans where "yay! everything is covered!" except the deductible, and the copay, and any kind of anything you actually need to keep your kid functional.  So when the new orthopedist said that she doesn't need braces, or orthotics, or surgery, I almost kissed him.  The PBK needs to be careful not to "W" sit and we have to continue to do special stretches for her feet.

La la la!

We never have doctor's appointments like that.  We never get the easy answer, the simple answer, the free answer.  I was positively giddy.  I skipped out of that place like I was on a freaking moon bounce.  La la la.  I wished I was wearing a hat so I could jauntily toss it in the air like Mary Tyler Moore.

Then I got home to a message from Little Dude's neurologist's office saying that they still can't send me a diagnosis statement for the IEP.  Y'all remember Dr. Orville Redenbacher, right?  Dr. Redenbacher's office can't send me the papers because the transcriptionist can only work weekends right now, so they're behind.  I don't know how long the transcriptionist has been "having problems," but our last appointment with Dr. Redenbacher was June 24.  I called back and had the most ridiculously pointless conversation with his secretary.  It was one of those conversations wherein I became increasingly frustrated and the secretary desperately tried to end the conversation because she has other things to do besides listen to a mom go off her rocker. Finally I suggested she relay to the good doctor how incredibly pissed I was my displeasure, and she said, "yes, ma'am."

I am 100 percent sure that she will do nothing of the sort.  I mean, as much as this poor woman doesn't want to listen to me rant, she's got to work with Dr. Redenbacher every day, and he's kind of insane.  Brilliant, possibly on the spectrum, and definitely bonkers.  And certainly not the kind of boss who wants to hear about stark raving mad mommies.

I took a deep breath, and let it go.

The ups and downs kept coming.

It was our school fundrasier night at Chick-Fil-A!  (Up!  When else do I get to look like a good mom by not cooking?)

As usual, swarming unsupervised children in Chick-Fil-A playroom re-enacted scenes from Lord of the Flies.  (Down.  But I still can't resist Chick-fil-A's polite deliciousness.)

After I told him not to climb up the slide (which is already full of bigger kids) a random unsupervised four-year-old said he was going to tell his mommy on me, and I was all that's an excellent idea.  Because then maybe there would have been more adults in here to help me fend off the Children of the Corn.  He went out looking to tell his mama that there was some mean lady in the playroom not letting him break his neck.  But then (for some reason) the kid never came back, so it was still a win. (Up!)

Spent 90 minutes banging my head against a wall having quality time with Little Dude in the bathroom as part of our ongoing potty training expedition. (Down.)

After getting up and down out of bed three times to try to pee, Little Dude peed on the potty.  On purpose.  And with conviction. (Up!)

I love when the day ends on a high note.