The Parking Ticket

The dog had been in our possession for four days. He was small and cuddly, and peed wherever he felt like it. Every morning, sometimes as early as 4:45, he would whine to let us know he was ready for the day to start. It was time to take him to the vet, to get him vaccinated, the goal being that he could eventually graduate from the backyard, run around in the real world, tire himself out and maybe sleep until 6:30am.

Rob was working, so the vet visit was up to me. My assistant Rochelle, Scarlett, Otto and I got into the mobility van and set out on our mission. I was feeling short of breath, still not far enough away from my ICU visit to be purely comfortable in the great outdoors, and looking forward to my new anti-anxiety medication kicking in.

It did kick in, somewhere in the middle of the appointment, and I began to feel my personality returning. The visit itself was uneventful, except that obviously Otto peed on the floor.

When we got back to the car, there was a ticket on the window. Rochelle picked it up and handed it to me. $875 for parking in a handicapped spot with an expired placard. Unbeknownst to me, the placard had expired on June 30. It was July 15.

If you have a permanent parking placard, there is supposedly nothing you need to do but wait for a new one to arrive when the old one expires. But nothing had come in the mail, and I hadn’t even noticed. I don’t think about the parking placard very often. I drive around in a mobility vehicle, with a wheelchair and hands that can’t even reach up to greet a friend or new acquaintance. I was relying on the efficiency of the DMV. Cue insane laughter.

We went home and I stared at the ticket. It felt like an insult. Obviously an officer had placed it on the mobility van. Who the hell would be driving that thing if they didn’t have to? Read More>

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Ice Bucket Challenge

Rob and Scarlett are dueling over music right now. He’s controlling the Sonos system in the house, which means he basically wins, but she’s giving him a good run on the back deck with Let It Go, tinny on my cell phone, but somehow still SO LOUD. Rob turns up The Black Crowes. Scarlett clears her throat and gives it her Elsa all.

The battle flips to Margot and the Nuclear So-and-So’s versus something horrendous from Kidz Bop. Obviously this seemed like the perfect time to sit down and try to write.

Rob is still on vacation this week, but we’re home, just dealing with end-of-summer things: purchasing school uniforms, contemplating how to handle an $875 parking ticket, continuing our efforts to train Otto (and wondering if his training could include a court appearance to argue that ticket down to a more reasonable amount. This is a story for another blog, especially if Otto does end up being our lawyer.)

Can we really now be listening to both Bonnie Raitt and The Wiggles? Why is this happening?

Rob is opening a bottle of wine. Now that’s a sound I can handle.

Today was Ice Bucket day. I knew we would be doing the challenge again, but Scarlett was vehement that she and Otto be our family representatives in the chilly endeavor. So there they were in all their glory, (slightly different from their current status running in circles together listening to Shut Up and Dance With Me while Rob tries in vain to calm things down with Tom Petty’s Wildflowers. This is not an “everyone wins” situation.)

A reprieve. Scarlett and Otto go deeper into the yard, their noise receding until all I hear is Rob’s REM. The wine is pink and cold, the grill is filling the yard with sweet and smoky smells, and a breeze is blowing towards my spot at the dining room table. I think I’ll leave it at that, enjoy having only one song in my head, and just share our #icebucketchallenge video.

Every August Until A Cure.

Wait. Taylor Swift vs Led Zeppelin? Someone stab me with an ice cube.

|Categories: Cure, Drugs, Life, Parenting, Research | Tags: , | Permalink

Vacation

You want to know what’s not relaxing? Vacation, for Rob. To be fair, vacation for anyone with children cannot be described as relaxing, as these little bundles of energy tend to get up early, ask for things like food, and then want you to watch them and take care of them all day. So it’s just like being at home, but without most of your stuff.

Of course, we have some added stressors, as everyone who reads this blog is more than well aware. I’m sure Rob could have a truly lovely vacation, if he would just travel alone. But instead he brought a puppy, a five-year-old, and his increasingly disabled wife. Not his smartest decision. Not a recipe for sleeping in (or even sleeping through the night.)

You know your situation is unusual when the five-year-old is the second most self-reliant person in the family, and the 12-week-old puppy is handling himself pretty well, too. Sigh. I am the weakest link.

For example, both Scarlett and Otto can at least feed themselves. When Rob finally settles down by the pool to enjoy a sandwich, he has to balance his own food intake with mine. This is a completely new development, and it’s sort of unfortunate that it began when all of our meals are on display. I keep my attention on our table at each restaurant, quietly wondering what other people are thinking of our performance. Maybe they just think we’re really in love? I doubt it, and I don’t care that much (less so every time), but I do wish my husband could enjoy a meal without having to help me enjoy mine. Read More>

|Categories: Life, Parenting, Relationships | Tags: , | Permalink