Tuesday, August 28, 2018

When Stuff Breaks Down

Guys. I promise the next post will be full of light and love and the kind of whipped creamy goodness you've come to expect from this here blog. (All 9 of you who stuck with me of the 230 people who used to read my blog when I was on social media. Hi, Mom! Howdy, Christy! Hey, Jana! Hola, other half-dozen people! I'm sure I love you!)

So.

I've had a bit of a week, if I may. Also, I know what I'm about to tell you is SO MINOR compared to actual, real, damaging, devastating situations other people face. This will let you know how good I guess my life is, that these events can bring me down. But, man, they did.

First, cool thing: I've been planning a family vacation for over a year. We're closing in on our travel dates, which I won't tell you and we have a house-sitter, so don't think you can come steal the big screen TV we don't have, or the expensive electronics that we also don't have because we're taking our inexpensive electronics with us on our trip. But please, feel free to abscond with a cat or two. Just get your own Modkat litter box. Trust me. You do NOT want to transport a used one in your vehicle.

So last week, I noticed Mal had the cavity, about which you have read in two posts, and I'll spare you the repeated deets (which was the cool kid way to shorten "details" about 6 years ago).

Just before THAT, the "check engine" light had come on in my SUV. I'd gone by AutoZone and they'd told me that the codes indicated an O2 sensor was the problem. I came home and filled out an appointment request for the garage. They called me and confirmed the appointment for August 24, but I'd heard August 21, because that was my preference and he didn't say which weekday. So I showed up at 10 AM (early commitment for us because I never know when Mal will be up and moving) only to find that I was 3 days early.

Meanwhile, James's "change oil" notification showed up on his car. So, really neither car was fit to drive, but... well, we had to.

THEN, as you'll remember, I went in to the dentist's on the 24th and she was out, so Mal got really anxious for nothing, and I got him up early (9 this time!) for nothing, then we dropped the SUV off at the garage and took a Lyft home.

Mal's review: "I'm having a beautiful ride!"

By about 4:30, we hadn't heard anything so I called the garage. The guy gave me some rigmarole about how some of the codes were weird, but I got the distinct feeling that they hadn't done more in the previous 8 hours than exactly what I had done at AutoZone. Said they would probably not have an answer until Monday.

Friday night, Mal wanted to go to Target, but... James's car. I called the only place still opened and asked if they could change the oil that night, but because James's car is a Fiat 500, some places don't have his filter in stock. They said they'd order it and I could come in the next day. She set an appointment for 10 AM, and I promised Mal we'd go to Target after that.

Turns out, I lied to him, but not on purpose.

When we got there the next morning, the lady asked me if I was dropping the car off. I told her that would be impossible. She said she wasn't sure how they would have gotten my filter by then since I wasn't "even in the system." So I left. She had offered to order the part and call me, but by then, I was pretty peeved.

I drove to Walmart, then remembered that they can't change the oil in a Fiat 500. So I called a Firestone down the way, and they said I'd have to drop it off because Friday, Saturday, and Sundays were just the busiest days. He offered to make an appointment for during the week, and I cried.

Here's a picture showing how ridiculous I look in reading glasses, just to break the monotony.
#thebettertoseeyouwith
I got home and made an online appointment with a different Firestone for around dinner time. It is in the same shopping area as a McDonald's and Taco Bell, so we made a family night of it. I did call before the appointment to ask if they were going to be able to do it, and they affirmed that they could. They did ask James if we were leaving it overnight, though. Sigh.

One down.

Yesterday morning, I again pulled Mal out of bed and put him straight into the car seat. James works from home on Mondays and Fridays, so I was able to use his vehicle. As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, there was an error message that a front tire was down to 24.6 PSI. Big sigh. Filed away for later.

We got to the office, and the hygienist called us back. She was a kind older lady, but she kept calling Mal "she," so I finally mentioned he was a boy. She said, "Oh, I couldn't tell because of the long hair." Not in a friendly way.

She was plenty patient while Mal balked at sitting in the chair, and eventually resigned herself to just brushing Mal's teeth with a Lightning McQueen brush because he said, "I don't want a motor!" Even then, I had to hold him in the chair, kneeling beside him, and talk gently to him the whole time.

When the dentist came in, she asked the hygienist a few things, and when she got to the x-rays, the lady said, "We didn't get them because of his behavior."

Well, that's factual. His behavior, specifically, was communicating "I am terrified." And at some point, she just looked at me and said, "There's no way we can get x-rays today."

But it sounded like he refused or was being a brat or something. Or maybe I'm overly-sensitive, but I've never had a kid with cavities before, and I was feeling very anxious, as you know.

She had managed to get the vitamins on Mal's teeth, too, but he gagged several times. The dentist got him back in the chair and did the exam, pointing out one cavity I hadn't noticed (which I still can't see, but I'm not the expert, so I'll take her word for it), for a total of four cavities over five teeth.

The first recommendation she had was general anesthesia. For a 3-year-old. With tooth decay, or dental caries, that have not penetrated the enamel. So, no. I made a mental note that we were going to find a different dentist.

Her second recommendation was something I'd read about: silver diamine fluoride. It turns the decay black, but gives it a "complicated disease" that kills it and arrests the decay. It doesn't repair the teeth, but prevents damage, most effectively when reapplied within six months.

So we made an appointment to do that, and I knew as soon as it was over, we'd be the hell out of that office.

On the way out to the car, I saw that the garage had called, they had figured out the problem (IT WAS AN OXYGEN SENSOR... WHAT?!), and they gave me an estimate, which I approved.

The Firestone where we had the tires balanced at the same time we had the oil changed is also in the same shopping center as the dentist's office, McD's, Taco Bell, et. al. So we drove over, the guy checked the tires, and they were ALL low. So someone just didn't inflate them properly. They fixed it immediately.

Last night at 5, we got our SUV back.

I almost blogged last night about how relieved I was that we were almost finished with all outstanding issues, because I can barely go to bed with the dishwasher running as I know it means I'll have to empty dishes one of the first things in the morning. I cannot stand having unresolved things.

But I didn't blog. My body gave out at 9:30, and I went to sleep before Mal. Mostly. He woke me up to go to sleep, but I'd been asleep (and, maybe, snoring) for a while.

Then, at 4:00 AM, I woke up in a cold sweat. I was so panicky. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the thought of going into that office was so dark and foreboding. I tried to go to sleep for an hour and a half, but ended up waking James up, crying, because I was so stressed and sad. I told him I'd decided to have them do the back 2 teeth only, and we'd monitor the front ones. First, I thought this was all Mal would be able to tolerate. Second, it had occurred to me that I have a silver allergy. That's why we have silicone wedding bands now. Mal might not be allergic, but what if he is?

By 7, I was shaking. I'd read that patients reported a "metallic taste" and had been reading about how silver diamine fluoride stains EVERYTHING it comes into contact with. Allegedly, only the decay on teeth stays stained; anything else will clear up in 2-14 days. But I had this mental picture of Mal tasting the metal, gagging, and somehow upsetting the mouth guard (which I don't think he'd love, anyway) and not taking the full minute for it to dry because of his freaking out, and how worried he was that the "paint" was going to be "sour" like the mint toothpaste, and how scared he was at the exam, and... I was literally physically ill.

I cancelled the appointment.

I'm going to find a more holistic/alternative/gentle dentist. I got a couple of referrals from another unschooling mom. But in the meantime, I'm implementing a plan.

First, I have to admit, I haven't been militant with Mal's brushing up until now. I had false confidence because D's teeth were never a problem, so skipping a day of brushing if he fell asleep before we got to it... meh. No more of that.

Second, we'd never given him fluoride toothpaste because he's never spit. He always eats the toothpaste. We got him some this weekend, and it turns out he is fine with spitting it out because he doesn't like the way it tastes like he does the training toothpaste.

Third, we're brushing with the fluoride twice a day, and then periodically with just the brush after he has sticky stuff like fruit snacks.

Fourth, I commandeered some of D's Wisps to keep in my purse, as well as Xylitol bubble gum for after snacking out and about.

I know that dental decay takes 4-8 years to pierce the enamel. Mal hasn't had most of his teeth for 4 years. And the worst decay is on the molar that came in a year and a half ago. So I feel reasonably confident that we can wait a couple of months before getting a second opinion, given my more aggressive cleaning regimen.

I don't usually freak out about stuff like I did this, so I'm going to chalk it up to intuition. I was really hoping to have everything stamped "HANDLED" by today, but it looks like I'm going to have to be patient. I'm not super great at that.

Friday, August 24, 2018

Dental Update

By the time I went to bed last night, I told James I was just about ready to cancel Mal's appointment. I was already wound up, then I went online to fill out the new patient forms. I didn't cancel, because Mal definitely has a cavity, and I'd feel bad later if it did start to pain him because we hadn't addressed it in a timely manner. 

But I also felt like "that mom" because I added notes to two of the pages.


Okay, before you're like, "Yep, you're definitely 'that mom,'" I'll remind you of something: Mal needs earphones to play at McDonald's. When I vacuum. If I use the blender (which is broken, darn it) or the mixer. Increasing volume will not startle him into compliance; it will FREAK HIM OUT. And then we have to spend time letting him calm back down. Anyway, I know my kid and I know what won't work for him. The mouth prop thing, the rubber one, *might* help, but, again, I can tell when it might or might not. Other than that, they'd get consent. And, honestly, unless there was a problem causing pain or permanent damage, I'm not sedating my child for an exam. 


Here's another thing I'll tell you: I never once went back into the exam room at the dentist's office with D, and D started seeing the dentist about a year younger than Mal is now. D was ready, excited, and confident about the adventure. So this isn't about helicopter parenting. Again, it's about knowing my child. And if he's cool with going back alone, all the better. But if he's freaking out and they think my leaving will make it more likely to successfully complete the treatment, then most likely it means they'll be doing something that will involve leveraging size or intimidation to make my child comply. Not how I choose to approach health care. Sorry.

I had a lot of baby teeth filled in overly-aggressive treatments by a dentist who later lost his license. I remember how much getting teeth filled both hurt and was just a yucky experience due to the numbness after. I am not traumatized by those memories, though.

I can recall quite acutely, however, a terrifying experience as clearly as if it happened yesterday, and it's something I want Mal to avoid if at all possible. I had tubes put in my ears when I was 5. I guess maybe I wasn't breathing enough, and maybe crying? struggling? I don't remember doing either of those, but who knows. All I do know is that I was in an operating room without my parents, and someone put the anesthesia mask over my mouth and nose. Whatever I did wrong, the person pushed hard on the mask, shoving it painfully into my face. Seeing that scene while losing consciousness is the stuff nightmares are made of. 

So. This morning, Mal woke up and we headed out almost immediately, It was an early start for him, and he was both tired and, I think, the opposite of how he usually is, which is extremely energetic, out of fear. I'd much prefer the limp fear to the kicking and screaming panic.

When we arrived at the office a few minutes early, the only people there were a woman at the front desk and a woman sweeping the waiting area. She said, "Didn't you get my message?"

As it turns out, the dentist was out with a family emergency. The office had called to reschedule, but my phone didn't ring, didn't show a missed call, and never shows that I have a voice mail message anymore.

I asked if we could sit down for a minute. It was actually a pretty muted waiting area for a kids' dentist. The one where D went was practically a playground. However, they did have the television on Scooby Doo, and they had a Ms. Pac Man video game in the corner. Mal watched TV for a few before I asked if he wanted to walk next door to get hash browns. As we left, I said, "See? It's okay, right?" 

The woman who was sweeping told Mal, "Next time, when you come back, after the exam, you'll get to pick a prize out of our prize box!" Well, that's right up Mal's alley, so I think when we go back he'll be less anxious. Question is: Will I?

Thursday, August 23, 2018

One Day More....

There was an article by a doctor chastising parents for not disciplining their children enough for him to do his job that made the rounds a few years ago. The guy described a young patient who wouldn't let the doctor examine him, and when the mom answered a question about how long the child had felt bad, said, "Shut up, Mom. You don't know anything." He went on to say "Open your mouth" shouldn't be posed as a question because it's not a request, it's a demand. 

I don't know whether this was a client he saw often, but I can think of plenty of reasons a sick kid (and maybe scared kid) would act like a jerk at the doctor's office. I get that it might be frustrating to deal with anything other than compliant kids. But I'd hate to have a doctor who introduced an article about how parents are failing by using an anecdote about my child.

This is what's on my mind as we look at Mal's first dentist appointment in the morning. We've been planning to get him in for a cleaning and to have his molars "painted" over to keep crud from settling into the folds, but we expedited the plan when I noticed a definite cavity in his lower back left molar this morning. He also has what I suspect is a cavity (or two?) "between" (on the insides of) his front two teeth. Neither of these seem to be causing him any pain, and I do not want to fill them. I'm hoping the dentist can clean out the cavity and tell us what to do to help it get better or at least not get worse.

But I'm on edge, because Mal fights our brushing his teeth every. single. time. He HATES it. And I think back to when he was super panicked before we went in to the water park, and told the girl, "Get that off of me!" when she put the armband on his ankle. He might freak out and not cooperate. He's going to be terrified.

The doctor who wrote that article would argue that it's my fault for coddling him, but honestly, what is a parent to do when faced with their child's abject and sincere fear? Scold them? Spank them? Continue to push on regardless of the trauma?

We tend to use the severity of the situation as our guide. If Mal had a nail stuck through his foot and didn't want the doctor to touch it, we'd of course restrain him and do what needed to be done. But when the stakes aren't that high, then there's time to ease a kid into something. I want him to trust me. I want him to know when I say, "We have to," it's because we actually HAVE to, and not because I want him to and it's embarrassing to me if he doesn't. 

Also, he usually relaxes, after a freak-out period, and goes along with things. But I let him have space to give full vent to his expressions of fear. They are legitimate. 

It's entirely possible that my child will cry through a dental cleaning and exam, but it's never going to be because I spanked, coerced, shamed, or threatened him. And that doctor can stick his opinions where his proctologist might find them.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

"...like a fat kid loves cake"

The other day, Mal wanted to go to Altitude Trampoline Park. It's almost an hour from where we live, and it's a bear to drive down, but we'd had kind of a weird morning, so I thought it'd be a fun thing to do. As much as Mal likes Jump Street, which is considerably closer, they have only one area where kids under 4 are allowed to jump. It has 3 long trampolines, a bouncy slide, and a bouncy obstacle course. It's fun, but at Altitude, he can go everywhere. It's also considerably more expensive, except when they have open toddler jump, and we can't seem to get a straight word from them on when they're going to start doing that again.

Anyway, none of this is really about that. It's about something I noticed during the hour we were there.

There were more kids there than I was expecting, but I guess it's possible a lot of them were homeschoolers, or that some schools start later than AISD. I was amused by this one pair of middle-school-aged girls who just hopped around to places to sit and gab most of the time. Like: jump jump jump, sit on the stand for 10 minutes; jump, jump, walk, sit in the corner against the wall for 15 minutes; repeat variations on that theme. I know how much it costs per hour for kids to jump there. I'd just drop them off at the mall. But they were having a good time, regardless.

Mal had seem someone with popcorn and wanted some, so we went to buy a box. Making our way to the snack area, I saw those girls sitting out in the lounge. The smaller of the girls had an Icee. The larger one had a straw, and every now and then would take a drink, but it was obviously the smaller girl's, and she never handed it over.

Something in my head said, "That big girl doesn't think she's allowed to have a slushie in public." Then I decided I was projecting, and went on.

When Mal was ready to go, we packed everything up and I was throwing our trash away when I saw the girls again. This time, the smaller girl had a cup of Dippin' Dots ice cream. The bigger girl was, again, not eating anything.

Now, it's entirely possible that one girl just had money where the other girl didn't. Maybe the second girl's parents just thought they'd spent enough on the admission and that she could drink out of the water fountain. I realize that.

But it made me remember of a friend of mine who said it used to make her cry when she'd see a fat kid eating a hot dog. She said she wanted to yell at the parents not to let their kid eat that way. I didn't realize at the time how fatphobic and wrong-headed that "concern" (judgment) was.

This girl, the one who had an Icee and ice cream, can eat whatever she wants in public and no one will ever say a word to her. But the eyebrows fly when a bigger girl might want to enjoy the same foods. And this food policing is a breeding ground for private binging.

The double-standard -- like, the Gilmore Girls eat two large pizzas between them and it's adorable, but if a real life fat person ate half a pizza, throngs would chime in "that's why you are the way you are!" even though EVERYBODY has times they overeat, or eat non-nutritive foods, and not everybody's bodies look the same.

That double standard is troubling enough lobbed at adults. But, man, it's particularly infuriating and damaging when a kid feels like they can't have a treat because they've been taught they don't "deserve" it; that there is something wrong with them and it's their life's work to fix it so people will treat them with at least some respect for being a "good far person" and trying, even if they aren't ever able to make their bodies into lithe forms pleasing to the fickle eyes of our culture.

This made me ponder the phrase I used in the title. Something like "I love you like a fat kid loves cake." How dumb is it? I mean, most people love cake. Why wouldn't you love cake? (Or at least icing.) And my guess is that, for a fat kid, eating cake can be particularly fraught: This tastes good. It's so bad for me. I want to eat it. I shouldn't eat it because it'll make me fatter.

I hope those girls had a great day. I hope I just read a lot of my own feelings into that situation, and maybe that bigger girl had just come from IHOP and couldn't have eaten another bite, anyway. And I look forward to the day that I don't have to worry about a little girl's self-image at the hands of a cruel diet culture.


I seriously *do* want friends!

Oh my goodness, I'm so relaxed right now. Mal has typically only been interested in his computer at bedtime (for which I'm grateful; when he's active + sleepy, that = injury) but he's playing a game on PBSkids RIGHT NOW so I'm able to... well, not play Cars for five minutes or so. I mean, I have a genuine affection for Disney Pixar Cars, as you well know. But hours per day every single day of my life... I just need a break, friends.

Speaking of which: Two opportunities to meet and get to know other people have presented themselves this week, and I blew one off and am getting ready to blow the other one off. Which SUCKS. I think there is some misfire or maybe just abject laziness in my being that prevents me from working very hard to obtain what I believe I really want, which is close friendships for myself and for Mal.

First, Mal has a few friends he likes hanging out with. One is the grandson of a couple who lives around the corner from us. They typically have him one day a week, but last month had him for a week while his parents were on vacation. He and Mal hit it off, and have played together a lot. I like the grandma. She's a bit younger than my parents, but not much.

Then he has another friend he met at storytime. Even though Mal doesn't go anymore, we get together every couple of weeks. The mom and I get along, but when her son starts school in a couple of years, I'm not sure whether we'll stay in touch much, except maybe for things like birthday parties (their birthdays are a week apart), and probably then only for a couple of years. You know how it goes.

He has a third friend he's gotten together with a few times and really enjoyed, but that friend started school last week, so there's one down.

That little bit of reality had me reaching out to a few homeschool moms/grandmas I know about getting together, because each of the kids Mal plays with now will be in school by 2020.

As you might know, I'm not on Facebook anymore. I was on Facebook for ten years and made maybe one or two local friends from it, so I'm not concerned that I'm missing out on networking in that regard. Even within the homeschool community, I never found a place where I felt we fit in. There's an awesome group that has a centrally-located meet-up called "Yawp!" It's kind of a pay-as-you-can playgroup, with affinity meetings and fun events. The problem (for me) is that it's a half hour drive. People drive further than that and love it, but I desperately want the kind of friends I can ask to come over at the last minute, and they can be there pretty soon, if they're free. And, again, we have that right now in the kid Mal met at storytime.

So, I posted in NextDoor, which is a hyper-local social media site. I asked if there were any homeschooling moms with kids preschool age. I think the answer must be "no" but I did get one response.

"I have a newly 3 year old, a 1 year old, and expecting in January. Been looking for mommy friends myself! I started hosting a little walk once a week in Cedar Park and you should totally join! Very easy going and pace is whatever we want, nothing crazy. If you’re interested let me know!"

I tried. I really did. I messaged her. She messaged me. I know where the walk is. It's tomorrow. But here's my reality: 1) Mal won't "go on a walk." So he'll be in a stroller. 2) He'll want to chat, because he'll be bored (if he doesn't go to sleep, which would be HORRIBLE since that means midnight bedtime). 3) At 9 AM, it's in the high 80s, with humidity in the mid 60s. YUCKKkkk. 4) Are these fitness moms? I DON'T NEED FITNESS PALS. 5) I really want to sit on my butt while kids play and make noise and a mess around me. 6) IT IS TOO HOT TO BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW.

Oh, also, my parents are coming to visit tomorrow morning, and that's the excuse I'm going to give for skipping out.

There are what seem to be lovely women at the church Mal and I have been attending for the past few months. It's difficult to get to know anyone much at church, anyway, but with Mal running around and being ready to jet toward the end, I've been looking forward to an outside-of-church opportunity to chat. There's an upcoming meal, but it's when we're going to be out of town. And last night, there was a women's planning event at a local restaurant.

James got home in time for it to be conceivable for me to go. I had planned on trying at least a modest amount to go, but here's the thing about weeknights: 1) I feed James, and we eat dinner together, even if it's just one of us running to get more Cars while the other eats, and trading off these duties. 2) It's just difficult for me to leave the house in the evening. I need to go by early afternoon, or the inertia of the day slows, and the gravity of nighttime and sleep starts pulling on me. 3) I took Mal to Walmart at 4:30, and IT IS TOO HOT TO BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW. I was so drained by one vehicle trip into town, and I knew before we got all of the way to the store that I would be staying home once I got back.

That's it for now as Mal is back into playing with cars and only allowed me 10 bonus minutes to finish this blog post. Also, we're making Pop Tarts. So who needs friends, really, I guess.

Friday, August 17, 2018

Wrapping Up Babecamp

This week, Virgie Tovar's book "You Have the Right to Remain Fat" came out, just as we were finishing up the online Babecamp. It has all been great fun, lots to think about, and tons of reinforcement.

One thing I realized is that I'm probably about 2.5-3 years past the target demo for Babecamp... Not age-wise, but body-ownership-wise. Which is a cool, comfortable place to be.

I listened to a lot of podcasts as Tovar did media for the book release. It really made me wonder what I might have thought about what she had to say when I was involved in previous relationships.

At one point in a podcast, the host said something like, "What does it say about your relationship when your partner is okay with your being hungry, dedicating hours to something you don't love doing, and denying yourself things you really like simply because of the social currency it conveys to them?"

:::blink:::

I had an active and overt eating disorder during my first marriage. Also, exercise bulimia. It was all set off by my husband telling me that I was overweight, and my trying to "fix" it. He was a witness to all of this. My appearance pleased him, and he obviously did not care what I did to acquire or maintain that appearance.

I had a more "healthy"-looking eating disorder and commitment to working out in a way that I clearly hated during my second marriage. I had gotten past most of the stuff from my 20s until my second husband also told me I was 50-60 pounds overweight and needed to lose it. He treated me with disgust and disapproval until I lost the weight, all while still expecting me to perform in the bedroom, knowing I was not physically appealing to my partner.

And I lost a LOT of weight due to what Tovar calls "internalized inferiority." I believed that my husband had the right to hate me for being fat "and disgusting," which was a moral failing on my part that showed all over my body. He was able to wield this, using my desire for his affection and approval, into a tool of control.

Over and over, as I've read about women who believe, due to their life experiences, that in order to live a full and free life, they will likely have to abandon their dreams of being in a lifelong relationship with a man, I recognize that I am married to the perfect man for me. He's the perfect match for where I am in my life right now, and the perfect partner to cheer me on as I learn and grow and come to find the woman I'm meant to be, who I didn't have the chance to find as I was spending so much time and energy on artificially maintaining a body type to remain pleasing to a critical male eye.

Furthermore, I'm grateful to be middle aged. It's so much easier to be confident in who I am and not really give a single stinking rodent's hindquarters what anyone else thinks about me.

Finally, Tovar said something I loved during an interview where the host "concern-trolled" her (which is when someone says, when speaking of fat acceptance, something to the extent of  "but what about health..."). Paraphrasing: There is no minimum weight someone has to be to deserve respect and freedom from bigotry.

This applies in so many realms, I want to keep it, most of all, at the forefront of my mind. There is no minimum of ability, health, intelligence, accomplishment, drive, etc. that someone needs to possess. Everybody deserves to expect to be treated as fully human because they are. And that's my favorite takeaway.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

Wednesday Adventure

Yesterday, Mal and I went to the Volente Beach Resort for the first time. As the crow flies, it's very close to where we live. Just under 4 miles, specifically.


However, since we don't have a boat (and, yes, they have a courtesy dock, so we could theoretically kayak down there, but I'd have to call an Uber home, most likely), we had to drive. It's a bit more than 4 miles to drive to that side of the lake.


Once we got there, 22 minutes before opening time, I had to figure out where to park. Either the signage isn't super clear, or I'm just not the brightest tool in the combo plate. Whichever, we finally found a parking "lot" (rocky field with some paved areas the width of sidewalks, but I think you're supposed to drive on them, which feels very weird). Of course, they didn't take credit cards, only cash. I don't carry cash. But they do participate in a parking app, so I pulled over, downloaded it, set up a payment method, found out that the parking lot doesn't take that payment method, panicked because I'd only brought one credit card, and then realized I could use Paypal. By the time we got all of that squared away, it was 5 minutes until 11.

The whole time I was messing with installing the app, Mal was telling me that he didn't want to go to the park; he just wanted to look at it from the car. I got him out of the car with the promise that I would carry him. HE IS HEAVY.

When we got down the hill to the entry, I was speaking with the entrance booth attendant as Mal tried twice to go back to the car... by walking straight into the road, since the entrance booth is only 5 feet off of the street. The second time, I did yell at him about NOT RUNNING OUT INTO THE STREET. So he started crying and begging to leave. I assured the nice high school girl who was trying to help us that he'd love it once we got in. She put a wrist band on me, but Mal wouldn't cooperate, so she put it around his ankle. His response: "GET THAT OFF OF ME!"

Finally, we were set up to go in, and Mal just wanted to stand in the grass with the picnic tables. Okay, good. Take in the view. Gradually, he calmed down enough to try to go check out the kiddie pool. It was maximum 1 foot deep and had a pirate ship.


He liked climbing aboard the ship and exploring. We were the first people to arrive for the day, and had the area to ourselves for about half an hour. I slid down the small slide a couple of times, trying to get Mal to go after me. He declined. At one point, I'd walked away because I thought Mal was going back down the stairs. Next thing I knew, he was standing at the top of the slide saying, "I don't want to do it! I'm not interested!"

I laughed SO hard, because literally no one was inviting him to slide anymore. He was fighting with himself.


More kids arrived, and we ended up playing and having a snack. After an hour, Mal said he was ready to go. I asked if we could walk down closer to the beach, and Mal was very excited to see a boring old swimming pool.

At Volente Beach, the water used in the features is lake water, used and returned to the lake. Thus the swimming pool wasn't pristine. It was clean, but it was lake water. We had a lot of fun in the pool, and got to watch a bunch of people slide. Mal is tall enough for all of the slides, but hadn't the least bit interest in going on them.


Looking at that picture, I can see: Mal is at the top end of what his life jacket can support! He needs to learn how to swim already!

Anyway, we ended up staying a couple of hours, and it was very nice. I'll be excited to have something so close by when he decides it might be fun to slide, and that getting one's face wet on occasion isn't the worst thing that can happen.

We got home and had a very late lunch, then Mal was kind enough to play Cars mostly on his own so I could doze for a few moments.

When it was time to make dinner, he went into the kitchen with me and climbed up onto the bar to chat. I was peeling an onion, and he wanted to try. After we got the peel pulled off, I started to chop it, and Mal apparently just scooted all the way back so that his rear went off the side of the bar and he lost his balance, flipping backward into the floor.

I definitely screamed. Before I got to the other side of the bar, one of the very heavy wrought-iron stools fell over, as well. I picked Mal up and he was crying, but it was almost instantly a "I should be crying because that was scary and I might be hurt" cry and not an actual "I'm severely injured!" cry. The first thing he said after we'd sat down and I was rubbing around on his head to feel for bumps was, "Mommy, I forgot to catch myself!" That's when I knew he was fine. But his little heart was beating like crazy.

We decided that if he wanted to sit on the bar while I cooked, he could sit on the lower part with his back against the high bar. Good grief, that could have gone a whole other way, and we could have spent our evening at the ER.

I was so exhausted by the end of the day that when Mal went to sleep just after 10, I did, too. I realized today that he had not used his computer at all yesterday, and he only got online about 15 minutes today while I was at the store and he was hanging out with James.

Parents who never let their kids use any tech at all must 1) have more energy than I do; 2) have an easier/less needing of input/more independent kid than I do; 3) have more than one kid around; or 4) just be better parents than I am. I cherish those fleeting moments of his distraction so I can make a phone call or do something online from start to finish!

And that brings us to another topic that's going to have to be another blog post, because it's just about bedtime for me this evening. 'Night, all!

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Does this stuff happen when I'm not cycling and I just don't notice?

What did you guys do on Sunday?

Me?

Well, Mal and I went to church, then he was ready to come straight home, which is rare. Usually he wants to go to the water park or somewhere else.

We came home, ate lunch, and played. James actually slept until one o'clock. After he woke up, I wanted to get out for a bit to make a budget (it's hard for me to do it after Mal's asleep, which at present is between 10:30 and 11:30 PM), and to set an appointment to see a GI.

I went to Randall's to enjoy their Coke Freestyle machine and free wi-fi. I got settled in and realized they've changed their wi-fi since last time I was there. They don't allow ANY streaming, which means that I couldn't enjoy noise-reducing "study music" whilst I tried to put together a budget. Instead. I had to listen to the race they had playing on their television, where the announcer kept talking stats and places and which car was doing what... in other words, a lot of numbers.

Even when I can concentrate fully, numbers aren't my strong suit, so this was a problem. I wasn't there long before I decided to go to McDonald's and use their internet, instead. So I put my tablet into my already-heavy purse, topped off my large fountain drink, and went to get a 12-pack of soda to bring home.

I realized that we also needed eggs about the same time that I realized my soda had bubbled up onto the lid, pooled there, and was pouring down the front of my dress.  Then I quickly grabbed the eggs and headed to the cash register. About half way there, I made another unwelcome realization: My underpants were falling down. I was wearing a dress. I had a fountain drink and eggs in one hand, and a 12-pack of soda in another. There was no way to fix it, so I just walked with my legs metaphorically glued together at the top.

By the time I got to the cash register to check out, I was fully aware that my entire butt cheeks area was uncovered by what is supposed to cover them, but fortunately I had on a dress that is fully lined, so there were two layers above it. I paid and walked out to the car and sat down without losing my underpants, so I guess yay for me.

Then I went to McDonald's. I had lost all passion for budgeting by then, so decided to find an in-plan gastroenterologist to see about my stupid esophagus-sticking thing. I've had it for as long as I can remember, but recently, it wants to happen multiple times per week instead of just one painful and terrifying (and gross) time every couple of years. Primary culprits: chicken, carrots, and dry bread or noodles.

Anyhoo... the Blue Cross Anthem site makes it really easy to search for a specialist in your area, but they don't have contact info for them once you get there. I looked up the first doctor I honed in on and found that she was actually practicing in Arlington (near Dallas) rather than in the Austin area, so I filled out a form that indicated that the listing was in error.

Then I found a second doctor. When I Googled her, I found that she, too, is affiliated with a practice in Irving (Dallas area), and I filled the form out for her.

By the third one, I was angry and surmised that surely there is someone who works for BCBS whose job is to make sure that listings are up-to-date. Why was I working so hard for free? And by free I mean, to make an appointment I'm going to have to pay full price for, anyway, whether they're in or out of plan, since our deductible is something like $14M and we haven't cracked into it at all this year.

What I'm telling you is that my Sunday afternoon was weird, and what was supposed to be a sort of relaxing break didn't actually yield much by way of accomplishment or relaxation. Also, I'm a Mom so not too sure what I was expecting with that whole thing.