FROM LAUGHING TO SOBBING

The sign is self-explanatory.

9:00 a.m.  Just Another Manic Tuesday now! 

Unfortunately, I started off my morning by sending a fax regarding my mother and an upsetting incident that occurred at her nursing facility. I was very disappointed; because I’ve always felt her care was attentive. Just as I have with my children, I have advocated for my parents. Writing is an important and powerful tool for advocacy. 

I went shopping at Costco. By the way, I love Costco – have I mentioned that? They have the best return policy of any store. They never bat an eyelash when they see me coming! The most embarrassing time I returned something was when I returned an unopened container of peppercorns (at least it wasn’t opened; opened items never stop me anyway). They looked it up and said it was from 1994! How could that be possible? That item they did not take back! 

Don’t tell anyone this! I’ve had a microwave break that was about six months old. I bought a new one, and returned the old one in the box! That’s so much easier than dealing with a warranty. The only problem happens when they stop carrying the same model. If it’s breaking that quickly, I probably need a different model. Not too many microwaves can stand the “door slamming abuse” that my teenagers engage in. I admit it; I slam the door, too! 

So I did my returns, and then I received the second call. It was my mother. I was nice, even though I was carrying five boxes of strawberries. I was bumping into people; at least it’s not with my car. So my mom says, “Honey, they’re trying to force something into my nose. Do you think you can help with that?” 

It took a few minutes for me to figure this one out. Aha! It was oxygen that would be administered with a canula in her nose. So I say, “No problem, mom!” That’s what I do – I take care of things! This was perfect. I could take care of two things now. Not only the response from the memo, but to find out why my mother required additional oxygen. 

Third call. By now I had gone from the produce section to the meat section. It was the nursing supervisor I had sent the memo to regarding my mom and her “accident.” She was extremely apologetic and attentive. She didn’t feel my letter was “too strong.” She said her own grandparents were at this facility, and she totally understood how upset I might be. It would certainly never happen again! 

I asked about why my mother needed oxygen; that was concerning. It turned out that it wasn’t absolutely required, which was a relief. I told her that my mother was notorious for pulling tubes out that bother her – even when her life was at stake, she couldn’t stop herself while she was in the hospital. 

So I’m glad that my memo produced the desired effect. I let this supervisor know how much I appreciated her call. Showing appreciation is very important to me. So much can be accomplished by recognizing positive results. Still, dealing with things like this adds heartache to my life. I love my mom so much!

I left Costco, and came home with a headache. There was a lot to do. I should have bought more Tylenol. My kids have used it all up. The dog yapped like a soprano coyote! He was killing my brain. Why was he so quiet when I was debating whether to adopt him? I’m wondering how much money I could sell him for. I could bribe my kids with a video game and sell him; that’s what I should do! 

Lastly, I came home to a message from my dear husband. He has never called me in thirty years to actually ask how I am. It wasn’t hard to figure out; he was calling to see how the puppy was! What a softie he is. Why can’t he be that cuddly and sweet to his family?

He looks like a rat to me!

Is this a dog or a mouse?

9 p.m. The dog is eating cat food.

I never started on my art job, because my client is procrastinating (or is it me?).

No one could hear anything during dinner. It was a cacophony of noise between the dog barking, the parrot shrieking, and everyone laughing; no one could talk.

My mother told me she needs new shoes and a pad of paper with a pencil. I am sure I gave her the pad and pencil before. She’s forgetting that she can’t write. How many times will it take me to buy shoes without her that fit? Answer: too many, I am sure.

I gave my husband something fun to do – something he really loves doing. I want him to order something from the Internet. He is going to get me a good microphone, and a digital recorder. I am living it up.

That reminds me, Michael loves his new car. For ten years he drove a car with roll up windows and locks where you had to reach across to open them (Translation: we saved $3,000 on that car – but what a pain for ten years). That booming voice is in my head, “EVERYONE, MAKE SURE THE DOORS ARE LOCKED!”

Maybe that’s why he looks so much happier, lately. I think he is dreaming of retirement if I hit it big. I hope he’s not disappointed if that doesn’t happen. He was describing his new blue tooth that connected to the car’s radio at dinner. All I could think of was, “How much did that cost?”

Michael is outside hammering chicken wire against our pool fence. Michael loves this little dog, and doesn’t want it do drown in our pool. Is he exaggerating again; would it really drown, don’t dogs swim? I never am sure if I should believe him.

I can see this dog is going to cost more than $500, and quickly too. Who was I kidding when I thought it would cost less because it was tiny? Why do tiny poops cause that much trouble? Why didn’t we get that big screen TV we’ve all been wanted. Easy answer; mom doesn’t watch TV!

I am wondering why I am writing when I have so much work to do. I should be sorting the chocolate squares that I need to photograph, and the vanilla bean pods, too. They cost me $12 at Costco (the vanilla); and I had to go to Whole Foods for the chocolate. Will I need to taste the chocolate? The answer is no – but Reggie is waiting in the wings.

I have an illustration assignment and I am full of anxiety – as I always am. It is a form of stage fright. No matter how many times I’ve “performed,” I always worry I will “fall on my face.” I’ve had some contentious jobs in my career; they are few and far between, but I always remember them.

Here’s the old question: Oh my god. How in the hell am I going to do all this work?

Here’s the new question, “If I do the work, how can I find a way to play tennis?”

I sure wish I could. I’ve cancelled for a week. I can always swim, though.

I had a nice chat today with my childhood friend, Joni.

It was when I hung up that I had a traumatic memory overwhelm me. It was huge. Her and I have not spoken about it in many, many years. I will write more about it later on. Joni’s oldest daughter was born three months before Jason. While I was in the hospital, without my child (he was in neonatal intensive care), I called Joni at 3 a.m.

“Joni, this is unbelievable. Remember how you called me three months ago when your daughter was born? Your daughter had a severe heart defect. Well, now it’s happened to me, too!”

Jason and Joni’s daughter – both of them had congenital heart defects.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

About Judy

I'm an illustrator by profession. At this juncture in my life, I am pursuing my dream of writing and composing music. Every day of my life is precious!
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

I would love to hear your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s