sad fingers

my fimgers are sad and in pain, so please exucse my typos you guys. and poor grammar. mkay? I'm not printing this shit off and handing it in. I give zero shits aboot spellimg right now.

Anyway. So whenever I walk Misty she is harnessed. She's really strong and she weighs about 38 pounds. She is only 15-months old and oftentimes she likes to stop and sniff whatever deliciousness she can get her nose near. She;s a very active heeler mix, and when she's coming at you, you need to look alive, bitches!

And she's jumpy. Skittish. She spooks easily. We've learned it's simply part of her breed. At home, whenever one of her four humans makes a move, Misty is on her feet, ready to work. And when you've had a lazy but lovable Labrador for 10 years prior to a heeler mix, there's an adjustment. You'd think by now, a year into having her, I'd pay better attentoion to her when we're out wa;likng, yet here we are.

This past Saturday, Misty and I were on a walk with a dear friend and fellow dog mom and she had her male 6-mo old 14-poumd black, white and brown ball of adorableness. The dogs did great at their first meet and greet and so we started walking west on the ODT, like ya do. 

We went over the crick and thru the woods, towards the beach. The leash dancing was minimal. Seriously. It was a treat to be walking with my friend and our dogs. 

But we didn't make it to the water. We didn't make it to the cows. We didn't make it beyond the neighborhood.

Misty had stopped and stepped off the trail, sniffing at a branch with leaves. So I stopped and my friend and her puppy stopped. Perhaps Misty needed to pee, which she hardly ever does when she's on her leash and not at home. She prefers to do her business not attached to me, and without an audience. I get it. Ali Wong gets it. I like to pee and poop at home alone, too, you guys. Right?

Anyway, my friend and I had stopped and were talking, like ya do, when all at once, I heard the rustling of the leaves, I saw Misty jump completely out of her skin, and I felt a sharp jolt to my right hand.

at the walk-in clinic

Then I saw the slice, the flap of skin, and blood.

Fuck.

And me with no fucking tissues. #MomFail 

Or perhaps no kids = #MomWin...?

My friend and I agreed the best thing to do was call it less than a mile in and turn around. I was disappointed to not spend more time with my long-time friend, not get in as much exercise, not see, smell, and hear the Strait. But, life happens, so I switched Misty to my left hand and elevated my right and we all started walking back towards the parking lot. The blood had pooled in my cuticle, and had started running down the outside of my pinky finger. The tip of my ring finger felt like it was on fire and a small dark bruise was starting to show near my nail.

My friend kindly offered to walk Misty for me, but I declined. Walking my dog helped me focus on getting to the car, and not letting my anxiety get ahead of me. Keeping my anxiety in check is important bc if not, then the next thing you know, my fucking anxiety has me being air evac-ed to Seattle with gangrene of the entire right arm, getting ready to get amputated, and all I wanted to do was walk my dog and spend time with my friend on a grey Saturday in the summer, you guys. #fuckinganxiety

splint and a bandage

We walked the three-quarters of a mile back to our cars with purpose: as calmly and efficiently and quickly as we could, with two puppies, and one person bleeding proficiently. As we walked, the blood pooled in the webbing between my pinky and my ring fingers. It was starting to run down the outside my hand, creeping toward my wrist.

I held my right hand up and let it bleed. What else could I do? Well I could have used my black fleece pull-over to apply pressure if I needed to, but I didn't feel like I needed to. Because then I gotta deal with getting the blood stain out of my black fleece. We all know the Award for Most Oppressive Bitch Chore goes to Laundry, yo! Why create more work for myself? 

Yes, I realize now, several days later, that the blood would probably not show on black fabric. And yes, as a quilter, I know that my own saliva is the best way to get blood out of fabric. But given the amount of blood I was loosing, I'd need a lot of spit. In the moment? I just needed to get to my car.

And really, I had no desire to even attempt to remove my clothing over my wounds. Fuck. That.

When we arrived in the parking lot, I opened my door and grabbed a couple of tissues and immediately applied pressure to my pinky finger to stop the bleeding. My friend offered to call my husband so he could come get me, but I declined; I was only a couple miles up the hill. I wanted to get home and get cleaned up and calmed down. I agreed to text her when I got home. And, yes, I know that the data show that most auto accidents occur close to home, but really, I just wanted to get home, you guys, and I had confidence in my decision.

Typically when I walk with my friends on the ODT, I'm gone a couple of hours. But this time, less than 40 mins after leaving the house I texted my husband and said "I'm injured onmy r hand 🏡".

I am thankful I drive an automatic. Do they even make a standard transmission anymore? I got myself home by intentionally not making a left onto the highway. Making a right, driving through a parking lot, sitting at a light, and doubling back added a few more minutes to my drive, but it was the safest health choice for me. Yes, driving is a health choice. 

I got home and cleaned myself up and calmed down. I sat down at the kitchen table with a large glass of water and drank it as I looked at my phone for the hours of the walk-in clinic at the hospital. My husband and I needed to make some quick decisions that would affect all five of us for the rest of the day. 

We compared my right and left hands.

Hubs: It's a pretty good slice. It may need some glue or a stitch. Your ring finger is swollen and not quite straight. Perhaps we need to go.

checking on her patient

Me: The boys are kinda responsible and can sorta feed themselves some lunch, in an emergency, which this is kinda turning into because my fingers and my hand are really starting to fuckin hurt. And I'm still fucking bleeding.

Hubs: They don't miss meals. They're not gonna starve. We'll stay in touch via text because they're living their best teenage boy slug life of playing video games and watching YouTube videos.

Me: I suppose if we're gone most of the day we can get Chinese takeout. Because fuck you dinner, make yourself. 

I decided to listen to my friend and my husband and go to urgent care. My awesome husband drove me, thankfully. I didn't need to drive again. And there was going to be paperwork to complete and sign. I'm right handed. I had absolutely zero fucking desire, or ability, to hold a writing implement. 

Perhaps not shockingly, "Learn to Function with Your Non-dominant Hand" was not on my Summer Bingo Card, you guys.

Several hours and three x-rays later, I have a hairline fracture in the tip of my right ring finger. The nurse practitioner I saw doesn't want me to bend the first joint closest to the tip of that finger, so she splinted it and told me to leave it on for four to six weeks. She said buddy taping my ring finger to my middle finger might happen in a couple weeks but to see how things heal. We'll see. We all know how important that middle finger is, you guys.

I have some soft tissue damage and will have some faint yet colorful bruises on my palm, near the base of my ring and middle fingers. Fortunately, I was not wearing jewelry. They asked if my dog pulled me down, and she did not. I suppose she could could have; I'm thankful the medical assistant who triaged me asked me. My wrist and elbow are fine.

They cleaned my pinky finger, but honestly it was already pretty darn clean from bleeding out on the trail and the washing I gave it when I got home from my walk earlier that morning. I put Neosporin and a band-aid on it before my loving husband drove me to urgent care.

In clinic, the nurse practitioner measured the slice on my finger, and she, my husband, and I all talked it through. In the end, we all agreed that leaving it alone was the best option. No glue. No stitches. Just a band-aid with triple antibiotic ointment. Wash it twice a day and put Neosporin and a new band-aid on it. Be gentle.

For both fingers: ice, elevate, rest, no pressure on your hand for 4-6 weeks (no down dog! WTF?!). Follow-up with your doc's office on Monday. Manage pain with Advil and Tylenol. 

We were home by mid-afternoon and skipped the Chinese takeout. 

I'm not sure the boys noticed we were gone. One ate lunch, the other did not. We all make choices. 

Misty was a bit stressed when we got home; she doesn't like the splint. Saturday evening, her autism was showing in that she doesn't like change, and she refused to come inside and eat her dinner until my splint and I left the room. #princess

I briefly stepped away from my before bed yoga practice, but for mental health and to help me sleep I'm figuring out how to practice differently. It's not the end of the world. Nobody died. I'll live. I'm cautiously optimistic that by the end of the summer, I'll improve my skills at sitting criss-cross-applesauce and not overthinking stuff, you guys. #goals

Days Are Running Together

Wednesday morning all four of us left the safety of our home and went to the boys' schools. And, #SweetBabyJesus that was a knife to the heart.

We stopped at my younger son's elementary school first, and saw numerous caring adults who have been working with my family for years that provided an array of expressions, including disbelief, worry, and genuine sadness. I think this is typically called "deer in the headlights." But it's also known as "unexpected traumatic stress." This is exactly what we are all dealing with because of the sudden closures of schools across Washington State on Monday.

Schools across the nation are in the process of shutting down and not opening to the public. There's never been anything like this...oh...wait...except the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic. And, then there was the H1N1 flu. Since we're likely to be locked up, or locked down...? Huh. What's it called? Squat and stay? No. I think it's "Sheltering In Place". Yes! So since we'll be #ShelteringInPlace for an extended period, I encourage you to get your hands on a copy of The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History by John M. Barry. Yes, it's available on Kindle. You're welcome.

Anyway. In spite of My Three Fellas knowing I'm the social butterfly of the family, we all know that I know the layout of the school better than my husband, so we agreed that I'd accompany our younger son in to his school to retrieve his stuff. And, yes, I agreed to seriously limit my throwing of jazz hands and talking with people. And I'd sure as shit not get closer than six goddamn feet to people, even though we mostly know I'm a hugger (mostly).

The front door was held open for us by one of the male paras, I felt a need to bow as if I was walking into the dojang. We stopped and sanitized our hands as we walked in and were greeted by The Commander, who directed us to touch as few things as possible. We quickly and quietly headed down the hall towards the classrooms and touched absolutely nothing. I step where you step. I touch nothing.

My son and I went to his homeroom first, read the notes left by the Compassionate Boundary Setter on her white board, gathered his materials and belongings, left what was required on the desk, and swiftly left the room. We stopped by his locker and quickly put his things in his backpack, zipping it as we walked. Quiet. His long dark hair waving in the breeze he created as we walked, which was covered by his Dad's black Bugs Bunny baseball cap, which is more than twice his age.

Mochi gives zero shits that Sir Paul is home.

We headed down the hall towards the classroom belonging to She With the Largest Fifth Grade Library and were pleasantly surprised to see her behind the kidney table, with stacks of books, which she had somehow magically obtained books for the kids to read. #OfCourseSheDid We exchanged pleasantries, but in a hurried way...don't want to linger...two other fellas in the car. Do we take Paul? Yes, she said, all their art needs to go home. Thank you. Take care of yourself and your family. 

And then, my son looks towards the milk crate that holds the weekly Red Wednesday Folder, which the school uses to send materials and communication home. The Folder is to be emptied and signed by a child's parental unit, and returned to school the next day. Now, this is actually pretty hysterical because for years I've volunteered countless hours in my son's classrooms collating the Red Wednesday Folder. Like, it's even known as #RedFolderRecon and this is why Wednesday is my family's favorite day of the week: I get to volunteer. Standing around the table, one, or perhaps all three of us, said something about Wednesday Folders, laughed, and said our goodbye's, as we briskly walked back to his homeroom for the one item we left: my son's Red Wednesday Folder. #MyLifeIsAComicBook


Back down the hall, hurry, passed our favorite paras, can't breathe, wishing only the best for each other and all of us, pick up the pace, towards the front door and the door handle! #Cooties Ew, child! Dude! Arms in! Thank you for holding the door open, Mr. Ridge Para! Blue sky! Green trees! Breathe!

We were in and out in under three minutes, but it felt like three hours. Thanks to all of the folks at Roosevelt for being so on top of everything. You are all amazing and we already really miss you. Commander, I'm thankful you're at the helm. Be well. #OnceACougarAlwaysACougar

My family then drove across town to the middle school, where we discovered the parking lot was pretty empty. Our older son decided he wanted all four of us to go in, so we did. I'd received an email and a robocall from the school that I owed $1.65 for my son...so I dug the change out of my wallet in the car on our drive to the school. Because, in all of this shit that's going down, I will not be indebted to the school for any amount of money; there are bigger problems in the world.

When we walked into the entrance to the school, there was a hand sanitizing station, so we stopped and sanitized before entering. There were tables flanking the entrance, stacked with books for the kids to take. Twist our arms to take free books. I mean. Thanks!

The middle school was a completely different story in terms of access. Kids were not allowed in the classrooms, they could go to their lockers. But my son doesn't have a locker because he's a Special Education Kid, so that was off the table. As for going in to his classroom? The one where he spends 5 out of 6 periods, including his lunchtime? Yeah...that's a no go, too...but I've known that since school started in September, when I asked my son's Special Education Teacher how I can help her by volunteering my time...and she said she doesn't allow parent volunteers. #WishICouldMakeThisUp and it really does get better...or maybe worse, depending on your world view. #ButNowsNotTheTime

While my husband kept the boys busy in the entryway, I ran down to the cafeteria and paid the outstanding debt of $1.65. I ran back up to the front of the school #RunningIsBullshit and then we graciously and quickly said our goodbyes to the Vice Principal and the few staff members.

We came home and ate lunch. We spent a good part of the afternoon outside. Swinging is so therapeutic for them.

He's trained. 

Annnnyyywaaaayyyy.....

Remember that whole, "we need to reschedule your annual mammogram" thing from earlier in the week? Yeah. Well apparently, when you're a breast cancer survivor,  and your medical oncologist orders a mammogram, you get that shit done, regardless if there's a virus running around out there that is killing people. Am I still immunocompromised because of My Cancer Adventure? I could probably Google all that shit, but to be safe, I'll say, probably yes. #FirmAnswer

So I went today, to the hospital and as many times as I've walked in...to see my husband when he was near death when he had staph endocarditis...to deliver both my babies (they were born in the same room; water side)...the emergency room visits for broken arms and stitches in the chin (all my 10yo)...to my lumpectomy five years ago today...this was by far the most anxious I've been to walk in the front door of my community hospital. #StayTheFuckAwayFromMe #Bitches

There was a new to me security detail, who checked me in at the desk, because the lady working was on the phone...and I told him where I was going, he looked me up and gave me a 3x5 card size neon green sticker granting me access to the Imaging Department on 3/20/20 only.

I walked back to the office and checked in, and talked with the receptionist because it's a small town and I know a lot of people because I'm a social butterfly like that. But really it's because our kids go went to the same school.

I waited and waited and refused to sit because what if someone with Coronavirus but is not showing symptoms was just in the chair that I choose to sit in? What if I get the virus on my pants and then its in my car and then I sit on my bed without thinking and then I totally just wasted all of my time washing my quilt on my bed yesterday. I'll just stand. For forty minutes. Because someone was in surgery and they needed the mammographer lady...? And I don't fucking know can we just get this done? Today of all days? And with this mother of all viruses? I just wanna go home and swing.

The tech was lovely, and had stellar PPE (Personal Protection Equipment) including a FACE SHIELD! She was incredibly apologetic about being late...but she is taking extra precautions and wiping everything down with wipes. Including the hooks where I hung my hoodie. I asked. #OfCourseIDid

She sent my boob pics to the radiologist immediately and came back in. Everyone's anxiety is through the roof right now and they both completely understood my desire to know. And I'm clear. So much gratitude to have the scans read immediately.

I bounced outta there and headed to a few stores, because goddamnit the Governor could lock us down at any minute, just like California, New York. And now Illinois. But the Governor of Washington also has confidence in us as citizens, and that we'll stay home and that he won't have to officially lock us down.

Please, people, stay home with your family. The only way we can combat this disease is to stay home. And that means no play dates for kids. No swingers parties for adults. Do not leave your house. Stay. Home. Do not have people over to your house. They need to stay in their own home. Social Distancing is a legit way to combat this. And if we all step up now, in the springtime, and STAY HOME then perhaps we won't have to during the summer and perhaps we can return to the lake and the beach and the trails. But only if we all work together and STAY HOME!!!!

Am I looking forward to homeschooling my kids? Not especially. Am I expecting the OSPI and my local school district to step up and help parents? Absolutely. But they have to consider equity. All the kids need to be provided the same educational opportunities. Basically, my kids have access to computers and internet. But, if you have a kid who doesn't have secure housing, they sure the fuck don't have a computer and can't do their assignments. So that's not very equal, and that kid is gonna get left in the dust. So the State of Washington is trying to figure out how to help ALL THE KIDS. And I mean the highly capable kids, and the neurotypical kids, and the kids who have delays. The State has a HUGE systems change that they are being forced to look at because of the pandemic.

One of the things I've been trying to work through this week with The Fellas is that we all had the rug pulled out from under us...and we need to give grace, and allow time and patience to figure out new ways to live. We were all scrambling on Monday. But we made it a week! And the sun has been out, which I can attest that absolutely made this easier! Can you imagine if we were dealing with this on a grey week? #SweetBabyJesus

So, as a whole, if we've made it this far, while we don't have any way of knowing what's coming, we do have the opportunity to prevent as much sickness and misinformation as possible. You can find information at CDC, NIH, and WHO. 

Thanks for reading. Stay home. Wash your hands. Be well.

-Rachel

PS. And eat all the motherfuckin ice cream, because why the fuck not?! Thanks, Em! Your ass better be at HOME!!!! 

Don't worry, Meghan, I'm not calling you out.

NatrureBridge Field Trip

At the end of October, my son went on the biggest school field trip ever. The entire sixth grade class went to a 3-day, 2-night expedition to NatureBridge at Olympic National Park. 

All the gear. Note the van and packed trailer in the background.

The school district where my kids are enrolled is generous enough to pay for every sixth grader who attends school, as well as the teachers and a few parents that are crazy enough to chaperone, to go out to Lake Crescent and learn about the natural environment up here on the North Olympic Peninsula.

Waiting to load up

The sixth graders were given Field Journals, in which they take notes about what they learn in their natural environment: Old growth forests, the Elwha River system, studying water samples and macroinvertabrates, and geology.

Writing in his field journal

NatureBridge promises a classroom without walls, and they delivered big time for my son. Did I think he'd be capable of doing this? Yes, absolutely. Was I nervous about sending him? Absofuckinlutely. Did I over-pack the suitcase? Totally. But, when your kid is spending three days outside in the largest rainforest in the world, which is North America's Pacific Temperate rainforest, and it's the beginning of the rainy season, and you know your son gets messy at the drop of a hat, you over pack his suitcase.

Happiest kid ever

He didn't brush his teeth. He didn't take a shower. He may have changed his clothes. But he's a twelve-year-old boy who was with his friends, away from his parents, and upon his return I asked him if he did any type of personal hygiene, he said he "wasn't really interested" in those things.

Fantastic. For reals. Because I'm sure the other sixth grade boys also did not clean any parts of themselves, either. Integration at it's finest. Borderline Lord of the Flies.

In order for this trip to happen, my son needed additional supports from adults. My son is developmentally disabled, and struggles to grip a pencil to write his name, but did the best he could with his field journal. He walks really quite slowly, which translates to he needed a lot of gentle pushing, and perhaps even a bit of pulling, when they were hiking Marymere Falls. But he did it. He's done it before, so it's not like he's never been. But some of his peers had never been. It provided him an opportunity to be a leader.

At Marymere Falls

The adult that was primarily in charge of him was his former Special Education Teacher, Ms. B. She was in charge of my son during first grade, and then again in fourth and fifth grade. He was homeschooled for half of second grade, and all of third grade. So, she knows him, and our family, very well. I consider her an integral part of my son's education and we've become dear friends.

Eating the sandwich he made

My son made his own sandwich and ate it. I found this hard to believe, and Ms. B knows I would think she was totally bullshitting me, so she took a picture for proof!

Little bit of soccer practice

While he was out playing and learning and having the coolest experience ever, my husband and younger son and I had a little fun. I got to go to soccer practice. I typically didn't go because there's really no need for all four of us to go to practice. It's a logistical nightmare for all four of us to go anywhere during dinner time because it throws off the entire schedule in a way that takes days for my special needs child to recover, so he and I would typically stay home and play UNO. He's really quite good and ends up kicking my ass quite a lot.

Dinner: chicken, slaw, ginger cake. He ate it all.

My kid with special needs ate all of the food that was offered to him. We were not permitted to pack food for them. And, as a dedicated rule follower (mostly) I did not pack food for him. I'm sure they accommodate kids with special dietary needs...but that's not something my son deals with so it's not on my radar.

Because my son takes medications on a regular basis to control his seizures, a form needed to be completed by his physician, and of course, I had to send all of the necessary meds, in their prescription bottles. So, there was some homework on my end to get this shit done. I know intrinsically my kid isn't the only kid that was medicated who was going on this massive expedition, but when you're doing the prep for this, it feels completely fucking isolating. Because, as a culture, we're trained to NOT talk about these things. We're trained to NOT discuss the fact that some kids need meds to get through their day. There's no shame in the fact that my child needs medications in order to not seize. But my culture makes me sometimes feel like he's not healthy because he needs medications...leading me to meditate on "what does it mean to be healthy?"

The kids all went out to NatureBridge on Wednesday and came home on Friday. And everyone was exhausted when the buses pulled in to the school parking lot about 45 minutes later than they were expected. But, considering they had to move about 100 kids and adults, running 45 minutes late is understandable. In my experience of being at the lake, it's so beautiful out there that it can be difficult to leave and head back to reality.

I am so thankful that my son had this amazing experience and for the adults that helped him. Special thanks to Ms. B for having his back, for taking all the pictures, and getting them to me. We love and appreciate you more than we could ever express.

In the burned out tree on the trail

With Ms. B.

Larger than life

How Abby spent most of her time: on her boys' bed

In a canoe on the lake

Happy and exhausted

Brothers reunited; they really did miss each other

A Tale of Two Casts (Part 2)

And here is the continuation of A Tale of Two Casts...

If you need to read the backstory, I encourage you to read Part 1.

So, we were at Hapkido on a Tuesday in August, which is my least favorite month after February, and after the big kids class, but before the little kids class, Mrs. V allows the all kids to get out all the climbing stuff out and party hard on the mat for about 15 minutes. It's a way for her to build community between the two age groups, kids are together on the mat, and figuring out how to work and play together. It's a very cool time of day at the dojo.

During the big kids' class, my younger son had the opportunity to work with the teenagers one-on-one, and both of the teenagers are both black belts. For the record: my son caused his injury all on his own, as usual; there were no other people around. But, he was feeling incredibly confident because they worked on some really cool stuff. The school is set up so that students of all ages are constantly teaching and learning. So the black belts each taught my son some things, and then he worked with another student and taught that student some things, and basically Mrs. V has it so that a person's brain works as hard as the body. The set-up for teaching and learning is absolutely brilliant.

During the play time in between classes, my younger son got on the monkey bars...you see where this is going...that hang from the ceiling and are higher than the monkey bars at school. My family has been at the dojo since January 2011, before the monkey bars were constructed and hung, so my kid has been on these monkey bars a lot. He lost his grip and fell onto the mat. It was that simple. He landed wrong. And he knows how to land, because in addition to eventually writing, staring, producing and directing...and be the cameraman...for his first ever full-length film...for which he'll win ALL THE OSCARS...he's also going to do ALL HIS OWN STUNTS. Duh. Because that's what he does. I am thankful that his vestibular sense is mostly on point. Mostly.

Below is a video of both of my sons at Hapkido during play time between classes. My older child is knocking down the bag, because he is a sensory seeker and needs deep impact. My younger child is on the monkey bars, crossing back-and-forth for the THIRD time that day. This is during play time between classes at the dojo. And, no, this isn't video of my kid breaking his arm, because I'm not that parent. But, it does give you a sense of the type of shenanigans that go down on the mat between classes.

The problem is that, as he's learned a lot in his young life, physics works; he's named after the man who discovered the Universal Law of Gravity. So, bear with me because I'm not a physicist: when my son fell from the monkey bars and broke his arm, he had a little forward momentum when his hand slipped and caused him to fall. The result of the forward momentum caused him to not land directly on his feet, which would've allowed for him to do a back break fall, decreasing the chance of injury. But because of the forward momentum, his feet and fanny hit at nearly the same time and, out of plain old instinct when a person falls from about 8 feet in the air, he put his left arm down, since he was falling to the left, and that was that.

He immediately grabbed his arm, got up, made eye contact with me, bowed off the mat, and quickly came over to me. Mrs. V came over and she assessed his arm...she's very thorough in her triage since dealing with injuries is part of what she does in her profession as a Martial Artist and personal trainer. He could bend and straighten all of his fingers, and he could move his wrist back and forth. He could bend and straighten his elbow; he could move his shoulder. And thank God for all of his parts moving properly, because it looked to me as though it was gonna be uglier than it was...and because of all the shit my family's been through, I kinda panic sometimes.

The only thing that hurt him was rotating his arm from front to back--so basically turning his hand and arm over to show us the underside of his forearm. He didn't cry...because he's pretty tough...but I knew he was hurting. He agreed to sit on the bench for the little kid's class with an ice pack on his arm. This was very difficult for him because his older brother was on the mat. So...brotherly competition...do I need to even say anything about that? No. No I don't.

One of the adult Hapkido students, who is a wonderful man, took the time to speak with me privately and disclosed that once upon a time, one of his daughters sustained an injury that is called a buckle fracture, and basically, her bone wasn't broken in two pieces, but it was slightly bent and caused some pain. According to the Pediatric Orthopedic Society of North America, a buckle fracture "occurs when only one side of the bone is compressed and buckles but does not break all the way through."

So it turns out that my 9-year-old has a buckle fracture. We found this out on Wednesday morning when we went to the walk-in clinic. But we went to the Emergency Room first, on Tuesday night, because my concern was that because he was in so much pain when he would turn his hand over, I was worried that the growth plate was broken, since his BFF Miss C broke her growth plate in third grade. And I knew it wasn't a complete fracture, which is what my son sustained last year when he broke both his radius and ulna on the monkey bars at school.

Fuckin' monkey bars.

But as we were getting ready to go to the ER, we went into to the bathroom at the dojo, and my kid was balling. He is not a crier. Dude didn't cry in June 2017 when I picked him up from school and took him to the ER with his broken bones when he was 8. So, if he's ugly crying in the bathroom, at the dojo, he's hurting pretty badly. So, I took him, and the ice pack, to the ER, which is less than 5 minutes away from the dojo. My husband went to the dojo to pick up our older son, because taking him with his brother and I to the emergency room was a horrible fucking idea.

And the ER was packed. Like, crawling with people, ain't even gonna get to see the goddamn triage nurse for an hour, sit yo' ass down because the doc won't have time to see you for at least three to four hours, type of packed.

We checked in: Anderson...s-O-n at the end. No, there are two A's in his first name, NOT two S's in his first name. How many times do I have to spell his names? How many times can you misspell Anderson or Andersen or Andersson or...seriously? Oh for fuck's sake, lemme come around that goddamn desk and access Epic and register him myself. How goddamn hard can it be? Yes, he's been here before. His birthday is XX/XX/2009. What? What do you mean you can't FIND him in the system?! A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N. One S, two A's in his first name. Are you fucking kidding me right now? He was here last June...? For a broken arm...? No the other arm. Yes. He's a frequent flyer. Yup. He's had stitches in his chin, too. Why the fuck can't I just pre-register this child for the ER? I mean, I was pre-registered with each of my kids when I was pregnant? It makes sense to just pre-register some kids for the ER, and my kid is one of them. Yes. Mmm-hmm....s-O-n at the end. Yes, A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N. Yup. That's my guy! Well, I'm really glad you found him, too.... Goddamnit...I totally should've gone to the other lady doing registrations....

Buckle fracture; left arm

Jesustapdancingfuckingchristonagoddamncross, that was painful, but we got in. Praise be. Because when we went to sit down some young woman looked like she needed to borrow my bag to puke in it.

As we were sitting there, and my son calmed down, we were able to talk. So, I asked him compared to when he broke his right arm last year, how badly does this hurt? And he said not as badly. We agreed that, since the waiting room was so packed, that it would be quite some time before they'd call him back. He said he was hungry, and I told him that I couldn't feed him because whenever they get him back there, they'd give him medicine to relieve the pain and we certainly don't need him throwing up. We agreed that it was a better idea to go home, get a fresh ice pack, some Tylenol and some dinner, and get to bed at a reasonable hour, and that if it was still hurting in the morning, we'd call our doctor's office.

So, we checked out. We didn't even stick around for the triage nurse. We did go to the other lady who was at the registration desk and formally leave, because I don't need CPS on my ass for eloping from the ER with a kid with a broken goddamn arm. Right?

Oh snap! Kinda. It didn't completely break in two.

Anyway, so home, dinner, Tylenol, ice, bed. Woke up the next morning still hurting. Called our doc's office...and they were closed for a training...of course. So we went to the walk-in clinic and were seen pretty quickly. X-ray revealed that he had a buckle fracture, and so the doc put a splint on it and said he would put in a referral to the orthopedic clinic. But he didn't. And yes, I've already had a very long discussion with the folks at Patient Experience since the very first part of my hospital's Vision Statement was not upheld: "...will achieve excellence, and provide quality, value and safety in everything we do." The physician completely failed my pediatric patient by not speaking with him about his injury and defaulting to me, when my kid is completely capable of explaining himself. Also, the doc did not make the referral to the Ortho clinic. Oh, and he totally judged me for giving my kid Tylenol and not Advil. No, really. So, three strikes means I make a phone call. And, yes, I also let the Patient Experience lady know all about how the lady in the ER couldn't find my kid in the system. I learned that usually the walk-in clinic docs don't ordinarily make referrals to the orthopedic clinic, but that since the x-ray revealed my kid needed to be seen, the referral should have been made. But this doc, and his sanctimonious tone regarding me administering Tylenol and not Advil...he's probably the type of man that also feels free to make decisions about my uterus, so I'll refrain from commenting further.

Annnyyywwwaaayyy...

My kid wore the splint on his left arm for a week, which, of course, I know from experience is standard. During that time we went to the county fair and partied pretty hard. He did the rides he felt he could; we were thankful that the carnival staff even let him on.

My boys, partying hard at the county fair!

And the following Tuesday after his injury, we went to see Orthopedic Surgeon Dr. M, who, fortuitously, is part of our Hapkido family. She and her son have been part of the dojo for many years, and she knows our family dynamic and is pretty familiar with our family health history. I was anticipating a partial cast; my son was thinking that he'd just stay in the splint. And Dr. M is fantastic because when she examined him, she talked with him like he was a person who is capable of understanding what she was saying, and she said that she really felt, since he's a rather rambunctious young man, it was better to put a cast on his arm for a few weeks to prevent it from breaking further. Because, as I stated in Part 1: prevention works.

Left: 2018 buckle fracture on the left arm. Right: 2018 mega fracture on the right arm

Here's the deal as to why my kid is in a short-arm cast, which I'll all the Half-Assed, Half-Arm Cast. This is probably the first thing my family has ever done half-assed. So, the way this buckle fracture thing works, the bone is weaker in that area, and even though the doc at the walk-in clinic said being in a splint for 3-ish weeks is acceptable, Dr. M said that if my son were to punch a bag, or to wrestle with his brother and take a hit to his arm, the risk of his arm breaking is higher and then he'd have to wear a cast for a longer time. And no matter how old a person is, it's easier to wear a cast for three weeks than eight weeks. And given that Dr. M has spent years of her life helping people heal their BONES, we chose to listen to Dr. M and get the cast. My son was true to himself and chose purple, which has been his favorite color since he was a toddler. Last year he chose blue, because he experienced peer pressure and thought that boys were supposed to like blue. I know this because in discussion about choosing his cast color last year, he said "no, Mom, blue because all the boys like blue." Bless his heart.

He's not in any pain, and really, with this break, his ego is not his amigo. We're letting him be a kid, taking reasonable risks with his extra-curricular activities. He's learned that a Half-Assed, Half-Arm Cast is easier to manage than a Full-Assed, Full-Arm Cast.

He's able to be on the mat at Hapkido, supporting other students by teaching, and of course he's also learning a lot. He's able to do some Hapkido, but Mrs. V said no rolling, no throwing any punches, and no throwing people. He is able to do some techniques. He is able to do all of his kicks. But no bokkens, until his cast is off. And bokkens are his thing, so that's a bummer.

He is able to be on the soccer field and practice a little. He's mostly doing drills. His Dad is the assistant coach, and my husband played soccer for 20 years, so he and the head coach, who is also a Mom of one of the players, are putting some tight reigns on our son. Our 9-year-old is not permitted to play scrimmage because he certainly doesn't need to be taken down or tackled by another player. Any 1:1 work is against his head coach, because she's a bad ass and can hand him his ass in a nice way, without taking him down or causing further injury. We all know the other 9-year-olds on the field have no such discipline.

He'll start fourth grade on Tuesday with the cast on. He's carrying a black sharpie with him to get signatures, of course. The cast is scheduled to come off on Tuesday September 11th at 8:30 in the morning by Dr. M. His first soccer game is scheduled for September 15th, and we all anticipate he'll be on the field and capable of playing. I anticipate that the purple cast will be added to the art project that he'll create with the two blue casts from his right arm.

Camp

My kids are going to camp tomorrow.

Like, here are my children, see you in two days, out at the lake, thankful they can swim, please be sure to feed them, and give the big one all these different meds, sleep.away.fucking.CAMP!!!!

Because my 9-year-old son has friends in high places. This is why this is working out. Seriously.

But also because there really and truly are good people in this world who care about kids and care about inclusion and care about families and care about helping others be successful. And it is for these people I hold an incredible amount of respect and gratitude.

I know that a lot of kids go to sleep away camp. I'm sure that my kids are considered "old," at the ripe old ages of nearly 12, and 9, to be going away to camp for the first time ever. But we tend to do things a little...slower and methodical...here at the Anderson Family Circus. And, yes, it really is like living with monkeys.

So, they'll be gone for a full 48 hours. Pretty normal. And I'm only freaking out a little bit, you guys, mkay....?!

They are going to the mini-session, which is two nights. There's another session that's three nights (I think). The small, locally-owned business that runs the camp has different sessions, over the course of three weeks in July. The week before my kids go, and the week after my kids go, are week-long camps. So, like, here's my kid on Sunday night or Monday morning...and I'll see you bitches on Friday...or maybe Saturday...? I don't know because we're not at that level yet. That's a whole 'nother level that my family hasn't named yet because we're not there yet because if we think about too much then we get anxiety and can't breathe and we start hyperventilating!!!

Stop.

Breathe.

And slow the fuck down, little dudes, because we're at Level 1: Two Nights.

Kinda like a Spontaneous Weekend Getaway...kinda not.....

A few friends suggested The Math Man and I skip away to the Emerald City for the two nights. Nope. Nice idea. Not for us. Thanks though. Because trauma. We've been there and done that...a few times. But it involved a hospital stay... and a lot of appointments and a couple of surgeries...so, no thank you.

My family has been through too much trauma, in too short amount of time...from which I am just now starting to feel that I can start to put it behind me...us....and the deep, dark thoughts and the fears for all of us, and each of us, have mostly gone away. Mostly.

So, since the boys will be gone for 48 hours, we're more than happy to stay home, walk around naked, smoke pot, and have sex whenever we want...like you do when you're semi-reclusive, semi-hippie, middle-aged college instructors. Because I can tell you, that there is nothing else that compromises your sexuality like cancers. I mean, all major health issues do, including but not limited to, giving birth and being a caregiver of a child with special needs. But cancer is it's own special type of clusterfuck. And two cancers in two years: supermajorclusterfuck.

When people ask how I'm doing, I tell them I feel like I'm winning at summer because, so far, knock-on-wood-praise-be-thank-the-sweet-baby-Jesus, that of the people who live in my home and I get to see everyday and I get to love and I get to take care of: nobody has cancer, nobody is having any surgery regarding any cancers, and nobody has any broken bones. And on the one hand, because survivor's guilt is a real thing, it feels icky just typing it....thinking it....and saying it....

As if a person can hex themselves. Right? Jesus, Rachel, stop it...you're not fucking omnipotent.

But on the other hand, I am so thankful that I get to be here...and I get to send my kids to camp, that I feel like it's ok for me to feel good about being alive, and about the things I get to do...that the survivor's guilt mostly goes away. Mostly.

So we're getting ready to send them to camp for the very first time ever. And while it's not the first time they've been away from us...because we have an incredible group of supportive friends who were able to take wonderful care of our boys while my husband and I each went through our own surgeries and treatments...this is still a huge milestone for my family. We are a pretty close-knit crew, and we maintain a pretty tight ship, because meds and special needs dictate what happens when. 

My family is together a lot. Like a LOT during the summer because my husband and I are both college instructors...who happen to teach online...so we juggle like a pair of motherfuckers, giving each other space and support to get our work done.

We've had the talks with the boys about expected behaviors when they are away at camp. I have two worries, one for each son. My first concern, of course, is for my older son who requires meds to not seize...I'll send everything he needs and trust that the good folks who are in charge will give him his meds as scheduled (in the morning and before bed). My second concern is for my younger son, who will be learning to suck it up and eat the food they'll provide...he's not keen on hot dogs. You're going to camp, kid; it's not the spa...there aren't any free upgrades. Regardless, I'm sure we'll all survive.

And I know that my younger son's BFF, who is a girl and who really is in charge out there, will fill me in on all the things they did. She's my girl on the inside, if you will. And my boys know she'll tell me all about whatever shenanigans go down out at camp.

And then when we pick them up on Wednesday, we'll return to our regularly scheduled shenanigans here at The Anderson Family Circus, where it really is like Living with Monkeys.

Figured It Out

So I think that my hip and back pain two months ago was caused by my workout the previous Tuesday.

After spending a lot of time on my yoga mat...and was actually able to move and do some stuff that's totally normal for me to do, that I've been doing for 22 years, and I had a small epiphany....

My seven years of experience with Mrs. Ventura has taught me that the pain from her cardio kickboxing workout comes on two days after said workout. I cannot tell you how many times my boys have complained to me about their arms or legs hurting and, after triaging them, say, "What did you do in Hapkido two days ago?" Because 99 out of 100 times, they're hurting because they worked out with Mrs. V.

And that particular Tuesday, in Warrior Fit (AKA Cardio Kickboxing) we did this...

Tuesday's low back ass kicking workout

Before we go any further, I stopped at about 20 push ups...more on that later...but mostly because I ran out of time. Mostly. 

200 ground kicks...so this is where we get on all fours, and then do side kicks on a bag. Think male dog peeing on a tree. (Sorry Meghan) That. And kicking 200 times. On each side.

100 roundhouse kicks...and we're doing what's affectionately known as Meghan Math...so again, 100 on each side. Roundhouse kicks are absolutely my favorite kick because I've really practiced those. A lot. And they are powerful. This is where I am thankful I have big thighs.

When I first started at the dojo, in January 2011, my friend KJ talked me into going to this cardio kickboxing class, at 7 pm on Tuesday and Thursday. Sure. Why not?

So, here you go, Randy Anderson, here are your children, you are completely responsible for bedtime. I'm with the boys ALL.THE.TIME. and I very much appreciate having the opportunity to be home and teach my online college Health class...but if I don't go at least try one class, I may end up wearing orange for a long, LONG time. And being traded for contraband. So, really, I'm going to relieve the stress of being a mom, and as the only female in my home, I need a fuckin break from all the penises and the guns and shooting. Because when you birth boys, you learn very quickly that they were born with pointy things that shoot. The boys were 4 and 2; the only diagnosis we had at the time was my older son's epilepsy.

Two weeks into becoming a regular in class I crawled over to Meghan, and said something like, "If I keep doing this, will my husband be able to bounce a quarter off my ass? Because your ass is awesome. I mean I know you could kick my ass for saying this on your mat, and I know you can take me from here, and I totally don't mean any disrespect in your dojo...but still...your ass is hot and gives me hope."

Fortunately for me, Mrs. V. speaks my language and she did not Hapkido me. Because she could've taken me from there. Because she's that much of a Bad Ass. She's a highly trained weapon and I would absolutely want her on my team should I ever find myself in a dark alley.

And fortunately for my entire family, Mrs. V meets each of us where we are...because we each have our own shenanigans to deal with....we've been in some pretty dark alleys.

Anyway...so I am again, finding myself reminding myself that I am not, indeed 18, or even 38 like when I first walked into PDMA. I'm 45-and-a-goddamn-half and I'm a breast cancer survivor and a mom of a kid with a constellation of brain disorders and I'm a cancer care giver and goddamnit I do NOT have cancer of the ANYTHING but when cancer hits you like it's hit me and my family three times in two years, you immediately go--IMMEDIATELY GO--to Cancerland with the slightest discomfort.

I'm not kidding.

Itchy skin? Skin cancer.

Eye twitch? Eye cancer. It's a thing. Or maybe cancer of the optic nerve, which is in your brain, so brain cancer, obviously.

Cough? Lung cancer. I don't care if you've never been exposed to cigarette smoke. You clearly have cancer of the lung if you cough. Every. Fucking. Time. Even though the cough could be from seasonal allergies. Or a choking on your food. Or a gigantic bong rip. Ya know...like you do.....

Enlarged tonsil? Tonsil cancer. Not kidding. It's a thing. Look it up kids.

Ok well, maybe that last one came true. But still. You see my point.

So, when I have a new and incredibly intense back pain suddenly come on, and I forget that I started working out again...partly because I have two kids in two extra curricular activities...and the constant worry of special needs parenting, which is a whole 'nother level of parenting...and managing his medications...and planning my younger son's birthday party...and the full moon...and then the whole both parents had cancer thing which is ALWAYS present....

Sometimes I forget to breathe...let alone remember that I'm just now starting to feel ok with doing a few pushups because my scar is healing enough from where they removed the lime-sized tumor from my right breast close to my bra line three years ago. And the muscles have atrophied.  At this point, 50 pushups is not a reasonable number for me. Twenty is reasonable. My goal is my age. I'll let you know if I figure out how to do 1/2 a push-up. I'm sure Mrs. V. will create something. She's very clever.

I know that half the battle with cancer is being strong, both physically and mentally. And I know that starting cardio kickboxing in January 2011 and then moving into Hapkido in January 2012 helped me get through my own cancer, the death of my Father-in-Law, and my husband's tonsil cancer, all of which went down between March 2015 and August 2016. But, seriously: Fuck you cancer. You have got to be one of the biggest health-related mind fucks out there.

And, yes, I've be a little easier on myself since returning to kickboxing on a regular basis. I'm trying to remind myself that I am human, I am aging, and I deal with a lot of health issues in my family. Because I'm, again, a 45-1/2 year old woman who was capable of overcoming breast cancer, from a lot of help from a lot of people...and I am doing my best to ease back into being on a different type of mat.

Ous!

And namaste'

Springless Breaks

Collectively here at the Anderson Family Circus, our spring breaks are coming to a close. Thankfully. Three weeks of gray skies, rain, some major wind, sickness, jury duty, a perimenopausal mommy, and a full moon to boot. Fuck dude. Thank the universe we're in the final stretch before summer break.

My husband and I had our usual two week spring break, the first week was taken up by one boy missing school Monday and Tuesday due to a GI thing. Wednesday is my day to volunteer at school; I love volunteering and working with the teachers who choose to help my kids and our community each day, and I'm thankful I have the opportunity to give back in this way.

Thursday and Friday were spent catching up on grocery shopping and meal prepping and picking out new glasses...you know...like you do…. It was a day date...and one of the only days we had together to enjoy each other. Since both becoming cancer survivors, we tend to not take days like this for granted, and spend as many of them as we can together. We've been looking forward to spring break for a while.

But, alas, it wasn't in the stars, naturally, since the second week involved my husband serving on a jury for three days. Monday we did our prep for the spring quarter, which started on April 2, the same day our kids’ spring break started; I’ll get to that in a minute.

This is my husband’s second time to serve on a jury. The first one was when we lived in Las Vegas. In my family language we speak in levels, and my husband was on the Boss Level Jury: Double Murder Trial. Of course he was. So everything else is going to just not be as...much...fun? I don’t remember the specifics, other than it lasted a full five days and they found the defendants guilty. That was his first ever time. And he enjoys learning about the process of the court system and how our legal system works. I did too when I served on a jury...but it was like a Level 3 trial...DUI...guy drove his car into a lady’s home, and she was fine. Dude. Seriously? That doesn’t compete with the Boss Level Double Murder Trial.

Anyway...so he had jury duty that took 2-½ days...and we just didn’t get a lot of quality time together...but we also got to spend the comfortable quiet of a couple who’s been together for an extended time...and who’s children are...safe?...at school.

It’s there now. It’s always there. That voice. That one that I didn’t realize wasn’t my own shit and paranoia until I read this article that my one friend who’s a mental health therapist and my other friend who’s an elementary school teacher shared on Facebook and Jesus is my data missing? In Russia?

I mean that article is on Oprah.com and I've never really been an Oprah fan. Not that she’s a bad person or anything...she’s just never been my jam. Did I just use "jam" in a sentence as a substitute for "thing?" Oy. Maybe I'm not 500 years old after all.

So we started back to school at the college on Monday April 2. And that was the boys’ first day of spring break...because that’s just how it goes down around here every year. We never align spring breaks. It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is. Or perhaps it’s fortunate. Because my family isn’t the family that travels to warmer, sunnier climates for spring breaks. I have a love hate relationship with Facebook right now: it’s painful for me to see pictures. Literally hurts me to not be warming up. But, it is what it is. Spring is coming to the Pacific Northwest. I can feel it in my bones; or maybe it's my body's ache for the desert sun. What? Supposed to be 97* in Tucson on Tuesday? No thanks. I'll keep my 54* and rain.

But we didn’t have a spring break. I feel badly for my kids. We were at home a LOT the week of spring break, partly because as an on-line educator, I needed to work; and partly because I didn't feel like working and dragging the boys--or being drug by the boys. It's a push-me-pull-you type of relationship. Right?

My younger son has had a fire lit under him within the last two weeks because he was given his Hapkido book; it's a manual that his sensei gave him that has everything he's been studying for the past several years. He received it at this point because it's what is required in his training. Basically, he knows a lot of shit, and it's a lot to expect anyone to have all of it in their heads, so the teachers provide a manual of everything he needs to know; he'll add to it as he progresses upward in rank.

And it's motivated him. He's now required to have helped teach The Littles (the kids younger than him) a total of 25 times and he has to have one of the school's owners sign each time. The child is on fire to get it done before he turns 9 on April 30. We even counted out how many times he needed to go in order to earn X number of signatures per week. Seriously.

But, little dude, tone it down. It's not mathematically possible...even if you went four times on Tuesday during spring break and because next week you get to go back to school and soccer academy starts and there are only so many ways I can say "we'll do our best to get you to Hapkido as much as possible but a more realistic date to accomplish this is by the end of the school year, in the middle of June, or better yet, by July 4th" before I completely loose my load! Please stop fucking bugging me! Jesus! I'm doing my best, people!

Goddamn hormones suck. And the chemo-induced menopause? Fuck that noise. Even though I use Clue, I never know when my period is coming. And thank the goddesses I read that article on Oprah.com because now I know this is also a serious thing that a lot of women my age are dealing with. Not to mention I'm the only human female in my home, causing even further isolation and anxiety...making me secretly wonder if I'm suffering from some kind of neurosis. Nope. Apparently it's not just me.... And this is where I'm thankful I'm not trained to diagnose people. And I'm thankful I don't go to ScareTheHellOuttaMe.com and self-diagnosis. Red Rover, Red Rover! Send Oprah right over...? Ew. Really, I'd call Ada Calhoun over. Since she penned the article. Definitely keepin my eye on her.

Anyway, at some point, midweek, when they'd harassed me about swimming for the umteenth time, I considered writing them a note:

Dear Boys,

I'm not sure which one of y'all started the rumor between the two of you that we're going swimming today, or at anytime during spring break, but we're not. Sorry. 

Societal expectations, as well as my own comfort level, mandate that I shave my legs, armpits, and bikini line prior to putting on a bathing suit, and I'm not planning on doing all that, because it requires a tremendous amount of energy from me, not to mention a shit ton of water, which also costs money. 

I have no plans to placate you guys and succumb to your male dominated, completely oppressive, misogynistic view of women. Thanks for making every effort to understand my perspective and finding another way to exercise. I really prefer you do this outside, where you can have a nature break. As a gentle reminder, if you make a lot of noise away from me, you'll keep the wild animals away. Furthermore, I know it's a little drizzly, but you're not made outta sugar!

If you don’t get it, then please fuck off. Thanks. 

Love always, 
Mom

However, I decided to not give them a note.

Instead I took them to the Spit on Friday, where we saw a severed dragon's head, a dead mouse, and a lot of other natural things. Like rocks. And the ocean. And we were all fully dressed, and I didn't have to shave.

Spontaneous Weekend Getaway

So, the Biggest Birthday Bash at the Anderson Abode wound down and came to a close, and a little while later, a friend texted me saying her daughter forgot her bag of stuffed animals. You know, like you do when you're four...carry a bag full of stuffed animals. I mean, she's not one whole hand yet, so if she needs to bring a bag of stuffies with her when she travels from one end of the county to the other end of the county, it's cool.

But is that what you do with little girls? I mean I know it's different to parent a girl. But I don't get it because I have boys and they just verbally abuse each other while we're driving down the highway, roof open, windows down, rain pelting our faces, while Garbage or Joan Jett, Concrete Blonde or really early Melissa Etheridge or some other Angry Lesbian Music turned up to 11 blast from the speakers in the Highlander with me singing at the top of my lungs to provide my own white noise and drown out the screams from the backseat. Ya know...it's the Anderson Family Circus up to it's usual shenanigans. But, it's been worse, the boys used to physically abuse each other while I was driving...at least that's no longer happening. Always see the light. Do not Hapkido your brother. Ous!

Anyway, we didn't realize the bag had been left behind until all of our party guests had vacated. It wasn't a gift bag. It was a lumpy grey bag with pastel colored elephants, and a white ribbon drawstring closure. Oh my.

When I saw it sitting near all of our shoes and boots near the front door, my 8-11/12 year old son yelled, in what seemed like slow motion, that the child had left her stuffies. I knew this had the potential to go south really fast because:

a. She is four and had some challenges in leaving the party (I've been there and completely understand, so I'm not judging).

b. My 11-1/2 year old is developmentally five and I need to find a good hiding spot for whatever stuffed animals are in the bag because my child could loose it for any number of reasons including but not limited to being sad for her because she won't have her animals tonight, or when we have to return them it could get ugly.

c. Fuck I hope none of the stuffies are cats because cats are his autism thing. Please Jesus, no cats.

d. They live on the other side of the county. We've gotta coordinate a drop off. Dad's are both employed by PC; maybe they can coordinate. (Hahahahahahah!!!!! Right?! Translation: the moms will coordinate the dads. Obviously.)

Like any parent facing a potential stuffie emergency, I immediately grabbed my phone and saw that my friend texted me about 90 minutes prior, notifying me of the drama. I replied that we would happily keep the animals secure for two nights. Understandably, the little girl was very sad, but was somehow convinced that the animals would have a fun vacay at the Anderson Abode.

And, breathe....

Not that she wouldn't have lived, but you know...it's a bummer for any kid to not have their favorite...seven...stuffed animals on hand at any given moment. I get it. My kids are stuffed animal whores. The collection they each have is enormously ridiculous.

So, anyway, we took care of the Magnificent Seven: Sally, Sarah, Catty, Pickles, Sprinkles, Lettuce, and Ballet Dog for a Spontaneous Weekend Getaway...

Heh...and you guys thought I was gonna say that Randy and I were going away for a weekend, didn't you? Hahaha! That's a fantastic idea! But do you realize how much planning it takes to coordinate a weekend trip for the parents of a special needs child?

Anyway, the Spontaneous Weekend Getaway was delightful! The Magnificent Seven were wonderful house guests! The boys and I had fun picking out which had been named what and our conclusions are:

Ballet Dog is the only dog and has little pink feet like a ballet dancer (ok it's a gimme)

Lettuce is a bunny (that's fuckin' brilliant!)

Sprinkles is the little pink cat with multi colored dots and they look like sprinkles (how am I doin?)

Pickles may be the rainbow caterpillar because he's the same shape as a pickle...?

Catty is the bigger tan cat...?

I'm lost on Sally and Sarah but they're cats.

Three cats.

Are you fuckin' kidding me? Goddamn four-year-old left three goddamn cats at my house after the Biggest Birthday Bash EVER? Fuck. Because my son's special needs head is going to fucking explode when he finds out. Jesusfuckinchrist. I mean, seriously? I've got to hide these, stat!

Because cats are my autistic kid's thing. Typically, people on the spectrum have a "thing"...and it can change over time. But their thing is something they deeply care for...or are fixated on...and his thing is cats. It has been for years. Wants to own a cat, but Dad is allergic. Bummer. But even so, we all know it would end up being my job to clean the goddamned litter box and I am not a litter box cleaner, so, no. His "thing" for a long time was Angry Birds (all versions, no, really)...and so we took that and ran with it...my family language is Levels.

My bigger concern was that my son on the spectrum was going to struggle with letting the stuffed animals, particularly the cats, go back to their owner, but he actually did really well...because all the stuffies need to stay together! We need to respect our young friend and her belongings. Let's be responsible and keep all of her stuffed animals together in their bag. Yes, fantastic idea, Nathan! It's their sleeping bag! You are so clever, son....

I texted my friend a few pics of the unplanned but very well-behaved house guests so that her young daughter would feel comfortable knowing her crew were being well-cared for. I mean they were here for two nights, so it's kinda a big deal when you're only four. And because we don't leave the house on Sundays. It's our stay-home-family-I-kicked-their-asses-in-Wii-Bowling-AGAIN-day. Oh! And this past Sunday was my husband's official 50th birthday. So, there was that....

We kept our house guests busy with lots of fun activities, including...well...here is their photo journal. Because I didn't want to inundate the little girl's Mom's phone, or potentially annoy the shit out of her and forever damaging our friendship. Right? But, there's some stuff that simply needs to be shared in a photo journal.


I present: Spontaneous Weekend Getaway....

Fancy dinner on Saturday night

Tuckered out after a long day of partying. Seen with Isaac's animals.

Nathan shared his Sunday morning breakfast of carrots and Annie's Mac&Cheese

Helped me grade a little....

Helping to vacuum. They did great!

Supervision and security details

TV break!

A little more TV....

Birthday Cake break!

The slide needed drying off!

Our swing set can be intimidating, so boys were helping the Magnificent Seven

Just swinging....

Learning to swing....

On the tire swing! So fun!

The Magnificent Seven's multipurpose bag. He did this all on his own.

Look out! The Birthday Boy is getting in on the action!

WHOOPS! Everyone is ok but let's take a break and do something else!

Big dog trying the slide alone! So courageous!

Isaac helping Lettuce steer the ship

Isaac helping Lettuce be a spy

Nathan climbing the frame

Climbing the rock wall! So brave!

Nathan helps Ballet Dog while Isaac helps Catty (?)

Isaac giving a spot to 2 of the 7

They had some tough decisions but they each chose nice colors!

Bike race Wii Sports Resort

Daddy's Birthday Dinner: It's Taco Night!

Tuckered out after a busy Sunday! Seen in Nathan's bed.
I told you my kids are stuffed animal whores.

As you can see, we kept the Magnificent Seven quite busy at their Spontaneous Weekend Getaway! I think their favorite was the rock wall, which was really quite an adventure! It was actually quite fun for us that she accidentally forgot her bag of stuffies: it gave us a creative outlet...and a different way to teach and learn helping someone else, being kind, responsible, and respectful, and trying to turn a negative into a positive. We also enhanced our Team Anderson skills...which needed a little help, given we were all fried from the 50th Birthday Party.

My husband took the Magnificent Seven to work with him on Monday morning, and the little girl's Dad picked them up. I am happy to report that all transfers went smoothly and they have been safely returned to the child, who is understandably beside herself over seeing her stuffies! And, while my vocabulary is absolutely not G-rated, I do hope she gets the chance to look at the pictures of the adventures we had on our Spontaneous Weekend Getaway with the Magnificent Seven!