Prom 2016

I didn't go to prom. In my day you only went to prom if you had a date. No one went solo and no one went with, gasp, a friend. We wouldn't have even thought about doing such a thing, and because of that many of us didn't get to experience the big night. At the time, I was bummed, but secretly, deep down, I was relieved. I wasn't much for dressing up, wearing make-up, and dancing. Not my thing. Plus, all of the expectations of prom and dating would have just sent me over the edge.

I blossomed early in the whole boyfriend thing. I had one at the age of twelve and it was serious. Serious enough that my mom and his mom kept a close eye on us and popped up in places we did not expect them to interrupt us. He was more interested in the physical side of things than I was, but all of those feelings and pressures are things I still cringe about today. In looking back on it as an adult I realize the whole relationship was not easy or fun and probably made me gun shy during the years I should have been experimenting. So missing prom? I've never regretted it.

My kids won't (and didn't) have to worry about any of that. Now days most everyone goes to prom either with dates, or with friends, or alone. Madison's class went as a huge group her junior and senior year. There were a few who went as couples within the group which mainly meant someone asked someone and paid for the ticket and a corsage. That class took pictures together, went to dinner together, danced together at prom, and grabbed a bit to eat after prom. Darcy's group is a bit more adventurous than that. The boys are very into the dating scene. It is as if it is a requirement in their teenage years, as is partying. They have a list of things that must be accomplished in high school and by golly, they are going to follow that list. (If only they did that with their schooling, huh?)

Darcy is the opposite. She is very comfortable being single. She prefers being friends with guys. Most of her close friends are guys because they present less drama than the girls. Her girl pals consist of close friends and good friends. They all hang together in a group and they debated long and hard on whether they even wanted to go to prom. Then the boys started asking the girls to be their date and those who declined or weren't asked decided to have the experience too. Darcy was one of four in her group that didn't have a date. She didn't care. She went anyway.

She dragged me dress shopping under the pretense of getting some other item of clothing. We hopped into the dress shop and she modeled for us, deciding in less then an hour her dress. We bought it. She borrowed shoes. She had her make-up done and her hair done. The only thing I had to do was hand over the credit card and take pictures.

She said it was okay. She enjoyed dressing up and feeling beautiful and taking pictures. The rest of it was boring. She hates dancing. She stayed the entire time, and afterwards went to Starbucks to hang out and talk. She was home by her driving curfew mandated by the state of Florida. She said she most likely won't go next year. Prom? Done it. Over it. Moving on.

Southwest Airlines has our business

I wrote recently, NO NOT THE CROWN AGAIN, about my plane delay on Southwest Airlines when I went to pick up Madison. The pilot didn't show and we sat on the plan waiting for the back up Captain. For two hours. It wasn't all that bad, the waiting, except it was 6:00 in the morning, and I was hungry, and tired, and coffee-less. But I had three seats to myself and the option of getting off of the plane. I was perfectly content as one could be as the situation could have been way worse.

But since I am a modern, social media, techie with peeps who live for my updates, I tweeted my dilemma. "Pilot for my @SouthwestAir flight a no show. I knew a 6 a.m. flight was too damn early." I was being funny. I'm not an early morning person.

Southwest immediately tweeted me. "@cmkerwin We're sorry we let you down with the delay. I assure you we are working diligently to get you on your way as soon as possible."

Welcome to the modern world. Companies now have employees who troll the social media world to respond to things such as my tweet. I love it. I tweet a lot of things to companies, both good and bad, and I've had a lot of success in responses. While my complaints might not be truly looked into just someone tweeting me back telling me the company will do just that makes me feel better. It makes me feel vindicated. It makes me feel like they care about me as a customer.

Southwest, however, truly does care and obviously takes complaints seriously. A few days after my return flight I received an email from the company apologizing for my delay and giving me a $75 voucher to be used on my next flight. What? I was flabbergasted. The two hour delay, while annoying, wasn't devastating for me. I was not on a time crunch. I didn't have a connecting flight. Life happens. The pilot, for whatever reason, didn't make it. Another one had to be called in. I imagined that call to the back up; waking her up from a sound sleep, how she would have to shower, make and drink some coffee, grumble, dress, drive to the airport. We've all been in that back up situation before. We've all gotten the call and agreed to hurry, but secretly took our time somewhat because "I'm doing them a favor." This incident was not going to stop me from flying Southwest.

But let me tell you this: that voucher for $75 to make up for my delay? That impressed us, mainly my husband, so much that we just purchased four tickets to California on Southwest Airlines. He didn't even look at another airline. Southwest Airlines has our business. They will always be the first airline we check from now on when checking and making flights.

I tweeted: "Wow! @SouthwestAir sent a beautiful letter and gift for my disrupted flight last week. Now that is customer service. #southwestrocks"

And Southwest? They responded right back with: "@cmkerwin Thank you for the shout out! We're so happy that we can help make you happy. We can't wait for you to fly with us again soon."

Rest assured Southwest. This family is filling you again!

I think I'll forgo being a queen if I have to have the crown

In April I wrote about tooth issues, and since the issues have just recently been resolved (knock on wood) I thought I should catch everyone up. I last left off with my dentist erring on the conservative side on tooth number 15 better known as the painful, last tooth on the upper left side of my mouth. I visited him for the fourth time after x-rays, whittling down of the tooth, and a diagnosis of and work for an invisible cracked tooth. All three visits and a temporary tooth did nothing to take care of the pain, and so I went back to the dentist.

He kept talking about being conservative. He whittled more of my tooth until my tongue panicked at not finding much back there. He dove in to polish up the tooth, and I jerked and moaned. He inquired. I said, "No change. It hurts." That seemed to annoy him as if I hadn't mentioned pain in the last three visits. He sighed. He told me he would like me to give it another week and if nothing had changed it might be time to have an endodontist weigh in. I gave it three days, made the call myself, and visited the endodontist.

I had a root canal several years ago. This dentist sent me to a woman endodontist who worked on me while I watched a movie, headphones over my ears. It was a great experience and so when my dentist recommended a different endodontist this time I was perplexed. That seemed to exhaust him too, and I could see my Patient of the Year award slipping out of my fingers. He had his receptionist give me both phone numbers; the new endodontist and the woman I had gone to previously. I tried to gauge from the office staff the change, but they told me to go to whomever I chose. I caved and called the new guy.

I liked him. He had a sense of humor. His staff was great. His assistant took x-rays, and when I asked for her opinion she actually gave it to me. The endodontist came in, examined me, looked at the x-rays and told me I needed a root canal. The whittling down of my tooth over the various years, not to mention months, had brought it closer and closer to the nerve. The x-ray showed some darkness around the root which indicated it was on its way to an infection. He showed me on the x-ray with tooth #14 how the pulp and the roots looked in that tooth. It reminded me of an octopus with the pulp as the head and the various nerves and roots its legs. Unfortunately, tooth #15 didn't look anything like that. Instead, it was everything rolled into one giant ball with the nerves all tangled around the pulp. Of course, it was.

He offered to do the root canal right then and there. I was not prepared for that, but I gave him the thumbs up and he scrubbed in. The procedure took about an hour and his assistant replaced my temporary crown and told me not to floss or eat anything "gummy" because she didn't feel the temporary crown would hold if I did. I nodded, forked over another $1,000+, and left with a mouth that hurt and two prescriptions to fill if needed.

It took one week for that side of my mouth to recover. One week where I was sure that the procedure hadn't worked. One week of my tongue playing nursemaid to my gums, the roof of my mouth, and the inside of my lip. Eventually, everything settled down, and low and behold (insert harp music), my tooth did not hurt. Not only was I relieved, but I felt vindicated. I knew I had needed a root canal. I knew I wasn't crazy.

It took approximately six weeks for my crown to be made. Six days before my scheduled appointment my temporary crown fell out. It was Saturday.

Darcy: "And how did that happen, mom? Huh? What were you doing?"
Madison: "What was in your mouth when this happened?"

Please. Who's the mother here? I was on my way to watch my niece in a dance recital. I had stopped to let Madison run inside to get flowers, and I popped a piece of gum into my mouth. To freshen my breath. This is something I do quite often, and since my tooth issues, I have chewed only on the right side of my mouth. For some reason, in the rushing around and thinking ahead to the rest of my busy day I forgot and chewed on the left side. The crown came out in my gum.

Madison: "And weren't you told not to eat "gummy" things?"
Darcy: "Uh huh. Gum. Is that something you should have had in your mouth?"

Listen! I'm old. I forget things. I was busy and rushing and, and, and... I put the crown back into my mouth where it stayed for several more hours until it came out again while I was eating mash potatoes. Mash potatoes! That crown had just expired. It had worn out. It put in its time and needed to be replaced. I did that on Tuesday.

My sixth appointment in the dental field was not pleasant. He had to scrap off the bonding agent. He had to clean out decay. He had to irrigate. He had to close up the gaping hole made during the root canal. He had to build up the tooth. He had to put on the crown. At one point three hands were in my mouth at one time. I had wet, goop slashed on to my cheek and into my nostril. My cheek was pinched. The corner of my lip got stuck. The vibrations and the drilling noises made my ears hurt. By the time the two hours were over my jaw had to be massaged just so it would close. I had a pounding headache. I was not in the best frame of mind when my dentist returned to polish and work on the bite.

This is the part I dread. This is where a piece of colored paper is inserted and I bite and grind and then the dentist whittles down the tooth where the color markings are indicated on the tooth. He always does this with gauze under my tongue and in the upper and lower regions of my mouth. How is that normal? How can anyone tell whether the bite is right with all of that in her mouth? I said it didn't feel right and we repeated the routine over again. We did this three times, and then I could feel tears threatening to fall.

Dentist: "How does that feel?"
Me: "It's fine."
Dentist: "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I want to know how it feels."

His annoyance was the last straw. I love my dentist. I do. He is the same man who, when my mother broke her tooth while I was out of town, drove over from his office to her place, hauled her wheelchair down the stairs, got her down the stairs, drove her to his office, fixed her tooth, and then drove her back and got her and the wheelchair back into her condo. He is a saint. I will always be indebted to him for that act of kindness. That is the kind of man he is, but at that point, I was just plain over the damn tooth issue. I had been dealing with this since January. I had eye rolling, and whittling, and non-believers, and pain, pain, pain for six months. I was done.

Me: "It's fine. It's fine. Right now I just want to clean out my mouth. I want a toothbrush to wash away all of the germs I know you people left in my mouth. Is that too much to ask? The least you can do is give me a toothbrush. Can you do that? After all of this, don't I deserve a toothbrush?"

He stared at me with one of those looks my husband sometimes gives me; the "is that a horn sprouting out of her head" look. He sighed.

Dentist: "We will even give you toothpaste. What color would you like?"

I brushed and brushed and brushed. He shook my hand and told me to call him if I needed anything. His assistant began telling me I was due back in August for my five-year blah, blah, blah appointment that would consist of all sorts of horrible mouth things. I turned and ran away.

I ran out of the room and down the hall. I ran around the corner and down another hall past open doors where patients lay reclined, mouths open. I felt so free and imagined my hair blowing out behind me, my feet not even touching the floor. If that office had gone on for miles I would have kept running. Instead, I stopped at the receptionist's desk and told her to hurry and check me out before that lady came around the corner with my chart.

She was too slow. The assistant appeared, told everyone how funny I was, and proceeded to try to get me to schedule an appointment in August. I refused. I told her to go away and torture other patients. I told her that the receptionist and I would deal with it, which we did, and then I went out into my car and promptly burst into tears.

I sobbed. I cried for the six months I had spent on this tooth. I cried for my headache. I cried for pissing off my nice dentist. I cried for my poor mouth that was torn and sore. I cried for my tooth. I cried because I felt sorry for myself. Then I wiped my eyes and called my friend who was in town.

Sharon: "You sound terrible. What's wrong?"
Me: "I've been crying. This whole tooth thing has just done me in."Sniff. Sniff.
Sharon: "Okay. Drive. Come to me. Come over here to me. We will make it all better."

And I did. And she and her kids took me to eat and made it all better. As of today, the pain is minimal and the sores are healing. I am gingerly eating on that side of the mouth. I don't feel weepy anymore. I took a four and a half hour nap. I think the saga is finally coming to an end.  Hallelujah, the crown is finally on!

It didn't happen at Walmart

Madison and I ran into Target recently to pick up some items for the high school end of the year picnic that I was organizing. While I was checking out Madison ran into the bathroom and ran into more than she had bargained. Here is her tale:

As I came around the corner to the restroom this little, old lady was trying desperately to push her Target cart into the restroom door. She was not having much luck, and because she reminded me of Grandma back in the day of trying to get into places with her wheelchair, I jumped in to help her. I offered to hold the door while she pushed the cart into the bathroom. She thanked me and told me that she had broken her back recently and that doing simple little things were not as easy since then. She pushed the cart past me into the bathroom, and I saw that all of her purchased items were hidden in the Target bags. The bags were all tied at the top and then tied to the sides of the cart.

Once in the bathroom she pushed her cart to the handicap stall, but it was occupied by a little boy and his mother and so she stood to wait. I went into the bathroom. I could hear the little boy talking to his mother so I knew it was a little kid in the handicap stall. When I finished and came out to wash my hands the little, old lady was still standing there. I washed my hands, and then feeling sorry for her, I offered to watch her cart while she went into one of the other stalls as the little kid and his mother seemed to be taking quite awhile. THAT was the wrong thing to ask.

Lady: "I know who is in that bathroom. I know who is in there. I recognize him from his voice."
Madison: "Oh?"
Lady: (whispering) "It's little Bobby Scott."
Madison: "Oh?"
Lady: "It's little Bobby Scott, twin of Richard Scott, nephew of Simon Scott, and son of John Scott."
Madison: "Oh. I see."
Lady: "No, you don't see, but I'll tell you. Little Bobby Scott is the son of John Scott, and John Scott is a kleptomaniac. I know this because he has stolen from me. He has my money. $65,000 of my money. He has it, and he stole it, and so I know who is in this bathroom. I never got it back. $65,000. I don't have it. He has it."
Madison: (nodding) (wide-eyed)
Lady: "And really I don't know why they have him working security. He works in security here at Target. I mean, a kleptomaniac working security. You can see how that can be a problem."
Madison: "Well, yes."
Lady: "Because he has all of the footage up there."

At this point she pointed to the sprinklers in the ceiling of the bathroom. There were two of them and she alternated between the two with her pointing and swiveling of her head as she eyed them suspiciously.

Lady: "He has all of the security feeds and with those he has, well, you know."

I had visions of this John Scott going into a rampage in a little booth with television cameras everywhere. I pictured him running around deleting the videos with all of the evidence on them of stuff that he had stolen.

Lady: "I mean, he is just everywhere; hiding and watching. I don't know who is in charge of this Target, but once I find out, and I will find out, I'm going to tell them they have a kleptomaniac working security who hides out in the women's bathroom."

The entire time she was looking from one sprinkler head to the other and then checking the bags that were tied to the sides of her carts. The little boy and his mother had gone silent in the handicap stall as if they could make themselves disappear as this woman continued talking VERY loudly in the bathroom. I realized that she wasn't the little, old Grandma lady I had originally envisioned, and I was wondering how I was going to escape as she got more and more erratic.

Madison: "Would you like me to watch your cart? I could do that and then you could go into another stall?"

She looked at me suspiciously, looked up at the sprinkler heads, looked back at me, and then smiled.

Lady: "I know what. I'll move the cart up to this stall, and I'll leave the door open so I can watch my cart."

And while she was muttering under her breath and moving her cart up to the stall, I turned around and tip toed out the door. I wasn't sure what I thought she was going to do with me, but I was a bit concerned she might recruit me for a super secret spy mission to recovering her $65,000. The exit never looked so good.

Do you want me involved?

Before Madison came home we had an incident. I'm not sure why I started off with that sentence, but I think that is how I tell time now; After Madison Left and Before Madison Came Back. Either way, there was an incident, and it involved Darcy. Darcy is my independent kid. She doesn't need much pushing or pulling. She knows what has to be done, what she has to do to get where she needs or wants to go, and she, for the most part, handles it and completes her tasks. Since she started driving she has become even more independent, and if she had an endless source of money we might never even see her.

She is very involved. She leaves the house at 6:30 during the weekdays and she comes home just in time for dinner. She has multiple activities that she participates in, she volunteers, she works when she can scramble for jobs, and she does her school work which lately has involved AP testing. Every day when she heads off to school I make her take me through her expectations for the day so that I can at least feel that I know where she is at certain times. On the weekends the kid is usually gone. This past month she has had AP studying with teachers and groups of students early on Saturdays before heading off to her other various activities. Occasionally, she returns home between said activities, and it was during one of those times that the incident occurred.

It was the weekend of rehearsals for her school play and as she was the stage manager she was heavily involved. She had returned from her study group, left again to grab a Starbucks, had come back home to study, and had just finished getting ready for rehearsals and was on her way to that. I was worn out from all of her popping in and out of the house, coming and going. I figured I had a reprieve for a few hours as she kissed me good-bye and headed out once again. Before I knew it she had popped back in again.

Darcy: "I just hit somebody. Don't freak out. I just backed into them, but the back of my car is bad."

Don't freak out? What? Of course, I did just that.

Me: "What? OH DARCY. OMG! What?"

There was more, but you get the drift. I ranted and raved while I got up, letting a few choice words slip past my lips, and I peered outside. Her car, the one that use to belong to her grandmother, was still in the middle of the road. The back of the car looked like it was attached to the truck parked across the street. Immediately, I had a flashback to earlier that day when I had watched the driver of that very truck park in that very spot.

Since the sales of houses in our neighborhood have happened due to deaths, we have had new neighbors, and all of them, let me repeat that, ALL OF THEM, have been doing construction on their new houses. Currently, the next-door neighbor and the neighbor katty-corner to me across the street are competing in what I call "construction offs" which means they see who can be the loudest in sawing, hammering, and banging. Various contractors wander the yards shouting. Appliances are delivered. Companies appear to fix or put in all sorts of different things. All of them have vehicles, and all of those vehicles are parked in driveways and in our streets.

I had been emptying my dishwasher that afternoon when the white truck pulled up in front of my neighbor's yard. My neighbor across the street has a circular driveway with a small patch of plants in the middle. One end of her driveway sits off-center across from our driveway. Parking in front of the little plant patch between the entrances to her driveway usually means that an obstacle is in our way when we back out of our driveway. It is a terrible spot to park, and I thought that when I watched the guy park there. Actually, my first thought was "who the hell is this guy" because I am the neighborhood watchdog when it comes to my view from my kitchen window. I can see directly across the street and katty-corner in both directions to view three houses, two of which I know the neighbors well, and the third the current construction house. I even muttered aloud.

Me: "Who the hell is that? Oh, dear lord, it is a worker. What kind of worker bee shows up at this time of the day on a Saturday? Why are you parking there, buddy? The house you want to work at is behind you. Why must you park in my way?"

I watched the guy, who turned out to be the cable man, get out of his truck, make his way to the back and dig out some tools. He left the tailgate down, and I watched as he turned around and walked back to the house katty-corner to us. They had three cars parked in their driveway and two trucks parked in the street in front of their house. The whole thing annoyed me.
,
That is what I flashbacked to when I stood there looking at the current scene; Darcy's car backed up in the middle of the street attached to the white truck's tailgate. I threw my arms into the air, told her to get her car out of the road and to find the owner of the truck, and I went off to put on shoes. Darcy likes to tell people that I did not help her in any way, and this is true. I had no shoes on and had to use the bathroom. Those were my first priorities. I like to think of it as my calming down period. She made it seem like there was considerable damage, and since I did not go out immediately, I took her word for it.

Darcy went to my neighbor directly across the street thinking the owner of the truck was there. He sent her next door. By the time I reappeared with an empty bladder and shoes on my feet, Darcy's car was back in our driveway and she and the gentleman were standing by his truck bed. I headed out the door to join them, stopping first to get a glimpse of our car.

Cable Guy: "Hey. Yeah. Terrible thing. I feel really bad for her. Man. She got the brunt of it. Just terrible luck."

I kept my mouth shut. It was hard. It usually is for me, but what I wanted to snap back was something along the lines of what a moron he was for parking there in the first place. Instead, I walked across the street and stood next to Darcy and looked down at his tailgate. She had backed into the corner of the down tailgate. Had the thing not been down in the first place Darcy would not have hit anything. She saw the truck as she backed up, but she didn't see the tailgate as her car sits higher than the truck's tailgate. Had it been closed she would have stopped, turned her wheel, and continued her turn. Instead, the corner of his tailgate went right through Darcy's hatchback.

See it? Yep, it is difficult, and frankly, not sure that it was caused by my kid, but what could we do? In hindsight, she probably could have driven off and no one would have been the wiser, but she did the right thing instead. The cable guy was writing down Darcy's insurance information, and I told him we needed his. I photographed the damage, trying not to roll my eyes at his "damage" that he was making such a fuss over.

Me: "And your name is?"

Cable Guy: "John."

That was it. John. I refrained from saying, "Smith? Jones?" which immediately sprung into my mind because the next thing out of his mind had me standing incredulous, my mouth hanging open.

Cable Guy: "I'm going to have to call the police."

Me: "What? Are you serious?"

Cable Guy: "Afraid so. I've got to call the police. This is a company vehicle."

Okay, he was doing the right thing too, but really? The police? For that? Listen, I hit the mail truck in this very exact spot, and let me tell you, if all I had done was that kind of damage the mail lady and I would have shaken hands, got back into our vehicles and gone on our merry way. The mail truck, like this cable truck, was beat up and one more dent or turned up corner wasn't going to jump out at any company executive. (Unfortunately, for me, I did more damage to the mail truck than Darcy did to the cable truck.)

Me: "Well, you can call the police all you want, but this is sheriff territory and you will need to call...." I gave him the number acting like a big shot.

Cable Guy: "What? No, I'll call the police."

Me: "You're in the county. This isn't the city. We have the sheriff."

Cable Guy: "Are you sure?"

Me: "I'm sure. I live here."

About that time up drove my husband. He too refrained from rolling his eyes when he saw the damage to the truck. He did look at me with one of those WTF looks. I shrugged. He told me to take Darcy to her rehearsal. He was very calm. We left him to it. Darcy started sobbing immediately when we drove off, and so I told her it was no big deal. I did the mommy bit telling her it could have been worse, everyone has these moments, reminded her of me hitting the poor mail lady's truck, glad it wasn't serious, no one was hurt, blah, blah, blah. I dropped her off into the arms of her cast and drove back to the scene.

No sooner did I enter our house then up drove a highway patrol car. He parked in front of our driveway and we went out to meet him. He was very muscular, wore shades that hid his eyes, and his demeanor was that of a no-nonsense guy. He looked at Darcy's car, gathered what had transpired, and walked down to view the truck bed. The cable guy pulled up the tailgate and pointed out something on the underside. The deputy looked at Tom, and I guarantee behind those shades his eyes were rolling. He stared at the cable guy.

Cable Guy: "Yeah. It's terrible. I feel bad. Her car took the brunt of it."

Highway Patrol: "And you want me involved?"

Cable Guy: "Yeah, I had to call you. It's a company vehicle. I wish I didn't have to, but I do."

HP: "Because if you want me involved then I'll have to issue two citations; one to her and one to you."

CG: "What? Me?"

HP: "It's illegal to park a company vehicle on a residential street in the county."

CG: "I don't believe that. That's not true. Of course, I can park here?"

HP: "You can't park here. Those trucks behind me can't park here. The boat up there in the street can't park here.  All of them should be issued citations too."

CG: "I don't believe that. I don't think you're right."

HP: (silence)

CG: "So I have to take time off of work to go to court to argue that I know I can park on the street?"

HP: "You're in the county. You can park these trucks in the city all you want, but not in the county in a residential neighborhood. If you want to fight that, fight it, but I just came from the court where a woman lost that fight. Do you want me involved in this or not?"

CG: "You could have told me that when I called."

HP: "Do you want me involved or not?"

CG: "Thanks, but we got this."

Through the whole exchange, I stared incredulously at the cable guy. Arguing with a deputy? I'm telling you right now, that is one thing I was taught and will never do; argue with a deputy. It's one of the reasons why I recently didn't get picked for jury duty because I said that very thing.

I'm not saying don't question authority, but these guys put their lives on the line and keep their hands on a gun strapped to their waist. I'll question authority after the fact and after the deputy has gone. Telling him he was wrong about the law? Not something I would have done.

The deputy got back in his decked out car and slowly drove off. Tom and the cable guy became good friends chatting up a storm after he left. I went into my house. I vaguely remember reading about company trucks not being able to park in residential neighborhoods in the paper recently. I remember because I said out loud, "that is ridiculous and not going to happen" when I read it. That will teach me.

The incident died there. Everyone tried to do the right thing and in the end, the right decision was made, I think. The beat-up cable truck isn't going to suffer from the damage. Darcy isn't suffering from her damage. I cringe when I look at the back of her car, but I'm just happy that was all it was because teens driving? That's a whole other ball of wax for me. Tom repaired the damage for $20, and while it isn't pretty there isn't a hole anymore. I'm going to slap a Steelers sticker over the whole thing and beauty it up some.

AWOL but BACK

It's odd, but I haven't read a book in months. I think my knitting, social media, and clearing out my DVR so that Survivor is sure to tape has ruined my reading. Recently, I took my elementary charge to the library to try to interest her in reading at a more appropriate reading level, and to prove how great reading is, I got myself some books. I was so excited to see that all of my favorite authors had been busy writing and publishing on my hiatus, and I was like a kid in a candy factory.

Her: "How many books are you going to get? Jeez."

Yesterday for the first time in a long time I got back online. I've been so busy reading all of my books that I haven't had time to get online, check in on social media, or work on my knitting. I had so many Facebook notifications that the number was starting to blink on my Apple devices...DO YOU SEE ALL OF THE THINGS YOU ARE MISSING? WHERE ARE YOU?  I slogged through as much of it as I could watching Vines, heart tapping photos, and catching up on friend's and family's crappy political views.

Mainly I haven't been blogging. Sorry about that. The month of May in our school life involves IB testing, and I volunteer as a proctor. I'm in charge of rounding up all of the volunteers, making the schedule, and training them. Because of that, when people don't volunteer or show up or call out I slide in to take their place and end up proctoring way too many days. Proctoring involves sitting and being quiet, and frankly, after hours of doing that I'm worn out. Being quiet? For hours? That's like running a marathon for me. I have to come home and take a nap.

The exams finished today. Madison is home. School is winding down. Summer vacation has finally been approved and is slowly being planned. Life is returning to normal. I'm returning to my computer. Thanks for hanging in there with me and continuing to check in daily! I appreciate it.

The end (to bring home the kid)

When I arrived in North Carolina on Friday the high temperature for that day was 55 degrees. The next morning when we got back into the car to head back to the dorm it was 50 degrees. I was in shorts because the jeans I had worn the day before were filthy, not to mention loose on me, something that happens after I've been in them for half a day. I figured that putting back on my purple shirt that couldn't seem to stay buttoned and my pants that fall off of me would probably not excite any of the Tar Heel students and parents moving out. We were at the dorm by 7:45 am. There was no coffee.

I attempted to lift each box again, and except for the one housing pillows and bedding, was unable to do. That started me back in on the over poundage. Madison sighed and then demonstrated what the "college kid who is eager for money and doesn't care" would do.

Madison: "First, he will bring in his dolly and put it under this row of boxes. Even if he takes off the first two boxes he most likely will use the dolly for the last few so he doesn't have to bend all the way over. We'll be fine."

Of course, she was right. The college kid came at 8:30 am and I immediately engaged him in scintillating conversation in order to keep his mind off of the heaviness of the boxes. We talked about the company and how it got started. We discussed why UNC was the only one in the area and why the other two colleges didn't use this company. As he talked, he picked up boxes and carried them outside to a rolling cart. By the time he came to the really heavy one he was deep into educating me, although he did utter a "whoof" and rolled his eyes at the heaviness. Immediately, I asked a question of him and he carried the box out while answering. Madison signed off, the guy bid us a good day, and we waited until he was in the elevator before we jumped up and down.

Me: "Well, I just hope now the suitcases make it through the weigh in."

The only item that didn't fit in either boxes, trunk, or suitcase was her foam bedding. Had we had another box we could have made it fit, but as it was we had to leave it behind. Actually we chucked it, and pretended that we didn't remember the actual cost of the item.

Madison got the student housing girl to go over the room. She came in with her clipboard and check sheet and walked around the room asking questions and making checks in boxes. We said good-bye to Madison's first dorm room, locked it, and followed the girl to the office to hand over the keys and sign the book.

Everything packed up, stored, and completed. Check. One year under her belt. Check. Last semester grades of straight A's. Check. We waved good-bye to UNC and spent the rest of the day eating, shopping, move watching, and reading. The next morning we flew home without incident.

Madison: "I told you the suitcases were fine."

The action (to bring home the kid)

Two weeks before her last day of college I received an email from the storage company. Actually the email was to Madison, but the company always sends a carbon (so to speak) of any communication to the people with the money parents. This email told Madison when and where to pick up her boxes. After that I received an email a day telling me I should probably log on to my account and add some additional boxes "just in case". Everyday I texted Madison and reminded her to get the boxes. On the next to last day she did, and she sent me a picture so that I would "calm down". FYI: Those two words tend to do the opposite.

The boxes didn't look very big to me considering all of the shit stuff I could see piled up around the boxes in the photo, but she assured me they were fine. Then to prove it so I could "calm down", she sent me pictures of one box holding all of her winter clothes. I asked if she thought we should add additional boxes, she told me no, and I continued asking that question for a few more days. I also worried about carrying two suitcases inside of two suitcases, because although Southwest Airlines allows two free bags per passenger wasn't that really four bags? Husband and daughter pooh poohed that, but I told husband to stick around the drop off at the airport just in case.

My flight left at 6:05 in the morning. Let me say that again...IN THE MORNING. That is what I get for allowing my husband to book my flight. We had to stumble up at 4 o'clock and even the dog thought we had lost our minds. I was at the airport by five, through security by 5:30, and in my seat and buckled by 5:45. That was when I also discovered that I had gone through the entire airport with 90% of my blouse unbuttoned. At 5:55 the flight attendant announced that our pilot was a no show. At 6:10 he announced a back up was on the way and that we could get off of the plane, but "stay right near here" because when the back up arrived the plane would be leaving. That scared me enough not to get off the plane, and I spent the next two hours trying to sleep in the three seats I had all to myself. I did not sleep.

The back up, a woman Captain, arrived to much fanfare as we all clapped and hooted and hollered. She got right down to business and we were in the air in a few minutes. The flight to my daughter's college is anywhere between one hour and twenty/forty minutes depending on tail wind and other nonsense that I just nod my head to when announced. I finished my crossword puzzle, did the sudoku, visited the outhouse bathroom, and I was in North Carolina. It took me ten minutes to recover my "wink wink" two suitcases, and then I set about trying to wheel those two and my carry on luggage through the airport, outside across the street, and down the lane to the rental car shuttles. People standing in line for limos and shuttles didn't care that I was struggling and they refused to move back a step as I maneuvered cases, cursing, and muttering.

When I finally got to my shuttle pick up I let out a huge WHOOSH of relief, and the guy next to me, who had been in front of me in line to get on the plane, struck up a conversation. He continued the conversation while we waited, while we got on the shuttle, while we drove on the shuttle, and it wasn't until a seat finally opened up that I got away from him. I texted my friend Kelly my unbuttoned blouse situation, and she responded with glee that I was actually in North Carolina having heard about our AWOL pilot.

Kelly: "Did the back up arrive or did a small group of passengers band together and fly the plane themselves?"
Me: "I flew the damn thing with the knowledge I've learned through countless episodes of television, and I did it with my purple blouse unbuttoned! Go me! Wonder Gal!"

The shuttle driver stopped, jumped out, mumbling things about National and Alamo, and thinking I was suppose to get off I hauled my cases off of the shuttle with help from no one. The driver who stood below me on the pavement asked me if I was National, and when I replied Alamo, he sadly shook his head, looked at my three suitcases (guess what buddy, there are really five!), and told me I could walk it wasn't far. Then he jumped back into the shuttle and drove two arms length to the front door. I tried hard to beat him there, but the wheels on one of the suitcases refused to cooperate and the carry on handle kept pinching my hand between it and the other suitcase handle. I did get inside the place before the entire bus emptied out, and I stumbled into a long line where I released my hold on the cases which promptly fell over. I righted them while the line moved forward, and then I had to start all over again moving forward with the cases, and of course, when I stopped the cases fell over again. This went on in quick succession for three rounds before the line stopped long enough for me to look down and notice that my blouse was once again unbuttoned and my breasts encased in my purple, lacy bra exposed for all to see. That explained my gentleman friend and the sad look from the driver, but it didn't explain the fact that neither one helped this obviously, poor, sad, overworked, unclothed woman!

From there things brightened. I got an upgraded car because they were out of the midsize. I had no traffic to the campus. My daughter was up and waiting for me to arrive. The dorm room, however, looked like a tornado had come through, and because I had been up since 4:00, had no coffee, and had only eaten four peanuts and five pretzels on the plane I was not at my best. Madison's roommate was packed and heading out so that meant that everything still in the room was ours, and we had to fit it all into five boxes and four suitcases. We started doing just that.

The storage company had sent an email that morning (I mean why send it earlier so people could prepare?) on how to pack and how the boxes could not weigh more than 50 pounds, yet another restriction that had me yelling like a crazy woman. Madison had one box already packed, but it weighed 500 pounds since she just threw things in it willy nilly, and so I started with that one unpacking it to lighten the load. Madison was doing her laundry because that's what this college kids does, waits until the last minute. I probably should blame myself, but I know I've taught her better and worked years on drilling that home. After a time, parents just have to let kids figure it out. I built all of the boxes, distributed the weight, folded laundry, packed suitcases, and may have done some yelling. Madison cleaned, packed boxes, moved laundry from washer to dryer, packed her trunk, went through her college notebooks, and tossed out stuff she didn't need anymore. She packed her books to ship back to Amazon. By the time we ran out of tape we had most of the work done.

We left. We ate, and I had coffee. We went to the UPS store and stood in line with other college students to ship her books. We stopped for more tape. We debated on going back, but deep down we knew we had to finish. The storage company was coming to pick up the next morning between 8:00 - 10:00 and the dorm closed for the summer at 10:00. We had to keep chugging. We went back and seriously got to work. By the time we were done it was almost six. We stacked up the boxes with the lightest on top.

Me: "We are so not going to make the 50 pound limit. I wonder what the upcharge will be."
Madison: "Oh, please. I've seen these guys. They are college kids with dollies who will come in here and shove it under the boxes."
Me: "There is probably a weight counter on the dolly."
Madison: "Uh, no. Mom, please. We will be fine."
Me: "The suitcases are probably over 50 pounds too and the airline will charge for that too."
Madison: "The suitcases are not over 50 pounds. They are fine. Calm down."

We locked the doors, checked into our hotel, showered and were in bed and asleep by 9:30 pm.

Birthday Shout Out #13

Here I am once again hit in the face with a birthday during a time of craziness in my own head life. My nephew Austin graduated from college this past Saturday. WHAT? I know. I feel like he was just born and now he is out of college and out in the hard, cruel world. I didn't get to attend his graduation because my daughter was finishing her first year of college. Due to the ridiculous planning of getting daughter, it was impossible to add in a flight to Indiana to watch my nephew snatch that coveted piece of paper that pretty much doesn't guarantee a job or happiness. I did, however, get a graduation card out to him prior to the big day inside a box of birthday gifts for his sister whose big day was the beginning of April. (Hey, she got a shout out video and a gift from my husband on her big day)

As I packed the box, the thought that I should also throw in his birthday card and gift did occur. It was there, along with the thought of not having a gift card for him which would mean another delay in the package getting mailed, and then the thought was gone and the box taped up and mailed. His looming birthday went right out of my head and in its place went my life, which consisted of IB senior exam proctoring and scheduling and bringing home my daughter. Now suddenly, today, I am hit with the knowledge that my nephew's birthday is here.

Whoa. Happy Birthday Austin. I wasn't prepared. He doesn't read my blog unless forced to by his mother so giving him a shout out probably wouldn't have occurred to me had I not had all of the other things going on right now. But as I thought about the fact that I have been remiss in blogging these last couple of weeks, I realized I should probably send a birthday shout out just to give me something to blog. Then came the realization that this kid was born prior to digital cameras and that would mean lots of hard work scanning photos. I took a nap instead.

Now here it is the eve of the birthday, and I'm sitting at my computer feeling guilty. I mean, he is my nephew. Technically, the first one I remember coming into this world, and so I'm slogging through photos and thinking of nice things to say in hopes that his mother will make him read this and he will forget that he hasn't yet received a card from his sweet, loving Aunt Cara.

Birthday Shout Out - Austin Hogan

Austin arrived to much fanfare in the family because he was the first male to carry on the precious name, a big thing to the males on that side of the family. He didn't much care about all of that because for a baby that came out of tiny mother this kid was HUGE and hungry. That's what I remember most about him in the beginning. He ate all of the time.

He also changed my family as babies often do. Before Austin my parents were uncertain of the parents' young love and marriage. After Austin that suddenly didn't seem so important. My parents doted on this kid, worshiped this kid, and loved him like they had never loved another baby before him. He changed the dynamic of everyone's way of life. Suddenly my brother was a father, my parents were grandparents, and everyone else in the family started talking baby talk and crawling around on the floor. I hadn't really seen all of these people interact with a baby before, and at times it was certainly a sight to see.

I remember the first time he visited us in Florida. He followed Tom around the outside of our house watering plants and repairing and painting whatever Tom was doing. Later I taught him how to eat watermelon and spit out the black seeds. He took a huge chunk out of the watermelon chewed it up for awhile and then leaned over and spit the whole thing out, quite proud of himself.

He was a happy kid, always smiling, always busy. He loved to play. He loved to use his imagination. He was cautious, gentle, sweet and kind, and so loving with most everyone he meet. When Madison came along he took her under his wing and taught her everything there was to show a new addition to the group.

As more and more women entered his life he didn't bat an eye. He has always wrapped his arms around Madison, Gabby, and Darcy. He has played hours of crazy games with them. He has dressed up in costumes and put on plays with them. He has loved them and guided them and has always had their backs.

I couldn't be more proud of the man he is today. He has his father's sense of humor, and can have an entire room in the palm of his hand. Like his father, his head swells, but for the most part he is centered and confident and very comfortable with who is he.

Happy Birthday Austin. You've brought so much love into our family on your arrival, and you haven't stopped. I wish you tons of great things as you go forth into the world. We love you mightily.

Oh, and remember that Aunt Cara started off your acting career way back in the day....

The plan (to bring home the kid)

Life has suddenly excelled. It always happens this time of the year. You think I would know by now, be ready for it, but I always seem to be mildly surprised when it is suddenly here knocking me in the face and whipping my head around. I tell people there are three periods in a year for us; the beginning of school from August to December which starts out hurried, frantic, and finally peters out to a steady calm until the holidays approach. The second half is the middle from January to May which starts out steady and boring and finishes hurried and frantic. The latter part of the year is summer. Summer is great and fast and over before we can blink (especially this summer which was cut by two weeks by our local government officials) and then it's time for the beginning again.

May arrives with warmer weather and projects, that were assigned months ago, due NOW. This year we had an addition to our routine; college ends and the kids return home. In my defense I tried to plan earlier in the middle half of our year. "It is coming," I told everyone. "Let's batten down, prepare, stock up, make plans." But everyone rolled their eyes, Madison griped about finals, Darcy had a play, Tom was on call, and so I was left alone to deal with what I knew was coming. So I picked the end of college as my focus because this was new, something I had never done before, and therefore something I thought needed extra planning.

I started out reminding my husband of the exact day that Madison was finished. I said it anytime someone asked about Madison. "She's great. She's finished on May 7th."  I said it anytime someone asked what day it was. "It's March 15th. Only one and a half months before Madison is finished on May 7th." Then I would expound on it reminding my husband that we had to bring back all of the stuff we had hauled up there, not to mention bring back the daughter.

Tom: "Why are you talking about that in March? That's months away."

My husband is not a planner. He is a winger. He will disagree with that statement somewhat, but trust me, planning ahead is not his forte. He tells me I worry too much (true). He says I need to relax (true). He tells me these things are not big deals (false). Of course it is a big deal. It was a big deal when we loaded up the van and crammed our four bodies in between the belongings drive the ten hours to North Carolina. How could bringing back all of that stuff, not to mention the daughter, not be a big deal? While the other daughter was still here in high school? B I G D E A L. But not much is a big deal to my husband, and everything eventually works out in the end, and "why are you making this such a big deal?"

My friend SueG heard me rant and rave about this predicament, and told me that her niece, who flew even farther from Florida to Boston, stored her stuff with a company at school. I passed that information on to Madison during one of our Facetime chats and she actually looked it up. Lo and behold there was a company that came in and picked up your stuff, stored it for the summer, and had it waiting in your dorm room on the day you returned for the next school year. Husband loved the idea, we signed up for five storage boxes, and Madison's roommate took the bigger items to use at summer school. One crisis marked off my list.

Now on to the plan to get said daughter back home with the large amount of stuff that she "desperately needed for the summer" which included books, clothes, shoes, and books. Up piped SueG who volunteered to road trip it up with me to gather daughter and belongings. We planned it out. I told husband who flipped out.

Tom: "You can't ask her to do that."

We spent two hours going round and round about how to get Madison home. We ended with him going with me, but because he was on call that week he would have to find someone to switch weeks. Six days of me nagging asking him if he had done this resulted in his not being able to go and instead plane tickets were purchased. I am now to fly to North Carolina with two suitcases inside of two other suitcases on Southwest who allows two free suitcases per passenger. I will help Maddy pack up her storage boxes, help her pack up her suitcases, and we will both fly back home.

I suppose I shouldn't complain...we have a plan.

Jacaranda 2016

It is finally spring in Florida. Each year either in March or April we know it is spring from the blooming of the Jacaranda trees. I write about these beautiful, purple trees each year because I love them. My husband doesn't love them because they bloom, hang for a week, and then shed the gorgeous, lavender petals blanketing the grass. He hates the carpet part, and refuses to get me a tree.

The purple blooms pop up practically over night. One day it is winter, and the next day the Jacaranda is alive and purple spring is in the air. I love to drive anywhere because among the other trees you can always spot a Jacaranda. I know where most of the trees are located on my familiar daily routes, and I know which trees produce tons of petals, and which trees could use a little fertilizer and more tender, loving care.

When my children were little I invented the Jacaranda car game. Each time a tree is spotted the person who yells, "Jacaranda!" first gets a point. The person who has the most points when we reach our destination is the winner. For two weeks each March or April we play that game every time we are in a car together. All of the girls' friends knew the game. I'm sure it is one of the things I will be remembered for because no one can resist yelling out, "Jacaranda!" when they spot one from the car window. Unfortunately, this year I had no one to play with because Madison is away at college and Darcy drives herself everywhere. Tom halfheartedly plays, but I'm too good for him. I've taken now to texting, "Jacaranda!" to my kids each time I see one by myself or I send a Snapchat photo. It makes me a bit sad.

This year the trees bloomed late. They are not as full this year either. The trees grow really tall, another reason Tom doesn't want one, and are bare in the winter. Slowly in March the greenery appears and fills out the tree before the purple petals too appear as regrowth continues. Not so much green growth is appearing as usual, but perhaps that means the purple trees will be colorful a bit longer than usual. I hope so. These darn trees just make me so happy.

Here's to spring!