Do What?

It's happened again.

That dull look on the face of my long suffering husband when I relate what is apparently a 'chick moment' that he simply cannot relate to or with.

Meanwhile, my eyes are flooded with tears, my sides ache and I can't breathe from laughing so hard at whatever it was that turned the giggle box over.

When I regain enough composure to ask why he isn't laughing, he replies, 'It must be a girl thing."

Alrighty then.

Humor IS subjective. But the difference between male and female humor apparently has a demilitarized zone. Who knew?

Lines from movies like "Steel Magnolias" that send me into a virtual apoplectic fit of laughter scarcely garner a notice from Rick. Likewise, comic strips that leave me helpless with laughter don't even register one tick on the mirth meter for my husband.

But he will laugh himself silly over things that leave me scratching my head.

For years, I attributed this difference to the regions of the U.S. which were our birthplaces. I just assumed western humor and southern humor were three different things.

But now I realize that it goes far deeper than I once supposed.

Differences in male humor and female humor trumps all regional and societal norms. It truly is Venus and Mars.

How to bridge the gap? Once in a while, we find humor in the same phrase. And we use it as a secret code between us in social settings to remind us of those close moments of shared comedy that define our humor zone. The humor zone, like the erogenous zone, must be stimulated regularly or it withers away.

But not everyone is triggered by the same stimulation.

While I can appreciate the subtle intricacies of the 3 stooges, I prefer a brand of comedy that is a bit more emotional and more intellectual. I'm no slouch. I DO enjoy a good pie to the face and a bit of seltzer down the pants from time to time, provided I'm on the watching end and not the receiving end.

Having said that, you have to know that too much of a good thing can dull the senses and ruin the comedy appetite for me. After all, too many pies are too many pies.

So what defines what is funny to us?

Circumstance, upbringing, gender . . . I'm not sure.

Regardless of how many times I see it, the movie 'What's Up, Doc?' cracks me up. I know it well enough to say the lines along with the actors. But it is STILL funny. To me.

Have you had a laugh today? May I recommend one? You'll feel better.

Another day, another bus

Back to school for Jared today.

The summer has flown past us with calendar items filling the days and nights and travel taking virtually the entire month of July away.

Now, we are barely into August and the dog days of summer while the school year now presses upon us all.

Jared is a sophomore.

Just saying those words seems somewhat odd. When he was just so tiny in the ICU with wires and hoses and all kinds of machinery hooked up to him to preserve life, we weren't sure he would make it through the day.

Now, we are fast approaching his 16th birthday, which is a feat that at least one doctor was certain would never happen. I wonder if it would be rude to look her up and remind her of her dire predictions now.

But the bus will be here soon.

His new driver called to tell us the approximate ETA for her arrival. She just lives around the corner from us and this is a new inner city route that will take the special needs children to their magnet school in our community. I assured her that the school is accustomed to things taking longer for the special needs kids.

She said Jared is the second child she picks up for the day. She also said she is excited to get to know us. The feeling is mutual.

While we will miss "Miss Nancy" who has been his driver for years, we continue to press onward knowing that all things change.

But regardless of the optimism in the air of this newly minted school year, it is still too soon to be back in school.

In my miscreant youth, school didn't start ringing the bells until after Labor Day. Then some idiot decided to start the last week of August. That was hot enough.

But now, because we cannot get a State School Superintendent who has the nerve to say that ALL schools receiving ANY state money at all MUST have the same calendar, everyone is on their own terms in preparing a calendar for the year. Dumb.

The children will survive just fine without a fall break and a parenting day break and a virtual month at Christmas. They don't need breaks for all of the various postal days off. What they need is a consistent schedule and a later start date. They even toss in 'weather days' just in case we get some . . . weather, I mean.

How dumb is that? The days are off days built in. Sadly, they never coincide with bad or threatening weather so they aren't really a brilliant idea. Poor planning if you ask me.

Then there are the days where students do nothing but take mandatory tests to see how well they are doing. Sure, those are meant to ensure that the "No Child Left Behind" standards are being met. Brilliant. This is the same plan that would have my severely disabled, short bus riding child to be in a mainstream classroom.

Again, we are back to poor planning.

So, as we get geared up with new and shiny supplies and clothes and an array of equipment to meet Jared's needs for the school year, we welcome the new driver and miss the old one, we revel in the thought that the weekend is only three days away and remember the days when summer was actually all summer long.

Time to board the yellow cheese box for the hot ride to the school.

Rant and Rave

HOLY FLAMING MOSES!!! Is it too much to ask that the people in the school system have a lick of sense? They are, after all, responsible for the education of our children!!!!

When I went to the school Friday to drop off the first installment of supplies and equipment for Jared to start the school year on Aug. 6th, there was a musty, dusty, nasty sort of odor that I hoped was just the usual 'this room has been closed up all summer' smell.

But NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The carpet was MOLDY and had delightful mildewed places all over it.

Now I am a semi-reasonable woman, but how could ANYONE believe this was okay to just rinse off and hope for the best???

Even if the children in the room were alleged to be normal, this isn't a good thing, people!!

Mold and mildew create all sorts of illnesses that are tough for healthy persons to cope with, but the children in Jared's class are handicapped both physically and mentally not to mention the various health issues that are a constant challenge to them on a daily basis.

Jared is an asthmatic. Anyone see a problem here? Mold plus asthma doesn't bode well for the final equation. Since he spends several days each year out of school with breathing issues up to and including hospitalization from time to time, this exposure cannot possibly be good.

I called the principal, I called the superintendent, I emailed the Special Needs liason person and I made sure I sent a copy of all of the emails to not only the above named people, but also to the classroom teacher. While she knows about this mess, she is powerless to do ANYTHING about it without going through the 'proper channels'.

I wonder how fast they'd move their collective asses if THEY had to deal with that kind of mess?

Sort of makes me want to go and remove the carpet myself and put it into THEIR offices. Bet they'd be angry and indignant. Good. Now they know how I feel.

I understand about money issues. But for the life of me I do not understand why we have the money to build athletic facilities but can't replace ONE DAMN ROOM of carpeting for the most fragile students in the school!!!

Yeah, I know. Stop swearing. I'm reasonably sure it will add one more coal to the fires of hell I will be roasting in soon. But I am angry that this doesn't seem to be a priority to them at all.

They can't plead total ignorance on this either. Jared's teacher told me she found out about it DAYS ago. Which means that the custodial and administrative staff knew about it before that.

I saw trucks there at the school Friday working on various building and construction and renovation projects. Yippee. So obviously money is being expended for work on the school. Somebody needs to pony up the cash to make this right. Their argument will be, of course, that they have 'plans' to build a NEW building for the handicapped students in the 0910 school year. Great. I'm all for that.

But what does that do for them NOW?!?!?!?! And what guarantees do we have, any of us, that their plans will actually come through. Plans can change and often do leaving the disabled kicked to the curb because 'they won't notice'.

Is it always wrong to do the right thing without permission? And are there times in which asking forgiveness for having done the right thing is preferable to waiting for the needed permissions that may simply never come because they are too busy scratching their indecisive asses?

Okay.

Take a deep breath.

Take another one because I am still mad.

Take a third breath.

Hell's bells! No amount of sucking in oxygen will make me less frustrated and upset over this one!

Grrrrrr!!

Time to call the teacher and see what, if anything, has been done from Friday's teacher's meetings.

I imagine they will say they have set aside a couple of bucks to shampoo the carpet.

I'll be willing to set aside a couple of bucks to BURN IT. I'll even provide the match and the kerosene. At least then they would HAVE to replace it.

But that would be evil and wrong. I should trust that the 'system' will care enough about these kids to do the right thing.

There's always a first time for everything.

Bills, bills, bills

Bills.

They mark the passage of YOUR money into THEIR hands, whoever they are.

Recently, I have been enjoying telephone combat over a series of bills which came in Jared's name.

Hilarious!

The delightful phone entities always ask to speak to him. After MONTHS of unsuccessful negotiation with these Children of God who work for Satan, I am at my wits' end and for those who know me, it was a short trip.

I have REPEATEDLY explained in a patient tone that Jared CAN'T come to the phone because he is aphasic. After then explaining what THAT means, I'm to the point where I have just become brutally honest with these poor folks who are trying to eke out a living in the worst possible job field there is.

The phone calls generally go something like this:

RING RING

Hello.

May I speak with Jared Merrill (which they generally pronounce as "Jair-Rod More-reel")?

Jared can't come to the phone, may I take a message, I'm his mother?

No, we need to speak to him directly about a debt he owes.

Do tell, Jared owes you money? For what, if you don't mind me asking?

We need to discuss this with him.

You CAN'T discuss this with him because he is aphasic. He is also a totally disabled 15 year old CHILD.

(Silence)

Now, how can I help you with this issue.

Generally, this is where their happy little train of thought derails in a most unpleasant manner.

After explaining his medical history to the disgruntled operator, I indicate that since he is totally disabled, his medical bills at this point should ALL be referred to Alabama Medicaid.

Then I ask for the name of the company who referred us to this collections agency. The last phone call I got, the nice man on the phone working for Satan said "I can't give you that information." To which I replied, then I can't help you any.

He said if you will just verify your information, then we can get this matter taken care of.

Do what?

YOU CALLED ME, MINION? YOU CALLED ME!

Whereupon I generally tell them that I don't know them, haven't done business with their company and will NOT give them private information which could then be used to create fake ID's in my son's name.

They are not amused and frankly, neither am I.

Then, I ask to speak to a supervisor. Tony, who was trying in vain to pry personal data from me (most of which is on the computer screen in front of this nimrod), transferred me to Mike who did nothing to help. NOTHING whatsoever.

Finally, I got the name of the company which THEY said put this matter into collections.

So, being bighearted, I cut them some slack and tell them I'll call the company directly and find out just what fool punched the wrong button on the billing cycle statements.

Then, the process starts all over again when I call and speak to some chick named Kita. I have spoken to Kita frequently enough to hum the song that is on her voicemail announcement. Then, after jumping through the 7 hoops of flaming death to reach the lowest level of telephone hell, I get to speak to another lady, who has yet to tell me her name, but who is actually helpful.

If I knew her name, I'd send HER flowers.

We get the file open and see that it has already been flagged to REMOVE from collections. Because we NEVER owed them anything. Not one red cent.

And Jared didn't open a contract with them at all. Not that I would mind if he were capable of so doing. That would be fabulous. Because that would mean his butt would be out working somewhere to PAY for the account.

But I digress.

The point here is that these faceless and most of the time nameless people are just doing a job which they probably hate as much as we hate getting the calls from them. They work for Satan because they have kids to feed, a mortgage to pay and an ex who hounds them for money 24/7 because they want money but don't want to work to obtain it.

I try to be patient.

Sometimes, I am.

So next month, when I stroll out to my mailbox, I fully expect to see the same bills once again. The amount on them varies from billing cycle to billing cycle. I assume that is an exercise in seeing if I am paying attention to it.

Jared doesn't care. He doesn't have to talk to them on the phone. All he cares about is that Mommy stops shouting to the 'nice' man on the phone who is demanding information be tendered when none is forthcoming.

Maybe someday, all of this will get sorted out. In the meantime, we just pray that the Lord will say 'It is enough' in Jared's behalf and he can be restored to perfect form and condition.

I wonder if it is illegal to put a bomb in my OWN mailbox? Just to blow up the bills, you understand? I could run the trailing wires up to my porch where I could sit with Jared and help him push the button to activate the charge of dynamite I can whip up with my chemistry set.

KABOOM!!!

The next time they call, I could then honestly say, I'm sorry, but I haven't seen that particular bill.

It's a thought . . .