ARRIVING T-minus 5 hours!!
Arrive at zoo at 8:13 a.m. Remember this is my second trip since the parking was super-ridiculous on Monday. Lo! My luck has changed as there is plentiful, close-in parking. I became suspicious after pushing the stroller to the turnstile area and noting the tourists lurking about and, um, the closed windows as far as the eye could see. There were LOTS of zoo employees sweeping and washing things, however. I asked and was told that the zoo "has never opened at 8 a.m.". That's right, 45 minutes early. So, I snapped a photo of Charlie and loaded the kids back into the van. So discombobulated was I that I did a clever manuever of driving the front two wheels upon the little parking space block. (Note: that morning I noticed some type of rubber flap hanging askew under the front underside of the van -- clearly, I'd bottomed out on one of SD's famous street drainage dips. Ugh.)
So, with 45 minutes to burn and Tim out of an Rx, I thought "I'll pop over and start the pharmacy process and fetch when I bring Tim for his physical." (The zoo is about 3 minutes from the Naval hospital).
I enter the compound -- and for the second straight day am faced with Terrible, Horrible, No-Good parking. I am circling and fretting that I will spend all my time on this and fail to handle the zoo. Let me insert this tricky constraint: My sitter was to arrive at 9:45 a.m. so that I could fetch Tim for his appointment sans Charlie Who Hates the Hospital.
Circling, circling, and I careen past my old standby, the Drug Screening Lab (which has two disabled parking spots that are almost always empty). One was and so I pulled in. 8:34 a.m. But I'm just not as lucky as one might think. As I'm fastening LLGA into the stroller before plucking the wailing Charlie into the sunshine, a hagmobile pulls up and its driver rolls her window down and calls to me. I whirl around, and realize my manners will be tested as she proceeds to holler, "Do you really think YOU NEED that disabled spot?"
Somehow she managed to punch two consecutive words...points to her.
How Ben's IA Changed the Crab Queen, Installment One:
The old me would have felt guilt for her inconvenience.
The new me, recognizing that I would be pushing a stroller uphill dragging a most reluctant companion, felt absolutely nothing -- correction, felt simple irritation that I would need to invest my precious time interacting with this person.
I threw up my arms and projected back, for all to hear:
"I have a disabled person inside the vehicle.
The State of California issued him a permanent placard.
Not his placard.I am unaware that the State of California has a tiered placard system in which your placard trumps his placard.
Ma'am, do you really think YOU need to HARASS me today?"
Oh yes I did.
"It was just a question," she said.
Close enough, with apologies to the woman featured."As was mine. Good day." I snarled.
I did wonder Whatinthehades she thought I would do...REALLY?!
Take the baby out of the stroller, reinsert her in her carseat, put my purse, the diaper bag, etc. bag into the van, and leave the space to rejoin the circling, moving queue of vultures?!
In fact, due to time and impatience, Charlie rode on my back while I pushed LLGA uphill (did I mention uphill??) I started to suspect some type of exercise-induced angina and made him walk in the courtyard. I was repaid for this expectation with wailing, weeping, gnashing of teeth. My only small joy was watching all the people on blue teeth (TM) feeling my pain. Admittedly, I was a grumpy junior hag.
He pulled it together approximately 8 minutes into our 17 minute pharmacy experience. It only took three tries to explain that I would be back later (breaking the standing rule of donating an hour to the pharmacy waiting area) to process a 4-day emergency fill. Don't get me started on the Post-IA Redistribution of Labor and How the Male Crab thought the meds refilled themselves. Granted, the Charming Male Crab has been giving Tim meds, which has been a nice respite.
Back to the van...get Charlie in his seat, strap LLGA in her seat, collapse the stroller, stow the gear, and drive to the zoo (third time, with feeling), arriving at about 9:02 a.m. Parking is far less joyous, but we found something (yes, placard-requiring). This time Charlie walks far more cooperatively and I find myself third in a line of three at membership.
Oh, no. The first in the line of three is giving an oral dissertation of how the membership freebies have changed. "I've been a member of the Zoological Society since 1980-(something) and it's NEVER been this way before." 13 minutes. No other window opens, we're all just standing there although more and more join the line to witness. By the way, only at minute 9 of the discourse does she actually agree to the transaction for the dude to begin processing the membership. Egads. I was bonding with 3 biker guys and 1 biker babe.
Oh but wait, the next grouping is Grandma and Grandpa where Tagalog is the native tongue. Their 10-y-o grandson is playing interpreter. Biker Group and I start to foam at the mouth. Finally, our turn. I have an Rx pad note and Charlie's IEP as the zoo allows persons with disabilities to have an attendant accompany them free. Unlike the hag, the zoo-dude waves off these documents..."I believe you." And this is Charlie acting like a plaster saint! Although I'm guessing him calling the koala a kangaroo (both relatives of the opossum, I'd note!) and saying "wes" (for "yes") may have given him away.
But there's more: Active-duty military are free. So I have to reconfigure our membership. GMK is now a pass-holder. Yahoo. And we're off.
I zoom home, until I climb the hill on our street. I'm behind the world's slowest driver. Oh, but wait, she's our sitter -- early by 19 minutes.
Off again, fetch Tim and re-enter the hospital parking-spot-seeking vulture fray. 24 minutes of driving around. It is grim. We go to the fifth of five levels of the parking deck and you cannot drive because everyone is at a dead stop, in shock of there being NO spots at all. By a true St. Anthony miracle, I pull down a side aisle (just to get out from behind a particularly agape driver) and happen upon a departing couple.
Props to Patty SW for training me well.
Tim is checked in precisely at the check-in time. We sit. Tim's vitals are taken only to be redirected back to the waiting room. LLGA awakens from a too-short nap. We sit some more. I am now using diaper wipes to wipe of the waiting room books and trying to keep Tim from touching every surface and then putting hands in his mouth. Much Purell (TM) was involved. We sit some more. I calculate the percentage of waiters that are carrying a contagious problem (vs. those who appear to be present for immunizations/physicals/weight-checks). This mental arithematic reverie is jarred by Tim's announcement in a booming voice, "LUCY HAS A STINKY DIAPER...I NEED TO CHANGE IT." Thank you, and now could St. Anthony please find me a hole to curl up inside?
Change the diaper. Return to see that Tim's still sitting. The nurse approaches to whisper that the doctor's running about 5-10 minutes behind. Instinctively, I twist my head to check the wall clock.
TRA-LA! There, perched upon a filing structure beneath the clock and only visible from certain parts of the room, is LLGA'S LOST (my first) DOLLY!
I leap to my feet and rush the front desk (because, of course, there may be a sudden choir of us, claiming that baby-doll as our own.
I point and stammer, "It's our lost baby! I mean, my daughter dropped that yesterday and I never thought we'd see it again."
A nurse's aide stands up to reach it and I keep going, unable to stop myself, "It's our dolly if there's squash-colored spit-up on it's bonnet."
I blame the hag for putting me in such a state.
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Rest of the day was far less entertaining. Tim's a moose, officially, but a moose that requires no further immunization (until flu shot season).
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Way less entertaining to lose water service. "About an hour" turned into more like four hours, including Charlie's therapy and through dinnerhour. Nothing like showering with sediment. LLGA's bathtime was even more succinct than usual, to her disappointment.
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Also way less entertaining to interact with the school district program manager. She tried to tell me that we couldn't have an IEP until after school started. Since I made a thirty-day timeline request, she has a problem. I didn't call her and so she got the Crab Queen Post-Hag.
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Jamie called after 9 p.m. A much happier, well-adjusted Jamie. He is loving the Polar Bear Plunge, which involves a hazing-like ritual at 7 a.m. involving crawling and "ar-ar-ar'ing" and then rolling into the cold pool and then swimming across saying something about polar bears. And there was bb-gun-shooting, so camp is great now. Although Ben received instructional coaching on the Proper Tent Etiquette from our pack's Woodbadge Emeritus. That constructive criticism didn't sit well with the Prospective CO/Navy Commander/38-year-old/Father-of-five/Eagle Scout. He claims to have played it cool, but I have a sneaking suspicion that "the Face" came out to play.
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I even wrapped presents for Tim. It took our IHSS worker prompting and assisting me in this task but we are ready for Timapaloosa and Mikey's Excellent Vacation to commence!
1 comment:
Glad St. Anthony pulled thru for you!
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