It's A Bit Chili Out There! - good thing we had a gift card!

Times have been tough lately, and we had just finished stretching a few dollars on some grocery items. And I do mean stretching. A few things that could be combined with a few staples already in the pantry, to create several evening meals for a family of five.

So how did we end up with a veritable smorgasbord of delicacies from Chili's restaurant for dinner tonight? With one simple ingredient: a leftover balance on an old gift card.

Months ago, during Employee Appreciation Week, Hubsy had received two Chili's gift cards from management. We saved them for a few months to be able to treat ourselves to an anniversary dinner. We used one whole card, and a teensy bit of the other.

Now lately, as you know, we've had it kinda rough. Although my Darling Hubsy wrestled with his intestinal symptoms, we were actually able to wrangle some good news out of this day, and wanted to celebrate. (The GI Specialist agreed to do Hubsy's Colonoscopy, even though we couldn't afford the $800 fee, up front, that he was originally asking.

Taking the gift card, that held a balance of $43.10... we ordered 2 of Chili's "Two for Twenty" meal deals. Each meal comes with an appetizer plate, and two entrees, with sides. We ordered online and picked it up an hour later. Of course, with tax, there was a tiny overage.  Are you ready for this?

The Appetizers:

• Fried Cheese Sticks
• Spiced Panko Onion Rings

The Meals:

• Half Rack of BBQ Ribs
• Crispy Chicken Crispers (chicken strips)
• Bacon Ranch Chicken Quesadillas
• Chicken and Pork Carnitas Fajitas

The Sides:

• Loaded Mashed Potatoes 
• Homestyle Fries
• Flavored Rice

We brought it home and spread it all out on the kitchen counters, and all five of us lined up for the buffet that costs us a total of FIVE DOLLARS out of pocket!

God Bless Us... Everyone!

The Circus Hits Rock Bottom

Hubsy had been in distress for weeks. At first we thought it was because of the enormous amount of stress he was under at work. I won't go into all that right now because it hardly matters at this point. (Insert description of disgusting symptoms, that Hubsy would rather I not post, here).

We had no choice but to rush him to the "franchise clinic" that I mentioned in previous posts, which gave him some meds and excused him from work. After a few days with little relief, he and Punkin (who was still suffering the effects of a month long flu) went for the long trek to our family practice. (I had mentioned this in my previous post). The practitioner he saw was concerned about his symptoms and felt that enough had been enough.

You see, Hubsy has had previous bouts of this sort of thing. He's had multiple colonoscopies, He's spent time in the hospital for ulcerative colitis and diverticulitis. Like his back troubles, it's been an ongoing thing, but for some reason, now it's getting worse. Doc gave him the typical meds, and ordered lots of lab tests.

A week later, at the re-check, his symptoms were not improving. After consulting with the Head Doc of the practice, they immediately admitted him to the hospital. Go Directly to the 3rd floor... Do not pass the ER... do not pay the $300 co-pay. (We'll bill ya later).

Three days and two nights at the luxurious Hotel Hospital included bags and bags of fluids and multitudes of medications. A cute little student vampire with violet hair emptied two thirds of his blood into an entire tray of little glass vials. But I guess that was appropriate for Halloween night.

The diagnosis was Crohn's Disease. At least they're 99% sure it is. The 1% supposes that it could be ulcerative colitis. To-MAY-to ... To-MAH-to. All that's left to do now is endure a couple of endoscopic procedures to know for sure, and to assess the extent of the damage to his gut.

Hmm, what else? Oh yeah... and they fired him from work within a week after leaving the hospital. We now have zero income, and will be losing our health insurance in about two weeks.

We are now in the process of filing for several social service programs. We do not yet know if Hubsy will ever be able to return to the blue collar working world. Right now it's a waiting game.

And like Tom Petty has always taught us "The waaaaait-ing is the hardest part".  

...We Would Have No Luck At All

This post is actually the second part to my previous post "If It Weren't For Bad Luck", in which I began the story of our downward spiral ever since we've moved to this North Raleigh town. The previous post took place in the Spring. When Summer arrived, the elevator dropped again.

Hubsy became very ill and returned to the "franchise clinic" for a diagnosis of Pneumonia. "Here's some meds, and don't work for a few days". Of course, this time he didn't stay out for long. Hubsy is a trooper and if he can walk, he'll run.

Oh, and in case you've forgotten, throughout the last six months I have continued to suffer through all of my Bipolar symptoms. That hasn't stopped. I wasn't suddenly cured just because there were more important things going on. Although I did go through a very heavy depressive cycle, I've mostly remained in a mixed state, with an increasing number of panic attacks, and the return of debilitating agoraphobia. But hold your horses. Let's not get too far into that here, because no doubt there will be a separate post about that later, on my personal page.

The elevator stabilized in July, and we began desperately trying to pry those doors apart. Hubsy was able to land temporary jobs for The Punkin and The Boy as Marketing Assistants for his own boss. They were out there, sign spinning, during some of the hottest days of the year! Then he helped me land the job as their Social Media Manager. I created a blog for them. I created new profiles and social pages, as their previous ones had been hi-jacked by prior disgruntled employees. I made frequent posts on their behalf and even took my own photos for their use. After a few weeks, Punkin left the property to pursue another job opportunity, but The Boy stayed on, spinning signs and acting as an office assistant, and Hubs picked up some overtime.

Yes, the Summer blessed us with the ability to catch up on all of the bills, and we even bought a used washer and dryer! You see, for the four months prior, we had been sneaking around, doing laundry at apartment communities because we couldn't afford the laundromat, and occasionally doing a few loads of "bathtub laundry". We bought school clothes for The Princess, since she was outgrowing everything; and a few new pieces for my closet, since everything was outgrowing me!

By the end of August, the extra income was fading away, but little did we know that the elevator was gearing up for another drop. I won't go into detail, for the sake of others, but let's just say that a couple of employees grew balls the size of Rocky Mountain Boulders... Management suddenly went deaf, dumb, and blind... and the office politics was thicker than the nation's capital. Having to travel out of town for the death of a family member in September was almost a welcomed escape. If only Punkin and I hadn't brought back a viral souvenir that had us both laid up for a month! I recovered, Punkin did not.

The end of October witnessed the slow death of our refrigerator/freezer. Two visits from the tech and new parts installed couldn't save it. Of course, this had to occur right after a visit to the grocery store. We lost about $200 worth of meat, dairy, and questionable items. You know, when in doubt, throw it out. We could not be reimbursed by management, or renter's insurance. 

So, early November had Hubsy and Punkin both traveling to see our family doctor. Punkin got meds and is recovering nicely. My dear Hubsy... not so much.

If It Weren't For Bad Luck...

When last we met, I was gushing about our wonderful new house. We were feeling "top floor" at the time, but it turns out that our move was more like stepping into an elevator, from the "top floor", only to find that it is swinging precariously from a single frayed wire. Occasionally the box unexpectedly plummets, just a few floors at a time. 

Two days after our big move, The Boy's motor scooter was stolen from our driveway. Although it was recovered by the police only one street over, it had been totaled, and the carburetor was missing. (Phoey on you, Thieves, because the carburetor was already busted!). Needless to say, the scooter was not insured, as it is not required by our state.

Within two weeks of settling in, I had to rescue my daughter from a dime sized ceiling spider. When the little bugger unexpectedly took the upper hand, I freaked out and fell backward off of the ladder. Luckily I landed firmly on my right foot ... which promptly twisted to the side and snapped in the middle. Being that we already have a nice stack of unpaid medical bills in the filing cabinet, I did not go to the doctor. I also did not get a chance to rest and heal, as my lovely children misinterpreted the event as vacation. They practically celebrated the temporary reprieve from all of their chores, which includes keeping the pets alive, and never gave thought to picking up my slack. My foot is now permanently damaged, and I sometimes fall into a limp. Oh well, such is life. I actually found myself grateful for the life experience.

Just about two weeks after my own accident, Hubsy's back went out, which it has done about twice a year for fifteen years, as the result of a car accident. It's almost quite routine; his back goes into spasms and stiffens, he goes to the doctor, "Here's some meds, don't work for a few days.", and it's done. This time was a little bit different. As we have not yet found a new local family doctor, Hubsy went to the "franchise clinic" located less than a mile from our home, at three times the copay of our family doctor (and of course another bill that comes later). This doctor was amazed that no other doctor had thought to X-Ray his spine since we completed the whole joke of a court case fifteen years ago. So, off to the specialist (at twice the copay) for an MRI, which reveals that he has a severely herniated disk. "Here's some meds, and don't work for a few days." Hubsy returns to the specialist to begin a treatment regimen that may, or may not, rid him of pain. With the assurance that insurance would cover it, he took the first shot. Come to find out, even with insurance, the treatments are $300 a pop. "Thank you, Doctor, it's been nice knowing you. I'll be expecting your bill." 

For a while, the proverbial elevator seemed to stabilize. Even though Punkin and I were no longer babysitting, my son had given up his job to relocate with us, and Hubs had missed a bit of work, we managed to keep the lights on, the water flowing. and the rent paid (among other bills of course), even if everything was either a month behind, or at least a few weeks late. Then again, we were pretty hungry. I dropped two sizes trying to make sure that the kids weren't hurting.

Thank the Universe for friendly neighbors who bring fresh laid eggs, and those who bring fresh garden veggies, and Aunts who surprise us with school supply money. And don't forget, it was throughout this time that we were able to enjoy and appreciate all of the things that I had listed in my previous post, The House That Keeps On Giving. We thought "maybe, the elevator will remain stable, And maybe we could pry open the doors. And then maybe we could find the up-escalator, or at least a set of stairs.

Shopping In The Neighbor's Grocery Garden

I know that I have barely begun to tell the story of why we love our new rental house so much, but I have to jump ahead for minute to pay homage to my neighbor... who just happens to be one of the things we love about our new rental house.

He stopped by yesterday to gift us with a jar of his homemade pickles. Pickles that are made from the abundance of cucumbers he's had in his garden, and using an old family recipe. Well, I thought it was just the sweetest, kindest thing... 

...Until he stopped by again  today and we got to talking about our fledgling veggie garden and how we are looking forward to building a raised bed, and somehow fence it in (to keep the local wildlife from enjoying it more than we will).  At that point, he invited me to his front yard to tour his expansive, fenced in garden, complete with a pond and a bullfrog that we often hear croaking on summer nights.

Before I knew it, he was pulling carrots, tomatoes, peppers, and squash, and layering them into my arms!  It felt like grocery shopping!  He then offered me all the materials we would need to create our raised bed.

Here's the kicker... he had no idea how much we are struggling right now... between our moving expenses, Hubsy's recent medical issues, and my son's inability to find employment in the area.  It was probably going to be another grilled cheese dinner tonight. But the Universe works in mysterious ways, and instead we ended up with this:

I wilted the carrot tops in some olive oil, salt, and diced garlic, and then paired them with some leftover crunchy garlic croutons.  I chopped the carrots, tomatoes, and squash, and stir fried them with butter, salt, pepper, oregano, and basil, and we ate this:

sure beats a grilled cheese sandwich

So, let me edit my previous statement.  Not to eliminate the "sweetest", but to upgrade to kind and generous.  Have I mentioned how much we love our new rental house?

Morton's Monday (When It Rains It Pours)

Since the end of March, we've been dealing with Punkin's behavioral issues, and actually making some headway.  It may be baby steps, but it's progress nonetheless, and I'm grateful for it.  But it seems to be the only progress our family has been making for the last few months.

Just the other day, a friend was telling us that ever since tax time, she's barely been able to make ends meet, and that is just not like the typical year.  I had to agree with her.  Our typical tax refunds usually grant us the ability to pay all of our monthly bill balances to zero, make a few loan payments, make one larger than normal purchase (usually a needed household item), treat ourselves to an Olive Garden dinner, and have enough to put away for our annual trip to visit family in Baltimore.  This year was somehow different.  We caught up on our balances, and bought one large ticket item (new bed sets for my girls, that I found on Craigslist).  There's no money for summer vacation, and the loans are still outstanding.

It certainly doesn't help that Hubsy's job completely cut out his overtime, having him take days off to cover the extra hours that he ended up having to put in.  It doesn't help that our Princess was just given a third prescription for her struggle with Turner Syndrome, and our insurance company doesn't cover half of all the lab work, and none of OTC health products she needs.  It doesn't help that our energy costs in this terribly inefficient rental keep going up.  The weather patterns this year are partially to blame, as we've had to jump straight from the heat to the air conditioner... I never got that yearly Springtime opportunity to shut the whole system down for a while.  As a new homeschooling mom, I've had to make larger home/office supply purchases.  Food costs have been steadily rising, and my local store has just not been promoting the awesome sales that they used to.  So, as I think most blue collar American families have been, we have been struggling.

This morning, as soon as Hubsy clocked in to work, the regional supervisor handed him his hat, and gave him "the boot".  I won't even go into how unexpected it was because Hubsy is the best damned Maintenance Supervisor they've ever seen, and I have witnesses.  I won't talk about how this is the worst possible time for that property to lose the only person who knows what's going on with all the vendor changes and construction contractors.  I won't talk about how he was retained on this property because of his exemplary skills, through the sale of the property and two management changes.  All I can say is that none of the other property employees or residents, and countless contractors and professional connections can hardly believe that my Hubsy was the one to get canned, and not the people who are actually responsible for any aesthetic shortfalls the building may have suffered.  In short... the world seems to have turned upside down overnight.

Yeah, we're angry and asking a lot of "why" questions to the rain clouds as they glide overhead and wring themselves out on our faces (literally, it's been raining for three days).  But I really hate to complain.  These things are happening to hundreds of American families every day, and we're no different.  But there has to be reason.  I can't begin to guess what it is, but hey, that's the way the Universe works.

...and now I've got some stranger (friend of a friend) insulting me on Facebook because I disagreed with his opinion on the nutrition and safety of genetically modified food.  Dude, really?

Parenting The Unparentable

This post has been a long time coming, and I'm not just talking about my delay in writing it.  I also mean that our Punkin's latest incident has become the final straw.  They've been building and building, and now, finally, the camel's back is broken.

I'm sure no parent ever thinks that at some point in raising your child, there would come a time when a representative from a government agency would recommend to you, that you present your child to the Department of Juvenile Justice, and ask a judge to declare them "undisciplined" (which basically means "un-discipline-able").  And then to have that recommendation seconded by a representative of yet another state agency.  And then to have nearly everyone who knows you and your child, sadly agree.

I have hinted about the fact that our Punkin has been more than quite the challenge throughout the years.  The almost pathological lying.  Constant disobedience, and outright disrespect.  Sneaking out at night.  Violent tendencies toward her peers.  Cutting classes and failing grades.  Repetitive theft.  Setting fires.  Committing acts of self harm.  Since her second grade year... the endless parade of therapists and doctors.  A steady stream of medications.  An assortment of tests with no diagnoses.  School conferences, investigations, and a judge.    

Finally, it had come to this: almost two months ago, we found ourselves caught between a rock and that proverbial hard place.  On one side, we love our baby girl.  From the moment she was born, our heads filled with dreams and hopes for her future... and our future, with her.  On the other hand, loving her is now killing us.  Hubs and I are both now on medications to calm the anxiety and depression that these long years of worry, fear, frustration, and heartbreak.  Not to mention the crashing of our hopes for her, and the guilt and embarrassment she invokes.  Recently, after she once again attempted to have us investigated by child protective services,  I even began to see symptoms of emotional instability, that I learned to control years ago, trying to rear their ugly heads in my mind.  By the way, I say "attempted" because the agency declined to take the case.  You see, she's already had us investigated, and our home was found to be a safe and loving environment for all of our children.  I believe their file also indicates that Punkin uses the threat of CPS, as an act of vengeance against our authority when she's unhappy with the outcome of her own decisions.  She is an unruly child.

So, what do we do?  Take her a judge and wash our hands clean of it all?  The court will terminate our parental responsibility, and declare her a ward of the state, and she will then be sent to a foster or group home until she's eighteen.  The very thought of it takes me to the edge of those "symptoms" I mentioned earlier.  I confess, I toy with the idea.  I imagine the peace our household could experience.  A future, where I don't have to cringe when the phone rings, and Hubsy will never miss another day of work to deal with the aftermath of one of her impulsive moments.  Yes, I fantasize about it, but I just can't see it through.  Our family must stay together.  We're a team.  Family is an institution that is greater than the sum of it's parts.  We must be consistent, and reliable, even in times of torment.  Right?

So, maybe you're wondering what's been happening since this bomb went off nearly two months ago.  Well, Punkin has shaped up a bit.  Her plan to have us chastised by the state for our parenting has backfired, and the idea that the state has offered to take her off of our hands has scared her straight... I think.  She's been taking her schoolwork more seriously, and has improved some of her grades.  She's lowered her level of attitude to an acceptable degree.  Things are looking up.  So, after searching and finding no reasonable or affordable alternative placement for her, that is also therapeutic and temporary, as opposed to the Juvenile Justice Center... we've decided to just keep on keeping on.  Hubsy says "we've done it for all these years, what's two more?"  I was happy to hear him say that, but just between us, I'm still hoping for the apocalypse.

Hubsy Spoke Those Four Little Words

Actions speak louder than words, it's true, but sometimes the words can make all the difference. 

Hubsy recently spoke those words.  Four little words that I honestly didn't think I would ever hear.  There was once a time when I knew for certain that he felt that way, so much so that the words didn't even matter.  

But that seems like such a long time ago.  And I know that in our seventeen year relationship, there have been times when I knew for certain that he felt the exact opposite.  In fact, it wasn't that long ago that I was sure he was going to just throw his hands up and walk away, an angry, bitter and broken man.  

But he stuck it out.  Maybe it was my convincing, or maybe it was just because that's who he is.  A real trooper.  A non-quitter.  A man who would suck it up, and continue to go through the motions, regardless of his misery, and the inner turmoil that he tries so hard to hide, even if it was corroding his soul.  He stuck it out because he had responsibilities that he would never walk away from, and he always puts the happiness of others before his own.  Because that's who he is.

But something changed.  I don't know what exactly it is, and I don't need to.  All I need is to see that smile, and know that he's no longer carrying such a heavy burden.  The darkness has lifted, and the air is lighter, much easier to breathe.  I only pray that it continues, and that within a few years time I may get to hear him say those four little words again.  

I think, for a woman who truly loves her man, there can be precious little that tops hearing him say "I love my job!"

Remembering Our Brush With A Tornado

Spring is on it's way, and in some areas of the country, we're forced to think about the kind of weather Miss Spring brings with her.  I was gently reminded yesterday, when we found ourselves under a tornado watch, about our brush with the beast last April.  My daughter also published a blog post about severe weather conditions, that spawned tornadic activity near her home in Texas.  Here is a link to her post ... and here is mine:

It was the end of April 2011, during that whole tumultuous spring that sent severe tornadoes whipping across the whole country.  It started out just like any other lovely spring day in the south.  Every person in the neighborhood, under fourteen, was playing outside in the court.  Leaving every adult in my house free to pursue Internet gaming happiness.

We never would've known about the tornado watch we were under, if it hadn't been for kids next door being called inside by their parents.  I called my own youngins inside, and we gathered around the television.

****

A watch before a warning.

A watch means that weather conditions are favorable for something severe to develop.

A warning means that the severe conditions have formed and are coming your way. 

****

It's kind of scary, when the station replaces regular programming with continuous weather coverage.  Especially when you can tell that it isn't a produced segment, but actual live coverage.  The weatherman travels back and forth between the computer equipment on his desk, where he constantly checks the national weather service, and the green screen where he shows us the storm tracking radar.  You can hear phones ringing in the background, and people shuffling about.  Once in a while, he'll stop reporting, because there's a new warning being issued, and he has to read the report, while on the air, and then figure out how he's going to report it to us.  Then they start showing us live webcam footage from traffic cameras around the county.  That's when we heard that the storm system moving in was spawning multiple tornadoes along it's path.

It was probably no more than fifteen minutes from the time that we heard about our tornado warning, until the tornado watch took effect.  That's when I began to prepare our safe room.  The laundry closet, the most internal room of the house, which is perfectly tucked under the staircase was the best place to be.  I pulled out the carpet shampooer, and the kitty litter box, swept the floor, and filled the space with pillows and blankets.  I put new batteries in the portable radio, and laid them on the dryer, along with the rechargeable flashlight, and some candles.  When I thought I was through, my son pointed out that the walls were covered in shelving that held heavy tools and my sewing machine, baskets and boxes of loose hardware, and bags of stuff that I've been holding onto to sell on Craig's List.  If a tornado does come near our house, those walls are going shake, and all those hazards are going come down in our heads.  So, we quickly set to work dragging all of it into the dining room.

Then the weatherman began to describe funnel clouds in neighborhoods that we were familiar with, not far from us, and moving in our direction.  I remember how frightening the colorful radar pictures seemed, with the enormous green area, filled with large spots of red, and purple... right before the power went out.  As soon as we turned on the portable radio,  the DJ began calling out the names of the streets that we travel down on a regular basis, that were acting as a highway for the funnel clouds.

Hubsy stood by the back door and watched the weather change right before his eyes.  I joined him occasionally, between anxious pacing, setting up the safe room and getting the kids settled into it, gathering up the things that I couldn't bare to lose (my laptop, the family computer tower, camera, household managements book with all of our important documents in it, and flash drives of all my ancestry research and decades of family photos).  The sky grew more ominous by the second.  The wind blew hard in spontaneous spurts.  We could hear tree limbs breaking and falling onto the forest floor.  The rain was beating hard against the windows.  Then, rather suddenly, our view through the forest was seriously diminished.  I could not see anything past the treeline.  There was no debris, and it didn't seem like rain, but more like the air became visible.  Visible, rumbling air.  When "they" say that it sounds like a freight train coming, "they" are not kidding.

And then it was gone.  The sky became clear, and grew bluer and bluer by the moment.  Rays of sunlight were shining down on the street.  Birds began to sing.  Ironically, it felt very much like stepping out of a funnel cloud and into the Land of Oz.  I had never seen the world look so beautiful, and I had never felt such a sense of joy and gratitude, although it took hours for the nervous trembling to fade.

Flash forward nearly a year, and I don't feel any more prepared than I did that day, even though I've cleaned out my laundry room a bit, and I have a bigger box of supplies.  I guess we're never really prepared for that kind of destruction. There's a reconciliation that takes place in the mind.  You have to admit that you are powerless over nature, and regardless of the preparations, if the storm wants us, it's going to take us.  But you also can never be lulled into a state of complacency.  So, you do what you can, and ask God for help with the rest.  And in the meantime, C'Mon Spring!