March 30, 2006

Get Me Out Of Here!

I’ve written a bit about my activities in Africa, but leaving my family to go on safari was just as adventurous. Any parent who has tried to leave town without the kids knows that getting away is never smooth, no matter how much advance planning you do.

I had learned my lesson several years ago, when Bill and I were getting ready to go to California for our tenth anniversary trip. I went to get a manicure and pedicure so I’d be super sexy while Bill and I rekindled our love among the vineyards.

Then my cell phone rang. It was Porter’s teacher calling to say that he had fallen and busted his lip and needed to go to the emergency room. I sprayed my nails with quick dry spray, sped to the school and got Porter, who was wailing. His lip was swollen like he’d been in a boxing ring. He ran to me and jumped in my arms, messing up my freshly painted toes, and we rushed to the emergency room.

The doctor stitched up Porter, and then we went home and I figured I was finally going to get a chance to pack and perhaps touch up my smudged toenails. But I didn’t. We walked in the house and the first place Porter went was to show his brothers his stitches, and the next place he went was to visit his guinea pig.

At first he thought Ladybug was really cold and still, but then I checked her and pronounced her dead. I had to dig a grave, which ruined my manicure. Then I gathered the boys together and held a memorial service in the front yard. I even used some florist wire to make a cross out of two sticks to mark the grave. It’s still there.

I got to California the next day with a suitcase of mismatched clothes and a bottle of nail polish remover. I felt depleted, not sexy and celebratory, but fortunately Bill took that as a challenge.

I wasn’t going to let my departure get screwed up again. I was leaving my boys for fifteen days to go to Africa and I was determined to spend some quality time with them.

The day before I left I planned to get the boys a haircut and take them out for Blizzards so they’d have fond memories of me while I was gone. We got to Athena Salon and Finn got a haircut first. (I use the term “haircut” loosely; Teppie waved her scissors around his head and charged me some money so we could tell Bill he’d been to get his hair cut, but he kept his long hair.)

Drew settled into the chair next and I whispered to Teppie that he’d had a run in with a louse but that he had been treated. She cut his hair carefully, looking for signs of re-infestation, but everything was clear.

Porter was the last to hop into the chair. Teppie started cutting and then suddenly stopped and motioned me over.

“Look,” she whispered discreetly, pointing to a spot on Porter’s scalp. I peered at the area, and this time I didn’t try to fool myself into thinking my child was suffering from an albino flea attack. I clearly saw a louse.

“Since there’s a live bug, I can’t legally cut his hair,” Teppie said apologetically. “It’s against the State Board Regulations.”

“A BUG! WHERE?” Porter yelled. The salon was full of coiffed ladies from the Kingdom, and every head in the salon turned to look at us. Finn and Drew came running up to take a look for themselves.

“SHHH!” I said, entirely too loud, and Teppie and I gathered up all the boys and hustled them into the highlighting room to reinpect everyone’s head, including mine. Everyone except Porter passed. I was near hysterics, realizing that instead of spending my last hours with my boys reading and snuggling, I would be slathering them with Rid, combing their hair, stripping their bedding and washing it in hot water, then tumbling it dry on super high.

I went ahead and stopped at Dairy Queen for Blizzards in an attempt to atone for the upcoming misery and drove across the street and bought myself a large Starbucks. I figured that with all the hair washing and laundering that lay ahead of me, I would be lucky to sleep at all before it was time to leave for the airport.

As I drove home, I called Bill at the office to let him know what was going on. He wasn’t nearly as worked up as I was, and that made me furious until I realized that he had not witnessed the initial washing and combing during Attack of the Lice Part 1. Nor had he ever washed an entire set of bedding, from mattress cover to comforter to pillowcases, much less four sets.

“You know,” I told him, “I’m having flashbacks to the day before we left on our 10th anniversary trip.”

“What happened that day?” he asked, confused.

“Don’t you remember? I went to get a manicure and pedicure and then Porter had to get stitches and we came home and I was going to pack scented candles and lacy underthings but the guinea pig had died so I had to conduct a guinea pig funeral?”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Bill said. “I just remember going to California. Remember that infinity pool that we soaked in after our couples massage?”

“Yes,” I said, momentarily diverted.

“Now that was something worth remembering,” Bill said, and he hung up.

And so my final pre-African hours were spent battling the lice and washing piles of bedding. At last I tucked each boy into a sleeping bag and kissed them good night. I missed them already, bugs and all.

March 8, 2006

Driving for Drugs

When I wrote about my upcoming trip to Africa, I neglected to mention that part of the preparation for the trip required me to scavenge for medications like a common criminal. It also caused me to think even more about the financial incentives and disincentives of our health care system than I usually do.

Because of my complicated medical history, I take more pills on a daily basis than most people my age. If I invited you to my house for a cocktail party and you asked to use the bathroom and then snooped in my cabinets, you’d surely conclude that I am either consistently high on drugs or turning a small profit as the neighborhood dealer.

When I was packing for the safari, I checked to see whether I had enough medicine to last me through the end of the trip. It was immediately apparent that I did not. Most of the prescriptions that I take daily would run out while I am out of the country.

I laid out all my medicines and counted them up carefully. I had enough Topamax, which I take each day to prevent migraines, for nine more days; I needed enough to get me
to the end of March. As for the triptans, the medicines I take if the Topamax fails, I had four Axert, two Relpax and three Frova. It wasn’t going to be enough. Traveling tends to make my headaches worse.

My birth control pills would also run out a few days before we returned. It’s never good to mess with your cycle and risk getting crotchety.
Consequently, I did what any self-respecting drug user would do. I dropped off the kids at school and headed off in my minivan to start the Tour des Hospitals to beg samples from my doctors.

I hit gold at my OB/GYN’s. Not only did he give me a month’s supply of birth control pills, he also gave me some Ambien so I could sleep on the plane.

I drove to a different hospital to my neurologist’s office to see whether I could score some Topamax. While I did get a sample bottle of 24, they were out of triptans. I asked for and received a new prescription for my favorite triptan, Axert, but I left the office glum. The last time I filled the prescription, I almost keeled over in the aisle of CVS. My co-pay for nine pills was $75.00. I’ll do the math for you: that’s $8.33 per pill. I could go
to a bar and get a gin and tonic for that amount of money. It might work as well as the Axert and would surely be more fun.

I was highly depressed that I couldn’t get any Axert samples from my doctor, and I began to feel a bit desperate, much like a crack addict must when he sees his supply is getting low. So when I was in the elevator going to the parking garage and a perky pharmacy rep pulling a rolling suitcase got on, I concluded that she must have been an angel sent from above to fill my purse with triptans. I smoothed my hair, smiled, and chatted her up.

I complimented her shoes (Donald Pliner) and asked her who did her hair. I stayed in the elevator when it reached my floor so I could ask her who she worked for and how she liked it. I walked back in the hospital with her and down the long hall to the doctors’ offices while she told me about her boyfriend and when they were going to get married. I had invested almost eleven minutes in the relationship before I discovered that she only carrried the kinds of drugs I didn’t need, for high blood pressure and stomach ulcers. I tried not to act visibly disappointed as I took her card and promised to keep in touch.

When I got back in the van, I fumed. The reason Axert is such a lovely medication is that it usually stops a migraine yet allows you to continue your daily activities. For me at least, it doesn’t affect my ability to drive or take care of the kids. If you take an Axert, however, and the migraine progresses, a painkiller such as Darvocet or Lortab is your last resort. Obviously, these are not medications to use carelessly. They can impair your ability to function or knock you right out. I usually wait until Bill is on the way home from work before I take one so I can parent the boys without being clouded by the medicine.

And here is where the financial realities of the situation are so mixed up. My co-pay for the Darvovet is only $5 for twelve tablets. That’s about $.42 per pill. It makes it mighty tempting to skip the proper step of managing the headache with a non-habitforming $8 pill and just take the narcotics. So far I haven’t done that, and right before I left I was able to get some Axert samples.

I was relieved; I didn’t want to spend the flight using the airsickness bags for their intended purpose. Instead I planned to collect them and bring them home as cheap souvenirs for the boys. They’re at the age where they think a barf bag is hilarious.

March 6, 2006

Safari Away

Sometimes a girl needs a good cry. When I was in high school and college, there were two songs that could bring on the tears if I was having trouble getting started, and interestingly, they share the same name. One is “So Far Away” by Carole King from the Tapestry album.The other version of “So Far Away” is by Dire Straits. They’re completely different songs, but both talk about the heartache of being separated from someone you love.

When I was crying through these songs in the 1980s, I didn’t have any idea what love or truly missing someone was. I wasn’t married and didn’t have children. I was crying over casual boyfriends or leaving home to return to college. Now I’m missing my mom a lot, and I’m facing a big separation from Bill and the boys next week.

My parents always travelled a lot. When my mother died in October, she and my dad had a number of trips planned. He cancelled several, except for skiing with the guys. But the one they were looking forward to the most was their third trip to Africa. They were scheduled to leave March 16 to explore Kenya and Tanzania. The vacation was completely arranged and paid for.

Several weeks after my mom’s death, my dad asked me to accompany him on the safari. His invitation made sense. My other sisters went on the first trip to Africa, but Finn was very young then and I didn’t feel like it was right to leave him for two weeks at such a tender age. I’m the only sister who hasn’t seen the continent, and my children are the oldest, so I ought to be able to leave them for fifteen days. My dad and I haven’t spent a lot of quality time together in the past, so I was flattered that he asked me.

That didn’t make the decision to head off to Africa easy for me. I know that many mothers would kill for two weeks away from their families in a remote part of the world, and under different circumstances my feelings about the trip wouldn’t be so complicated. Bill and I devoted a lot of thought and prayer to deciding whether I could or should leave for such a long time. We had to think about what was right for our nuclear family balanced against the fact that my sisters and my dad and I now depend on each other much more than we ever did before October.

I might have talked to my dad every two weeks before my mom died. We now talk every day, helping each other with daily errands (”I’ll drop by some extra soup, and can I borrow your label maker?”) as well as keeping track of which sister is having a bad day and needs cheering up, preferably in the form of flowers. This relationship is a new one that we’re all still working on, carefully feeling our way through unfamiliar emotions. In the end, Bill felt strongly that I should go, and my sisters agreed.

I realize that this is a once in a lifetime event. I’m extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to go to such an exotic locale on my dad’s dime. It wasn’t long after I’d
committed to go, however, that I discovered the emotional costs of the adventure.

First, it’s hard for me to ignore the fact that the only reason that I’m heading to Tanzania is because my mother isn’t here to go. She loved Africa. I never understood her enthusiasm, and maybe this journey will help me understand that part of her better. It seems odd to be going on a trip alone with my dad– that was my mom’s role. My mother’s best friend will be going too, so my mother’s absence will be that much more noticeable.

Second, participating in this adventure requires me to sacrifice a lot of time with my husband and boys, time that I value and can never reclaim. I may be more sensitive than others to this; I’ve had some major health problems over the last decade that have made me truly appreciate the time I have with my boys when I am feeling good and able to walk around. Right now my liver is stable and my back is in good shape. I’m having more fun with my kids than I ever have before.

The boys are pretty self-sufficient, and they are growing and learning new things everyday. Drew still cuddles with me at night, and Porter still snuggles in the bed with me in the morning. Finn creates new drum riffs, reads books I loved as a child, and acts more and more like an adult. I know from experience that kids can grow up overnight– who knows how much longer they’ll think it’s cool to spend time with Mom?

Additionally, I’ll be missing the boys’ spring break. We never do anything fancy, but our tradition of gathering all of my lady friends who are staying in town along with their kids and heading to the lake is a special one. I wrote about last year’s trip here. Spring break is the time I hang out with the boys and just relax. I always treasure it.

And although the trip is already organized, our household becomes pretty chaotic if you take me out of the equation for 15 days. I’m still working on the elaborate spreadsheet that tells who is taking care of the boys each afternoon, identifies the recycling and trash days, and spells out the complicated driving patterns that get the boys to and from their art and drum lessons and soccer and baseball practices. More than once I’ve been working out the plans and stopped to mutter, “I better see a hell of an impressive giraffe to make this worthwhile.”

The burden of my being gone will fall mainly on Bill, who’ll be working all day and handling all of the evening activities by himself. I haven’t done well so far on storing up nutritious meals for them, so he’ll be cooking, supervising bathtime, helping Drew and Porter read their books and do their math sheets each night and making sure everyone has clean clothes. Plus, he has to be on the lookout for scams, like Drew’s recent attempt to persuade Porter that brushing your teeth with “very very very hot water” is just as effective as using toothpaste.

My sister is helping out, too. She’ll be taking my boys and my niece and nephew to the beach for several days so that Bill can work. Although Angela, our babysitter, is going with her, I don’t think a trip to the beach with four boys and a girl who’s tougher than any of the males will exactly be relaxing.

I am getting excited, especially now that I have started packing. These last couple of days, however, I haven’t had any trouble working up a fountain of tears. Just thinking about my looming departure brings them on, because I’m going to miss my guys.

I do know, though, that my mom would be thrilled that I’m going. She’d be enthusiastically sharing her safari hat and encouraging me to look forward to the adventure ahead. And so that’s what I’m going to try to do. Hopefully, in the end, my journey so far away will help bring all of us closer.

March 5, 2006

A Different Kind of Birthday

My birthday was strange this year. It fell exactly four months after my mother’s death. A day that in the past has been all about me was overshadowed by my mom’s absence. I didn’t realize until my birthday arrived that I would dwell on the fact that I didn’t get a card or a phone call from her. Several of her best friends knew it would be a difficult day, however, and they sent cards and flowers. One baked a beautiful birthday cake.

Bill and the boys also worked very hard to make it a happy day. I came home from New York to a clean house, including the garage and the “laundry room.” (Don’t tell them, but they could have stopped there and I would have been in ecstasy.)

But they went further– they decorated with balloons and crepe paper, surprised me with a Tivo, already hooked up, and presented me with two types of cheesecake and two candles that simultaneously reduced the fire hazard and made it very clear exactly how old I was.

I was touched by the fact that so many people realized that this would be a difficult birthday, and that they spent so much time and energy ensuring that I know I am well-loved. It may have been a different kind of birthday, but it was one that I won’t ever forget.

March 4, 2006

What Not To Wear: In Bed

Anne Glamore has been married almost thirteen years. Just recently, her husband Bill decided that it would be nice if she started sleeping in sexy pajamas rather than the ratty separates she favors. Join us as we help Anne discover her bedtime fashion vixen!

Scene 1: Reviewing Anne’s Pajamas

Bill: Anyone can see that these are not technically pajamas. These are ancient shirts and sweaters. Anne puts on more than she takes off to go to bed. You’d think we lived in Alaska.

Anne: Nights can be chilly in Central Alabama. Plus, my husband is a cover stealer. I have to be warm at night or I get grouchy. When it comes to sleepwear, my philosophy is simple. I don’t want anything itchy or cold. I hate long nightgowns because they get all tangled up between my legs. That’s why I sleep in a shirt and pants.

Bill: Let’s look at the apparel Anne has slept in the last few nights.

Bill: Frankly, I think we can all agree that these outfits do nothing for you. There’s a shapely woman hiding under all that drab old fabric, and we need to let her out. But wait, why don’t you explain to me what you were thinking when you put these on?

Anne: I wasn’t thinking anything except maybe “Thank God the boys are finally asleep and I can get in bed.” I got the first shirt in New Orleans when my friends and I went to see Garbage and No Doubt and there was a cold spell– the temperature plummeted to 63 and I wasn’t prepared. Those pants are my Snugglebutts which are very warm and extremely comfy. I realize they don’t show off my figure but honestly, that’s the last thing on my mind late at night.

I got the gray sweater at Express a long time ago. It has a hole under one armpit, so it breathes well. It’s always nice to sleep in a shirt that represents your U, so I put on the Virginia shirt just to say “Wahoowa!” before I get in bed. I got the other two pair of pants cheap at Target.

Bill: Lovely. I hope you didn’t pay more than 99 cents for all six pieces, because that’s what they look like they’re worth. Now let’s take a look at the back of that New Orleans shirt:

Bill: Whoa, are those skulls? Those would not seem to be conducive to a good night’s sleep.

Anne: Well, they are, but they’re happy skulls. And the shirt is really soft.

Bill: Now, I realize you don’t wear quite that much clothing to bed during the summer. Let’s take a peek at your warm weather PJ’s.

Bill: I’m getting a definite theme here. You must think that sleeping in music T-shirts makes you cool, because I’m telling you, it sure doesn’t make you sexy.

Anne: It’s not a question of coolness. Where else can I wear them? A mom can’t just waltz into Publix wearing a Garbage T-shirt. Other moms might not let their kids come over and play.

Bill: Really? You’ve been going to their concerts all these years. Maybe I should examine the members of Garbage more closely.

(click to enlarge)

Bill: Agh!! Shirley Manson scares me.

Anne: Shut up. She’s awesome. And that guy on the far right is Butch Vig. He may look scary, but he’s a great drummer and he produced Nirvana’s “Nevermind.” I got his autograph last time I saw Garbage.

Bill: Between the skulls and Shirley, I think you’re wearing some scary shit to bed. I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping next to these weirdos all these years.

Most importantly, honey, none of these outfits is flattering. You’ve got a great body and a lot to work with. I understand that you’re concerned with being warm and comfortable. With that in mind, I’ve pulled together some evening ensembles that are attractive and feel good on the skin.

Anne: (Rolls eyes)

Scene 2: Bill Shows Anne What Not To Wear

Bill: Shopping for pajamas may seem easy. Actually it is more difficult than you think. Here are two outfits that would seem to be flattering, but that you should avoid. First is the token black negligee.

Bill: This look would be good on many women. In fact, it looks pretty fabulous on this mannequin. However, you need at least a full A cup to pull off this look and you just don’t have it. Ladies with tiny titties should avoid a look that needs some cleavage, and instead place the focus on other parts of their bodies.

Anne: Ooh, I love those colors.

Bill: Well, the colors are fine, but honestly, this outfit does not register on my peter meter. It’s new, and it’s soft, but it doesn’t show off your butt or your legs. This would be good to wear on a weekend with the ladies, but your man is not going to be so impressed. Plus, the mannequin gives this outfit some bosoms, but you wouldn’t fill it out like that.

Anne: I think I’ve heard enough critique about my breasts now, honey.

Bill: Don’t be discouraged. We’re going to shine some light on your ass and your nights will never be the same.

Anne: But I’ll still get to sleep, won’t I? Is this All About You  or is it a real attempt to help me help myself?

Bill: (pretends not to hear)

Scene 3: Bill Shows Anne What To Wear

Bill: On the left, I found a lovely lacy seafoam tank at Victoria’s Secret. Notice that it’s not trying to say, “I have a huge rack.” In fact, a woman with a huge rack couldn’t fit into this tank. The floral boy short is accented with a bow at the front. The bow is very important– it draws the eye down–

Anne: What do you mean, “the eye?” Who all is checking me out in this?

Bill: Okay, it draws my eye down to your strongest areas, like your flat tummy, your gorgeous legs, and the exciting tattoo that peeks out just above the waist line.

But you don’t have to limit yourself to the boy short. On the right you see a Hanky Panky thong which is also stylish.

Anne: Honey, thongs crawl up your butt. That’s not comfortable.

Bill: The saleslady said these were the most comfortable thongs out there.

Anne: That’s like saying Pol Pot was the nicest dictator ever. Thongs travel. Up.

Bill: Just give it a try before you rule it out, because it’s hot. Anyway, the top I paired with this is what I call a “redundant” tank. It says, “Sexy Little Thing” but that’s redundant, because I already know that about you! (hoots with laughter)

Anne: As I feared, you are nothing but a horny man disguised as a style consultant.

Final Scene: Anne Goes Shopping

Anne: For my first outfit, I chose a “redundant” tank that is perfect for the small-chested woman. I paired it with some panties that are actually comfortable and have the bow that seems to get Bill so fired up.

Bill: Me likee!

Anne: Next I found a stretchy brown camisole and boyshort set. It’s edged in lace but the lace is soft, so I figured I could stand it if it makes my husband happy. The mannequin has more of a waist than I do. When I wear this, my tattoo peeks out enticingly from between the panties and the top.

Bill: (touching fabric) Wowza!

Anne: This last outfit is for cold nights when I want to look my best but need some coverage. It’s a silky lace dress with long sleeves. I put a pair of black lace underwear with it.

Bill: See-through lace is always a good fashion choice.

Anne: Finally, although I am not a thong fan, I did buy this inexpensive sassy one for recreational purposes only.

Bill: I think you did a fine job of following the fashion rules and buying nightwear that will be comfortable and flattering at the same time.

Anne: If I get cold at night, I’m going to wake you up and tell you about it. And I’m throwing out all your nasty undershirts first thing tomorrow.

(Theme music starts and credits roll)