Independence Day

Apparently, at our house, we think Independence Day is the day where we stand up for ourselves and our ability to exert our independence. Because that's what happened yesterday. And it wasn't fun.

The day started okay. And even up until around 6 pm, it was fine. Lowell and Joshua were headed to a party at a friend's house and I was going to hang with the guys. I even gave Lowell a big "now you go have a good time and don't worry about a thing here at the house because I have it all under control" speech before he left.

And then it happened. All hell broke loose.

I was supposed to take our grocery sacker to work. Totally not a big deal. Except it was. He got in the van and was mad. No idea what triggered it. But he was mad. He was mad that he has to live in a group home. He was mad that someone else is in charge of his finances. He was mad that he has to go on other people's schedules. He was just mad.

So he took all that anger and turned it into, "I'm mad because you told me I have to wear a seat belt." It sounds silly I know. It's just a seat belt. But last night, it became oh so much more. So I sat in the van waiting for him to put on his seat belt while he yelled and cussed and hollered about how nowhere in the Bill of Rights does it say anything at all about wearing a seat belt. And on that exact note, I guess he was right. But I tried to counter with the whole rights vs. responsibilities argument. And I don't know why I even tried. I've never won it. He cannot comprehend it. Or at least he has made a firm choice not to.

So at the point where I was feeling like it might not be safe for me (and another resident) to remain in the van with this guy, I grab the keys and slide out. At this point Lowell has been gone maybe twenty minutes when I, ("Ms. I have it all together, don't worry about a thing"), call him and tell him to come home NOW, because I think the van may be about to blow up. Because apparently there is some game for the XBOX that tells you exactly how to hot-wire a car. So, by golly that was the plan. Hot-wire the van. Drive yourself to work. Sans seat belt.

It didn't work. However, he did somehow manage to cause the hazard lights to flash rapidly. This is what we were left with.
So then he jumps out of the van and runs down the street. I call my supervisor to let her know and she asks, "Will the van still start?" And I'm all, "Who knows, but I am not about to be the one to stick a key in the ignition right above the cut-and-dangling wires and try. Isn't that what our maintenance team is for?"

So I borrow a van from down the street (because, this was after all, the company's one spare van since ours is still in the shop due to the bean field incident.) And I take off after him. I tell him that if he wants a ride, he just has to buckle up. If not, we will follow him to work to make sure he gets there safely. Because, clearly, safety is our number one priority!

Lowell comes and trades off with me. It takes this guy an hour and forty minutes to get to work. So he has about an hour and a half left of his three hour shift.

I go pick Joshua up at the party and let Lowell handle the end-of-shift transportation. We were both thinking that this guy is tired and will get in the van without argument, buckle up and go home. We were both wrong.

Except this time after he cusses and yells and demands that his "rights" be met, he walks off in the opposite direction of home. So again Lowell follows behind. He follows for around thirty minutes until this guy starts picking up rocks threatening to throw them at the van if Lowell won't stop freaking following him around (I paraphrased that to keep it PG). Not wanting our home to be responsible for putting THREE vans in the shop, Lowell backs off a bit, and the guy completely ditches him. We call our supervisors, his dad, and the local police to file a missing persons report. Then ensues several hours of several people driving around searching for a guy who does not want to be found. And who most certainly does not want to wear a seat belt if and when he is found.

Four hours later, he comes home, heats up some leftover chicken nuggets, and heads to his room. We have no idea where he's been. We honestly don't really care. We again are on the phone with supervisors, parents, and the police. He's in bed, because he's "been up all night and is worn out."

This morning he came down to complain of a "killer blister" on the back of his heel. But other than the blister, all was well. No threats, no nothing. Just back to normal. Whatever that is.

How To Irritate a Farmer

So we decided to take a couple of vacation days. We are here at the house and therefore, we are "first on call" if something happens. But this isn't really one of those houses where we can say we weren't worried about it because "nothing ever happens." This is more of a "something always happens" house.

So about 10:15 this morning, I get a call from the substitute working in our house that he's had a "little accident." He says that he "slid off the road a bit" and was "stuck in the mud." He's called the other supervisors and maintenance to give him a tow. Nobody is injured. I thank him for letting me know and go back to watching the Law & Order marathon.

About an hour later, this guy calls again saying the police need information on the client who was with him in the van. I tell him where to find all the information he needs and then I question him about the fact that they are still stuck "on the side of the road". He tells me that the tow truck hasn't arrived yet. Knowing that the particular client who is with him has the potential to completely freak out at any point now, I volunteer to go pick up the client while he is waiting for the tow.

So imagine my shock when I arrive to find two police cars and see our van here:



This was one of those times that reminded me of when you are young and a parent says, "Not telling the WHOLE truth is the same as telling a lie." Because, yes, the van was "off the road." But I think a better description would be, "The van is in a BEANFIELD." But maybe that's just me.

Truly now, how does that even happen?? So I talk to one of the officers. And I'm trying not to laugh at the absurdity that my employee somehow jumped the ditch and landed our van in the MIDDLE OF A BEANFIELD. And the officer just points out what a beautiful day it is and how he can only speculate about what may or may not have happened. He says he is waiting for the tow truck to get there because they will have to "shut down the road" to get the van out of the field.

So I begin the journey through the ditch, the mud and the beans to get to the van. When I get there, the staff tells me that he's really embarrassed. I couldn't figure out why really. I mean, don't we all park in the middle of beanfields every now and then?? And then he says, "I'm not sure what happened. I wasn't really speeding at all. I just couldn't slow down enough to make the turn."

And the only thought that screams its way through my head is: ISN'T THAT THE VERY DEFINITION OF SPEEDING???????

So I get the client and he and I traipse our way back through this beanfield. I'm trying to be careful not to step on the beans when I realize that my staff has driven through and is currently parked in this poor farmer's field. Stepping on the beans after someone has driven over them probably won't hurt them much. We cross over the muddy ditch and I just know they had to have been airborne at some point to get to their landing point. (And the particular client in the van happens to say "Wheeee!" every time we drive over a bridge, so I'm sure he thought it was better than a ride at Disney.)

Apparently when the tow truck got there, one of the back tires was off the rim and under the van. The wheel itself was completely bent underneath. The staff said it probably happened when he cut the wheel so sharply to try to make the turn. Because as we all know, anytime you make a sharp turn, the tires have a tendency to fall off, right?? I personally would speculate that it was likely that particular tire that our 15 passenger van landed on after it jumped the ditch. But what do I know? I just work here.

Now, back to my vacation...

A Night at the Club

Because we are all kinds of cool up in this house, our resident grocery-bagger decided he wants to go to nightclubs after work. He gets off of work at 10 pm and hears other employees discussing going "clubbing" and he wants so desperately to fit in. And bless his heart, he is just so socially awkward that he's likely never going to be in the "in crowd" of the grocery store employees (if such a group exists). He did ask one girl out - the story of which could have it's own blog entry complete with him wanting to dress up in costume so she wouldn't recognize him; to making up a name as a secret admirer; and finally to writing secret notes and trying to have Lowell deliver them (I can just see explaining to our friends and family why my husband is in jail for soliciting a minor!) - and she was very sweet when she declined. But I digress.

So a couple of nights ago, Lowell picks him up after work and he says he wants to go to a certain nightclub that he overheard some people talking about. He tells Lowell where it is, and Lowell, knowing full well that there is no nightclub at this address, drives there anyway in an attempt to put an end to the nightclub discussion. However, once they got there and there was no club, Lowell was asked if he would drive around to look for it. So as they are driving down the street, they discover another club. Grocery-boy gets really excited and stops to ask somebody if they know where the other club is. They don't. But lo and behold it's "one dollar cover charge night" there so he goes on in while Lowell waits for him in the van. While he is inside, Lowell googles the place and gets a good chuckle when he sees this written on the website: "genre: gay/lesbian". He really laughs when said guy comes back out and says, "I'm gonna hang out in there for a while, but if I pick up a girl and come out with her, will you be cool and all?" Lowell promises to be "cool and all" about it, but the idea of this guy going into a gay/lesbian nightclub and emerging with an interested female is crazy enough. But to think that he would actually meet someone who would be willing to come with him to meet his STAFF is downright laughable.

He stays in there for seriously over an hour. All the while Lowell is texting me. He's waved to a couple people from church who were out walking their dog. We know that every time they see us from now on, they will be wondering if they should fill me in on the fact that my husband hangs out in front of gay nightclubs. And I won't be able to stop laughing.

When he finally comes out (no pun intended), he says to Lowell, "I had to leave. There weren't any women worth picking up. The band was good, but the men just announced how long they'd been married. Men are married. The men in the band are married!"

At least he figured it out. And it only took him an hour. And a huge club-wide announcement. And we seem to have gotten the "want to go to a nightclub bug" completely out of our system. So I guess it was worth it!

Helpful Hints from A Group Home

Remember Heloise? I used to enjoy reading her helpful hints in the newspaper. She always knew how to get that stain out, what ingredient could be a substitute for whatever you are lacking, and how to make your own laundry detergent. And now, I know I am no Heloise, nor am I Martha Stewart, but I've learned some decorating tips and useful household hints throughout my time in a group home. So turn off the HGTV and see what I have to share!

What do you do when you are chopping vegetables and can't find that pesky cutting board anywhere?? It's easy, just open the nearest cabinet, clear the closest shelf of whatever dishes might be residing on it, pull that shelf off of the pegs and Voila, you have a cutting board. How nifty is that??

And what about when those cabinet doors seem to always be in the way. You just despise having to open one anytime you need to get something from the cabinet (a cutting board, maybe). Did you know you can just pull really hard on them and they'll pop right off? No need to worry yourself further with the task of opening and closing!

And how many of you have ever wished for new countertops? You visit a friend and they have new granite, someone else has beautiful tile. But you have ugly white laminate and really can't afford to have it replaced. Well do I ever have a solution for you! Grab a Sharpie!! It's amazing what you can do.

Maybe I'm Back

Okay, so I'm a tad embarrassed. December 15th was the last time I blogged? Can that be true? I mean, I know it's been a while, but really? Four months, wow!

And now the problem is, I don't even know where to start! Uh, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I guess I have been in one of those blogging "funks" that I think most bloggers have from time to time. Life is happening, life is sad, life is funny, life is hard, life is wonderful, and you still just feel like there is not a lot to say, or at least not a lot of time in which to say it.

So nothing has really changed in our lives over the last four months, in which I haven't been blogging, but nothing ever remains the same either.

Our guys are the same. And even though it seems like we repeat the same day over and over and over and over, there's always a little bit of crazy thrown in.

We think one of our guys is depressed right now. Or at least that's the psychiatrist's most recent diagnosis. I think it's like living with a colicky baby. He's crying ALL the time. And he's fed, and he's clean, and his schedule hasn't changed, and everything is in place that should be in place to make him happy. And yet he still cries. And I understand, though would NEVER condone, where shaken baby syndrome originated. Lowell and I have both learned that when we get to that point, we have to pass off responsibilities to the other person and go to the local bar for a stiff drink or two. (Just kidding about that of course, but it's a thought that's crossed my mind.) Here's hoping that the new antidepressant will solve the problem, and we'll have a little less screaming and a lot fewer tears, for all of us, not just for the resident Eeyore.

One of our guys knocked on the door a few weeks ago in the middle of the night, was holding his right side, and said, "Can you take me to the emergency room? I think I need my appendix out." And would you believe, he was right? So Lowell got to spend the whole evening and a good portion of the next day in the hospital with "Mr. I Know How to Diagnose Myself". He was released a lot earlier than they had originally planned. We are pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that he was continually asking for a meal and complaining that there was no Sci-Fi Network on the hospital televisions. When he started asking for video games and Microsoft points, they decided he was ready to come home. That was over three weeks ago. The surgery was laparoscopic, so the healing time was about 2 days. He went back to work this week. Talk about somebody MILKING an injury. Pathetic doesn't begin to describe it.

And then we have "Mr. My Short-Term Memory Gets Worse by the Second". The loops that he gets on could be scripted. We know exactly what he is going to say and when he is going to say it. And then he's going to say it again. He loves to talk about the weather. Any time you drive past one of those digital time and temperature signs, he will tell you the temperature over and over until we pass another one, and then he points out how much the temperature has changed. And the loop goes on. The first few times that he made statements like, "It's 50 degrees. Kind of cold for a Tuesday," we laughed. But we have since decided that hearing, "it's warm for a Friday" or "kind of rainy for a Thursday" just isn't that funny anymore. I've tried to steer him by saying, "yeah, kind of warm for FEBRUARY," but it's been to no avail. I give up. I remind myself that this is the same sports nut, who, the Wednesday after the Super Bowl, told us several times that they were having a huge parade in Green Bay because they like celebrating Wednesdays. Again, no use explaining that the residents of Green Bay aren't just big fans of Wednesday!

Anyway, that's pretty much life as we know it. Hopefully, I can get over the non-blogging funk that's had me down. I'm going to go turn the heat up. It's kind of cold here for a Thursday.

O Christmas Tree

This time of year makes me miss my daddy. I know a lot of people miss their parents around the holidays, but it's usually because they are deceased. Thankfully, mine's not. But this time of year makes me think of him and wish we lived closer.

Why? Partly because it's the Christmas holidays and being close to family is nice. But the main reason is because, without him, I'm on my own to get Christmas tree.

I have the best memories of being a little girl and going out to hunt for the perfect tree. It would be sacrilegious to have an artificial tree, as everybody knows. And we weren't ones to buy one from the Optimist Club in the Kroger parking lot. Heck, we didn't even go to a Christmas tree farm. We were the kind of family that did it right!

We got all bundled up nice and warm and loaded into my dad's pickup truck. We didn't really have a destination, just a purpose: find the perfect tree. We'd drive around and dad would slow down and look around, then drive on. Then he'd slow down and we'd hear him say, "hmmm" followed shortly after by, "I bet... hmm. Come on kids, let's see what we can find."

We'd then park on the side of the road, grab the saw and go searching for a tree. I learned all about barbed wire and how to judge if it's best to go over or under. We'd find a great tree, saw it down, throw it over the barbed wire, toss it in the truck and be on our merry way. What's funny about all this is that I had NO IDEA we were trespassing on somebody else's property and cutting down their trees. I just thought it was how everybody got a Christmas tree. But as an adult, and seeing how much trees are, I now know it was because we were POOR. (Isn't it funny though how as kids we don't realize the reasons behind the things our parents do?)

As I got older, we did begin to go to the Christmas tree farms and choose our trees legally. To this day, I don't know if that's because we had more financial stability or if my dad grew a conscience. Or maybe he was worried that now that we were older and not quite as little and cute, people would be less likely to be in the "Christmas Spirit" and let it go if we got caught.

One year my mom bought an artificial tree and quickly got the wrath of my brother and me. (And we were grown, not even living at home.) But now that I have to clean up after a real tree, I can certainly see the allure.

So I knew that I wanted my kids to have the real tree experience. I was excited the first year my dad came to pick up Joshua to take him to the Christmas tree farm down the road and let him pick out and saw down a tree. And it became a tradition. So much that last year, after we had moved 450 miles away, Joshua asked when Grandpa Phil was coming to take him to get a tree! (I was kind of wondering myself...)

Anyway, although I miss the tradition, and I miss my dad having a part in it, we have a tree. A real one. And the local Optimist Club members sitting in their trailer in the Kroger parking lot have way too much of my money.

The upside though, no clothes have to be replaced due to being caught and torn on the barbed wire.

Glass Half-Empty or Half-Full

In this house, there is no half-empty or half-full. It's just plain EMPTY. And we aren't just talking about one particular gentleman's outlook on life. We are talking about his VERY odd perception that when something only has a little left, it's gone.

To better explain, he came to me the other day and said, "We are out of laundry detergent." Well that's just plain laughable. We order our laundry detergent through the food bank and I am not even kidding when I say that we probably have close to thirty bottles of detergent in the house. But he was referring to the bottles on the shelf in the laundry area.


So you can see that there are at least six bottles of detergent on the shelf. And they may not all be full, but I can assure you none of them is empty.

And when he makes a bowl of cereal in the morning, he almost always says, "We're out of milk." And he doesn't mean, "we're almost out" because unless I catch him first, he will inevitably throw the jug of milk away.



But I really thought I might scream today when he came to me and said, "We are out of toilet paper. We only have one roll left." I went into his bathroom and this is what I saw.



Can you guess which "one" is the only one left? Of course, in his mind, the only roll we have is the one that hasn't been touched. However, I CANNOT for the life of me figure out why he truly CANNOT see that there are seventeen, count 'em, seventeen other rolls that still have a substantial amount of toilet paper on them. But he can't. He really can't. He is truly convinced that we are out of toilet paper. There is no arguing with him. And it makes me want to cry and yell. But I don't. I just walk away. And tell Lowell that one of the guys next door wants to talk to him.