Call Me Mrs. A. . .

Anyone who knows me, knows that when I married, I didn't change my name. This was driven by various factors: laziness and wanting to keep my father's last name being the top two reasons.

It's been a fabulous way to spot telephone solicitors, who call up asking for Mrs. A. and I sweetly tell them that there is no such person at this address. Buh-bye, click.

So Saturday when the mail brought a letter from the State of New Jersey addressed to Mr. and Mrs. A., my initial reaction would have been annoyance - a double dose because whoever had addressed it hadn't even bother to use Steve's first name, which is just shear sloppiness.

But it was the letter stating that Micah's second BAHA was approved, and we could go ahead and call JFK's audiology appointment to set up an appointment.

Two things:
A) for that kind of news, you could address me by any name you like; and

B) I know that the "call to set up your appointment" is patently untrue unless the audiology department has received its paperwork from the State, so it's not worth getting too excited about. And it trickles back to audiology via the hospital's business office instead of via the direct route. Last year when this same letter arrived, I promptly got on the phone to make an appointment and was rapidly shot down because there was nothing in Micah's chart yet. Call back later.

So this morning at 8:30, I was on the phone, talking with the audiologist, and lo and behold, the paperwork had also been received on that end, and things are moving forward with ordering the BAHA. A Christmas/Hanukah miracle, no less, since we might be able to go to Edison to pick it up on New Year's Eve.

And another miracle, my mother called to say that our Christmas cards, ordered Friday night from Kodak had arrived at her house- one full day before we're due to get there.

Now if all that pesky holiday shopping stuff would just take care of itself, I'd be in the clear.