Evil Moments

Today we headed down the NJ Turnpike and on to my Mom's house. The kids were relatively good in the car, on minor spat with the obligatory whining, but otherwise a smooth trip. For variety we took a vote and decided to go through the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel instead of taking I-695 and the Key Bridge. Thea thought the tunnel was pretty cool stuff. Score one for Mommy.

Since the kids only had one break at the Chesapeake House rest stop, the first order of business was getting some running around time in before dinner. And my mother's neighbor's dog is the perfect source of some exercise. Thea loves walking Chelsea (or being walked by Chelsea) because of the retractable leash. We start out by going up and down the fire lane exit to my mother's development so that Chelsea's done her business before walking through the neighborhood.

We also give Micah a chance to 'walk' Chelsea by putting him in the umbrella stroller and clipping the leash into the seat belt. Then Thea holds the back of the stroller so Chelsea (who is a Boston Terrier) doesn't take Micah on a wild ride. Though sometimes I think she loosens her grip on the handles to see what might happen.

OK, so that's the preamble and set up for the actual story. The three of us are heading back into my mother's little townhouse community with a dog that has done her business so thoroughly that there couldn't be a drop left in her if her bladder were wrung out like a sponge.

We start off down the little court, Micah and the stroller have the leash, I'm trying to keep Chelsea from running like a lunatic into the street because Micah has no grasp of how the retractable leash works. Pun intended. We pass a townhouse where a little Yorkie is at the storm door looking out, Chelsea spots her and makes a dash across the lawn to see the little yapping scrap of bad shag carpeting.

Then Yorkie owner comes to her door and tells us to keep 'our' dog off her lawn. With the little yapping provocateur right there. As I had just come from four hours in a car trying to keep two kids happy, I was not in the best of moods, so I just snapped and said, "Oh, get over it." Thea looked at the lady and said, "Yeah." And we kept walking.

Considering my employment history includes two years working in the NJ prison system "oh, get over it" is fairly tame. Nevertheless I immediately felt guilty because I don't want to cause problems for my mother.

After we finished the walk we returned Chelsea to her owner, and I had to ask her who lives at 203. And it turns out that the person I snapped out at is the neighborhood busybody who everyone in this little community despises for numerous and varied reasons. The infamous CeCe. I have hear so many CeCe stories, and I do remember a lady with a Yorkie stuffed under her arm barging in when Mom's neighbor was being treated by the paramedics and readied for transport to the local hospital. (Just what one wants is in the middle of a medical emergency to have someone come nosing around, and with her ratty little mutt, too.)

So after a brief discussion with Dorothy as to whether my mother has any inkling about her surprise birthday party (another vote for 'no'), I hightailed it back to Mom's to tell her about our encounter.

Needless to say, my stock in my mother's eyes rose and she was wishing she'd come out on the walk with us. . . .

And I'm glad we're at the hotel tonight. Mom's guest room faces the street, and I'd rather not be sleeping there when the Molotov cocktail a la CeCe gets lobbed through the window.

And while I'm on the subject of sharing what a horrible person I am, here's another foot-in-mouth-via-email moment:

The set up for this story is that Micah's ENT said last May that we would proceed with a CT scan after he turned three. Our only contact with him since that visit was via email to ask him for a letter supporting Micah's second BAHA (which he responded to in something under a nanosecond and had the letter sent out within a day or so of the request. He rocks.)

So I called the office on Wednesday to set the wheels in motion for the CT scan. And was told that we need to make an appointment for an office visit first. Whatever for? Until Dr. Choe has the CT scan results, another appointment is a waste of his time and ours. But I made an appointment anyway, and then emailed the doctor (who I was told was on vacation this week, but I figured it would be in his email in-box when he got back next week).

This is what I wrote:

"Thank you for your help with Micah's second BAHA; he is doing amazingly well and is now at Summit Speech School for its full-day preschool program for just under one month. I called the Englewood office today to ask about setting up the CT scan for Micah. The staff member I spoke with said that we would need to make an appointment first. I had been hoping that we could begin to make arrangements for the CT scan, and then follow up with you after you had had the opportunity to review the results. I attempted to explain that other than being a year older, a bit taller, a few pounds heavier and much more verbal, his atresia is unchanged. (She had asked,"How is Micah feeling?" which struck me as a slightly odd question; he's three years old, and blissfully unaware that he's any different than anyone else, atresia is his version of normal.)"

It's not all that bad,really, except that the doctor in his response to me saying we did not need to come in for an appointment until after the CT scan, also CC:'d the message to his medical assistant and asked her to pull Micah's chart and put it on his desk, with all of my entire message forwarded with his response. Ouch. The front desk staff is going to hate me, at least one of them is.

And he responded within a few hours of my sending the message to him. So much for his vacation, time to back away from the computer. Dr. Choe. . . . .