Possumblog

Well, so--

Went straight to the in-laws' house Friday afternoon after work, and surprisingly, Reba managed to get there before me. Supper, then more food prep for the party, and I got to help hoist folding tables and chairs us from the basement, and for the most part managed not to do much of anything else. I have found it best--even though I am an excellent cook and a good all-around kitchen assistant--that it is MUCH BETTER not to get anywhere in betwixt Reba, her mother, and the food.

They just have a totally different way of working, and it just doesn’t suit me, what with all of its wasted motion and deliberate loud clattering of cookware and obsessive mess-making-then-cleaning. It’s not that they can’t cook--they could go toe-to-toe with anyone, but they’d take twice as long and be twice as loud and twice as messy. (Not that you heard ANY of that from me.) When I cook, I figure out ahead of time what I’ll need and when I’ll need it and where I’m going to put it while I’m working, and do my best not to make a mess that has to be cleaned up later.

So in the end, it’s best I just pretend to be a real man and just go sit in the den, watch TV, grunt, and doze.

Home around 9:30, and the first of many surprises for the weekend to come.

Pulled up in the driveway behind Reba, who’s in the van, Jonathan and I having stopped to put some gas in her Focus. There is much heated discussion going on in the van. I park, go get a package off the front porch, go inside, get the kids putting away the food we brought with us, Oldest comes by and wants paper towels, comes back in five minutes and wants the big 6 volt lantern. “Why do you need that!?”

“Mom wants it.” As if to say, ‘and may you drop dead eternally for having the gall to ask ME such a question.’

Go outside to see what the hold-up is. Reba’s bent over the passenger side front seat--“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what’s going on?”

“Well, Ashley accidentally dropped a whole bowl of pork broth into the floor and I’m trying to get it up--it really was an accident and she really was sorry about it.”

“Hmm. Well, she’s recovered quite nicely now and seems back to her old uncontriteness.”

I helped get the front floor mat out and sent her on back inside to finish getting the food put away and wrangle with the children while I cleaned up. Nothing quite like cold greasy pig broth in the floorboard to make you appreciate life, you know? Must have been a gallon down there. Two whole rolls of paper towels, and I still didn’t actually get it all soaked up. The plan was to go take it to the carwash place over the weekend and let them shampoo it.

That never happened.

After getting through with my schmaltz slopping, I pulled the van back inside the garage and rolled down the windows to help it finish drying (I don’t think this worked) and went on inside and upstairs.

My package arrived from Penney’s. Yea! Four pairs of my usual unpleated and uncuffed Haggar pants, and a pair of my usual Florsheim black wing-tips. (The other pair has done well, but the uppers are coming apart, and I did already have them resoled once, so I figure I got my money’s worth out of them.)

Opened up the plastic bag--shoes, okay. Black, navy blue, gray pants--check. Heather blue pants? Uhhh, no. A yellow curtain of the ruffley-lace sort instead. And I have NOTHING to wear that goes with yellow! ::sigh:: A call to customer service, who said she’d send the right pair of pants, and I could take the curtain back to the nearest store for a credit.

Because I didn’t have enough stuff to do, you know.

Then, the phone messages. Wal-Mart, calling to remind us of our eye-exam appointments on Saturday morning. 9, 9:30, 10, 10:30, and 11. Next message, Wal-Mart, calling to tell us that our new fancy-schmancy Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance doesn’t pay for routine eye exams.

WHAT!?

I got out my piece of paper--well, it says HERE they do!

Not much else to do but wait until the morning and figure it out.

SATURDAY MORNING--up early to get everyone ELSE up early. Find out the vision center doesn’t open until 9. Call at 9, get a girl who says that someone else called and talked to someone else who said we don’t have coverage. “But you see, I’m looking at our summary of benefits, and it says right here, ‘Routine eye exam--covered at 100% of the allowed amount, subject to $15 co-pay,’ which to me sounds like I have routine eye exam coverage.”

Silence.

“Uhm, sir, can I call you back?”

But of course.

Wait for fifteen more minutes, and she called back properly humble-ized and apologetic, “I ran off your schedule of coverage and it does say you have routine eye exam coverage.” Well, GEE, whaddya know about THAT! “100%, with a $20 co-pay.”

::sound of me slapping myself::

“Uh, well, no--it should be 15--that’s what our summary says.”

More apologies, but they can only go by what the insurance company tells them, meaning I have to call the insurance company today and find out what’s going on. IN THE MEAN TIME--off to Wally World!

Load the van, head out.

Show the girl my piece of paper saying it’s a $15 co-pay, she shows me the one from Blue Cross that says $20. I throw down my cards and she starts raking the chips toward her side of the table.

Set to work filling out papers on everyone and start shuttling folks into the exam room. Catherine has been complaining of not being able to see the board, yet when she was reading the pretend eye chart out in the lobby, she could read all the way down to 20/15. Which she was ALSO able to do for the doctor. He said she had just about perfect eyes. I don’t know who she got them from. But I’m glad--no glasses for her.

Boy--about the same, no new glasses needed for him.

Rebecca--about the same, no new glasses needed for her.

Ashley--despite much drama (repeated quietly later to mom and dad by the doctor with a wry wink) about being legally blind, only a slight change--no new glasses, but a slight change in the contacts.

Reba--about to the point of having to give up on contacts. She’s decided to try a pair of reading glasses for now, for although her spirit is still that of a winsomely randy bride, her eyes, alas, bear fully her full calendar of years. In other words, her arms are getting too short to read the newspaper. Bifocal time.

Me? I didn’t get an exam. I can still see fine from the last time, and I’m tighter than Scrooge McDuck when it comes to stuff like this. But you know what? It’s time for bifocals for me, too. It finally hit me a while back when I was trying to read one of those silly prize coupons off of a McDonald’s soft drink cup, and couldn’t see it. No matter where I held it. Stupid blurry printing! And then, the other day I was sorting through fuses for the Volvo--they’re little plastic things with barely perceptible amp ratings molded into the body. “Um, hey Catherine--does this say 10 or 15?”

“Daaaad, that says ‘8’!”

“Heh--oh, yeah, ummm--I was just seeing if you could see it!”

::sigh:: Already have terrible myopia, and crazy-go-mad astigmatism, so what’s a little presbyopia thrown into the mix?

So, next year, I figure I take the plunge and ask for some lens help. I figure bifocals (or maybe even some of those progressive lenses) won’t be so detrimental to my hip, swingin’ image if I get me some of those cool Elvis-like frames like Kim Jong Il wears. Of course, I might not be able to wear progressive lenses, since I hear they make things like sawed-off little megalomaniacal dictators look rational.

Whatever.

On over to the in-laws’ place again to help get ready for the big 2:30 shindig, and I wisely absented myself in order to run over to the Penney’s at Century Plaza to take back my curtain pants. HEY! RAIN! We got several good downpours over the weekend. Which made the grass grow and the car wash place close. Which meant there was no going to the carwash place to get the rest of the broth fumes shampooed out of the carpet.

Got my return done with blessedly no problems, then shopped a bit in the store. It’s closing (it’s moving to Trussville--yay!) so they had a sale going on. I bought towels. Not just regular towels but four big giant soft fluffy huge white towels that will ONLY be used in OUR bathroom and will not be sullied by child germs!

Back to the in-laws’, where, after I got in from the rain, I got tasked with warming up the hot wings. (But not hotting up the warm wings.) Fine by me--I got to use the kitchen downstairs (they had a kitchen installed with the idea of having an apartment for themselves downstairs in their golden years, presumably with Reba and me and the children upstairs--I have a feeling I’ll need it before them). Anyway, I did that and it gave me an excuse to hide out in the basement with the kids the entire time. I’m just not good with tightly packed people, even if I do know them all. Makes me all itchy. Much better to be able to sit and watch Fairly Odd Parents and get the kids to run upstairs and get me a plate of food.

Stayed to help clean up, finally got home around 7 or so, and got the kids started on their bathing chores. “Daddy, can I use one of these new towels in--”

“NO! Those are Mommy and Daddy towels and I will eat you if you touch them!”

Finally in bed much too late.

Sunday--up early, get ready for church, go to church, become preoccupied with worldly things such as the building addition, go home for lunch, do piles of laundry, go back to church for a 3:00 o’clock meeting, come BACK home, do more laundry, get everyone in the van and back on the road for evening services, go home, do more laundry and write letters to everyone about the building addition AND manage to buy a rare factory accessory oil filter relocation kit on Ebay for the Volvo. (It’s much easier to change the filter when it’s up high and not down underneath the hot sharp things, you know), AND iron Boy's shirt for his Scout meeting tonight.

Anyway, it was a very non-inactive weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at July 24, 2006 11:27 AM