Blacksheep Speaks

You know all those stories about adult children that won’t move out, and what the parents go through? Add me to the ranks. My eldest, who is planning to be married to Mr. Perfect shortly, won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. She and her husband to be, who want to buy a mini mansion and can’t even afford a class A motorhome are sort of stuck for the time being. As soon as he can arrange on-base housing she will be joining him (as long as he stays stateside anyway) but do you know how LONG that can take? They’ll be able to save up for that motorhome first.

Regular readers know that my eldest daughter is about to give birth to my first grandchild. She is in her 38th week. We have a very definite time frame on this. As in, we know what day she got pregnant. For sure. It’s the only time she ever had sex (baby on time, wedding late. Bah.) I believe my daughter on this, because it was pretty much her only opportunity… long story. In any case, we DO know she is in her 38th week. She had an ultrasound six weeks ago that backed that up. Yesterday, the doctor ordered a new ultrasound. Either the tech didn’t know what she was doing, or the ultrasound machine is in serious need of drug rehab. Apparently the baby has grown YOUNGER, according to this latest test. THIS test shows her at approximately 33 weeks, and less weight than the one six weeks ago. Um, no. But what got me was, the tech REFUSED to believe us. Her machine didn’t lie, no matter what. Right.

I’m allergic to soap. Really. Makes life interesting. I didn’t start out that way, but it was one of those little chemical changes that came with my first pregnancy, almost twenty years ago, and it never straightened itself out. You are getting to hear about it because my eldest was asking about certain things she is going through with HER first pregnancy and wanting to know what goes away and what doesn’t. So, YOU get to hear about it. It’s a pretty mild allergy, as allergies go. I can still USE soap as long as I am very careful to get all the residue off. Where I don’t, the skin scabs over. I never have much problem with bar soap. It’s shampoo that gets me, because my hair is almost waiste length, and I refuse to cut it over this, so getting ALL the shampoo residue out is just about impossible. Every doctor I have been to wants to prescribe psoriasis treatment. Which brings me to another pet gripe… why don’t doctors ever LISTEN? I know this body better than they do, what with living in it and all. Reminds me of one time when I was a teen… I had three mosquito bites on my face. Doctor insisted it was acne. Like I wouldn’t know the difference. Sheesh.

You know, I never realized exactly how spoiled rotten my kids are, not until recently, at least. Parents out there, do yourselves a favor and make sure your kids have SOME sense of what “dead broke” means, or you WILL regret it. Case in point: Regular readers know that until recently we have had the luxury of two vehicles to drive. However, one, the minivan, was tornado food back in February. My husband was driving the remaining car down to pick up our second daughter for the weekend… the one at the genius school. The car stops dead. On the closest thing Arkansas has to a freeway. There he sits, in the ONLY car, with ONE debit card on him that has a three hundred dollar a day security limit. After TWO HOURS in the heat we finally get a tow truck to take the car to a garage… which is closing for the weekend. They drop my husband at the nearest Ramada-alike. We call to tell our daughter this, and she STILL has to have it explained that a 350 mile cab ride is a little out of the question. Saturday, on weekend overtime, a mechanic lets us know that in addition to the hundred and thirty bucks we already owe for the tow and his expert opinion, it is STILL gonna cost another fifteen HUNDRED dollars to fix the car. Our third daughter, a kindly soul, offers us her entire life savings (about a hundred dollars) to fix the problem. I love that child. And our eldest? Theoretically the most grown up and experienced, SHE still wants me to buy her a massage chair to help with her pregnancy backaches… she’s due in two weeks. Pardon me while I shed a tear for her, then get back to figuring out the rest of this mess.

I really want to thank the folks at PearParadise.com for giving me, among other things, this chance to exercise creativity. That said, please don’t hold THEM responsible for the horrid singing in this thing, and yes, those ARE clams. Don’t pick on me!

I have sitting next to me a beautiful strand of freshwater pearls (as seen in the first frame of the video) from PearlParadise.com. These truly are heirloom quality, and will become just that in my family. The gold clasp only adds to the beauty. I hope you enjoy the video, folks, and be sure to check out the Pearl Paradise website… these prices are incredible.

It happened again, by the way. An obnoxious brat (that used to be a nice kid, till he said THIS) proclaimed that my daughter couldn’t be pregnant, she must be just fat. That is all the wisdom of a ten year old talking. In spite of this, my soon to deliver daughter went into depressed fits about her appearance. Problem is, not only is she NOT fat… she’s a stick. After she delivers she will STILL need to gain weight. While I have not found it possible to convince her of THAT (because apparently the obnoxious ten year old knows more than I do about such things) I do think I have managed to get her to leave the diet pills alone for a while. Here’s hoping, anyway.

Young couples about to be married turn into an alien species. That is the only explanation I can come up with. How else do you explain it when otherwise sane people start trying to buy cars and rent houses they don’t have a prayer of being able to afford any time in this century? I certainly raised my daughter to have more sense, so it must be the boy. His evil influence is taking over. Apparently, houses with sun decks and walk in tub facilities are a necessity. And fast cars that are NOT pink (don’t ask). I’m not sure I even want to be around when reality hits and they realize that what they can afford is a bicycle and a tent, on ground they don’t have to rent, hopefully. Ah, to be young again… you couldn’t pay me enough.

Have you ever noticed what strange presents people give for “extra” events? I mean the kind of thing that only happens once. We have two of that type of thing happening here… one daughter getting “baby” gifts and one getting graduation gifts. Sometimes it’s hard to remember who got what, other than the obvious things like baby booties. Consider, for example, a gift of a beautiful Patek Perpetual timepiece. What a great gift for the soon to be graduated, a wonderful thing to take to college with you…. right? Except she’s not the one who recieved it. I guess the idea must be… precision bottle warming?

It has finally hit my oldest that she has gained almost forty pounds since she became pregnant. There is no telling her that it’s normal, either. She is completely convinced that she has become fat. Given that this girl, under normal circumstances, is a complete STICK, I personally don’t think it will be anywhere near time to pull out the weight loss pills after she delivers, but she seems to enjoy being upset about the weight thing anyway. To put this in perspective, my two older daughters are both relatively slim, and both near five foot eight or so. My oldest, with the extra forty pounds, STILL weighs less than her non-pregnant sister. This is not a fact which has escaped attention, and there is much “HMPH” to be heard.

Today was an interesting round of phone tag. I spent most of it on the phone with my daughter’s doctor’s office. I got to do the arguing because my daughter says I “know how to handle things” better than she does. What she means is, I’m louder. In any case, it was finally worked out that, instead of driving an hour and a half so my daughter can see a doctor that insists on delivering babies at Hospital Hell, we will instead be driving forty five minutes to take her to a doctor that delivers at the hospital that almost killed my husband. But hey, at least they were NICE while they were almost killing him. You do kind of have to go over the bills they send with a magnifying glass to catch all the hidden charges, though. But ANYTHING is better than the hospital we took her to the other night. Really.