Oh, today been has the Monday-est of Mondays. Sigh... The cat peed on Feisty Pants' bed. And her crash pad. For the uninitiated, a crash pad is a large foam filled seat/mattress thingy. Like a really big bean bag. In our case, a futon cover filled with blocks of industrial foam. (Disabled kids often have seating and positioning issues and you have to get really creative, or rich.) Notice I said industrial FOAM, you know like a sponge. Great for soaking up liquids. Took almost half a gallon of white vinegar to clean it. The cover is still in my dryer as I type this. (Damn dryer is temperamental and old and cranky. I think it's balking at the heat and humidity.)
Cheweverything Pants has decided we pay too much attention to the cats and has taken to clawing her ear open randomly. Just enough to make the house look like an episode of CSI:Veterinarian's Office. (She has allergies and her ear itches.) We have now taken to buying veterinary superglue. (Don't bitch at me, we tried EVERYTHING else- bandages, ear wraps, a homemade doggy babushka. She MacGuyvered her way out of all of it.)
Last week, my elderly mother fell down the stairs and literally broke her neck and is currently balking at the needed surgery. I don't think she realizes that what she is risking isn't pain or life and limb but her independence that she values so highly. She may have changed her mind by now. I don't know. No one has called me and my dad is certainly with her in the ICU where no cell phones are allowed. (C'mon Facebook, don't fail me now. Surely one of my gazillion relatives will post soon.)
We did a small favor for FP's nurse and she did us a HUMONGOUS solid by giving us a gift card to a restaurant so we would not have to cook in this stifling humidity today. So I promptly celebrated by dumping guacamole down my bra in public. Go me.
So dear reader, I don't mean to bitch or whine at you. But Feisty Pants is a lot of work and anytime you have a disabled kid, EVERYTHING becomes more time consuming. I live in awe of how anybody ever deals with more than one feisty kid at a time. Or becomes a member of the sandwich generation and cares for a feisty one AND an elderly parent at the same time. Those people deserve chocolate and lottery wins and big ass halos. But if I am gonna be honest about this journey, I have to portray the good crazy and the bad crazy. You gotta know some days will be effing MONDAY all effing day. Don't worry though, it passes, it really does. Fridays and bedtimes will come back again. I promise. I wish you all peace.