Send Pillows Please

So I'm stealing my parents' internet right now. I'm jacking their signal. I'm up in their modem. Okay, I'm not really stealing it since my mother graciously invited me over to her house, gave me the wifi password and even offered me the use of her laptop all so that I could write this post. Her only condition was that I wear pants. She may have encouraged me to comb my hair as well but I took that part as optional.

My internet crapped out. My internet is provided by Xplornet and for more than two years I have had no complaint with their service other than it's slower than molasses even when I was paying for the fastest signal they have.

Then Christmas rolled around and my internet slowed down some more and I just attributed it to my children being Youtube addicts and baby gamers and didn't think about it again. Until Wednesday. When my internet gasped a final breath, shuddered and then quit completely.

That sound you hear is a woman trapped in the sticks with her often misbehaving children, screeching to the Gods of Internet Signal TO COME BACK TO ME. STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT.

After sobbing hysterically to my husband, (because priorities 'bitch first, fix later', I haz 'em) we called Xplornet. Where they said that really sucks and yes, we see your signal is being bounced between three different towers and you are being disconnected from signal more than a THOUSAND TIMES A DAY and ya, that's not really good. But no worries sweet internet addict, they crooned. WE CAN FIX.

Great. The problem has been identified, the solution is easy, let's get it done.

At least that's how it would work if I could will it with the power of my mind. The reality is, they identified the problem, know the solution and oh wait, we don't actually fix the service we make you pay for, we source it out to technicians. You'll have to call them.

So we did.

And the technicians said? HAHAHAHAHAHAH. GET IN LINE BITCH.

Well actually, they were much politer than that.

So after an epic freak out to my husband, several calls to Xplornet, one lovely run in with a dude named Brandon who sounds like he hates females, his job and possibly life in general, my offering blow jobs to a bunch of technicians that either don't like blow jobs or crazy women, a bazillion angry tweets on Twitter and finally Xplornet calling ME, well, I still don't have any internet.

Because there is a line and I am at the back end of it because, lady, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN INTERNET EMERGENCY.

Clearly Xplornet does not understand how A.) I make my living, B.) Communicate with the outside world and C.) Stay sane so that I don't go around smothering people with pillows.  Because right now, I'd very much like to do just that. And it doesn't even matter who I smother. I'm twitchy like that. It's probably best to avoid eye contact with me. And if you see me eyeing any pillows I suggest you run.

So I'm sitting here, at my parent's house, eyeing their throw pillows and begging my dad to come a little closer, I just dare you Dad, while stealing their internet.

Something tells me I'm going to be spending a lot of time here until Xplornet decides they should fix my signal. Because guess what? THEY ARE STILL MAKING ME PAY FOR THE SIGNAL I AM NOT RECEIVING!! YAY!!

There's a bright side to every coin, right?

So while I'm packing to basically move back into my parents house (cheaper than a motel with free wifi, yo) even though I haven't asked them and oh hey, it's going to be so much fun sharing a room with my sister again, you should totally go read my Babble article.

It's probably the most honest words I've ever typed out about my marriage and we all have Xplornet, their crappy customer service and their NO SIGNAL PROVIDING service to thank for it.

Mean time, I'm just fluffing the pillows. I swear.

But hey. At least I have both of my thumbs. Life could be worse.

The Dirtiest Phone Conversation Ever

From earlier today. He wonders why I hate talking on the phone so much:

"Hey. How are you?"

"I'm grouchy."

"Why is that? Did you sleep poorly?"

"No. I slept like the dead. The pitter patter of the rain against the window lulls me asleep."

"Ah. So what's today's problem?"

"The pitter patter of the rain against the window. I don't mind a little rain. It was needed. I can just about hear the leaves unfurling on the trees."

"And this is a problem?"

"No. That's not the problem. Stay with me here. The problem is the fact it won't stop raining. I'm going to need Noah to build me a darn ark soon."

"Rain is good for the soul. And it washes away the dog poop on the lawn. That's important."

"Look at you, ever the optimist. You are forgetting one thing though."

"What's that?"

"Someone dug a hole to China to build a monster man cave and it is now my very own personal lake. Not to mention since my driveway has been destroyed my yard is half mud pit, half ocean."

"Oh. Well. That monster man cave will surely be worth a little mud."

"A little mud?"

"I think you just burst my eardrum with that screech. It's mud. It's not the end of the world."

"It is not a little mud. It's two dogs, four cats, two teens and a wheelchair worth of mud. ALL OVER MY FLOOR. All I'm doing is mopping. Mopping, mopping, mopping. I hate mopping."

"That sounds like a lot of mud."

I'm like Sisyphus. Only less giant boulder up a mountain and more mopping a never ending series of muddy tracks off the floor.

"It's so much mud. I think it would be easier to just live outside, in a card board box. Less mud."

"Why a cardboard box? Why not a tent? Or in one of the sheds?"

"Are you seriously trying to pick a fight right now? The mud is making me mad."

"I'm sorry about the mud. Soon it will stop raining, the mud will dry, the hole will be filled, the man cave will be finished and your life will be better."

"Whatever."

"Is there something else that is bothering you?"

"Yes. My internet connection is acting up. It took me 25 minutes to upload a picture to my blog and my email won't load, none of the blogs I like can be read and I can't believe I pay this much money for such a crappy connection. It's a travesty."

"Sounds dirty."

"Almost as dirty as the mud."

"Well there is a bright side you know."

"Really? And what would that be? Because from where I sit, I can't see one."

"With all that extra time you have waiting around for your internet connection to load you have plenty of time to mop the floors."

"If you were here right now, I'd totally toss you out into the mud."

"Ya, but you'd let me back in. And then you'd just have to spend more time mopping up after my muddy foot prints. It's a vicious circle really."

"I hate when you are right."

"It's a nice change of pace really."

"Whatever. I've gotta go. Those floors won't wipe themselves clean."

"That's my girl."

"I'm going to blow up your man cave one day."

"No you won't. It would make a mess. I'm not sure but it would likely involve mud."

"I really hate you."

"Have a good day sweetie."

They say the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over again while expecting a different result. Like expecting a dog to go outside in the rain and not have muddy paws on his way back in. If he could roll his eyes at me he would.

Getting To First Base

The note said the assembly started at 8:50 am. Past experience dictated I had a few extra minutes to spare because as hard as those elementary teachers try, getting five grades of children to neatly file into the gym in an orderly fashion makes herding a group of blind cats look easy.

I stopped off at the local gas station and refilled my coffee cup with what should be terrible coffee but isn't, (Van Houtte for the win!) and stopped to chat with the owner for a second.

"My son is receiving an award at the school assembly today!" I chirped brightly.

"Oh Frac? Good for him! What did he do?" the owner asked.

"Oh, not for Frac, for my other son, my youngest, Jumbster."

I could see the gears in his head spin as he tried hard to pull up the memory file of my youngest son. And there it was. I could see the exact moment he remembered who my youngest son was. That dark haired Native kid in the wheelchair who is always slumped over and drooling.

The look on his face transformed for a nanosecond but in that fraction of time I saw pity wash across his face, followed by shame for feeling it and then finally embarrassment for realizing I could see what he was thinking.

"Oh good good!" he smiled as he rang in my purchase. "What is he getting the award for?"

"Good question! I have no idea! I guess I'll find out when I get there!"

I walked out of the gas station sipping my coffee and feeling a little bit deflated. Sometimes it sucks that the world doesn't see how awesome Jumbster is as easily as they recognize it in others. I wish I could magically make everyone see what I see when I look at him.

Inside the gym, hundreds of children fidgeted about, several of them belonging to my family tree, each spotting me and waving "Auntie Auntie Auntie!" in the excited way a child does. My rock star moment happens whenever I walk into the elementary school and a niece or a nephew spots me. I grew ten inches that morning as I took my seat in the corner of the gym.

Soon the awards where parsed out, one for creativity, one for friendliness, another for improved penmanship. The girls won the coveted Cleanest Bathroom trophy and the boys booed hard at their loss. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the boys. Having lived with the testicled for years I know how hard it is for them to not pee all over the toilet seats. The contest seemed designed to ensure their failure.

I was only half paying attention, playing on my phone as the assembly went on. Part of me mourns the son that was robbed of his elementary experience whenever I am in that school and another part of me whispers that it is not too late to have another child. Look how cute they all are! You could be part of this for years to come!

My broken uterus is a total bitch whenever she's surrounded by other people's off spring.

And then it was the Jumbster's turn. His name was called and I watched as his aide undid his brakes. A tall boy in his class puffed up with pride as he pushed Jumby through the crowd and toward the front of the gym. The vice principal smiled down and read aloud the note his teacher had written. He handed Knox's award to his helper friend, gave my son a high five, shook his friend's hand and then both boys headed back to their spot in the gym beside their teacher.

Jumby grinned the entire time. His friend grinned bigger.

His award?

Was for being the best button pusher.

The best weather man.

The best carpet sitter.

The best jump rope turner.

It didn't really matter what it said on the award; as I watched the kids surround Jumby to give him high fives and ask if they could be the one to push him back to class I knew he had already won the best award.

He's included. By kids who see him and not the things he can't do.

Sure, to some adults who don't know my son he's just some Native kid who slumps in his wheelchair and foams at the mouth. But for those kids growing up alongside him, in his class, in his school, he's Foxy Knoxy, the kid who laughs the loudest and the hardest and makes them feel like a million dollars.

It won't always be like this, I know, but for these sweet short moments in time, I'll take it. I'll suck up this magic and enjoy the innocent acceptance these children offer my son and I'll pray like hell they will grow into adults who remember Jumby's sweet laugh and can see past a person's disabilities to see them for the people they are.

I leaned over and kissed my son as the kids in his class started putting their jackets on for recess and divvy into teams for a ball game. For a second I wondered if they would remember to include my son.

I shouldn't have wondered.

As I walked away I heard one of the kids tell Jumbster's aide that he can be the first base. Because that way he'll get to be on everyone's team and high five every player.

I left that morning hoping every kid in that school would get a chance to get to first base with my kid.

Parenting Jumby has made me the loosest mom on the block.

You totally want to get to first base don't you?