Yesterday the phone rang, and I happily skipped over and checked call display.
I love call display. Telemarketers? I don't even answer. Blocked numbers? Leave a message. Calls for Tim Williams, or just crazy people in general? Talk to my answering machine because I'm NOT picking up. I may call you back, I may not. Depends on if I feel like talking to you.
Hubs was madly typing an angry e-mail to someone, and I didn't want to interrupt. I could hear him banging on the poor keyboard all the way in the living room. A little secret here....dyslexic people already hate to write anything, but if they are so pissed off that they are willing to spend two hours writing a nasty e-mail, better pay attention. It's a sign that they are seriously pissed off and you disturb them at your own risk. You know, lest they become a snarling, raving lunatic that leaps from the computer chair and strangles you or something.
Anyway. I digress.
This time it was my step daughter, who I will happily chat with any time of day so I grappled for the phone.
"What the fuck is up with the ASTHMA?!?!" she squealed on the other end. Asthma? Huh? Wha? Blame your father dear, not me. You don't have my genes. Which is probably good anyhow.
Turns out she had a visit with the doc and now she has asthma too. Welcome to the family that huffs, and puffs, and can't blow down your house. Mostly because, well, they just can't get the breath to do it. I look at the assortment of puffers, chambers and other meds and thank my employer for wonderful extended health benefits, because otherwise I'd have to find another job just to pay for them. Isn't that weird? Six months and 3 asthma diagnoses. Am I next? God, I hope not. Vanessa already said what I was thinking..."you reach over 30 and suddenly everything just goes to hell." Yep. It's like my DVD player when the warranty expired. Might I add that you have never given birth to children, so at least your boobs don't resemble deflated water balloons.
Just saying, you know. The child-free thing has it's perks. Namely perkier boobs.
So anyway, this morning as Jake and I were leaving the house, he realized he forgot his puffer. We did a mad dash search for it with no luck.
"Oh, it's okay, you're only going to the beach. It's not like you're doing anything strenous." I said as I dropped him off. I even phoned the school to let them know that there was no puffer. You know, his asthma is exercise induced anyway. I can't see anything going wrong while you're looking for shells and fishing.
Of course, that wasn't okay. Not even remotely okay, dammit. First I needed to provide written consent to go without the puffer, and then I had to leave work on my lunch break to deliver the silly thing to the school so that Jake could walk home instead of practically crawling up the sidewalk gasping for air. I think I had about 0.7 seconds to actually eat something before my neighbor appeared and handed me a spider plant.
The spindly thing really is cute. As I sidestepped the cat poop on the porch (would that cat just get over it already?) I thanked her for her generosity. Jake watered it and is working on a name, obviously claming if for his own since I tend to kill the hardiest of weeds just by looking at them.
"I love plants Mom, can't we get some more?"
Maybe we could use more plants; they do give off oxygen, right?
Somehow I think we need all the oxygen we can get.