You're Not Bad, Are You?

We are down to weeks before our wedding. Long ago, I took care of the major details. Now the little details are catching up to me. Like getting our marriage license. Minor detail.

But I was kind of dreading it. The courthouse? In Houston? I was imagining a line a hour and a half long. Apparently, that is only the misdemeanor and licence tag/car titles lines. How should I know that, though? It isn't like I have done this before. A lot. And that time wasn't even in Texas. My hour and a half fear, in reality turned out to be no line at all. We walked right in, sat down, and were immediately helped.

A young white man in his early twenties, motioned for us to sit down. He fired off several questions about previous marriages, child support, and past felonies. After he entered the info from our driver's licences, he asked one final question.

"City and county of birth?"

Shit. What county was I born in? I think for a minute. Hold on. I know this. It was the name of the damn hospital. Mid-something or another. Crap. Crap!

Finally it comes to me, "Jefferson! I was born in Jefferson County! I think?"

The man entering our info looks at me, "You lived in the Port Arthur area?"

I nod.

"Then that is right. That is near Vidor, you know. You aren't bad are you? You know what I mean? You know what is in Vidor, right?"

Um. I glance over at the black woman at the table over who is staring at him. At us. How did this conversation turn like this? One minute I am happily getting my marriage license and the next minute I am in the KKK? What the fuck?

He is still waiting on an answer. Holding my marriage license hostage. "Um. No. I am not bad," I say reaching for the envelope in his hand. Another couple walks in, dressed up for the occasion of getting their license. I motion to them, "But I think they might be."

Short, Quick Update

Emmi is doing well. In the past half hour, she has chased bubbles, ate crackers, made glove balloon people, and drew a picture of Daddy sleeping. Although, Daddy has yet to sleep since 5am. Maybe she actually drew a picture of Wishful Thinking.

The past half hour has been good. Before that she slept. Before that was not much fun. There was vomiting and thrashing about and ripping bandages off and having to restrain her and a nurse that was no help at all that I yelled at causing an orderly to step in and help us out. He saved the day. Luckily, we were moved out of her care pretty quickly, and other than those not so fun thirty minutes all has gone well.

The surgery itself was a success. The old implant is out. The new one is in. If all goes as planned we will be home sometime tomorrow.

Words that begin with F.

Jill has practically moved in with my parents this summer. She pretty much refuses to come back! This weekend will be the last weekend Emmi will be at her dad's before our wedding. Both kids gone all weekend. Kenny and I made a list of every little thing that MUST get done before the wedding so that we could take care of it all this weekend. Especially with Emmi having surgery Monday. I don't know exactly what will happen, so nothing can be left until after this weekend.

So, of course, Emmi's dad would cancel this weekend. (Although for once he did admit fault for not realizing he needed to switch his work schedule since this is not technically is weekend. We were switching due to her upcoming surgery.)

And of course Emmi is on social isolation so we can't just bring her with us to run errands.

I have some special words for her dad right now. One of them begins with Fuck and ends with er.

PS Guess who also has not one time asked when her surgery is, how long it will be, what exactly is being done, or if he can help out in anyway.

Schedule Conflicts.

I was just informed that Emmi will be staying several days in the hospital after surgery this time. Surgery one, she was home riding her tricycle the same day. Surgery two, she stayed one night and was back at school the next day. Surgery three, for some reason (okay, I actually know the reason, but whatever.), we have to stay several days.

I started going over a mental checklist of what I need to get ready. Favorite sweatpants to sleep in. Download new movies on the ipod. Locate my spare phone cord.

Then, it hit me.

I have a wedding dress fitting scheduled for while she will still be at the hospital. Two weeks prior to the wedding. That I can't put off. Because my damn dress is falling off of me.

Fuck.

$1.50/minute for parking.

Emmi's CT scan was this morning. No results yet, obviously. But it is done. The test itself went much better than I thought it would.

We arrived with a sleeping Emmi, and they quickly whisked her into the room. Much better to have a sleeping child, than have to sedate a child. I was impressed with their response and the decision to move Emmi ahead to hopefully keep her asleep. She opened her eyes at the end, exclaimed, "WOW," and then closed her eyes for the remainder of the test. We were in and out in less than ten minutes.

We were done so quickly that the valet parking did not have our keys returned from the driver yet. After a little confusion locating our keys, someone was sent down to the parking abyss to retrieve our car. But he came back empty handed. No car.

Approaching the supervisor, he shows him the slip, then explains that the slip on our dash does not match up. I immediately knew what the problem was. I have about nine parking slips sitting on my dashboard. The supervisor attempts to explain this to his employee, he tries to send him back down to locate the car, but the man refuses. The two begin to argue. Meanwhile, nobody is getting our car. So we wait. For over fifteen minutes.

It took longer to get our car than to get signed in, brought back, and complete a CT scan.

Texas Children's West Tower valet, we need to speak. Those guys over at Clinical Care are much better than you. Plus, I am a little pissed that is cost me $1.50/minute for parking today. I so did not get my money's worth.

Off to the Beach

I love when two pay periods in a month, my job forgets to pay me.

Well, guess what, today, in return, I am going to "forget" to work.

Flash Dance

I love getting a phone call from neighbor that goes something like this,

Giggle. Giggle. Snort. Giggle. Giggle. Emmi. Giggle. Butt. Snort. Naked. Snicker. Window.

Apparently, I forgot to teach my kid that dancing naked in front of the open window is not the best idea.