The Ever Dreaded 5am Phone Call

When that ever dreaded phone call came in at 5AM the last morning of October I was consumed with fear. "Dad, I'm in the hospital. They tell me it's Emanuel. The doctors said I have brain damage, spine damage and a severely deformed leg."




Well my son was speaking, although somewhat incoherently, so the brain damage had to be minimal. The drive to the hospital was one of the longest of my life.



We'd been to Emanuel too many times before. One of my newborn grandsons was diagnosed with a fatal condition there and died at home three months later. My daughter had two babies 18 months apart that were each born 3 months early and weren't expected to live. They were both in the NICU for three months. All of these recent traumas were filling my mind on that seemingly endless 20 minute drive. Would this be one more death, or would Emanuel pull off another miracle?

We found my son listed as "Neon Doe", a code name for unknown victims of car accidents. We made the walk to his room not knowing what to expect. Would we still have our son? Would he be permanently disabled? What would his cognitive ability be?

We cautiously entered his room. My baby was in a back and neck brace. Half of his face was gone, his leg was completely wrapped and was being propped above his heart.


I wasn't sure how the staff would treat us, or what information they would release to us, since my son was 24 years old. They were wonderful. They brought us extra chairs; they worked around us although we made sure to stay out of their way.


The first nurse answered all of our questions and told us as much as they knew. Cole was walking home from a pub and was on the side of the road when he was hit. The driver never stopped. Cole was unconscious when the EMT's reached him. His injuries were so serious that he was flown by Life Flight to Emanuel.


He was hit so hard that he was knocked out of his boots and his wallet flew out of his pocket, When he woke up he only knew his first name so he still had the "Neon Doe" tag on. The nurse walked us through all of this several times so that we could take it all in.

The man accused of hitting him is a high school football coach from one of the nearby districts. We were told that he called in about an hour after he hit Cole telling police that he "may have hit something". (A trooper later told us that this man said he thought he hit a scarecrow. Give me a break! A six foot four walking scarecrow? I'm sure that it was blood left on the hood of his car and not straw.)


After the nursing staff told us all that they knew the trauma team came in and thoroughly explained the trauma he had suffered. They, too,  explained things several times. We were numb and not retaining information very well. They cleared him of any back and skull fractures and explained every step of the way what they were doing.

The nurses came and went, but they might as well have been the same nurse with the same demeanor, they were wonderful. They put up with our large family and Cole's large network of friends for a week before he was released. They never complained even though Cole's friends stayed every night and rarely showered. The boys were ripe! The nurses were nothing but pleasant, informative and took amazing care of our son.

The orthopedic surgeon was another wonderful member of the hospital. Once again he included us in everything and had us all at ease before he went in to re-build my son's leg. He drew pictures of what he was going to do and sat for us to ask any questions we had.

The day Cole was released a social worker came in and told him that we could fill his prescriptions at no charge. They wanted to be sure that he was taken care of.

We feel that our son, as well as our three grandchildren received the best care possible from some of the most compassionate members of the medical community.

This is one hospital that seems, as least to me, to be there for the patients and not for the bottom line.


For our family that hospital brings up terrible memories of lost children, very fragile preemies and now a severely injured 24 yr old. Somehow the memories of the staff and the care that we received each and every time are enough to pull us through and realize how lucky we really are.

On Wednesday, April 7th 2010 the high school football coach was arrested on a felony hit-and-run charge. The maximum penalty in Oregon is 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine.

My son, Cole

Still my baby

Mug Shot of the High School

Football Coach that was

indicted and arrested for hitting my son

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And I'm still alive, I think

Highlights of last five years in a nutshell, or in this instance in a blog:


Oldest daughter has surgery and gets bad staph infection.

Daughter has major surgery to remove staph.

Oldest Daughter gets married.

Daughter has baby.

Daughter, husband, son and baby move in.

Kids find drug paraphernalia hidden in my garage.

Daughter’s husband turns out to be meth addict.

Daughter’s husband transmitted herpes to baby.

Daughter divorces druggie.

Baby dies at 12 weeks because of herpes.

We bury our grandson. He didn’t have socks on. That still bothers me.

Adopted daughter tries to destroy family and almost succeeds.

Adopted daughter diagnosed as psychopath.

Adopted daughter leaves and goes back to what she had known her first ten years.

Oldest daughter remarries.

She gets pregnant. Baby born three months early.

Two weeks later my mom is killed.

Live in NICU for three months with preemie baby.

13 months spent flying to Texas for 1-2 weeks a month to take care of Dad.

Autistic son attacks me and my husband four times in three months. Police called each time.

Autistic son taken to hospital three of those times.

We're now on first name basis with the police.

I was hit on my motorcycle. Bike was totaled. I didn’t walk for 4 months.

Dad found dead by my brother.

Daughter gets pregnant again.

Baby girl born three months early.

Three more months of NICU.

Granddaughter has heart failure.

Granddaughter has open heart surgery.

Adopted son forges our business checks and steals our medications.

Adopted son told to go to the military or be arrested.

Adopted son runs and throws away college scholarship.

I have melt-down.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar II

Autistic son suspended from school for protecting himself from bully.

Oldest son is the pedestrian victim of a hit and run.

Son found on side of road unconscious.

Son flown by LifeFlight to Emanuel Hospital.

Found out from youngest daughter that oldest daughter is moving to Texas .

Youngest daughter was told not to tell me.

I freak at the thought of losing my daughter and grandchildren.

Oldest son released from hospital and moves in with us for 4 months to heal.

Son-in-law is laid off work.

Son moves out.

Autistic son suspended again for protecting himself.

I seek counsel to enforce school’s anti-bullying policy that is being ignored.

Man that hit my son was indicted.

Daughter and family lose house.

Daughter, Son-in-law and kids move in with 2 dogs, a cat, a tortoise and some fish.

Our business loses 6 months of work in 2009.

Problems in marriage almost lead to divorce.

Worry about keeping our home of 12 years because of economy.

I found out my white blood cell count is low. Worry about leukemia.

Tests continue for me.

During all of this time oldest daughter has a dozen major surgeries.

Tonight man that hit son was arrested.

Man charged with B Felony.

Maximum ten years in prison and $250,000 fine.

I bet he'll plea out.

I think I’ll have some robin’s eggs, an ambien and watch LA ink.

Will be sleeping with four leaf clover, rabbit’s foot and fingers crossed.

Probably should get holy water, olive oil and a rosary.

Time for bed.

Tomorrow’s a new day.


these book titles made me laugh

   

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Bloggers, Babies and Bonds

Yesterday, while searching through the blogs on blogger, I came across one of the most compelling blogs that I’ve read. It’s the story of a family that is now going through some of the same things we’ve experienced in these past few years. They have a beautiful toddler and the mom gave birth, by emergency cesarean section, to very premature twins about five months ago. They lost their son. Their daughter survived and has been in the NICU since birth. The precious baby is scheduled to have open heart surgery in five days.


I couldn’t help but be pulled back into our own situation that began five and a half years ago with the birth of our precious grandson Isaiah. Isaiah was born with herpes. My daughter had shown no symptoms and was not thought to be infected even though the birth father, now ex-husband, was.

Isaiah was beautiful. He had a head full of black curly hair and perfectly formed features. When he was about two weeks old we were told that he would not live with us here on Earth. The insidious virus had traveled through his spinal fluid into his brain and had destroyed all but the most basic of functions. The child was not put down; he was never without the comfort of human touch. He was passed to one pair of waiting arms to another until the evening the angels came for him when he was exactly 12 weeks old.

Our Angel, Isaiah

When the men in the black van came for him on that darkest of October nights my daughter carefully placed our angel into his car seat. She swaddled him with his blanket and carried him to the van where she secured his car seat into the seat that would carry him away. The following days are a blur of people, emotion, and despair.

Somehow my daughter was able to pull herself up enough to re-marry. In 2006 she found out she was pregnant again. It was a boy. We were overjoyed! That joy soon turned to fear as complications threatened the life of both our daughter and the baby she carried. In an emergency C-section Josiah was born at 28 weeks and whisked into the NICU.

The NICU became our home. We grew to love the nurses, they cared for our tiny 3 pound miracle and they cared for us. The day they listed Josiah as a “feeder and grower” was a triumphant and joyous day. We watched as the tubes were pulled and the baby began to eat on his own. The tiny one was released when he was 38 weeks old. He had none of the usual problems of a baby born at such an early age.

Josiah at three days

Josiah now

Soon after Josiah turned one Karli came to me crying. She was pregnant again. This time she was sent to a high risk specialist. Once more complications set in that threatened her life and the life of the still forming Anna-Grace. The contractions had started when she was three months pregnant. They were putting stress on the unhealed incision of her C-Section.

She was put on bed rest and her father and I learned how to give her weekly progesterone injections to ward off premature labor. At 26 weeks she began to bleed. The baby was in distress. An emergency C-Section had to be done once more to try to save both lives. We were told to prepare for the worst. The odds of having one severely premature baby not only surviving but excelling were against us. The odds of two were unheard of. We were bluntly told that the baby would die.

When the fragile princess was cut from my daughter’s belly she was purple and limp. I stayed with Karli while her husband went into the room where the team was working feverishly to save the life of our granddaughter. When I was allowed into the room minutes later I was overcome by fear. I didn’t think she would survive. She was so much smaller than Josiah had been. Her skin was translucent and the ventilator engulfed her. During the next twenty-four hours we made all of the phone calls. We prepared to lose this precious life.

Then there was a sign, a sign of hope and not of fear. The baby began to breathe on her own. The ventilator was removed. She was given additional oxygen to help her still forming lungs. Suddenly the corner turned and as if she was communicating with us the two pound Princess propped her foot up on the side of the isolette, the very isolette that Josiah had grown in. No matter how tightly the nurses wrapped her she would free her foot and promptly rest it where she wanted. This child was a fighter.

Soon after she was released we were told that she was in heart failure. The only way to try to save her life was with open heart surgery. The surgery was quickly scheduled and the dying baby’s heart was stopped and drained of blood to repair the large hole that was slowly killing her.

That was over a year ago. On the 12th day of April, 2010 Anna-Grace Elizabeth will turn 2 years old. She is the picture of health. She is what the March of Dimes works for, she is what the hospital hoped for and she is what we prayed for.

A fighter

Anna-Grace and Auntie Nikki

Anna-Grace now

On the same day that our Anna-Grace turns 2 there will be another Princess undergoing open heart surgery. There will be another family filled with uncertainty. They will pace the floors as we did. They will cry as we did. They will hope as we did. This time in spirit we will be with them. We will re-live our journey and pray for them as they continue on theirs. We will not rest easy until this woman, known only to us by her blogs, writes again.

I feel a bond to this special family, family that I’ve never seen except in posted pictures. They will forever be in my thoughts and they have forever touched my life.

  

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Homeland Security, Pistols, Ammo and Hives

A week after my father’s funeral in Texas it was decided that I would take his truck back with me to Oregon. I flew my oldest daughter into DFW airport so that she could make the long road trip with me.


When we left Texas, my brother had loaded my mother's .38 revolver (the one she never got to shoot before she died) with hollow points for me. I have a concealed handgun license, so no biggie to carry it with me in the truck. Karli and I were on our way. We were looking forward to being on the road alone with no distractions to keep us from reflecting on losing my father and her grandfather so soon after my mother had been killed.

When we were about 600 or 700 miles into the trip I looked into the bottom part of the console, the place my dad had used as a cooler, and it was filled with ammo. Cool. My brother took care of me and we'll be just fine on our trip.

Well not so fast cowgirl. Karli and I were on the road to Las Vegas VIA the Hoover Dam. There was a traffic advisory so we tuned in to the suggested station and learned that all cars were subject to thorough searches due to tightened security at the dam because of terrorist threats.



Then I remembered that I had a loaded handgun and a shit load of ammo, and my CHL was in my other wallet..........in OREGON. Who would have thought that I would have needed it at my Dad's funeral?

Then the realization that I have an Oregon driver's license, I’m driving a truck with Texas plates that belongs to a man I claim is my father that died hit my square between the eyes. By this time Karli is so freaked out that she's getting hives and she's in a complete panic. Beads of sweat were beginning to form around her forehead and make their way down around the curves of her face.



I called my brother to ask him to look up the concealed gun laws in Arizona and Nevada. Well they both have reciprocity with Oregon....if I had my CHL on me.

Joel said to unload the gun and put it in the in the back of the truck. Cool. Well not really. About that time 2 highway patrol cars pulled up behind us. Karli's about ready to crap in her pants now. She's visibly trembling and wanting to know if they'll hold her as an accomplice or let her go. I told her that she's only as good as the company she keeps. In other words, if I go down, she goes down! There was no way we could stop and put the gun in the covered bed. We kept going.



We finally pull up to the check point after what seemed like hours.  I push the gun into its case and push the case a little further down between the seat and the console. The officer saunters up to the truck and tells me that I need to get out of the vehicle. Well, Holy Freaking Shit! We're going to jail.



He asked me to open the bed cover of the truck so he could search it. My hand was shaking so much I could hardly get the key in the lock. He pokes around for a few seconds and then tells me I could go. I walk back to the front of the truck, get in and leave before he could change his mind. I look at Karli; she's crying and scratching hives like crazy. She'd be a terrible criminal thank goodness! She was gasping for air between sobs and said that she was sure that he was going to cuff me and with our luck we'd be on COPS or Inside America's Jails.

We make it through the check point just fine. But then I got to thinking. Here I am with a hollow point loaded .38 and, like I said before, a crap load of ammo. There were no dogs to sniff around for explosives, the cab wasn't searched and I'm thinking....."What the hell? It's THAT easy for a terrorist to get to the dam? That's not making me feel so safe!"

In the officer's defense, Karli and I do not fit the terrorist profile, but then again aren't we the type that the extremists are trying to recruit for their cause?



After a few miles on the road Karli’s hives had diminished and we made it to Vegas just fine.

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Handguns, Troopers and A$$holes

We had left the camp in Southern Oregon from vacation with the kids a few hours earlier. The weather was perfect with blue skies and warm temperatures. We were heading north on I-5 when I noticed the silver Tahoe in my rear view mirror. I had seen it earlier in front of me and had remembered it because of its vanity plate OLD 32. I hadn't realized I had passed it but evidentially he did; he was tailgating me. I changed lanes from the fast lane to the left to the middle lane. So did he. I thought that was a little weird but didn't think much of it. My 11 year old son, my 8 year old grandson and I were singing to "When You're Good to Mama" by Queen Latifah so I just kept driving, singing and having fun with my boys. We were practicing for the family talent show that had been postponed during vacation until Thanksgiving. We pretty much sucked so we needed all of the practice we could get.




A few miles and several song repetitions later I saw that the Tahoe. It was dangerously close to me yet again, so we changed lanes, and as before, he followed us. Ok now, this guy was messing with me. I picked up my cell and called my daughter, Karli. I told her what was going on and that I was going to speed it up and try to lose this loser. I pushed cancel on the touch screen phone and stepped on the gas. We lost the freak, or so I thought. A few minutes later, there he was right behind us again.



Surely I was being paranoid. I changed lanes this time into the slow lane to the far right so jerk-off could pass. He changed lanes right behind me. Ok, now I was getting freaked. I was about 50 miles from home and this ass has been following me for about twenty miles so far. Jeff was no help; he was on his Harley with no way to get a hold of him. It was just me, Joshua (the kid with autism), Jakob (the human superball) and Jeremiah (the flat footed kid that can't run) and the Tahoe from Hell. Millions of things were going through my head; Karli's stalker, my motorcycle accident, and even that movie about a killer truck. Yeah, I had pretty much lost my mind.



I tried to ignore this brainless freak, but he had me scared. I don't frighten easily, but this guy had accomplished his mission. I was panicked. I asked Joshua to hand me my purse that was at his feet in the passenger side of my Mercedes. He handed me the tan leather bag, I reached in and pulled out my .38 Taurus from the bottom of the Coach purse. The handgun had been my mom's and my brothers had given it to me after my dad died last September. It's the one I keep loaded with hollow points and in my car at all times, ever since that homeless guy tried to get in the Jaguar with me at the 7-11 months before. I carefully put it on the dash so if Tahoe Dude got near me he could see I was armed and hopefully he would back off.



When we got to the Wilsonville exit, about 25 miles from my home, traffic slowed to a stop. Great, just freaking great! There was no one beside of me and scary Tahoe dude switched to the middle lane and I could see him slowly inch his way beside my car. Out of the side of my eye I could see the hood of the Tahoe beside my window. I cranked up the CD, closed the sunroof and looked straight ahead. Then Mr. Brainiac was right beside me and screaming. Joshua looked over with this look of sheer panic and I told him to look away and ignore this freak. I glanced over at the Tahoe Terror and grabbed my handgun off of the dash and took it out of the holster. I then made sure he saw it as I put it in my lap. The Tahoe sped away and off at the Wilsonville exit.

 I grabbed up the iPhone and tried, yes tried, to call 911. The damn phone wouldn't work. It was like every nightmare I had ever had. The phone never works or they put me on hold. Both of those happened that exciting day. When I did get through to 911, they routed me through "push number one for fire", "do this for that", and at the end of the long menu the recording said to say "Help" if you needed help. So I pay tax dollars to be put on hold only to find out I could have said help at the beginning of the recording. When I get through I get the Clackamas Police only to find out that I needed to be transferred to the Oregon State Police. Ok, I'm feeling really safe now. When I was finally routed to the correct person the call was dropped. By this time I was shaking so frantically that I couldn't hold the phone to call back. I threw the phone at Joshua and told him to call 911. After several attempts the call went through. I was connected to a woman dispatcher and told her what was going on. She asked me what type of vehicle I was driving. I told her it was a silver Mercedes. The tone of her voice told me that they already knew of me.



"Ma'am, can you hold on for a moment?"



What is this the damned DMV? I have a maniac following me and I'm being put on hold again!



"Ma'am, is a trooper pulling you over right now?"



"Yes, thank God!"



I dropped the phone and put the windows down. I could see the trooper approach my car as if we were on COPS.



"HANDS IN THE AIR! NOW!"



"Oh, I'm screwed, " I thought.



"NOW! IN THE AIR"



"Ok, Ok, they're in the air"



"Ma'am, can you step out of the car?"



Now I was crying. Not because I was of the trooper, but because I knew we were safe. Not only was I crying, I was about to puke. I was shaking so badly that I had a difficult time moving to the front of the car as the trooper was instructing me to do. I kept stopping and he kept telling me to move to the front of the car. I finally made it and sat on the guardrail. He told me that a driver, Mr. Meathead, had called in some crazy lady waving a gun in a Mercedes. Holy crap, I was going to jail!



I explained that I have a CHP, a concealed handgun permit, and that my gun was in my purse. The trooper got the gun out of my purse, checked it out and returned it, loaded, to my floorboard. He came back around the front of my car and said "Nice weapon, that's the same one my wife carries".



Oh God, I'm not going to jail, it's going to be ok. I explained to him what had happened and how afraid we had been and then promptly threw up over the guard rail. He assured me that I was ok and that he believed the other driver to be the instigator. He had Tahoe Terror's information and was going to be making a visit to his house to inform him that he had chosen the wrong car to mess with. The trooper then told me that since I was in fear for my life and the lives of my children the man should have realized that I could have killed him and I would have been protected under Oregon law.



About that time, Michael and Nikki drove by seeing their mom stopped by two state troopers. The looks on their faces were priceless. I was just relieved that I wasn't going to end up dead or in jail.



Looking back on the entire incident the only thing I can think of that I could have done to piss off Tahoe Dude was when I was watching a motorcycle that looked as it were going to swerve into my lane. Sure enough it did and I had to swerve to keep from hitting and killing him. Sorry Tahoe, get a life and watch what's going on around you, and maybe try taking a Xanex.

  

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The Other Woman

“It’s like cutting though leather. Make sure to cut firmly.” After those instructions the doctor handed the scissors to the only man in the room.

“Ok, I got it.” Fighting back tears Jeff took the scissors and cut through the umbilical cord.

There was crying, well actually screaming coming out of this little 7 lb. baby boy. As soon as the cord was cut the slippery baby was loosely wrapped in a soft, warmed blanket and handed to his trembling father. The screaming infant had a head full of black fuzz and was still wet with the fluid that had protected him for nine months. Immediately after the baby was put into his daddy’s waiting arms Jeff began to sing Amazing Grace. Instantly the baby quieted. He turned his little brown head and looked directly into his father’s tear-filled eyes. The child recognized the voice of the man that had sang that song on a tape that had been played every day during the last half of the pregnancy.

The room was crowded with the doctor, several nurses, the parents of this new little life and the woman that knew the baby she had carried all those months was not hers to keep. In that crowded little hospital room there was not one person with dry eyes. The baby knew that he was in the arms of his daddy. At the same time a bond had been severed a new family was formed. The tiny bundle was then with his forever parents.

The baby was named Michael Julian. Julian is a family name that runs back for generations in the new mother’s family. The baby at once was enveloped by a new past, a new future and a new life. Michael was a happy baby that was the center of his family’s life. It seemed that this child had been a part of the family since the beginning of time. He had an older sister and brother that cherished and protected him as he grew. He had parents that kissed his owies, taught him how to skate and nurtured him from the beginning.

The years went by and his parents sensed his sensitive nature. Michael always knew that he was adopted; it was a part of his birth story. Even if the family had wanted to hide that important fact Michael would have known. He was of mixed heritage. His skin was a beautiful mocha brown and his hair was black and curly. He did share one physical feature with his new mommy; their eyes were the same auburn brown color. Michael’s adoption was common knowledge but it made no difference he belonged where he was.

Today on Facebook I got a friend request. It was from the woman that chose me so many years ago to mother the baby she had carried. As I stared at the request I felt adrenaline rush through my body. My face grew hot and my heart began racing. I couldn’t help but stare at the picture of the woman that had made the request. I thought of Michael’s sensitivity. I thought about what his reaction could be. I thought about how his future could change and I felt the intense fear of possibly of losing my child, my baby, my Michael. Some of my fears were rational, some were not.

I know that Jeff and I are the parents of this special 18 yr old. I know that he is of the age to make the decision to meet her. I also know that it would be too much for him to handle right now. But the feelings that return to me again and again are feelings of losing my son. I feel angry that the request was made. That choice should be Michael’s and Michael’s alone. I feel guilty of not being more understanding. I feel selfish and scared.

I continued to stare at the request. I called my daughter, the sister that loves him like no other. We talked and no decision was made. I thought of the problems that had been in this woman’s life and why we had to cut ties with her. I thought of the trouble that the children she raised were in. I thought of the other children that she had given away and of the one that she had aborted. I thought of how different Michael’s life would have been.

I ignored the request.

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Another day of chaos in our family

Today was one of those days that I seemed to have a spurt of very un-diva like behavior. I worked in the yard for hours and cut down all of the plants that had gotten out of control. I had most of the huge yard done and then it happened.
I was cutting back this gigantic lavendar plant when the hedge clippers went dead. Holy, freaking crap. I knew what it was before I put the trimmers down; I had cut the extention cord in half with the trimmers. I was going to die a long and painful death at the hands of my husband and a half of an extention cord.
That experience reminded me of another one several years earlier. When we built this house we only had 5 kids, but had enough foresight to install two dishwashers in the main kitchen. They worked well for years before being beaten to death by five gorilla-like, door slamming, plate smashing kids.
I went out the the appliance store and purchased two very expensive, high-end dishwashers figuring that the more money I spent, the more weeks I would gain in the long run, yes weeks not years.
The dishwashers arrived and the plumber was backed up for weeks. I wasn't going to wait. Over the years I've repaired electrical problems, installed disposals, wired for electrical switches, and fixed the garage door openers, so I figured I could handle installing a dishwasher or two.
I helped the kids bring the first of the dishwashers upstairs and removed it from it's box. I disconnected the first dishwasher, well mostly. We got to the water line and I asked one of my, to remain nameless, sons to turn off the water line that was located under the sink. That's where I made my first crucial mistake, I forgot to tell him that there were two cut off switches, one for the inside water and the other for the outside deck water. Yeah, you guessed it, he turned off the wrong line.
Just as I turned the wrench to disconnect the line water began to spray everywhere. The water line was hissing and dancing like a cobra being mesmerized by it's handler, except this was more dangerous than the cobra.
As I tried to catch the jumping water line I screamed to Cole, whoops I guess I did name him, to turn off the right line. He couldn't find it. I was trying to crimp the line and it wouldn't happen. Then I was trying to hold my finger over the end of the line that was spraying water at 80 psi. Not sure if you've ever tried that, but it doesn't work.
I screamed for someone to go turn off the water line out in the front year, not remembering that one was only for the sprinkler system and the whole shut-off was downstairs, under the house. There was no EFFIN way I was calling Jeff, he couldn't know that gallons of water were spraying under our beautiful maple hardwood floor.
"Cole, go get the effin neighbor!", "Karli, Michael and Nikki, get some GD Effin towels!" and then I had to admit defeat and told Joshua to effin call his effin father and ask where the GD water line was.
The one I needed was under the sink, 18 inches from me. It was behind a bottle of Cascade detergent. Finally Karli, or someone, turned off the water. I was drenched, my hair looked like a wet llama and my makeup was running down my face. I turned to see the shocked faces of my kids, all trying not to laugh.
Well their composure didn't last long. They began to howl like rabid hyenas. I could have shot everyone of them before I began to laugh as well. Cole was laughing harder than I had ever seen him.
"Mom, we should have had this on tape, except they couldn't air it on TV. It was Cole BLEEPING get the BLEEP BLEEP water turned BLEEPING off. BLEEP BLEEP-it. Karli get the BLEEPING towels BLEEPING up here BLEEPING now. BLEEEEEEP, BLEEPING BLEEEEEEEEP!! You BLEEPING kids better not BLEEPING tell your BLEEPING father BLEEP BLEEP-it!"
Ok I learned my lesson, directions don't tell you everything and always call someone that knows more. Or better yet, suck it up, bribe the kids not to tell dad and pay the plumber overtime to get him in sooner.

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