Tank week: Wait, what's that address?

Jug for Dad's prep. I cringe, wondering
 if it is similar to the go-lytely crap I  had
to drink for my first colonoscopy
about 30 years ago. Looks similar. 

Good morning. My dad's surgery is tomorrow (Thurs.) morning. Prayers are appreciated. There's been a rush to get his estate in order, just in case. Plus, I learned they're removing 20 inches of his colon. He's 85. This won't be easy. I'm posting this early since I have it ready to go. I'm planning to wait till he's out of surgery before I drive to Louisville for Curly's tournament. She's leaving today with her teammate. 

Thank goodness last weekend was relaxing, because I'm racing to get ducks in a row:  prepping meals, packing, doing laundry, arranging rides (DCFS will drive Kay to and from summer school a few times), and the minivan is at the dealership (long-ass story) - 50 minutes away. Headache. Plus a certain someone is moving out this week. Um, I'm spread thin. I'm not sure how often I'll blog or comment in the next week, etc. Hell, I'm already really behind. I apologize. 

*****

Tank was thrilled in September when the place where he interned offered him a job. He planned to copy Ed:  live at home for close to a year, save money, then move  downtown. A high number of grads from Ed's college end up in Chicago, so Ed knew kids who commuted for a year and then were ready to move downtown. Creighton has less of an alumni presence in Chi-town, so Tank was at the mercy of when he knew kids looking for a roomie. 

In the spring, Tank called fretting over a decision. Let me preface this with, 

    1. Tank has a hard time with big decisions. 

    2. Tank is friends with lots of guys older and younger than he is. He's tight with a group who graduated a year ahead of him. He flew out to Boston for a weekend to hang out with them last fall. One of the guys from the Boston trip, 'Bill', spent the year living at home in MN and was moving to Chicago, hoping Tank would be his roomie.  

Tank was excited, but bummed. Of all of the kids, he's the most focused on saving a buck. He was torn about the opportunity to have a great roomie and the chance to sock away some dough. He tried to wiggle out of deciding, claiming we needed him home to help with the girls. 

Well, that'd be amazing, because he's a huge help with the 'farm hands', but I was like:  Yeah, no. We aren't relying on you. We'll miss you, but it sounds like this is the right time for you to get an apartment. (I said this into the phone, but turned away and sobbed softly- thinking - NO! DON'T DO IT. LIVE AT HOME FOR 6 MONTHS). 

He jumped at the chance to have a roommate. Plus Ed is downtown. It'd be fun. I suggested he come home every few weeks and I'd make a bunch of meals for him - like I did for Reg when he was playing b-ball in Indiana. Tank and Ed will not have a car in the city, so this won't be easy - but I'm accustomed to cooking for an army anyway, right? 

Bill's high school friend decided to move to Chicago too. Now there were three. Tank was like, Cool - more people to share the rent. Then one of his closest friends from Creighton got an interview in Chicago. Weeks passed, and Tank called: "Sam got a 5th interview."

What? Can they just give him the job already? What other questions do they need to ask him? 

Sam got the job. Tally = 4 guys. Tank was pumped. They found a realtor. The rental climate is insane. Places get snatched up. (note to self:  Why haven't you invested in a place to rent out down there?) The realtor sent them info on a place, and they pondered too long. The place was gone.

Me:  (when Tank told me) Crap. You've gotta be ready. When she sends you an address, ask Ed if the location is good. 

Tank:  It's fine. She's already sent me a few other addresses. One's on Briar. What street does Ed live on?

Me:  I don't know. Wait, I'll look at my Amazon. He uses it all the time. (this is a different post for a different day, but guess how I know he uses my Amazon? Well, my order of teen maxi pads didn't end up at Ed's place because I messed with my shipping address, did it?  We were, ahem, in need of those supplies on the home front, ED!) 

Me: Um, OK, his address is 1234 Briar. (fake address, friends - in case you were considering sending him more teen period gear)

Tank (spun around so I couldn't see his face): Um, Mom. The address for this place is 1233 Briar. I don't wanna live there. Too close to Ed. 

*classic Tank messing with me.

Me:  What? Tank! You have to get this place. Call Ed. Right now.

In case you're unaware:  Chicago's HUGE. Granted, Tank was looking to live in the same neighborhood as Ed, but that neighborhood:  HUGE.  What.are.the.chances? 

Ed called me MOM, HE HAS TO GET THIS PLACE, IT'S RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME! I was like, BELIEVE ME, I'D BE THRILLED, BUT ALL OF HIS ROOMIES HAVE TO FILL OUT THE APPLICATION AND GET ON BOARD. (yes, I was shouting, because I was like We're trying!) When Tank visited Ed at college, well, his buddies enjoyed him. Shock. 

To think, my house might
 not look like this soon.

Ed toured the place to save Tank a trip to the city. If I train downtown that's roughly 49 minutes. Then I'm in the loop. Ed lives in a neighborhood further north, near Wrigley field. Driving there usually takes about an hour, worse if there's traffic. It's not really easy to get back and forth from us to the north side of Chicago. Traffic bites. Anyway, Ed took a video while touring the apt with Tank's realtor. 

We aren't sure what the story was. Hoarders? I've never seen so much stuff and I live with lots of people. Ed's running commentary and the dialogue between he and the realtor is hilarious. "Oh, um. OK, wow. They have more shoes over here. What do you think that smell is?" Anyway, Ed recommended they get it. Three bedrooms are enormous - a very strange layout with rooms that wind this way and that. Then there's a 4th tiny room. Three bathrooms. 

Ed's place is top notch, high end, gut job rehab. Ed was like, OK, it's not like my place, but it'll work. He suggested they offer to sign a 2 year lease and pay $25/more each a month in rent, because someone had already applied for it.

The realtor didn't send the application to Tank in a timely manner and that slowed the process. It was hard to upload documents like paystubs when all the applicants are starting jobs. This was end of May, my last day of babysitting. Mini and I decided to go on an adventure. *More about our adventure during Mini Week, if I decide to make that a thing? We knew Tank would have a blast if he joined us, but he opted to stay home and fill out the application. 

A few days later, he was at his friend's lake house and he called me:  WE GOT THE PLACE! He'll start moving his stuff downtown in a few trips this week. He starts his job the 14th. I'm so excited for him, even though I'm gonna miss the heck out of him. 

*****

Do you think Tank coming home for meals will pan out? (get it? Pan.) We will have an extra car at home when Mini and Reg head to college. Hmm. I think it'll be more of a hassle than it's worth for Ed and Tank to keep a car in the city. Anyone interested in a Mini Week? I've still got another Tank post - maybe the craziest one yet. It's not drafted, but it's a doozie. Hopefully I share it next week. As Coach's former office manager once said, DANG, I WANT LIKE A LIVE FEED IN YOUR CAR. This would've been the time to hook that up.

Tank week: Would you stitch this? (plus unrelated wardrobe options for our family portrait)

Welcome to Tank week, where I've combined Shark Week with Shark Tank to bring you funny stories about Tank. The man, the myth, the legend. 

*****

Before we dive in, Coach flew with the three youngest girls to visit his brother in SC. His brother has 9 kids (most of whom are girls), so if this cousin isn't willing to hang with you - that one will most likely step up to the plate. Not gonna lie, this has been a very relaxing, chill weekend for me and I have enjoyed it immensely. 

Last week, I had a call with our family therapist, who is the bomb. She 'gets it' or maybe more specifically gets me. I can admit to feeling frustrated with no fear of judgement. She's lovely, supportive, and offers great suggestions. Anyway, I told her about Coach's travel plan and she was like YES! YOU NEED THIS! Truer words were never spoken. 

They flew out Thurs. evening and I woke up on the 4th after sleeping for 10 hours. That's  ten, I mean - I didn't even know that was possible. I slept 9 the next night and Sunday morning opted to hop out of bed to tackle all the things I still wanted to do at 7:30 am, after roughly 8 hours of sleep. 

Everything feels possible, and damn it - I'm here for this kind of refresher. 

*****

Commercial break over:  On to Tank talk. 

If you recall, Tank got stitches in his eyebrow in early Jan. after seeing a buddy at a bar, spinning said buddy around, and then falling and catching his eyebrow on the bar or a stool? He was in Milwaukee for the Creighton vs Marquette game. 

Fast forward to Feb. 8th. AS IN - TOO SOON AFTER THE FIRST EPISODE OF STITCHES IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2025.

I woke up to a text from Tank. I THINK I NEED STITCHES IN MY TONGUE. 

Huh? I called him, as one does, hoping to be debriefed. Voicemail. I texted him. Called again. Crickets. I gave up and was working out in the family room when Coach returned from working out or something. 

Me:  Tell your son that  if he's gonna send an alarming text he better damn well be awake when I try to return his call.  

Tank finally called:  Sorry I went back to sleep. I think I'm gonna head to urgent care. I'm so mad at myself, because I wanted to get front row seats at the game today. I have no idea how long this is gonna take. (I didn't type it up to reflect that he was talking funny, but trust - he was talking funny). 

Marquette was in town to play Creighton. Notice a pattern here? 

Being the mom, I asked the burning question:  WHAT HAPPENED? (brace yourself).

Tank:  Well, I was planning to stay in, because I wanted to be up early to get in line for the game. Then a couple of younger fraternity brothers stopped by my house. They wanted me to help them get our rock back. Another fraternity took it like a long time ago and it isn't theirs. So I said HELL YEAH. 

Picture me, nodding along, like this tracks. 

Tank: So we get to the house where our rock is, and they hoist me up cause I'm gonna be the first one over the fence (naturally). I wasn't ready, and yeah - I'd had a few drinks (naturally). I lost my footing and I fell and bit my tongue. So there's a hole in my tongue and I googled it and it says most tongue cuts heal on their own. 

Thank goodness for Google, right? Because otherwise a college dufus might not know when to seek medical help. 

Tank was upset. He felt dumb. One of his best buds is a year younger and his dad is an ear nose and throat doc. Tank reached out to Dr. Hart, and in the meantime, I tell him to call urgent care. I felt like this might not be their gig. He called me back, 

Tank:  Yeah, they said no. I've gotta go to the ER. 

Me:  Well, shower and get dressed for the game (priorities might be a tad off here, but I tend to get on board easily with the things the kids are trying to do) and take a few soft snacks with you, so you can eat something and go straight to the game. 

He hangs up and calls a kid with a car to take him to the ER. Then Dr. Hart calls him. "Tank, I've seen the photos. I think you're gonna be fine. Skip the ER. You don't need stitches. We don't always stitch the tongue anyway. Keep the area clean and go have a good time." 

Tank calls me back, ELATED (aside from his newly acquired speech impediment, he sounded peppy):  Dr. Hart says I'm good to go. He says he'd give his son the same advice if he bit through his tongue falling off a fence (implied:  trying to steal back a fraternity rock). 

Oh. Really? 

Tank goes to the game. Our niece on Coach's side graduated the year Tank was a freshman. She confided in Ed recently that when she was a senior everyone knew Tank. "He was like a celebrity on campus." We've vowed not to share that info with Tank. Anyway, she happened to be in town from AZ for the game, and he bumps into her, and shows her his tongue.

When I checked in with him later, Tank was pumped. 

Tank:  I was on the Jumbotron, showing my friends my tongue laceration. The whole stadium sees my friends looking in my mouth.  (I assume so did his older cousin)

A few days later, Tank goes to the Creighton dental school, because it's cheap and his teeth/tooth? feel a little off. Maybe he's been grinding? Or, as his mother pointed out, maybe he jacked up his teeth in his recent fall. 

While they are checking on his teeth, the dentist says WHOA, WHAT'S GOING ON OVER HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TONGUE?

Tank explains, and Guess who needs stitches? They numb him and take care of it. Seven stitches maybe? A few days later, those stitches dissolve, as they are intended to - but, the divot in the tongue really isn't any better. So, he goes back to the dental school and a different person stitches it up AGAIN. 

If we're counting, he's now had stitches thrice in 2025 and it's not even middle of February. 

Tank's very pleased with himself, because this has only cost him like $50, as opposed to the $600 bill we got for anesthesia alone for the Jan incident. 

Tank:  You should've seen it- every dental student was looking in my mouth. It was like a teaching moment. They asked if they could take photos and stuff and I was like SURE. 

Unrelated:  we are having a family photo end of July. We're going with shades of blue. Two younger girls in the floral prints. Curly navy sundress, and Mini white sundress. I think the boys will wear various colors of blue golf shirts, etc. I laid the dresses out last night- and I'm worried that the navy dress won't work. Thoughts? If I have a brother wear navy, then are we good? Stories to follow on how we sourced these dresses. Only one is from a store - the rest THRIFTED. Just call me Elisabeth. My dress is in the middle. I love it so much. Laying it on a couch doesn't do it justice.

Later, he admitted that after his fall, he stood up and told the rest of the guys, while his tongue is bleeding, I CAN'T BE DOING THIS SHIT ANYMORE. I'M 22 YEARS OLD AND I'M STARTING A FULL-TIME, LIKE, REAL JOB IN FOUR MONTHS. I decided that this was a good sign, that this was a lesson he had to learn on own. 

For those who might be invested in the 'rock' portion of the story:  They did not get the rock that night. Tank described it like it was a headstone type rock with their fraternity's name on it, etc. But, they did go back. They  removed it, and it is now in a place of prominence at the house that Tank lived in (I found myself wanting to type:  THE HOUSE THAT TANK BUILT). Other fraternity brothers are living there this year. Translation:  all is right in the world. 

The 1st tree branch quote, Calling all Cars & This is key

Reg helped too, he took Rae to her eye
doc appointment so I could supervise the
 process and be sure no one was getting crushed.
 When Reg got home, he pitched in. He and I
moved cut up pieces to the side of the house.
 I legit lost a nail when hauling the logs.
My damn fingertip bled, but if that's
 the only ouch we had - I'll take it. 

Tree update:  It's down. Coach and Tank dismembered the dead tree, whose branch fell on me last week. We rented a chain saw. It was a chore and a half. 

The initial quote:  I texted Coach the photo of the tree branch hovering over me. Before he said the sweet thing about It would be bad if you died any day . . . he responded to my text with this:  WHO PUTS THEIR CHAIR UNDER A DEAD TREE?  

Yep, he did. I texted back that I could've really been hurt and he changed his tune. We are a wise-ass group, so we usually lead with wise-ass remarks. 

Reg calls the deck 'open concept' now. I don't
 like open concept for my deck. We are
 on the corner, and I already feel so 'seen' when
 I'm on the deck. Not in the way I want to
 feel seen. For those of you who know
 who Mary Ann is, that's her
 house in the background. Ugh. 

*******

Calling All Cars:  Weeks ago . . . I'd driven to my folks for my poop patrol duty (who's tired of this phrasing, show of hands? OK, gotcha), and I invited the kids to snag my car, because I could drive Da to the hospital in his car. Dad owns an old Rendez Vous that he shouldn't be driving anymore, but we've yet to convince him to give up his keys. I shared a tragic story with him the day I took him for his procedure and I think I got his attention.

***

This is the tragic event, that I described to my dad. It's difficult to fathom. Skip past the *** if you aren't up for reading about this horrible accident.

A couple in their early 50s were driving home from the grocery store on a Friday afternoon in late April in a town near where we live, and someone had a medical emergency and plowed into their car. They were both killed. Just a side street. Not an expressway. The accident was a few blocks from my brother's house. The family lived a few towns over from us. The wife had been a patient of Coach's on and off for years. He really liked her, and he felt horrible when he realized she and her husband were the victims of this accident. Their 5 kids range in age 17-25. My heart hurts. Hard to imagine.

 I told my dad that I know he wouldn't want to harm anyone, and that it doesn't make sense to risk causing an accident. When we age, our reflexes aren't as sharp. Just fact. We learned that the person driving that car that caused the accident was later diagnosed with a brain tumor. 

****

The night I was at my folks' house, the kids were heading in so many different directions that they needed all three cars. Coach had the 4th at work. Since we live close to my folks, Reg came on a scooter to grab the car that I'd driven there. A few minutes later I started getting panicked texts:  

Where the Ef is the Fob to the minivan?  

(we lost a Fob a long, long time ago to the minivan, so we were down to one)

It was me - the last one to drive it. And I couldn't remember what I'd done the day before. LIKE I DREW A BLANK. Where had I gone? What was I wearing? Nothing (I mean, I was wearing something - but couldn't remember what). So, that sucked. Mini and Coach had to swap cars at the meet when he came to relieve her after work. Remember how he camouflage-parked it accidentally and she couldn't find it?

Meanwhile I put on my thinking cap. Was Nana's Alzheimer's contagious? Then Coach texted to remind me that I'd taken Rae and Kay to the health club. Hmm. Clear as mud. I looked all through my purse and I didn't have it. I felt awful for making everyone adjust their plans back home due to me misplacing the keys. 

After doing the prep - dad wanted to stay up super late to be sure he didn't have to 'go' again during the night. I was like DAD, WE HAVE TO START THIS AGAIN AT 4:20 AM, CAN WE GO TO BED NOW. He told me to go to bed, but I was worried he'd be weak and fall. So, it was a late night and an early morning and my brain was foggy - 

Anyway, the next day I was driving to the pool with Kay. That's when I remembered worrying that it would drizzle on my laptop as I left the health club with K and R the day before. Drizzle being the operative clue. At a stoplight, I texted in the family group chat:  WHOEVER GETS HOME NEXT - CHECK MY RAIN COAT POCKET. Because on this day - it was blazing hot out. I couldn't fathom wearing a coat. 

Curly was home, and she texted a photo of her holding the damn Fob and my raincoat. Guilty as charged. Phew. On Monday, Reg is taking the minivan to a Honda dealership with two spare Fobs that Lad has scrounged up for us from cars going to auction at his dealership. And we will have three Fobs for that car. Who's excited? (Well, hold the phone. This last thing didn't work out as planned. Reg and I drove two cars there in order to leave the minivan. Um, waste of time. The dealership wouldn't program the Fobs. Then yesterday I drove the minivan an hour north to the dealership where the car came from - our friends own it- for an open recall of the fuel pump and They had no problem programing one Fob - the other wouldn't work). 

***

Is it just me? Do you sometimes DRAW A TOTAL BLANK on what you did the day before?  Anyone have a good system for convincing elderly people to surrender their driving duties? 

Sibling chats - In the RED

* I still need to respond to all the comments on my survival abilities following the crashing dead tree branch. The plan is to remove the tree later today. I've been a tad busy. There's lots to share:  adoption papers were signed on Friday. Maybe a court date in 4-6 weeks. I think next week will be 'Tank week'. You've heard of shark week. You've heard of Shark Tank. It's a combo deal. Get excited. 

*****

The 'you said your
kids were handling'
 with the red circle from a
screen shot of my text:  Marie. 

Sibling group chat:  I'd offered to have Mini sit with Nana while I had Dad at his procedure. She gets confused when he leaves for very long. 

* Nana gets confused, not Mini - I mean, unless we are talking about a culinary situation, then Mini is almost always confused. She called me the other day, upset. Unable to open a can of carrots. The can opener was not in the drawer. Um, I got home and the can opener WAS in the drawer. I like shopping and hanging out with Mini, so I've opted NOT to share the can opener story with her brothers. 

After I offered for Mini to Nana-sit, two or three other siblings texted that one of their kids could sit with Nana. Mini planned to brush up on her excel before starting her internship and we weren't sure she could accomplish that while hanging at Nana's. WiFi? Password? 

After waiting for Dad to stop laughing, I handed him one of his 8 billion glasses to drink and texted in the fam group chat to confirm who was sitting with Nana the next morning. Some nieces and nephews don't have summer jobs, and Mini had something she hoped to accomplish. 

Marie texted back. (not Ann. For reference this is my second oldest sis. They're Drisella and Anastasia, both unpleasant, but the difference is Ann is just unpleasant and Marie tries to pretend that she's not unpleasant when really she almost always is, and they both are ultra controlling). A screen shot. Of my text. Offering Mini's services. In red, she circled my offer. Um. OK, like what the hell just happened? 

Delilah came over one night last week and we enjoyed chatting on my deck and a sipping a cold, adult beverage. We don't see one another often even though she lives five minutes away. Sometimes we talk while she's stuck in traffic driving home from the city. Right now she's sharing a car with her husband, and they're commuting together. That's no fun- mainly because it's interfering with our girl-time talks. 

Delilah:  Wait, I read on your blog that Ann used to be so mean to you when you were younger. What's with that? Like she's just never been very nice to you. 

I expanded on some of my childhood stories and a few mind blowing ordeal that happened when we were adults, and then - I about hopped out of my chair. WAIT, I HAVE TO TELL YOU THE RED CIRCLED TEXT FROM MARIE.

Delilah (after I told her. I know you don't know her, but picture her - face scrunched, shaking her head -OK, you've got the visual):  I don't understand. Like who does that? I don't even know how to circle something in red in a text? You were asking if Mini was still on duty or if someone else was planning to be there? 

When I shared the red circled text with Mini, she felt bad, saying she didn't mean to cause any trouble. She was like 'But I thought other people, some of whom don't have employment or internships to get ready for, were also available.' True. 

My brother, Mike's son sat with Nana. And when Dad told Nana that her grandson was coming, Nana said, "Why can't everyone just leave me be. I don't need anyone to sit here with me. I'll be fine." It's heart breaking, because she doesn't remember that she forgets where Dad is when he's not home. I sat with her on Friday for a few hours. Dad was having another blood transfusion. She opened the door a few times, looking for him. 

*****

Ever gotten a text back in a screenshot CIRCLED IN RED? Anyone understand my Drisella and Anastasia reference? 

breaking news: the unexpected, falling, broken tree branch variety that I lived to tell about, Barely?

I interrupt the post that I planned to share with you today (and it is a funny one, but I'll push that back till Monday), to let you know that yesterday afternoon while I was sitting on a chair on my deck minding my own business, a branch broke off of a dead tree that's next to our deck and fell on me. 

See how the branch is almost
 sticking up, like it decided
 not to hit me.

I'm fine. My elbow is banged up. I'll probably have nightmares tonight, because it scared the crap out of me. 

But if you look at the photo that I took after I got out of the chair - the branch fell and sort of got wedged on the bottom of the chair. It was sticking up from the base of the chair and this saved me. 

I don't think it would've killed me, but I do think if it fell from as high up as it was and landed directly on my head or on my arm, that I would've been knocked out - or maybe ended up with a broken arm? The way it sort of caught the bottom of the chair caused it to stay sort of upright. Somehow I was shielded from this thing  hitting me. It was not a lightweight branch. 

I was on the phone with a woman from our church who is driving Rae to a retreat this weekend. I was only gonna sit outside for about 30 minutes and read some blogs after I got off the phone finalizing details with her. I was alone, and I was trying to enjoy my empty house. That almost never happens. A friend of Kay's invited her to go to her pool, so she wasn't home (she's usually the one home with me during the day).  

I heard a terribly loud sound, almost like someone was ripping Heavy Duty  packaging (?) like right behind me. The branch breaking sound was followed so closely by the branch falling that I didn't have time to react. I think I started to sit up, but then - BOOM.

You would totally scream
 if this fell on you, right? 

I think the small piece that was in my lap is the piece that banged off of my elbow. The best part - it knocked my phone out of my hand, or the fright caused me to drop my phone.

Um, I SCREAMED . . . A HIGH PITCH SQUEAL OF A SCREAM THAT I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I WAS CAPABLE OF. 

It was like the kind of scream you hear in movies, and I sat for a split second and was dazed. Then, I picked up my phone (here's the best part, I lied before) . . . the woman was still talking into the phone like nothing had happened. We finished our conversation, and as we said good-bye (I was still sitting there covered in bark and tree bits and feeling like I was being punked), I asked her:  SO DID YOU HEAR ME SCREAM A MINUTE AGO?

She was like, I did hear a scream. I thought it was kids in the background. (I explained why I screamed and she was like WHOA!).

It wasn't until a few hours later, after I'd sent the photo in the fam group chat, that Lad called and told me he thought I'd faked the photo because the branch was propped up on the bottom of my chair. I was driving, during our phone call, to pick up Dipsy Doodle Mini who missed her train and took the next express train to the next town over. I picked her up and drove her back to her car. Anyway, I wasn't able to look at the photo while I was driving - but later (after I was annoyed at Lad for saying I staged this photo shoot) I looked closer and I was like, HECK, IT WAS STUCK ON THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAIR! AND THAT'S WHY IT WAS SORT OF STAYING UPRIGHT. 

This happened on Lad's 27th birthday.

Me to Coach:  It would've been horrible if I'd died on Lad's birthday.

Coach:  It would be horrible if you died on any day.

We'll if that isn't the sweetest sentiment. 

*****

Do you scream like a ninny when frightened? Yes, I'd like Coach to get this tree taken down asap, why do you ask? Oh, in other news:  my Dad's cat-scan showed that the cancer hasn't spread. Surgery July 10th. I'll send Curly to Louisville with teammates on the 9th for her tournament, so I can hang back and be on poop patrol the day before surgery (same as colonoscopy prep). Then I'll head to Louisville the 10th or 11th. Dad called me seconds after the doc gave him the date, to see if I could help with the prep. I mean, we all have our special talents.

laughs during my recent poop patrol

Flashing back to poop patrol, when I helped my dad with colonoscopy prep. Join me, in the spacious hall bathroom at my folks' house where my humor tickled his funny bone while the Miralax worked its magic.

Dad asked how many glasses he had to drink. I'd measured out an 8 ounce cup, and I was like HMM, I GUESS 8 OF THEM, SINCE 64 DIVIDED BY 8 IS 8. 

Well, he drank 8 glasses and there was still MORE. Like another 3 glasses. Hmm. I'd brought over the jug from my Vitamix blender, so I knew the 64 oz was accurate.

Me:  Dad, if you wanted someone who was good at math to help with this prep, then you probably should've called Pat. 

More background:  Pat is my less-than-a-year-younger-than-me brother who most people, particularly my parents, consider a genius. Honestly Marie gets the same rating. Did my rating improve after my jokes were landing so well? One would hope. This fun fam dynamic used to drive me batty, and if I think about how it impacted my childhood, It still can - but on this night. Sitting in the bathroom together, we shared a good hearty laugh at my ability to self deprecate. (insert me bowing) 

We were baffled by the extra, but onward. 

*******

Once I handed him a glass, he grumbled:  OH SHIT.

Me:  Yep, that's the idea. (insert Dad laughing so hard he had to wait to compose himself to be able to drink). 

                                                                                *******

At one point:  Dad asked me what I was typing on my laptop across the room while he was flushing out his system. I told him writing about my life. He laughed and covered his face with his hands. 

"Oh brother. I don't think I wanna know."

I shared the storyline for a chapter my group thinks I should try to get published, and again feared he'd fall off his chair chuckling.

It was circa 1987-ish. We didn't have a VCR. We hadn't joined the 20th century. We also didn't own a microwave, until I bought one with my Burger King income. The only reason we owned a garage door opener was because we moved into a house that already had one installed. My parents Would never buy one of those contraptions. When we pulled up to our house sans opener, whomever was sitting next to a door was fair game for my parents to call out, "Ernie, open the door." That door was never locked. How were we never robbed? 

I digress:  On Christmas morning, Dad made a big show of presenting a gift to all 5 kids. I was 15 or 16. My sisters were too cool to move from their positions curled up in afghans to rip the paper, but when my younger brothers and I opened a VCR - they hopped up faster than you could say, Teenagers are moody to verify that we weren't pulling their legs. We all celebrated like our personal sentence in the Stone Age was ending. Then Dad whistled to get our attention.

Dad:  This machine will only be used to record programs on PBS. (public TV, like educational programming). 

Womp, womp. We plopped down in our pajamas, deflated. A week later, when my folks went to watch my bros play bball. Ann rented a movie at Osco on the sly. Our local drug store rented movies, briefly - before Blockbuster. My college-age sisters and I were watching it under the cover of darkness. For the life of me, I cannot recall what movie it was. The garage door went up. We panicked, struggling to eject. Once out, we tossed it around like a hot potato before hiding it under the couch. Mom, the sleuth, waved Dad over. His Irish temper erupted. He ripped the VHS tape from Ann, flew open the sliding glass door in the kitchen and launched it like it was a Frisbee. It landed in a snowdrift, because Chicago. Ann ran out in her socks and rescued it.

Ann:  Dad, if this is ruined - we have to pay for it!

Dad:  I don't have to pay for a God damned thing. I told you not to rent movies. This is MY house. 

If memory serves, he changed his tune when Star Wars came out on VHS. 

Dad roared at this memory. He didn't remember the story, but he knows it to be true. 

                                                                        ****

Me:  That VCR 'gift' that we couldn't use was almost as exciting as the Lionel Trains cars you'd wrap up for us even while in high school. You'd record the moment on home movie thing. Your secret agenda was clear:  gift us train cars to justify investing money in YOUR collection. (again, no memory of that, but he didn't dispute it. He just died laughing).

                                                                        ****

Where's Waldo Great White?

Meanwhile - fun on the home front:  Mini called me at my folks' house. She was
leaving the swim meet where she'd covered half of my bull pen shift. She had to hang up because Coach, who relieved her, didn't tell her where he'd parked GW. (Great White. Our big ass van)

A minute later, she forwarded me the photo that he sent her to help her find GW. Our pool is alongside the grade school, where they park buses in a row. There's also oodles of non-bus parking. Note where Coach parked, and grasp Mini's confusion. I shared the photo with my folks, and we all died laughing.  

****

Anyone else grow up 'denied' the good-life of VCRs and garage door openers? Ever get 'gifts' that were basically for your folks? Anyone interested in my Poop Patrol services? Cuz, apparently my stand up routine kills in the john. Why did Mini and Coach have to juggle the car? Story to follow. (it's me - I'm the reason!)

Blue bird, blue bird . . . Maybe he's a Blue Jay? & Maybe Dave needs to jump in the lake

While waiting for a b-ball spot, we gave Creighton a deposit, offering to eat the deposit if he goes elsewhere. He could probably be a b-ball manager at Creighton (the Blue Jays, thus my title). That sounds great to me, but Reg wants to play. And I get that. Coach has been frustrated with him for not agreeing to play D3, but I pointed out that IN HIGH SCHOOL, THOSE COACHES, WHO MESSED WITH HIM, TOLD HIM HE WAS NOTHING. He has something to prove. I don't blame him. 

I'd like to prove something to them too, and THEN give them a knuckle sandwich. 

Last week it was time to attend Creighton's orientation. Time and hotel room $ if he wasn't going there? Then Tank appeared in my peripheral vision. My wheels spun. What if Tank took him? Crashed with buddies? Showed Reg around? Etc. 

Tank agreed, then rethought it. I felt guilty for not going. Then Tank said SURE, WHY NOT, and I said HOT DIGGITY. Lots of waffling, is what I'm saying. 

Tank missed three days of caddying, but I told him to use my card to grab some merch for he and Reg. I also agreed to pay for the medical bill for Tank's most recent 'oops', which I'm realizing I never shared. It's a doozie, folks. (remind me to 'splain)

Tank organized dinner Wednesday in Omaha when they arrived with buddies who were in town. One of them, a team manager, described the role to Reg. 

Well played, Tank.

Tank sent updates throughout. He was given a nametag with my name. He attended a few parent sessions. In the campus ministry talk, the lady couldn't work the slideshow, so he figured it out. Then he described his mission trip, and they applauded him for being a recent grad. Basically he was being Tank and doing Tank things. 

Reg randomly landed in the same small group as one of Tank's friend's younger brothers, which was clutch. *(I left out the word 'friend's' in that sentence initially. Would bringing more brothers into the fray have confused you?). 

Reg liked Creighton. Met kids. Created his schedule. Has a group chat. On the way home, he told Tank:  YEAH. I'LL PROBABLY GO TO CREIGHTON. EVERYONE'S SO NICE. 

Coach and I:  GREAT . . . AND ALSO, DANG - I HATE TO SEE HIM  GIVE UP HIS DREAM. We feel like if he goes to Creighton, we'll mourn what could've been if he'd played ball. Go somewhere else, we'll mourn the loss of a great education/great friends at Creighton (there can be great friends at another b-ball school too).

Way in the back of my mind - Could Coach McDermott get to know him and then see him shoot around AND THEN LET HIM BE A WALKON? (they take D1 level players as walkons, and Reg isn't quite THAT level, ya know?) I think that would check all the boxes. Plus, then I think we could get a Rudy-esque movie made about him. Right? 

Before Reg and Tank drove off, I drafted a letter to Creighton's Coach McDermott, explaining the situation. Coach thought it made sense to have Tank deliver that, but at the last minute he was not on board. It's fine. Pouring over the computer, choosing words so carefully so as not to paint him like a mama's boy - total waste of time, but it was a good exercise in . . . letter writing? *sigh* 

I snapped this pic when
we stopped by Creighton
 in 2012? On our way home
 from Estes Park, CO.
 Lad:  Dad do you think
 we'll see Doug? (That's
 Coach McDermott's
son who played for
 Creighton.) Coach: no
chance, sorry, Lad.
THEN - Bam - we walk into the
 student center and
 run right into him. Reg is in the
 dark gray football shirt.
Coach is 6'4" and look how Doug
 McDermott towers over him. Yes, I was
 prepared to send this pic in the
 letter to the head coach at Creighton. 

In the meantime, I'd like to meet this Dave fellow in a dark alley. Dave texted Reg Thursday at 9 am. 

Dave:  The Truman State coach is coming to an open gym at 11 am. Be here at 11. He needs a great defender, and he wants to see you play. 

In case you are confused:  Dave game him a two hour window to show up and play for a college coach from a decent school. We live an hour away from the gym, so even if Reg wasn't IN OMAHA - 8 hours in the wrong direction, that would've been a scramble, as he doesn't always have a car and sometimes he's already on the course caddying. C'mon.  

That upset Reg, and he was gonna say SORRY I'M CADDYING. I think he was worried about admitting that he was considering not playing ball. But I told him to be honest and say - Hey I'm at orientation at Creighton, but b-ball is still my #1 priority. Can I send him tape, etc. 

Nothing else has been said about Truman since he got home. See what I mean? Oh, and Dave also texted him to say he still had a chance with Purdue Northwest. Huh? 

On Monday, Dave texted Reg:  What's your timeline? Reg was at the gym working out, and he asked me how to respond. I suggested:  My folks will eat the deposit at Creighton if I get a spot somewhere, but it'd have to be a good school

 

Um. Instead, Reg unleashed some frustration:  I've pushed my timeline past my original June 1st date, because despite being the hardest worker on the team, I still have no offers.

Dave shot back:  We had lots of hard workers on the team, so don't tell me you were the hardest worker. And your 3 point percentage is terrible and that's a problem. 

Reg went down state for the 3 point contest in high school, but stress has impacted his game. He shouldn't have sent Dave a snarky text, but Dave told him last week that he played like shit when a coach came to visit. Reg doesn't stick up for himself so I think that was his way of letting Dave have it, and really, what was Reg gonna say when he told him he played like shit?

If I hadn't already done a killer workout class, I would've sprinted around the block or punched a wall on Monday after Dave behaved like a 3rd grader instead of an encouraging coach. Grrr. 

*****

This is a link to the Creighton commencement speech, if you want to listen to it. I thought she was awesome. Her message was so relatable. She is introduced around the 58 minute mark, and her talk starts around 1:00 or a minute after. It's about 20 min long. 

Did you know that Tank got stitches twice this year by like mid February? One set needed to be redone, so really 3x, if you count that. Would you have sent the letter with Reg's background to the head coach? Asking for a friend.