Category Archives: Uncategorized

Dr. ChuckleNugget MD

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Don’t you like to do certain things, like, once, and then leave it be and be done forever? I have been patronizing the same dentist since my graduate school dental insurance kicked in in 2002. I had a decent pediatrician for the girls and then she ZOOP up and moved to California a couple of years ago with no notice. I know they’re not required to send one, but a letter would have been nice. My experience with the girls’s doctor since then has been a little uneven, to say the least.

I like the clinic, because it’s a small practice in a small building, and you see the same people every time. The old place was GIANT MEDICAL CONGLOMERATE THING and felt pretty impersonal. The first year went pretty swimmingly, and then things got a little weird. Last Christmastime Strudel got really sick for a really long time, and her symptoms were a little weird. I took her to the doctor, who suggested a tuberculosis test, which, fine, because there is a small outside chance that was what it could be. I like non-risky, better-safe-than-sorry testing. We were supposed to read the results of the scratch test on her arm a couple of days after, which would have been a Saturday. The girls’ doctor offered to meet us at the office, though it was closed that day, and take a quick peek at her arm. We agreed upon ten a.m. and she was a no-show. I Dr. Googled the results and guessed it was negative, and we spoke on the phone later. Nothing came of it, but a TB test can make a person a wee bit panicky, and to have a no-show…I thought then about switching and then thought better of it–maybe I was being hasty.

I was given a vaccine printout a few months ago and I saw that our old address was on it. The PA had me look over their records for us. “We’ve got this terrible duplicate record thing happening, because the practice changed ownership recently,” she explained. Hmm.

I took Franny in for a vaccine in October and we were sent to our typical exam room to wait. It has a fish hanging from the ceiling made from an old CD that has had fish features markered onto it and fins taped on. I can always hear a radio turned to talk radio playing softly somewhere, but only from that room. The PA walked in abruptly, as she always does. Lately she has been covering her facial tattoos with foundation.

“Well. Where is it?” she asked. We were confused. If we found the vaccine syringe would we get a prize? Franny glanced at me for a clue.

“Where’s…what?” she said.

“The wart,” the PA said.

“We’re here for a vaccine,” I said.

“Oh dear,” she said, and went out again.

I got a call a couple of weeks ago asking us if we had changed our address since a piece of mail had bounced back to their office. It was my old address–the old duplex that we have not lived in since moving in July 2010.

Today I got a call about “Strudel’s appointment tomorrow,” which I found a little distressing, since Franny is the one who has the appointment tomorrow. I called them shortly after they left a message.

“Hello, this is SJ I am returning your call about–”

“Strudel’s appointment?”

“Yes, but Franny is the one with the appointment.”

“Ohhh.”

“I was wondering if she could be seen for an injury on her foot tomorrow? I know the doctor wasn’t supposed to see her,” I said.

“Sure, how about 11:30?”

“Great, can her vaccine she was supposed to have be rolled into that appointment?” I asked.

“She’s not supposed to get the HPV until she’s 12.”

“Well, here’s the thing, she already HAD the first one, and this appointment was for the SECOND one, and I was hoping she could have both her foot looked at as well as the vaccine.”

“Okay, we’ll see you at 11:30!”

I assume they will be seeing Strudel tomorrow at 3 for a burst appendix.

The Curious Incident of the Asshole in the Afternoon (Epic)

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“But it’s Mine!” screamed the bird, when she heard the egg crack.
(the work was all done. Now she wanted it back.)
“It’s my egg!” she sputtered. “You stole it from me!
Get off of my nest and get out of my tree!”

—Horton Hatches the Egg

Dear Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity Diary,

So what happened in court? I hope I am not boring you with my, um, life, but I have to get this all down so I don’t forget it. Yesterday I was the petitioner, so I got the opportunity via paperwork to make the initial arguments, he replied, and then we got one more chance to rebut statements via more arguments and exhibits. The action was a Motion to Modify the Parenting Plan.

As I mentioned in a previous post, what was at stake was:
1. Would we be allowed to modify the parenting plan? The problem with the parenting plan was that it was 50/50 time, which does not work out when a kid has over an hour commute to her father’s house. This is a tricky one and I’ll discuss it in more detail.

2. Would we be allowed to roll back to the “temporary” plan that we had followed since he moved in 2008? Last month the temporary judge had ruled that we would be moving back in time to 2005, meaning she would be commuting 3 hours on school days and one time on Sunday.

3. Could a guardian ad litem be appointed to examine the child’s life, speak to her, her family, look at her home, and so forth, in order to speak for her in court should the case go to trial?

His argument was that we should keep the 2005 parenting plan.

The trial date is set for October 2012. I guess this problem is solved since the world is going to end next year anyway! Just kidding, this situation is still going to keep stinking up a small corner of my life.

Short answer: the commissioner ruled in our favor. She said a LOT of things, some of which I will describe. First, she was about a half hour late returning. Court was supposed to start at 1:30 p.m.–we were the only case to be heard (the other two were no-shows) and we sat adjacent to each other, waiting, waiting. I felt like we were twisting, dangling over a cliff.

I snuck looks at SeaFed and it looked like he was working on his laptop and chatting with his lawyer occasionally. He was wearing the same terrible suit coat and tan pants and a blue tie. When he first came to the hall and walked by us in he was wearing a flat cap and snapping his gum. I had that feeling like I wanted to kick him under a table or something, which I have actually done before.

Seattle courts don’t look anything like the pristine courtrooms of stage and screen. There are boxes of printer paper laying around, the clerks have mini-fans and cacti, and there were coats piled up on what I think is a witness stand.

Finally, we were called up. My lawyer was allowed to make arguments for more than the allotted five minutes, since the courtroom was empty, and his lawyer did the same. His lawyer led with a paraphrase from Sherlock Holmes, saying what was significant was that the dog didn’t bark. Either I am about to see some wind get inherited, or he has nothing, I thought to myself. His lawyer talked about the fact that the document we submitted about her crying in class was the first day of her commute, and nothing after that. I found this frustrating, because she had continued to talk to her counselor and some of her teachers, but indeed, there was no other written documentation about the fact that Franny was still upset throughout the month. Thus, “the dog didn’t bark.” THE DOG WAS BARKING, OK?

The commissioner gave her opinion then. “Does this meet the requirements for modification?” she asked. “I will go through them, all four points, and speak to them.” I could have died then. If I lost, I would have to hear her opinion on all the points. She had already spoken at length by then, and I felt like I was being roasted over a spit on some mezzanine of Hell listening to her opening remarks. The RCW is lengthy on this, but she hit four points.

1. Was what was happening considered to be permanent by the parents and child? Was the child integrated into my household? She spoke at length to this, but my summary is, yes. The commissioner said that she felt three years was long enough in a child’s life to constitute a permanent change. Not to be outdone by SeaFed’s lawyer quoting Sherlock, she paraphrased Shakespeare and commented that you can call our living situation a rose all day, but it was actually a daffodil.

She asked the opposing attorney if he could say that Franny could not be integrated into our home because she already WAS integrated into our home (which was his argument), due to the fact that we started at 50/50, would he take it to the extreme and claim that a child who was under a 50/50 plan but lived with one parent for 363 days a year and spent the other two with the other parent–would he not say that child was logically more a part of the majority household just because the plan in place said the parents were 50/50? She rejected the notion that a wibbly-wobbly 50-50 custody plan could not be changed just because the plan was supposed to be equal. Shit, bitches, this is when I am so happy to have a lawyer. Also, according to their side, I was trying to pull a “fast one” on him by sneakily taking care of our kid after he moved.

2. Was there a substantial deviation in the parenting plan? Yes. It was no longer 50/50. Franny’s life takes place in Seattle. Her father lives in another city. The commissioner talked about the importance of friends and social activities for a teenlet and how it’s important to respect that.

3. Was it by agreement, was there consent given to change the parenting plan? Yes.

By this point we had racked up three and I tell you I was shitting myself. You don’t want to stand there stupidly in your doofy clown clothes looking crazy, so I settled for wringing my hands instead of crawling under the table or wetting myself. I did start crying when I realized we were winning because I was so relieved.

The commissioner decided that because SeaFed had signed paperwork in our 2007 mediation that looked VERY like the schedule we were following from 2008 onward, and for the simple fact that he had allowed the schedule to continue, that his consent was given.

4. Would keeping the parenting plan in its current state harm the child? YES. YES. YES. That’s about all I can say about that.

So she rolled it back to the “temporary” parenting plan, which we have been doing for the past 3+ years. She ordered that we mediate in the next 60 days. I liked what she said about how many times we have found a way to agree on arrangements in the past, which is absolutely true. We also were ordered to appoint a guardian ad litem in the hallway in case mediation failed.

SeaFed bargain-basemented on the GAL, picking people solely on price. His attorney did not really know many of the GALs, which made sense to me, since my lawyer cannot remember opposing him in family court. (My lawyer mentioned that she trained to be a GAL but then was advised that she should park at peoples’ houses and other places with her car facing out for a quick getaway and then realized it was not a life for her.) This sounds right for him, really. Penny wise, pound foolish. I thought it was funny in a way, because I know he just bought himself and his stay-at-home wife and retired mother-in-law new iPhones. IN A WAY.

I picked Franny up after and broke the news to her.

“We won.”

She was SO HAPPY. We went out to our favorite teriyaki place and my appetite has shrunk to about half of my normal bento-hoovering abilities, but that will change soon enough. She is looking forward to VISITING his house this weekend and coming back home on Monday.

So, mediation again. I am a bit nervous that if he runs out of money he will hit up his Daddy Warbucks for it. As always, stay tuned, and thanks for reading and telling me I am not crazy. Court is hard. Court lines (don’t do it). On the other hand, if $LASTNAME vs $LASTNAME is someday precedent for getting someone out of a pickle when they are 50/50 and in an integration dispute, I would be happy, though I will never know.

Yawny at the Apepyscalypse

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UP BETIMES and writing legal responses.

So, can I tell you, I have the most sexiest legal answer to everything that’s happening in court. There are memorandums, exhibits, and statements of fact. Again, as I have mentioned on twittergraph, I am really into my lawyers. It looks really good. I feel really fortunate I picked someone who can distill my hysterical bleatings into something coherent.

My side sounds like this: MY KID IS UPSET AND IT IS CAUSING ME BONAFIDE PHYSICAL PAIN PLEASE MAKE IT STOP FOR HER. This gets translated into precedents and true facts. It’s for the best.

We are marching into court on Thursday–here is what’s at stake: we are asking to change the parenting plan back to what we’ve been doing for the last three years, asking to appoint a guardian ad litem, and asking to change the parenting plan. Seattle Federline is asking to roll back to 50-50 time a la 2005, which is currently causing her nightmares. Last night she dreamt that she was hiding under a bed and he was trying to kidnap her. In the past couple of weeks she has dreamed that he has burned our house down.

SeaFed came into court he was wearing some cream-colored confection. Seriously, it looked like he was about to attend the cotillion. I thought he was going to go home and make himself a nice etouffee. This has nothing to do with anything, except to say that he has become an absolute echo of his aged father, except I am sure his father would have worn a nicer suit.

What is happening now is that I am providing really intense emotional support for my first born. This has never happened before. I played the procreation lottery and I did not get a child who had any developmental difficulties. Strudel was difficult in a toddler freakout way, but I don’t deal with any neurological differences or anything physical.

Parenting is hard, ya ya, and you get used to it. It’s been pretty smooth sailing. For the first time she is a heavy lead weight on me that I have to keep lifting and when I am alone I have to keep smoking like a fucking chimney. Can I tell you I have never been anyone’s emotional support like this before? How lucky I am. I married a self-watering sociopath and then I got with Strudel’s dad, who was more all, well.

Now I am dealing with someone who cries and looks at me to fix her shit. What can you do? You cannot turn away. You would like to make deals. “Hey, how about I cut off my foot and you stop feeling emotional pain and crying at dinnertime. Deal? … No? That’s not how it works? SHIT.”

I thought about tossing her back even. I asked her if she wanted to go, if I could fix it that way, I would. No, baby, I will not Solomon you. You want to go with him? No? No.

I am home. I am so proud to be home. It makes my heart swell fucking twenty-seven times its size that she calls me home. She is a good person. She is going to be okay. She is not broken. Ninety-five percent of parenting is just showing up, I think.

“I think there is something wrong with my dad,” she said, one Wednesday night on the couch, completely out of nowhere.

I know love for lovers and I know love for children. I will run and run until my legs break to keep holding Franny up. All the shit that happened to me as a kid, that is over now. I feel like all that matters is her now, and getting out intact. She deserves the chance that I did not have to be completely wrapped in love.

I am going to lay out everything that happened post-Thursday-a walk-through. I will tell you all about what court is like, win or lose. You are there with me, I know it.

“Hilarity” “Ensues”

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My mother has submitted a statement in support of SeaFed to the court. Which is kind of funny, because she submitted a statement in support of me during the divorce. Yo-ho.

More when I can think. Court Thursday. I am worried this will all be done before Franny can even have her opinion heard.

I Can’t Life My Arms Four Hours Sleep Waaat

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Up betimeish, but not as betimesly as yesterday when I went to 6 a.m. “death march” yoga (as it is being referred to by a certain wag). HOLY HOPPIN TACOS am I out of shape. It’s like I did nothing by cook, slurp gravy, and write all year. My muscles between my ribs are sore.

SECONDLY, Veronica Bock, Orpington extraordinaire, is growing her pink comb back now that the days are longer. She looked slightly startled this morning with her red-rimmed eyes and now this pink comb. I have no hope that she will start laying again, though.

Today I was forced out for lunch, but did not feel like going to a place with, you know, tables and humans and stuff, so I went to Jack-in-the-Box. The drive thru chick looked like her drive thru place was probably the MAC counter. She had swoopy cat’s eye makeup and some serious highlights going on. I was amazed. She gave me some tips.

“It’s time for you to make a Youtube video,” I said.

“Nooo,” she said. “This is so easy, though. It only takes five minutes!”

“For you, maybe.”

“Here, take this ranch, have you ever had ranch on your curly fries?”

“No,” I said.

“You are going to fall in love with it,” she said.

I got extra fries! Proper.

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Dreamt that the cats were covered in fleas, except the fleas were tiny clear crabs, like beach kind. Do body lice look like beach kind? I don’t EVEN know. Let’s stay up til 2. Yay anxiety, high kicks.