Mommy Tales

Archive for the ‘My personal insight in the world's evil’ Category

Strictly hypothetical, what would an evening out with your husband be like? As you know I’ve got these three beautiful kids and therefor the opportunity to ‘party’ with hubby is rather rare. There’s always the opportunity to escape family life withOUT hubby, though. But what would it be like, to spend some precious hours on our own?

Hypothetical, let’s assume we tried to find out yesterday. This is the evening’s story how it could be. Hypothetical, remember.

On the late afternoon our beloved Aunt Anna arrived, we talked about this and that because it has been a little while since we met last. Then, around half past 5pm I was in a hurry to approach the city because I, of course, needed to make a beeline to the library (which closes at 7pm) to get an important book for my final paper. (No time to put on some make up or even to dress properly. Why, sir, don’t you like my sweatpants? They’re comfortable, at least…) Meanwhile the weather changed from scorching heat to really hot and stormy so I had to pick up everything of value lying around in the garden plus to protect everything that shouldn’t get wet. A little while later I could finally lean back in our car, turn the key in the ignition and … don’t worry, of course the engine did run. But the car was nearly out of fuel and I had to stop at the next gas station. There I struggled with the fuel dispenser because the driver in front of me though it’s common to park as convenient as possible (not for me, of course, and so I was a bit out of reach), but everything was successful finished soon and I, of course, did find the tank cup (blown away by the mild storm) just in time before it could get stuck anywhere. Also, my credit card was accepted. This could be my lucky day, mate!

A little time later, still on my way towards the city, I remembered the emptiness in my purse that usually goes very bad with an evening out and had to take another stop at a cash point.

‘Hurray, the city is near, just get your husband’s little ass right beside you in the car and off we go!’, might have been the thoughts trespassing my capable brain. But then, approximately 100 meters away from that man’s working place, I found the largest construction site possible, no driving through possible. So I had to park the car further away, call him by phone to help him find me and prayed there wouldn’t be a meter maid approaching while I had to wait. Hey, this would actually be my lucky day because the only person approaching was my husband and with a good mood, too! How very rare…

I, smart as I am, decided to park my car in a garage next to the library I had to get to just in time before they were closing. I made it, snapped my book and went for a big walk down to the university where 2 further books were waiting for me. Always accompanied by my dear husband. No need to hurry, here, the university is open 24hrs a day. After checking out there the stormy weather had increased a lot, so that I couldn’t see one single thing because every time I took a glimpse of the surrounding area there were things landing in my eyes. Things of every size and shape possible. My husband, on the other hand, got problems to use his voice because all the dust stuck in his throat. To escape the advancing rainstorm we hopped onto the next train and went straight for a nice bar. There we had a nice meal, talked about iCarly (that is the one TV series our 7yo watches that we like both and apparently we’re not really able to watch a lot of adult TV, because that was the ONLY series we talked about – well, maybe we’re just a bit weird) and drink something. In fact, I drank a lot, because my circulation is rather low, especially in summer and it helps a lot to drink a lot. Easy Peasy.

A little while later, the female heroine of this story decided to call it an evening early because she was very tired (keeping guard for a class of 7yo while they are floundering about in the water of the local swimming pool the whole morning will do that to you) and so we left around half past 8pm. Not before going to the bathroom once more (just me, of course) because drinking lemonade is absolutely not the best idea before leaving for a longer time without restroom available.

On the way to our car we looked at the different shop windows, because the shops all are already closed at 8pm. There is no danger to actually buy the delicious displayed chocolate that makes you drooling. Meanwhile, we were in no hurry and walking slow, I felt the need to pee. Again. So, we had to walk a little bit faster because it’s a long way home and there’s no possibility for a woman to find relief in the next park like all the mighty men can do so easily.

We reached the shopping mall where we parked our car earlier. Of course the first door we were approaching was locked, because the mall also closes at 8pm. But there probably should be an extra entry to get to the garage because all the garages in the city are open late. All garages? Rounding one corner and another and still feeling this growing need to find a bathroom (usually you can find a toilet inside a garage) our hearts dropped a little and sank down the rest as soon as we could see the sign announcing that the garage was closed. ‘Wait. Our car is in there.’ or ‘What the fuck, why is this damned garage already closed?’ might have been our thoughts. Then we discovered that, although the doors were all locked down, the driveway for the cars was still open. Hey, what a chance. 100% sure that there would be no oncoming car (and after reading the sign displaying the opening times – until 8:30pm only) we started to climb up the damned driveway with the intention to try and get our car out of there. If you could get in, there has to be a way out, too, hasn’t it? At least the neon lights were still on and our car was parked on the first level so the walk wouldn’t be too long. But the pay machines. Aren’t they all inside the mall in this garage? Inside the securely closed up mall? Not all! Thank you, Mr. architect, there was one in reach and it worked, too, although the allowed parking time officially was over by then. But would the machine at the exit accept it and open up the barrier blocking our way towards freedom? It did! Hallelujah and praise the Lord! So, off we went and cried out ‘Fortune favors fools!’.

Huh. That big garage door. Wasn’t that open just a few minutes ago?

Where there would have been free passage just some time ago, now we looked at a big, solid garage door. Sound and safe locked. My husband killed the car’s engine, we both stopped the praising abruptly. I felt the uncomfortable stretch of my bladder. And we were stuck. Nowhere a phone number to call. What use are mobiles of when you don’t know who to call? My really stressed brain remembered the one number you can always use for emergency calls. And then I suggested my husband to call the police and explain our very, very, very distressing situation.

Meanwhile, of course, I found out, that this special garage, only opened when the mall is, has no toilets integrated. Why should it? You could always use the ones inside the mall. If you wouldn’t be caged with the mall closed up, that is. So. Worst scenario possible. We were waiting for some help while in a really awkward situation. We had no idea how long everything could take and I had to pee. Like PEE. Immediately. Did I already mention that there are of course a lot of cameras installed inside this garage? ‘God, please give me a dick so I can stand discreetly by the side!’, was a prayer that remained unanswered. So started to march around, up and down the driveway, to find a spot without a camera and to find the boldness to pull down my sweatpants in the middle of a goddamn driveway of a parking garage! Finally I was brave enough to settle down, my buttocks probably shining like the full moon under the illumination of bright neon glow lamps.

You know what a girl needs to pee? To relax the compressor. There’s no way any woman or girl on earth could pee without relaxing. You think you could relax in that situation? That, I must repeat urgently, HYPOTHETICAL situation? Yeah, I think I couldn’t either.

The Garage Incident

But then I tried out every relaxing breathing method I ever heard of and somehow managed to relax enough and felt the first drop fall down. That is the instant in our hypothetical story when my husband urgently called me. So I thought of a sh!tload of police officers just a few metres down the driveway and … so much about relaxing any muscles. Immediately I did not drop but hoist my pants in a frantic moment of panic and started running downwards (me and my shamefully colored cheeks, the facial ones, I mean).

There was no single police officer. But an open garage door. And a proud husband, on his way to call the police off. He found a sensor down on the floor that opens up the garage door as soon as your car hits it. A smart man. Unfortunately a little bit too smart. He really could’ve taken some seconds more because, honestly, dropping your trousers and squatting down in such a placement and than not even being able to feel the relief of an empty bladder, that is rich.

Anyway, still feeling that pressure, reminding me of torture right then, did change the view of the city as I knew it before. Everywhere I scanned for a place hidden enough to, yes you know what I’m talking about. Also, my ability of doing small talk and to feel relief about the solved problems did lack a bit. But then I remembered the big cinema center right around the corner, where you can use the bathroom without being questioned. The relief of that thought almost broke the concentrating hold on my bladder but finally, after waiting at the most extended red traffic light of the whole wide world I found heaven inside a public bathroom.

And then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. All the way home. And ever after.

Remember: this whole story is hypothetical. So there’s really no need to search YouTube for a video of a woman and her buttocks in the middle of a driveway…

‘So, you’re not working?’
‘Asshole’, I’d of course never say out loud. I may or may not think it though. Maybe it’d rather be ‘Motherfucker’, I’m not sure.

Apparently, the (absolutely superficial and non-reflective) person demanding such an incredible thing probably is not very acquainted with SAHMs, one of those rampant made-up terms, that describes a Stay-At-Home-Mom or, as our aforesaid person would say, a Not-Working-Mom. Ha!

Never ever could I think of such a labor condition out there in the big world of capitalism. Oh no, don’t get me wrong. Though there may be some points to criticize in a capitalistic world, that’s not my point for THIS post.

Come on and stretch your imagination a bit (yes, I know, it’s a hard task…) and follow my thoughts to this hypothetical situation:

You’re applying for a job, let’s say in the field of care (for persons). This job is supposed to fulfill your life. You wish to find new energy, a lot of fun, you’re absolutely convinced that you’ll love it AND did I already mention, it is to fulfill your life. It’s a rather stressing job, but you could manage it. If you push yourself a bit. A bit more, wimp! Well, you’re discussing further terms of this employment and discover this:

-working time: 7days a week (wait, there ARE just 7 days in EVERY week, right?), 24hours a day (I hope your maths skills would help you to evaluate your weekly free time at this point)
-vacation/holiday/break/breather: sorry, old chap, sold out here. Nothing to get. Finished. Take a number and put your little ass in the row. Oh, no row there?
-salary: none (wait, there are approx. 150,– Euros per month and person you care for, but these are not nearly enough to pay your travel + entertainment expenses)
-approval (by society, friends, state, other people): hmm, difficult. Not THAT much. A little bit. Maybe. Depends.

Sounds great? Well, welcome to my world. I’m working day and night (and don’t believe the nights are off duty) AND I’m even working while using the bathroom. Hey, I said USING not cleaning. But that would be also true. There are never days off and when my never-ending whining and begging helped me to convince the grandparents to have the kids for a weekend they WILL BE ABSOLUTELY ICKY for at least a week after their returning. Never in my life before (and I had some jobs I can compare with) did I work so hard and gain so little approval.

Why is working just working for money? There are million of people working for low money or doing stuff voluntary. Would it ever occur to above mentioned person to pose such a question to them? I don’t think so.

So, dear stranger, friend or person sitting next to me in the bus. Please try and think a little bit before you’re posing questions that will the average SAHM get mad.

You may, on the other hand, truly believe that a mother is absolutely to blame herself about her position. Listen, dumbass (I’m so sorry for my repetitions, but as English is NOT my mother tongue it’s rather difficult to find a variety of nasty expressions, well I meant something like $*##’&%* nevertheless.), I’m not whining about the work I have to do because I wanted to have children (well, actually, I AM whining, but let’s just pretend I wasn’t). I’m complaining about too little encouragement, be it state, be it mundane. Yes, these are my children. But I cannot let them grow up outside society. They are a part of it the moment they’re born. So my work is not just a private amusement. I’m also working for preservation, alteration and development of the human society. I’m pretty much convinced that a child that once grown-up maybe will wipe your ass (job-related, I mean) when you’re bedridden and old should be of your interest already today. Also, the kid I should care for alone because it’s MY kid could someday be responsible for another banking crisis. Or (that’s the thought I’m more in love with) prevent one.

So. Whenever you’re itching to place this absolutely non-acceptable sentence I used to entitle this post, stop, think, take a deep breath and say: ‘You for sure must have a load of work to do, managing your daily routine.’ I will love you when you’re then saying something nice about my kids although they’re maybe picking their noses or doing stuff like that.

Ever since I saw the “Little Shop of Horrors” ages ago, I knew that you should under no circumstances trust your dentist.
This night he intruded into my house. Well, not physically. Not in my dreams, either. He chose the most insane method of torture you can put on a mother of younger children.

At 5:30am, I suddenly woke up, probably because the cat stomped over my face. These days she prefers sleeping in our bed. Not much of doggy stink up there, ’cause he’s not allowed to come upstairs. Anyway, there she stood, scratching at the door and I decided it to be a minor evil to find a way for her to get outside than to stay snuggling in my warm bed. Why. That’s just logic when you’re considering the dog downstairs. As many houses go, also ours has exit points just downstairs. Cat and dog meeting is never a good idea when you want the kids to sleep some minutes more. The tantrum Fred, the dumb dog, throws when seeing, smelling, hearing Luna is beyond your imagination.
Where was I. Yes, downstairs. Letting the cat out. On my way downstairs (that I forgot to mention) I met a little girl, wearing a cup full of water and a pacifier. She seemed to be on her way to my bed. A ghostly appearance probably.
Wait. Why was my bed suddenly so small? I must’ve experienced some kind of sudden increase of my body mass. Shit. I should NOT have eaten that 2 pieces of cake late in the evening. Also, my blanket was way too small to cover the large mass of my body. Finally absolutely awake (as in 3 cups of coffee) I recognized, accompanied by a feeling of sudden relief, that of course there was a person in my bed that had not been there some minutes before.
To my great wonder about god’s kindliness this little person continued to sleep although it already started to develop a faint glow of morning far away at the horizon. So I snuggled as comfortable as I could into the remaining 20cm of my bed and tugged the fifth of my pillow not under siege under my cheek. Then I closed my eyes and. There he was. My. Dentist. Can you imagine my shock? I had the best case scenario for reducing my permanent lack of sleep: sleeping toddler, not snoring man, banished cat, silent dog, still dark outside. And every part of my brain full awake and full of thoughts about my: DENTIST! How can any sane person on earth deal with a dentist in the middle of the night? (Laids excepted)
I’ve not been to the dentist lately and I’m not planning to let him stuck his instruments into my mouth for another while. But as I’m living with a bunch of people around me (you may remember) I’m also included in cases not concerning myself. Not that there had been an incident within last week. I just reflected about our dentist and suddenly a flame of anger was incinerated, spreading slowly until I had the feeling something had to be done. The rest of the time until at last the alarm went off I spent with planning various strategies. Still, I’m not sure about what to do and therefor will tell you a little bit about our dear dentist and the problems he’s causing.

As you probably are aware of, it’s common to have a state health insurance in Germany. They will pay the bills you’re producing while visiting a doctor. Then there’s the possibility to enlarge the insurance protection in buying an additional private contract. What we have not. Because we’re a little bit short on money. You remember. Studies, kids and things. Economy recession. Dog castrations. And other stuff.
So, when I’m heading at the doc’s (what I really do not that much) I want exactly the kind of treatment my insurance will pay for. Alternatives can be presented, so I can think about’em. This works just fine. For me. And for my family. Often it’s also possible to substitute treatments so you can, e.g., get medicine based on plants instead of chemical ones. So far as “normal” docs are concerned. Not so when you’re developing problems concerning your teeth.
Something broke within my hubby’s mouth. Something essential for his ability of consuming meals containing pieces. So he went to the dentist. MY dentist, i.e. the one mentioned above, it was not. It was his partner though, because they’re sharing their rooms. I will assume similar treatments though, because my hubby’s experiences are similar to the ones I’ve made myself. He came home and told me, the dentist had advised him to put a crown onto his damaged 2 teeth. Therefor he sent a cost schedule of EUR1000,–. Wait. EUR1000,–? Not to be payed by our insurance? There has to be a cheaper way, hasn’t it? I was a “little” bit enraged. My husband told me about a common way to restore his own teeth. It is a possibility. But the dentist explained such a thing could only hold for about 5 years and maybe a crown would be necessary afterwards anyway, so he dismissed this alternative. Yuck. I mean, in 5 years I hopefully am bringing home some bucks. I won’t be a student forever. And for sure not staying at home forever. But as a lot of people, my husband is easy to manipulate in such a case. Who would want to have an “incident” within his mouth including various sessions full of torture at the dentist’s? A somehow planned incident that will show up in approx. 5 years? Well, my husband does not. And of course there are multiple decisions in planning that crown. But, hell, we’re seeing a TOP DENTIST. Will he perform some procedures that are actually so not up-to-date? Sure you can combine that the best is just good enough. Who cares about costs. It’s your health that counts.

These are the dentists suggestions as far as my dear husband reported’em. Later on, as I dared to question the necessity of really the best of all alternatives, he mused:”Well, actually, I’m always feeling a little like being with a car salesman while speaking with the dentist. I cannot be sure he’s just offering help. Finally it’s HIS purse our money will fill.” So true these sentences are, they brought our dentist the wicked chance to steal an hour of my sleep. Just this morning I remembered our little talk. And I remembered having several cost schedules stuffed in various desks. One for my eldest daughter, e.g. She never ever had so much as the littlest sign of caries so far. But the dentist recommends a preventive activity though. On the other hand he missed to protect Johanna’s teeth, who are already fallen for caries. (This would be payed by our insurance.) And he wants me to have a treatment my insurance will not pay for, because it’s too early to do anything common. I shall endure a procedure that’s rolling my toe nails up when I’m thinking of it, just to prevent further damage.

Hey, look over there! He looks like my dentist! Just the white coat ist missing.

I don’t know any longer: what is purposeful? Where should we spend our money? How much stories do docs in general and my dentist in special tell their customers just to earn extra money? There’s not that much trust left.

This morning I was thinking and thinking. I don’t know what to do. I like my dentist. He’s a nice man. And I’ve tried multiple others before I finally settled with him. I’ve been there for several years and also the kids are acquainted with the rooms and procedures there. Should I go on searching? Should I accept everything like it is? If so, should I trust him or call for a second opinion? Should I frankly say no to everything the insurance won’t pay for, and so also exclude things that might be purposeful? I thought about talking to him. Telling him about our stressed financial situation and the feeling to be pressed like a citron. Pressed for money wherever I go. But I’m not that great at whining (although my husband would tell otherwise) and I’m absolutely crap in staying businesslike. So what would you do?

As I think about it, this may not be a dentist-problem after all. A lot of doctors recently have begun to praise additional tasks you have to pay for. I assume they’re also suffering due to economical recession. Maybe one or another is being threatened to have to leave the golf club if there won’t be some signs of growing wealth. Anyway, I’m fed up of informing myself BEFORE visiting a doc. If I’m surfing the Internet and consulting several guidebooks to decide which treatments could be reasonable to be able to decide whether a doc really tries to help me or just tries to earn some extra money IT SOMEHOW MAKES A DOC SUPERFLUOUS. I don’t like this development.

It may be a dentist-problem, though. Please consider yourself warned. You should ALWAYS visualize your doc laughing mad while swinging a chainsaw. Also if that picture feels absolutely ridiculous to you, won’t you dare to visit a doc of ever kind without having at least one person you’re trusting in knowing every detail about your appointment.

By all means, it is absolutely right to mourn about some things in this world!