Little did we know, our drama was just getting started.
Sunday morning we were on our way to our old church in Louisville, excited to see people we hadn't seen for awhile, when suddenly the 'Low Engine Power' light came on. Eric kept trying to push on the gas, but there was no power. Nothing. We coasted our big rig into a parking lot, turned off the engine and called Eric's parents. While we were waiting on them, we decided to try to start it back up. Strangely, it started back up just fine. On a wing and a prayer, we decided to drive down the street to Ken Towery's. Maybe they were open. If not, at least we wouldn't have to pay a tow fee to get it there.
We made it with no problem (though they were closed) and called his parents to now meet us there. His dad wondered if we had gotten some bad gas and suggested we rev the engine for awhile. Eric did better than that. He drove around and around the building as fast as he could, causing the Ken Towery cleaning crew to cock a brow. Eric finally stopped and explained what we were doing.
One of the men replied, with great enthusiasm, 'Oh, yeah! I bet you got you some bad gas. What you need to do is head on over there to Wal-mart, buy you some gas treatment, put it in your gas tank and then take it out there on the interstate and blow it out!'
Excuse me, Sir, but do you happen to be from Paducah? And, why are we destined to shop at Wal-mart?
So Eric's parents brought us their vehicle, and I piled in with the kids. Eric went over to Wally World, bought some gas treatment and blew it out. By this point, we were going to get to church about the time they were wrapping up, so being the responsible parent I am, we went back to the grandparents and watched the Avengers.
Oh well, we tried.
Eric took the van and blew it out--all the way to LaGrange. And our van was fine. Real fine.
We laughingly said we hoped that was the end of our drama.
But wait--there's more.
Eric decided to drive our prize-winning, browner-than-dirt 1992 Chevrolet truck back to Paducah. We lovingly refer to it as 'Heart & Soul'. Heart and Soul has been sitting in his parent's driveway for a couple of months too many. We were kind of hoping they might want to keep him. The last time Heart & Soul made a trip, he broke down three times. Me and Heart & Soul--well, we have a hate/hate relationship. I was nervous-skiddish that Heart & Soul would kick the bucket on the side of the WK (Western KY Parkway). I was nervous-skiddish that Big Rig would decide to power down again.
I decided this called for a Starbucks.
Anyway, I was driving the big rig--packed to the rim with kids--drinking my Starbucks, listening to Elevation Network live, enjoying myself a little too much. 'Cause suddenly I've got siren lights going off in the rear view.
And I found myself sitting on the side of the WK, but not like I had anticipated.
'Ma'am do you realize why I just pulled you over?'
Loaded down with six kids and groceries for a month from Costco, did my big rig hit max capacity?
'I clocked you going 87 in a 65.'
I was just trying to blow out some gas, Sir. Really.
'Ma'am did you know that your license expired last month?'
Of course it did.
'Ma'am, here is a citation. Since your license is expired you will have to appear in court. If you don't show up, they will issue a warrant for your arrest. Now, since you don't have anyone of age that can drive, I am going to turn around now and head east and you can continue west--catch my drift? Be careful and slow her down.'
I got a good look at the Ohio county surroundings since I would be driving 1 1/2 hours back here for a Monday morning 8:30 AM court date. I cautiously pulled back out on the interstate, hands in the 10 and 2 position, my body in a deflated position.
Then I realized that our five year old was sitting in the back of the van, looking kind of smallish. Kind of curled up in a fetal-like position.
'Owen, did it scare you that a policeman just pulled us over?'
'Yes. I was so tared. I tought he was going to awwest me cause I was sittin on my knees.' (slight speech impediment, were working on it)
Too bad, hindsight's 50/50. I so could have taken advantage of that moment, forever stopping my five-year-old's battle over the buckling.
Amazingly, Heart and Soul and Big Rig made it home with no more side of the road experiences. I was especially proud of Heart and Soul...it was his shining moment. I decided to upgrade our relationship to a love/hate status.
Of course, everyone rushed in trying to be the first to share the news with their daddy about the ticket. That was my shining moment.
We all fell in bed, exhausted, thinking that the citation sure was the finale of a drama-filled weekend.
Not quite so fast, buddy.
At 11:00 PM, Jeremiah stood over me (why oh why do all the late night calls come to the mama side of the bed?). I immediately jumped out of bed, ready to pick him up and run to the toilet in the heave position (my go-to position during all night calls). I quickly ruled out throw up, though, when I realized he was sobbing and holding his ear. Poor little guy. After dosing him up with Motrin, I tucked him back into bed.
At 2:00 AM he woke me again, sobbing and holding his ear. I was out of options. We had no Tylenol, and Motrin couldn't be given for three more hours.
Dr. Google to the rescue.
Finally, A warm compression and warm olive oil with minced garlic on a cottonball seemed to do the trick (Okay, I realize now that minced garlic in the ear is probably not the best option, but it was 2:00 AM and my brain was only half firing. No judgment, please.)
Tear-stained, angelic eight-year-old face asked if he could sleep with us. How do you say no to that? So while he laid between Eric and I, rolling over every few minutes, I laid in a squished ball, eyes wide open. Eric snored peacefully...and that's all I have to say about that. Cause I learned growing up if you don't have something nice to say, keep your trap shut.
At 5:30, my eyes still wide open, Eric sleeping blissfully, trap still shut, Jeremiah awoke again, sobbing in pain.
We got up, I shuffled to the kitchen and gave him some Motrin. This time Dr. Disney Jr. came to the rescue while I made some coffee. Oh, it was going to be a looooonnnggg Monday.
But wait--there's more.
At 6:30, Wes came down the stairs and I about jumped out of my skin, cause he kind of looked like he had a distorted face mask on. Except he didn't. It was his face. His poison ivy had went to his bloodstream and he looked like Will Smith on Hitch.
So we now have a writhing ear infection, a puffed up distorted face, a foot that might be broken, all the while our children's health insurance is proving to be about as worthless as driving down a dark road with the headlights off.
Shouldn't the drama be drying up? What more could happen? Oh, what more could be unleashed on our poor, innocent family?
Leave it to the O-factor.
As I was taking the dog out for his morning walk, all of a sudden Owen came bolting out of our house like a bat out of hell. He ran down the street towards me with a look of terror on his face, like he had seen a ghost. As he caught up to me, he kept looking back like somebody was after him.
It didn't take me long to figure out that Owen was scared of Wes.
Owen was scared of Wes.
And when you live in a home of five boys (I say five because my husband was just as bad), it didn't take long for them to want to capitalize on the moment. Eric wanted Wes to run out the door towards Owen with his hands up in the air. I, thankfully, came to the poor little guy's rescue. Oh, but they wanted to do it so badly.
All the way to school Owen kept his hands over his eyes. When Owen started to whine about his jacket, Joshua said if he didn't cool it, Wes was going to look at him. Which made Owen yell as if in pain. Then, every so often Wes would make ghost sounds. And Owen would yell in pain again. Poor Owen. Being the youngest of four brothers is a tough spot to be.
We spent the day injecting Wes with prednisone, getting Joshua's foot x-rayed and drinking lots of coffee. When we picked Owen up from school, he got in the van with his hands over his eyes.
Oh, brother.
Oh, brother, indeed.
Owen would not even be in the same room as Wes. So that night Owen ate his supper alone in the play room.
He would yell over to us every so often, 'This is really good bread!' or 'Can I have some more?' But, no sir, no sir-ee, he was not going to step foot in the same room as his brother.
The next day Wes was still swollen but was well enough to go back to school. I tried to convince Owen to look at him. I even took a picture of Wes with my cell phone and tried to get him to look at that. No luck.
'Owen, you've got to sit in the van with Wes on the way to school. And you are going to have to be in the same room as Wes to eat breakfast.'
He came up with a plan, of course.
I had to go into school and explain the situation to Owen's teachers in case he saw Wes at school. I know. Hysterically ridiculous.
Wednesday came. Wes, at this point, looked normal. I woke up Owen, thinking surely he was going to snap out of his irrationality. I talked until I was blue in the face. But he was convinced that Wes was still scary. What once was funny was starting to become a nuisance. Mama was starting to lose her patience.
After having yet another melt-down over almost seeing Wes, I got fed up and told him: 'If you want to go trick or treating tonight you are going to have to look at your brother. Because you are going to be seeing a whole lot more scary faces out there than him. You got that?' I felt smugly satisfied, sure it would do the trick.
Wednesday afternoon, when I pulled up at carpool, Owen got in the van, cap pulled over his eyes, and exclaimed, 'It's okay! I don't need to go twick or tweating. Mrs. Faughn gave us a wot of candy!'
Thanks a lot, Mrs. Faughn.
In yet another proud parenting moment, I retracted my statement that he couldn't go trick or treating since it was getting us no where anyway, and who wants to be known someday as the mother who wouldn't let me go trick or treating when I was five because I was too scared to look at my brother?
Halloween. It definitely wasn't a banner year at the Grogan home. Joshua couldn't participate because of his foot. Owen was throwing a fit every time Wes got near him (Wes had to wear a mask the whole night), Sophie was sulking over the fact that trick or treating plans with her cross country friends had fallen through, and me? Well, I just wanted to lock them all out, put on my pj's, curl up on the couch with a glass of wine. Or two.
Instead, I told them to go outside and get a picture. Cause that's what I do in awkward moments. Record it.
I asked Captain America after the picture if he needed to go to the bathroom to which he replied, 'No, I'm just holding my pee pee.' Ummmm, yeah. I'm not sure why that answer worked. I guess I have too many boys to care. Anyway, a half mile down the road, Captain America had to strip down by the nearest tree.
Yesterday, at the end of cross country practice, Owen came up out of the blue and proudly declared, 'Guess what? I looked at Wes! He's not scarwy!'
What an anti-climatic end to our drama-filled week.
Praise the Lord for that!
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