Road Blocks

Road blocks really show us a lot about ourselves. Sometimes we go around them, sometimes we turn around, sometimes, if no one is looking we might just go on in spite of the signs. I don’t really recommend the last one. It just gets your vehicle dirty and waste time because there is usually a good reason the whole road is blocked.

Like last week when I was taking the girls up to girls camp. My directions required that I continue straight on a road that became a dirt road named Drymonia. (I’m not making that up either). The problem was the whole thing was obviously dirt, torn up, and big trucks traveling on it. Don’t ask me what possessed me to cross over and go anyway, but I did.

I had a car full of youth, and that’s where my directions said to go, so I did. I passed one, two, then three big trucks and so far so good. No one stopped me. I got within two hundred yards of the country highway, right where I was supposed to be and the whole thing was blocked.

It was a literal mud bog with big trucks and hardhat-ed men, some of who jumped out and ran over to my car.

Hardhat number one: “Ma’am, you can’t go there, you’ll never get through that mess.”

It did look a bit messy.

Kelli: “Well, are you sure?”

Hardhat two through four: Actively peering at us.

Hardhat number one: “Oh I’m pretty sure”

Kelli: “Well, okay, but I need to be right there” I point two hundred yards to the beautiful pavement of the country highway.

Hardhat number one proceeds to give me directions with a powerful southern accent. I grin politley but I'm thinking "wha??" and just hoping my oldest child understood more than I did.

I started to ask for a repeat on the directions but decided to just thank him and put it in reverse. All hardhats grin and watch me. I am now nervous. It’s like my big hairy husband watching me back up a trailer from the passenger seat. That never goes well.

So I went back the way I came (without incident), my hunter green vehicle, now a dusty white. I’m also now forging out on unchartered back roads to get “over yonder” so I can get back on my directions.

Offspring number one paid attention, so we made it.

So we learn I don’t really believe the state highway signs when they say road closed to through traffic. For some reason I thought I was exempt from “the traffic” they were referring to since that’s where my directions told me to go and well, I've never been one NOT to think I'm special, which can often lead to some of my more embarrasing adventures...

Yesterday (11 June 2008) seems like it was one big roadblock. Only it wasn’t one big roadblock… It was several.

I had expected to attend my favorite two “group work out” classes. They are back to back on this particular morning and I call it the “mean and mellow” day. I get to yell and pretend to punch imaginary adversaries (usually just thoughts I should get rid of anyway, usually about laundry…), and then I can relax and find my chi somewhere in the darkness when I‘m trying to contort my body into Dying Swan or some other aptly name yoga position. I probably look like the dying chicken my grandfather tried to kill one time.

So there I was looking forward to my “mean and mellow” day. I had arranged for SNM (that means Said Named Marine and what I'll be refering to my big hairy husband as) to take our youngest recruit to his 2nd of four dentist appointments in a nearby town. It’s a horrible experience and the thought of taking him immediately brings on a nasty fibromyalgia flare up.

Why didn’t we just knock him out and do all the dental work at once? Why does he have so much dental work?

(this blogs gonna be interactive!)
You choose:

He has a lot of dental work because he was a premature baby and it historically affects their teeth.

OR

He hides in tiny crevices and corners of our home and that of our friend's homes, eats vast amounts of candy he finds hidden in the girls room, obscure kitchen cubbards, and our friend's homes. He then hides the wrappers under large pieces of furniture so we don’t know he just ate vast amounts of candy. Later I either forget to brush his teeth or he fights me like a wild banshee and I just don’t brush like I should.

Answer:

Okay, the premie theory sounds good and could possibly be somewhat part of the truth. He was born at thirty six weeks and had respiratory distress and fluid in his lungs. However, he could have gotten up, crawled over, and drop kicked most of the other babies in the NICU, so while it sounds good as a reason for his rotten teeth, I’m afraid it just won’t stick.

The other part of the story is very true. He is a candy freak and can smell hidden candy out like a bloodhound!

Now as to why I just didn’t have him knocked out is because it freaks me out and for some reason I think the repeated torture is somehow not traumatizing him. He gets some kiddie valium and they say it has somewhat of an amnesia affect. That sort of makes me feel better. I guess we’ll find out when he’s forty and talking to his therapist.

More Background

You also should know that the first visit ended up in him being “papoosed”. It’s a board that has Velcro wraps that “hug” him. It straps at the torso, across the thighs, shins, and ankles. The little fella also had on high top tennis shoes the first time we went. They tied at the ankles.

It took three extra people to hold him down IN the papoose and he pulled his feet and legs out of his tied high top tennis shoes and the papoose straps and almost sat up all the way.

I was scared, possibly for life.

You know the kind of scarring that makes you twitch at the thought of the event that scared you…

So fast forward to the afternoon, early evening of June 10th and the first of several “road blocks”. (I promise this will all tie in with the title)

SNM calls to say “I’m not going to be able to take recruit number six tomorrow.”

I tell him it had better be good.

He says “there is a staff staff meeting and I’m some of the only staff around.”

I tell him not good enough, come up with something better. It’s not like we’re at war or anything or you’re going to deploy! Oh wait a minute. Dang it!

So I load up the next morning and after several false starts get on the road with Recruits 4, 5, and 6. Ages 9, 5 and 4 respectively.

Are you confused? I am. It's all about op sec....

I’m running a little behind, but I’ve started early so we should be good. I head over the bridge that crosses the river and as I exit and proceed down the road I find there is a road block.

It's completely blocked. I can't even squeeze around it.

I have no idea where to detour, so I quickly call my personal on call navigator, better than OnStar, Lyn. She knows the roads better than most around, almost uncannily so since she describes various corners in random towns within a 75 mile radius of the town we live in.

In spite of the fact my calls to her inevitably end up with her laughing and calling me names, I still scroll down to the Ls and hit Lyn.

Lyn : “What’s up?”

Kelli: “I’m trying to get to that town I'm not going to name on this blog...."

Lyn: Guffaws loudly

Kelli: “WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING? I just started talking to you!”

Lyn: “How many times have you been to that town??"

Kelli: “That’s why I’m calling! THEY have blocked off the road completely and left me with no detour!” ‘THEY’ being the evil unseen road controllers of the state the Marine Corps has plopped us down in. THEY somehow knew I would be traveling towards trauma today and just wanted to see how much I could take.

Lyn: “What do you mean they don’t have detours? Of course they do.”

Kelli: “Lyn, I’m telling you - nothing, just over the bridge and boom, here I am. Road blocked.”

Lyn: “Okay, where are you exactly”

Kelli: “umm, well sort of by the road block right across from that tool place.” I’m pretty sure I gave her the actual name of the tool place.

At this point Lyn proves why she is the guru of “Where in state is Kelli?” She has me turn around, go back over the bridge and takes me a different way. As I pass back I see tiny little orange flags denoting a detour, but I decide to just not mention it when I call her back to get my next direction. Really they were quite tiny.

So now I’ve learned I suck it up and do what I have to do when the Marine Corps decides to mess up my plans AND I’m not afraid to humble myself, suffer humiliation and call for help. Oh, and I utilize my resources well, I don’t call just ANYONE, I call the road master. (or would it be mistress? Never mind.)

So we get truck’n (I’m traveling the roads of a southern state, pretty sure I can call it truck’n) along listening to songs like “My Family Car is a Helicopter” when wouldn’t you know it?

Another road block magically appears.

This time however it is well marked and I resist the urge to call for back up. I’m getting a little panicked because now I’ve lost my head start and I have no idea how far out I’m being routed.

Again these highways are not like I10. So I turn up “Spot Comes to the Rescue” and drive a little faster, but not too fast, nope not me.

So we learn I plug on albeit somewhat stressed and my right foot might be connected to my stress and become a little heavier.We get back onto the road and 15 minutes later a third road block can be seen in the distance.

Seriously I’m thinking it’s a sign to NOT take this little darling to the dentist. However if you have ever tried to get into a dentist you know you make the appointments way out and you DON'T miss an appointment or all your teeth will rot right out of your head before they can reschedule you.

I already have mom guilt and know that if I don’t get him to this dentist appointment his entire life will be ruined. So I charge on, take the detour and I call the dentist office.

I seem to call them every time we have an appointment with weird reasons why I MIGHT be late. I bet they document it and then point at me after I check in.

I am actually always right on time. It’s really weird.

So I call and complain that apparently there were more bridges all along this two lane road than I was aware of and THEY had to decided to work on all of them at the same time.

I arrive right on time. Weird.

Now I’m not sure what I learned, perhaps, if you follow directions all will be well? Hmmm I hear a gospel principal in there somewhere.

So we march on and recruit Six gets his dose of kiddie valium and we get called back into THE ROOM. We always get the big sliding glass door shut because we scare all the other small children.

Recruits 4 and 5 are with me. They are sitting on either side of me on the floor and grow very, very, quiet as the visit proceeds. I whisper every now and then “NOW do you see why you need to brush your teeth?”

The cute little fella does really well up until the time they open his mouth. I very quietly suggest that if they wanted to go ahead and "hug" him it might make things go faster because easier just isn’t one of my expectations.

The dentist looks at me and she says very nicely that she thinks that might be a good idea so they don’t have to stop once they get going.

I explain to the other two boys about the papoose and that it is to keep their brother safe and what all the things are that the team of dental type personnel are inserting into his mouth. The dam to keep things from going down his throat, the silver thing that holds his mouth open, etc. I explain that it isn't hurting their sibling but he just doesn’t like them messing with him and is a little upset, but he’s okay.

Later my nine year old (Recruit 4) told me that when he saw his youngest brother get so upset it almost made him want to cry. I secretly shouted for joy! He does like the little snot!

Recruit 5 didn’t seem upset, but wanted to know everything they were doing and using on his brother. I think he was a little concerned, but just processes things very matter of factly.

The tiny tyrant actually did so much better than the first visit. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the first visit, he was about a six. He actually had periods of time he wasn’t trying to kick or yell.

The dentist finished up, unwrapped the wild man and I grabbed and hugged him as he laid his head down on my shoulder. He quietly snuffled and announced he’s hungry. Probably wants candy.

5 minutes later we’re on the road headed for milkshakes at McDonalds. He is completely calm and bargaining for a happy meal.

Ah, what is learned here? Rewards can help us overcome whatever it takes to endure to get to them? No that doesn't sound nice.

If you work hard and endure you will be rewarded? Yes, I like that better, even if it's a happy meal!

We headed home, and since we knew about the detours (the road already traveled...), I felt relaxed enough to belt out every Carrie Underwood and Taylor Swift song that came on the radio much to the dismay of all three boys.

So overall, road blocks are just adventures we haven’t had. You keep plugging along and follow the directions, and if you mess up, well- phone a friend, whether it's the Nokia 500 cell phone or on your knees to Heavenly Father (in my case I often use both simultaneously but forgo the knees when I'm driving in case you were worried). Heavenly Father put it all there right for us. I can do hard things!

That being said, I’m pretty sure the tyrant's father should take him to the next appointment in July…