Health Insurance

Changing health insurance? Stinks. Dealing with in-network and out-of-network and new paperwork and other assorted crap is giving me awake-at-three-a.m. anxiety (okay, it's 4:30 a.m. now, but I've been up for over an hour). I've jumped through so many hoops to get things approved by our current insurance, and now that I think I finally have most of those things done, I get to do it all over again with a new company that has new rules. I know, I should consider us very fortunate to have health insurance at all. And I do appreciate that.

But few things make me feel like an angry cat with fur standing up, ready to bite the next person I see, like the absurd bureaucracy of health insurance. Medications that aren't covered without prior authorization because some executive somewhere thinks s/he knows better than my doctor. Tests and procedures that have to be coded correctly in order to be covered, cross your finger and hold your breath, and even then it might be denied if someone in claims woke up on the wrong side of the bed. One of the doctors I've come to love, with whom I've built up a good working relationship, is no longer "in network" and thus may become a lot more expensive next month. Never mind the fact at an in-network dentist doesn't even exist within a generous driving distance of our town. I just hope I can get my mysterious kidney stone issues resolved before the new plan starts. And I'll steel myself for more hours spent in the coming months on often fruitless phone calls to get the care that I need...

Miss me?

I haven't blogged in several days. I've been trying to process a lot of really disturbing stuff, and I still can't make sense of it - I don't think I ever really will.

You may have heard brief mention of this last Friday or over the weekend: One Killed in Georgia Law Office Blast (NY Times), Dalton bomber ‘a solo deal’ police say (AJC). This incident took place very close to home, in my hometown, and is affecting people I know, some of whom I consider very dear friends. I don't have any pithy wisdom to share. I've just been thinking over the incident and assorted "big picture" issues, and playing games on Facebook to take my mind off of it. All that, plus lots of work to do for both jobs. I've thought many times about blogging, but I just don't know what to say, so unless something inspiring comes to me, I don't know that I'll say much about it at all.

Of locks and doors

This morning was the first morning of school for Big Girl and Two. I got up early to allow plenty of time for breakfast, bathing, and dressing. But then I walked into Big Girl's room and grabbed the knob to open her closet door. Wouldn't turn. Locked. And in my mind, a conversation Hubs and I had a couple of weeks ago flashed though my mind...

Hubs: Did you realize that knob on her closet locks on the inside? That's kind of silly. She could lock herself inside!
Me: Yeah, I wonder why they put the locking knob on a closet?
Hubs: It's strange. I need to change out that knob for one that doesn't lock.

Meanwhile, back in the present, I found something to extend my reach so I could get down the little pokey thing from its perch atop the doorframe to Two's room. The pokey thing is a long-stemmed metal question mark; the stem can be inserted in the tiny hole in the center of the doorknob, and theoretically if you poke in the right spot, you can unlock the door. I don't know its real name - I just call it the pokey thing.

I got the pokey thing and began working on the closet doorknob. I fiddled. I tinkered. I wheedled. I poked. No luck. Still locked. I jiggled and wiggled the knob. Tight. I messed around with the knob for several frustrating minutes while Big Girl sat on her bed, looking contrite, and Two bounced on the bed while I was too busy to stop him. Eventually, I wiggled and bounced the thing too much, and the knob fell off in my hand. I poked at the mechanism in the gaping hole before me, to see if I could hit the spot to trigger the lock's release, and the knob on the inside of the closet fell off. Greaaaaat.

So I fished out Hubs' toolbox from its spot in the bottom of the linen closet (not my idea of a good home for a toolbox, but I was overruled). I got out a hammer and a flat screwdriver and began removing the pins. With much sweating, prying, pulling, and cursing beneath my breath, I got the door down. It took a long time - the hinge at the top didn't want to give and may be a bit warped. But I finally got the door down. Two had been banned to his room during the process for chanting "Mommy! Mommy!" and driving me a bit batty. Big Girl continued to look contrite and she repeated her mantra, "I wanna be a good girl." I finally got inside the closet, got her some clothes, and we got out the door. All on the first day of school. I hope tomorrow is easier. Hubs has volunteered to put the door back on its hinges and put in a non-locking door knob this evening.

The devolution of Mom

Two, 6 AM: Ma-meeeeeeeee! Ma-meeeeeeeee! Twacta? Ma-meeeeee!
Me: Here's your tractor. Why are you up so early, big guy?
Two: Up? Up! Toast, mommy! Toast! Toastie! Uppie!

Two is far too cheerful at that hour. He must get that from Hubs. I don't smile before my second cup of coffee.

Songs heard at breakfast: Five little monkeys jumping on the bed, I'm a nut, Old McDonald (with shouted E-I-E-I-Os from Two), ABCs, and something else indecipherable

Current status: Tractor races up and down in the hall. On wood floor, so nice and noisy even *without* motor noises supplied by Two. Big Girl has her own John Deere now - did I mention that? She was very jealous of the John Deere that her brother received for his birthday, and since he won't let it leave his hands, even for sleep, I got her one for her birthday, too. Because little girls can drive tractors, too - got that, Granddaddy?

Although their options aren't limited...

Me: Big Girl, what do you think your brother wants to be when he grows up?
BG: Farmer. Bro wants to drive tractors.
Me: What about you? Do you want to be a farmer?
BG: No, I'll be a princess.