We Eloped aka Taking the Easy Way Out

Here's a fun tidbit about me you probably didn't know...Hatta and I eloped to Vegas to get married. Not like yesterday or anything. This is old, but pertinent information for today's post.

Let's travel back in time, shall we. The year is 2006. Hatta proposed to me and I, for one wild reason or another, agreed to be his bride. I started an account on The Knot. We registered at Macy's and Crate and Barrel. I went wedding dress shopping. All normal things for a newly engaged couple to do. Then, the crazy took over. Not me, I wasn't like Bridezilla or anything. The family. Oh, the family. Everyone's two cents were constantly being thrown at us. But, let me be clear, when I say two cents that's completely metaphorical. No one was actually offering us money. The wedding would be paid for on our dime. Back to the unsolicited advice...Who we should invite. Who we shouldn't invite. Don't forget to invite these family members you have never even met. Where it should be. Where it shouldn't be. It must be in a church. You can't get married not in a church! Hatta and I, sensing the mounting tension surrounding our upcoming nuptials, contemplated a destination wedding. Jamaica was mentioned. Cue the family. You can't expect people to pay that much money to come to your wedding! If you get married out of the country *insert names here* won't be able to come. It's just selfish, that's what it is! Hatta, fearing for his raised catholic life, dismissed the destination wedding idea. Back on track for a traditional-ish wedding, we set a date and continued planning. I bought a book or two and started a binder. I contacted countless caterers, florist, musicians, wedding sites...the list goes on. Meanwhile, the growing strain of planning our wedding and trying to make everyone happy was taking a toll on us as a couple. Instead of sticking it out and problem solving our asses out of the situation, we took the easy was out.

That is what today's post is about.

We had a vacation scheduled to Vegas for a kick ass Halloween music festival. While we were there, we told no one in advance, and were married at The Little White Wedding Chapel by Reverend Keith Love. Not Elvis, much to Hatta's dismay. I loved our wedding. Truly. My mother had recently died and I couldn't imagine walking down the isle without my mom there. The way I saw it, for a brief moment all was right with the world. Hatta and I did it our way, putting the emphasis on our love not everyone else's happiness. And, my mother was the only guest there. Well, aside from the group of Italian tourist that flocked to watch as we said our vows outdoors.

Here lies the problem we never solved...family. Had we solved the family problem all those years ago we would know how to navigate them when they arise now. And boy do they arise. We took the easy way out, living in a dream world where no one else mattered but us. The honeymoon period, where that is concerned, is over. I assure you.

I honestly feel that we skipped a step in joining our two lives. Not because I needed the fairy tale wedding, I did not. As a little girl, you wouldn't have found me with a pillowcase on my head as a makeshift veil. I didn't fantasize about my wedding, having it all planned out well before I found a groom. The wedding didn't matter much to me. But successfully planning it, would have exposed Hatta and I to the complications family impose on a couple. In real life, you don't only marry your partner you also marry his (or her) entire family.

A fact I was made very aware of last weekend. The weekend forever known to me as hell weekend. I will not go into details, but suffice it to say that my in-laws greatly overstepped boundaries regarding the parenting of my daughter. The event as a whole made me so sad. Sad for me. Sad for Alice. But mostly sad for my husband. He is a good father and he deserves respect. Maybe, possibly, these most recent events will force Hatta and I to finally problem solve our asses out of the situation.

You Can Lead a Horse to Water

You know the old saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink the got damn pink medicine." So that's not exactly how it goes, close enough. That's been my life since Friday. Words do not do justice to what my sick life with sick Alice and sick Hatta has been. Let me share the ailments as they pertain to the individual, starting with Hatta: strep, bronchitis, and conjunctivitis, myself: strep, mild swimmer's ear (wtf?) severe inner ear infection, and sinus infection, and lastly, Alice: strep, stubborn, strong willed, defiant, bullheaded, relentless, persistent...shall I continue?

The list of ailments required medication: eye drops, ear drops, antibiotics, and perscription strength cough syrup. I shudder at the thought of how much, as a family, we've dropped at CVS in the past week. Alice was prescribed one simple antibiotic, Cephalexin, the pink medicine. In her previous years, my daughter worried me with her strong love for drugs, pink medicine included. She always wanted more. She'd fake an illness just to take more purple medicine. I thought surely we had a drug addict in the making. Suffice it to say, I'm not longer concerned.

I've struggled to get Alice to take her antibiotic, wait...I think that's a bit of an understatement. It's vastly greater than an understatement. Over the course of the weekend, I learned even though she is small I can no longer control what she does or does not do. To my novice, childless readers who are questioning my words right now, who think surely you can be the parent and make her...to you I say, if only it was that simple. Yes, I can force her to lie still. Yes, I can force her mouth open. Yes, I can force the medicine into her mouth. That's the point in which I no longer have control. What happens once the pink gooeyness hits her tongue is up to her. No matter how much I attempt to close her mouth, she still has the power to spit it out. All over my hands, all down her hair, all over the floor.

Plan B, hide that shit! First attempt, smoothie. Success. But, I can't make her drink two smoothies every day for ten days. Maybe I can reason with her. That was where I went wrong. Hatta warned me; I chose not to listen. I ruined the secret. I told her she had taken the pink stuff when she drank her smoothie. Alice was ecstatic! She was overcome with joy and wanted her morning medicine in a smoothie for sure. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. There was high-fiving all around. The next morning the warm and fuzzy feeling of the previous night was replaced with an air of gloominess as Alice began what would become a three day fast. No food. Little water. She was boycotting life. The mention of medicine would send her running to bed. From her mouth I heard, "No. I don't want to. I don't like it. I wanna go to bed." That's it, on repeat for three days. I offered her a chocolate milkshake. Wouldn't take a sip. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and Reese's Pieces. Spoon didn't touch it. I found myself attempting to bribe her with the new Princess Tianna doll complete with carriage or a new Barbie is she just took the medicine. Nope. She was standing her ground, her coughy, achey, fevery, sick ground.

Plan C, finally the pediatrician has given the okay to switch antibiotic, since to date she has consumed merely one full dose and a couple partials. A new prescription has been called in, more money added to the shudder inducing total. The new drug is a capsule that when opened the tasteless powder can be sprinkled on anything. Thrilled to find out how tonight goes! Thrilled I tell ya!

Interlude

Ever have the kind of experience that makes your head spin in so many ways you can't distinguish which direction is up?

That's the best description I can give for the past few days. We attempted a nice four day beach vacation to my hometown. It was absolutely, hands down, without a doubt anything but nice. So much not niceness happened I can not delve into it in this post. My head is still swimming, literally...from what the doctor described as a rip-roaring inner ear infection. I need to take a day or two, try to process the illnesses that proved insurmountable, the doctor and pharmacy visits, the insistent refusal to consume medicines, the power struggle between grandparent and parent, the hurt feelings, and mostly, the disappointment. If I were to write now, I would blubber on in a whiney, sobbing fashion surely telling the wrong story in entirely the wrong way.

I will take a deep breath, sleep on it and...in the word's of my husband, "revisit it when cooler heads prevail." Trust me, with all the fever up in here we could certainly use cooler heads.

She's 4, Don't Trust Her

If you have an early riser in your house, then you know how I feel. Alice has always woke with the sun. Regardless. Period. I have googled. Read sleep books. You name it, we've done it. Now that she's 4, I hardly ever get up when she does. I'm not far behind, for I know the trouble my little 35lbs of curiosity can manage in a very short amount of time.

Reasons Alice Shouldn't Be Trusted

1. She enjoys using her purple handle scissors immensely. Victims to date include, but are not limited to, Rapunzel, Blinking Dora, Sydney Barbie, countless mermaids, and herself.
2. She can move her kitchen stool to the sink, reach the soap, and turn on the water. Washing dishes and dolls is a favored pastime. Flooding the counter and floor is merely a ramification.
3. Her size allows her to reach almost anything on any shelf. What she can not reach on her own, standing on a chair can fix.
4. Independence can cause her to overestimate her ability. Much to her, and my, dismay she can not lift, carry and pour a cup of oj from a full gallon.
5. For research purposes alone, she could flush anything down the toilet at any moment.
6. She feels that glue and tape are one in the same.
7. Her sweet tooth and early morning hunger pangs turn her into a savage beast. A factory sealed bag of chocolate chips is no match for her teeth.
8. First and foremost, Alice is an artist. Young artist are a danger to themselves and their surroundings.