My husband called very early, right as I got into work. He gave me the Power Ball numbers, then the numbers that we played. I didn't see a connection. "They don't match, I can't quit, what's your point?"
He read them back, we missed each Power Ball number, 96 million dollars, by one digit. What in the name of all that is holy possessed him to call me with this news. He laughs, I hang up, this is not the call of the day for me...
Midday, after my husband has gone to work I get another call.
Every time that phone rings and Diego's school is on the line my hair stands up on the back of my neck, we have a dark history.
"It's half day and your son hasn't been picked up."
SHIT, I offer my apologies, call my dad, "Daddy please pick Diego up, it was half day and I forgot him, and before he guilts me...he is probably crying, pick him up two Krispy Kreme donuts on the way home." I hear a huff but he obliges.
I call my husband because inquiring minds want to know how the fuck this happened, dammit!
"What do you mean half day, it wasn't posted, they were advertising for the walk-a-thon. They always remind me of half day when I drop him off, I didn't see anything."
Of course they advertise the walk-a-thon, they need more money, they always want money, yes it's a ritzy South Tampa school, but even Bill Gates wants money, even if he gives it back to the kids Sally Sutherland promotes with flies and swollen bellies, they take your money, then do something to make themselves look good, it's still not their money.
My mom calls me at work, another call, important stuff..."I had Blockbuster hold Pan's Labyrinth and when I went to pick it up I went to the wrong Blockbuster, it's too far, isn't it on your way home, it's on Fletcher." No mom, it's a 15 minute detour, but to keep you happy and quiet sure.
"No problem, I pass by it everyday, have them hold it."
I go to Blockbuster, they give me the movie and swipe my debit, DECLINED! I pull out another credit card DECLINED! I don't even want to call for the balance, it may cause me to detour to the Skyway Bridge and make a hard right at the top.
I promise to pick it up Friday on payday and the nice man agrees, I think the anxiety, shaking and swelled up eyes ready to bawl helped.
"Mom, they are holding the movie until Friday, they had credit card problems and they couldn't put the card through, but you will have your movie I promise." If she knew I was broke, she would begin donating food to me, not the brand I like or the food, basically her expired stuff.
(I don't know exactly how to win the lotto, but I am getting really close.)
I pick up the kids and go home, Diego questions me about his flute skills, he plays Hot Cross Buns, all the way home. He plays in the living room, the kitchen, every area of the house that I am in. I realize my child is tone deaf. I let him play, every once in a while I shout a praise and smile, he lets me clean. Maybe he will leave it laying out and Juno will eat it.
Juno scratches the door to come in. "Diego get me the dog bowl!"
"Uh, mommy. Juno has no food."
"What do you mean he has no food."
He pulls out an empty container and smiles.
"Does your father know about this?"
"Uh yeah, I told him."
We go through the kitchen in a frenzy because there must be some dog food somewhere. Nothing. I run to the computer and google "scrambled eggs for dogs" we have an abundance of eggs (since my mother in law is out of town and eats them everyday) apparently it won't kill him, and I am well on the road to sending him off to the Pet Cemetery.
"Diego, we need to feed your dog. Grab eggs, what else will he eat?"
Poor Juno is eating out of the garbage, napkins and Styrofoam containers with remnants of food, he is licking and chewing and surely will be self medicating himself with outside grass for stomach issues that this will cause. Diego is looking for chicken, none is found, he pulls out macaroni and cheese, I shake my head. Ravioli, no. Ramen soup, no. I open the fridge and find hot dogs.
They were buy one-get one a week ago, there is one lonely hot dog in a yellow jello like mold. I didn't buy it this way and this is just what happens when they don't zip the plastic right. I consider the thought of washing it and chopping it up, then remember out last visit to the doggie ER.
I decide to open the new container, the poor dog is licking the empty dog bowl, my heart drops.
"OK Diego, how many hot dogs, I say two, how many eggs?"
"I say two, it's only fair for the hot dogs." I dwell on his answer, making sense only to him.
I pull out two hot dogs, chop them up and scramble three eggs. The laptop in front of me, I continue to look up ways to feed dogs during times of poverty.
Feeling guilty, I add Adobo, the poor dog needs at least flavor right?
I may not have won the Power Ball, but I managed to get Diego picked up minus the guilt, listened to a concert by my 9 yr old starving artist of a child, fed the dog, and now he will have brilliantly shiny coat according to Google. With as many eggs as he will be eating, you will need sunglasses to check him out, and since he sheds it will make it easier to find dog hair on the couch and furniture.
I begin to clean and make the bed, Mike D has scribbled in magenta and purple all over my side of the bed, of course. I couldn't leave him out of this day. I won't strangle him because I know one day he will be a famous artist and pay for my plastic surgery, unfortunately for me, my house is his canvas, and he signs every piece of artwork he creates. I just haven't figured out which is art and which is the signature.
And so the dark cloud has found me once again.
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