Denied the Rainbow

It's so difficult to continue living when what you want most is only just beyond your reach. Naturally I am talking about my afternoon craving for skittles and the demonic vending machine that refused to dispense them after gleefully accepting my dollar. My afternoon without skittles was horrifically long and devoid of sweetness. It is cruel and unusual punishment to be denied the rainbow when you are a sugar fiend like me.

I've just completed what may be the most pant-shittingly terrifying thing I’ve done in recent history. I officially dropped health insurance coverage through the non-profit I work for to take advantage of ACA (aka Obamacare). I will save over $400 a month on premiums and will have a yearend savings of approximately $5000. The only thought I had while I was reviewing the numbers before purchasing my policy was, if only Alberto were home that money could go towards the purchase of a newer car. I dream endlessly of owning a new car; a vehicle that only I have driven daily and the history of which is not the great unknown. I’m tired of my Volkswagen, even though I do have to admit it has held up well despite all the abuse and neglect it receives from me. That fact does not make me hate Hans any less. Hans is my Volkswagen; it’s only fitting that I would give it a German name and a name that is associated with the villain of one of my favorite action films - Die Hard.

And then I got mad. I got terribly MAD.

Today I received an email from the Customer Assistance Office (CAO) which I believe is in response to the inquiry that I submitted to the CIS Ombudsman (CISOMB) office. The email simply stated that the response to my inquiry was attached, but I felt my heart stop when I saw the title of one of the two attachments. Obviously I opened the attachment titled “MENDEZ_DENIAL_NOTICE” first because I needed to know what the denial was in regards to. I was beyond relieved when I saw that it was nothing more than a copy of the original notice we received back in July 2012, so I opened the second attachment to see what response the government sent me that required a copy of the denial notice. The letter read something like this:

Is there a Doctor in the House?!

My worst nightmare came to pass; we had to bring Ashley to a doctor yesterday after passing what was probably the longest day of my life waiting for Alberto to come home.  Sunday night the diarrhea started, Monday morning I bought her Gatorade and started the BRAT diet, however by Tuesday afternoon she was burning with fever and refusing to eat because she felt like she was going to throw up.  Ashley, who is normally a ball of energy, was listless and spent most of the afternoon sleeping.  The Madrina came home first and stopped in to see me as was her habit and said we needed to bring her to the doctor as soon as Alberto got home.  We jumped on him the minute he walked through the door.

Ashley moaned and cried pitifully during the entire ride to the pharmacy that partnered with a doctor much like the Minute Clinics back in Minnesota.  We paid the 25 peso consultation fee and sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait for the Doctor.  I could feel the heat radiating off her legs and Alberto recoiled in shock when I set his hand on her knee so he could feel it too.  Just then the Doctor came to the lobby to bring us back to the exam room.  As we sat talking to him about the symptoms and what she ate the last few days, Ashley continued to cry softly while poor Alberto broke into a sweat with each little noise she made.  The doctor focused on what she might have eaten asking very direct questions on whether she mostly ate chicken, pork, or beef and if we’d been anywhere outside of Mexico City.  I ran down a list of food I’d seen her eat, what she’d drank, and where we’d been including the meal we’d had at McDonald’s the other day much to my husband’s irritation.

Sick and Tired

I truly believe that a pack of wild monkeys could run USCIS better than the powers that be.  So far this year we were told our file was sent to Consulate in Cuidad Juarez for processing, then that it was received by the National Visa Center which didn’t make any sense at all.  Today may actually take the cake in regards to baffling behavior; we’ve only just learned that the National Visa Center sent our file to the California Service Center to review the approved I-130 petition.  I’ll let you read the emails I received today...

Sick Ward

I hate it when Ashley gets sick, because it spreads through the house like wild-fire.  Last Monday she came home from Preschool with a slight cough and it all went downhill from there rather quickly.  By dinner she had a fever of 101.6 and didn’t want to eat anything.  She quickly became lethargic and clingy, so I called in sick to FedEx by leaving a message on my supervisor’s voicemail.  She went to bed with me and about midnight she had an accident.  It’s not fun having to change your sheets in the middle of the night, and only worse when your child is so upset that she wet the bed.  You know when I encouraged her to have a sip of water to help stop the coughing; it never occurred to me that she drank way too much for her poor little bladder to handle.

In the morning I left the house to run to Walgreens for more children’s Tylenol, and I also bought a new friend for Ashley to hold while she was getting better.  I know she doesn’t need any more stuffed animals, but I could hardly resist the impulse because of her upset over wetting the bed.  Carol agreed to watch Ashley during the day so I could go to work with the understanding that I would be home earlier than normal to help with the kids.  I need to save every minute of PTO I have available so we can go to Mexico at the end of March, so the less time I need to take off the better.

Tonight she was coughing so hard that she threw up on my bed.  Please God don’t let me get sick too…

Ciao

#$^%ing Tuesdays

You know how I hate Mondays right?  Well, I loathe Tuesdays with every ounce of my being because anything bad that could happen will happen on a Tuesday.  Murphy’s Law is the guiding principle on a (tues)day in the life of Deza.  That’s why I try to move through the day pretending it’s either Monday or Wednesday; if I don’t think Tuesday thoughts, I might make it out unscathed.  This Tuesday I was not so successful.

At FedEx this morning I managed to take a 30 pound box to the head, with the corner of said box missing my right eye by a matter of inches.  I may develop a shiner yet, but if I do it’ll be so pitiful that people will think it’s a makeup malfunction.  Even if I managed to get a black eye everyone who knows me would assume there was a mildly amusing story behind it since Deza isn't the sort of person that gets into fist fights or bar brawls.  The most impressive bruise I’ve had to date was a rather detailed rendition of a tire tread on my thigh, which was refreshing since I actually knew what would have caused that particular contusion when typically I have no clue how the injury occurred.  Normally I put it down to the fact that I’m hilariously uncoordinated and have the unique ability to trip on a line drawn with chalk on the ground.

Not again!

I know I need to keep blogging even when nothing is really happening, but I often find myself the victim of writer’s block.  Luckily it’s not terminal. 

We received a nasty letter in the mail after the immigration hearing on January 30th.  Apparently, the prosecutor wasn’t satisfied that my husband plead guilty to Riot 2 when he did nothing wrong, and so he received an order to pay restitution.  Naturally I was quite upset, but who wouldn’t be; the amount demanded was $10,700 and change!  I called Brian’s cellphone in a blind panic, and much to my surprise he actually answered it.  I know much of what I said in the first 5 minutes was incoherent before he ordered me to take a deep breath and tell him what happened.  I took a steadying breath, and then another before I could tell him about the letter in my trembling hand.  “They can’t do this,” said Brian, “They only had 30 days to file for restitution.  We will motion to contest this.  I need you to fax me the letter and I’ll get started on this right away.”  Without a fax machine close at hand, I scanned the letter and emailed it to him.  My next question was an import one; as Alberto’s wife, am I obligated to pay this if he cannot?  The short answer is no.  At least I know that they can’t confiscate what I have to pay this ludicrous demand for money.

 I showed my mom the letter and explained that we would contest this order so that Alberto wouldn’t have to pay anything.  Almost in unison my parents exclaimed, “and how in the hell do they think Alberto will be able to pay this when he doesn’t have a job or even permission from immigration to stay in the US?!”  They were outraged at the very thought of ordering an innocent man to pay restitution for something he didn’t do.  I looked up the Register of Actions from Caña’s trial and discovered he was ordered to pay restitution although it doesn’t say how much.  Maybe they decided to attach the order for restitution for the brother most likely to be able to pay it in the long run?  Caña is set to be deported the minute his sentence has been completed.  Alberto says he doesn’t care if he has to pay it or not, but for me it’s the principal of the thing.  I am not going to allow the government, county or federal, to give my husband the short end of the stick.

One day at a time

I often wonder what I would be like today if my world hadn’t crumbled from beneath my feet.  Would I be a nicer person, maybe more patient and understanding of the people that are around me?  Would I have sympathy for some of the people who currently make me angry when they whine about how they hate their job and no one appreciates them?  I’m sorry if your glorious career at Subway doesn’t satisfy you, but if you don’t get off your ass and do something about it nothing will ever change.  I often wonder if we would’ve been happy, but in reality there is no point in wondering.  I am who I am today because of the pain I survived yesterday.  I had no choice but to survive and to tell myself that everything will be ok.  I have to believe that everything will be ok just so I can get out of bed in the morning.  I need to stand tall and be strong for all of us.

I feel old and cantankerous today.  There is no one thing that set me off, just a string of small nothings that merged into a big something.  Christmas is the season of hope, love, and family whereas I feel like I’m missing all of the above.  Alberto always was the center of my world since about 6 months into our relationship when I realized that I loved him.  This month marks the 4th anniversary of our marriage.  I don’t know how I managed to forget about our anniversary last week but I suspect it has something to do with the fact I have never been able to celebrate with Alberto.  There was never a celebration when we get married; it was a secret only because I was too devastated to share with anyone.  I think people found out I was pregnant before they discovered I was now a Mendez.  Maybe I regret not including my family or my in-laws in the affair, but maybe it was for the best.  Someday we’ll have a party and only God knows where it will take place.

Another continuance…

So Monday was my first dental checkup in about 4 years or more and it was not as bad as I expected.  It took much longer than I would’ve expected because it was the first time I’d been to that office so they had to do the x-rays and everything.  The worst thing for me about getting my teeth cleaned is that food is disgusting for the rest of the day.  At least I only have three small cavities which will be filled next month.  I’m hoping I can wear my ear buds because the sound of the drill is like nails on a chalkboard for me.  Who knows, I might get lucky if I ask really nicely…

I also got a phone call from one of the assistants at Lance’s office this morning.  I was amused when the woman spoke to me in Spanish, totally ignoring my English greeting.  She was talking so fast that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and her news was grim: the hearing was cancelled.  She admitted that is was most likely postponed, but either way I should wait for her to call me by 4:00 for more information.  To my surprise it was Lance that called me, and the first words out of his mouth were, “I don’t know what she was smoking but I NEVER said the hearing was cancelled.”  The moved the immigration hearing from 10 am to 1 pm, but everything else would be the same and he said he would see me there.

Rollercoaster of Life

So the sentencing hearing went as expected yesterday, actually better than I was anticipating.  Alberto was sentenced to 1 year plus 1 day just as the probation officer had told me.  Something I didn’t expect was the Probation officer didn’t alter her report to include the correct dates that I had given her last Wednesday, so when Brian let me read the report before the hearing I corrected multiple inaccuracies.  Then Brian stated all of the changes I had made to the report, telling the Judge that ‘his client has never been 110% with dates’.  It was at this point when the prosecutor looked over at me and smirked.  We all know our strengths and weaknesses and dates just happen to be one of Alberto’s weaknesses.  Alberto was ‘released’ at the conclusion of the hearing but of course he didn’t go anywhere because of the immigration hold.

Lance called me on his way back from ICE and told me that immigration has Alberto marked as having been paroled into the United States.  He doesn’t know why they would have done that, but he is certain that Alberto will need another hearing which could be this week, but will be most likely next week.  I had a pounding headache at the time so I don’t remember much of what he said and I asked him to email me the details he discovered.  His plan was to follow up with the person in charge of Alberto’s case at ICE today to get an idea of a timeline for preparation.

Let the countdown begin

A few things have happened since my last post so let’s start with Friday and move on from there.   Friday arrived with some rather upsetting news regarding my summons to serve jury duty.  It is the policy of my employer to pay an employee for the hours they would miss while serving jury duty, however, as a seasonal employee I am not entitled to this benefit.  We are talking about a loss of at least $400 in potential income for someone who barely survives paycheck to paycheck.  My first productive reaction to this was to ask my supervisor if I could get this in writing so I could attempt to get released from jury duty due to the financial hardship it would cause my family.  I didn’t anticipate that I would be successful getting released from my obligation, but it was worth a shot. 

Saturday saw the completion of the playhouse my parents bought at Menards last weekend.  We’re actually still missing a piece which, hopefully, will be sent to us posthaste.    Maybe I’ll find a picture of the playhouse online and post it on my blog.  It was incredibly satisfying to see Ashley move her little camp chairs into the house and play for an hour.  The playhouse even smells awesome since it is constructed of cedar!  Once we have the missing piece we’ll be able to attach the stove top so Ashley can run a play taquería out of her home.  Ashley and Josie should have a ball playing with the playhouse.

Life goes on

I have begun to realize as the days and weeks march on just how much Alberto means to me. As I compose this post, I am desperately fighting off a rising level of anxiety caused by my inability to talk with my husband. Part of me understands that I am being irrational as my mind fabricates a list of cockamamie reasons why he is not answering his phone. My rational side insists that I should know by now that the cellular service in Mexico is sporadic at best with many dead zones and frequent outages. My irrational side responds that someone could have stolen Alberto’s cell phone again, there could have been an attempted kidnapping where he lost his cell phone, or that a roving brand of miscreants asked Alberto for a ride then abandoned him miles from any towns in the desert. I’m nothing if not creative when anxious.

Setting aside that train of thought, I am so glad that Monday is over. The only problem is that tomorrow happens to be a Tuesday. Just a few weeks ago during a particularly bad Tuesday I said, “It’s Tuesday; the mechanical, electrical, mental, financial, and emotional epic fail day.” I’m sincerely hoping that Murphy’s Law takes pity on me for a few weeks and gives me some peace. This is simply not a good month for the systematic meltdown of law and order.