Taxed

I couldn't help it. Today is tax day. This is a short one.
Taxed:
1. Being on the telephone (after the put-you-on-hold music--which, of course, I now have memorized and can harmonize with)--being on the phone with Quandricka with Medicaid.(You know, 1-888-punch #1 if you want this message in espanol, etc.) She asked me if Taylor's condition was congenial?
Well, yes and no. Congenial in some ways.
Congenital? Shouldn't she know the definition before she asks the question? Is that right up there with never ask a question you don't want to know the answer to?
Anyway....service denied. Not congenial or congenital?
Does contagious count? Is being Down Syndrome contagious? Maybe that's in the "It's Insurable" column.
Taxing...to me.
2. Yesterday Taylor's support coordinator, who obviously still does not "get" him, told me that I needed to write down a goal and a dream for Taylor. (Paper work to be eligible for Medicaid money.) I asked, "For example?"
She said, "Maybe his dream is to write a story book or a cookbook."
Choke. And, this is why I am going to burn in the fires of wherever---
I replied, "Taylor can't write or read....or really even talk. But I write a Blog. Does that count?"
She didn't know about blogging. Anyway, I knew it wouldn't count.
My sisters offered these as possible dreams for Taylor:
1. Go to Hooters once a week. Up close and personal may be a good dream.
2. Actually free...Willy. (Free used as a verb and not as a proper noun as Taylor insists on doing.)
Those are good dreams. Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?
3. I don't love this time of year in some ways. All of Taylor's paperwork has to be redone and resubmitted for insurance and support help. It's like starting over every single year. Taxing. And I was told yesterday, "You can't write down the same goals as last year. They have to be new ones." Oh.

"But," I cried, "He hasn't mastered the ones from last year---or from the past 15 years. Shouldn't we keep those goals?" (Using 3 words in one sentence, preparing his own snack, tying his shoes.) Taxing.
But I haven't met my goals either. So glad I don't have to be accountable for reaching my goals. Whew. Taxing.
I do not mean for this post to be a downer. Thank goodness I have a great sense of humor. And in laughing out loud this morning, I remembered of a funny story. Taylor's former teacher (incredible still!!), Mary Sgarlato, allowed me to take Taylor and his little friend Herbert to the bathroom while we were on a field trip in Atlanta. The boys were about 9 and we had ridden a bus over to Phillips Arena to see the circus. (I=room parent) I, room parent, allowed the boys to go into that huge men's restroom alone. They didn't come out. They didn't come out. Ooops.
I, room parent, announced at the entrance to the men's restroom at The Phillips' Arena: "I'm coming in! Woman on the hall!"
Good thing I did: There sat Taylor and Herbert up in the urinals---stuck.
Just sitting there talking like two little friends. Taxing---only to me.
Today I am thankful for this life.
I am thankful for food, a place to sleep, for friends.
I am thankful that my taxes provide Taylor with congenial, congenital and contagious Medicaid.
I am thankful that I can love and be loved.
We're all taxed in one way or another.
But, mostly, we need to be thankful.
For real.