jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Tonight I was driving to the mall with Alden (because I am a FOOL) and trying to explain to him why we were going to buy stockings. I said, “Soon Santa will come while you are sleeping and will leave you presents.” Alden said, “Then I get the wagon?”

My plan for Christmas is to buy each boy a few small-ish gifts and then something bigger and cool for them to share. So I ordered a Radio Flyer from Amazon — the deluxe one with the two seats and a canopy, even. It showed up in a big box about three weeks ago. The box did have an illustration of a wagon on it, but we took it in without comment and stashed it. Nobody talked about it. It hasn’t been mentioned since. But I guess Alden spied that illustration and has just been waiting for its promise to manifest.

Also, I am living proof that people-who-shop-at-the-last-minute beggars cannot expect to be bargain-price-finding choosers.

And finally, a strange development in my insurance situation:
After I asked your advice, the first thing I did was avoid the whole thing for as long as I could. On the fifth day of the five days the anesthesiologist’s billing office had given me to decide if I wanted to pay the bill myself at a discount, at 4:45pm, I took a deep breath and called the insurance company again.

(The insurance liaison via HR would have been great, but we don’t have one. My experience with our HR has been spotty, so I figured I had better be prepared to go it alone.)

My plan was to sternly but politely insist on instructions for filing an appeal. The rep got on the line (After I navigated a zillion menus and then resorted to shouting “Representative! Representative!” at the automated system.) and I gave her my claim number. Before I got one more word out she said, “Oh, I see it. Yeah, this is wrong. We should have paid this. It’s not like you can pick your anesthesiologist, right? We’ll call them and tell them we’ll pay, so you shouldn’t hear from them again.” I am confused. And cautiously optimistic. Maybe it was someone from IT, or it was someone’s kid, or I dialed the wrong number, or I’m being Punk’d. Or maybe, maybe my insurance company is going to pay my medical bill as it should without forcing me through all seven circles of hell. That would be a nice Christmas present.