Medical Update

I received a phone call yesterday that was potentially life changing. To sum it up, I heard,

“Mrs. Brown, we received your blood test results and we need to see you in the office as soon as possible. The Doctor needs to talk to you.”

Of course, I interrogated the nurse until she finally folded and let me know it was one value, in particular, that was askew; and that no, I was NOT dying. Even still, hearing “we need to see you as soon as possible,” made me HORRIBLY nervous.

We have a saying in our house:

It’s all about NOT me.

In other words, I take care of everyone before myself, everyone ELSES needs come before my own. Sure, I sound like a martyr, but any other Momma will sing you the same song. However, Big Daddy FREAKED when I told him about my phone call, so they “worked me in” to the schedule this morning. I’ll keep the “why” and “how” to myself, but WILL say Big Daddy can be VERY convincing when he needs to be.

When the Doctor went over my results, she informed me that based on the indirect vs. direct conjugation of red blood cell lysis blah blah blah I have something called “Gilbert’s Syndrome,” a totally benign condition that basically amounts to nothing.

The only other thing about Gilbert’s Syndrome is the potential inability to detoxify certain drugs in my liver the way “normal” folks do, specifically Tylenol. You know what else can’t detoxify Tylenol? A cat. So in addition to Gilbert’s Syndrome, I am also turning into a cat. Meow.

Of course I IMMEDIATELY called Big Daddy (who was on “death watch”) to inform I was going to “live to be 1000 year old,” according to my physician, and that I have this thing called “Gilbert’s Syndrome.”

“DILBERT’S SYNDROME? Does that mean yer gonna be an engineer? Ha ha..” said my husband as he gets his NINTH patent (no, seriously NERD ALERT.)

“No,” I said, “GILBERT’S SYNDROME”

Silence. Pause.

"Ogre, you asshole." He said.

"Wormser designed the javelin for Lamar's limp-wristed throwing style," I replied.

“’What are you lookin’ at NERD?’

‘Well, I thought I was looking at my mother’s old DOUCHE BAG, but that’s back in Ohio…’” He shot back.

"Not the Moos!" I shouted!

"What the fuck's a 'frush?'" Big Daddy laughed (one of his favorite lines.)

“She’s not that kind of girl, Booger,” he said.

“Why? Does she have a PENIS?” I said.

PAUSE.

“We’ve got bush!” We said, in unison, and erupted in laughter.

Hey Guys, WONDERJOINT!

You want me to wear WHAT?!

The world of Kindergarten has opened up what is probably my most favorite time of motherhood, so far. I feel sorry for underestimating my own child, but after he came back from the first week of school writing sentences (not “sentence,” but SENTENCES) I was appropriately impressed. And after homework tonight, I couldn’t believe how fluently he was reading. And by “fluently” I mean, he is balancing my checkbook as I write this.

Now that about a month has passed since the first day of school, the parents are allowed to have lunch with their kids. The teachers asked that we wait a few weeks so the kids could establish their schedule, which is especially true for M since (according to my dad) the reason he is thriving is due to his love of “schedule and order.” But since M has informed me that his lunch room has already experienced MULTIPLE visitors (his words and emphasis…) I decided that I would make an impromptu appearance in the cafeteria tomorrow at approximately 11:00 am. Cue the paparazzi.

That being said, and to honor M’s love of “routine,” I informed him, in advance, that I would be “lunching” with him tomorrow (clearly 11:00 am is WAY too early for me, I will snack on a South Beach bar instead and subject myself to the whispers of the other adults present… “BITCH.” Ha ha. I wasn’t sure what the other mommies would be wearing since, these days, my “uniform” most consistently is comprised of “booty shorts” and a tank top, or pajamas (Oh, how I *LOVE* being a stay at home mom!) and I was pretty sure “Daisy Dukes” are on the “Do Not Wear” list for Elementary School, so I asked M, “What would you like me to wear tomorrow?”

M, as always, waxed pensive, and really thought my query through.

“A very beautiful dress,” he spoke, and paused…

Yes! I can do that! I JUST bought a “very beautiful” dress (from the Belk’s Junior’s Department) that is slightly conservative (it’s black) and would look really super cute…

He finished his sentence…

“…and UNDERWEAR.”

My Mother, Father and I (who were all at the table eating dinner with M and V) exchanged sideward glances…they, with a twinkle in their eyes…and me with a horrified, apologetic, shoulder-shrugging frown. Another lesson in life...if our kids can't keep us honest, who can? I mean, we can’t ALL be classy, can we?

Panties or No Panties...Click Here

Three Stories

I awoke this morning at 4 am and could not go back to sleep. I am tired, nay, exhausted. And here’s what happens when Momma doesn’t get enough sleep...

After I picked up V from nursery school today, I was casually chatting with my neighbor on the phone as I made V her favorite---a quesadilla. It occurred to me that V could eat quesadillas for breakfast, lunch and dinner (and she literally has.) As the cheese-filled flour tortilla gently browned in the skillet, I commented to Tina that “V could eat quesadillas until the cows come home.

I finished up on the phone and finished up making V’s lunch. All the while, she sat, quietly resting after school, watch the Gospel According to Dora (as in, Nick 2.) Feeling especially generous, I presented V with her half-moon of joy, cut with love, into 4 equal pieces while she continued to enjoy her program (which was now tuned into the decadent treat that is “Tom and Jerry,” a violent, dated, non-educational show that my children enjoy with the ferocity of crack-addicts.)

I myself had retreated into my own bedroom to watch “Momma’s Show,” a.k.a “All My Children.” Armed with my little bowl of left-over spaghetti and homemade turkey meatballs (YUMMY!) I hit the sheets, prepared to have my brain numbed by the exciting and sordid lives of Kendall and Erica. Will Greenlee leave Aiden and go back to Ryan? I am biting my nails in anticipation…

I had finished my lunch, and was just getting ready to fold (A MILLION LOADS OF) laundry, when I heard V yell something down the hallway.

“What honey?” I yelled back, too lazy and tired to actually get up to see what my 3-year-old daughter is in wont of.

“MURPH-DURPH-LU-LA-LRUG?” She yelled louder, but I still couldn’t make out what she was trying to say.

“What?!” I still couldn’t hear…sounding like the little purple-haired old lady I will turn into some day.

As she tried, once more, to be heard, I decided to get off my butt and see what V was so excited about. I walked down the hall, and found V exactly as I left her-minus-one delicious quesadilla, but now with eyes WIDE, and full of wonder and pride; a satisfied grin decorated her face, as if in eating her lunch, she was actually achieving much, much more…As if the simple act of consuming her quesdilla held more power than a psychotic Border Collie...

She asked,

“Momma, did the cows come home?”

…

I received the BEST, strangest compliment the other day. As a Mom, I am used to putting myself last. So that when I DO receive a personal compliment (i.e about me, not my kids, my parenting skills, my killer casserole skillz…(that’s right, with a “z” mutha-effa!), I take it to heart, value it, deeply appreciate it. That being said, this particular compliment I simply must share…

A friend of mine stopped me in the street while I was taking the kids to ride bikes, she said…

“You are turning into such a Skinny Mini! What size are you? You look like a size 4. If I was a size 4, I would be SUCH A SLUT!”*

*Just for the record, I did NOT reveal my actual size, which is neither here nor there. The number written inside your pants isn’t nearly as important with how you feel about yourself on the inside. Cliché, but true. Also, this may be the most awesome compliment anyone has ever given me. Perfect Ten for creativity.

…

Part of M’s daily homework is for us to read books together, and then record the books in a “reading log.” I have been bitching and moaning about having to write down every book we read because a) we read a heck of a lot of books and b) as Tina pointed out, I now have to do “extra” work for an activity we ALREADY do together. I understand that there are probably kids whose parents aren’t nearly as annoying interactive as I am. Sent home in his homework folder was a worksheet for me to fill out to include…Title, Author, Characters and BRIEF summary. Herein lies the dilemma…I much like Ike and Tina don’t do anything nice and easy, I don’t do anything nice and brief. So night after night, I have sat in our dimly lit dinning room, pencil furiously penning summary after brief summary…or so I thought. More like…mini book reports…

“…and then the bus driver is forced to leave the bus, and asks the reader to NOT let the pigeon ride the bus! The pigeon pleads and begs to be allowed to drive the bus, but in the end, realizes it’s probably not the best idea…”

“…but “Grumpy Cat” isn’t REALLY grumpy, he’s just lonely. When he meets Kitten, he finds a companion and learns a valuable lesson in friendship and trust.”

“…but as soon as Mr. Pine paints his house purple, EVERYONE paints their house purple, which frustrates Mr. Pine! Everything he tries to do different is copied, but in the end, Mr. Pine realizes that imitation is the more sincere form of flattery…”

Today when I got M’s homework folder, there was a personally handwritten note on his Book Log…it said:

“In the future, just a simple, BRIEF summary is fine. REALLY. Thanks.”

I think I just got *schooled* by M’s Kindergarten teacher.

My next summary: (To: 10 Little Ducklings…)

“Mom duck lost her kids. The end.”

Get Thee to a Nunnery...

Within days of moving to our Southern, Bible-Belt based town, it became clear that in order to “fit in,” we needed to get creative about our (lack) of church attendance. We thought we could get away with “Oh, we attend (cough into hand) Our Rosary… (clear throat, look to the side, muffle voice with hand again)… Four-Horseman of the… (fake sneeze, blow nose, cover mouth with tissue)…Savior of the Holy Trinity.” If queried further, we figured we could just say it’s a small church in “the country.” But after the nurse at my dermatologist’s office asked me, “What church do y’all attend?” WHILE I was being examined (and no one thought that was a rude or intrusive question…it was, apparently, TOTALLY NORMAL) I knew we’d have to come up with something better. After all, it was only a matter of time before people realized “Our Lady of Sealy Posteurpedic” was actually a euphemism for my bed, and that “Saint Mattress” was NOT one of the 12 Apostles.

The other day, M came home from school and said, “Momma, do you know what church Suzanne goes to?” I had been hearing about Suzanne since the first day of school. She was one of maybe 3 kids who had their “ant” moved to the “warning” anthill for being naughty. During the next few weeks, I would hear about all of the fooley she was making in class; all about how her “ant” seemed to be in perpetual motion…moving from the “warning” anthill up to the second “lose 5 minutes of play” anthill. She sounded like a pistol...and of course, M was smitten.

“I don’t know, M, which church does Suzanne go to?”

He spoke the answer slowly and powerfully, putting equal emphasis on both words, as if to accentuate their deep, individual meaning.

“First Baddest.”

What did he say?

“And Momma, she doesn’t take a bus with a number home…she gets on the FIRST BADDEST bus.”

His eyes were wide and wild from fascination. What must he think goes on at “First Baddest?” Was that where the “Bad” kids went? If he, himself, wasn’t good, would be find himself riding the “First Baddest” bus all the way to the First Baddest Church?”

Those crazy Baddests! They think they are just so high and mighty!

But my giggles over M’s auditory mistake turned quickly to concern…if he knew that Suzanne attended First Baptist, did he then reveal that we are horrible sinners who do not attend church and must be shunned as non-believers? So I asked him, “Well, what church do WE attend?”

M contemplated my question, thought about it for a minute and then replied…

“Oh, I dunno…maybe Second Baddest, maybe Third,” and then shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Phew! We had dodged THAT bullet, for now. Bu since we actually ARE Christian, and we DO “believe,” I suppose that for the sake of fitting in, we really ought to join a church (I mean, other than “Home Churching” which was ANOTHER excuse I had used in the past…I mean, you’ve heard of “Home SCHOOLING,” right? Well, same difference…) The church I picked is described as “Contemporary, Inclusive and Casual.” I know for a fact that my boss has brought GOATS to church there before, so what the hey, right? She played Joseph in the Christmas Pageant one year, too. Sounds right up our alley, and hey, if it doesn’t work out, there’s always First Baddest…or maybe Second Baddest, maybe Third.