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.

The Elusive "Running Update" Blog

I ran the Midnight Flight 1 Mile and then 5K last night. WHEW! What the eff was I thinking? Seriously. I need my "running" peeps to riddle me this: Are all runners insane? Why would anyone purposefully choose to punish themselves run? I suppose for me, the answer to that question is…that although I am achy and stiff, and not the fittest, most athletic, person out there, I do enjoy the feeling of completion/accomplishment when I am able to finish the whole thing without walking. Whatever the reason, I’m doing it and I suppose I’m crazy. And we all have our own reasons for running.

Big Daddy gave me one of the nicest, most genuine compliments he’s ever given me, when at the finish line of the 5K he told me, “I’ve never seen you put that must physical effort into anything since you had Max.” As in…CHILD BIRTH. I told him coyly, “Maybe there are lots of things you don’t know about me,” and smiled a playful smile. He replied, “That’s why we’re married, because we know each other so well, but me are still learning.” Nice.

About the races…

The Midnight Flight is a night race comprised of 1 mile, 5K and 10K races. Some folks do one, some do all…I foolishly chose to do two…the 1 mile and the 5K. The mile started at 9:15 and the 5K at 10:00…that would give me a little less than 40ish minutes to “rest” in between races. Or in my case, it gave me exactly 37 minutes because I ran the FASTEST mile I have EVER run. And here’s why…

There were so many flippin’ kids at this event. Ok fine, let the kiddos run the 1 mile “fun run,” but let’s not forget it’s way past their bedtimes AND there ARE adults here trying to run, too. Two words…CASH PRIZE. Not that I was going to win it, but SOMEBODY was. Parents: if you are going to let your rug rats run the race, at least teach them etiquette…fast on the left, slow on the right…no zig zagging, bobbing and weaving, or sudden stops. Thanks. But that’s not why I ran like Forrest Gump when the bullies were chasing him and his braces fell apart. I ran because about a tenth of a mile into the “race,” the mom next to me dragging running with her 5 year old spoke loudly, “DO YOU NEED TO STOP?” The little girl didn’t reply. The mother again, “DO WE NEED TO STOP?” Again, nothing, but after a pause, “Momma, I think I’m gonna be sick,” the girl stopped, bent over and started coughing. We had MAYBE gone 10 yards past the starting line. Seeing that I have a phobia of vomiting (like a CLINICAL phobia complete with childhood visits to a psychologist…) I took off like I was being shot out of a cannon. It was pitiful. It was the opposite of a donkey being enticed to move forward by a carrot dangling from a stick held in front of its face. I ran, and I ran and I didn’t look back. In fact, I actually plugged my ears with my fingers and ran. And I was pissed off by the idiot mother who brought her child to a night run. Sure I have kids and yes, they would love a fun run, but at 9:20 PM, they were at home in bed with their grandmother. When I finished I couldn’t believe my time, but I also feared for my 5K…had I spent all my energy escaping the puke?

I had a little over a half hour to figure out if I was going to be “okay” to run. While Big Daddy and I walked around the vendor area, we picked up some schwag and ran into several people we knew. The Midnight Flight is a popular “town” event, so tons of us locals turn out. At the start of the 5K, I even saw M’s kindergarten teacher! After a pep-talk from Big Daddy (having him with me was a huge support!) I was ready to run again. It was a VERY crowded start, so I hung at the very back. It was a chip-timed event, so it didn’t matter if I was the first across the line or the last…I was only competing against myself…I needed to remember that!!!

Running at night is so strange, especially when you are running down the four lane main drag into town. There were tons of spectators, lots of city police blocking the side streets and several hot air balloons from the Balloon Festival on the ground “glowing” in support. SUPER surreal, and super motivating! I live in the coolest town!

I ran quite a ways with a girl whose Momma signed her up…the mom was running the 5K AND the 10K, and the girl was like 16 years old and kind of jogging/running like me. They had traveled from Inman, South Carolina in order to compete/participate and talking to her made the run go by so much faster. She was slowing down and I was speeding up, so we went our separate ways, but it was still nice to have a “friend” to run with.

About a ½ mile from the finish line, I heard someone coming up behind me panting and chanting, “I’m almost there, I’m almost there, I’m almost there…” I expected to see a 10 year old, immaturely verbalizing their motivation to continue…but when the person was by my side, I was shocked to see a 16 or 17 year old girl, dressed head to toe in red…red shirt…red shorts, red socks…and long, brown pony-tail…just a-strugglin’ and a-huffin’ and a-puffin’. The “scene” she was making of herself went as follows…she would SPRINT a few yards doing her “I’m almost there, I’m almost there…” thing and then she would stop, gulp and gasp to catch her breath, walk a bit and then repeat the sprinting and chanting. It reminded me, in an unfunny way, of Ace Ventura Pet Detective discovering the shark in the tank at the party was “not Snowflake! It’s not Snowflake, It’s not Snowflake…” After several times, I realized that she was pacing herself with me. I sped up and immediately she started sprinting to catch up. When she did, she would stop, walked and try to regain herself. As I pushed on, she would sprint yet again…all the while jerkin’ and buckin’ sayin’ to herself, “I’m almost there, almost there, almost there.” She was so DEmotivational, that I was just about to tell her to “SHUT THE FUCK UP! CAN’T YOU SEE THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE TRYING TO FINISH, TOO?!” But instead I summoned the strength to BURST forth at a pace I knew she couldn’t replicate, and I lost her somewhere between El Patron and the Sweetery. You locals know where I’m talkin’ about. She had me at Jakes on 81, but I had lost her by the Hair Cottage.

The boost was just enough to get me into a steady stride for the finish…and it was SWEET! Not my best time, but I finished without walking. That was my one and only goal and I accomplished it!

Next race…Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure!

I Bought the "Unique Pot-Clip" Because...

I was at Publix today and I bought this because I thought it was something else:

I was kind of embarrassed when the cashier rang it up because I was sure he was giving me "the eye," like, "I know what yer gettin' into when you get home, Ma'am!" Maybe I'm just paranoid. The product name just seems so obvious. Like, they may as well call the thing, "roll it up, lick it, stick it in here and smoke it." I mean, when I was in High School, we were a little more subtle. We called them "Roach Clips."

Geez. Folks are just getting more and more brazen, these days.

Oh wait! It's what? You mean it's not a...? It's for...? Holding a huh? Oh. It's for resting a spoon or ladle so it doesn't fall in while you cook. Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought, too.

humor-blogs

Better Late than...

Oh Me, Oh My...My previous blog is SO old, I probably AM a cougar, by now. 1000 "I'm Sorrys" for my blog-neglect. I have no one to blame but...the first week of school (two kids, two schools, FOUR separate drop-off and pick up times...M starts riding the bus this week, and I begin my "carpool," but still...kind of makes me question our 'we'll have two kids OR four kids' baby-making policy...what were we thinking? Two is PLENTY! I like Becky's mom's philosophy...there are two Twinkies in a package...and well, I'm just not that great at multitasking. MANY kudos to those who are! Anyway, so I've been SUPER busy with my two little Twinkies, obviously) various activities have me in my car more often than seems proper (such is the sacrifice of the stay-at-home-mom...) and subsequently I've found myself obscenely FATIGUED. Like, unusually fatigued. Like, please pass me my anti-insanity pills fatigued. Bless my bones.

In fact, last week I had to take to my bed no later than FOUR PM. I'm not sure if it was stress from the first week of school or relief that (as per usual, the kids exceeded my wildest expectations) the kiddos did so well...Tina informed me that, on Friday, I was NOT to take to my bed and that if I did she would (and I quote) "horse whip" me. Well, of course, that made taking to my bed COMPLETELY out of the question. So I woke up Saturday, ran a 5K and decided to *try* to summon the strength to persevere. And I did.

I promise...I will write a have a new post soon chalk full of all the effed up stuff that happens here at the Edge of the Map...Until then, Please to enjoy the five seconds of normalcy and contentment we are experiencing amid the chaos. It doesn't happen very often. So while we wait, I will, once again, take to my bed.