Oh, The Irony

If you know me in real life or on Facebook, you've heard recently about the amazingly thoughtful thing that the Teenager did for me last week. Solely for me, so that I might not find myself missing football games so much. Uh huh. That expression you're wearing right now? The one that just screams "You are soooo full of crap, kid!"?  Yeah. That was the same one I had.

Well, after I got done freaking out over the whole What do you mean, he hurt himself in weights class? You're taking him to the HOSPITAL? In an AMBULANCE? WITHOUT ME???

*sigh*  The kid isn't even playing football this season, and he still manages to injure himself.

Long story short (because let's face it....I don't know how much you all know about weightlifting, and I don't really know diddly about weightlifting, so telling you what lifts he was doing just wouldn't make me sound like the super-intelligent woman you all know me to be), the Teenager got hurt in class, they called the paramedics, who made the decision that he would be better served at the local hospital. So they called us, basically telling us what they were doing, and let us know which hospital we could meet them at. Oh, and could they give him something for the pain?

Would you believe we beat the ambulance to the ER? Oh yes we did.

After several hours, many painful x-rays resulting in tears from his eyes that broke my heart into millions of tiny pieces, and multiple forms of pain-relieving narcotics (that incidentally? didn't do a thing for the pain, apparently); we were given the verdict.

Hyper-extended spinal column. Severe lower lumbar strain. Possible slight herniated disk.  Wow....not a bad list for doing something he does every day, right? Sheesh. I will tell you that we've pretty much ruled out the herniated disk by now, though... his legs are working just fine.

And I can't even tell you how many times I thanked God that his legs were working at all. Spinal injuries cause things like paralysis. Which would seriously curtail his ability to run track again this year and go to State once again; AND his ability to get around in my kitchen to do the dishes. You know, the important things. 'Cuz I'm a selfless, thoughtful mama that way.

He DID enjoy the wheelchair ride out to the truck when we got to go home, though.

Also, we are going to all ignore the tiny little fact that he asked for Mouse to be kept informed about 523,687,469,841,642,359,895 times that afternoon. This is MY memory space, and I'm still coming to grips with the apparent development of someone more important than I am. Acknowledging that is acknowledging his pending adulthood.

And the hospital did not send home enough narcotics for me to face that one just yet.

It Would Be So Nice If The Lobby Chairs Were Well Padded, Don't You Agree?

One of the few nice things about the current economic situation at our house is that since Coach is home more frequently than I am, he gets to be the one to coordinate and arrange those pesky little parenting details like doctor and dentist appointments. If nothing else good comes out of his not working full time for the last year, it was still good for him to do these things, and for the boys to learn that he could, as well.

So Coach got to take Bug to the dentist yesterday for a routine cleaning. Honestly? We expected two or three cavities. Lack of dental insurance for quite some time, coupled with a child who equates frequent tooth brushing with cruel and unusual punishment; well, let's just repeat that we expected to need some fillings. What I didn't expect was to be sitting at my desk yesterday morning, going about my business, when this text message came through from Coach:

Root Canal. 

That was it. Two stinkin' little words. Two stinkin' little words that had the power to have me promptly and dramatically freak the heck out.

Turns out, the dentist wasn't just recommending a root canal....eventually. Nope. He was insisting, demanding and ordering an emergency root canal. Right that minute, if his next appointment failed to show up in 30 seconds. Thank you, Anonymous Next Appointment; your timely arrival ensured that Bug's mama could be present for that stinkin' root canal. Which was conveniently scheduled for today.

(Side note here. I have the world's most AWESOME boss! Without hesitation or question, she let me take this afternoon off, telling me that for some things? Mom just has to be there. Period. Can I just tell you all how beyond amazing it is to work for someone who just ... gets it?)

I have never had a root canal. I've never seen one performed. So naturally, I'm imagining a drill the size of something Warner Brother's Acme Products would create diving into my baby's mouth. He was a bit apprehensive, having had it explained that they'd have to drill out the center of his tooth, scrape and scoop out every last bit of that nasty cavity, and fill it with metal goo. But he didn't ask me to go back with him when it was time. Which turned out to be a good thing, since the dentist told me I wasn't allowed to be back there. (Stupid AZ patient privacy laws. Only allowing the patient to be back in the treatment room. What if he was 4 instead of 11? What then, huh? Stupid rules.) 

I am so proud of my boy. When the dentist dragged me kicking and screaming back to my lobby seat (okay, okay, fine..... he just looked over his shoulder at me and politely told me that I couldn't stay back there), Bug just grinned at me (albeit a little shakily) and assured me he'd be fine. And so I went back out and sat down. And waited.

That? Was long wait. A very long, 2.5 hour wait. Which was longer for me than it was for him, as he'd been fortunate enough to have been given the nitrous gas at the beginning while I sat there convinced I could hear that evil monster drill the entire time. So when he walked out to Coach and I, we had to laugh a little. His eyes were big and wide. He was slightly unsteady on his feet. And he was grinning like a loon.

That was the coolest thing ever!

Later he told me that he's pretty sure he used up the entire canister. And he thinks he might have told the dental personnel that his older brother (who was in the chair in the next room having his dental bubble burst, as well; which is a story for another time) had the same middle name as one of the hygienist's children, who had the same name as the other hygienist's boyfriend. Except Jock's middle name isn't even remotely close to that other name. But he does remember hearing someone say that, and in hindsight thinks it could have been him.  (And yes, it was him. Jock heard the entire conversation from the next room.)

While the procedure was nowhere near as simple as all of this sounds, and definitely involved a bit of Gee, the drill tapped into that abscess and the dentist can't get the bleeding to stop, so you'll have to bring him back at another time to finish this up, overall it went well. I'm thinking, though, that when we go back to actually have that big hole in his tooth filled in.....I'm going to have to insist on some of that gas to get me through the wait. 




Hosted by Cecily and Honey Mommy

And This Is Why I Hate Cooking

I've poisoned my family. This includes my two furry children.

Well, in fairness, I really have no idea if I've poisoned anyone or not. No one, including the dogs, has actually gotten sick yet. But if I had to hazard a guess, based on the unsettled condition of my stomach at this exact moment in time, I would say that there is the potential for a very long, very messy night.

On the menu this evening was our old standby, tuna casserole. To the credit of all previous tuna casseroles, we have never before felt ill after eating it. I'm blaming the cheese. You see, I used a different cheese blend, and the bag had been in my fridge for at least a couple of weeks. I think. I'm not entirely certain, actually. The bag was unopened, though, so I figured it was fine. Despite the fact that it smelled... well, weird. But I told myself that cheese ALWAYS smells weird to me. I don't like it unless it's melted over a select few meals.

But then I ate it. And it tasted weird. Even in all of it's melty gooey-ness, it tasted weird. However, I am apparently an extreme master at convincing myself of whatever I need to, as I told myself that I was just being a wuss. The cheese was fine, eat it. So with a mental shrug, I ate it.

I should have taken the hint when Bug dropped his first serving all over the floor, thereby allowing the dogs to partake of my poisonous creation. While they seemed excited and grateful at the time, I have a sneaking suspicion that sometime in the next few hours they will be plotting various ways they can ensure my demise. If I'm lucky, it might cure their unfortunate tendency to beg for table food. They so rarely get it that I'm always amazed they think they can keep asking.

Anyway, back to the poisonous cheesy gooey-ness I insisted on feeding my family tonight.

I'm only feeling slightly like forming a more intimate bond with the seat in our Family Conference Room at the moment. Neither of the boys, nor the dogs, are exhibiting any symptoms as of yet. But I'm dying. I'm sure of it.

At least I won't have to cook anymore.

At Least They Match

I probably should preface this post by admitting to being something of an idiot. Or if not actually an idiot, at least somewhat forgetful. See, I'm one of those people that NEVER tans. In fact, I always ONLY burn. And I never just get a tiny sunburn. Oh no. I burn magnificently! In very little time.

Yesterday was another one of my "should've slathered on the sunscreen" days. I had volunteered to sit up at the ballpark and hand out the uniforms for all the teams in the league. Shouldn't have been a big deal. It was only for four hours, and someone had provided me a nice, big shaded canopy to sit under.

BUT.... we had a board meeting first. And I stood outside in the sun for that. For only about 45 minutes, though, and at 9:00 in the morning, so I wasn't really worried. Even though by that point it occurred to me that maybe I should have put on some sunscreen. But as I said, it wasn't even an hour, so I wasn't worried. Apparently, I should have been.

That is my left shoulder. Trust me, the right one matches it perfectly.

Let's hope that at some point this summer, I remember the sunscreen. On the bright side? I'm getting plenty of Vitamin D from the sun!

Guilty

I did it.

I did what no mom is ever allowed to do. Something catastrophic to the world she controls and oversees. Something so bad that life as her family knows it completely shuts down.

I got sick.

This lovely virus was generously gifted to me this holiday season by my nieces and nephews, who seem to always have a supply of these little bugs on hand. And they love me so much they just had to share their bounty with me. Wasn't that sweet?

Its been a rough seven days, folks. I woke up Christmas morning with a scratchy throat, but shrugged it off. After all, we had presents to open! Toys to play with! Chocolate to eat!

Then I discovered the battery in my camera was dead. So, no Christmas pictures of my boys this year. Which sucked, because all three of them (Coach included) got some cool stuff that I really wanted "reaction" pictures of. *sigh* Oh well. We decided to stop and get some on the way to Grandma's house.

When we got to Grandma's house, my crew all piled out of the car and headed inside. Conveniently forgetting Mom outside left to carry all the gifts FROM us inside. Bless Coach's heart, he did come back out to help me. Which, looking back, might not have been such a great idea. As he was opening the back door, I was closing the front door. The suction from that, combined with the extreme winds here that day, ensured that the door I was holding.... slammed shut. ON MY FINGER! I have to tell you, I never realized that fingers could actually bend where there isn't a knuckle joint. It took me an amazingly long time to think enough to actually open the door to remove my hand. At which point words started coming out of my mouth that really shouldn't have been uttered on Christ's birthday. (I really am ashamed of that part..... asked forgiveness for a looooonnnggg time for it, too!) I'm not sure what prompted the running, but I set land speed records into that house, sobbing and swearing the entire time. Got in the door, dropped everything in my hands, and made a beeline for the kitchen. By the time we got my finger iced, I was ready to pass out. Apparently, I'm a wuss.

Meanwhile, the virus that the little darlings had shared with me was gearing up for one helluva party in my system. Maybe the adrenaline rush had hastened them along?

By the time I got home that night, I was ready to drop. I had fever, couldn't breathe, and it felt like someone had parked their car right on my chest. That feeling lasted until .....ohhhh..... now. But, I'm not just a mama. I'm a working mama. So it really doesn't matter how I feel, right? I've had to bravely soldier on; going to work, coming home to make dinner, go grocery shopping, do laundry, and just generally take care of the boys.

Thank God for Nyquil, that's all I can say. Oh, and my finger? Still not working quite right. But it IS a pretty shade of purple.

Not A Contact Sport? Yeah, Right!

Do you see Jock's eye over there in that (inexcusably bad, I know I know... sorry, crappy cell phone camera) picture? And this picture actually shows it looking better than it did. Imagine the white part more of a total dark pink, some bruising beginning under there, and know that the bright red mark looks more like rug burn. Then you'll have a better visual.

And no, before any of you smarty pants out there ask, it was not a result of discovering his texting totals!

That, my friends, is a volleyball injury. Yeah, you heard me. Volleyball. This child, who is seriously poetry in motion on the football field, somehow FAILED TO DUCK when he saw the ball coming at his face yesterday. Coach was only *marginally* less embarrassed for him when it was explained that they weren't actually playing volleyball, but rather kickball--using a volleyball.

We expect injuries on the football field. Heck, depending on how they happened we even brag about them. We can just about determine how well his baseball season will go based on how many times he gets pegged while at bat, or the road rash from sliding into stolen bases. (*side note... Jock actually set a league record last year..... he got hit at least once in every game of the season. Dubious honor, to be sure!)

But c'mon..... VOLLEYBALL???

To add insult to injury.... the death blow was dealt by a GIRL.

One theory says Jock was being chivalrous. He was making that girl feel good about herself by giving her the opportunity to claim she took one of the boys down in gym class.

Coach's theory is she's obviously some hot little thing, and Jock had completely lost all brain function long before the ball hit his face.

Judging by the blushing Jock was doing when he had to explain all of this to us last night....... Coach is probably right.

But shhh... don't tell him that or there'll be no living with him for a while.

Well... at least until the Redskins lose *again* this Sunday! :)

Day 2 of My Medically Imposed Blindness

Maybe that's a bit harsh. It might be more like "medically suggested blindness".

I don't think I've gone this long without my contacts in since I got them. As evidenced by the fact that the prescription in my glasses is about six years old. The old prescription usually doesn't bother me, since all I ever really use my glasses for is to walk from my bed to the bathroom and back. And I only do that because Coach is really bad about closing the drawers on his dresser.

I've got to tell you, I really hate them. And not just because I can't really see out of them. I've gotten spoiled. I love the fact that my contacts stay put when I put them on. My glasses need to be constantly pushed back up my nose. I like being able to see instantly when I move my head, not waiting for everything to focus. I like being able to see the TV from my sofa, not sitting in front of it like I was 8 years old again and watching The Dukes of Hazard. I like being able to see what's going on across the room, not squinting like I'm looking into a bright light.

Ok. Really, what it comes down to is: I LIKE TO SEE!!! Which I can't. For another 3 days. I've got to use these drops for 5 days, and that puts me through Sunday night. So I have to spend my weekend being blind. That ought to make the grocery store fun. *sigh* And I'm going to try not to worry too much about how *interesting* the end-0f-season party will be on Saturday for Bug's football team. Its being held at a local pizza parlor that caters to kids. I'm going to practically be a prisoner in the booth so as to avoid stepping on some unsuspecting small child, while not being able to keep track of my own. Oh yeah. What a joy.

Won't be any better at the house, though. We're dog-sitting for my mother-in-law from now until Monday. She's got two standard poodles. Fairly big dogs. Who apparently have decided to model their behavior while they're here after my own two dogs. So I've got FOUR dogs following me everywhere. Wandering around my feet whether I'm moving or not. Once you stop laughing I'm sure you can imagine the difficulty.

To recap: Eye still somewhat swollen, although it opens now. (This is good.) Still burns occasionally, but not as much (this is also good, but from here on out... not so much). NO CONTACTS, only my weak old glasses, so I can't see squat. Four animals constantly underfoot. Previously committed to public appearance that I can't get out of short of death. Which I have to have someone else drive me to. (Fortunately, Coach was going to this anyway.) Much needed trip to the grocery store. Which I ALSO have to have someone else drive me to, and go through with me so as to make sure I don't inadvertently buy something and poison the family I love so much. (Not so fortunately, Coach now HAS to do this whether he wanted to or not. I have a feeling I'll be going to the stupid grocery store at 8 o'clock in the stupid morning on Sunday.)

This sucks eggs.

If I Had To Hazard A Guess....

......are never. NEVER. EVER. words you want to hear your doctor say. And really not about something important, like your eyes. Maybe a toe (If I had to hazard a guess, Sports Mama, I'd say the toe is broken.), but not your eyes.

I've been home sick from work all week this week. And yes, before some of you start asking... I really have been ill. However, by the time I went to bed last night I was feeling mostly like myself again. Kinda like in The Princess Bride, when they start moving again after having been "mostly dead all day".

I really should have at least had an inkling something would go wrong. When I took out my contacts to go to bed, it actually hurt to touch my right eye. But I thought it was just because my eyes were tired, maybe. Shrugged it off and got into bed. Woke up a couple of times because my eye seemed to be watering an overabundant amount (which apparently was A LOT since it WOKE ME UP), but again.... blew it off and went back to sleep.

Then this morning arrived. And I couldn't open my eye. Not due to eye boogers, or crusties or anything like that. No, still just a lot of tears. But the damn eye wouldn't open. And it hurt like a mutha! The whole eye.... the eyeball, the socket, the lid, the muscles behind it all. Oh, but then it started burning. BURNING!!! Eyes should not burn. EVER. (I know I learned at some point in my life that burning eyeballs was a bad thing. Might have been shop class, might have been Home Ec. ) Not one to just calmly lay in bed with a burning, watering eyeball, I jumped up and ran to the mirror.

It looked like I'd been punched in the face (Bug actually stated that it looked like maybe Dad had hit me in the eye with his elbow. 'Cuz we all knew that Dad wouldn't ever even accidentally punch me. But an elbow? Definitely a possibility.). My eye wouldn't open because it was swollen shut! WHAT THE HECK???

Now, here's where I can only claim temporary insanity caused no doubt by the burning in my eyeball. I decided that I had to go into the office anyway, because I'd already been out for two days. So, I bravely put my contacts in (OH MY FREAKING HELL... the burning and pain that ensued from that action alone would have made a baby out of the toughest Marine!). I even went so far as to put makeup on. Sort of. See, I couldn't *quite* bring myself to touch that eye again, so I only put makeup on the left eye. Apparently, I was quite ok with going into work, where I deal with various people all day long, looking like one of the lead characters in A Clockwork Orange. Who'd been socked in the eye. And who kept having tears running down her cheek. And then.... my insanity reached its peak.

I actually tried driving into work. People, there is a reason that they do not allow blind people to operate a motor vehicle. ITS BECAUSE THEY CAN'T SEE! I had to pull over no less than 5 times before I finally called my office to explain why I wouldn't be in AGAIN today. And I'd only made it about 10 miles. Then I turned around and drove home. Praying the whole time that I'd actually make it. Fortunately, no person, vehicle, or roadside animal was harmed in the loss of and subsequent recreation of my sanity.

Having reached my house successfully in one piece, I deduced it would be a wise idea to consult a medical professional about my eye. 'Cuz it wasn't getting any better. I also decided that it might be best if I had someone else drive me there. Because by the time I called my mother-in-law I was running into furniture in my house. That wasn't moving. So um, yeah. I wasn't going to be driving myself.

Fast forward a bit to the doctor's office. Speed through the hour wait, with fifteen screaming children (ok.. it might have been more like five. So I exaggerate *shrug*.) throwing toys around the waiting room and climbing on everything to see the clown fish in the tank. (Nemo! Dori! HI!!! I liked that movie until today.) The nurse took me back, and told me she was going to check my vision. WHAT?? I can't open the stupid eye, what makes you think I can read that chart?? Yeah.... I read the second line. F P. I think. Of course, then I had to admit that I had my contact lens in. (Yes, I was still suffering from insanity.) After *gently* telling me to remove it, she went to get the doctor. Who, after a very brief examination of my eye, said this:

If I had to hazard a guess, I'd go with its a very seldom seen, extremely dramatic case of possible pink eye. Although I'm not 100% sure, and am concerned with the suddenness it came on (remember, I woke up with it this morning), and the lack of anything oozing (nope, just copious amounts of tears).

WHAT?!? You're guessing? On a possibility? WITH MY EYE?!? He sent me home with a prescription for anti-biotic eye drops, and the advice to call him tomorrow afternoon if my eye isn't any better for a referral to an eye specialist. Oh... and not to put my contacts back in at all. Until this all clears up. Which could be days. DAYS, people!!

Yeah. Did I mention that without those little miracle eyes I'm just about legally blind? No kidding. I can't see beyond 5 inches from my nose. My kids had sooooo much fun making fun of mom tonight when I couldn't see to cook dinner (Coach did it, and did a marvelous job, too!) and couldn't see to watch TV (although I'm not quite gullible enough to believe everything they were telling me.)

So um... no more driving for me for a few days. Although, if this stupid eye is better tomorrow I'm putting those suckers back in to go to work on Friday.