Mother of the Year, Mothertrucker

When The Kid was little, I was petrified that something would happen to my little girl, and she wouldn't know what to do.

 I wanted to equip her for anything... bad touches, peer pressure, bullying, drugs, kidnapping.    We played with dolls and acted things out,  role-played scenes, and  had mini conversations. If it was suggested in a parenting magazine, I did it.    Not obsessively, because I didn't want her to grow up to be a bigger freak than her DNA already assured she would be, but just enough that she would *hopefully* feel in control if something were to come up.

There she'd be innocently taking a bubble bath (yes, I know they cause UTIs in tiny humans, but apparently, my kid's urethra was super long....don't judge my parenting, yet.  There are worse things going to happen later in this post.), and I would casually ask her who has touched her little girl bits. Then, we would talk about who was allowed to and who wasn't and what to do if someone tried to.

When she got older and she started school, we played out bullying scenarios and what to do or say if someone said something to her face.

We talked about what to do for peer pressure.  For drugs.  For alcohol.  For cigarettes.  

We would role play, and I would say something like, "Well, you're a chicken.  Your parents will never find out. Do it!"

She'd respond, and we would talk about responses she could make.

We've not done it in a couple of years.

The other day,however,  it completely came back to bite me in the ass.

I have been consumed  addicted playing a game called "Run with Friends."  Sounds like I'd be healthy, right?
Ha.  Ha.  Hehe.  Snort.

Um, no.

It's a game where you are thrust into the world of running the streets of Pamplona, Spain during the running of the bulls.  Barrels  inexplicably come flying at you; random hay bales litter the streets; and slow-running "friends" try to trip you up as bulls run behind you and straight at you as your character runs faster and faster down the winding streets.  After your turn, your real life friends get to try their hand at the course and bragging rights ensue.

People, I'm going to say something here that shocks you.... I love this game more than Candy Crush.

There. I said it.   And it's true.

I love it.

I have tried to get The Kid interested in it, but she's been reluctant.  I, after much begging, finally got her to try it on my iPhone.    She stunk.

Quickly, she gave me the phone back.

"I don't like that game," she said petulantly.

"Come on! It's great! Try it again," I offered.

"Nope," she steadfastly refused.

"It's good!" I said.

"Nope," The Kid replied.

We went back and forth like this for awhile, and I'm sad to admit it ended with me making chicken noises and walking around the living room bobbing my head and flapping my "wings."

Not my finest moment as a parent, I know, but we both were laughing, because I am one ah-mazing chicken impersonator.

My Kid's response to the peer pressure, though?

"We've talked about this before, and you said that when someone is trying to pressure me and they make that sound, it's probably something that isn't wise for me to do, so no!"

Wow?  I said that? I might be a good parent after all.  Yea me!

She actually listened to me, internalized it, and used it?  Go her!

I really wanted her to try the game again, so I begged her once more, "Just try it one time!"

"Peer pressure won't work on me! Back the heck up, mothertrucker!"  she said proudly.

I kid you not, those were her exact words.

I just kind of blinked at her.  She grinned.

"Did I teach you that?" I asked.

"Yep!"

"Those exact words?"  (Because let's face it, SOMETIMES, not often,  I lack a filter between my head and my mouth.)

"Yep those exact words, mom!  Aren't you proud I remembered?"

Yeah.  Yeah, I am.

Wow.

I'm sure my Mother of the Year award is in the mail as we speak.

Fish Toilets and Jet Skis

One day Big Daddy came home with this.   He was working at a motorcycle shop and all his friends had one.  It'll be fun, he said.  You'll like it, he said.   I've always wanted one, he said.

Yay, I said weakly, throwing my hands about me in a bad jazz hands rendition.

You see, I hate the water.  I am petrified of it.   I don't like water that I can't touch the bottom in, so for me, that limits the deep end of the swimming pool, and I HATE water I can't see in.     Fish die there.  They poop there.  It's like swimming in a fish toilet.  You're in their house.  Maybe they don't want you there that day.  There are days I don't want people in my house.  Maybe they're grumpy.  Who know what's in the water?  Have you seen the size of some of the fish people catch???  No lakes.  No oceans.  Unless I can see the bottom or I'm not in passed my waist.   No, thank you.

I've hated the water for as long as I can remember.  When I was in first grade, my mom's best friend had a swimming pool.  She lived down the street from us, and we spent the summer splashing around in the shallow end.  One day, someone decided to turn on the slide, and people started zooming down and splashing around in the deep end.   I didn't know how to swim, and I was positive if I went down the slide I would drown.

Someone had the bright idea of putting me on the slide. I fought and fought, positive I was going to die.  I was put on the slide anyway, and they pushed my tiny, little baby girl body down the slide.    I held on to the edges of that fiberglass slide as though my life depended on it, because it did.  

My hand were flayed open.  And I still went into the water.  

In fifth grade, the mom of one of my friends read my palm, and told me I would die in water and have one child.   Thanks.  Every 10 year old needs someone to feed their phobia.

In college, I had my palm read again, and again, I was told to avoid water.

So I do.

No oceans.  No lakes.   It's a rule.

My luck, I'll slip in the bathtub, break my neck and drown under the faucet, or I'll choke on my water in the middle of Red Lobster and that'll be it.

Big Daddy didn't really know all of this, though, because we aren't really "lake people".    He wanted to hang with his friends at the lake and have fun, so....

Jet Ski.    Yay.....

He took me to the store and I got fitted for a life jacket.  Good plan, since I was GOING TO DIE.

I was not thrilled at the prospect of the lake, but at that point in our relationship, I was all about stuffing and not really letting him see what I liked and didn't like, because I wanted to please him in all things.  Very 1950s housewife to the nth degree.  Mistake number one.

Off we went to the lake; I met his coworkers and their wives and girlfriends.   We ate.  We relaxed.  The boys rode jet skis while the girls gossiped.

Life was good.

Until the boys came back to shore and said, "Your turn!"

Several of the girls, giggled, dusted the sand from their butts, and bounced out into the water.   I, on the other hand, looked at Big Daddy like he had lost his freakin' mind.

He just smiled and held out his hand, ready to show me how to ride the water demon.   Apparently, though, ride wasn't the right word.   You see, while the other guys had jet skis, you sat down on, this one you had to stand up on.  Like this....

Looks fun, right?  

No. It does not.   

In order to get to your feet, you had to twist the throttle and drag yourself by your arms behind the jet ski so  you resemble an orangutan riding motorcross.

According to Big Daddy's directions, you just let the jet ski drag your dead weight through the water, and then, like a ninja, you pop up to your knees on the jet ski, and ride that way for a while, and then pop up to your feet, when you hit top speed.  When I asked how I would know how fast to do each of these steps, I was informed I would just  know. 

 'K.  Let me get this straight. 

Me, the girl who can trip on flat surfaces and who is deathly afraid of water and who has the upper body strength of a three month old, is going to drag her body through the water, magically know when to ninja herself to her knees gracefully, and then in one swoop jump up like a jack in the box all while wearing a restrictive life jacket and careening across a lake.  

Hell, yeah, I can do this. NOT.

Big Daddy showed me how to do it several times while I was still safe on shore.  Then he took me out into the lake and started the jet ski. He floated along behind me, and we practiced several times.   

After several times, my arms were exhausted.  My ribs were bruised.  My thighs were banged up. I had huge marks up and down my shins.  I couldn't get the jet ski and my body to coordinate.  Either I flooded the engine, or I couldn't get my body up when I was supposed to.    

Big Daddy was getting frustrated, and I was getting flat out pissed.   Resolutely, I decided to try one last time.  Mistake number two.

Big Daddy, as he was floating along behind me,  kept telling me, "Give it more gas.  More gas!!! Don't be afraid of it."  The jet ski was puttering us around the lake; and I punched the throttle. 

 Suddenly, I was going across the lake about a gazillion miles an hour, my body skipping like a stone across the surface of the water, Big Daddy flopping along behind me like a rag doll. In a flash, it was like a weight had been lifted, and the motor kicked into high..   I looked back in fear, hanging on for dear life, and Big Daddy was a tiny spec floating far, far away in huge circle of white foam. The force cutting through the water forced a huge wave behind the jet ski had slapped him with a wall of water straight to his mouth and nose, making him to let go in self-defense. I looked back in front of me.   This wasn't quite how I planned it, but I was on my own.  Step one accomplished, so I tried to ninja to my knees.

As I was bouncing along behind the out of control jet ski and attempting to drag myself up to kneeling at the same time, I saw a boat coming straight toward me.  Or maybe I was going straight toward it.  I don't really know, but I panicked and turned the jet ski hard to the side, successfully, drowning the motor, and stopping me from certain death.  The boat zoomed by me, and the wake rocked me and the jet ski, pitifully.  

I tried to start the motor, but it wouldn't work.   I tried over and over.   I was exhausted and way too far from the beach to swim.   Big Daddy looked like he was about an 1/8 of inch tall.    I could tell by all the movement, they were freaking out back on the beach.

Finally,a couple of people jumped onto a jet ski and decided to rescue me.  Thankfully, it was a sit down jet ski, and thankfully Big Daddy was still back on the beach.  He was livid.

We never went back to the lake with that jet ski.  Big Daddy didn't learn though.   He took me back to the lake one other time.   On a catamaran,  but that time, HE almost died.   

But that's a blog post for another day. 

Snow White's Got Nothing on Me

Sometimes, I feel like I am on a secret medical show.  I don't realize I'm on it, but everyone else is in on the gag.

"What crazy crap can we diagnosis Kristi with next?"

Let's count just the top ten odd medical things that have happened in my life...

1.  I've  already told you about the time I ruptured my ear drum with a Q-tip.  Yes, it can happen. Yes, it hurts like hell.

2.  In the same post, I gave you the lowdown on my finger getting caught in a bowling ball and rupturing all the tendons.  Because, of course, getting your finger stuck in the ball *always* happens to people who aren't in cartoons.

3.  Then, there's the day my large intestine decided to vacate my body.  That was a fun, fun day.

4. Oh, and the time my ovary tried to kill me by exploding.  Seriously.  Exploding....like an organ bomb. An. Organ.  Bomb.   Just think about that.

5.  And, of course, because of the same bitchy ovary, I got peritonitis from it and swelled up like a nine month pregnant woman because of all the infection coursing through my internal organs.   That was a jolly good 8 days in the hospital.

6.  Once while playing basketball, I came down on my ankle wrong, and tore the tendons in it.... badly enough that you could pull my foot away from my leg like a drawer out of a dresser.    Now THAT felt
ah-mazing, I'm here to tell you.

7. When I was a senior, I got mono.   That's normal enough.  Until I developed mono hepatitis and my liver swelled up like a third boob on my abdomen, and my spleen, not wanting to be left out, decided it didn't want to work anymore either and became grumpy and inflamed.   I had a note from the doctor saying I couldn't wear a seat belt, because if my mom slammed on the brakes, my liver would lacerate, and I would bleed  to death before I made it to the hospital.  Eventually I was sick enough that they told mom to take me home and make me comfortable.  I'd get better or I wouldn't.  Hooray, HMOs and crappy insurance in the 80s.

8.  A couple of years ago, I got a lovely case of Dog Whooping Cough.   Yep, Bordatello.   Kennel Cough.   That was me.   The whole school had to be cleaned because kids get whooping cough booster shots in the seventh grade, and guess who teaches seventh grade?  Yep, that's right.  This gal.

9. After major surgery, I developed a raging case of C. diff.,  a scary antibiotic resistant superbug which makes you so sick with vile, foul-smelling uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting that you can't keep down water.  I spent almost three weeks in the hospital.   At my worst, I was losing a pound a day.  Everything made me nauseous.   The only upside was I developed a crazy, grizzly bear-like smelling ability.  I could actually smell the medicine they used to flush my IV.  I could smell what people had eaten hours before.  I could pick out their lotion or body wash or hair spray.    Sounds awesome, but the smell of EVERYTHING, even my own shampoo, made me throw up. If you ever get a choice in a superpower, this is NOT the one to pick.   They brought me  a chemo nurse who didn't wear perfume or lotion.  I also received a lovely PICC line which delivered this thick, IV goop directly into my heart, so I wouldn't die.   Two of the best gifts I've ever received.

*sigh*  Memory Lane.    Good.  Times.

Then there's our latest installment of weird crap that Kristi gets and should make her her own reality show.....

I got sun poisoning.

Yep, you can be poisoned by the sun.  Who knew?

Apparently, according to the doctor, "normal" people (his word, not mine)   blister outward with a sunburn.  Sometimes, people blister in and so there ya go.

I was outside for three hours on a Saturday.  Three hours.  That's it.  I didn't have sunscreen on, because really, it was three hours.   Who burns that quickly?

This girl on that day, apparently.

The sunburn started normally enough.   That night I started getting red....and then redder...and then redder.

I thought it was weird, but I am the color of an Irish albino ghost normally, so I just thought I DEFINITELY needed to get out into the sun a *wee* bit more this summer.

Sunday morning, I woke up and my forehead looked like this.

Okay.. maybe not *just* like that, but my forehead swelled up so much it jiggled  like jello when I walked, and stuck out like someone had stuffed a turtle under my skin while I slept.  

Crazy weirdness.

I didn't feel well that day as I battled a headache, but we went grocery shopping, because apparently, despite how I am feeling, people in my house think they still  need to eat.

As we wandered the aisles of Kroger and my forehead shimmered like some desert mirage, a young mom looked me straight in the eye, watched my forehead wiggle, and said, "Oh!! That reminds me!!  We need aloe vera!"

Yeah... me too.

I posted something on Facebook about my crazy sunburn and a gazillion and four homemade remedies came in.  

I tried vinegar and brown paper sacks. Nothing.  I tried Noxema (which actually felt flippin' amazing and gets my vote).   I did the aloe thing.  Nothing.

Something  I did took the sting out, however the forehead just kept swelling and swelling, though.  Monday was Memorial Day, so I didn't have to go to work.  That was excellent because my headache was now worse.   I just hung out on the couch and moaned all day.  Tuesday, I went to work.  One of my friends, who had seen the pictures I'd put on Facebook,  stopped by my classroom and said, "Wow.  My daughter had sun poisoning one time, and you look just like her, but her swelling went all down into her eyes.  You're lucky."  

From her mouth to the angry Coppertone god's ears.

Within an hour, I started having difficulty blinking.  When I went to the bathroom I was shocked to see that my entire eye looked like someone had punched me.  The swelling was moving down.

I called urgent care and went in.   The doctor informed me I had sun poisoning.  I didn't understand how it was possible.  I've been outside plenty of times.  This has never happened before. Was it something I did or didn't do it?  He explained that sometimes, we just take on more UV than we should, but doctors don't know why.   Even if I had worn sunscreen that day, this may have happened... just to a lesser degree.   He gave me a steroid shot, told me to drink lots of water,  and said that I life would be great in a day or two.  

He lied.

Oh, how he lied.

The next day I was worse.  My headache was a full-on migraine.  One of my eyes had bruised beneath and both eyes were attempting to swell shut.  My left side of my face was numb and funny feeling, and occasionally, when I would speak, I would make this funky pfffft noise like a horse farting. My mouth and eye on the same side started drooping slightly.  I was drooling a little, and my left eye wouldn't quit watering.

It was mucho sexy-o.

Hmmmmm. mmmm..

The good news was the sunburn was gone almost completely gone, and I was this beautiful brown color.

Back to the doctor I went.  My real doctor this time.   He was not pleased with my symptoms.  Apparently, my face had swollen up enough that it was pressing on a nerve and causing Bell's Palsy.   It wasn't a full on attack yet.... the swelling was just irritating the nerve.    If I laid down and didn't get up for the next three days while the steroids worked their hoo-doo magic, life should be good and the palsy would  go away.     If I didn't let gravity do its job, the attack would be full-on, get worse, and it would be anyone's guess as to when it went away.

I was forbidden from going to work the rest of the week.

Now let's, recap shall we?  Three hours in the sun. Sunburn.  Sun poisoning.  Bell's palsy.

What.   The.  HECK.

How many of you have worked in the yard,  wandered around at a flea market,  gone to garage sales, and not put on sunscreen?   Who would have thought three hours in the sun would make me look like Quasimodo on steroids?   Literally?

The moral of the story is this.  From now on, I will wear sunscreen.   And a floppy hat.    And sunglasses.  Long sleeves and jeans, if need be.

Who cares if I'm the color of milk?

A Pharmacy Tech is the Life for Me

I mentioned in "A Walmart Greeter Kind of Day" that I have often thought when teaching gets to be too much being a dental assistant might be the way to go.

"Clean your teeth"  Stab. Stab. Stab.
"Brush better."  Stab. Stab. Stab.
Having a bad day?  Stab. Stab. Stab.
Patient annoying you?  Stab. Stab. Stab.

You could get all your frustrations out at work.

After my recent experience at The Pharmacy That Shall Not Be Named But Starts With A W, I think I've changed my mind.  

I want to be a pharmacy tech.

There are five cars in the drive-thru, and eight customers in line.  One person is working all the registers and the drive-thru.  There are four other people behind the counter, studiously avoiding looking at the customers.  Since it's just one person doing all the work, does she up her game?  Walk faster?   Look flustered?   Move with anything more than cold molasses for muscles?   Show an inkling in her dull, vacant eyes that *every* *single* *person* in her close proximity that is not a co-worker, and possibly even them, are wishing they have voo-doo dolls of her cute, little Abercrombie-clad self so that they can cause her untold pain for her slowness?    Does she care?

No. She's like the honey badger.  She doesn't care at all.  

She doesn't work quicker.   She doesn't work more efficiently.  She doesn't even acknowledge that there is anyone else in the world besides the person she is working on.    No eye contact with anyone.   She doesn't look up, just keeps working.    No apologetic smiles to the others in line.   No multi-tasking.   Just plodding along, one person at a time until quitting time.

Is it brilliant customer service?   Or just an apathetic attitude?

I'm not sure.

She'll get to you when she gets to you.  Don't rush her.  You don't exist to her until you're in front of her.  No pressure.   No expectations.   No hurry.

What a life!  Dude, count me in.