Say Ahhhhh.....

Yesterday we took our annual trip up to Millersville to get the obligatory nine and ten year old check-ups for the older kids. We saw our usually warm and wonderful pediatrician and I felt particularly at ease since these trips are usually stress free (no one is ill and no big tests need to take place). I noticed something immediately  askew. Normally, you get a toothy grin and a hearty pat on the back from Doctor Wonderful  as the exams get underway, I mean I chose this guy for his demeanor and great bedside manor. This time he seemed all business, grim even. I scratched my head momentarily, but figured it must have been a rough day for him considering all the kids in the waiting room who had parents as lazy as me. We did wait until the second day of school to take care of the check up for goodness sake.
Here is how the conversation went after both kids had been examined and were buttoning up.

Doctor Wonderful: Have you discussed sex with them yet?

Me: Umm, well bits and pieces really.... uh just a little.

Doctor Wonderful: Suck it up (yes this did come out of his mouth) if they don't hear it from you they will hear it from their friends and on the internet. That is NOT the kind of misinformation they need to be filled with. Have the talk.

Me: Uh, o.k.

Doctor Wonderful: Are any of their peers smoking or drinking yet?

Me: GOD NO! They are still in kneesocks...I mean they still play four square and hopscotch on the playground!

Doctor Wonderful: Good. You need to tell them in no uncertain terms that smokers make bad friends. These are risk takers and we don't want that kind of influence.

Unaccustomed to this kind of abrupt questioning I was caught a bit off guard, but I wasn't shaken up enough not to notice that my kids eyes lit up when he mentioned smokers like they were lepers. I spun and gave both the stink eye immediately to stop them from revealilng what they were about to.  You see...my husband is a smoker and I did NOT want to hear that lecture at the end of a long day.

Me: (backing away grabbing ahold of both kids) O.K. then, we've got to get going! Thanks! Do I have a co-pay?

Kids: But Mommy, Daddy's a.........

Me: Right, Daddy will be home early today. Here eat these lollipops.

On the ride home everyone looked sullen. Gavan, my middle son thought for a while and then asked "So we can't be friends with Daddy?" I explained that the doctor was talking about other kids and that Daddy would keep trying to quit so that he could be healthy. Having narrowly escaped having to bumble my way through an excuse for the poor health habits of my spouse was enough of a victory for one day.

This Sign Says it All.

Forty Eight Hours of Annoyed

Last week, exhausted after a frustrating day and sad about the end of summer I sent my poor husband the following email.


Annoying things that have happened to me in the last 48 hours.

Unsecured metal shower curtain fell on my head while shampooing.

Dog's unwiped butt spread poop all over my newly laundered bed spread (two nights in a row)

I still have no sink in my bathroom.

Two trips to the Giant foiled when all baskets were spoken for so I took only what I could carry, which was enough to feed one of our three children for one meal. Oh and also there was no parking so I had to walk three blocks with my purchases.

My basement has been completely over run by aggressive and entitled cockroaches. All sleepover activity has been suspended since "cockroach gate" when one infiltrated the tent my daughter and her friend were sleeping in.

I spotted two rats looking like they were planning a coup in my backyard.

Speaking of the backyard, the unchecked growth of weeds and other undetermined plant life now rivals the pictures I see of the Amazon Rain Forest.

The last few "free" things I tried to do with my kids ended up costing me hundreds of dollars (cab fare, parking, food, etc.)


The last two attempts to play ball out front on the sidewalk resulted in the ball rolling in the street and quickly down the slope of the alley to be lost forever.

The entire front facing wall of my bedroom is collapsing from water damage caused by a leaky roof.

My larger dog is suffering with some sort of vile ear infection.

I have picked up ripped garbage bags and their former contents no less than two times today. (Again, thank you dogs)

My kids are screaming and wrestling in my living room seemingly unable to hear my pleas for quiet and calm.

We are out of checks and the cleaning lady is giving me the evil eye as she sweeps my filth and waits for my lame excuse.

Renew,Restore, Replenish

I love the beach. We are home now, I am still unpacking and frankly it's making me want to run back to the minivan and head straight for the ocean again. Almost everyone suffers from a "woe as me complex" as they watch the sun, surf and sand fade in the distance of the rear view mirror, but this vacation was so good that I found myself getting melancholy and misty eyed two days prior to departure. All I could think of was how poorly my real life measured up to my beach existence. I tried to give myself a mental "snap out of it" slap, because who am I to complain really? "You don't have it so bad!" I chided myself. Then suddenly I heard my mothers voice.

"You know who has it bad? The loincloth clad guy sleeping in the brush in sub Saharan Africa with a bush baby perched on his head, waiting in terrifying darkness for the man eating lion pride that devoured his whole village to come and finish him off. Now THAT'S a guy who's earned the right to feel sorry for himself missy, not you".

True, but i still want to have my rear end planted firmly in a beach chair while I watch the waves roll in.

Images From the Beach

Despite the angry face, she was actually having a smashing time with her extended family. I do admit, the intensity she is eyeballing me with is unnerving.

To Pool or Not to Pool

This picture is the best argument I've ever seen for joining the pool.

Every year we toy with the idea of re-joining our local pool at the Hilton (also known as the Hinkley Hilton) to enjoy the many pleasures a cold refreshing dip can offer.

The summer money hemorrhage has begun to take it's toll with sports and leisure camps raising prices (in DC it's almost mandatory to attend) and our vacation rental climbing steadily upward every year. The extra thousand or so it costs for three months of pool membership starts to look far less appealing.

Confessions of a Borderline Aerophobic

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."-- Helen Keller

There is nothing I love more than traveling to far flung places and soaking up all that these destinations have to offer. I also revel in the fact that I have , for the most part, vanquished a demon that threatens to snuff out the embers of many a potential globe trotter. Fear of flying.

Let me start with full disclosure. I was raised by parents with vastly different attitudes toward risk, the Jekyll and Hyde of adventure. My mother was was the white hot fist of fear and my father was a fly by the seat of your pants, devil may care reckless type. I would watch my mother white knuckle it on every flight we ever took together(until we started drugging her), while flashing an uneasy smile so as not to panic me. My dad, on the other hand peered fearlessly out the window enjoying every turbulent moment in the air. I have vivid memories of sitting quietly on the hood of our Chevy Impala just outside the landing strip of our local airport and glancing periodically at my mother's agonized mask of terror while we watched my father take flying lessons for his much sought after pilot's licence. Knowing my mother as well as I do, I also suspect some of that horror came from knowing they had let their life insurance policy lapse and a life of leisure would not be ours were he to perish in a fiery crash.

When I began to fly with some regularity, she began to crack a bit around the edges, dropping little fear nuggets about the "odds", keeping track of crashes and and airline safety records. "Quantas is very safe, they've never crashed" she'd parrot, sounding eerily like Ray Babbitt.

I began to wonder if the fear of flying itself was a metaphor representing something else entirely like the fear of letting go or fear of some new age cliche like not spreading your wings and being all you can be and embracing success. Then I realized that I didn't have that much hidden potential stifled away and it was probably just the residual effects of my mother's morbid imaginings of the kind of terror that is exclusively reserved for those going down in a terrible aviation disaster. "Just think" she'd ponder aloud "of how frightened and helpless those poor people were right before the end". Thanks mom, ick.

I was determined to fight back against the crippling wave of anxiety even if I had to brainwash myself and drug her (eventually I did both). Helping her understand the principles of aviation and the sensationalized media response to accidents did some good. However, I had no clever come back for her main concern about the high casualty rate per incident. "There are no fender benders in the sky" she'd chirp.

Over time I learned to sit back, relax and really enjoy every trip. Layovers became a time to people watch and read long ago abandoned books. Flights had fascinating (and sometimes famous) individuals to talk to and final destinations were the start of a whole new adventure.
Dad still jet sets and we still have to medicate my mom, but she takes her pill joyously and passes out cold until we wake her and help her down the tarmac to begin the next leg of our journey..the dreaded taxi ride. That, however is a whole different story.