auntbijou: (Default)
So... the Impossible Son is now a freshman in high school.

*pause for motherly whimpering*

In our small town, the freshman campus is separate from the high school. It's also on the other side of town from where we live. Not a big deal, because this is a small town. I am lucky, though, that his first period class, athletics, is at the high school, and so is his last class of the day, because this means he can walk to school in the morning and walk home in the afternoon, since the high school is just down the street from us. Which means... no more sitting in long slow lines of cars to drop off/pick up my student, HUZZAH!!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Since Impossible is also on the high school cross country team, this also means that every other morning, he has to be at the high school at 6:30 a.m. for running practice. The Husbandly One drops him off on his way to work, and if I wait long enough, I can go out on the back deck and see the whole team go running by. They get back to the school in time for the team to shower and get ready for their first period class. Which, for my son, is athletics, as I mentioned earlier.

The next thing I need to mention is that my son, at 14, is the tallest person in our house. He is all long arms and legs, and the basketball coach pretty much started drooling the moment the Impossible Son loped into the gym. So... the Impossible Son spends first period playing basketball pretty much nonstop. All. Period. Long.

All freshman who have their first and last periods at the high school are required to ride a bus to go back and forth. This bus leaves at a very specific time, and if a student isn't there at that time... too bad, so sad. There is only ONE bus for this. I totally get that.

However, what this means for athletic students is... depending on the coach, there is NO TIME FOR A SHOWER.

This... is NOT a good thing.

So, Tuesday morning of the second week of school, I was sitting and staring at the story I'm presently working on and wondering if I needed to do little tweaking of my outline when the Dropkick Murphys start screaming, "I'm a sailor peg, and I lost my leg! Climbing up the topsails, I lost my leeeeegggg!!"

It's my phone, and I think, "I turned in the athletic forms, he has all his school supplies, omg, what has he done now?"

"Hey, Mom."

I frown at look at the clock, thinking, did he miss the bus?

"I need to come home and take a shower."

Blink. Blink.

"Wait a minute, didn't you take a shower after class?"

"There was no time," he said a little sheepishly. "I mean, I barely have time after practice to throw on my clothes! I have to get out to the bus as fast as I can, no time for a shower!"

Okay, I know that's true, it was true when my daughter was a freshman, and will probably be true until the construction at the high school is finished.

"Impossible, you'll just have to suffer through it," I begin, knowing the school won't just let him come home. Then I realize, the ringtone was the Dropkick Murphys, not the Legend of Zelda. He was calling from the school office, not his own phone.

"Mom, everyone in my class says I reek! I stink, Mom, even the teacher says so! I need a shower!" he insisted.

It doesn't normally take me this long to catch on. "Wait a minute, are you just calling me on your own, or did the teacher send you to the office to actually go home and take a shower?"

"Yes, Mom, my teacher insisted!"

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

I was sort of stunned, but, having been around the Impossible Son when he was sweaty, I could sort of see it. Thing is, he didn't have that much of a body odor problem, really. It was mostly his feet that would get us during soccer season, where we would beg him to keep his shoes on until we were out of the car. But that's soccer pong, and just means keeping his gear clean. So, I got in the car and drove over to the freshman campus to sign him out.

The freshman campus was built in 1923 and has all the problems you'd associate with a building that old. It's small (the current class of freshmen are practically bursting out of the seams), it smells, and it's hard to air condition. In fact, only the classrooms and offices are air conditioned, while the halls are NOT. It's like walking into a sauna when you enter the building, and you want to hold your breath until you get into the office, where it's nice and cool. At least for a few minutes. Air conditioning at the freshman campus really means not as hot as the hall way.

So, I wade through the sauna to the relative comfort of the office to sign my son out. He arrives and keeps a careful distance from me, and when we get outside, immediately moves downwind of me.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he asks, eying me as we walk to the car.

"Not really." I take a careful sniff, but I don't smell much because... he's downwind.

"Just wait," he says ominously.

Amused, I unlock the car, we get in, I pull the window shade off the dash, start the car and get the AC going... and immediately my eyes start watering, my gag reflex leaps up and punches me in the throat, and my nose and lungs start rebelling and trying to escape.

"Oh... my... God..." I gag, turning to stare at my son in horror. "Did you roll in something dead??"

He's grinning at me. "I know, right?" The Impossible Son's cheeks are red with embarrassment, but there's an odd sort of pride in his eyes, too. "It's awful, isn't it? I told you! You didn't believe me!"

Frantically opening all the windows in my car, including the sun roof, with the AC going full blast in the faint hope of getting the... the... STANK out of my car, eyes watering and leaning away from my child, all I can say is, "Holy crap... how the fuck did this happen??"

"Mom," the Impossible Son says as leans helpfully away from me, "we ran four miles this morning in cross country, and then I had to go straight to basketball practice! No time for a shower! And then we barely have time to dress before we have to catch the bus! We all reek!"

I think all my nose hair was gone by the time we got home. My eyes are watering just remembering this. It was horrible. Like... old cheddar cheese that's been sitting in a bowl of water in direct sunlight for three days, and moldy soccer socks in a hot car, with a little muddy dog and three weeks unchanged cat litter box. During a hundred degree summer. With... sweat.

*is still horrified*

I never thought I'd ever say that about one of my children, but omg, he reeked. It made soccer pong look... pleasant.

So, after he'd decontaminated and changed clothes, he told me the story.

He was in his second period biology class, and the teacher had broken them up into smaller groups to work on their assignment. First, the kids in his group had started moving away from him with, "God, Impossible, WTF?" and "Dude, did you even take a shower??" Then some of the groups that were close to them started complaining and became vocal about insisting he go home to take a shower. The teacher, noticing the increasingly vocal protests, called him over to find out what was going on. At this point, Mr. Impossible had had enough. "Miss Biology Teacher, I really need to go home and take a shower," he said apologetically.

She said humorously, "So you're a little sweaty, you're fine, stop messing around and get back to work."

"No, I really, really stink, that's why they're all complaining," he insisted.

At that moment, the AC came on, and the vent was apparently behind him and blew air directly toward her. He said she was opening her mouth to probably tell him to go back to his table when his personal cloud of stench was blown into her face.

She froze. Her eyes went wide and her nostrils flared. Her eyes bulged as she stared up at him with horror, then they reddened and started to water. Her nose looked like it was trying to pinch itself shut. Her hands gripped the desk so hard, her knuckles went white. And her mouth snapped shut.

He said, "I seriously started to worry about her, because it was like... she stopped breathing!"

Of course, she stopped breathing! She was trying not to smell him.

After a moment, she started frantically pointing at the door. "You," she said, scooting hastily away from him after thrusting a hall pass at him. "You! Home! Now! SHOWER!!!"

"Well," I said, leaning toward him, "you smell much better now."

"I should," he said as we got in the car to go back to the freshman campus. "I used almost half my body wash cleaning myself off! Do they make industrial strength body wash?"

"No, and before you ask, Axe Body spray is not shower in a can," I said firmly. "If you had used it you would not have smelled better. You would still have the Stench, it just would have been... the Stench WITH Axe Body spray. And that would have been much worse."

"How do you know?" he asked as we pulled up to the school and I parked.

"Because the pot smokers at my high school used to try to disguise the smell of what they'd been doing before school started with this mint breath spray called Binaca. And it never worked." I grinned at him. "They never understood why they kept getting caught, but you know, it was because instead of smelling like pot smokers, they now smelled like Fresh MINTY Pot Smokers™!"

He laughed. "I'll pass that on!"

"Good. Because we're all kind of tired of smelling sweaty teen pong with Axe Body spray!"

You know, I'm still working on getting the smell out of my car!
auntbijou: (Default)
I somehow never envisioned this day.

Well, I did, but far off in some misty, distant future, nebulous and untouchable in the land of Someday. Because in my mind's eye, last week, my daughter was two and lurching around the living room with a very large dog and three attendant cats, chocolate smeared around her mouth from the chocolate chip cookie she was hanging onto with fierce determination as she headed for her goal; the front door.

Three days ago, she was pushing her baby brother in a giant Tonka truck across the kitchen floor while he squealed with glee, making "Vroom! Vroom!" noises while the Triplicats scattered out of the way.

Two days ago, she was waving impatiently at me to leave as I hovered outside her first grade classroom, her brother in a backpack on my back, hoping she was going to be okay, and that she would make friends.

Yesterday, she was playing in her first soccer game, stunning us both as she displayed a determination and ferocity that has gotten her through every hurdle that has been placed in her way. I still remember having to hold onto the Husbandly One when a kid who seemed like a veritable giant loomed over her and looked like he was going to plonk a massive fist on top of her head and crush her as he stole the ball from her. She looked up at him, sniffed derisively, then plowed him over as she took the ball back, and passed it to one of the forwards, who immediately took it and made a goal. She then turned to face the boy and flounced past him to show how beneath her contempt he was and ignored him for the rest of the game.

It was very demoralizing for him.

Last night, I hugged my seventeen year old daughter for the last time, and this morning, I hugged my eighteen year old daughter for the first time.

The night the Impertinent Daughter was born was one of the most... ridiculous and yet wonderful nights of my life. My water broke three fourths of the way through an episode of the X-Files, an episode I still to this day have never seen through to the end, and then we were rushing to the hospital, feeling woefully unprepared. I mean, we decided on her name on the way to the hospital!! Seriously!!

I had a C-section, because she was a breech baby, and I remember when I heard that first cry thinking, "Oh, my God... what have I done? What have I done?? I can't be a mother!! I'm too immature!! I'm not stable enough! I'm gonna fuck her up, and she'll be lying on a couch by the time she's 25, spilling her guts to a therapist about her whacko mom and how she totally fucked her up and... and... I CAN'T DO THIS!!"

Meanwhile, they were cleaning her up, and the Husbandly One was looking at her and cutting the cord and all that, and then they laid her in my arms, wrapped up like a little burrito. I looked into her tired little scrunched up face, her centuries old eyes looking up into mine, and felt my breath catch. She wriggled a tiny hand free of the burrito wrap, then reached up to touch my face, stroking my chin, and suddenly, I was calm.

I could do this.

We could do this. We would grow and learn together, and we could totally do this.

And now, here we are, eighteen years later. She's got a driver's license. She'll be graduating from high school in a few weeks. And there's a part of me that's screaming, "No, no, I can't do this! I can't let go of my little girl, my baby, my firstborn, I can't let her go out into the wild, crazy world, because she's not ready! I'M not ready!!"

Today, she hugged me, and touched my face, and I thought, "Maybe... maybe I can do this."

Nah, not really, but you know... I'll give it a really good try.

Happy Birthday, Impertinent Daughter. You have given the roller coaster of my life some really wild twists and turns, some of them utterly terrifying, but I hung on and I've enjoyed the ride. And I can't wait to see where it'll take us next!!



Friday, July 12th, 2013 09:12 am
auntbijou: (Dancing Snape)
The Husbandly One surprised me yesterday with a brand new MacBook Air!!!

I was not expecting a new laptop this soon at all. I mean, I was hoping for one, since my Vaio died such an ignominious death (and I'm still hoping I can recover the hard drive), but not expecting one at any time before my birthday... maybe. So... I'm really happy!

Writing while out and about has been difficult since losing the Vaio. In fact, the last two times at the library while the kids were at their summer Animanga Club meetings was... frustrating. Trying to use THO's netbook sucked, because... one, it's Windows, and two, THO spilled liquid in the keyboard and thus, some of the keys are sticky, plus it's only got a partial version of Windows 7 (it came that way, if you want the actual full OS... you have to buy it. Extra. Yeah.) so it runs a little slow and it doesn't like using Word. I mean, it will run it, but it considers Word a bit dodgy and thinks less of you for using it.

I admire the Husbandly One's fortitude in using the damn thing.

The second time we were at the library, I borrowed the Impertinent Daughter's MacBook, and realized only after getting to the library that while I had installed Word for Mac on it (at her request, since her school uses Windows), I had not yet installed Pages... and the files on my USB drive were for Pages. I managed a work-around and did fine after that, but that should be one of my goals today, to install iWork on her Mac.

I finally asked THO about taking the Vaio somewhere to get it fixed, because, dammit, I need something to write on, something portable!! Dammit!!

And it wasn't like yesterday wasn't surreal on its own, you know? The Impertinent Daughter finished up the classroom instruction part of the driving course offered at the high school (by an independent driving school) and came home much earlier than I expected, and hit her own version of the Wall of Fatigue. So I left her at home to take a nap, with a guardian little brother, and went for a blissfully peaceful grocery shopping trip. And I'm glad, too, because that's where the surreal part of my day started.

It started with an unexpectedly deep voice behind me saying, "Can I get that for you, Mrs. J?" when I was on my tiptoes trying to get to a package well out of my reach. And I turned around, fully expecting to see my usual Helpful Tall Shop Assistant... and discovered one of my daughter's friends standing there. And I realized three things.

1. He was VERY tall.

2. His voice has gotten deeper since I last spoke to him five weeks ago.

3. He's old enough to work at the grocery store.


Two weeks ago, he was in first grade, shyly introducing himself to the Impertinent Daughter, with pale blond hair and apple red cheeks. Last week, he was sitting on the sidelines of a soccer game, tears streaming down his cheeks as I cleaned and bandaged his bloody knee while his mom was gone on a snacks run for half-time because the parent who was supposed to have brought snacks forgot. Yesterday, he was in fifth grade and excitedly telling me how he was going to be in marching band when he started junior high.

There is no way he's old enough to be working at the grocery store!!! NO!!!

Later, I was grabbing a bag of sugar, and heard, "Hi, Mrs. J!!" And there was a girl my daughter has known since... third grade. And... no. Just... no.

I found yet another teenager that my daughter played youth soccer with in the paper aisle. And it just went on and on, all these kids that in my head are still... little... and they're not. And then, when I was checking out, again, a girl from my daughter's class at the cash register, and a boy sacking my groceries, and saying, "Hey, Mrs. J, let me get the ice for you so you don't forget it."



It was bad enough when I realized three years ago that I could no longer perv on the high school boy's cross country track team, because... it was now half populated with boys I had known since they were four and five. But now, they're... turning into people!!

Totally skewed my world view, man!!

My daughter pretty much laughed at me when I got home and related all of this to her, and I had to confront the fact that my daughter is a senior and will be graduating next MAY!!!

*more hyperventilating*

Then, I went to get my hair cut, and she went along with me, and as my uber-awesome stylist was cutting my hair, she started saying, "Oh... my God." She'd cut more, huff, then go, "Oh. My. God." Then a grimace, another huff, and, "Omigod." Then, "Oh, my fucking GOD."

After the seventh repetition of this, I finally said, "Uh... what's going on?" Because the last time I heard that, I was 18 and the lady who had been cutting my hair since I was 11 was ready to kill my hair.

Ms. Stylist grimaced and said, "Your hair is frustrating me. It's never frustrated me before! I've been cutting your hair a long time, Auntie, and I've never seen it do this."

"Do what?" I asked, stunned.

"Well... it's... baby fine, and so... thick... and it's just... every time I cut a section and start to move on, something pops out and I realized I missed something, and I have to go back and cut it, and then something else pops out, and... it's kinda making me nuts here," she said grimly.

And that's when it dawned on me. My hair was coming back. The endocrinologist changed me off the Synthroid/Cytomel combo he had me on and put me on Armour Thyroid, because the S/C combo just wasn't helping. My hair was still falling out, I was still very fatigued, and just not getting better.

I knew my hair was coming back, and I was getting it cut because it was like wearing a wool mop on my head. And I knew it was getting thicker, because I was having to use heavier pony tail holders to pull it back. But... I didn't realize it had come back to the original texture of being baby fine and deceptively thick.

Ms. Stylist kept cutting and cutting, and fluffing and fluffing, and cutting more, and finally, she said, "Next hair cut, we're thinning this shit out!"

*dies laughing*

After we got home, the Impertinent One and I settled in for a "Bones" marathon while the Impossible Son went off to do boy things with his friend across the street, and the Husbandly One texted that he was going to have to work late.

Yeah, he was totally off buying my new SHINY!!!

*dance of joy, dance of joy*

Coolest. Husband. EVER.
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
The Impossible Son has one class period that at one time might have been called "study hall." However, this one is more interactive, as it's basically a tutoring period because our district fell way behind on math and reading scores ("hmmmm, wonder how that happened?" Auntie asks sarcastically). So... he's getting extra help in math and in language arts.

So, a couple of days ago, they were working on "correcting sentence fragments," basically changing fragments and making them into whole sentences. And the example given was "at the station," which had a finished example of "I can meet you at the station tomorrow morning."

Then the teacher made the mistake of saying, "But that's boring, I'm sure y'all can do better than that!"


So... these are the sentences my SON came up with. His "corrections" will be in italics. You might want to put any liquids far from the computer, and don't drink anything while reading, because some of them are surprisingly hysterical.

Don't say I didn't warn you!

1. Before the dance I killed a vampire.

2. While we worked on the experiment my friends turned into zombies.

3. Once the baseball season begins, THEY WILL COME!!

4. Ahead of me, he watched me with a bat.

5. After the summer vacation, vampires came.

6. Without a pen or pencil I can't kill Bigfoot.

7. Opposite the park he still watched me, but with Bigfoot.

8. When she began to speak a bear came, wielding a sword.

9. Even though the temperature was warm, the bears took over.

10. From my seat, I could see the orcs coming.

11. Next to the library, they were still watching me.

12. How the rumor spread was because of the duck.

13. On top of my dresser was a honey badger.

14. Past the principal's office, they continued to watch me.

15. When they are found, we take them to NARNIA!!

I think my personal favorite is #6. I laughed so hard when he read that one out to me that I nearly drove us into a ditch. Though... a bear wielding a sword is pretty funny, and so is a honey badger on a dresser. I wonder if it cares?

For eleven years old and having virtually no writing instruction beyond what I cram down his throat during those times he's willing to sit still for it, that's not a bad fledgling effort at letting his wonderfully weird sense of humor show through. What kind of bothers me, though, is the teacher had laughed and said, "This is weird. It's crazy, what's up with this??"

And then I remembered, "Oh, wait, that's right, they don't have things like irony, humor, and creativity here." Because, you know, this sort of thing, well... it's normal at my house!

Yes, yes, I'm getting sarcastic again.

Still, I'm proud of what he's done, and happy to see his creativity developing. I can't wait to see what he does next!
auntbijou: (Dancing Snape)
Yes, yes, haven't updated in forever, I know, I know. Life has been busy, and plenty to do and all that stuff. As usual.

So, how have things been? Well, let's see. After weeks and weeks of annoying low-level headaches thanks to being reduced to taking Prilosec while waiting to find out what exactly is going on with our medical insurance, I am now back on the Dexilant, and today is the first headache free day I've had in what feels like forever.

Second... I've been hesitant to proclaim this, but seeing as I'm back on the Dexilant, why not?

I haven't taken my asthma meds in over three months. I haven't needed my asthma meds in over three months. This isn't to say I don't have asthma, because I do, but at the moment, I'd say it's relatively mild, almost to non-existent. Why? Because... I don't think I have asthma. I have acid reflux. Which is being taken care of by the Dexilant.

And I have to say, it is the weirdest thing, to realize that I have been taking asthma medications for some twenty years now that... I probably didn't need. Except I did, because twenty years ago, they didn't have any of the medications that they have now for acid reflux. I remember actually getting medication for acid reflux twenty years ago that didn't even come close to making a dent in my asthma... and I wasn't being treated for acid reflux! I was being treated for a gall bladder flare up that had me throwing up almost constantly, and my doctor was trying to protect my esophagus. So... it's extremely weird to think that my problem all this time has been acid reflux, and when I told my gastro that, he said, "Actually, it's quite common," and he explained why, which I am not going to share because... EWWWWWW!!!

Still, I have to say, the Dexilant has changed my life, and I'm grateful. It's worth the hassle I've been through over the last two months. Seriously.

And I have some... pretty incredible news. Yesterday, for the very first time ever. EVER. The Impossible Son got a 100 on a math quiz.

*pauses to let you all absorb that*

Yes, you read that right. He got a 100 on a MATH QUIZ!!! HUZZAH!!!!!! *does cartwheels*

First, he has a pretty awesome math teacher. Second, because our district has not met "Adequate Yearly Progress" (AYP) in math and reading (among other requirements that haven't been met) my son's class is required to take an extra class that is basically a tutorial class in math and reading. Which is awesome because Mr. Impossible is finally getting the instruction in all the stuff he was supposed to have learned in elementary, and they've finally stopped teaching the stupid "strategies" that were actually hampering his ability to learn math. I'm sorry, but teaching kids the "shortcuts" in how to do certain math functions before you teach them to do it the "long way" is... well... STUPID.

And over at the high school, the district has all of a sudden come to the horrifying realization that, "OMG, our students have no clue when it comes to writing! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN???"

*makes a rude noise*

I'll tell you how it happened, you idiots. It happened because you were teaching the kids how to take a stupid standardized test for the last ten years, and you skipped over some very vital bits of instruction, and gave them the bare minimum it took for them to be able to write a little essay for the test. Woopie. Ding. Dong. And now, now that things have changed, that when you realized, hey, wait a minute... they don't know anything.

The Impertinent Daughter's class is the last who will take the TAKS, and only now is the district changing the curriculum and actually requiring them to know how to write. So over the last two weeks, Miss Impertinent has been literally sitting at the table, staring at her notes, her head spinning as she contemplates complex sentences and structure, compound words, predicate nominatives, superlatives, and all those wonderful parts of speech that my generation was learning in second grade, and that hasn't been taught in our schools in, what... fifteen years??? And all of a sudden, they're supposed to know it? Heh... I know my kid isn't the only one sitting in her chair, looking hopelessly lost while swathed in a paper cocoon of notes!!

So far, that's all I got. But... that's enough, don't you think?

Oh... and I'm contemplating the arrival of... 49. And gave the Blonde Sister heart failure when I pointed out that next year, I'll be contemplating 50.


Facebook Status, Anyone?

Wednesday, June 13th, 2012 05:29 pm
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
This is what I posted on Facebook a few minutes ago...

"Grocery shopping with my children is rather like being orbited by my own tiny planet and moon. A hyper, dancing, chattering, extremely frenetic tiny planet while a very grouchy, cranky moon continually snarks and fusses at the tiny planet. No wonder I forget stuff. Aleve, please?"

The Impossible Son orbits around me, literally sticking to my side and hopping, dancing, twirling, and jigging on both sides of me, and behind me, and in front of me, until I can't keep track of him and I end up almost falling over him or bumping him or... yeah. And yes, it drives me NUTS. It was one thing when he was small and I could easily move him either into the basket or up on my back or hip and thus out of the way.

Now, however, he's eleven, and he's in that all long arms/long legs stage of pre-explosive growth, and that's just entirely too much boy to be dancing around Mama and nearly tripping her up!

And while he's doing this, he's talking my ear off and with the grocery store being full of people and annoying music, I can't make out a word he's saying, and I can't focus or concentrate for anything. GAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

In the meantime, my daughter is pushing the basket, fussing almost nonstop at him to get off the shelf, get off the the display, move out of the way, don't touch that, put that down, don't pick that up, get that for Mum, please, no, don't put that in the basket, not that one, genius, the other one, wait, no, don't touch that or you'll knock it all over... MOOOOOM!!!

Yes, as you can see, the fun of grocery shopping with my kids lives on.

It's very... migraine inducing.

Good thing I love them. Of course, I can't walk away from them and pretend they aren't mine because (1) they look just like me and (2) it's a small town, everybody knows us, and no one is fooled any more, though they might take them off my hands for an hour or two out of sheer kindness. Maybe.

Have I mentioned that my kids are also going through the ravenous wolf phase? The Impossible Son is eating nearly everything in sight. Fruit doesn't last long in our house. Or frozen vegetables. Or crackers. Or ham. Or hot dogs. Or leftover grilled hamburger patties. Or cheese. Or chips. Or bananas... dammit, I forgot bananas!!


And the Impertinent Daughter, at 16, is still growing, and has moments of, "I'm not hungry," followed by three or four days of, "eat ALL the food in the house!!" And there are days when she sort of eyes her brother, but he's too skinny to eat. Not enough meat on those long bones of his. Perhaps I should be nervous!

And then the Husbandly One comes home and says, "Where's all the food?? Didn't you just go grocery shopping???"

And I say, "It was sheer self-preservation!! I had to, or they would eat ME!!!

I don't know why he never believes me...

Catching up...

Wednesday, May 9th, 2012 10:00 pm
auntbijou: (Dancing Snape)
Okay, so... let's see... I went to see an orthopedic specialist two weeks ago about my knee. Verdict, yes, I banged it up good and proper, I also have osteo-arthritis in my right knee (not unexpected, considering the way I've injured it in the past), and... at some point will need intervention. I'm too young and active for knee replacement, he could do surgery to clean out all the crunch stuff in there, but it would come back eventually (also true), or there's an injection he could give me after the inflammation and irritation calms down in my knee called "Synvisc One" that would basically replace the fluid that lubricates and cushions the joints in my knee. He's had good results with that one, and it turns out that the mom of one of Mr. Impossible's team mates has had it and said, "OMG, Auntie... get it. It's wonderful. I can move, I can walk, and it doesn't hurt!!"

You know... I was doing pretty well there for a long time. I mean, I was able to run and play with my kids, and while stairs were tricky at times, mostly, things with Rice Crispy Knee were good. Until now.

So for the time being, Dr. S. gave me a steroid injection in Rice Crispy Knee to calm down the inflammation and help with the pain, and advised me to stay off of it as much as possible, no stairs, no bending it, no kneeling, no lifting, etc., and to use a crutch when I needed to walk around.

Okay, cool, I can do that, and I promise, I've been very, very good. Very good. Except, I haven't told my mom about it because... really, she would freak for no good reason, and right now, I just can't see the point of upsetting her. Really. Besides, I really, really don't want to hear the "Marching Band Ruined Your Health, And So Did Drum Corps, If You'd Only Stayed In Swimming And If You'd Only Gone to Bellaire High School, You'd Be So Much Better Off" lecture again. I got a five year break from that one, but now that she has Alzheimer's, she doesn't remember settling that one so... it's being recycled. Yay.

Last week, the Impertinent Daughter turned... sixteen.

*incipient freak-out*

Have I mentioned how awesome my daughter is? May the 4th is her birthday, it's Star Wars Day, and "The Avengers" came out in the theaters. TRIPLE BONUS!!! So... we took her to San Marcos for dinner at her favorite Chinese restaurant, where the Impossible Son got this in his fortune cookie...

If you can't read it, it says, "About time I got out of that cookie!"

After that, we went to the theater where I'd pre-ordered tickets and got in line. And hey, I just have to say, I really like this "ordering movie tickets online" thing, because the show was sold out!! It was awesome!! Yes, yes, I know, welcome to the 21st century, Auntie.

I learned a valuable lesson that day, too. The Impertinent Daughter is absolutely NEVER allowed to ever, ever, EVER drink Mountain Dew again. As far as she's concerned, it's a controlled substance. OMG... one of her friends gave her a can for her birthday, and she was feeling tired when she got home from school. She wanted to stay awake for the movie, she said, so she decided to drink the Mountain Dew with her snack. This is around 4:30 p.m.

Holy Mackinoly, y'all, that child was wired for sound!! I mean, seriously, she talked nonstop (except when she was eating, and even then it was a close thing) from 4:35 until 1 a.m.!!!! EVEN DURING THE MOVIE.

I would shush her so I could hear the dialogue, and I'll say this for her, unless her enthusiasm got away from her, she mostly kept her voice really soft and quiet, which had irritations of it's own, because I couldn't hear her well enough to understand her!! And she tried valiently to be quiet in the car on the way home after, but... chatter chatter chatter!!! At least it mostly made sense!!

"The Avengers" was ... awesome by the way!!! Just... oh, yeah, gonna go see that again just so we can catch what we missed the first time!!!

The Impossible Son had a soccer game Saturday, and didn't play like himself at all. By Saturday evening, he had a fever of 103 F (39.4 C). That was fun. Turned out to be a virus that's blasting its way through town. The Impertinent Daughter fell victim to it Sunday night, but her temperature didn't get as high as the Impossible One's did, thank goodness. Mr. Impossible missed Monday, and Miss Priss should be back at school tomorrow.

After her doctor's appointment tomorrow, I shall retire to the couch with pillows to prop up Rice Crispy Knee with an ice pack and not do one damn thing until the kids get home from school!!!
auntbijou: (Voldie Santa)
... at least they didn't wait until we'd gone to sleep to wake us up all over again.

Still, do you have any idea how terrifying it is to be bent over, digging in a drawer to look for those gift bags from last Christmas because nobody can remember where the stockings are, and feel a hard, knobby, bony finger poke you in the side while a voice that sounds like a chain smoking six year old says, "Santa's running late, we got hung up in Poughkeepsie, and then there was a block party going on in Tulsa with search lights... Santa's way behind schedule, and you've got balls to blow up, here's the pump!"

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my mouth!!

I think the only reason that elf isn't dead, dead, dead is because (1) no gifts for the kids EVER, and (2) the Husbandly One wouldn't let me clock him with the lamp. He really likes that lamp. THO, that is.

So... yeah, it's 2:21 a.m., and we're done putting out the presents under the little artificial tree THO and I had the first year we were married. Yes, we still have it, and it looks so cute and completely dwarfed by presents! And I'm sure in the morning, I'll feel more charitable toward the elves, but right now? Not so much.

It was easier when the kids were smaller. Santa did the bulk of the present lay-out, and we just filled out the corners with the presents we'd gotten them. But since the kids have gotten older, it seems Santa is more and more pressed for time.

I'm beginning to wonder, though.

Anyhow, Happy Holidays to all my friends! Hopefully, you're getting more sleep than I am!!
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
I'm fresh from a game of In A Pickle, and oh, boy, my sides ache from laughing!!

The Husbandly One and I love playing games of In A Pickle with the kids, because not only do we get into hilariously silly word strings, but... our kids learn to think on their feet, they learn to use their skills of persuasion and argument, and they learn to think creatively while justifying their choices.

It's a win-win, because while THO and I are demonstrating the skills we want our kids to learn, we're also getting a glimpse into the way they think. And, disturbingly enough, they're getting a glimpse into how we think!

So, while we started with a cheeseburger eating moose in a bedroom, the Impossible Son added that it was all in fear, and he had to justify that all of that would fit in a fear, and we had a lively (and somewhat hysterical) discussion about irrational fears, and THO wasn't quite convinced that fear of a cheeseburger eating moose was the same as the fear of being watched by a duck. However, the Impertinent Daughter chimed in that she was sure there were many Americans who were afraid of having a moose in their bedroom, and that she, herself, would be very disturbed by a moose in her bedroom, and if it were eating cheeseburgers, that would definitely cause mental scarring for life.

I had pretty much laid my head down on the table at this point, in helpless tears of laughter.

So, once Mr. Impossible, with the help of his sister, had won his case, I decided that all of this was in the mind of a girl, and I got the pickle.

We've had a great deal of fun with this game, probably more than we're supposed to, because with our geeky brains, we probably get a whole hell of a lot more mileage out of the words than most people would. Come on, seriously, how many people would look at the words, "Venus Fly Trap," in their hand and think, "OMG, I know just how to use this!!" and go on a word string that has a Reflection of a Venus Fly Trap in a Mirror on a Submarine in a Parade? Or starts cackling with glee when they see, "Nun," and end up with Ants in a Nun in a Marriage (we didn't say she was a good nun) in a Warehouse in Paris?

Whenever someone goes a little too weird or too far, the rest of us make that game show buzzer noise, "EEEHHHHHH!!!" and "No, no, no, sorry, can't have a blimp in a cat, even if the cat is as big as a house, or a toilet in an elephant, because even if an elephant is bigger than a toilet, how would it get in there? An elephant is big, but has a small mouth!"

I won't even go into the arguments to justify how a toilet can get into an elephant!!

Of course, as the game goes on, we all get more desperate to not lose a turn, and it just gets crazier and wilder until we're all laughing so hard that we can't breathe, and I just ... can't help but find it so awesome that we can all do this, that we all get to do this together. To be as nerdy and silly and just plain goofy and... life is good.

Yeah. Life is good.
auntbijou: Thank you, Karadin! (Gackt eats!!)
So... had a parent-teacher conference with the Impossible Son's primary teacher today. It was interesting, and encouraging.

It was only supposed to be for 15 minutes, but... we ended up talking for 45! We talked about the Impossible Son's math problems at length, and I found that he's been rushing through his math assignments so he can read a book afterwards. While she's pleased to see him reading, she's not so pleased that he's rushing through his math, getting problems wrong, and not asking for help. He says nothing to her. Just finishes as quickly as possible and hands in it, then grabs his book and disappears into it.


Shades of his mother. Meaning me. Which means I know exactly what he's doing.

So, I told her, explaining yet again about the lack of trust in his teachers, and said, "It's not you personally. This started in second grade, with Mrs. Oblivious Teacher, who is now teaching fifth grade." I filled her in on what he had gone through, trotted out several of the math "explanations" she had given me, and followed up with what he had gotten in third and fourth grade, including the outside issues that were causing problems for him.

"Was he as lost as he seems to be now last year, too?" Mrs. S. asked me.

"Oh, yes," I replied. "I had Mrs. H. send home math homework, worksheets, whatever it took, to tutor him through what was stumping him."

We went over what I've found so far that stumps him, showed her what he was doing and what I had done to correct it, and finished with, "I can't help him if I don't know what's going wrong, so please, please, please send home worksheets!"

About this time, a mouse made its presence known.

Not long after that, a second larger mouse made its presence known.

We spent the rest of our time with our feet up off the floor, keeping an eye out for the mice, and talking about the Impossible Son and what we could do to help him.

Somewhere in there, I found myself volunteering to tutor three of her students who are having difficulty with reading comprehension. They read beautifully, but have no memory whatsoever of what they've read. "Apparently, this is a skill they didn't learn back in second grade," she said grimly. "Nor have they been tested or had any sort of intervention recommended, so far as I can find out. And the parents are... not responding to any of my notes."

Oh, goody.

So... this should be fun. I'll start out twice a week, and depending on how things go, I may end up doing it more often, but we'll see. I figure getting them to break the stories down into smaller parts and asking them to tell me what they remember is a good place to start, and I'll expand from there.

The other advantage is that this gets me into the Impossible Son's classroom twice a week, so I can see what's going on and unobtrusively observe him in class.

Lastly, I also need to talk to his Language Arts teacher about why he's making a 75 in a class he normally makes 90's to 100's in. I mean, seriously, this is a kid who is reading at a 7th grade level! I mean, I have my suspicions, but... I'll wait until I talk to the teacher.


Tis a puzzlement!!
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
Yesterday, on the way home from a trip into San Marcos, the Impossible Son and I sang the Moosebutter Star Wars song at the top of our lungs all the way home.

It was awesome.

He's still recovering from chickenpox, so he had to accompany me in to San Marcos for a trip to Dr. Tummy to get samples of my acid reflux med while we wait for the drama over my prescription to get resolved. Who will win? InHumane Care, or the intrepid and determined Dr. Tummy, with assistance from Mr. W., the Small Town Pharmacist Who Could? Tune in next week for an update!!!


Well, yesterday was full of little trips. I took Mr. Impossible in for a followup with the doctor about his tests, yes to chickenpox, no to Lyme, and to check his pox out. Most of them are crusting, so he should be good to go back to school next week! Then the trip into San Marcos for the samples, and then a stop by his school to pick up his makeup work.

The trip home was a blast, actually! I mean, there were were, walking back to the car, him skipping along next to me while holding my hand and chattering on cheerfully about any and everything, and I have no idea why, but I just started randomly singing, "Nobody cares if you upset a droooooid, 'cause droids don't tear your arms out of sockeeeeet..." and he chimed in with, "I suggest a new straaaaategy, let the Woooookie win," and we both sang loudly and badly, "Because nobody caaaaares... if you upset a droooooooid!"

And yes, there were lots of other people in the parking lot, and yes, we got stared at, and no, we did not care at all!!

After that, it was a foregone conclusion that I would select the song to play on the CD in the car, and would hit repeat, so we could sing it over and over again on the drive home, complete with gestures and faces. I am sure the people on the freeway in San Marcos enjoyed our emoting, and I'm also sure the people at the light before heading down the state highway thought we'd lost our minds.

I especially enjoyed the Impossible Son's faces during the section of Luke whining. The pathos! The utter dejection! The extreme sulkiness!!

It made my heart swell with pride!

I love moments like that with my son. I don't often get to see his extremely silly side like that, and I have discovered that he has inherited my, and my dad's, extremely elastic face. He's got a pretty wacky sense of humor that I truly do appreciate, and is developing a wit as sharp as his sister's. Pretty soon, their verbal sparring is going to take a whole new level, and I'm going to find it harder and harder to out-geek them.

I look forward to it with great enthusiasm!

Because... nobody caaaaaaaares if you upset a drooooooooid!!
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
You know, my blog is beginning to look like the synopsis of a very bad soap opera! No, seriously!

Okay, so... two weeks ago, the Husbandly One came down with the shingles. Which... is weird, because it makes it sound like he was covered in roofing tiles, right? I even had a dream about that, that he was covered in roofing tiles and he was blaming me for it, and I was all O_o???

Anyway, he had the shingles, which is a variant of the same virus that causes chickenpox. It was painful, we both lost a lot of sleep, and he's getting over it.

How is this significant?

Well, last night, the Impossible Son came to me and asked me to scratch his back and get him an ice pack.

I frowned. "Um... sure, I'll scratch your back, but... why do you want an ice pack?"

"I have such a bad headache, I need an ice pack," he said, grimacing and squinting at me in a very familiar way. "I think I have a migraine."

Oh, crap.

So, I got him an ice pack and he said, "First, scratch my back?" and pulled up his shirt, and I started to oblige and stopped. "Um... Little Man... where did you get all these bites? Did you fall into an ant bed or get into a lot of mosquitos or something?"

"No," he said, frowning. "There's no mosquitos. Drought, remember?"

"Yeeeaaahhh," I said slowly, and the Husbandly One came in and went, "Uh-oh... that looks like chickenpox."

Crap, crap, crap, crap....

So, we inspected him and took his temperature, and he had a fever, and he had spots popping up, and yeah, lots and lots of fun.

Here's the thing: he's had the chickenpox vaccination. But not the booster, which he's due to get next year. And... it's only about 90 percent effective, anyway. However, having the vaccine is supposed to reduce the severity of the virus and also reduce the time he'll have it.

But... it's the second week of school!!!!


So, Dr. W. checks him over, and as she's examining him, little spots are popping up!! She brings in Dr. R., who has lots of experience of chickenpox over his years of practice and at first, he said, "Oh, these are insect bites! There's no fluid in these spots!" And then... he notices more popping up in places where there were not spots as he is looking at him and says, "Um...hmmmmmmmm... this perhaps is chickenpox. Has he had his shot?" And when I said yes, he frowned and said, "Let's get bloodwork, to be sure."

At which point the Impossible One howled, "NO!! I DON'T WANT TO!!!" and every variant in between. Both doctors were rather shocked because Mr. Impossible has always been very cooperative for them, and I had to explain why he was so upset over his protests.

And just to make things even more interesting, Mr. Impossible did have an insect bite on his forearm that the doctor looked at, because it was swollen and red, and I was worried about it being infected. She frowned and said, "Um... how long has it had this red circle around it?"


I looked at it and said, "That wasn't there last night."

"Have you been camping recently? Hiking in the woods or the state park? Had any deer munching on your bushes?"

I knew where this was going. "Not been camping or hiking, and if there are deer munching on our bushes, I haven't seen them. I find droppings, but deer droppings and rabbit droppings kinda look alike, you know?"

"Uh-huh," she said, frowning even more at the red ring around the bite. "Just to be on the safe side, let's do a Lyme titer."


"Can we just cut to the chase and go on doxycycline now?" I said, remembering my own close call with Lyme disease and four weeks of doxycycline. Woo-hoo!! All kinds of fun!!!

"Let's just see what the titer shows. I mean, I'll probably put him on it, but let's get him through the chickenpox first!"

Okay, cool...

So, he's home, ensconced on the couch, playing Halo, and asking for something to drink every five minutes.

The good news is... exposure to my son having chickenpox is supposed to reduce my chances of getting shingles later. That's perfectly okay with me, because seriously, shingles looks very painful, and I don't want it!

Now, to prepare for the Impertinent One to come home from school. Yay, whoopee, yay!


Wednesday, August 17th, 2011 12:11 am
auntbijou: (Kirk duh what??)
Add this to the file of Things I Am Not Ready For:


The Impossible Son... has fuzz on his upper lip.

*flail flail flail*

No, it's not cat hair, it's not chocolate syrup on his upper lip... it's hair. Stiff little hairs.


I'd noticed this a few weeks ago, actually, but tucked it away neatly in my Denial Drawer. Nice big roomy thing, my Denial Drawer. Lots of room for stuff I'd Rather Not Think About™

Anyhow, I'd noticed this... subtle shading on the corners of his upper lip. It was really apparent when we were at the beach, and I had actually pretended at one point to be rubbing sand off his chin so I could take a better look in bright sunlight and... promptly shoved what I'd seen in my Denial Drawer. But I couldn't help noticing it again, and again, and again.

Finally, tonight, in our poorly lit bedroom (we had the lights low to encourage sleepiness), it was unmistakable, and I got the flashlight and put on my glasses and took a really good look... then got the Husbandly One for corroboration, and... yeah. Fuzzy Lip Syndrome.


Where did my baby go????

And while I'm going through this emotional toss up of my Denial Drawer, the Husbandly One says, "Oh, yeah, I started shaving when I was TWELVE."


Don't mind me, I'll just go curl up in the corner with a paper bag over my head, rearranging the contents of my Denial Drawer. While singing. Loudly. And NOT thinking about the hair on my son's upper lip. And his legs.

*sticking her fingers in her ears and singing "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-I-CAN'T-HEAR-YOU!" loudly*
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)

Well, in this picture, he kind of looks like him, don't you think?


It's the way his long hair is blowing in the wind, you know. And if you're wondering, that cute little fish was his catch of the night. He'd taken the kids salt water fishing for the first time, and while the Impossible Son caught the biggest fish of the night, and the Impertinent Daughter caught the second largest, the Husbandly One caught... the smallest. And no matter how hard he tried to catch something bigger, for the rest of the week, everything he caught was... pretty much the same size as that cute little Gulf cat in the picture. Heck, for all we know, it was the same fish the entire time, following him all around Rockport and Fulton, throwing itself shamelessly on his hook for one more look at its long haired hero! ♥ ♥ ♥!!

Oh, come on, I had to say it!

I find this an extraordinarily entertaining photo, on so many levels, and I'm proud of the Impertinent Daughter for taking it. She got a good shot of her papa!

I wanted to write more, but I'm just too tired to concentrate. School starts in three weeks, and... I can't wait.

The Last Hurrah...

Thursday, July 14th, 2011 01:49 pm
auntbijou: (Dancing Snape)
In a few minutes, I will leave to run a couple of errands, one of which will be to go to the local theatre to pick up tickets for tonight's midnight showing of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt 2."

As my daughter said this morning, sitting on my bed in shock, "I'm so excited to see it, and yet I'm not because... I'm not ready for it to be over."

We've been following Harry Potter's adventures since she was very, very small. We've laid on the floor with a box of crayons and a huge 18"x 24" tablet of paper in front of us, and drawn Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Hagrid, the blue Ford Anglia flying through the air, Fluffy the three-headed dog, and Professor Dumbledore with pointy toed boots and sparkly purple robes, because Miss Impertinence had gotten glitter sparkle crayons from Aunt Blonde Sister and thought they'd be perfect. We've sewn felt people and made Harry, Snuffles, and Mrs. Weasley with wild curly red hair. We've experimented with making Butterbeer, some of which were awful, and some which were... okay. And when the Impossible Son was born, we tugged him into it, too. We've dressed him up as Harry, and dressed Miss Impertinent as Hermione, and as Luna. We've had Harry Potter birthday cakes and spell battles. We've made up ridiculous spells for very silly things, and we've made a game of looking around when we're in public and spotting people we either think look like the characters in the books, or that we think are secretly witches and wizards slumming it with the Muggles.

In other words, we took the world of Harry Potter and ran with it. And it's been fun!

But... it's sad to see the last movie. Because, according to J. K. Rowling, that's it, there is no more. One can hope she will eventually come around to writing about the next generation of wizards and witches and the challenges they will face, but... that day may be long in coming, or may never come at all.

Still, I'll be leaving to get the tickets. And I'll probably pick up a box of tissues to take with us because... I have a feeling we'll need it.

(no subject)

Saturday, July 9th, 2011 06:43 pm
auntbijou: (Steven Fry LOL)
The Impossible Son just came running into the room with a large Nerf gun in his hands. "This is a hold up," he shouted.

I blinked at him.

"Now... hold something up!!" he said, aiming his Nerf gun at me.

I grabbed my cup and held it aloft, my eyes wide.

"Okay, you're safe," he said, and departed.

Life in my house = never a dull moment!
auntbijou: (Kirk duh what??)
Week Two of Summer Vacation... and I'm about to lose my religion.

Let's see, I'm trying to clean the hog pen that is our living room, a task which always makes me want to strangle my children rather cranky, because it begins to take on Sisyphean proportions. Every time I think I've cured my kids of a bad habit, I find that I haven't. They've just gotten better at concealing it.


Take, for example, the Impossible Son. I think Hercules had it easy, cleaning out the Augean Stables. He should try cleaning under and around the loveseat that Mr. Impossible has claimed as his own. I found... okay, I don't know what it was, I don't want to know what it was, I could live my entire life without ever knowing what that stuff was, and die happy. Seriously. It might have been a thriving civilization, for all I know. If it was, sorry, I destroyed it. I had to. It was going to take over the Earth. That's me, the unsung hero of planet Earth, saving it from being taken over by home made science experiments and penicillin farms.

So, I'm picking up detritus left over from video games, glasses left on the table from yesterday, and I move to pick up some toys next to this old video console we're using to hold DVD's and as I'm standing up, I look between the console and the wall and there are these... things. Lumpy, dark, possibly reddish, possibly purplish, kinda hard to tell... things. And it was hard to tell the color because they were covered in a thick mat of hairy mold. They might have once been strawberries, or... blackberries? I'm not sure, because like I said, I could go my whole life without needing to know. Anyhow, there they are, stuck to the floor, pulsing slightly, looking somewhat malevolent... I'm not quite sure, but... I think they were... looking at me!!

Windex and paper towels. I saved the planet with Windex and paper towels. Yes, I am awesome!!

I'm still seriously grossed out. And yeah, I let Mr. Impossible have it, making him look at the mashed, squished, Windexed remains and said, "There is a garbage can not six feet away!!. There is a compost bucket three feet beyond that!! USE THEM!!! Or seriously, the XBox, the Wii, and the PS2 will go the way of the triceratops. As in BYE BYE!!"

I don't get it, this kid can play an entire game of soccer nonstop, he can run a mile without stopping, he can climb anything, is sometimes so energetic he can't sit still and has to go outside to play... and he can't walk six feet to a garbage can????

Oh, and I'm seriously going to have to call my mother and apologize again. Because I completely understand now why she would go nuts when I'd put music I liked on the stereo and had it blasting away while I cleaned the living room and the bathroom. Because when the Impertinent Daughter puts her music on full blast while she cleans her room, the living room, her bathroom, the kitchen, etc... it drives me up the wall!!! And you know what the worst part is??

We like the same music!!

I mean, how sad is that? She's listening to music that I like... and it's driving me nuts because I can't hear myself think!!

That's it. I am officially old.

Oh, and another thing... I'd better get some serious chocolate out of this. I'm not kidding. Because after I finish scraping that weird sticky stuff off the wood floor in the living room (and no, I don't want to know what that stuff is either), I have to tackle the kitchen and the laundry room.


This is sooooooo going on my bill to Homeland Security. I mean, seriously, I SAVED the PLANET. With Windex. And paper towels.

How many superheroes do you know can do that?

Yeah. That's what I thought!

Excuse me, I need to find the paint scraper. There's a malevolent force of evil I need to scrape off the floor. By the way, have you seen the Windex?
auntbijou: (Death)
I wish I was a whiner, because right now, ooooo, I'd be so whiny, everyone would be sick of me!


Okay so... last week, the virus. First Mr. Impossible, then Miss Impertinent, then me. Impossible had it until Wednesday, and went back to school on Thursday. Impertinence got it Monday afternoon and had it until Saturday. I took Impossible in to the doctor on Monday, and Impertinence on Friday. No visit for me because, well... you know how it is. Besides, it was a virus, not much to do but grin and bear it, yeah?

I took the Impertinent One in on Friday though, because we were actually starting to worry, judging by her limp noodleness and the fact she was so damn quiet, that she had... MONO... AGAIN.

*shudders at the thought*

The doctor said, "If you're still feeling like this on Monday, I'll have to run a mono panel on you."

I think she scared the Impertinent Daughter into getting better!

Okay, so... Sunday, it was hot and so the kids invited a couple of friends over and had the Epic Water Balloon Fight of Doom. Somewhere in there, a galvanized tub had been filled with water for splashing purposes, and for some crazy reason known only to another ten year old (and thus not to someone as old as, say, me) the Impossible Son lifted up that tub full of water and lost his grip so that it smashed down on his big toe.


It is nicely purple and swollen. It got iced down and at the time, we thought it was just badly bruised because he could wiggle it and bend it. This, of course, was before he went on a field trip to San Antonio on Monday, and before a kid in his class said, "I don't believe you really hurt your toe," and... stomped on Mr. Impossible's foot.

No, I am not a happy camper. And yes, I am calling the school.

Anyhow, by last night, he was in tears, so, I called our doctor, who has his own X-ray machine, and made an appointment. And got teased about our very frequent appearances. I had to laugh, though, when one of the receptionists told me they were thinking about painting, "Reserved for Auntie's Family" above one of the exam room doors.

I said they should give me frequent flyer miles instead!

So, he was examined and X-rayed, and they'll be sent to a radiologist, but so far, they don't think his toe is broken.

The only thing is... there's only, what, six more weeks of school? And I'm working on something I might actually get paid for, but there's a deadline, and I thought, well, I have all of May to work on it...

*bangs head into wall*

GAAAAAAHHHH!!! And then... and then... and then... the Impertinent One just texted me, "Mom, my throat hurts, can you come get me??"



And the cats are stalking me because I need to buy more cat food, and I desperately need to go grocery shopping, but I can't, because Mr. Impossible is supposed to stay off his foot, and I'M ABOUT TO LOSE MY MIND!!!

I just need time to write, and just... get it done, and hello, universe, please to start cooperating with me? Because I really, really can't take more of this, really. Seriously. Stop it now. Now. Stop it.

*self medicates with chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate*
auntbijou: made by <lj comm=lvlwings_icons> (Delicious Hot Schmoes!)
You know, this whole raising kids gig has had its ups and downs. And anyone who has read this blog knows we have had our share of ups and downs! Sometimes funny, sometimes heartwarming, sometimes hysterical laugh inducing, and sometimes terrifying.

But you know what I think is the absolute coolest thing ever?

When your kids are old enough to start getting your jokes, to snort and laugh when you make obscure references that leave other people scratching their heads, because your kids really get it! It's like you become the coolest, most secret club ever, and you're automatically in!!

It is awesome, seriously.

When your kids are watching some of the same nerdy, goofy shows you watch, and see nothing wrong with it, and if their friends find out and make fun of it, they look at them like they're nuts and say, "But... it's the coolest thing ever and anyone who thinks otherwise is a loser!" And they make it stick!

It just... yeah, makes me smile all day long!

When the Impertinent Daughter drew the Spock fan art for me and now I've gotten her hooked on "Stargate Atlantis" and drew fan art for that, and then last night, we ordered Chinese takeout and sat in the living room watching a disk of "The Big Bang Theory," and it was just the most awesome thing ever! And I sat there on the floor by the Husbandly One's feet, looking around at my little family, watching them get the "Star Trek" references, and the comic book references, and I was suddenly just so happy!

It's one of those moments you just... kinda want to hold onto forever.
auntbijou: (Soccer is love...)
Played in a scrimmage against my son's U10 soccer team last night, Parents versus Kids, and had loads of fun. The score was even, and I think the kids learned a lot. It's one thing to tell the kids, "Spread out!" and "Move up!" and "Watch your man!" And it's another thing to SHOW them.


Did pretty well, until nearly the end of the game when my knees decided to close shop. "We're done!" they said, and promptly vamoosed, and Auntie went all in a heap to the ground. Fortunately, muscle memory does not fail, and I rolled right up to a sitting position. If my knees had not left the building earlier, I would have come back up to a standing position! Gave the Impossible Son heart failure, though. "Mom! Mom!! Are you okay? Do we need to call 911? Are you dead? Mom?? Mom? MOM!!!"

Because I was laughing so hard, I couldn't talk!

There were a lot of funny moments. Like when The Husbandly One scored a goal and whipped off his shirt to come running down the field, arms in the air with his shirt streaming behind like a flag. One of the kids turned and looked at me and said, "Coach THO is a pretty hairy guy, Auntie!"

I laughed and said, "He's my own personal shag carpet!" and then laughed even harder because... hee... SHAG!!

*is inappropriately amused*

One of the other dads had a handicap. His three year old son wanted to play, too, but he's too small, both in age and in size. So, he scooped his son up and at first tried to play with Wee-Man on his hip. Nope. So he tried a princess carry. Nope, that didn't work, either. He finally just lifted him up to his shoulders, and Wee-Man just hung on for dear life, giggling madly while his dad went galumphing up the field after the ball.

Yes, "galumphing" is a word. I say so.

The Impossible Son threw himself dramatically to the ground at one point, saying, "I'm so TIRED!" and I pulled him up and said, "Hey, how do you think I feel! I'm old!"

One of his team mates danced by and said, "You're not old! Now my mom is nearly 28... that's OLD!! You're not even close to her age!"

I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm 47, and struggled to keep a straight face. One of the other moms on the team, who is five years younger than me, was laughing hysterically, and said, "It must be the lighting out here!"

Well, you know, to a ten year old, anyone over the age of 20 is positively ancient.

And I toe-punched the ball on a goal kick, instead of hitting it with the inside of my foot, as I had intended. The Impertinent Daughter rushed up to me and said, "Mom!! No toe-punching! You're going to hurt yourself!!"

She was right...

Why Toe-Punching a Soccer Ball is Not a Good Idea...

Not pretty, is it. It split the side of my toe, too, and yeah, still hurts.

The things we do for love, right?

*goes off to look for more ice*

September 2015

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