I was home today, for the first time in ages, to watch Eldest do her band thing. I drove 50 minutes through hell, high water, and ghetto neighborhoods to watch her get her band geek on at a Big City High School.
Showing up early, I got roped into helping them load stuff on the field.
As I stood there, watching as acne-suffering teens filed past me, the band director -having correctly pegged me as useless- assigned me to pull the cooler filled with water bottles, entrusting the more important band things such as gong and xylophone to more obviously trustworthy adults.
I watched as the band kids pass me, in awe of the freaks and geeks that band seems to beckon (me and kid included), when the band director/teacher yells at me, "Hey, take it to the sidelines!"
And just as the band is announced, and I'm struggling with an unwieldy cooler on wheels full of unnecessary water bottles -it's 50 fucking degrees people and these kids who are being judged on their performance are certainly not going to stop mid-performance for a drink- I trip over a goddamn speaker wire running from the judges to the field.
And promptly dump the entire, unnecessary cooler full of water bottles all over the track.
In front of stands full of hundreds of people watching.
(Flash back to when I was last minute picked to be a cheerleader when half the squad was kicked off for drinking. Homecoming, 1992. First time putting on a cheer skirt, no idea what the hell I was doing. The rest of the team hated me because I was a goody two shoes with straight A's who worked in the library and ended up as a cheerleader as a fluke. I spent the entire Homecoming game standing there stupidly because I had no idea what to do.)
The stands (today) laughed like they did back in '92, as I got down on hands and knees and scrambled to pick up the water bottle mess I made. A super nice band dad came rushing over to help, "I hate when that happens," he mumbled as we struggled to corral all the stray water bottles rolling all over the field.
I was too mortified to respond.
I'm 40, and still feel like I'm in high school.
Eldest refused to even look at me after, and shook her head- not subtly- when I glanced her way, warning me not to come talk to her.
I slunk away, as embarrassed at 40 as I was at 17.
As the saying goes... High School never ends. And I'm as much of a dork as I was then.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Friday, November 6, 2015
Man Bits and Mono
I got home last Thursday morning just in time to send the wee ones off to Ex-Hole's for a five day holiday. Littlest, who's 12, came home horribly ill on Tuesday night. By Wednesday morning, after hours of vomiting and coughing and keeping everyone up all night, I was desperate to take him to the doctor.
"Doctor's Service, may I help you?" asks the (not) helpful woman on the other end of the line. After hemming and hawing for twenty minutes and insisting that there were no doctors available for a week, she finally books me in with the nurse. Two hours later, the phone rings.
"Erm, sorry to tell you this, but the nurse doesn't see sick children," says a different woman on the other end of the line.
What the hell? Have you ever heard of such a thing, a family practice nurse that doesn't see sick children? What on God's green earth does she do then? Twenty minutes later, another appointment booked... with the doctor this time.
(Back story: The last time Littlest was in having his annual physical, I had just finished replacing a leaky garbage disposal and faucet in the kitchen. The Doctor had asked Littlest how his "plumbing" was working. Littlest responded with "Well, Mum just fixed it all up, so it didn't leak anymore." Cue baffled and concerned looks on the part of the good Doctor til I explained 1) to the Doctor, and 2) to Littlest what the Doctor was actually asking. More baffled looks on the part of Littlest.)
Fast forward to today. Finally got Littlest in to see his doctor. Having taken the Doctor aside beforehand, I asked him to check out Littlest's "plumbing" to see if it were growing as it should, since we were in there anyway. Being that I work in healthcare, I tend to roll everything I can into one visit. It's easier on my patience and on my wallet. So hey, might as well check out the man bits while you're checking out everything else, right?
The Doctor listened to his heart, lungs, palpated his spleen and abdomen, and did a cursory glance down the pants. Diagnosis: mono and the man bits are normal. Not satisfied with the cursory glance, given the importance of the thing in question, I asked again, "Are you sure everything's growing as it should?" I mean, come on now, the boy's going to want to have ahem, relations one day, and I want to make sure it's a possibility and that his poor wife can tell what's happening when it does.
The Doctor sighed. "Okay, Mum, come on over and have a look yourself." He glanced down at Littlest, lying bravely on the table. "Sorry, Son." He proceeds to un-pants Littlest, stretch his man bits out, and give me a breakdown on the anatomy of said man bits (with man bits in hand.)
Having gone over in detail that everything was functioning, growing. and looking as it should, he nods to Littlest, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room.
Littlest just looks up at me.
"Well, that was weird."
For me too, kid, me too.
(Let it be noted, that if his future wife ever complains about their sex life, it won't be because I didn't do my part.)
"Doctor's Service, may I help you?" asks the (not) helpful woman on the other end of the line. After hemming and hawing for twenty minutes and insisting that there were no doctors available for a week, she finally books me in with the nurse. Two hours later, the phone rings.
"Erm, sorry to tell you this, but the nurse doesn't see sick children," says a different woman on the other end of the line.
What the hell? Have you ever heard of such a thing, a family practice nurse that doesn't see sick children? What on God's green earth does she do then? Twenty minutes later, another appointment booked... with the doctor this time.
(Back story: The last time Littlest was in having his annual physical, I had just finished replacing a leaky garbage disposal and faucet in the kitchen. The Doctor had asked Littlest how his "plumbing" was working. Littlest responded with "Well, Mum just fixed it all up, so it didn't leak anymore." Cue baffled and concerned looks on the part of the good Doctor til I explained 1) to the Doctor, and 2) to Littlest what the Doctor was actually asking. More baffled looks on the part of Littlest.)
Fast forward to today. Finally got Littlest in to see his doctor. Having taken the Doctor aside beforehand, I asked him to check out Littlest's "plumbing" to see if it were growing as it should, since we were in there anyway. Being that I work in healthcare, I tend to roll everything I can into one visit. It's easier on my patience and on my wallet. So hey, might as well check out the man bits while you're checking out everything else, right?
The Doctor listened to his heart, lungs, palpated his spleen and abdomen, and did a cursory glance down the pants. Diagnosis: mono and the man bits are normal. Not satisfied with the cursory glance, given the importance of the thing in question, I asked again, "Are you sure everything's growing as it should?" I mean, come on now, the boy's going to want to have ahem, relations one day, and I want to make sure it's a possibility and that his poor wife can tell what's happening when it does.
The Doctor sighed. "Okay, Mum, come on over and have a look yourself." He glanced down at Littlest, lying bravely on the table. "Sorry, Son." He proceeds to un-pants Littlest, stretch his man bits out, and give me a breakdown on the anatomy of said man bits (with man bits in hand.)
Having gone over in detail that everything was functioning, growing. and looking as it should, he nods to Littlest, tells him to get dressed, and leaves the room.
Littlest just looks up at me.
"Well, that was weird."
For me too, kid, me too.
(Let it be noted, that if his future wife ever complains about their sex life, it won't be because I didn't do my part.)
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