Big Balls In Cow Town

(Written Tuesday Night 6/17):

When I was in high school, there was this coach who taught economics. Complete stereotypical Texas coach -- big belly, tight pants, and a very heavy accent. And did I mention his NUTS WERE THE SIZE OF TENNIS BALLS? Well, they were. And when I say he wore his pants tight, I'm referring to Wranglers. The really really tight ones.

And do you want to guess where his favorite place to hang out in the clssroom was? Front and center, half-perched on a kitchen stool. As if to say, "See? See my ridiculously LARGE BALLS?See them. Love them. "

I never once got through that class without humming, Big balls in cowtown, we'll all go down...

Why am I subjecting you to these cruel, cruel visuals? Because until last night, I hadn't thought of him in years. In fact, there's another reason why I've desperately tried to banish him from my memory (as if that wasn't enough).

First, let me just say how pissed I am now that they let a coach like him teach economics. He was horrible. Didn't teach me one damn thing. I, of course, got an A in the class. (My project partner was the valedictorian--it was a tight race; he insisted on completing the project entirely on his own. He didn't trust the rest of us mere mortals. We, being 17 and months away from FREEDOM, sad "have fun" and kicked back. So now I know shit about economics, all because Big Bazlls didn't care enough to actually make me work. Or, perhps he was a phenomenal teacher -- I was most certainly so entranced by the lure of the loins that it all went right past me. Either way, I was short changed. (Put that in your economics pipe and smoke it)


Second, and most important, Big Ball's class was the scene of the FATAL FINGER FOLLY. It was a warm summer day, we were counting down the weeks until graduation, Valedictorian Boy was covering my ass in eco, so I, of course, was spending my class time severing the head of a min-Barbie doll (I'd had a Happy Meal for lunch that day... hmmm...not much has changed, has it?) with my mini Swiss Army knife. So there I was, happily sawing along, and Slip! Slice! Spurts of blood came shooting out of my middle finger, covering my books, desk, Valedictorian Boy in splashes of red. Big Balls, rolling his eyes at the weird girl playing with a pocket knife and a miniature Barbie, sent me straight to the nurse with strict instruction not to come back "until you've got all that crap cleaned up now, ya hear?" (Hauck, spit, adjust ENORMOUS BALLS)

Aside from the fact that my finger was throbbing and losing pints of blood by the minute, I was enjoying my break from class until I had to start explaining how it happened to everyone I saw in the hallway. And you know me, Miss TMI, I couldn't get away with simply telling people I cut myself; no, I had to stop and mime the actual activity, explaining it pretty much the same as I just did above. (Again, not much has changed on my end of things.)

Beyond the fact that after about the 3rd explnation, I began to catch on that people thought I was a bit off, and stopped thinking of it as a funny diversion from class, I also learned that there would be a possibility of stitches.

This was not turning into the fun joyride I'd thought it'd be.

Lucky for me, I ended up with just a butterfly bandaid thingy and some very funny "You Are The Dumbest Human On The Planet" cards from my closest friends.


Good Lord, this is longer story than I'd planned.

Anywy, the reason I thought about him was because I sliced my finger open earlier this week, blood spurted, it hurt, and this time, well this time I ended up with 6 stitches. REL ONES. The kind they do on tv. AND I hd to get a tetanus shot. TETANUS SHOTS HURT.

And then? And then he shot numbing stuff into each of my 2 huge, gaping cuts . WITH A NEEDLE. HARD.

I wasn't aware that this would be happening until about 2 seconds before it happened. Apparently Shawn knew, but I was clueless. It was after the 5th time the doctor asked if I was sure I would be okay, did I need to lie down? Throw up? that I finally said, "what the hell are you about to do to me?"

Then they told me, I lied down, almost threw up, told him just to do it, and squeezed the ever-living soul out of Shawn through his hand.

That was Tuesday morning at 1:30. We'd been there since 9:30 Monday night, but what with all the waiting and xrays and TETANUS SHOTS, you can understand how putting 6 stitches into a cut pinky finger would take 4 hours.

That's all I kept saying, by the way..."but I just cut my finger. I wasn't even going to come in." I think it was the shock. But this time? This time I had a much more valid, grown-up excuse: I was washing our glass blender in the sink, lost my grip, it shattered and sliced my pinky. Twice.

When I wasn't whining about all the fuss, I was humming...Big Balls in cowtown, we'll all go down...

Dental Drama

I took the kiddos to the dentist yesterday, for the first time is a year, thank you very much. That's the problem with going to the Best Pediatric Dentist Around -- if you miss an appointment, you can't reschedule for at least 6 months, and when they recommend you bring them in every 6 months, well, you can do the math.

I was a little apprehensive about how Ryan's check-up would go. She was not blessed with the healthiest of teeth as a baby, and we have not been doing a very good job of making her floss every day (or any day, for that matter), so I feared the worst. Not that we didn't start off trying to do good with the flossing, but after the newness of it wore off, and after Jax flushed the majority of Ryan's flossy-stick-things down the toilet, the procedure just kinda went down the toilet as well.

And the result? No less than 5 cavities, I'm afraid, one of which has so badly decayed her tooth that she's going to have to get a silver cap for it. So one cap and four fillings all before the age of six. For a mommy who's first cavity ever came about only a few years ago, this was a crushing blow.

While the Guilt Fairy sat singing in my ear, I accepted fault with assurance from the doc that her teeth didn't start out on an even keel with other kids' teeth, and vowed to do better from now on. Especially after finding out that not only will they have to sedate her in order to perform the procedure, but that since the Best Ped Dentist Around is out of our network, the whole thing is going to cost us over $500.

But before I lament too much, I am reminded of this story I heard on the news the other day, and quickly shut my mouth, pray for that little girl's family, and Thank God that at least our troubles are manageable.

Plus, it helps that Ryan thinks the cap is the first step to braces, leaving her all excited and giddy that she, just lilke mommy, will now have pretty teeth jewelry to flash around. Next thing you know, we'll put putting a nice gold grill on layaway for Jax.

My Head Is Killing Me

Literally. Apparently, all of my ailments of late can be traced back to my head. From stressing out to clenching my teeth, the fact that my neck is out of alignment and the upper portion of my cervical spine tilts the wrong way, adding 20 pounds to the weight of my head, not to mention the fact that we sleep on a 20-something year old mattress. All of the above is why I can't feel my finger tips anymore, and why I feel like someone has a vise permanently gripped onto my funny bone.

In my efforts to solve this problem, I have been on no less than 6 doctor's visits over the span of a week: Chiropractor, Acupuncturist, Certified Massage Therapist, Neurologist. They all have conflicting ideas as to what it is exactly (skeletal/ muscular/nerve)that's causing the pain, each one insisting the problem lies within their area of expertise. They at least do all agree that whatever it is generates from the head/neck/upper body region, they just all attribute it to different causes. Fun with docs!! I have an MRI scheduled for tomorrow morning, so that should be nice and claustrophobic, and then I'm scheduled for a multitude of follow-ups, so I'll be sure to keep you guys posted.

You'd think with all this medical attention I could get some sort of pain medication, but so far all I've been prescribed is Neurontin, the neurological drug that controls seizures and convulsions. Now Honey and I have something else in common! Soon, I'll be talking to dolls and challenging the toaster to a fight. I'm actually very excited.

Jax and Ry go to the ENT tomorrow morning, to check on Ry's lack of hearing and Jax's raging infection. I'm really looking to forward to that one, as well. Can't wait to hear what type of surgery they'll insit we schedule asap.

Jaxson is still waking at night, though not as often, and now it's gotten to the point where it's really kinda funny. The dude (all ultra-thick 30 pounds of him) blockades himself against his door during his wailing fits, which is where he inevitably ends up sleeping until I go to move him, which is a dance of it's own, where I find myself cracking the door just so, enough that I feel the dead weight of his meaty little frame, but not so much that I pinch his arm or leg under the door. Then I have to get down on all fours, and maneuver my hand through the crack and back around in an attempt to nudge him away enough that I can slide in without smushing him, which is continually becoming an even bigger ordeal seeing as how I've gone ahead and managed to add 8 pounds to my meaty little frame over the course of the past month.

Once all is said and done, I feel super-triumphant, until I accidentally step on his head in the dark and then the whole high-wire act I just performed is rendered pointless. Such is life in our house.

Ryan had her dress rehearsal in acting class today, and she did a great job, except for the fact that she kept her costume pulled down over her head and when she did look at us, she did so with her tongue sticking out. She knew her lines and her cues, but we didn't really hear them as she whispered most of them and Jax was laughing and pointing at her, yelling "Funny!" the whole time.

And it was. It was.

Fun with Neurofibromitosis

Right, so remember how I told you at the kids' doctor appointment they were comcerned with their cafe au lait spots (nee "birthmarks")? Well, just in case that wasn't enough to stress a mommy out, let's just take it to the next level, shall we?

Got a phone call from the ped yesterday saying that due to the fact that even though the disease may not run in the family, the gene can mutate or something, so they want us to go ahead and see the geneticist, except be warned: "she's kinda cold, not at all "warm and fuzzy", and we have a really hard time getting her notes from patients we refer, so after you see her, could you call us and tell us what she says?

"And by the way, the disease can also cause nodules to grow on the eyeball, and since Ryan had trouble with her vision screening, why don't you tale her to an Opthamologist rather than an Optometrist so they can really check out her eyes and see what's going on."

Sweet.

Well There You Have It

We took the kiddos to their 5 and 2 yr appointments today, respectively.

Ryan did amazingly well with her shots, but they can't figure out why she doesn't have full hearing in her right ear, or why she and Jax have so many large, light-colored splotches on their bodies. Apparently, that's a symptom of Neurofibromitosis, although Shawn says "we always called 'em 'birthmarks'". Regardless, they're a mystery.

Speaking of which, the mystery of Jax's "stinky ear" has been solved. Seems it's nothing more than a big ole nasty raging ear infection. Which is what Shawn has been predicting for about the past 2 months. Which means if this thing is a nasty monster, it's fault for dismissing the ear infection idea. Which means you can mark me up even higher on the MOTY list.

Apparently, Shawn never speaks his appreciation of me because I don't do anything to deserve it. The clothes he needs never seem to be clean, nor is the house; I can't get Ryan to stay in her bed or stop talking back; I rely on take out much more than a stay-at-home mother should; and now to top it all off, his instincts regarding the kids' health are better than mine.

It's lucky that I come equipped with a vagina, or he might as well just put me out with the rest of the unused crap we throw away twice a week.

Don't mind the scratching...it's just me crawling out of my deathbed

This won't be long, because if I focus too long, I start to get dizzy, but I am still here (barely), and am now in the never-ending debt of my parents (my bill just keeps getting bigger) and Shawn. Menana came into town yesterday and picked up the kiddos so that I could flop myself down on the bed and not move for the next 24 hours, while Shawn cleaned, fed and comforted me with dutch chocolate ice cream. Unfortunately, I still feel like shit.

My good-ole-boy homewtown doctor didn't exactly diagnose me so much as throw some prescriptions my way as he boot-scooted out the door. More on the insurance incident later...

Try this one out, Supernanny

Before I begin, yes, I will be posting stories and pics from Ruidoso, as soon as I get over the mind-numbing effects of dieting. I'm on Day 2, which is 2 days longer than I've been able to stay on any diet in quite some time, and it's a wonder I found my way to the computer at all today. I'm also on my 3rd day with no alcohol, so cut a girl some slack, will ya?

Anyway... took the kiddos to the much-dreaded FLU-SHOT APPOINTMENT today.

Holy God.

I've resolved to be a better mom this year, to try to take each day as it comes, and set my priorities where they should be, instead of where my mind leads them -- novels, fashion mags, shopping, tv shows...

That said, I knew today was all about calming Ryan's fears and keeping her feeling as secure as possible. I am such an over-achiever. First of all, let me just say that we scheduled this damn appt. before Christmas, so it has definitely been a dark cloud looming over our heads for at least 2 weeks now. Even on our trip to Ruidoso, Ryan spent plenty of "alone time" with Menana in her room, discussing her worries, and that the fact that when she thinks of getting the shot, she gets "all crazy in her head", worried that "the crazy will come out."

)Seriously. She should just go ahead and get her own honorary phD, write herself some prescriptions, and start pulling her financial weight around here. The clarity with which she expresses her emotions and thoughts would impress me if it didn't also leave me huddled in a ball in the corner, asking, "Why, God, why???)

Back to the shot. We'd been talking about it for a while, reading some books about going to the doctor, and I had finally gotten her to stop threatening to kill all the doctors in the world. Very big stuff here, kids. I figured I'd do a reward in reverse, take her to get an icecream before the shot, just to show her how much faith I had in her and the excellent job she would do come vaccination time. Sucker bought it hook, line and sinker.

Did I mention I'm the sucker?

Everything was rolling smooth as glass until the nurse came in with the needles, and asked who would go first.

"Ryan will. She's excited to show her brother how easy it is."

Those words set off an alarm of gargantuan proportions: "NO NO NO NO!!! PLEASE! NOT ME!!! IDON"T WANT TO GO! TAKE JAXSON FIRST! LEAVE ME!!! TAKE THE BABY!!!!!"

Top-of-her-lungs-blood-curdling-screams, accompanied with waves of tears, wild thrashing of extremities, and the most labored breathing I'd heard since, well, labor.

"Ryan, we talked about this. It's just gonna prick a little. Want to chew some gum?"

(Don't ask where I pulled that one from.)

*sob, gulp, sob, sob sob* (screams): "Will(gasp) it (gasp) make it (gasp) not hurt?!?"

"Oh yes, yes! It's MAGIC GUM!!" (The nurse and I are now in cahoots.) So we use my body as a veritable straight jacket to hold her still, as she continues to holler to take Jaxson and leave her. Luckily, I've had experience in this arena.

The needle does its thing, she never even feels it, and is so overcome with joy and relief that she starts doing that sobbing/laughing thing that Steel Magnolias made so popular long ago.

Once that was done, Jaxson, who had just earlier been offered as a sacrificial lamb, climbs up, drops his pants, and doesn't even flinch. (I'm thinking he was still numb from the spanking I gave him minutes before in the bathroom for opening the urine cups with his teeth.)

You think I'm exaggerating, I know, but let me just tell you: when we walked out, every single member of the pediatrician's office was in tears, laughing so hard at what I'm sure was shit-gigglingly humorous when heard from behind a wall.