This Full House Archive

Category: Sick Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

If Wonder Woman & Mr. Mom Had A Baby
GarthNHRN and I have been married for 25 years (and YES, it totally does sound like a lot of years to be married and IT IS a very long time to be married, to the same person!) and we've been parents for 22 years (wut?!?!) and I've been a full-time mom (while working part-time from home as a professional blogger, writer and content producer) ever since.

Until this past April: When I accepted a full-time position at my current job.

And then my husband lost his job, in October.

This is the first time I'm speaking of it in a public forum, because my husband is much more private about his thoughts and feelings, while I'm more of a better out than in type of over-sharer.

You guys have lived through some of the best and possibly THE WORST times in my life, most recently with my Father recovering from heart failure AND kidney failure.

Watching a new day unfold from my parents' kitchen window and hoping for a better day for Dad. His recovery has been a…

Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Saturday, January 2, 2016

I can honestly say, without hesitation AND with complete confidence that GarthNHRN would also agree, these last 5 months have been absolutely dreadful AND have offered up some of the MOST stressful periods of our ENTIRE marriage, EVER.

On the OTHER hand!

We've experienced some of the BEST stop, drop, laugh your ass off, snort-worthy funniest moments…EVER!…as a family…and, oh YES…there is the food!

My husband made us lunch. And my first thought was…WOW!!!…he really needs to lower the bar, a little. And then I ate it in like four bites. Carry on, Garth(NHRN)!

Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Monday, November 2, 2015

Now that I am working full-time and commuting into the city (a.k.a. New York City, if you're NOT from Jersey) my husband and I have gone through a sort of Freaky Friday role reversal kind of thing. For example, GarthNHRN does ALL the:
- Cleaning
- Cooking
- Driving kids to school
- Food Shopping
- Laundry
- Picking kids up from school
And then, he does a whole lot more:
- Drives my Dad to (and from) dialysis every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday
- Does the food shopping for my mom, while Dad is at dialysis
- Because dialysis takes about 3 – 4 hours
- Each time
- Has met with doctors, nurses, pharmacists, therapists, and pretty much every "ist" there is to make sure that "my" parents are getting the best care possible
- Without going bankrupt
- That last bullet is ongoing
Aaaaaaand yet, the man still manages to make the rest of us feel pretty gosh-darned thankful he's around.

GarthNHRN (singing from the kitchen): Tiiiiiiny bubbles, in the wine…Me (singing along): Maaaaaakes me happy…GarthNHRN: All the time…I love it when my husband ad libs 🙂

Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Thursday, January 14, 2016

Long story short: If Wonder Woman and Mr. Mom had a baby, he or she wouldn't be even half as awesome as GarthNHRN, however, I imagine it would look a lot like this:

Have you seen Channing Tatum & Beyonce's "Run The World (Girls)" vs. Jenna Dewan-Tatum's "Pony" lip sync battle?!? It. Is. EPIC!

Aaaaaaand, before you get your boxers all in a bunch, honey (not YOU, I'm talking to GarthNHRN, but feel free to hang around, Queen Tatum Bey, honey) this post is meant to be a reminder…for the times when…you know…you are feeling most un-awesome…or whenever we're having a bad day…but not today.

Okay? Okay. Now YOU do me (TWSS!)

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Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…

They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!
January 29, 2016
NaBloPoMo 2015: Ocu-LOL-inctus

Yesterday started out uneventfully enough — I hopped onto the train (okay, so it was more like a slow side-step, being very weary of not falling in between the dreaded gap) settled into my seat (near the emergency exit, of course!) and then started playing around with my phone.

What?!? I get bored, easily.

And then my left eye began to twitch and I started rubbing it…and rubbing it…and daaaaaaang, what is UP with the itching…so I rubbed it some more, blaming the stupid cat or the dumbass dog for dumping hair all over the house.

I got into work and then the coughing started…cough-cough…hack…gag…cough-cough…OMG!!!…what is up with all this…cough-cough…hacking?!?!?! I've had this weird sort of nothing cough since spring, so I thought maybe it's allergies…rub…rub…rub…and the itchy eyes must be like fall allergies…OR…I'm just allergic to work.

What?!? YOU TOO!!! Ugh, one of us needs to win the lottery and end our agony, right?!?

So, by the end of the day, my left eye was beginning to hurt and now my right eye was getting all weepy, but I really needed to finish up a few projects before leaving for home, so I texted my husband:

So, I got on the train and then the pain hit…not like, hmmmm, this sucker hurts…I'm talking about the full-metal-holy-crap-I'm-dying-ova-here…ME EYE!!!! And then I InstaFacebooked it:

Seeeeee, totally gross, right?!?!?

So my husband, Garth (not his real name) picks me up at the train station and takes me to the doctors office. We were waiting for quite a while and I was getting restless, because ME EYE!!! So, as a way of distracting myself from the full-metal-holy-crap-I'm-dying-ova-here, I started telling my husband about the conversation I had with my co-workers, before leaving the office.

"I told them it was probably pink eye and then one of them asked me if I had heard about the licking eyeball fetish?!?"

[blank stare]

"I looked it up on the train home and found out it has a name, too: Oculolinctus."

[blink-blink-rub-rub-blink]

"Even though I was a little afraid about Googling licking eyeballs, because you never know what the Internet will spit out!"

[one beat, two beats]

Aaaaand, oh how he laughed…and laughed…

[the sound of crickets chirping]

Moral of the Story: I put the LOL into Oculolinctus!

[the sound of crickets gasping for air, and then falling down, dead before even hitting the floor]

Stupid pink eye, dumbass OcuLOLinctus.

November 5, 2015
NaBloPoMo 2015: Carpe Dentum!

It’s that time of year, again! November is National Blog Posting Month, when many of us blogger-types are reminded about how much we USED to blog…dammit…and, truth be told, although committing to writing every day in November is ambitious (even for social media enthusiasts, like me) I could really use a good brain-vomit (you're welcome!) soooooo, let's catch up, shall we?

Dad, after waking up from yet another procedure, this morning: Hey Babe, I made it! Mom, giggling a little: That's a good thing!!! Still a long road ahead, but they make a pretty danged good team, yeah? Sorry I'm being all mushy, but these two are an inspiration.

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Sep 18, 2015 at 1:53pm PDT

My Dad is very sick. Long story short, he was admitted into the hospital at the end of August for congestive heart failure and chronic kidney disease (which went unchecked for nearly 2 years) so he's been in and out of hospitals since the beginning of September.

Presenting the newest member of the Zipper Club, 2 days post op and looking good 🙂

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Sep 26, 2015 at 3:24pm PDT

He had open heart surgery about 6 weeks ago — we did the math, the other day, and figured out he's been home about 7 days in 2 months — but his kidneys are failing, which is now complicating his recovery. His kidneys keep backing up fluid into his system, so they tapped his lungs last week and, well, it's been a one step forward two steps back kind of stretch these last few weeks, yo!

Dad is back in the hospital (dammit) and gave us quite a scare, yesterday. He's in ICU and visiting hours are pretty strict, so my husband and my brother both took advantage of the downtime, while I worked remotely from the waiting room. At one point, I looked up and found both of them taking a power nap. And yes, my husband fell asleep with his reading glasses on and holding his phone, because he is a wonderful multi-tasker, like that 🙂

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Oct 21, 2015 at 6:15am PDT

My brother, my SIL, my husband and I have pitched in and try to help, however and whenever we can, staying with Mom and taking her to the hospital to see Dad — I've even worked remotely from the hospital snack bar, because FREE WIFI — and one thing that I am trusted with doing, while at the hospital (because, you know, I am a professional dork!) is helping Dad with cleaning and brushing his dentures.

We had a close family friend visit when Dad was in the ICU and I sort of got distracted (my trying to talk, listen AND do stuff at the same time almost ALWAYS leads to disaster!) while rinsing Dad's dentures in the sink in his room.

I grabbed the tube of toothpaste and smeared just a little bit on his top denture and started to…oh…so…very…gently…brushing, but the cream was soooo thick…like cement…and it smelled…like…I don't know…like…wait a minute…raising 4 babies, I know this smell!!!!

BUTT CREAM?!?!?!?

[eyes go wide]

I took a closer whiff and…YUP!!!!!!…I had, in fact, accidentally grabbed the Desitin and tried to brush my Father's dentures with BUTT CREAM!!!!!!

[rolls sleeves up, blows bangs out of eyes]

Guess what? Butt cream is REAL hard to get off of dentures, especially when you don't want anyone to notice what an asshole move you've just made, because butt cream is no where close to being even similar to toothpaste!

Funny thing is, the nurses didn't even question my smelling his dentures to make sure I got all of the butt cream off, because I think maybe they have pretty much seen everything.

The End.

November 1, 2015
Don’t Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…

It's been about 6 weeks since my "episode" and yes, I just "air-quoted" the word "episode", because I've had all the tests done to me, since the "episode", and I'm WAY MORE comfortable telling you about my "episode", because hypertensive heart disease sounds so…you know…icky.

I mean, not as icky as a sticky heart valve…like the one I got, too…but I've been assured that it is more common than I thought…and who knew…there's a bunch of us walking around with one or more sticky heart valves…[fist bump]…ain't midlife grand, YO!

I like to stir craisins into my oatmeal, how about you?

So, I've got a new cardiologist. I mean, he's new to me, but he's also very old and I realize that I'm not young, either (thanks for noticing, BRAT!) however, I am younger than he is, so, there ya' go.

[blank stare]

Where was I? Ummmmmm…oh yeah!…my husband, Garth (not his real name) was nice enough to drive me to see my new, but very old, cardiologist and accompany me into the office…you know…for moral support…and tissues…oh and cough drops…my throat closes up when I get nervous (that's what SHE said!) and because CARDIOLOGIST!!!!

"Mrs. Thompson?"

I jumped up out of my chair and managed to scare the bees juice out of the rest of the people waiting their turn to see my new, but very old, cardiologist. I also happened to be the youngest one in the room and I'm guessing they just weren't very used to such quick movement…heh…and my inner-twelve-year-old tends to crack very bad jokes, when I'm nervous.

"Who is your primary physician?"

[blink-blink]

"I don't have one."

[blank stare]

"Well, I'm pretty healthy…normally…but…you know…except for this one time…I mean."

[blank stare]

"And if I'm really sick, I take myself to the walk-in-emergency-type-care-place down the corner and see whoever happens to be on duty."

[blank stare]

"So I'm pretty open to recommendations!"

This was getting awkward, you guys.

[blank stare]

Blank stares are like non-verbal scoldings.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Moving along…so, I sat down…because non-verbal scoldings are awful, and the rest of the people in the waiting room sort of just stared at me…or maybe they were sleeping with their eyes open…either way…doesn't matter.

[blank stare]

"Mrs. Thompson?"

Oh man, now what?

"We need to take your weight."

Yeah, the woman hates me.

"OH BOY, MY FAVORITE PART!!!"

Although, THAT made her giggle. So, I walked over to the scale and…well…I hate scales…especially, these type of scales…you know…the ones where you have to move the weights and they keep sliding…and sliding…and…DAYUM!!!… is she ever going to stop sliding?!?!

"Eleventy-thousand pounds."

[eyes go wide]

Now, mind you, I've made peace with my squishy size 12 body…a long time ago…but DAYUM!!!

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?"

She clicked her tongue (or maybe it was her teeth, doesn't matter) and then she nodded her head.

"Are you sure that thing is working right?"

She assured me the scale was working just fine, but because I seemed a little distraught (i.e. acting like the biggest baby, EVER!), she had me step on the scale one more time and started sliding…and sliding…oh, wait…it stopped about 20 pounds short of DAYUM!!!

"Correction, you're eleventy-nine-hundred-and-eighty-pounds."

So I hugged her, this time the woman actually broke out into a full-blown grin and I'm pretty sure those were her real teeth, too.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!!!"

[eyes go wide]

"Figuratively speaking, I mean."

[sound of a roomful of senior citizens, snoring]

Long story short: My new, but very old, cardiologist is actually very nice AND he laughs at my really bad jokes, so we now have a standing date…every six months…which means I've got plenty of time to work on some new material…YO!

[blank stare]

Stupid blood pressure, dumbass sticky heart valve.

May 22, 2015
They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!
It's been a week since I've been home from the hospital and, well, did you know that laughter lowers blood pressure? Good thing, too — now that high blood pressure and I have a history, dammit.

She fainted while visiting her grandfather in the hospital a few years ago, so we've never been allowed to even mention the word and refer to it as "The place where really sick people go".

Long story short (you're welcome!): I haven't been feeling very well for quite a while and waited until "Holy crap!" and "MY CHEST HURTS!" oh, and by the way "I CAN'T BREATH!" before getting myself some serious medical attention.

"Your blood pressure is 193 over 112!"

Because of my family history, I am very vigilant about getting a yearly physical and I've never had a history with high blood pressure, until now.

"And it's not going down, so we're going to have to admit you!"

[one beat, two beats]

"That's…[huff]…what…[puff]…she…[huff]…said!"

I don't remember much after my inner-twelve-year-old showed up, but my oldest daughter filled me in later:
- I apologized to the nurse dude, while the poor guy tried to remove my shapeware-type camisole (because, OF COURSE!) and my industrial-strength bra (because, midlife girls need serious support, yo!)
- He then removed my flats and I apologized for not freshening up my pedicure from 3 months ago
- I apologized to the other nurse attempting to insert a port into my arm — prematurely, since I did not end up biting her, I think
- I apologized to the guy (or woman!) in the emergency bay next to me, because I pass gas when I get nervous…okay, fiiiiiiiiine…I fart, like a boss
- I apologized to the nurse dude…and to anyone and everyone…FOR EVERYTHING…just in case I pass out…or something
Even longer story, short (seriously, you owe me a thank you note!): The next couple of days were scary…as all get out…and, well, let's just say I'm bruised from head to toe with all of the prodding…and the poking…HOWEVER…I'm not afraid of needles, any longer…okay, not as much…fiiiiiiiiine…my stomach still hurts!

"And then she kept apologizing for wearing her industrial-strength bra!!!!"

Because teenagers love embarrassing their parents, I think it's called payback.

"It's probably why she couldn't breath!"

And those were perhaps the BEST five minutes spent…just sitting around the kitchen table with my kids and Garth (not his real name)…cry-laughing…yeah, life was good.

Until!

"Well, now that we're all together, we have something to tell you and Daddy!"

My husband and I looked around the table and opted for the "shut up and listen" parenting strategy.

"We ALL pooled our money and rented you guys a studio apartment in Cape Cod to spend your 25th anniversary in August!"

To say that both our eyes went REAL WIDE would be an understatement AND THEN our middle girl (i.e. the spokeskid) looked me dead in the face.

"Sooooo, now YOU have something to look forward to!"

[one beat, two beats]

Garth (to me): "In other words…we can't get our deposit back…DON'T DIE!"

I gained back close to two years, that day!
April 7, 2015
There’s a Reason Why They Don’t Call It Womenpause

Menopause. It's such an unattractive word. Let's be honest. What was the FIRST thing that came to mind when reading the word…MENOPAUSE…hot flashes…mood swings…old lady disease, maybe?

No one really likes to talk about…ahem…she who shall not be named…and I don't blame anyone visiting with us right now…especially, for the first time…for wanting to click away, at this very moment.

Because ain't nobody got no time to just sit around and think about how bad they feel about stuff…especially women…let alone, blog about it.

On the other hand: I've just entered my 12th year of blogging, so my kids are much older than your average parent-type blogger, which means I'm now in the "as close to forgotten without actually getting there" demographic, but my writing philosophy has pretty much remained the same.

I only share the stuff I would feel comfortable talking about…in front of my teens…or meeting someone, for the very first time.

"Could you talk about THAT…in ANOTHER room…please?!?!"

On the OTHER other hand: Apparently, I feel WAY more comfortable about talking in front of my teens…than my teens do…even though I wasn't really talking in front of them, when telling a good friend of mine one of my favorite transvaginal ultrasound stories…per say.

"Nooooo, I can't say transvaginal five times real fast!!!"

But, I try anyway.

"We can STILL hear you!"

Unfortunately for my teens, we live in a small house and my voice carries.

Right. So. Point being (because I do have one, it's in here, somewhere…OH YEAH…moving on) I've even taken to discussing my girlie troubles in the most manly way I know how, in mechanical terms, to help our more squeamish blog visitors feel a little less uncomfortable.

This is not one of those times.

WARNING, FRANK DISCUSSION AHEAD: relating to the female reproductive system, while using proper medical terms, for both internal and external bodily functions, and everything.

Okay, so while we wait for other folks to click away — I really don't talk about this stuff all that often, so I really do hope you consider coming back and please make sure to give the storm door a real good tug on your way out, because it sticks, that's what SHE said! — did I ever tell you about the time my uterus broke the ultrasound machine?!?!

SLAM!!!!

Now that we're alone. Last year, I was diagnosed with adenomyosis and there is nothing funny about this real painful, sucky part of perimenopause! Unless, you happened to be in the same room with me during an ultrasound and I'm feeling really, really uncomfortable about it.

"We're going to do the regular ultrasound first."

Because they make you drink A LOT of water before an ultrasound and, well, ultrasound technicians aren't exactly thrilled about the idea of you pee-ing…oh, sorry…I mean…urinating all over the examining room…either…still, I nearly kissed the ultrasound technician on the mouth, because I had to urinate THAT BADLY!

"There's a gown in the bathroom, put it on and I'll be back in just a few minutes!"

And when the ultrasound technicians tell you "There's a gown in the bathroom" what they really mean is look for the really long (and wide) sheet of pink glorified toilet paper.

[sound of a really long and wide sheet of pink glorified toilet paper, ripping]

ProTip: When it comes to womanly issues, it's easier if you just check your dignity in at the door.

Now the next real sucky part about waiting for a transvaginal ultrasound…is the waiting…I'm not very good at waiting…for anything…I get bored real easy and start looking around the room for stuff to read.

"Oh look, a uterus!"

Because, 4 babies…I kind of…sort of…know what one looks like.

"With a giant cluster of BLAH sitting…[squinting at ultrasound screen]…right there…OMG!!!…no WONDER this shiznit hurts SO MUCH…look at the size of that…wait a minute."

This particular cluster of BLAH had what looked like tiny arms and maybe even…

"OMG…IS THAT A HEAD!!!"

The ultrasound technician came back into the room just in time to find me with my nose glued to the ultrasound machine and tracing what looked like…

"Is…that…a…BABY?!?!"

Did you hear it? The two remaining gray cells in my brain EXPLODE?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

"Ummmm, that's NOT your ultrasound scan!"

Aaaaand, I don't believe I've ever been SO HAPPY to be in the "as close to forgotten without actually getting there" demographic…as I am…RIGHT NOW…not to mention…I may be the only person who's ever giggled her way through a transvaginal ultrasound…yo!!!

Moral of the Story: Don't go reading other people's ultrasounds!!!

Aaaaaand to the person to whom this ultrasound scan truly belongs: CONGRATULATIONS!!!!…you have a beautiful uterus!!!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid ultrasounds, dumbass menopause.

Updated to add: The doctor's office called me, while in the middle of writing this post, to give me the results of the ultrasound — not pregnant, but there's a cyst on my right ovary and I need to go back for yet ANOTHER transvaginal ultrasound in 6 weeks…you know…for extra BLAH!

Can't wait to see whose ultrasound I'll be reading next…NOT!!!

February 12, 2015
Winter of discontent, breeder of constructive anxiety.

It's snowing (again!), the kids are home from school (see previous parenthesis!) and, although I am thrilled to NOT have to worry about my oldest driving (it's her day off, YAY!) or our school buses getting through this mess, I'm just hoping they actually finish out the year…before the 4th of July.

2 out of 6 people in this house actually like the snow, I am NOT one of them.

The cold weather is rough for a lot of folks. Especially, if you are prone to winter depression. Most especially, when you are dealing with a physical disability. But, you know what's really hard? Watching the people you love, more than ANYTHING on this planet, try and fight their way through both.

Aaaaand, if you are a parent, well, then you already know that there is NOTHING worse than seeing your child in pain. Physical, mental, emotional, it doesn't matter. Unless you are a parent of a teen, or caring for an aging parent, who's grown accustomed to feeling alone and helpless, then it's like walking around with an epic splinter, embedded deep inside your chest, constantly poking at your heart.

I once thought the best Garth (not his real name) and I could hope for (as parents) is that our children grow up to be healthy, happy and relatively well-adjusted human beings.

Only NOW do I realize that it is a lifelong process, for ALL of us.

So, when the problems seem insurmountable (like today), it helps to know that sometimes…some…ding…danged…times…the answer is as simple as embracing the ability to look beyond the storm.

Kids (in unison): Hey, daddy's home!

Finding that…one…bright…spot…of…hope.

Me: Oh, wow, they actually let you come home WAY early, huh?

AND then cling to that mother-trucker…FUH-EVER…or, at least, until the next BIG storm.

Garth (not his real name): I didn't text you, because you've got enough to worry about.

Although I prefer to think of it as more like "constructive anxiety" am I right?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid ground hog, dumbass Winter Storm Maximus.

© 2003 – 2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

February 3, 2014
That time of the month, when my uterus broke the ultrasound machine.

Although 2014 marks my 11th year of blogging (that's right, I was over-sharing, before over-sharing was cool, baby!), my philosophy regarding writing about life's more sensitive issues (i.e. raising teens) has pretty much remained the same.

I only share the stuff I would feel comfortable talking about…in front of my teens…or when meeting someone…for the first time.

Still, there's something very therapeutic about being able to, literally, write your way into a healthier state of mind, right?

Besides, there's nothing like a good brain vomit to get you moving in the right direction…which is forward…you know…far away from all the vomit.

I've even taken to discussing my girlie troubles in the most manly way I know how, in mechanical terms, to help our more squeamish blog visitors feel a little less uncomfortable.

This is not one of those times.

WARNING, FRANK DISCUSSION AHEAD: relating to the female reproductive system, while using proper medical terms, for both internal and external bodily functions, and everything.

(more…)

January 6, 2014
Stupid migraines, dumbass’ologists.

I blogged about helping my in-laws with a few chores around the house and shared this picture on Facebook, of my kids helping their grandparents put up their Christmas tree, when I noticed that one of my kids was missing…just like last time.

It's funny to see how each of them have grown and changed in such a short time — seriously, Glen is nearly 6' 2" tall — realizing that our middle girl was once again sidelined by a migraine…not so much.

Heather has missed a lot of school days over the years, but her migraines have become debilitating and I once again received the dreaded "I've got Heather here in my office, ready to puke her brains out, again" phone call from the school nurse, last week.

Long story, short: her migraines are becoming more frequent and she has a headache almost every single day, so we've made an appointment with a neurologist at the end of December.

I really hate it whenever my kids are hurting, but it seems Heather has drawn the short straw, especially when it comes to dealing with physical ailments that require visiting doctors specializing in anything ending in "ologist".

She is also smack-dab in the middle of the college applications rush, so it's NOT like the girl needs ONE MORE THING to worry about.

Having to wait an entire month to see the neurologist doesn't help, but we're hoping for some positive news and…more importantly…much needed relief from her migraines.

Aaaaaand, then she sends me this text, her first day back at school.

I mean, the poor kid's got enough on her plate, as it is…especially with me being her mother and our having to share a brain and everything…right?!?

[blank stare]

Stupid migraines, dumbass 'ologists.

©2003 -2013 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, so far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

November 25, 2013
My Ability to Confuse People, In Two Languages

Growing up in my parent's house we spoke Hunglish and, even now, my kids have very little trouble following along, as their maternal side of the family tree continues to hold entire conversations, in half Hungarian and half English.

now, my mom and I both spend our sundays trying to remember just when (and how) in the heck our kids got so grown…

The downside being: my inability to complete a single reprimand, without referring to some Hungarian proverb my parents or grandmother would bust out in similar parenting situations.

Problem being: my kids have no clue what the heck I am hollering about, in two languages, unless I bust out with a slew of curse words and, well, then they know to duck and cover.

Just the sound of "a fene egye meg", when spat in between "hulye", "pofatlan" and "balfasz" is enough to guarantee, at the very least, an awkward silence from the "stupid" "faceless" "sucker", "damn it" (true translation, makes no sense, I know) especially, if you happen to be on the receiving end.

Still, Hungarian expressions like "lofasz a budosh kurva anyad seggebe" are quite offensive and much worse than its English counterpart: which I cannot even bring myself to type, this early in the day.

Suffice it to say it is quite stinky and most likely very, very painful.

[shiver]

So, what's my point…and EWWWW!!!…right?!?

I received a call from the nurse at the high school that my middle girl attends: she got in between a boyfriend and a girlfriend being all…[giggle-giggle]…oh, stop it…[giggle-giggle]…and their supposed playful pushing and shoving, which then suddenly turned all…no, YOU stop it…BAM!!!

The girlfriend fell into her locker door (which was wide open) and slammed it into my daughter's head.

I know, ouch!

Unfortunately, it didn't end there. Heather then slammed the OTHER side of her head into her own locker and, well, OUCH!!!

Long story, short: she went to the nurse's office, politely asked for an ibuprofen and then proceeded to vomit.

A LOT!!!

Aaaaand she was still vomiting, by the time I got to her school, almost an hour later, earning us an impromptu ride in an ambulance.

It's how we roll.

Heather is the only one out of all four of my kids…[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]…who has ever gone through surgery…twice…followed by two more emergency room visits for complications from a very invasive procedure on her backside.

In teaching hospitals that happened to be staffed with medical students, each and every time.

Seriously, even I was all like, OH MAN, 20-something year-olds are staring at my 13 year-old's butt, really?!?

She is also my migraine kid.

"There seems to be no cranial damage."

Only, this time, the pediatric physician on staff had a wicked accent and I heard it as her saying: no anal damage, because I am 12.

"We're going to treat her for migraine with i.v. fluids and meds."

Having been there way too many times, my ownself, I got absolutely nothing whimsical to say about migraines or i.v. fluids.

[shiver]

Aaaaaand, that's when my daughter proceeded to lose her cranium.

"Why DOES IT ALWAYS have to be me DAMMIT?!?"

Not for nothing, but the kid DOES seem to be a magnet for this sort of stuff and I am seriously considering investing in lots of bubble wrap, over the summer.

"Well, you know what your great-grandmother always said?"

Heather closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping; didn't stop THIS dork any, though.

"The dog will always choose to pee where there is pee, already."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Like, you know, when we walk Doofus-Dawg?"

She finally opened her eyes, probably way past bored at this point, wondering where in the heck this was going.

"How he sniffs and then pees on every pole, mailbox or whatever."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Soooooo, you're saying I'm a pole, that makes total sense…to no one."

Ah, a little nugget of sarcasm, it was at this point when I knew that she was beginning to feel a little better and that we (mostly me!) would be okay…SHEW!!!

"Nooooo, I'm saying we're both more like pee magnets."

Aaaaaand, then I heard someone else quietly clear their throat.

"The bathroom is just around the corner, if you need, Mrs. Thompson."

Moral of the Story: Better to be laughed at than puked on, I always say.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

"Hulye" head injuries, "seggfej" proverbs.

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June 18, 2013