The Cool Kids

Friday, March 22, 2019

Fly on the wall: March 2019

Welcome to the March Fly on the Wall Group Challenge. This month, 7  bloggers and I are describing what it would be like if you were to take a peek inside our homes...

Have a "look" around mine, and then go visit the other blogger's pages. There's always something fun, sentimental, or better yet, embarrassing going on. It's like your house, only we're admitting to the craziness. You have our permission. Buzz on over!

Dream Big, Kid
J., (our 14-year old)  told me that local bank was sponsoring a "Career Day" at his school. In the a.m.,  each child would be given a portfolio based on their current grades and behavior. With certain requirements of a job and bills, the point was to see how to balance finances. (Awesome skill, right?) He'd seen other students go through the program before, earning hi-rise jobs and buying fancy cars. With his 4.00GPA, he thought he'd be in the big league. 

J. :(Looking Glum after school) "I should have stayed home."
Me: "Wasn't the career fair today? Weren't you going to have an "unreal" time?"
J: "It was UNREAL all right. They made me a teacher! A college teacher, but still."
Me: "You're the second person today to make fun of MY career choice, J."
J.: "It's not just that, mom. I have great grades and they made me have a wife who doesn't have a job!"
The Man: (Watching me jump from my chair) "Maybe she's living off of an incredible inheritance. Maybe she put in her work years early, or maybe she's raising the kids."
J.: "That's the other thing. I have two kids! Other students get to drive fancy cars to their jobs. I have to drive a sedan. What's a sedan?". (The same kind of car your parents drove for years with three kids!)
The man and I are laughing now.
J.: "I had to choose the middle-level grocery plan and health insurance. I didn't even say I wanted kids and I didn't know you HAD to have a health plan."
The man to me after J. left. : "Wow, he learned finance, sex-ed, and disappointment in one day. Public schools are teaching the important stuff."

I'm old.
Alexandra (my eldest), has always had her own bank account and credit/debit card but realized she recently needed to order some checks. You know, the paper things we used to pay bills with. A few texts of hers from our conversation made me laugh:

A.: "I just got my first box of checks! I've never felt more adult in my life. I keep looking at them and I'm just like, 'This is it. This is the peak of adulthood greatness.'"
A: " I mean, I can pay for school pictures and lunches without envelopes full of pocket change!"
A.: "Let me get this straight. You paid credit card bills with checks?".
A.: "What happened if you lost a check?"
Me: What if I lost a check? This comes from the girl who auto-pays for everything and takes pictures to deposit their checks? Trust that you have more faith in the system than me. Now, show me how to online deposit like that."

Matte is the new black.
I thought it would be a fabulous idea to paint every one of my interior house doors black. It would be a big project so I could break it up into pieces. No big deal. I buy this creamy automotive paint because I know someone who tried it on their doors and loved it. Good enough for me. One weekend I paint 7 of the thirteen doors. I hoped I could do more, but the paint and my energy ran out. 2 weeks later I start on the rest of my doors with the second can of paint I just bought. Not only did I paint the remaining doors, I decided to do touch-ups on every other door. I was a bit upset because the newly painted doors weren't drying the same way the others had. It took my big brain another hour to realize that the paint was shiny, not wet. I had painted the second set of doors (as well as touched up the others) in a gloss, not a matte like the first can. Now I have 13 black doors. Some are shiny and the rest look like someone wiped chicken grease all over them with their greasy-arsed hands. Help me.

When little A. (age 5) was introduced to us, he was a non-verbal child. In the past year, his words have added up, but in the most meaningful ways. I love that he uses his words as he needs them. Nothing extra, just important enough to get his point across.  I was making marshmallow men with the boys and S. (age 4) was getting frustrated because his candy eyes wouldn't stick. A. took his marshmallow, got really close to S. and said, "grab it like dis," (he pinched out a piece of Marshmallow) "and push em in like diiiiiiis." (he gritted his teeth and pushed the candy really hard into the Marshmallow man's face) 
S. looked at his brother like he was freaking Mr. Wizard and the making of the Marshmallow Men commenced and were eaten.
Learning the letter M with Marshmallows.


Finally, Karma.
Remember the adorable story I told last week regarding the man and his queasiness for needles? Well, to make up for that, here's a pic from Monday. I was having a procedure done and the (very kind) nurse couldn't find a vein in my arm(s) for sedation. She tried my hand a few times before saying out loud, "Your skin is really tough." I tell you she said that exact sentence because it was the last thing I remember her saying before I passed out. Instead of the man laughing, he joined the nurse in waking my green self up.
I once said I'd never talk about my health. So much for that, eh? Honestly, I think at this age, I just need to see more people in backless gowns.  Let's face it. I owed this ridiculous photo to the man.

Happy Friday, friends!
Please check out this month's participants:

             Baking in a Tornado
             Never Ever Give Up Hope
             Menopausal Mother
             Spatulas on Parade
             The Crazy Mama Llama 
             Go Mama O.

Friday, March 15, 2019

Use Your Words March 2019 Ouch!

Today’s post is a writing challenge created by Karen @ Baking in A TornadoThis is how it works: 10 participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge! Oh, and no one participating knows who received their words or in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:
peanut butter, stool, shoes, polyester, donuts

They were submitted by the lovely Rena @

Among the plethora of auto-immune issues I've been blessed with, about 3 years ago, my doctors added "Ulcerative Colitis" to the pile. Since my teenage years, I'd always had "belly problems," but I thought every worried-kid who was trying to get through life was dealing with the same issues.  I've taken many prescription meds since then. I've also tried over-the-counter meds, gluten-free diets, dairy-free diets, no food diets, cleanses, crying on cold bathroom floors; everything I could think 0f, but nothing helped.

After lots of blood tests and a colonoscopy, my medical team decided it was time to try Humira. If you've turned on the radio or television in the last few years for even 30 minutes, you know what Humira is. It started out as a Crohn's, UC, and Psoriasis treatment. Now apparently, it treats everything but splinters. (kind of joking). Despite the MANY side effects of the drug, I figured I had nothing to lose besides severe belly problems. You thought I was going to use the word "stool"somewhere in here, didn't you? Nope. TMI. 

The main problem of this medicine for me? Humira is an injection. Needles and I have never gotten along well, so I was pretty terrified. Another downside? The starter pack begins with FOUR (!) injections to, wait for it: the belly.

Here is the story of how the man and I dealt with that first dose. 

First dose: 4 injections. Seven days later: 2 injections. One injection every week after.


Day One (What observers saw)
(People looking out from the hospital window, probably.)

Person 1: "OMG! Look at that poor man lying on the ground!"

Person 2: "Why is that woman not helping him?"

Person 3: " Why is that woman KICKING him?"

Person 4: "If I didn't have this IV, I'd call 911!"

Person 3:    "I'll do it!"

An hour earlier on the ride to the doctor.
Me: "Thanks for taking me to this. How can I be scared to death AND starving at the same time? I hope this spoonful of peanut butter will be enough.  I don't want to have a full stomach until it's over."

The Man: "No worries, you're going to be great. When it's done, I'll take you for donuts."

Me: "Haha! What am I, three years old? If I'm well behaved, I get a treat?"

The man: "Well, we don't have to..."

Me: "Shush. I want donuts."

In the office, I lift my polyester shirt and get ready for the pain. The very calm doctor rolls over close to me on her stool.
The Doctor: "Sit back and get comfortable. Take your shoes off if you'd like. You're going to be fine. It burns like a bee-sting, but just for a bit. I'll do three and you'll try the last one." (I got scared and messed it up, so the doctor decided to do the last one with the man. She wanted him to see how it's done, in case I couldn't stab myself.) "Your husband sure is supportive!"

Me: "He really is. But, I have to tell you- he doesn't love needles. I don't like them because I bleed all over or somebody can't find a vein. When he sees needles, he tends to get dizzy and faint.

The Doctor: "How do you know that?"

Me: "This isn't our first rodeo, Doc."(This wasn't even the first time I said, 'This isn't our first rodeo.' to a doctor.)

The Doctor: "Aw, maybe he just doesn't like seeing you get hurt".

Me: "Yeah, maybe..."

The man ends up learning how to do the injection and carefully stabs me. (my words.)

Leaving the office, the man grabs his keys and proudly declares he's fine.
The man: "How are you doing?"

Me: "I'm kind of sore but I think I was more nervous than I was in pain. How are you? Listen, I really appreciate you driving me home. I don't know how I would have done this without..."

Me: (after a thud) "OMG! Are you kidding me? I can't bend over!!"

Me, trying to roll the man so I can grab his keys. I'm pushing him over with my leg because I can not bend over due to the (not sure if I have mentioned this,)  FOUR SHOTS to MY BELLY!


Finally, ME driving the sweet man home, still semi-happy that he went with me. Happier still, that I didn't get arrested for domestic abuse. Happiest because, despite any pain, I'm ALWAYS capable of getting my own donuts.
The man: "You're going to eat those donuts without me, aren't you?"

Me: "I bet your stomach is pretty sore, so yes. Yes, I am."

We figure I've had at least 160 of these babies. Ridiculously grateful for health insurance.

Happy "Hug-Your-Biggest-Cheerleader" day, friends.


Go visit the other cool kids participating in this month's Use Your Words Challenge:
 On The Border      

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