I was temporarily released from the full-time mom jail today to have my hair done by a professional. Since it’s been so damned hot here it didn’t take much for this professional, Hannah, at the Beehive, to convince me to take at least three inches off. It feels so much better.
Clouded Leopards at the Nashville Zoo (photo by Diana Hollis)
These are my children. That’s Emma there on the left. She looks somewhat like the elder animal on the right, just a bit smaller. We’ll refer to the elder animal as Gwen. I know, I know. These two animals don’t resemble the photos of my children that you have previously seen here on this site. No, I don’t have clouded leopard children, but the children I have brought fourth act like the clouded leopards in this photo. We’re living in an installment of THE TRANSFORMERS. There are about two hours of the day (in the morning) when they are loving and sweet. The hours they are willing to touch one another without some sort of venom laced reaction.
Then they transform into spotted leopards fighting over real estate, food and basic oxygen. The rest of the day I referee spells of vicious, rabid, tattletale tantrums.
MOM! SHE HIT ME!
NO I DIDN’T! SHE HIT ME!
SHE HAS MY PINK HAIR THINGY AND SHE’S GOING TO BREAK IT, I JUST KNOW IT!
SHE TOOK MY CARDS!
SHE HAS MY GAME!
SHE WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!
SHE ATE THE LAST SWISS ROLL AND THERE’S TWO IN A PACK AND SHE COULD HAVE SHARED WITH ME BUT SHE DIDN’T!
SHE CALLED ME STUPID AND TOLD ME TO SHUT UP!
SHE WON’T WATCH TV SOMEWHERE ELSE SO I CAN WATCH SPONGEBOB ON THE BIG TV!
SHE HID THE REMOTE SO I CAN’T CHANGE THE CHANNEL!
SHE DOESN’T WANT TO WATCH THE MOVIE I WANT TO WATCH!
SHE IS THROWING THINGS AT ME IN THE POOL!
SHE IS SCREAMING IN MY EAR!
SHE THREW SAND AT ME!
SHE GOT OFF THAT SWING AND THEN WHEN I WANTED TO GET ON IT SHE HOPPED ON THERE SO I COULDN’T!
SHE’S BREATHING ON MY FOOD!
SHE FARTED IN MY FACE!
SHE BURPED IN MY FACE!
SHE STUCK HER FEET IN MY FACE!
SHE HAS MY SHOES ON AND THEY DON’T FIT HER!
SHE WANTS TO COME IN MY ROOM AND I DON’T WANT HER IN MY ROOM!
SHE WON’T BE QUIET WHEN I’M ON THE PHONE WITH MY FRIEND!
SHE IS LOOKING AT ME AND WON’T STOP!
SHE IS FOLLOWING ME AND WON’T STOP!
SHE IS CHASING ME AND WON’T STOP!
SHE IS MAKING NOISES WITH HER MOUTH AND WON’T STOP
SHE IS HUMMING AND WON’T STOP!
SHE IS BREATHING AND WON’T STOP!
It’s that time in the Summer when the girls grow bored of everything they can possibly do to occupy their time. They are in the pool every afternoon. Up until today, the humidity has made it unbearable outside to do anything other than get in the pool.
We’ve been watching movies after lunch to pass the time. I highly recommend MARLEY AND ME and BRIDE WARS. We’ve watched those movies more than once. But today, after lunch, we were able to watch some real reality television. A police chase broadcast live on FOXNEWS and we sat and watched in it’s entirety.
Right up until the end, the side impact crash that left one person injured badly enough to need the jaws of life for extrication. FOXNEWS was kind enough to replay the crash three times and we watched all three replays.
Then we were updated on Bernie Madoff, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays and the reverse descrimination suit that could affect firefighter promotions all over the country (including Nashville).
See, it’s not all Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon here at the Hollis house. My girls are up on current events. They refer to Farrah Fawcett as ‘the woman who had butt cancer.” How much more fun would the news be if kids reported it in their own language?
Don’t adjust your computer, there is no sound on this highlight reel…….enjoy!
I wouldn’t have thought two cents about Michael Jackson today. I saw him in concert when I was younger (much younger) in Knoxville, TN and I have to honestly admit I don’t remember anything about that concert. I remember that we drove to Knoxville that morning and drove back that night right after the show. I went with a school friend who lived with her Father and they had an extra ticket and took me along.
Ironically, that friend lives less than one mile from me but I never see her. She’s a bitter, now divorced Mother to a daughter 6 months older than Emma. I see her driving her car all the time and pass her on the road. I was even at a stop light right next to her one time and she didn’t know it. Thank God for window tint.
So today when this news broke, I was stunned. I stood in the living room with my eyes locked on the television letting this sink in and then I was brought right back to reality by my PULSE OF REALITY, a.k.a. GWEN LAURA HOLLIS.
“Who’s Michael Jackson?” she asked.
I must really be getting old. And it sucks that I’m now old enough that I have to explain to my children who people are when they die and it makes national news.
So after last week’s non-blood draw drama, today was the day I was set to go to the doctor for the wonderful annual physical. The one where I take a pair of socks with me to slip on while I’m putting on the hospital gown that gets left open in the front. The one where I get felt up and have to pay for it.
Turns out my doctor, who is relocating to another state next month, decided to take the day off. Funny, I never got a call about that. Is it too much to ask for a heads up before I leave the house all pent up with anticipation for the annual invasion of my lady parts by a literal stranger? Apparently, it is. I think I should craft some sort of bill to send him for not showing up to MY appointment because he sure would bill me for standing him up without a phone call at least 24 hours in advance.
After waiting for a good 10 minutes they call to my attention that the doc is not there and offer me a nurse practitioner instead. So, I’m already there. Why not settle for another literal stranger to do the deed? Saves me a trip, right?
When I get called back I expect to be weighed and it’s the same number as last year …. YEAH! Then she asks me to remove my flip flops and stand with my back against the wall to have my height measured.
“Five foot, five inches.” she says
“WHAT?”
“Five, five.” she repeats.
“But I’m five, seven.” I tell her, because that’s what it says on my brand new drivers license. So it has to be the gospel. I’ve been 5′7″ since I was 18, or younger.
She insists that her measurement is correct and I begin to wonder in my Gemini mind if perhaps they are measuring from the top of the baseboard and not from the actual carpeted floor.
Then I begin to wonder if it is really humanly possible to shrink 2 inches in one year. Could it be that by the time my oldest child reaches middle school that she will be taller than me because I AM MELTING. Like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. I’M MELTING!!! My evilness is eminating from my very flesh and bone making me shorter and ultimately even more menacing…………I digress.
So I come home and tell Gwen all about my doctors appointment because after all, she witnessed me pass out last week at the lab. She was anxious to know if I passed out at the doctors office. I informed of her my shrinkage and here was her 9 year old response.
“You can’t be shrinking. You’re not a Grandma yet.”
Last week, Emma’s swim class of preschoolers got to wear lifejackets and go to the deep water (5 feet). Gwen was jealous down to her bone marrow. It didn’t help matters that on that same day, Gwen’s class worked on reinforcing what they had already learned….in other words, BORING!!!
Well, today Gwen was happy as can be when she learned she, too, would strap on a lifejacket and head to the “REAL” deep end (13 feet). It was 50 minutes of deep end and diving board bliss. She’s exhausted now and has switched her career goal from Fashion Designer to Professional Swimmer. I don’t know if my sinus cavities can take the constant inhalation of chlorine fumes.
Today was the day on the calendar with the big red star. The one where I volunteer to show up at the medical clinic and donate a few vials of blood for my annual physical baseline tests.
That was the whole hearted plan.
But then in the lab, the needle phobia reared its ugly head and I passed out - AGAIN!
I was totally up front with the phlebotomist and warned her about this history of mine. The one where I hit the deck when a needle passes within 5 feet of my arms. There have only been two times in the last 10 years that I donated without passing out and I was pregnant both times. I’m obviously not pregnant now!
I knew it was going to be a doozie when she had trouble just finding a vein. But an older, more experienced member of the staff assessed my point of insertion and I had a glimmer of hope that she would be able to find one.
So I turned my head and waiting for that prick. Waited for that “sting” as they call it. Gwen held my hand as Les and Emma looked on. And I know this is probably not normal for the entire family to follow someone into the lab to have blood drawn, but I’m special. I have a pre-existing condition that causes me to loose consciousness whilst assuming the position and I have a track record with witnesses to prove it.
I could tell by the facial expressions my fireman was making that she wasn’t having any success with my veins. I’ve seen all those expressions many times before.
So I took a chance and asked, “Did you get it?”
“Not yet.” the phlebotomist answered. I remember telling her I was light headed.
This is the point in the story where everything you read from here on is heresay. It’s nothing I remember and nothing I can personally confirm happening because I WAS PASSED OUT!
My 5 year old witnessed me passing out. My fireman declared to the staff that I was “done” and they should remove the needle. There’s talk of me being slapped in the face by phlebotomists. There’s talk of my gasping for air several times. They supposedly shouted my name but I didn’t hear it.
The smelling salts brought me back. The needle was gone and a bandaid covered the wound. I was assisted to a table and a cold rag found its way to my neck.
I’m disappointed that it wasn’t succcessful. I thought I was walking in there with my big girl pants on and next Monday the doctor would tell me how completely normal and boring my cholesterol was. So unless there is some magical cholesterol test that does not require two vials of blood, I am pretty sure that boring number will remain a mystery. I think given the circumstances I will just designate 138 to be my so called cholesterol level.
Sounds good to me.
Here’s another scrapbook page documenting my 40th birthday. This was taken by Grandma Janie on June 6th, three days after my birthday.
I’m seen here with the two who will be responsible for driving me to doctors appointments in 40 more years. I imagine one of them will be on a joint checking account with me to make sure I don’t get swindeled by someone. That daughter will make it known to the other that it’s her responsibility to call the pharmacy and straighten out the snafu with my meds. See what they have to look forward to?
It’s been a while since I got a good video of the girls singing. Mainly because I’m always the one driving and there’s probably one or two people out there who would think my driving while videotaping the girls might be a little risky. So Tuesday en route to swimming lessons, Les drove and I filmed. They started out a little iffy but in the end they get it together.
This is dedicated to their internet faithful down in Florida, Georgia, Virginia and over on the West coast. This is their version of Miley Cyrus’ The Climb