Keep Your Cough To Yourself, Lady.

Today, Hubbit and I took Bug to his first official appointment with his Diabetes doctor. Since he was diagnosed in mid-January he's only been to his regular pediatrician. I figured since for the last doctor visit Bug had, I took him without additional adult supervision (AKA one of my many tag team partners), I’d drag Hubbit along for this one. After the ridiculousness Bug threw out at his physical two weeks ago while Hubbit was working, I figured calling in backup for this visit was more than necessary.

Little did I know…this visit was destined to fail, regardless of whether I brought Hubbit along or not.

First, let me just say I live in a town with one of the best University hospitals in the eastern region of our country. Billions of dollars are spent each year not only on research, but also to encourage the country’s most qualified specialists to come here for work. The level of care provided, in specialty areas of medicine, is basically unmatched anywhere near our city.

But, silly me. I ignorantly assumed since the University is highly respected and the pediatric endocrinology department had such a raving reputation itself, a visit to their offices would feel at least SLIGHTLY different than a visit to the FREE county health department clinic.

(Side Note: Before anyone gets all huffy with me about dogging the Health Department, CALM yourself. The Health Department is a great service and since it’s basically FREE, I wouldn’t expect much if I did visit there. I totally understand they likely have no funding for art on the walls, live plants, a kids' corner or anything else you might see in a private practice. But, when you’re in the area’s “best” child Diabetes office, are paying premium insurance rates and have to cough up a co-pay that would be better spent on a spa pedicure, you’d expect to at least not have to endure a waiting room which smells like body odor, right?)

Anyhow, I should have suspected this visit was doomed immediately after we arrived. Hubbit was kind enough to drop Bug and I off while he parked in the aggravating parking garage (which BY THE WAY, you have to pay for whether your ticket is validated or not). I began signing Bug in on the registration clipboard, while also chatting with the receptionist. As I was handing over insurance information to the clerk, Bug came up beside me and leaned against the wall.

All of a sudden, I heard a gentle "woosh" sound. It sounded like a burst from an instant air freshener, which at this point was a very welcomed sound considering I’m not sure anyone else waiting in the room had showered in weeks. I'm serious. The stink was almost unbearable.

As I turned to look for the air freshener system, I quickly noticed my auditory instinct was inaccurate. No, it was not an air freshener I heard going off with the gental "woosh" sound.

Nope.

Instead, up against the wall, there stood Bug…with globs of hand sanitizer running down his forehead. He looked shocked, as if he had no idea what had hit him. Little did he know, when he’d decided to lean against the wall, he’d positioned himself directly UNDER the automatic hand sanitizer dispenser! I immediately burst out laughing but he still hadn’t exactly caught on to what was happening. He had no idea his sole presence under the machine was making it dispense sanitizer onto his noggin' at a rapid rate. So, while I was trying to unclench my legs (so I didn’t tinkle) long enough to move him, the hand sanitizer just kept pouring onto his head and shirt.

Oh. Em. Gee.

We managed to collect ourselves (and when I say “we”, I really just mean “me” ) and found the only seats available, which happened to be in the smack dab center of the giant waiting room. The room not only smelled like B.O. but it was also visibly dingy, so I tried to keep our belongings hugged tightly in my lap. After all, I definately wanted to avoid any unnecessary contamination. However, only a few moments after I sat down, the lady sitting directly across from me began hacking her head off. I mean, she wasn’t just barely coughing…she was COUGHING. Did she not see the friendly sign asking anyone with a cough to take a MASK or was she simply illiterate?! Sadly, I’ll never know.

Listen, I am a slight germ-a-phobe. It's not that dramatic really. It merely means, I do NOT like to be coughed, sneezed or spat on. I prefer people to keep their nasty bodily fluids to themselves, at ALL times. So, going to the doctor’s office can bring on panic for me. Typically, in specialists offices I don’t have to worry too much, because most patients are there for more complex reasons than a common cold.

But, NOT today. Germs were a’flying left and right!

As I frantically dug in my purse for anything I had to shield myself from her disgusting germs, Hubbit joined us. Although he caught me taking a piece of paper (It was the ONLY thing I could find!) and very obviously shielding my face from her “fluids”, he wasn’t dazed. After all, he’s been married to me for 11 years and none of my shenanigans shock him, even for one instant.

The nice part was I didn’t have to worry about trying to shield Bug from her likely-cold-or-possibly-worse-meningitis-avian-flu-hybrid-germs because well…he had already accidentally disinfected his ENTIRE HEAD with hand sanitizer. I'm pretty sure he'll be germ free from the neck up for the next two weeks, with or without bathing.

I have never been so excited to hear our names called as I was when the nurse mispronounced our last name. The truth is, I wasn’t sure if I could hold my breath to avoid inhaling illness for much longer without passing out. But, the actual visit really didn’t go much better. Bug did get a great “Doctor’s Report”, but once again his non-ADHD behaviors came out as soon as we were placed in a room. While I thought Hubbit might be a nice buffer to keep him calm, it turns out the addition of Hubbit in the room only gave Bug another person to use as a jungle gym.

While I’m 100% sure we’re ready for a new endocrinology office that does not make me feel like I need to take a Hazmat disinfection shower each time I leave, I do have to give props to the Nurse Practitioner we saw today. As she was chatting with Hubbit, Bug decided to randomly ninjy kick him right in “the area”. Although he hunched over in pain and she clearly saw the entire thing, she skipped no beat by instantly turning her attention to me and continuing the conversation, like she’d never seen a thing! That's professionalism at its best, right there.

Whitney

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.” (Erma Bombeck)

Next Time Hubbit's Taking Them To The Doctor

We’ve been looking for a new pediatrician for a while, due to several reasons. So, I was really excited to get the boys an appointment with a great doctor last week. On the way to their appointment, I talked with them about getting a physical and how we wanted to make a good impression on their new doctor and her staff.

Somewhere along those ten miles between my house and the doctor’s office, my lecture on behavior must have completely flown out the window and became instant road kill. As a result, although I prepared them well for what I expected, our trip to the new doctor was quite the…adventure.

Who am I kidding?! Adventure is a nice way to say it. The truth is, from start to finish, it was a HOT MESS.

Let’s just say there’s nothing like your child BEGGING for the nurse to bring him his Flu Mist for a full 20 minutes, then running from her all around the office and ultimately having to be HELD DOWN because when she did appear with it, it “looked scary”.

The funny thing is, I wasn’t even going to make the boys get their flu shot or mist this year. I’m pretty off and on with it, actually. I usually give in and am guilted into letting them administer it to them on a random doctor visit, but for the past few years, we’ve gotten the shot and they’ve still ended up with a terrible case of the flu. In all honesty, I think it’s a little silly to get a vaccine for a virus. Isn’t our immune system built to fight them? I’m no doctor…just sayin’…

Of course, when the nurse initially asked me if they’d already gotten their flu shot, Bug piped in quickly with, “My mom doesn’t believe in the flu shot, don’t you know?” I was busted. For what, I’m not exactly sure. But, I have to say I kind of felt like a 3rd grader sitting in the office for stealing crayons or something. So, instead of being labeled “Worst Mother of the Year” for not scheduling a flu shot appointment for the kids on September 1st each year, I quickly responded with, “I never get it but we ALWAYS make sure they do”. What is it about guilt that makes an honest woman turn into a flaming liar?!

I would have been fine with being the crazy-mother-who-thinks-less-medication-vaccines-or-medical-intervention-is-ideal-if-possible EXCEPT for I’d ALSO been trying to convince the nurse Bug did not have ADHD. It was a huge task, seeing as he literally flopped around on the floor like a fish out of water for the first 15 minutes we were there. As I explained to her we’d already had him tested and the psychologist determined if he could sit as still as can be, without saying as much as ten words all day at school, his hyperactivity at home was a choice. I had to tell her my child CHOOSES to be ridiculously hyper and try to make it sound like a good thing. I'm not sure I was a success. The shrink who evaluated him even went as far to say he acted this way out of nervousness. So, since kids get nervous about going to the doctor, I have a feeling I’ll be defending his non-ADHD behavior each time we visit. UGH.

I have to say, although I’m sure he was nervous…I may have been guilty of letting him have a cup of regular coffee right before we arrived. FAIL. In my defense, it was an accident. Who would think they’d serve only regular coffee at a kids’ basketball game?! But, then again, would ever think a 7-year-old would be addicted to black coffee?

The bad part was all of this went down BEFORE the doctor even entered the room.

Before the nurse left, she handed both boys a hospital gown and told them to change. When they realized they were basically asked to change into “dresses”, they started giggling uncontrollably. Then they proceeded to smack each other on the rear end every time one of them turned around, because we all know…you have to leave the gowns open in the back. Lovely.

Flea went first for his check-up and got a great report, while I finally settled Bug down with a game on my phone. Then, it was Bug's turn to be checked out. Everything was fine until the doc had to check his…um…boy parts. All of a sudden, he freaked out and even called the doctor a PERVERT.

Oh. Em. Gee.

While I tried my best to make a great impression, I sadly crashed and burned. Now, not only am I the in-denial-mother-of-the-non-ADHD-child who rolls around the floor like a crazy AND the tree-hugging-lady who doesn’t “believe in flu shots”, BUT I’m ALSO the lady with the 7 year-old child who not only knows what the word “Pervert” means, but was also bold enough to call his new doctor one.

Nice.

Whitney

"Raising a kid is part joy and part guerilla warfare." (Ed Asner)

Clown College Doesn't Sound Half Bad Right Now :)

Most parents hope their kids grow up to be doctors, lawyers or super-star athletes, but I’m kind of a rare breed, I guess. We talk a lot with the boys about being successful in life but we rarely talk about it in terms of salaries. Maybe we took some cues from our semi-hippy parents, but Hubbit and I have implanted within them the logic they should only do things in life they love.

Yes, I am the mother who let her son quit soccer after only one practice because he hated it, the mother who believes not every career requires a college degree and the mother who would be just as proud of her son for LOVING his job as a starving artist as I would if he were to choose medical school solely for the paycheck.

Listen, we preach you have to work HARD. We just don’t preach what you should work hard AT.

Do you hate me yet? Surely not.

The funny thing is I never realized how our light-hearted view on success in life translated to our kids. But, tonight I got a quick clue!

Hubbit, Flea, Bug and I were all riding in the Swagger Wagon, on our way home from a quick shopping trip. On our way to our house we passed a few neighborhoods which contain beautiful homes, situated behind a lovely brick wall. Our trip past these homes prompted the following conversation...

Bug: Why is there a wall around those houses?
Hubbit: Well, it offers privacy to the people who live in those homes.
Bug: Why don’t we have privacy?!
Me: Um, because our home doesn’t cost $1 million dollars like those homes do, Love.
Bug: When I grow up, I want one of those houses.
Me: I really hope you are able to afford one someday, Honey.
Bug: I’d need a really good job.
Hubbit: Yep.
Bug: So, what job makes the most money? A circus clown? (spoken as SERIOUS as can be)
Me: Huh? If your goal is to own a $1 million dollar home, you may want to try medical school. Maybe you could become a plastic surgeon.
Bug: I don’t want to go to REAL college, I want to go to CLOWN college. I already know the clown walk and everything. Want me to teach you?
Hubbit/Me: (giggle)
Bug: If I don’t go to clown college, maybe I could play baseball for the Legends so I could get one of those big ol’ fat houses!
Me: Honey, minor league baseball players make a lot less than your dad makes and we can’t afford one of those houses.
Bug: Hmm.

I just wonder if no one worried about how much money they’d not-make doing so, how many of us would have by-passed REAL college and would have opted for CLOWN college instead.

Whitney

“A clown is like aspirin, only he works twice as fast.” (Groucho Marx)

Schtewpid.

Flea hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days. Since he didn’t seem half-dead or anything, yesterday I took him to the nearby walk-in clinic instead of calling his regular doctor to beg for an unexpected appointment. The clinic has extended evening and weekend hours, making it incredibly convenient. So, we do tend to use it quite often.

It’s the perfect solution. It’s less than three miles away, it offers great hours and you don’t need an appointment. Not that it matters, because even when you have an “appointment” at your regular doctor’s office, you wait long past your designated time to be seen. But, that’s an entirely other grump.

Anyhow, the only disadvantage to visiting this particular clinic is they employ idiots. I mean, I totally understand the fact most employers these days can’t legally discriminate against gender, race or age. But, surely it’s not illegal to discriminate against stupidity. Am I right?

Unfortunately, this particular employer must be trying to improve their Karma. Fortunately, I’m pretty sure they must only feel ethically bound to take on one sympathy case, because thankfully it seems they only have one Stupid on the payroll.

Sadly, this Stupid is...well...pretty darn stupid.

Backstory: A few weeks ago, Hubbit and I volunteered at the boys’ school. Each time you volunteer at the school, the office staff gives you a sticker and everyone is required to wear it at all times. It is meant to inform other staff members you have signed into the office before roaming the halls and have passed the secretary’s five second you-don’t-look-like-a-psycho assessment.

The sticker reads: Julius Elementary School Volunteer (Well, that’s not exactly what it reads but to follow the blogging safety rules set forth before me by my grand-big-Phi-Mu-sister, I am somewhat disguising the name.)

The whole sticker thing is pretty ridiculous, honestly. I mean, they don’t screen you via the FBI or anything before you get the sticker. They pretty much will hand anyone a sticker if they sign their name (doesn’t even have to be your own name) into the log book sitting on the front office counter. Furthermore, how on Earth is a sticker going to protect anyone from ANYthing?

Oh, she has a sticker! She must be harmless! Riiight.

However, the school takes these stickers VERY SERIOUSLY. I’ve seen teachers and parents even get into confrontations when a parent forgot to grab a sticker on their way into the hall and while it may shock you, I was only a bystander and not the offender.

Anyhow, back to my story...

Hubbit had been seen at the clinic a few days before for a foot injury and forgot to ask for a work release form while he was there. Apparently, the fire department doesn’t want people with a bum foot to run into burning buildings and they wanted verification Hubbit had doctor’s approval to return to work. After volunteering, Hubbit decided he would quickly stop by the clinic to get the paperwork he needed. When he walked in, there sat Stupid.

Hubbit’s convo with Stupid went something like this...

Stupid: Can I help you?
Hubbit: Yes, I was seen by Dr. M a few days ago and need a work release form so I can return to work. Unlike a large percentage of Americans today, I actually enjoy supporting my family without government assistance. After all, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, right? (Ok, I’m not sure he said that part but he IS a steadfast Republican and a bona-fide smarta$$. So, if I know him like I think I do, I am 99% sure something of that nature was spoken out of his I-don’t-care-who-I-offend lips.)
Stupid: Ok. Let me look that up for you, Julius.
Hubbit: Um. Julius?
Stupid: Yes, Julius. What’s your last name?
Hubbit: ~ Looks around like he’s in the Twilight Zone for a few seconds, starts to honestly question his own identity (Is my name really Julius?) and then finally glances down to realize he’s still wearing his sticker, which reads, Julius Elementary Volunteer. ~

Schtewpid.

Much to my surprise, Stupid was smart enough to keep her job a few more weeks and Flea and I had the pleasure of seeing her smiling face yesterday as we walked in. When we arrived, she was chatting with a patient at the registration counter, so I stood back to wait our turn. As I waited, I overheard her tell the patient she’d been working there over a year. So, when I walked up to the counter and told her we were walk-in patients, I expected her to understand she worked at a WALK-IN clinic. Sadly, she was unaware.

My convo with Stupid went something like this…

Stupid: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, my son needs to be seen as a walk-in patient.
Stupid: Do you have an appointment?
Me: Um. No. He needs to be seen as a walk-in.
Stupid: Hm. I have to see if we can take him as a walk-in. One moment.
Me: Um. Isn’t this a walk-in clinic?
Stupid: Let me ask. Hold on. (Turns to her supervisor and seriously asks if they see walk-in patients.)

What?! It was a WALK-IN clinic.

Thankfully, Stupid’s supervisor had a brain, quickly registered us without any problems and convinced me after a few minutes of my incessant hounding, we were in fact, NOT on Candid Camera. Would've made the whole thing SO much more worth it.

Whitney

“Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped.” (Elbert Hubbard)

Like A G-6

Although I think my mother might kill me for this, I have to blog about it before I forget it...

About a week ago, Gigi, Bug and I were riding in my Swagger Wagon, listening to tunes. When there are no kids in the car, I prefer the uplifting K-LOVE Christian music station or 106.3, which plays “Old People’s Pop”, according to the boys. But, when Bug or Flea are in the car, they instantly start making their musical demands, like we're rollin' disc jockeys or something!

Most of the time their musical requests involve us putting in a CD by their current musical obsession, which 95% of the time is something we are not thrilled about hearing for the one millionth time.

For about two weeks when Flea was infatuated with Jason Derulo, we were forced to listen to his newest CD, NON-STOP. Sadly, I now know every word to every Jason Derulo song, which would be really impressive...if I were 15.

(Side note: Either Derulo has a very wise marketing team who forces him to sing his own name during every single he releases, or his ego is larger than his bank account. Otherwise, what on Earth would possess someone to sing their own name during EVERY song?! Please tell me I’m not the only one who this bothers.)

Whenever the kids start in with this routine, I think back to the day when Cyprus Hill first came on the scene and I was a young teen. WAY BACK when cars had cassette players, I forced my poor parents to listen to “Insane In The Membrane”, about one million times.

You may be thinking Cyprus Hill was quite an offensive group who used explicit lyrics in every song they released but...Don’t Fret. I had the censored version of the cassette tape, from Wal-Mart! In my little discount store version, half of the song was muted out, leaving the ‘rents unsuspecting and me happily singing along, “Crazy insane, got no brain” like there was no tomorrow.

Geez.

Of course, it’s not always a terrible thing when the boys go through one of their musical phases. While we’ve had our fill of the Black Eyed Peas, Lil Wayne and Bruno Mars on chronic REPEAT, there have been times where their tastes aligned with ours, if even for the briefest moments.

There WAS the six month time frame when Bug discovered Motown and “forced” us to cruise to some of the best harmonies ever created. That was great! I made sure I didn't voice my delight too loudly, in fear they would start hating it just because I thought it was cool. After all, is it physically possible to get tired of hearing the smooth sounds of Otis Redding or The Supremes? I think NOT.

The main problem is, I’m getting old and I now find myself saying things a typical made-for-tv-movie-parent might say, like:

“Is this what you consider music?”
“Do people actually make money selling these ridiculous lyrics?”
“What does this song even mean?!”

Today's pop music confuses me and leaves me wanting SO MUCH MORE. Nevertheless, it was only natural when Gigi, Bug and I were riding in the Swagger Wagon a few weeks ago for Bug to insist we listen to a radio station I feel is likely only appropriate for people 21 and under, and for me to comply.

Of course, as soon as we tuned in, one of the most annoying songs in the world came on. It's called G-6 or something like that. Ok, I just Googled it. It’s officially called “Like A G-6” and it’s by a “lovely” group called, Far East Movement.

If you haven’t heard it, you should probably YouTube it before reading any further. Otherwise, you won’t get why this is so funny...at all.

Anyhow, this song is the prime example of why songwriters like myself typically loathe pop music writing styles. I mean, these people are making millions off of writing songs about nothing. Absolutely NOTHING.

They take 15 minutes out of their day, rhyme a few words, add in a few made-up words currently unknown in the English language (slizzard?!), throw in a few “uhs”...and WAH-LA! A hit is born.

UGH.

This specific song irks me in every way, but Bug loves it so I usually just grit my teeth and let it ride. Somewhat because I love to hear his little voice singing along and somewhat because if I changed the station, I would be forced to listen to much worse...him pitching a TOTAL fit. The song stinks but not as bad as a cranky 7-year-old's hissy fit.

However, on this particular day, something unusual happened. The planets aligned perfectly and this song actually brought a smile to my face. Who knew it was capable of doing such a thing?!

Anyhow, here’s how it went down…

Song Lyrics: Like A G-6, Like A G-6, Now I’m feelin’ so fly like a G-6.
Me: I hate this song. It’s so dumb.
Bug: Like A G-6, Like A G-6, Now I'm feeling so fly like a G-6.
Me: Ugh. I really don't understand this song AT ALL. I can't believe people make money off this crap.
Gigi: Yeah. It really IS a dumb song. I mean, I just can’t understand why they’re singing about cheesesticks.

OH. EM. GEE.

I learned a lesson that day. When you think something is dumb, don’t rush to judge. After all, it could ALWAYS be made into something even dumber! (giggle)

Whitney

"Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung." (Voltaire)