Chips, Salsa and An Ice-Pack

     I make it a practice to try to return all of my children's friends home safely to their mothers without a trip to the Emergency Room or an intrarcranial hematoma.    This particular day, my daughter brought along a new friend whose mother trusted me with her daughter's safety. We stopped in Chili's for lunch and I walked into the restroom at the exact moment that my two girls discovered that one should not use their head as a door stop and that the other had the power of a freight train.   The Red Cross First Aid steps ran through my head (Check, Call Care) as this baseball size knot began growing on this poor child's head and I realized that these simple steps were only good when giving first aid to a mannequin named Red Cross Annie in a classroom setting.    I checked her head, called for the waitress to hold the appetizers and just bring an ice pack and care was evident as Abby posed for the kids to snap photos to quickly upload to Facebook.  I knew I had to call her mother as they were photo-shopping a large horn coming from her head and preparing to send it out to 462 friends of friends.   This is not the photo you want her mother to run across with 17 "likes"next to it and no knowledge of what has happened.   The fourth step in the Red Cross First Aid plan should be to secure everyone's cell phones and control all outgoing messages and photos until you have properly notified the child's mother. After that, the kids are free to upload messages, photos and videos.  You know it's bad when the table next to you is trying to take a picture, too and they don't even know you.


     My heart sank as I knew I would be unable to return this child unharmed.  According to Abby's mother, some guy on yahoo answers and a quickly googled up version of the American Medical Pediatric Guidelines, she should be okay since there were no signs of  nausea, blurred vision, headache, or exposed skull.   But let's face it... a giant knot is just a horrible thing to return a kid with.   We finished our chips and salsa, refilled our ice-pack and prepared to leave as the girls announced that they needed to go to the restroom.   I begged them to open the door with their hands and not their heads this time. Last thing we needed was a matching knot on the other side.

The Making of Nerds and Other School Projects

    It is normally close to bedtime when we discover that our kids have forgotten to make that scaled model of DNA or an interactive mobile of the planets aligning in preparation for some magnetic shift certain to change the world as we know it.  Because of this, I keep a supply of poster board, hot glue and assorted candy that I can quickly craft into chromosomes, solar systems and  working models of pulley and lever systems should I need to do so in a moment’s notice.    I also keep an assortment of costumes on hand for Book Parade day so we can dress as just about any Newberry Award winning character should we need to.   

  

    It was an exceptionally long day, recently, when my daughter informed me that tomorrow was “Nerd Day” at school and we would need a complete Nerd wardrobe.  Since this is the child with 42 pairs of shoes and a closet full of designer jeans, this was going to be a more difficult project.   Thanks to a 24 hour Wal-Mart and items from my Book parade collection, she transformed herself into an adorable “nerdy” girl.   Something inside of me tugged at me, though, as I wondered if this was really an appropriate activity.  It’s probably not so fun for the kids that already appear a bit nerdy and I was worried for them.   We had stepped upon the fine line between having fun and being rude.  I finally decided my over-analysis was a useless effort and just let my kid go with the school activity. The next day was sports day and that was followed by school color day.  Both of these were easy to pull off.    I kept my glue gun handy should I need to hot glue some candy ribbons into smooth endoplasmic reticulum, but it looked like Jr. High might be easier than elementary school and my crafting days may be numbered.  

    When my son reached Jr. High, he and his friend had to build a model of a roller coaster.  I was so excited as I mapped out plans for piping and tubing and tiny mechanical lifts until my son informed me he was doing this on his own.  My bubble burst as I realized I had to let go of control.  I handed him my glue gun, which has never been the same since, and sent him on his way.   I asked for project review at key milestones such as 60 and 90% completion and my son gave me that look that said, “let go.”    I saw him take his father’s drill to school and wondered how they were going to build this without a safety briefing and a proper assortment of drill bits.  Alas… they finished their project and I would get to see it on Project night.  

    When I arrived, there were roller coasters in the shapes of snakes and little coaster cars shot out of the eyes with such mechanical precision it made your head spin.  Another coaster dived under water amongst a complete ecosystem of fish and plants.  They failed to incorporate in oxygen, so the fish were all dead, but the idea was grand.  My son and his friend’s roller coaster did not have the flare of the others so they tacked on a home-made sign that said Vegas and duct taped his sister’s Barbie to a support pole.  She donned a tiny grey duct tape miniskirt and tube top and her feet and hands were bound to the pole.  I stood there in shock as the other mothers walked by quietly shaking their heads in disapproval.   Next to us, was a small crowd awed by the coaster built by a child whose parent was obviously a mechanical engineer.  I glanced over to see Barbie hanging from a strut and knew that one day soon, I would be asked again to help with school projects.  I can build coasters, nerds, life forms and more.   It is good to know you are needed! 

Spinning Reindeer and Mountainous Treks

 
    It was 1975 and as I walked out of elementary school for the last time, my grandparents were waiting for me in the parking lot in a Midnight Blue Lincoln Continental with a full size Airstream trailer hitched to the back.  It was summer and we were off to see America.  My cousin Ramonna, who is several years younger than I am, sat in the oversized back seat with me, as our feet stuck straight out in front of us and we headed West.   The car smelled of new leather, Old Spice and expensive perfume.    I was young enough that many of the memories have since faded, but I can still clearly see the wild storms in Kansas and the never ending highway that carried us to Colorado.

    We landed at Garden of the Gods Campground in mid June only to be met by an unseasonable snowfall.  We jumped in the big car, with trailer still attached, and headed to K-Mart where my grandparents bought us all winter clothes to replace the suitcase full of summer wear we had packed.  Hoping now that it was actually fashionable in the 70s, I remember leaving the store in a lime green pair of bell bottom pants with a giant cat embroidered on the leg.  The finishing touch was the white pom pom on the tail that gave it a 3-D effect.  Gosh, I loved those pants!     

    The next morning my grandparents would take us to “The North Pole,” an amusement park at the base of Pike's Peak.  It was a magical place with summer snow all around.  This trip would not be complete, however, without a journey to the top of the mountain.   Forty years later, I have to recommend that one do this without a 30 foot trailer dragging behind you.   At the age of 11, I had no clue to the danger we were in or the small heart attack that my grandfather certainly must have been facing as we climbed higher and higher on narrow roads with steep drops off the side and no place to turn around.   These were the days before break stations, runaway vehicle ramps and nitroglycerin in the glove box.   I only remember the amusement park and the view from the top and both were absolutely wonderful.

    Years later, I took my own family to Colorado and we ventured down to the Springs to see “The North Pole.”   My daughter was one year old and looked like a tiny Babushka doll in her headscarf intentionally donned to protect her ears from a late summer wind.   My son was five and wanted to ride some spinning reindeer sleigh ride.  I had forgotten about the Disney Tea Cups of Death not intended for any child with motion sickness and should have remembered to stay away from such rides.  The first time the reindeer passed us in its large circular course, I noticed my son’s color had faded.  The second time he flew by, he was looking a bit green.  On the third rotation, his head was down and I was leaping over reindeer to signal the operator to let the boy off the ride.  He had turned green and was in the full throws of motion sickness.

    We headed to the car and decided a slow ride to the top of Pike’s Peak was what we needed to relax.  I had no idea how slow that ride would actually be as we stopped every few miles for me to hold a sick child on the side of the road and curse those spinning reindeer.  As we got closer to the top I saw the dangerous two lane gravel strips of road with steep drops hundreds of feet below that we had to travel.  I thought back to the Lincoln and the Airstream trailer and wondered how worse this road had to have been forty years earlier.   It was bad enough now and I felt the energy of my grandfather’s courage that still remained on the mountain.  We continued our periodic stops on the side of the road and I wished that the car smelled like new leather, Old Spice and perfume, but it did not.  It was more of a sweaty child, cotton candy, carbonated soda and dust smell that filled our car.

    We eventually made it to the top and as we pulled into the parking lot a large dark cloud floated overhead and we found ourselves in a miniautre snowstorm.  We stood there in our shorts as the snow pounded down on us.   I had to smile as I found myself standing where I had once stood before and secretly wished that I now had that pair of lime green cat pants purchased for events such as this one.   I forced everyone from the car so we could take a picture. My son sported a post traumatic sweaty pre-hypothermia look.  The Babushka baby gave me that look of total discomfort and disgust and my husband stood in the background desperately trying to light a cigarette in the storm force winds.   I wished that my grandfather was there with his silver trailer and we could have climbed inside to take shelter from the storm.  I imagine he was one of the few who has actually pulled a small house to the top of Pike’s Peak and I felt honored to be a part of that.  Perhaps forty years from now my children will take this same path in their eco-friendly suburban utility vehicle and remember the flying reindeer and unseasonable snow storm.  My daughter won’t know why, but she’ll remember the warmth of a scarf on her head and the smell of cotton candy.  My son will breath in the cool mountain air and remember down deep somewhere how wonderful the air felt as we stood on the side of the road catching our breath and stilling the world for just a moment in time.

Apocalyptic Skies of Doom or Just Silly Rain Clouds

The year 2012 quickly approaches and with it comes more and more television shows about the proverbial end of the world.   Forced to the couch, while fighting a round of strep throat, I watched my share of documentaries and have gained new skills to help plan for this event. With lessons learned from "Extreme Couponing" I know how I can easily get eleven years worth of fabric softener, fourteen dozen bottles of body wash and 212 containers of Tic Tacs for around $20.   These items would certainly be handy when the last of us our parading around in total chaos and destruction. "Man vs Wild" has taught me that it is important to stay dry and how to kill a wild antelope should one ever come running through my neighborhood during these times of trouble ahead.  I also understand that underground shelter may become a hot commodity.  They are very expensive and I'm not sure I really like the idea of being crowded underground with 8 - 12 other people waiting to see who the next person is that must venture outside to check the antelope trap.

I will admit, that the idea of a safe room for tornadic weather is a bit more appealing to me.   I live in the middle of tornado alley and they usually follow a path just a few miles north and south of my home.  We have been lucky so far. This past Spring, the local live view radar showed a tornado headed straight for my house.  I put the kids in the bathroom closet and tossed the laundry into the hall.  Worried that paramedics may find us,  I had to take the laundry to the laundry room so it wouldn't be all over the hallway floor. With sirens blaring I began a load of whites with extra fabric softener from my end of days stock-pile.    I walked outside to see what demise was headed our way and discovered that the sky looked like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.   I popped a Tic-Tac, pulled the kids from the bathroom and made them come look at the popcorn clouds above. In 47 years, I had never seen such an apocalyptic sky.  It would not have been surprising to see a dragon suddenly poke it's head through these bulbous clouds or have it start raining two-headed sneeches or puff-a-lumps.  All things were possible.    

It seems that weather patterns are getting more and more extreme and rare weather events aren't so rare anymore.  Perhaps this is all leading to one grand finale.   I understand that there is a company selling safe havens for $50,000.  They are loaded with all things needed to survive the end.  I would so love to see that packing list.  They are in an undisclosed location and you won't be told where they are until days before the end.  This begs several questions.... the first being, "Really?!?"    So someone is going to get advance notice of the end???   What happens if you pay your $50K and receive notice that the end is hours away and your  low rise, gulf front safe haven is located in Antarctica?  I imagine days before the end of life as we know it, total chaos will break out and booking a seat on Southwest Airlines won't be as easy as it once was.  How many suitcases you can travel with is no longer your biggest problem.   Another factor to consider is that there are no antelopes in Antarctica and once the cans of potted meat and vegetables are gone, it's penguin and seal for dinner.  I'm certain this would be a high fat diet and not good for those of us watching our cholesterol.    I think a better safe haven, would be one where you are arm in arm with your loved ones, listening to some old 70's ballads, waiting for that warm light of rapture to carry you home.    The inventory list for this safe haven contains no Tic Tacs, potted meat or penguin grills.  Faith and family is all you really need there.  Okay.. and a Van Morrison CD.

Homey and His Internet Gal Pal

  This brings new meaning to Skyping!  

Nothing more really needs to be said.  

No Campaign is Complete Without Glitter

My daughter proudly announced that she was running for President of the Student Council.    I was so proud.  With no second thought or worry, she told me how she would have to speak in front of the entire student body.  She seemed oddly comfortable with this.  She had already lined up marker wielding campaign staff who were gluing and glittering at mock speed to deliver campaign posters to the school for her support.   Her campaign slogan was fitting of a Southern beauty queen and was obviously born out of years of experience in front of a microphone stating her contestant number and decree that she was ..."your Junior Miss, 2007" or 8, 9, 10, or 11.    The slogan was pure political brilliance..... "Vote for me (insert perfect photo-shopped head shot)  Luv ya!"   Nothing more needed to be said.  A beautiful girl professing her love for anyone willing to support her dream of being President.   She mapped out what she would wear to deliver her speech, which side of her head that she should part her hair on, and the exact color and type of mascara that would make her eyes pop from the stage.

As she set up a marketing department in the kitchen, my son converted the media room into campaign headquarters.  Text messages were flying back and forth from cute boys playing all sides of the campaign wanting to know insider secrets about the number of posters completed so they could tell the competition - the other pretty girls.  It wasn't good enough to just send text messages and tweets to their friends.  A bedspread was tacked to my wall and an instant television studio was set up to stream campaign updates to all 7th grade students.  It seemed my child suddenly had a web page with video of her sporting a very cute hair-do and doe eyes that begged anyone who clicked there to vote for her.

       Click on the following link for sheer political brilliance:  Allie's Awesome Campaign Video 

I suggested that we discuss policies that needed to be reviewed and things that would make the school a better place.  She announced that kids should have ice cream at lunch and I explained about USDA and rules that can't be changed, even by the masses.  We talked about cell phone usage and school policies on such.   We discussed teacher needs and student needs and looked at ways to make things better for all. She showed me another cute way to wear her hair.  I again, steered her towards the issues that affect Jr. High students and was proud that my daughter wanted to take the lead for change.  It was after all planning was complete and I knew that my child had a firm grasp on her campaign strategies that she asked me the very concerning question....... "What's Student Council?"

Angiogram or Wine Flight

    One hot summer day, when the temperature rose to 105 degrees Fahrenheit, my retired husband grew tired of watching the "End of Days" marathon and "Alien Invasion" shows on the Discovery Channel and decided it was the right time to cut down a few trees on our property.  I was unclear if he was preparing for the Apocalypse or just getting an early start on stacking firewood for the winter.   I felt that his motivation was mixed somewhere between the two.   "Shark Week"  and "Nostradamus Predictions" had just ended the week prior and that left me with a swimming pool that was especially crystal clear and predator free.   I don't question what drives this man and have learned to simply look for the benefits in it.   The "End of Days" program always leaves my pantry stocked with food for at least ninety days.  Why would I complain? Unfortunately,  this summer has brought record heating temperatures (surely predicted thousands of years ago) and this was no time to work outside in the heat.  My husband came in dripping of sweat and was red as a beet.  I made the comment that he should cool off because he looked like he was about to explode.  Seems I may have been onto something as we were completely unaware of the small stroke occurring in his eye.   There was no pain, just a sudden blurry spot in his vision.   


    After consulting with his friends, none of which are eye doctors, and allowing me to do some home surgery in his eye, he landed at an eye specialist.  As the elevator doors opened into this office of soft lighting and many patients lined in a row,  I knew we had entered a whole new world as foreign to us as a fluorescein angiogram.  You have to realize that my husband believes that most all illnesses can be treated with aspirin and sunshine and has not been to the doctor in many years.   He immediately clashed with the intake nurse who asked, one too many times, which eye was having problems.   As he stared at the giant E on the wall and was unable to see it, it was obvious which eye had a problem.  The situation spiraled downward and I'm certain his chart was flagged with a note, "Proceed with Caution" or "Stick a Needle In His Eye!"   We waited in the "dilation room" which reminded me of the green room at the Limelight, a popular dance club and bar of the 80's.   It was soothing and dimly lit.  I wondered if a hostess would appear in a green mini-skirt asking if I needed another Vodka Collins because I was too young in the 80's to appreciate the difference in well and call drinks.   A nurse came around the corner and greeted a quiet, elderly woman sitting in the back of the room with a salutation I never want to hear... "Hello there.  Are you ready to get your eye lasered?" making it sound like a fun party game.   My reply would have been a very clear, "No."    Instead, the woman rose from her seat and began the long walk down the darkened corridor.  I looked again for the hostess with vodka.    


    Before long, we had relocated to another tiny, dark room.  The doctor came in and was all business.  After a thorough evaluation, he left the room and returned with this statement:  "You've had a stroke in your eye.  The damage is irreversible.  We're going to shoot some dye in there and take some pictures." This was followed with a regurgitated set of statistics about how many people don't suffer a severe allergy from this or die.   It was less than comforting and I wished we were back in the green room, possibly even the one in the 80's, wearing our silver threaded disco clothes.   I knew the way my husband's deductive reasoning process worked and if the damage could not be repaired, it made no sense to continue to assess the problem.  He opted out of the eye angiogram and selected a red wine flight at a nearby cafe.  After three glasses of wine, his skin was flushed with new blood flow and a warm goodness coursing through his veins.  This was his prevention plan for future vascular events.   I have to agree that a nice Cabernet Sauvignon was much better than a serving of fluorescein dye.   


    We'll take a few days to digest all of this new information and map out a proper plan of action that might actually be covered by Blue Cross and Blue Shield.  Until then, we'll keep the wine flowing and hope the ocular veins are doing the same.