playing with sharp objects

Just in case you missed the other night in the land of Laura’s social media, this happened:

Three years ago he began this adventure with all the trepidation and tears any kid might have over the idea of shots literally every day. Still, we soon settled into a routine where mom or dad and sometimes sisters and even sometimes favorite aunties have given him his daily injections. But tonight, three years and ten inches and fifty pounds or more later, he asks if he can give himself the injection. And with his Dad’s hand on his for moral support, he does it.

We might still be in complete and utter shock over this here under The Big Top y’all.

He asks the next day if we are proud of him for giving himself his own human growth hormone injection.

Proud?

Yes.

Surprised?

Absolutely.

Surprised?..

He ponders this.

Well, most folks who need injections of medication aren’t so eagerly doing it for themselves. His own mama, who needed to inject a a subcutaneous needle into her skin every three days while pregnant with her fourth child, just wasn’t that into that until her home health nurse told her that her darling husband can learn how to do it for her.

Yeah, no.

Necessary, Yes. But c’mon, not something we are falling all over ourselves to do to our own body with sharp needed used to pierce our own skin….I get it son. I really do. Poking yourself with a needle is hard. But you did it. You really did it!

they go low and I go…medium-ish

Remember when First Lady Michelle Obama declared “when they go low, we go high” and I added to my ever growing list of things I admire about Michelle Obama and wish that I had…those arms, her style, her Mom dance moves…well, do you remember? Words to live by, especially right now, I told myself; and I have tried to do just that.

Try being the operative word.

But sometimes I just can’t help myself like when a certain Presidential candidate has yet another Twitter tantrum, as he does pretty much every damn day. I could have walked away because they go low, we go high except I didn’t. Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. I’m weak. But given the overall reaction, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but appreciate the irony or just how un-presidential the tantrums are. Literally even cousin Joe appreciated the irony. No, we aren’t really cousins. Of course, share your opinion and it will bring all the trolls to the yard.

When they go low, we go high…and thank you sweet baby Jesus and Twitter and Facebook for the mute, block and unfollow options because, oh my, how the trolls do swarm sometimes.

Calling me a feminist? Well, I am female and I am the mother of four females and grandmother of two more. I have a few sisters and nieces too along with friends whom I care for who also just so happen to be female too. Perhaps I might actually have a vested interest in things that are social,legal, political and economic concerns for women because I am a woman. Go figure! Yes, I said that. I know. I know…don’t feed the trolls. Drunk with likes and retweets and even cousin Joe’s encouragement, I just could not stop myself. But trolls are trolls and because they live under most bridges they go low. Why engage in an intelligent exchange of ideas back and forth when one can poke fun at one’s outward appearances? Intelligent debate is for losers and all the other insults that any 7th grade schoolyard bully can think of…just like a certain candidate they support.

You go low I will try to go high. Perhaps not as high as Mrs. Obama.

You go low and today I will go medium-ish because, yes, that is me. Ultimately I believe that love, kindness and respect trumps hate and your #altright vitriol; which I have to say is far more frightening than Mr. Trump’s vitriolic tantrums ever will be. Seriously trolls, y’all are crazy mother f-ers….especially that one I am related t who literally can not just walk away from Facebook. All I can say to the rest of the world is I’m sorry because I did drop him on his head once. I can’t believe that Mommy Dearest never found out.

And if you haven’t figured it out by now, yes, I’m with her because I need to hope that love can and will trump hate.

 

nursing: the next generation

We sit together, her thoughtfully nibbling on a plate of Oreo cookies and sipping chocolate milk from one of my favorite mugs.

Is this your cup, Mima?

Yes, it is.

What’s that? :::points at the stethoscope:::

It’s a stethoscope. I use it when I am at work taking care of tiny, sick babies.

That’s cuz you’re a nurse!

Well at least she gets that.

That’s right! Perhaps someday, when you grow up, you can be a nurse too and I will give you my stethoscope.

Hmmm… :::takes another sip of chocolate milk::: Nah!

No?

:::shakes her head no:::

Well, okay then. Perhaps there won’t be another nurse in the next generation of this circus.

At least not yet.

I remain ever hopeful.

You’re going to be there when a lot of people are born, and when a lot of people die. In most every culture, such moments are regarded as sacred and private, made special by a divine presence. No one on Earth would be welcomed, but you’re personally invited. What an honor that is. -Thom Dick

counting to sleep

Three walks to the park around the corner.

Five new friends made on the playground during the third trip to the park What are their names? Don’t know…but they are her friends.

Twenty thousand tears bitterly and loudly shed walking home from the park at sunset because how can Mima and Papa-Papa possibly force her to abandon her five friends, the five friends whose names she does not know.

Eight neighbors who witnessed the twenty thousand tears loudly shed and who now know for sure that we are the absolute worst people.

Ten more minutes please in the bathtub because bubble baths are fun.

Six oreo cookies for bedtime snack.

Two cups of milk with our bedtime snack because one is not enough.

One story read because track and field Olympic races are boring.

Count is lost with the number of questions and trips to the bathroom and just one more kiss and bear hug, please and why can’t I have more milk and…and…and…and…

At last! At last literally just before the midnight hour…

…she sleeps. She sleeps in her own bed that we made for her. For now.

And I realize just how lucky and spoiled I was with my own five.

Good night Fallon!