Old Man in the Elevator

Today I spent approx 3 hours taking the older girls to the ENT specialist (2 hours of that was waiting in the waiting room doing just that-waiting). Once we finally received the dreaded, "If it were me, I'd take them out" from the man behind the miner flashlight apparatus claiming to have some kind of degree allowing him to cut a chunk of pink out of my baby girls' throats, we got to the elevator. My cooped up kids raced to see who could push the button first, the big one won the first race. Then, it was off to see who could push the button in the elevator to the correct floor. The 6 year old won that race and because she had maintained all of her orneriness for the ENTIRE morning, she laughingly, accidentally pushed all 4 buttons. Normally that would have been a chuckle with a soft reminder as to we're late and need to get to school. In walks Ma & Pa Keller, looking like they've spent most of their last years inside this hospital building, and as I'm laughingly scolding the 6 year old, this old man points at Rory and says YOOOUUUUU, Are we taking a tour? I thought fast (on only 1 cup of coffee and gluten free for 1 week and counting) and said yep, we're seeing how many floors we can stop on before we get to number 1. They thought that was hilarious and here we stop on floor 2 and pick up Ma & Pa Version 2 who weren't sure if they could squeeze on with the oxygen tank and all, but made it on. I thought we were out of the clear when all of a sudden Old Man 1 blurts out, "I don't know why people don't take the time to vote for their school board representatives. That's where most of our darned (it is Utah) tax money goes!!" Ma #2 with the air hose in her nose starts nodding her agreement and says a you betcha!! I began to nervously look around for a way to prevent Pa #2 from sitting on my newborn as well as trying to avoid eye contact with Old Man 1 hoping he wasn't blaming me having school aged children for his outrageous tax issue. A riot in the elevator began in my mind-I was armed with a stroller and knew how to use an oxygen tank if needed. I had this whole scenario going on in my head when DING (elevator bell)! Saved by the bell! I can't wait until I'm old enough to blurt out my random opinion while possibly wetting my Depends and have people my age nod in agreement and not care if they did or didn't agree. Here's to you Old Man 1-darn that school board....

The "Different" Phone Call

A couple weeks ago we had a studio session with a photographer. This week he contacted us to say Esther's birth announcements were ready, an innocent phone call, an exchange of information....so I thought. His initial contact came via email which asked me to call him to arrange pick up and payment. I did this. On the land line phone. Glued to my computer as I was doing 9,000 other things. Normally this isn't a problem. Enter husband. Enter husband after a full meal of Mexican food. Now I'm not one to throw a person under the bus, especially one that will possibly have to wipe me in my old age, but I thought he was coming in to the office to lay on the futon. So, I dialed. I began my conversation with a hi, this is Susan returning your email, when is a good time to....BRRMMPPPHHH...squeak, FRRFRRFRRRMMMPPHHH, squeak, PPPPAAAAHHHRRRMMMPPPHHH, squeak....what the heck? Enter God forsaken, rotting smell of the universe. I did not know what to say...I was distracted, I was laughing to the point I couldn't see, it was beyond funeral laughter, it was there was no way on earth he did not hear that-laughter!!! What if he thinks it's me??? Why won't my husband take the phone from me as I'm laughingly, weavingly, passing it to him, trying to leave the room for a breath of fresh air?? He hung me out to dry...at least a good 20, loooonnggg seconds elapsed full of garbled laughing before I could hysterically make inhaled words of apology and hurriedly write down an address to meet him. GOOD GRIEF!! Then I had to apologize, via email of course, for fear that he would think it was the way he said he was grouting his bathroom, and hope and pray he did not hear the loudest, most inappropriate FART I have, in my 15 years with this man, ever heard!! What could I say?? I fibbed and told him something I can't remember now and his response (via email of course) was yeah, that was a "different" phone call. WOW! Different, you betcha, wrong is more like it, but I'll take different.

Newborn Betrayed

Today was S-day. Similar to D-day minus the bombs and death thing. It was the day of Esther's first shots. As I took before and after pictures of her brown naked buddha belly as we awaited the dreaded needles, I thought of how this innocent body whose only intrusion up to this point has been the cold sterile light of a birthing room, how I, as her mother, in following drs instructions, was somehow betraying her. It was awful, it was necessary? It seemed barbaric. Yes, I've done it before. Yes, I have other children and yes, I felt a similar tug at my heart with them. For Esther though, with so much already taken away from her at such a young age, I feel a different form of responsibility. That's why we went for it and that's why I cried. I actually had hot tears and smeared mascara and snottingly apologized to the nurse as to my wussiness. She understood. Our dear, resilient Esther. De-flowered by society's medicines, done to protect...a have to, but still a betrayal of innocence as if I had poked her myself. The first poke surprised her, the second and third pissed her off to the point of a loud shriek known by all mothers that follow these rules. My hug consoled and the loud sniffing and hot tears could no longer be distinguished between hers and mine. Mother obeyed, newborn betrayed.