Last night my youngest started to get sick. He started to puke and have the shits. I can’t count the number of pairs of underpants he went through because he “gambled and lost”. Thank goodness I had a laundry basket full of clean underpants at his disposal.
The youngest has only gotten sick somewhere other than a toilet or a puke bucket once in his life. When he was a bit older than one, he was taking a nap on his back and made a “puke fountain” for everyone to enjoy. Last night he broke his streak. I had sorted my laundry in the bathroom and had it all piled up. I usually take it downstairs to the wash machine but I got sidetracked talking on the phone and it didn’t make that crucial lap in its laundry journey. My son is in the bathroom sitting on the toilet with a garbage can between his knees and I am confident that I can go to bed. He’ll just grab his puke bucket and head for bed when he is done. I get up this morning my usual joyous self and head for the bathroom. My first step in puke squishes between my toes. EWWWW! So I sit down and fail to look first. I ended up with both ass cheeks cover in puke. Then I look around the room. There is puke everywhere! I think he hit every single piece of dirty laundry in the room! He got the bath mat and even managed to get it under the bath mat. Nice to know the child has talent! Maybe someday this story will become as infamous as his father’s “diarrhea story”!
The Midol isn’t for me. It is for my oldest son. He has a case of the PMS, Pre Manhood Syndrome. He just turned 12 and his hormones are starting to turn a sweet little boy into a mouthy douche.
I am not a morning a person but the going ons of this morning would make the most sunny, happy, morning person turn to the bottle. It starts with PMS boy being pissed that I’m not letting him use his uniform free pass. That resulted in an eye roll, an “Oh my gawd!” and stomping off. Then I’m not sure what happened but he ended up locking himself in the bathroom saying that he hates his life and isn’t going to school. I was getting ready to bust down the door, because I handle these things so well at 6:45 am. Finally he comes out and gets dressed. Then the next son starts bitching. For some reason my sugar turned into a solid brick. He is complaining about not being able to put sugar on his cereal. So I do what anyone mother at the end of her rope does at 6:55 am. I got out the hammer. Not thinking ahead, I start beating the piss out of the bag of sugar. Of course the paper bag rips and what little sugar I managed to break up is leaking out. Shit! Now I put the brick in a ziploc bag and start wailing on it. It worked good enough to get them all cereal. If that hadn’t worked I was going to run over the sugar with my car, since I am so rational in the morning. Finally with everyone off to school I said “Fuck it” and went back to bed.
My youngest son has been complaining of stomach pain on and off for a little bit. He has a tender tummy and picks up stomach bugs easily. I figured he had a virus. Almost everyday for the past two weeks he has pleaded with me to stay home from school. Now I am starting to think there is something going on at school. I sat him down and asked him if there was anything going on and gave him the “You can tell us anything and we’ll love you no matter what” speech. He insisted that nothing was wrong.
Wednesday, I decided if he was going to ask to stay home that we were going to the doctor to make sure everything was okay. I called our regular doctor and they could not get him in until late afternoon. That wouldn’t work because I need to be home for my other children afterschool. So I decide that I would give Methodist Medpointe a try. That is where I was horribly wrong.
The office staff and the nurse were extremely friendly. Then the doctor came in. She was obviously dismayed by the fact that East Bluff riff raff had slipped through the invisible fence that keeps us all South of War Memorial Drive. She sizes me up and asks me why my child isn’t in school in the most condescending tone I have ever heard. Well, maybe it is the fact that he is having stomach pain or that when your nurse took his temperature he had a fever! Then she starts in about his weight. According to her he should weigh 75 pounds because of his height. All my boys are skinny and tall. That is how they are built. They all eat quite well, I can assure you. So she pushes on his stomach and refers him to a pediatric GI specialist.
I have never been treated like I was a complete piece of trash the way I was by this doctor. Even my son said, “Mom, she was a snot to you.” By the time she was done with me I was ready to call DCFS on myself! I’m sure she thinks that my son isn’t in school because he is running a pickpocketing ring to finance my gambling/strip club that I run out of my basement! He’s skinny because of all the cocaine he does and because he has to fight all our pitbulls for food!
I will never set foot in Methodist Medpointe again. I will pay the extra money (double my already high copay) to go to Proctor First Care. I am also going to complain to Methodist. We don’t pay ridiculous health insurance premiums and copays for this. Just imagine if I was on medicaid?! I don’t care how long you went to school or who the hell you think you are, you don’t treat people like that.
UPDATE: I have spoke with someone on Methodist’s pride line. She couldn’t believe how poorly I was treated. She had an adminstrator call me for more details and now I am expecting a call from the guy who oversees all the Medpointes. I was told that he will perform an investigation and interview the staff of the Medpointe and the doctor from hell. He’ll get back to me when that is completed.
Since my children (all boys) have been cooped up in the house for 2 days due to the freezing ass cold temps, they have had to entertain themselves. They have been growing bored with their toys and playstation games. Nothing is on TV so they have found a new way to entertain themselves. I suddenly hear “Ouch!” and an uproar of laughter. Then I hear it again, repeatedly. Even though I really don’t want to know what is going on, I feel I have to, being their mother and all. I find my boys dragging their feet across a blanket and shocking each other for shits and giggles. Boy, am I a proud mom! At least they were having fun and I’m sure the brain damage will be minimal. I’ll worry when they have the paint chip eating contest. 
My youngest son was opening a toy remote control helicopter he got from my parents. He takes out the intructions and sees the obligatory “warning” on the pamphlet. He says, “Warnings! I don’t need no warnings!” and chucks the intructions to the side. Now whose son is that?
Merry Christmas Everyone! 
My son yells to me,
“Mom, the basement smells like pee……. and not the good kind.”
I didn’t realize that there was a “good kind” of pee.
Today is my middle son’s birthday. He is 10 years old. Since I shared the story of my first son being born, I’ll share his birth too.
I, once again, was past my due date. Having already had a child 15 months prior I knew what to expect. I had a different doctor because the first one made douchebags look like wonderful people. I had decided that I didn’t want to be induced. I wanted to do it myself. I had a doctor visit and I wasn’t even dialated. My doctor was going out of town so he wanted to give my a hormone insert and induce me the next day. I wasn’t thrilled but I wanted him to deliver my child (we didn’t know the sex of this one). The plan was to go the Methodist, get my hormones to dialate me and the next morning I would be induced. My son had other plans.
I get to Methodist and they get me settled in my room. The nurse comes to check me before they give me my hormones and I had started to dialate. They call my doctor, who happens to be in a nearby town covering their emergency room. He said to skip the hormones, so I don’t dialate too fast. Well, the resident decided that he was just going to induce me. I refused. So silly little resident tells me that he will just call my doctor and tell him. I told him that the doctor and I had a deal that I would be induced in the morning and if I wasn’t progressing I would be induced then but I would be damned if he would induce me now. He called my doctor. He came back to my room with his head hung low and told me he wasn’t going to induce me. Ha! Victory is mine! So I keep on dialating and contracting and Brad has to leave. He had to cover someone else’s shift at work so he had to basically show up and then I would call and he would come back to the hospital. I fell asleep and when I wake up, no contractions. Shit! Now I have to be induced in a few hours. I get up to go to the bathroom and the mother of contractions start. The nurses are a bit concerned and I call Brad. The nurses keep asking me if I am alone and I keep telling them Brad is on his way. I am getting irritated. Brad finally shows up and I am in some heavy duty labor but where is my doctor? He is still out of town covering the emergency room. Finally, doctor is here, Brad is here, I am ready. No I am not. I still have a half of a centimeter to dialate. So my doctor decides to take a quick walk, since he has been up all night, to get him pumped up for delivering my kid. Once again, my son has other plans. Suddenly, I finish dialating and he decides he is coming, ready or not. So they are paging my doctor, a resident is trying to hold him back and all I want to do is push and get it over with (no epidural this time either). My doctor rushes in and basically catches my son. I had some problems in my pregnancy and didn’t gain alot of weight and didn’t get very big so when they announced that he was 9 pounds and 3 ounces the doctor almost had a stroke.
Now since we didn’t know the sex of our child we didn’t have a name picked out like with our first child. So here we are with another little boy when inspiration hits my husband. He wants to name him Elwood after the Blues Brothers because we already had a Jake. I had a fit. There was no way I was naming this child Elwood. The nurses all agreed with me. So we “discussed” names during my whole stay at the hospital. We didn’t finally settle on one until about an hour before my release. Now that my son is older and has seen the Blues Brothers he is pissed that his name isn’t Elwood. He has told me that he is going to get it changed. I’m hoping he’ll out grown this but knowing him I doubt it. So Happy Birthday Elwood!
Tomorrow is my middle son’s birthday. We have a tradition that I cook whatever the birthday boy wants for dinner. Usually it is pizza, meatball subs, and fun things like that. My son, who is picky, has become a fan of the show Bizarre Foods on the Travel Channel. So for his dinner he wants something bizarre. At first he wanted chicken feet. Then he seen the hearts and gizzard variety pack at Kroger. I am not going to dare tell him I seen pork stomach at Super Walmart! Hopefully I can talk him into something that I actually know how to cook. Be thinking of me tomorrow night as you eat your normal dinners.
Tonight we were eating pizza for dinner and I noticed that Wayne’s World was on. It was almost over but I thought the kids might enjoy it. I change the channel and the boys start complaining. I tell them that this is a movie from when I was younger. My middle son, the sarcastic smart ass of the bunch, says “It isn’t in black and white, is it?”. Thanks, son. I’m so glad I spent all that time pushing your 9 pound 3 ounce body out without an epidural!
Wednesday, I was eating peanuts and I found one that looked like a penis. It was complete – cock and balls. I, of course, thought it was hilarious and put it on the kitchen window sill to show my husband. I started thinking that if people can put tortillas, grilled cheese sandwiches and pretzels on ebay that look like Jesus or the Virgin Mary and get big bucks then there has to be someone out there that would appreciate my penis peanut. It could be considered an “objet d’art”. The perfect piece for the penis enthusiast’s collection.
My husband comes home. I show him my treasure. He is not as amused as I am but concurs that it looks like a cock and balls. I put my penis peanut back on the window sill and wait for the kids to get home. The kids come home (I didn’t show them!) and I go get on the internet for about a half an hour. I go back downstairs and my peanut is missing! I hollar for my oldest son and he admits he ate my peanut. I am completely devastated. There go the millions I’m absolutely sure it would have fetched on ebay! I guess we’ll have to go back to funding the old 401K!
BTW – I am really disturbed by the fact that my 11 year old son would eat something he found sitting on a window sill without knowing from where it came.
February 7, 2009 8:14 pm | 
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