|I lifted the lid and smelled. No more. No less.|
I may agree to get dressed long enough to take my children to the movies over the weekend. Or not. We’ll see how I feel.
I mostly know I’m going to feel better than I did last weekend. Because last weekend I got stuck on a Girl Scout campout despite feeling sick and puny. Even in my sick and puny state, I could tell my daughter was equating my attendance at this campout as a testament to whether or not I love her. Therefore, it was to the campsite this sick and puny female went! Then we had 18 mile an hour winds that did this to the side of our tent:
We threw our crap in our cars and hit the road. The girls had already had lots of big fun and didn’t care a bit that we were leaving. In fact, they thought our middle of the night flight from the campgrounds was part of the adventure. I, on the other hand, like to think the universe broke those other tents so I could sleep in my own bed that night.
So any weekend that will not include tents collapsing around me is bound to be a good one. In other news, I took my 10 year old to the doctor recently and had my first opportunity to field questions about whether or not she’s on birth control or if there’s any chance she’s pregnant. Um. Yeah.
So, to their credit the kid was going to have X-rays and those are standard questions before X-rays. To my horror though, there was an actual form to fill out and they asked me if I wanted to fill it out for her. She’s 10. Please hand me the form and stop talking lest this kid look up from her iTouch and want to get nosey Rosie on me.
Apparently this form becomes mandatory at 10 years old. It asks all sorts of crap about menstrual cycles, hysterectomy and possible pregnancy. I prefer to not think of this child anywhere near a menstrual cycle. This kid is volatile on a good day. I do not look forward to running into her on a wings day.
At least the doctor’s office had the decency to provide ridiculously oversized shorts for her to wear because who doesn’t love taking amusing photos of their children while killing time.
It 's the least they could do after having the nerve to post a sign on the back of the exam room door telling me to refrain from using my cell phone in the exam room and don't let your kid play with the rolling stool. Can't have it both ways, people. Either we start rolling that stool around or we get busy texting people wacky photos of the balloon shorts.
We're rebels like that. And by rebels, I mean we decided they wouldn't be able to hear us texting photos from the nurse's station. And if they can't hear you, I think we all know that means it's okay.