As I’m typing this, I’m listening to the hubs make horrible retching sounds while muttering under his breath, “Why on earth would she use the self-cleaning function on the oven while we’re all here in the house? What is she trying to do–kill us?” At least I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s muttering because he’s only said it out loud, like, twenty times. As far as the retching goes, think long-haired cat trying to expel a stubborn hairball, and you’ll feel my pain.
Although the smell emanating from the kitchen area is not what I’d call pleasant, I promise it’s not as bad as all that.
Kevin left for Las Vegas on Wednesday to attend a DWI seminar and I met him out there Friday evening. I had two goals in mind. The first goal was to have fun for a couple of days without kids, which was accomplished. We met up with some friends and had a blast. The second goal was to sleep late on Saturday morning, which was squashed to bits by some idiot who spoke at the criminal defense lawyers’ seminar.
Kevin was telling me about this woman (said idiot) who gave this awesome seminar on time management and productivity. Most of the things he relayed to me were things that I do anyway. Like, setting aside a particular time of the day to check and answer emails.
When I mentioned that I was looking forward to sleeping late, however, Kevin said, “Oh, no, you don’t want to do that. The woman that gave the talk on time management said that if you sleep late just one day on the weekend, it takes your body an entire two weeks to recover.”
Really? I’m willing to risk it.
I wanted to march over to Caesar’s Palace, find this ignoramus and yell, “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE!!!”
I am 100 percent certain that I could run circles around this woman. As far as I could tell, she couldn’t have been all that brilliant in the time management/productivity department because she said absolutely nothing about putting essentials such as glasses, keys and wallets in the same place so as to avoid involving your family in an all-out manhunt to locate said items. That, my friends, would save hours a week.
Talk about a missed opportunity.
Kevin and I got back Sunday afternoon, and we paid dearly for our time away. Liam had been on a boy scout campout for the weekend and was seriously grumpy. He had a book report due on Monday. He’d assured me on Thursday before he left for the campout that he’d already read the book and would have the report written and completed by the time we got home on Sunday afternoon. Turns out, he hadn’t even read the book yet.
I was furious, so Liam got a lecture from me on time management free of charge. He said, “But, Mom, I am so tired. I couldn’t possibly do that report now. My back hurts from sleeping in a tent on the wet, cold ground. I didn’t get any sleep. I’m exhausted!” This was followed by tears.
(The drama! Where did he get this from? Oh, yeah. Please see the above paragraph about a grown man retching like a cat over a whiff of oven smoke.)
“Why were you sleeping on the ground? Didn’t you have your cot?” I asked.
“I didn’t take it. I didn’t think I’d need it,” he wailed.
(He’s going to make an excellent boy scout. Aren’t they always prepared in any circumstance?)
I’m not sure why Kevin or me thought that Liam would enjoy camping in a tent. Kevin loves being outside, but likes a hot shower and a nice bed to sleep in at night. And no one has ever accused me of being outdoorsy.
That being said, I got everyone in bed early Sunday evening and Liam finished his book report and turned it in this morning, which is a day late. Last night, Colman said, “Mom, I think I have a book report to do, too.”
“When is it due?” I asked.
“Soon,” was all Colman said.
Great. He’s actually read his book already, though, which was Captain Underpants.
We’re gearing up for a whole bunch of doctors’ appointments for Colman. He goes to the Hem/Onc Clinic this week at CHOSA for blood work to check his Lovenox levels and also repeat blood work to test kidney function since his levels were a little off last time we checked them. After that, we see Dr. Rogers here in San Antonio to check his heart. Then we’re going to Texas Children’s Hospital for a chest CT with dye contrast and an abdominal ultrasound on November 4th. I’m told we’ll need to stay in the hospital overnight to make sure the dye clears his kidneys. Our appointment with the cardiomyopathy clinic is on November 5th and they should have the results from all of the tests Colman has undergone in the last couple of months.
The endocrinologist ordered some additional tests which all came back normal. The bone age study shows that Colman’s bones are eight years old, rather than the nine-and-a-half that he actually is, which is good. That means we’re not losing growth at this point, but we’re going to need to get on it pretty soon or the endocrinologist said he will start losing growth. If he stays on this growth curve, even for an eight-year-old, his projected height is between 5’1″ and 5’2″.
When I told my sister, Holly, about this projection, she said, “Well, you always did say that you thought it’d be kind of fun to have a midget.”
Thanks for reminding me. I’m pretty sure I used the word “dwarf.” I think I envisioned that their lack of height would be the only problem I’d be dealing with.