It was quite some morning.
I took Mother to the doctor's office and the first strange thing to happen was that the receptionist, instead of being someone I would think of as a normal office-worker wearing normal-office wear, was a woman who would not, believe me, look out of place at a gathering of Dominatrices. I really was almost rendered speechless. Here it was, Wednesday morning, and this woman was wearing a red pencil skirt with a huge zipper in the back which started at the hem and ended at the ass and a black peplum shirt which hugged her just as tightly as the skirt and which revealed at least six inches of very impressive creamy cleavage.
Hey! I couldn't help but notice!
She was also wearing what I suppose one would call a very dramatic necklace, heavy in the metal, and those high-heels which are sort of like boots. But with laces and shit and open toes. You know what I'm talking about?
And she was wearing what I can only call stage make-up.
She had that curvy, lovely retro-burlesque Dita Von Teese look. But with white-blond hair, pulled back tight in a pony tail. One felt she had a whip or two stashed under the desk, mixed in with the file folders.
I mean, she was fairly gorgeous but A DOCTOR'S OFFICE! In TALLAHASSEE?
But TALLAHASSEE? FLORIDA?
What can one do but go ahead and fill out the four pages of forms and hand over the insurance cards and identification cards and sit back down and wait to be called back? Which is what we did.
A regular-looking nurse in a regular-looking set of scrubs ushered us back to an exam room and asked Mother a lot of questions and then the doctor himself came in and if he looks a day older than he did in 1985, I can't see it. He started asking Mother questions and it quickly became apparent that he had no magic bullets nor magic anything and basically told her that if one is lucky enough to live to the age which Mother has attained, one must expect that certain things are going to occur in the body for which there is no cure whatsoever and no treatment, either. He informed her, after looking over her medication list that he himself is on more meds than she is and that everyone has pain and that it gets worse as we age.
He suggested she get a hobby.
As you might expect, my mother was NOT happy with any of this. Not one bit. No. She was not.
She was in fact, furious as we got in the car and drove away.
It was not a fun outing with my mom.
I could go on with details but it would not serve any purpose. It is what it is and she is who she is and that is not a happy person.
The doctor did see one drug on her med list which he couldn't figure out why she'd been put on but would explain the incredible amount of sleeping she's been doing. I don't know why she's on it either so I went down to the clinic where her primary physician practices to find out when I took her home. When the nurse came out to talk to me I was rather astounded to find that the new nurse mother had spoken of was, in fact, a former midwife whom I have known for many years who is now out of the midwife biz and is working in geriatrics.
I felt like it had all been a dream. As if yes, we do create our own reality and I was in an especially fanciful mood.
The dominatrix receptionist? The doctor who has not aged and who looks a bit like an old-world troll who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shoes the likes of which I have never seen before who told my mother that there was nothing for it but perhaps to get a hobby? The former midwife now the head of the clinic where my mother lives?
Well. One must wonder.
After all of that I went with Lily and Owen and Gibson and Jason to the Costco where the Christmas crap is already being displayed. This engendered a discussion of Santa Claus and Owen announced several times that he has missed Santa "SO much."
God, child, haven't we all?
But it was fun and I felt myself coming back to earth after such a strange and strained morning. Here's a picture of my boys.
You will note that Gibson looks as if he has been in a prize fight.
Well, he has been and you should see the other guy.
Haha! Not really!
He has learned to crawl off the bed. Which is something you don't realize until the child does it and we've all been there. Lily feels like the worst mother in the world.
So please- would y'all do me a favor? If you feel like it?
Would you tell me (and thus, Lily) in a comment about a time that perhaps you turned your back and your baby or child did something that made YOU feel like the worst mother (or father) in the world?
Man. I'm just asking for all sorts of confessions here lately, aren't I?
To start off, I'll admit that one time I took a five second nap and Lily herself drank some cough syrup and I had no idea how much and took her to the doctor and they laughed at me and said that if she wasn't passed out, she was fine. I also let her get covered in red ants once. Okay, okay, maybe I let that happen to all my kids. One time I accidentally knocked May down into something at a store and she cut her thumb (I think) and I felt HORRIBLE! and the bleeding! Oh God, the BLEEDING! And then there was the time I gave Hank a pocket knife when he was sincerely not old enough and the time I accidentally spilled burning-hot honey on him. And then there was the time I saw Lily carrying around a glass that I knew I should take from her but did not and that ended up at the hospital with stitches. And then...
Okay. You get my drift.
If you feel like it. Reassure Lily that she is not the worst mother in the world. She was helping Owen brush his teeth when Gibson fell off the bed. This is what I told her: "Hey. You were brushing your other son's teeth. You weren't in the closet shooting up heroin."
I don't know if that made her feel any better but it did make her laugh.
And this is what a good mother she is- Owen keeps saying, "I so sorry the baby fell off the bed." And he is. He is the most compassionate, tender, loving big brother.
That did not happen through sheer luck.
All right. I'll shut up now. I should really stop writing here after consuming so much coffee. I'm still reeling from Dita Von Receptionist. Honestly, my description just does not do justice to the true inappropriate glory of that woman. And then a doctor telling my mother to get a hobby! Which is actually excellent advice.
Okay. I'm done.