Busted....A mother always finds out.

A couple of weeks ago I dragged my child to the doctor for an appointment.  He had been ill off and on for a couple of months and I thought maybe he had Mono or something. While we were sitting with the nurse practitioner he proceeded to tell her of symptoms he was experiencing that he had not shared with me.  I left the room while she examined him and when I came back in, she informed me that he had something called a pilonidal cyst. It was just above his tailbone and is apparently a very common affliction. She advised it might need surgery and she would speak to the surgeon.  My jaw dropped.  The teenager wouldn't tell his mom what was going on, because it involved his butt.  And of course he would not show his mother his butt either. So this is what was making him sick all this time. Our one concern besides his obvious health, was that volleyball championships were coming up in a month. Really?  Who gives a crap about sports when your child might need surgery?  Uhm, apparently it crossed our mind.

Two weeks later, his symptoms worsened and we headed back up.  The nurse practitioner came out from examining him again and says he's having surgery tomorrow at lunch time! WTF?  Norwossa volleyball is here on Friday! Well, he won't be playing.  He will be put out for the procedure and will have the incision packed for a few weeks which will require frequent trips to the clinic to change the packing etc.  Wow. So now he has to break it to his coach and his teammates.  That, and tell them that he needs to have his butt operated on. Insert chuckle here.


So yesterday Dominic and I headed up to the hospital for the procedure.  Turns out they weren't going to put him out.  They would just use a local anesthetic.  Okay that's not as scary.  Now given that this was a minor ailment and procedure, I chose not to tell my mother or my mother-in-law about the procedure prior to. Dom didn't want his two grandmothers at his bedside for what he felt was a somewhat embarrassing procedure.  You see according to the wonderful surgeon who operated on him, his ailment is also known as Hairy-Ass disease.  So my poor, private 17 year old man-child had to bare his behind to a room full of female nurses and surgeon.  That was bad enough, he didn't want to discuss it was grandmas or show his mother.  Good news was, it was removed and stitched up and that's all there is to it. No need for packing and multiple visits.  And he might even be able to play volleyball next week.  First thing he wants to do as he is getting dressed,  "Mom can we go see the guys?"  So we head from the hospital, straight over to the school.  He walks into the gym to the applause of his teammates.  It was a pretty special thing to see.

Now the second part of this story has to do with the magical powers that some parents have. I have always told my own children that it is always best to tell me the truth.  The reason for this is that I always find out things that they are hiding.  It is an innate, magical ability.  People just randomly tell me things sometimes which leads me to find out information that my kids didn't want me to know.  I think it is related to the whole, moms have eyes in the back of their heads mystery. I tell my kids that God just gives me information when I need it, whether I was looking for it or not. I also channel the spirit of Nancy Drew when necessary and find out more. And don't get me wrong, my kids are good kids.  No big troubles that I find out about.

As Dominic got wheeled away I proceeded to tell Marilyn the nurse, who is also part of my extended family, how we chose to save the details of Dom needing a procedure until after the fact to tell his grandmothers.  She agreed that there was no need to get them worried. 

About ten minutes after I was discussing this with her, the door to the day-surgery ward opens and who walks in but my mother!  The second I saw her I thought crap, how did she find out?  I'm in trouble now. Then I noticed hanging around her neck was her volunteer tag.  My mother has faithfully volunteered at the hospital for decades helping patients in every way she can.  She didn't know I was there. She sees me and takes a moment to register and then says, "What are you doing here?"  I told her that Dominic was having a cyst removed.  She said, "Well I didn't know that."  I said, "I know I was just going to tell you about it when he was done."  Then saved by the bell, Marilyn walks over and helps her with whatever it was she had actually come in for in the first place.  I immediately texted my sister to share the event with her to the tune of many texted lols.  We had discussed earlier in the day that mom had an appointment of her own there at 11a.m. and Dom was originally supposed to go in at noon.  I was concerned that we might run into her then.  Then Dom's appointment was bumped back to 2pm so I figured he was safe. Wrong.

I texted my sister, "See you can't lie to a mom! They always find sh-t out!"  A couple of minutes later, Marilyn walks back in laughing and says, "Busted!!!"  My sister then texts me and says she was convinced that our mom invented GPS and that she had been implanted with one at birth.

So tomorrow his dressing needs to be changed.  He realizes it will be difficult to do himself, but he doesn't want his mom to do it and see his butt.  So he has agreed that his dad will have to take care of it for him. :) 

So the moral of the story is that it is true, I tell my own children, you can't hide stuff from moms. They usually find out. It's a magical power.  And apparently it is genetic.  I inherited it from my mommy.

I am a gazelle. A 45 year old gazelle.

It's the March break.  I have a week to do pretty much whatever I want.  It has not amounted to much so far, but I have been relaxing to say the least.  No having to run around anywhere or work, other than the day to day laundry, grocery shopping and tidying up. 

Yesterday I thought I would get off my almost 45 year old behind and do something I have thought about. I would go to the gym.  My daughter Jessica goes to the gym almost daily.  She works out for a couple of hours at a time.  I have never seen her work out.

So after a lunch with my dearest friend Michelle (which consisted of a dietary conscious ruben and some fries) I headed over to meet up with Jessica.  I squeezed myself into my yoga pants, a tee shirt and some runners.  Left my mane of now natural curls hanging down. They wouldn't bother me.

As I enter the cardio room I am thankful there are only a couple of people in there.  I walk over to an elliptical machine.  I have heard these are easier on your knees than a treadmill.  As I stand before it I have to ask Jessica for instructions.  She started telling me where I need to put my feet.  I told her I had that much figured out.  What buttons am I supposed to press to get it going?  So there is a dial for the incline and one for resistance.  My 17 year old physically fit child tells me she starts out at 10 and 5.  Well okay, I'll do that too. I put my head phones in my ears and away I go.  My mantra, I am a gazelle. 

I find that I need to hold on to the hand rails as I feel like I am peddling at an awkward angle.  Or possibly I need help balancing on the damn thing.  Five minutes agonizingly slowly goes by.  The calorie counter says I have burned approximately 20 calories.  You have got to be freaking kidding me.  Sweat is running down every crack and crevice of my being.  Recognize now a pony tail would have been an excellent idea.  Breathe in, breathe out, you can do this.  The machine says if I do this for an hour, yes an hour, I can burn approximately 590 calories.  Really?  That's it?  But after 5 minutes, an hour seems an impossibility. Definitely.

I decide maybe I need to change the incline.  Yes, maybe I would feel more comfortable if I reduced the incline from a 10 to a 5.  Okay, now I am at 5 and 5.  That feels a bit better.  I am a gazelle.  I can do this.

Then I look over at Jessica.  Jessica is now at 13 and 10.  She is going full tilt.  She has her hands on her hips.  She does  not need to hold on to anything for balance, life support , nothing.  She is the gazelle.  I am the water buffalo in comparison.

I persevere for 15 minutes.  It is pretty much all I can do.  I count down the seconds until my 15 minutes are up.  I carefully dismount my mechanical steed and head over to the water fountain.  Next time note to self, definitely bring a water bottle.

I walk back in, Jessica is still going.  I decide a tread mill is a safer bet.  15 minutes on a slightly inclined tread mill goes by very quickly.  While I am walking she does a rowing exercise and then crunches with a small medicine ball. I walk.  I get off.  I stretch a bit and I am done. My 17 year old gazelle has been at this over an hour and a half.  The 45 year old gazelle (in 2 weeks) managed to get through 30 minutes without being carried away on a stretcher.

We get into the truck to run some errands.  My right hip is telling me it is not in the right place.  And then PMS strikes.  Day 21 was a few days ago, and now my ovaries are complaining about their existence.   We head over to M&Ms. We need their fabulous crinkle cut fries to go along with my fabulous chili for supper tonight.  Oh look, we are coincidentally in the parking lot of my chiropractor.  I need to make an appointment.  I walk in and lucky me he can take me right away.  Lay on your side, bend your knee, breathe in and hear a deafening crunch, clunk and ahhhhh.  Much better. Drive home, head to the medicine basket and pop 3 ibuprofen.  I am a gazelle.

The gazelle will rise again.  With a pony tail and a water bottle.  She will recognize she is not 17 and does not gallop about on a regular basis.  She will try the elliptical again, but on a much lower incline. She won't look at the calorie counter either. I am a mature gazelle.