Boppy and I are on vacation.  We are currently in Morgantown, West Virginia.  For the next 17 days we will be traveling all over New England.  Today we went to the Kentucky Horse Park.  This is a working horse farm.  It has a museum, lots of exhibits, and it is the burial site of Man O’War (I think that’s what I read).  While we were there we saw an exhibit on Arabians.  I created my own Arabian and followed her throughout the museum.  Her name was Dalia.  I will readily admit that this exhibit was for elementary students but I could give a rat’s.

Now normally I don’t notice the people around me, but there was a very Northern lady behind me, and apparently she had never heard of horses before.  All through the exhibit she announced in very loud, nasal tones…”Oh my God!  I didn’t know that!” By the end of the exhibit I truly believed that the sum total of all that she knew could be etched on the head of a straight pin.  Even walking away I could hear that voice.  It was like nails on a chalkboard.  I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t going to attend the same exhibit we were headed to.  My loving, but apparently oblivious, husband looks at me and says, “what?”  “I’m making sure that stupid Yankee isn’t following us.”  “What are you talking about?” “You didn’t notice the fingernails on the chalkboard voice that was echoing through the Halls of Horses exhibit?”  “No.” 

I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out how our relationship has lasted so long. 

They have chosen to put The Precious in a pre-school soccer.  Listen once again dear ones…a soccer league for 3 year olds.  Now The Precious knows that a soccer ball is for kicking.  He kicks it until it slams into something and then he raises his chubby little arms and shouts, “score!” like he’s Pele.  Does he have any business in a league?  I don’t think so.

Here’s the thing…The Precious is not a day-walker.  He does not appreciate the sun, nor does he want to be out in it.  He was really excited the other day because, “the nasty sun is gone!”  He wears his mother’s huge sunglasses in the morning to go to daycare and he wilts like a hot house flower if the sun has the gall to shine on his face in his car seat. His favorite room in our house is the one without windows.   Precious….definitely….soccer tot….???????????

He’s had soccer practice three times.  The first one was spent primarily on the sidelines drinking Gatorade.  When I told him he had practice a second time he said, “I already had soccer practice.”  Well, they took him back again.  I didn’t speak to his Dad after that practice, but I got a call today after practice.  Apparently Ferdinand just wanted to shield his face from the sun while sitting on his ball, and pull some flowers along the way.  At one point the coach accidentally tapped him with a soccer ball and The Precious told him that he had indeed been hit.  This coach of toddlers (3 and 4 year olds mind you) told him, “Well, if you had been in the right place it wouldn’t have been a problem.”  Apparently all coaches, even those of toddlers, are asses. (My apology to coach Tony Dungee, who is the exception to the previous rule.)  The coaching incident was told by his father, who apparently no longer lies to his mother. 

I have to say, first and foremost, I have not attended a soccer practice.  However, and here you must imagine a violin playing a low and somber tune, the image of The Precious sitting on his soccer ball with his head in his hands so that the vicious August sun doesn’t blind him with pain, is just too much for me to bear.  I asked his father to let me talk to my non-vag daughter.  The conversation went something like this…”You have to take him out of soccer. He’s just too little.”  “He’s fine.”  “He hates the sun, and he’s just too little.” “He’s the same age as all the other kids.” “They don’t want to play either.  Their parents are forcing them to play too.  They are all too small.” ”Yeah, whatever.”  “Well when some brutal brat smacks him in the face and breaks his nose and he’s never as cute as he is right now don’t come crying to me.” “Okay.” ”My future (I’m guessing) daughter in law would never put my potential grandchildren in toddler soccer.”  “She’s a pussy.”  “Well I’m not a meddling mother.  I’ve said my piece and I’ve counted to three.”  “Fine.”  “Get my son on the phone.”  (I can hear The Precious laughing in the background…I tear up a little thinking about the tiny little crutches he’s probably going to be walking on soon.”  My son: “Hello.”  “She says he’s fine.” “Yeah, she’s mean.”  “I told her I don’t like it.”  “So did I.  What do you want me to do?”  “Well, he’s your son too.  Nut up or shut up.”  “But I’m afraid of her.”  “You take him to practice…just don’t take him.”  “The coach has her number not mine.”  “Lie.  You’ve lied to me your whole life.  It’s never bothered you before.  Lie…this is what marriage is about.  Lie your ass off.”  “I’m too afraid.  She controls all the bank accounts and pulls down more a year than me.”  “Well…I’ve said my piece…I’ve counted to three.”

It’s lucky for them that I am not a meddling, buttinski, Mother-in-law who tells them how to raise their child.  They are fortunate that I only gently guide, and quietly give my opinion only when asked.  I would never over step my bounds, but someone should tell them that 3 year olds are too little to play soccer.  For God’s sake, the uniform is even too large.  It’s soccer!  It’s not even a real sport!  Hell, they should know he’s gonna play football…for the Colts.  It’s just a given.  Now, I’ve said my piece…and I’ve counted to three…

 

***This blog is very graphic.  If you are squeamish, put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

Menopause sucks.  Of course I finished it in like two minutes, but prior to that I had four solid years of fighting the symptoms.  Recently my doctor prescribed Miss Puss a tiny little pill to take every other night.  It made all the difference in the world.  Miss Puss is like a whole new person.  She has that old spring in her step that she used to have.  She isn’t throwing me into flashes of heat.  (See what I did there my little ones.)  She’s alive in the boudoir.  She’s back to her old self.  I’m so happy for her.  This is the one prescription that has me doing my happy dance all the way to the pharmacy.

Last Friday I tripped the light fantastic into my favorite pharmacy.  I had ordered my prescription for our upcoming trip and went to pick them up.  One of my prescriptions was for vagifem.  As my pharmacist was ringing me up, he pulled me aside and said that he had a problem with one of my prescriptions.  Wouldn’t you know it would be with Miss Puss’s.  “This prescription has been discontinued.  I have five left in my dispensary and I’m giving them to you, but that’s it.”  It was 6:00 o’clock.  My doctor was closed.  I am leaving on Monday…and I can feel Miss Puss’s claws finding their way back into my conscience.  Now on the one hand, I don’t want to be taking any medication that might have horrific side effects.  On the other hand, I really like feeling normal and keeping Miss Puss happy.

I ask Pharmacist if a prescription is on the market that works the same way and has the same effects.  “Nope.  I don’t know why they have discontinued it, but it’s the only thing of it’s kind on the market.  I will call your gynecologist on Monday and see what she says.”  Well, that’s just great since I’m leaving on Monday and even if I could get a new script it would be impossible to get a recurring prescription filled at another pharmacy.  Well, I took a deep breath and said “Well, this is going to be a great vacation for the next ten days.  Then I’m gonna be bitchy and Boppy is gonna be cranky.”  “I’ll see if I can call her after hours number.” (Sometimes letting Miss Puss do the talking works).  In a few minutes he comes back.  He looks sort of sheepish, but not completely defeated.  “I got ahold of her, and she said that this had only been discontinued in the dosage you have been receiving.  She prescribed a lower dose that you will take more often.”  “Great so now I’m going to be stuffing MIss Puss full of pills on a daily basis?  What’s wrong with this picture?  Can’t you call your other pharmacies and see if they have it in the dosage I receive?  You have 6 other pharmacies…get on the phone!” (Sometimes letting Miss Puss talk is just embarrassing.) Now Pharmacist (whom I count on for my well being) looks more than a tad embarrassed.  “I can’t do that.  I really shouldn’t even be gi ving you the five I have, but they’re not going to do me any good.”  “Get her on the phone for me.”  He rushed to get that phone…anything to get me off his butt.  The phone rings twice.  “Hello.”  “Dr. P this is Emmy.  I’m going on vacation for 19 nights and Miss Puss is out of medicine…and Pharmacist won’t give me more than five.  I don’t think this is the best time to be changing meds.”  Insert a very brief pause…and then…”Meet me at the office in twenty minutes.  We have samples.”  You see she has talked to Miss Puss before…she is Miss Puss’s doctor, not mine.

I now hold in my hand twenty-three vagifem pill inserts in my possession.  Our vacation will be fabulous.  What comes after that is anyone’s guess.  At least for the next 46 days Miss Puss and I will be as one.  If she goes Sybil after that I am not to blame.