Tuesdays With Mooch & Fuss: Owl Penis
MOOCH
I took Fuss to urgent care last night after dinner, and I left Hannibal with Mooch to finish up her homework and see that she made her lunch, showered, and got in the bed. When I got to Kaiser, there were full families with two parents three to five kids in each. I didn’t understand why they dragged all of their kids out to a sick environment and disrupted their schedules, when one parent could have stayed at home.
Well, imagine my dismay, when I got home to find a fully clothed, filthy Mooch at the table Googling “owl penis” instead of resting in bed, with a packed lunch in the fridge! It was like one of those scenes from The Cosby Show, where Cliff messes up and Clair goes on a rampage. Except it wasn’t a scene from The Cosby Show, because they didn’t say “owl penis” on The Cosby Show!!!
Mooch is doing a research project on owls for school. She, apparently, has typed, “Do owls have sex?” as one of her research questions. I, of course, am fine with this question. I don’t know how the rest of the parents in her class would respond to a presentation on Owl Sex. So she spent an hour with Hannibal looking for Google images of an owl penis. I came home and in two seconds researched that they technically don’t have one. It’s microscopic, and it’s called a “crevecum.” An owl climbs on top of his female and squirts sperm from his cloaca into hers. Most birds don’t have dicks. Ostriches and ducks are among the few that do. *Sigh* I should have just taken the whole family with me to the hospital.
FUSS
Fuss vomited on Sunday as we stepped into a restaurant, but I typically don’t do doctors for stuff like that. I figured it was something she ate or a stomach virus. I gave her some Temp-Assure and put her to bed. Unfortunately, on Monday, her fever persisted — reaching 104 degrees. I began to ask her if things hurt. For ears, she answered, “No.” Her throat looked fine. Then I remembered that she has been urinating more frequently — like twice per night. Normally, she sleeps through the night and doesn’t pee at all. I asked, “Does it hurt when you urinate?” She answered with an emphatic, “Yes!”
I packed her up and took her. She wouldn’t piss in the cup, because she didn’t have to go at that time. I gave her many chances and finally opted to have a catheter inserted. It was quick, and we got the urine we needed. The test came back negative. We went through a lot of rigamarole, but at least we ruled it out, and there are no antibiotics necessary. Now, I’m giving probiotics, and avoiding soy milk (which I think may be the real culprit). She’s so listless and cuddly and warm. It’s quite a contrast from her usual Tigger-esque nature.
Marital Mondays: The Un-Mother’s Day
I did not celebrate Mother’s Day yesterday, and it was awesome. I laid in the bed butt naked watching Scandal and Grey’s Anatomy, while eating cereal. I must have been well-rested, because by 3pm, I was up putting the rest of our one million books in the shelves.
The girls jumped on their new trampoline for two hours straight! This allowed Hannibal and I to catch a rom-com on the Starz Network, largely uninterrupted. That was nice. We watched “Friends With Benefits.” Surprisingly, Justin Timberlake wasn’t horrible.
I didn’t feel like cooking, so we all got dressed around 5ish and headed out to Bossa Nova, but as soon as we entered the restaurant, Fuss vomited all over the floor, and Hannibal, and Sunset Boulevard. I’m so glad it wasn’t really Mother’s Day, because that would have really sucked. Since I wasn’t celebrating Mother’s Day, we just got take-out, went to Target to grab new outfits for both of them, and finished our grocery shopping for the week.
Marital Mondays: Picking Fights
I started watching Scandal, starring Kerry Washington, this weekend. I haven’t watched any TV (other than an occasional Raising Hope or Community) since Alphas went off. Scandal is great. The only problem was watching it on Hulu, where they played a million ProFlowers Mother’s Day ads. I don’t think about my mother often. It’s normally when one of the kids asks me something about her. That doesn’t usually bother me, but these ads got to me for some reason.
I know I’m a mother, and that Mother’s Day is for me, too. Even though, the last couple of Mother’s Day celebrations have been awesome for me, I just don’t really think of me first. I think of my mom. Then I think of how I can barely even remember her voice anymore. I’m reminded that she’s not here to experience my kids, and even worse, that Fuss never met her. She never will. I didn’t push the feelings away. I just sat with them. I didn’t feel like writing, so I didn’t post a blog Monday (That’s why Marital Mondays is posting today). I didn’t want to act like a prospective “millionaire” and phone a friend either. Instead, I did something really stupid. I picked a completely unrelated fight with Hannibal.
The only thing is, he didn’t fight back. Arguing with myself is the most awkward (and not rewarding) thing, so I eventually just fell asleep. I don’t know if he was even sure what was happening. Hell, I wasn’t sure. I addressed him in a tone that was not our normal way of speaking to each other (Think PMS mixed with a little early labor). He just agreed with everything I said and steered clear of the fire.
In the morning, I felt even more awful. It was only Tuesday night that I realized this had all stemmed from leftover grief, because it got worse. I didn’t cry. I just seemed to bark at everything and everybody that got in my way yesterday. I was easily overwhelmed. My martyr complex took over, and it was just an ugly day. I was reminded of all of the horrible things that happened surrounding her death. For example, Hannibal wasn’t very supportive after she died. He didn’t know how to handle anything I was going through, and he pawned me off on three of my friends, Felicia, Evan and Brandi — hoping they could reset me to the girl he had met. He continued with life as usual, while I was stuck in a bubble of pain, confusion, and heartache.
This morning I woke up and meditated in bed. I focused on joy afterward, and the cloud seems to be moving. I wouldn’t say it’s gone, but I can definitely see the sun peeking through.
Marital Mondays: New Beginnings
Like sunrise reflected
in toddler eyes
this is our chance.
Today we can do better,
we can find our way,
encourage greatness,
redeem dreams like lottery tickets.
Start all over.
Transition ain’t easy,
loading cardboard clad baggage
of mortgaged yesterdays
into moving trucks of motivation.
Making the trip
takes gasoline,
elbow grease
patience through stop signs
and stopped types
logjamming your route,
but we gon’ do
what they say
can’t be done.
Open front door to reset
hardwood floors for footsteps
echoing in tomorrow’s memories,
that one spot by kitchen
always creaks
watch your step.
Start all over.
This is it.
Holding hands,
striding heads high into sunlight,
don’t need no shades
don’t need to squint
see possibilities just fine
making mark in grandchildren legacies
stepping up
hitting free throws
getting out of bed
especially when it’s so warm
when she’s so warm
knowing world’s so cold.
Doesn’t matter.
Starting all over,
unpacking lessons we need
conveniently forgetting
boxes of transgressions
that rot foundations
this is a new place,
a new day
a new chance
to make it all right.
Best of all?
We’ll get another one tomororow.
Let’s go!
“Movin’ On Up”
By Hannibal Tabu
Marital Mondays: “Ridin’ Hard and Ridin’ Dirty”
I drove Hannibal to work this morning. It was fun having extra time to chat and be silly. There may be more carpooling in our future. We have to squeeze the quality into the time we have.
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