Smelling Purple

For several years, Mams would complain about a 'funny smell' in her house. First, she thought it was their detergent, so she changed brands five times. Then, she told me she thought it was Pap's aftershave, so she threw it out. In fact, she went through his entire medicine cabinet and threw out anything that had an odor. Still, the 'funny smell' remained. She would ask me if I could smell it when I came to visit and I would roll my eyes try not to roll my eyes, and tell her I didn't smell anything. It was true; there was no funny smell. As a last straw, she attempted to convince Paps that the 'funny smell' was coming from their 30-year-old heat pump. To appease her, he went out and serviced the entire thing. He cleaned the coils, replaced the return vent filters, and touched up on every surface. Yet the 'funny smell' remained. All this 'funny smell' business finally came to a head when she came to visit me. Being six hours away from home was sure to cure her of this nonsense.

But it didn't. The smell followed her.

At this point, I'm trying to convince her to talk to her doctor about it. After all, NO.ONE.BUT.HER. could smell the 'funny smell'. After days of quizzing her on a discription of the smell, she finally said, "It smells like the color purple, okay?! I smell purple and I HATE PURPLE."

Lavender? No.

Grape? No.

Purple. The smell was purple and it was highly offensive to my olfactory-sensitive 87-year-old grandmother.

We were never able to determine the origin of the 'purple smell', but after Mams passed in November, I too began smelling a 'funny smell'. I mentioned it to Captain once or twice; I told My Beesh about it too. No one had any clue what I was smelling. When I developed The Death Cold on New Year's Eve, I attributed my 'funny smell' to the cold. But the cold went away and left a sinus infection in it's wake. The infection! That MUST be the origin of the 'funny smell'!

But now I'm healed. Finished all my antibiotics like I always do because I was hoping they would kill the 'funny smell'; yet it lingers. So I did what any rational person with a 'funny smell' would do. I turned to Google and it saved my life! and it told me to go see an ENT. I typically don't listen to Google, but when it started throwing around words like 'tumor', I heeded it's warning.

This is the CT of my sinuses:

That's a good lookin' skull, huh?! Okay, ignore that part, but look at the picture in the upper left corner. See the black spot on the left side of my nose? That's air. That's good. The right side doesn't have any hole, thus no air. To me, that seems like a not-so-big-deal, but to an ENT, it's apparently HUGE.

"Mrs. Davis, we really need to go in there an clean this out. As in, SOON. You have a nasty infection brewing in your sinus cavity," he tells me with all seriousness.

"Ummmm, I just finished ten days of antibiotics for a sinus infection and I feel much better, thankyouvermuch," I explained.

"Yes, but for an infection like this one, ten days isn't nearly enough time. Your insurance company is a pack of assholes will not authorize this procedure unless you've been on antibiotics for at least 21 days with a steroid inhaler, so we need to try that route first. Honestly, I don't know if it will work, but we have to try," he tells me with his doctor voice.

"So, you're telling me that after 21 days of the same antibiotic I just took for the past TEN DAYS, I may not be cured and will STILL need surgery?! Sigh. As long as it gets rid of the purple smell," I accidentally admitted.

With a quizzical look, he says, "Yes, the purple smell is literally in your head, but you should just tell people that you have sinus trouble..."

Obviously, he doesn't know about my blog.

DingoDog

First, let me say that Dorkfish has officially been renamed. He's now Captain America. My Beesh gave him the nickname and not only does it fit him perfectly, but he's finally stopped fighting it and has embraced the new title and has let it go to his head.

So, this morning, I am helping Bonus get caught up on an entire week of classwork and homework because he was out sick with RSV and bronchitis. Not only is he just as ADD as I am, *SHINY*, but he's not at all motivated to excel in school. Third grade has been very rough on him and we are currently seeking help. But I digress...

While I'm trying not to pull my hair out to help my wonderful son with is work, Captain is upstairs in the attic shuffling through old photos. I am feverishly googling "how to find the area of a trapezoid" while Bonus is drawing pictures of me trying to figure out his math:

If you need clarification, I am on the left with my arms in an exasperated posture and a question mark in my thought bubble. Bonus is on the right, scratching his head and thinking, "What's wrong with her?" Obviously, we both agree that it is time for a tutor...

Just as we are finally getting somewhere and almost finished with the TWELVE math problems that have taken us TWO HOURS TO COMPLETE, Captain saunters over to the table with a handful of photos to distract us distract us. Deep in the stack, we came across this one:

 This picture was taken in 1998 when Captain was touring the country in a 30-foot RV, flying hot-air balloons in a different city every weekend, advertising for GM Goodwrench. I had flown down to Mississippi to meet him at a rally in Natchez. This afternoon, he was launching the balloon on the banks of the Mississippi when this dog strolled up. He wasn't scared of the balloons, nor any of us. I began bugging the Captain to let me take him to his house since the address was on his collar, but he was too busy launching a hot-air balloon on a river to pay attention. Pfffft. Naturally, I did what any rational person would do with a stray dog. I put him in the truck and named him DingoDog. He seemed to like the name AND the Captain's Ray Ban's.*snicker*

DingoDog went on the hour-long chase with me, sitting in the passenger seat with his tongue hung out the window and a big smile on his face. We got waves from every car we passed and odd looks from the other chase crews since we didn't have a dog prior to the launch.

Once Captain landed, DingoDog happily ran over to the balloon to greet him and celebrate his successful landing. The Captain was less than pleased that I had brought this four-legged crew chief along for the chase. Honestly, this should have been his first warning that Idon'tlistenever. However, he did agree to my pleas for a photo opp, with him being the Captain and all...

Obviously, he is just as pleased that I found a sidekick... (notreally. That's his 'smileforthecameraeventhoughnothingishappy' smile.) I've learned it well over the past 12 years.

After we packed up, DingoDog happily hopped back in the RV and we headed back to his neck of the woods. Sadly, his family wasn't home to hear of his adventures, but we left a note. He trotted back into his yard and seemed to smile at us in gratitude as we pulled away.

DingoDog, the original yard gnome adventure.

100 Days, A Day Early

So, a lot of really bad/sad/depressing/jumpoffacliff things have happened around here lately and writing has honestly been the verylastthing I could imagine doing. Sadly, my photography has become second to last. Sigh.

However, just to let you all know that I'm not only still alive, but still screwing up my children, I give you my morning:

Bonus has been running a fever since Monday. I finally took him to the doctor yesterday and he has RSV, bronchitis and possibly walking pneumonia. Add to it that I pulled a muscle in my neck and spent two days unable to use my left arm and you have A.DAMN.GOOD.TIME. So this morning when Deuce came in my bedroom to ask if it was today or tomorrow that he was supposed to dress up for the 100th day of school, I went with my gut.

"It's probably today, buddy," I grumbled from under the sheets.

Since I am such an organized person, I didn't have a clue pulled out my day planner and helped him dress as a 100-year-old man. He wore his brother's plaid pj pants, pulled up to his nipples, a striped shirt, plaid tie, tucked into his pants of course, argyle socks and black dress shoes. I even coated his face in waterproof mascara for a beard. (That whole 'waterproof' part becomes important later. It's called foreshadowing people.)

We spent the entire morning learning phrases like, "Back in my day" and "You little whippersnapper." He swaggered to the bus stop with a 'hitch in his giddyup' and bragged to one of my neighbors about his plaid tie. It was a beautiful thing. I even posted that adorable picture on facebook.

Then my phone rang. It was Sheshe.

"Dude, my daughter said their 100th day is tomorrow," she said with uncertainty in her voice. "Are you SURE it's today?!"

"Of course I'm sure. The sheet that I threw out as soon as it came in the house saved on my cork board said the 24th," I explained in all confidence.

Then I called the school... "Mrs. Davis, we will just have him come to the office when he gets off the bus."

I threw the sick kid in the car and rushed to the school with clothes and makeup remover. When I got there, the poor kid was in the office, peering through the window in his little old man suit and his permanent beard. Let me tell you, waterproof mascara REALLY WORKS PEOPLE. I scrubbed his face for ten minutes straight and he STILL had black specks!

Once I had him dressed appropriately, he smirked and said, "Listen, if you keep this up, you'll never get rid of me. No one wants a damaged kid."

True dat, you little whippersnapper...