Kindergarten Ugly

In July, Bonus started kindergarten. To put it nicely, it's been the biggest pain in my ass ever since. It's not the getting him to school, picking him up, packing the dreaded lunches every damn day or the report cards. None of that has pushed me into the liquor cabinet...yet.

It's the attitude.

My neighbor calls it, "Kindergarten Ugly" and describes it as that little bit of ugly that each child has in them that is MAGNIFIED BY TEN HUNDRED BAZILLION THOUSAND when they reach kindergarten.

At first I laughed. Now I'm crying. After all, we know that despite Bonus's best intentions, he has a propensity for violent retaliation.

But this is bad, friends. BBBB.AAAA.DDDD. It's the kind of bad that makes you want to tell everyone that he's really your step son and his father just has no control over him; or make up a disease to justify his actions.

Regardless, it's embarrassing as hell.

Especially when he's calling other kids "stupid", or saying, "I hate girls" to the cutest little blonde you've ever seen, or when the neighbor's kid comes up to where you're sitting with EVERY MOM IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD with scratches down the front of his stomach and is pointing toward your son...that's not embarrassing at all.

But when your precious baby boy gets in trouble for yelling, "STOP IT, DAMMIT" and you're relieved that he didn't yell, "F*CK", you might want to reconsider that Parenting 101 class they asked you to teach...

Apparently Earwigs Don't Cause Dizziness

We are on the verge of what has become the widely-anticipated grand finale of 'What the Hell is Wrong with Amo'.

We have ruled out a brain tumor, aneurysm and now earwigs.

Which is good news.

In other better-than-good-news-and-probably-close-to-FREAKING-AWESOME-NEWS, the ear doctor figured out my dizziness finally!

Normally, I'd cut to the chase and slam down the diagnosis for all of you...but it's my blog and I can play with the climax if I want.

(heh.)

So, the testing required no caffeine or alcohol for 48 hours prior. Okay, (believe it or not) I can handle the 'no alcohol'...for two days, but the NO COFFEE...oh heeeeelllll-to-the-no. It was Ugly. (With a capital U.)

The young, tall, doctor with short, black hair that looked like someone you'd really love to party with and was probably wearing a lab coat to hide the tattoos, was really freaking awesome. She didn't even tell me she was the DOCTOR until we had hit it off and were laughing about the earwig theory. (It sooo could have been earwigs, shut-up.)

She did hours worth of tests, one of which involved cold air blown in your ear and let me tell you, THAT, is not as pleasurable as one might imagine. But, apparently you can recreate the room spinning that is experienced by that test by dripping cold water in someone's ear who's laying down. (Dorkfish, you better sleep with ear plugs, that's all I'm saying.)

All of her medieval torture devices tests resulted in three findings; first, one of my pupils is more constricted than the other which has absolutely nothing to do with the dizziness, but makes me fun at parties in low light. Two, the ocean sound I'm hearing in my left ear has nothing to do with the dizziness but is like have a private party in your head involving coconut rum and cabana boys. Three, my right ear is apparently asleep at the wheel and is 25% slower at recognizing motion than my left and thus, the dizziness.

But the best part of the diagnosis, was explaining that all to my grandmother...

"Amo, it CAN'T be the hairs in your ears causing all the trouble. Your grandfather cuts his all the time and it's not affecting his balance."

*****

In other news, I'm going to open a booth at the state fair doing the water trick. Can you picture the rednecks lined up, daring each other to do it?

Then again, the puke bucket full of beer and corndogs might be a deterrent.

Fried Eggs, Anyone?

Today we were told that my MRI looked good. My brain is apparently in perfect, working order.

We all know better.

So that's the good news.

The bad news? Those DARE bastards were lying.

Next up is the VNG (a test where they simulate vertigo) and a hearing test. This should be entertaining at least...

Definitely on my Top Ten "This Must be Hell" List

How was the MRI, you ask?

Well, if you ever have to go have one, I suggest putting a stew pot over your head and have a friend beat it with a metal spoon.

Incidentally, if you are going to slam your head on the bottom of a cabinet in a restroom, you should do it before the MRI, so they can look for the brain bleed. (P.S. Those stars you saw? They weren't real, nor are they a good sign.) Also, admitting that you may have said number 13 of the list of bad words and apologizing for it, will only get you, "Do you kiss your children with that mouth" from a tech that isn't nearly as funny as he thinks he is.

Also, when the tech asks you if you're head is okay and you say, "Well you're the one looking inside it." They won't laugh.

When they offer you music. Just say no. Don't give in to their "we have satellite radio so you can hear what ever you want!" Inevitably, they won't have Led Zeppelin and will replace it with Golden Oldies. Should you have the balls to say, "I'm not sure which is worse, the banging or the music," they will give you Radio Head as a suitable replacement.

Radio Head is not music. It is yelling. When you aren't having someone pound on your head (that has a quickly growing knot), you are being yelled at.

And that isn't good for your aneurysm.

Lessons Learned this Week (You're welcome.)

Telling Bonus that if he doesn't learn to tie his shoes soon, he's going to be living in my basement until he's 35, probably wasn't a good confidence-instiller for a five year old.

Promising him that we would still feed him until we move off without telling him was what I like to think of as 'being a better parent'.

Screaming F*CK when Deuce slammed his cast on my bare toes may not have been one of my finest parenting moments.

But walking out of the room afterward was probably a wise choice.

This aneurysm must be good for my weight as my clothes are fitting a little more loosely.

However, the huge bowl of homemade peach crisp with vanilla ice cream probably isn't.

A three year old in a full leg cast is tragic.

Unless he isn't in pain and has learned to use it as a weapon to fend off the attack of an angry brother; then it's funny.

The things you miss by not tagging along.

So yesterday was a good time. I wish I could have taken all you guys with me and you could have sat in the waiting room receiving text messages like the one's I sent Jennifer:

"After two vision tests, I can't tell which eye is blurry anymore. But the head hurts ALL OVER, so that's a win, right?"

(That text may have ended with some obscene language, but we'll pretend I don't cuss when nervous.)

Maybe you guys would have enjoyed the getting the email I sent to Dorkfish:

"After two vision tests, I can't tell which eye is blurry anymore and haven't seen the dr yet. Good times..."

His response: "They fixed you!!"

I love him.

If you guys had been there you would have found out that they are decided my eyes HAVE NOTHING to do with my blurry vision. Which makes TOTAL sense to me...

I'm pretty certain that "V" is Latin for "You're hosed."

I Can't Even Spell Those Tests...

Today the funny returns. I know, I know, it's been a bit depressing as hell less funny than usual around here lately.

I've made you all cry with my letter to Deuce and my anniversary post. In fact, I'm surprised anyone is still here! Wait, you're here, right?

Today, we will laugh at leg casts, strep throat and brain tumors! HAHAHAHA HaHaHaHa hahahaha....ug.

Shoot me.

So, yesterday was my eighth anniversary. Steve was home all day. You're thinking it was because he wanted to be with his lovely wife, right? No, Dorkfish had the balls to go out and get strep throat on my our anniversary. Pfft.

The nerve of some people.

So I had the pleasure of babysitting him and Deuce who is STILL in a full leg cast (8 days, people EIGHT MORE DAYS).

Between "Hoppalong Deucey" and the "Strep Throat Kid", I was pretty damn miserable. (And we all know it's all about me.) Speaking of me, me, me, I found a new symptom to my brain tumor "mystery dizziness". My vision in my left eye is intermittently fuzzy. I changed my contacts. Nothing. I switched eyes with my contacts. Nothing. I started drinking. Nothing. (But the dizziness got a helluva lot worse with the beer. Odd, huh?) So I called the doctor. Low and behold, miracle of all miracles, they found me an appointment for today.

I drug poor Jennifer along for the ride in case I died so I would have someone to laugh at me with me. We joked the whole way there. Okay, I cussed A LOT and she giggled at my nervousness.

They were all impressed when I had to check "yes" by the box where it asked if you've ever had any metal in your eye; but the belly laughs came when I had to write out that I had a butcher knife in my right eye in the early 90's. (Thanks, Mams! Your "Best Grandmother in the World" trophy is on it's way!)

When the battery of touch-your-nose-wiggle-your-toes tests were finished, the doctor admitted that he wasn't sure about it all but wanted a barrage of tests. By "barrage" I'm talking things that will probably cause problems just in case they can't find any. I have an appointment with a neurological ophthalmologist, a full-brain MRI with and without contrast, a electronystagmography and a videonystagmomgraphy. Seriously, a twenty-one letter word to tell me that my gerbil fell off it's wheel. Good grief.

The doctor also casually mentioned that apparently that noise that I hear in my left ear that sounds EXACTLY like when you hold a seashell up to your head...that could be an aneurysm.

So I called Dorkfish to tell him all this and he says, "You need to find out about the deductible when you're scheduling all this stuff so we know what to expect."

Me: *blink, blink*

Him: "You know, just so we can prepare."

Me: "You realize you're stressing me out and that's not good for my aneurysm, right?"

He's trying to kill me.

But until then, I'll be riding this wave of FOR HEAVENS SAKE, DON'T STRESS ME OUT, I'M A TICKING TIME BOMB WITH THE ANEURYSM AND ALL! (Wonder how long before he starts calling me Edith?)