थे इक्य डे स्टोरी गेट्स The Icy-Day Story Gets Worse

Translation of Canadian writing (above): The Icy Day Story Gets Worse, a Dis-ICE-terous Follow-Up

When you last tuned in, my son Alfredo had slipped on the ice as he went to retrieve the mail, and you readers were left to guess at his fate. Fear not. I'll fill you in.

To recap, after his fall, Alfredo said it hurt to move his left arm. We told him to move his right arm instead. In retrospect, that was not the best advice. The next morning, Alfredo woke up in pain and had no mobility in his left arm and shoulder at all. We decided to take him to the ER after school to get some x-rays. Dr. Wu (who later turned out to be a custodian impersonating a doctor) told us Alfredo didn't have any fractures, but that he did injure his growth plate. The "doc" stuck Alfredo's arm in a crumpled-up looking sling that he pulled out of his pants' pocket. Wu then mopped the floor around our feet and propped up a yellow sign that said, "Caution: Wet Floor" in many languages. It should have aroused our suspicions, but we were too worried to notice such a subtle clue. Before he walked out the door, Dr. Wu told us to see an orthopedic surgeon in a week. He recommended his cousin, Abe, who works out of a pawn shop downtown, next door to "Pizza Village," home of the $7 party-sized pepperoni pizza.

When I went home and told my husband all that had happened, he became worried. Our family has some height challenges, so an injury to a growth plate would mean this son might have an arm that would not grow to potential. As it is, our whole family tends to not grow to potential, so this was yet another blow to the ego. But, like all smaller people, we quickly laughed it off and moved on.

By Wednesday, Alfredo began to move the arm little by little. His mobility increased in leaps and bounds throughout the following day, but we told him to limit his jumping after that.

On Friday, we couldn't get an appointment with Wu's cousin, so we settled for consulting with a Dr. Beakman. "The Beak" as I jokingly called him (though he didn't laugh), examined Alfredo's arm and shoulder. He had him do various exercises to reveal his degree of mobility. He had Alfredo raise his arms above his head, to the side, and do a few pushups. Next, he asked Alfredo to carry all the hazardous medical waste from the examining rooms and throw them in the cardboard-recycling dumpster behind the building. He explained that this would test if Alfredo had regained strength in his arm and shoulder. I waited anxiously for Alfredo to return. When my son came back with a giant smile on his face, I knew he was ok. The doctor smiled for the first time too, proclaiming that Alfredo's growth plate was NOT injured. He said the first x-rays were not well defined and it was probably just a strain all along. He chuckled as he quipped about all the medical mistakes he had made in his own career. He wrote a doctor's note to give Alfredo the clean bill of health and told him he could resume all normal activity immediately. "I can even make ice angels and ski?" asked Alfredo?

"Of course you can, my boy!" the doctor responded. We invited the Beak to go skiing with us the next day, and that's just what we did. My husband and son and the doctor met in the morning, lost the free ski-lift passes that the kids earned for getting As, and then had to pay full price. As Shakespeare said, "All's Well That Ends Well."

P.S. The title of this posting is, "The Icy Day Story Gets Worse." For some reason, as I wrote each word in the title, the computer automatically it to Canadian or some kind of foreign language where they put numbers and musical notes on horizontal lines. Whatever the language, they don't have a translation for the word worse. What a shame. I know I don't have a lot of Canadian readers who will understand what that funny title means, so I will look into changing the titles back to English for the next posting. And might I add that I am very impressed with Google, who has created blog templates that arbitrarily change text to different languages. Visionary!

The Dis-ICE-terous Snow Day

We got yet another day off work and school due to snow after my last “Snow Day” posting. I took it as a sign that God must have wanted me to write more about snow.

I considered listing the hundreds of words that Eskimos have for “snow,” but as the day unfolded, other events became a more worthy subject for this posting

Anyway, I should clarify that the day was icy, not snowy. That was terrific because it meant my sons were entrapped in the house with me. It was too icy to drive. I was delighted we were all together in the daytime, like when the kids were little, so I did what any mother would do. I made five pounds of meatballs and homemade sauce. I froze about eighty of the meatballs, which we will eat until Y3K. I also overbaked and burned a batch of oatmeal cookies. We bounced a few cookies on the floor to see if they would break. They remained intact, so we ate them. We threw the others in the trash, of course.

The kids ventured outdoors in the afternoon, only to find that the driveway was literally a sheet of ice. They could stand still at the top of our slanted driveway and slide all the way down to the bottom. Trying to get back up to our house kept them busy for 15 minutes, and then trying to get in the house after I locked the front door took another hour and a threat that they would call the cops on me again.

Alfredo, my youngest son, who happens to weigh more than a small bear, went into the backyard where there was a foot of snow so frozen that his weight couldn’t crack it. He tried to make snow angels in the ice laying belly down in the snow (he’s not well versed in snow-angel making) and somehow emerged with a deeply cut palm and hand. There was blood everywhere. It’s embarrassing when your kid gets injured making snow angels. I sent him to his room and told him to think about what he had done.

Meanwhile, I checked on another son who had to ice his thumb because he hurt it bowling two days before. He could barely move the thumb, and he retold his story several times, each time adding more drama and intrigue to the part where he releases the ball improperly. Riveting, yes. Still, I sent him to his room too for incurring another embarrassing injury. It’s bad enough to have the snow-angel injury, but the dropping-a-ball injury was even worse. We told him to "man up" his tale a bit by telling people he was in a knife fight. He spent the rest of the afternoon practicing his story in front of a mirror.

Later in the day, as the sun was setting, the snow-angel son ventured out again, this time to the mailbox at the end of the icy driveway. He slipped and took a hard fall on the ice right by the street, hurting his shoulder and arm quite badly. The poor fellow couldn’t even move it without pain. I became more and more upset as he told me what happened because he was interrupting a wonderful Seinfeld episode, and we missed finding out what the Soup Nazi said to George when George refused to pay for the free bread. I always tell the boys not to interrupt me when I’m watching TV, but the youngest son refuses to mind the rules of our home. Exasperating! I took the ice from the thumb son and gave it to the snow-angel son. Then I threatened the oldest boy not to move the rest of the evening or at least until my husband got home.

When Joe got home, we got to tell him all our adventures over a nice dinner of meatball sandwiches with homemade sauce. We gave the injured boys a couple Advils each and suggested that the uninjured son take a couple Advils as a preventative measure. He began choking as he swallowed it, but a playful slap on the back from the boy with the injured shoulder got that Advil down his throat. And, by the way, taking Advil as preventative medicine really works -- the oldest son remained unscathed the rest of the evening. Then we turned on the TV, and guess what was on? Another channel was playing the Seinfeld Soup Nazi episode. ("No soup for you!") It turned out to be a great ending to another fun day. And, as if life wasn’t terrific enough already, school and work were called off again the next day due to the icy weather! Now that’s what I call a happy ending!

Have a great evening!
Jackie

Snow Day Reveals Ugly Side of Oldest Son

We had a day off school today due to snow. Yea! Snow days are the best days in the world. You get to sleep in, eat, then nap and sleep some more.

My favorite part of snow days is having my kids at home. That said, they all made plans (rather quickly) to abandon me and leave me home alone. Now that the kids are older, they are no longer interested in me. I’m not sure why because I think I’m really interesting. I like origami and beavers. Who wouldn’t love to hang out with someone like that?

Many parents feel slighted when their teens would prefer to hang out with their friends rather than the family. I never feel slighted. The emotions I feel are better described as rage or vengefulness. Anyway, it makes no difference to me whether my kids think they are close to me or not. I have access to something all teens like, but few have. Something that strengthens our bond much more strongly that some friendship with another teen. No, it’s not a grasp of the English language. It’s money. I have money.

So if I feel lonely, I can use this money to buy my kids’ company. I recommend young parents get out their notebooks and write down this advice because it’s invaluable.

For example, say your teenager is about to leave the house to go to McDonalds with his friends. You can casually say, “Oh, you’re going out with friends? I was going to take you to The Cheesecake Factory" (that’s a nice restaurant, for those of you who don’t know the place). Now your teen faces a dilemma. Does he want to hang out with his "homies" or with his old mother, who is offering him fine cuisine? If you’ve raised your teen properly from Day One, the child will pick food every time. (If you didn't raise your kid right, stop reading my blog right now and choose another website. Shoo!)

Today I won over my youngest son by taking him to an Indian restaurant. My other kids don’t like Indian food, so I got to have special time with Roberto. (Remember, it is pronounced Robert-Oh, like Jackie O.) He is grateful for any kind of food, so Wendy’s would have worked, but I felt generous.

Sometimes you make horrible mistakes as you are raising your kids. I did this with my first son. I introduced him to expensive foods when he was young. He quickly developed a taste for lobster, crabs, mussels, filet mignon, Crème Brulee. Once you make the mistake of introducing real foods and creating a sophisticated palate, you are just plain screwed (pardon my French). For goodness sakes, younger readers, learn from my mistakes . . . avoid feeding your toddlers expensive foods! You are just creating a monster. There is no turning back, believe me, because when your kid is older, you may be forced to decide to sever the relationship with said child. My oldest son, Hans, is a great person. He's quick-witted, and I just love being around him, but it doesn’t matter. I cut ties with him years ago.

So anyway, when we went to the Indian restaurant for lunch today, the food was horrible. But I didn't care. I had a great time with my youngest son, who is always a delight and very entertaining. Plus they gave us free soda.

Raphael, my middle son, did not join us for lunch. Instead, he left me for his friends. Not a problem. I will find some superficial reason to ground him when he comes home tonight. For example, I might notice that he dropped a napkin on the floor of the car and then I can punish him for littering. Then we’ll be able to spend the whole day together tomorrow.

In case you’re wondering, the oldest son was left to fend for himself at lunch. Again, we wouldn’t be in this situation if he liked cheaper food. It’s his fault, not mine, and I don’t appreciate your accusatory tone. He’s lucky I let him live in our house after what he’s done. Many parents would have thrown him out on the street by now. I’m just kinder than most parents. I like to think of myself as a giver.

Well, I hope you are enjoying this snow day, wherever you are, whether in Maryland, Pennsylvania or New Jersey (like many of my old friends) or in Utah (like all the people I don’t know). I am assuming that everyone in our great nation, except for the Hawaiians, were out of school today due to the snow. I hope you enjoy the rest of your three-day weekend, America.

Your friend, Jackie

By the way, I've been neglectful of notifying people when I publish a new posting. Scroll down to see if you missed other postings in the past. Thanks.

Has Christmas Gone to the Wolves?

My, my. Another Christmas has passed. What a great holiday, but even the nicest people who keep the Christ in Christmas (me, for example) can easily be sidetracked by running around malls and dumpsters looking for the perfect gifts. Before you know it, advent is almost over and you’ve spent most of December looking for “stuff.”

I’m so against stuff. I wanted no part of it, so we decided to do something different this Christmas. Back to basics, if you will, and it was a doozey. We kept it as a surprise, so the kids had no idea what we had planned. Then Christmas morning came, and while your Average Joe’s kids were running down the steps looking at yet another boring tree surrounded by meaningless stuff, my kids ran down to see a living room filled with . . . . chinchillas.

You should have seen the looks on my three boys’ faces. Their mouths were agape, speechless with excitement. We told them that instead of presents, our family was going to attempt to break the Guinness Book record for the largest number of chinchillas squeezed into a North American, two-story residence. And break the record we did! Chinchillas were pouring out of everywhere – the stockings, the furniture, even the water supply. We posed for a Polaroid picture and sent out for the film to be developed. The kids loved it.

Now something the folks at Guinness Records don’t tell you is that the chinchillas don’t automatically leave after the pictures are taken. This came as a surprise to all of us. Naturally, we rented a manatee, a predator of chinchillas according to Wikipedia, to come scare the chinchillas away.

We told him our problem and left him alone for an hour while we went for a burger. We were horrified when we came home to find that we had it completely mixed up. Manatees are the natural prey of chinchillas. Very embarrassing.

Anyway, we called an exterminator, who asked for $5,000! I was not going to spend another $5,000 after losing my deposit on the manatee (never rent from Home Depot, by the way) and, besides, Christmas is about the thought, not the money, so we had to find a creative solution. We had to find a way to think outside the box, which is something we’re not used to.

Luckily, we remembered that we have a gang problem in our community. A gang of wolves terrorizes the woods behind our house. We lured them in to take care of our chinchilla issue. And take care of it they did, but then another unforeseen problem presented itself. The wolves now occupied the living room, and they didn’t want to leave. They were smelly, messy, and shed too much hair. It was pure chaos. Strangely, our son Hans was like a fish in water amongst those wolves. He connected with them immediately. As he passed out cups of egg nog to each of them, he asked if he could keep them, but I was livid when I saw that none of the wolves were using coasters. That was the last straw!

“For goodness sakes,” I said to Hans, “what would the neighbors say if they saw a pack of wolves in our house?” The fun was over.

After some thinking and a quick vote, we determined that we could strap meat to our son Raphael when he returned from the restroom, and then he could run back into the woods to restore the wolves to their natural habitat. It would be risky because we wanted the steak back. It was a certified Angus Kobe Delmonico, an expensive cut, you know. (The Japanese hand feed and hand massage these cows to create a tender cow. Oh to be a cow in Japan – that’s a better life than I have here in America.)

Anyway, why we sent the kid with ADD to solve this wolf problem is beyond me. As he ran by my neighbor’s house, Raphael saw that SpongeBob was playing on their TV. He never misses an episode. Bam, within seconds he forgot his mission and ran directly into our neighbor’s house. So, sad news, the meat fell off in their living room and we were not able to recover it. The good news is that there is no longer a wolf problem. Raphael trotted home when SpongeBob ended, and that’s how our Christmas adventure ended. We had a quiet dinner and enjoyed the rest of the evening. We avoided the materialism that seems to entrap the massess and realized it was our best Christmas ever. Likewise, I hope your holiday was fun and memorable. Merry Christmas fashionably late.