A Typical Evening with the Laytons

So, I come home from work (early shift today), and ask Scott & Sam, to go "on a walk" with me. They both agree. It goes pretty well, except for the nonstop trail deviations, onto the muddy shoulder (Sam, not Scott). Plus, when you're going uphill, and a kid is literally running circles around you, no breathlessness at all, it's kinda annoying.

So, we get done, and naturally(?) think "we want sushi", and head for our local sushi place. We order, and the waiter says "Wow....that's a lot of food". Okaaay. We're about to spend a fair amount of cash in here, and you just basically called us pigs.

The first platter comes, and it's the stupid sashimi that my husband insists on getting everytime (not a big fan). So, we all stare at the beautiful display (most of which will NOT be eaten), and await the arrival of our other food. Meanwhile, we begin to prepare our lil dishes of soy sauce w/wasabi. We remind Sam "you want to mix those well", but you know, we're ADULTS, and he's 12, so he's WAY smarter than us, so he just sticks a glob of wasabi......naked, un-soy-sauced, roll-less wasabi IN HIS MOUTH. Well, we missed the initial entry, but it soon became apparent that he was either having some sort of seizure, or his abdominal aorta just ruptured, because he starts writhing around in his seat, head down, sucking down Sprite like there's no tomorrow.

Because we're quick like that, we deduce from the scene, what has occured, but he's not talking. I'm not exactly sure WHAT he was doing, but it involved aforementioned writhing AND, possibly, weeping. So, like any good parent, I grab my iPhone & start taking pictures.(see "choking on a cupcake" on youtube for another example of my parenting skills).

At this point, unbeknownst to him, since his back was to the door, an ambulance has pulled in, and parked outside the sushi place. At some point of this little episode, I believe his head spun (think Linda Blair), and he glimpses the medic unit. "Wha?, he sputters, "why are THEY here". "I called them", I said. "I know you THINK I was taking pictures, but REALLY, I was summoning assistance for my ailing child." At this, he just rolls his eyes.

Sam finally settles down, and we move on to consume the ENTIRE, literal boat-load of sushi (we'll show that waiter guy!). He comes over and says "Now what, guys". I said "I just want to go to bed". The waiter chuckles, but Sam looks mortified and says "Can I have the car keys, please. I'll wait outside". Since I'm sure he would enjoy it, I went with him, and leave "dad" to pay the bill.

I get in the passenger side, and he's (trying) to get in the rear passenger door, and this huge black Mercedes just comes wheeling in, and poor Sam has to retreat, because this guy wasn't stopping. Turns out, it's an old guy (REALLY old), and his wife, and possibly his great-great-great grandchildren? (They were young). He throws open his door and it slams right into the side of our car. He walks to the front of our vehicle, seemingly unaware that I'm SITTING RIGHT THERE, and proceeds to closely exam the FRONT of our car. I guess when he saw my dangling fog light, and residual Bambi damage, he assumed "Welp, THESE people aren't going to be concerned by a door ding", and proceeds into restaurant.

You're probably wondering "Cherie, did you say anything?" No, I did not. Why? I was so freaking full of sushi, that just putting on the seatbelt almost caused an upchuck, so there was NO WAY that I could muster up the fortitude to enter into a confrontation, with an old, yet sprightly appearing, dude. So, when SCOTT gets to the car, we tell him what happened, and he goes to inspect, and says "Eh". Not sure exactly what THAT meant, but assumed no damage.

On the way home, (having seen a classmate with his "other" parents at the restaurant), we discussed how kids of divorced parents usually alternate spending time with each parent, and commented on the fact that Sam has never had to do that. "Your parents are still married", I said, and so "unfortunately we don't have that 'built-in break', when the kid goes off to the other parents". In retrospect, I could've chosen my words more carefully, but I figured he's not listening anyway.

He says "Really, Mom? Did you say unfortunately? Wow." (so, okay he WAS listening).

It's not my fault; I come from a long line of suboptimal parenting......I mean.....not BAD parenting......just the parenting style, wherein the children are there for your entertainment (and to empty the dishwasher). I cannot even BEGIN to tell you the things my dad did to torture us over the years (actually, I can....and I will, in another blog). And before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, Sam KNOWS that we are just teasing, and he gives as good as he gets, so I don't want to be seeing CPS on my caller ID. Just sayin...

Hands Free Navigation

On the surface, this sounds like an awesome gadget. You speak, and your vehicle responds appropriately. Except, when it doesn't. Honestly, I gave up a long time ago, trying to learn all the exact phrases I am supposed to use, e.g. "Fan speed up" is the preferred command, rather than "MAKE IT FREAKING COOLER!". So, you know, stuff like that.

However, because it's the LAW, I am forced to utilize the hands free phone system. and believe you me, we've nearly come to blows a time, or two, or eighty-five. Here's how it's SUPPOSED to work: you set up your phone list by speaking the name and the number, and the system "remembers" it, so all you have to do is flick the little switch on the steering wheel and say "Dial" (or "call"....you can say either. Isn't that user friendly?) whoever you want to call.It's supposed to recognize what you're saying. The following, is an example of how this goes:

Me: "Dial Scott"

Evil Vehicle: "Star. Continue to add numbers, or return to previous menu"

Me: "Call Scott" (changing it up a bit...maybe E.V. will understand that)

E.V. "Star. Continue to add numbers, or return to previous menu"

Me: "DIAL SCOTT!!!!!!"

E.V. "Pardon?"

Me: "CALL SCOTT!!!

E.V. "Do you wish to call (pause for drama) Mom & Dad?"

Me: "Did I SAY I want to call Mom & Dad?! No, I did NOT. I said CALL SCOTT!"

E.V. "Pardon?"

Me: "ARGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

On numerous occasions, Sam was in the vehicle. We've had it since he was five. Early on, when I was still trying to work the handsfree navigation and/or the phone thing, he'd pipe up from the backseat, "Mommy? Are you mad at the car, or the phone?"

NOW, he just thinks it's hilarious, and dissolves into giggles everytime the system doesn't understand what I'm saying. When I get REALLY frustrated,(but still able to think clearly), I realize that, just perhaps, the TONE of my voice is throwing off the system. I mean, when I input the original names and numbers, I wasn't yelling them, so I purposely take a big breath, and very calmly, very sweetly, say "Dial Scott", to which it either responds "Star" or "Pardon".

By then, I don't WANT to call Scott anymore, heck, I don't even remember who Scott IS anymore.

A Quickie

So, just in CASE, somebody actually looks at this, I know I've been remiss in posting. It's not that I don't have material......believe me, I do. However, one of the problems with all this new technology, and having a spouse that is your "friend", and your "follower", and whatever the heck else it's called, is that he can SEE everything I post. See? He's even gonna SEE this!

My point is, that a LOT of the comments, "stati"(is that even a word?), or tweets, are kept bottled up inside me, because, well, I DO want to stay married. So, if you ARE interested in reading a new blog, I'm working on editing my thoughts, and hopefully, one will emerge soon.

Cherie & Scott go to Mayo

My husband, Scott, and I, recently traveled to Rochester, Minnesota, to the Mayo Clinic, for me to have heart surgery. It was a very interesting trip, so I DID take some notes while we were there, (at least, up until the time I was unconscious.) I just had a feeling that our trip might make for a good blog entry.

First of all, it was COLD, which is a big DUH, considering it was the dead of winter. Our flight was delayed, and we arrived at about 3:30 a.m. the morning that I needed to be at the clinic by 7:30 a.m., so we were pretty much zombies, that whole first day.

For those of you who don't know, Scott is very much a "chatter". He'll talk to anyone and everyone, and he ALWAYS seems to know people wherever we go, and he talks FOREVER. It shouldn't have been surprising, then, that he ran into a guy at the Sacramento airport, and had a nice long talk. That would've been fine, but the guy was on our flight, too, and ended up at the airport in Minneapolis/St.Paul, so he had to talk to him again, then. I was okay with that.....didn't really bother me. However, the next day, when we were at the Mayo Clinic, out of the corner of my eye, I swore I thought I saw him waving at somebody, and I seriously, almost knocked him down. Lucky for him, he was just scratching his head.

So, we made it to Mayo, and I spent the next several days being tortured with tests, but aside from that, we did have some fun, people watching, and walking around in the subways and skyways (you would never have to go outside, if you didn't want to). We ate in a couple of restaurants, and overall, the waiters/waitresses were very nice, but the first afternoon, not so much. This waitress seemed annoyed that we actually came to eat something, then REALLY annoyed that we drank the water in the juice-size glass she had given us. Um, I'm sorry. Is this NOT the land of 10,000 lakes?

Now, the fun really began. Got to have surgery. I will never forget the "angel" R.N. who took care of me that first night in ICU. She was right by my side, the whole night, and seemed to anticipate every (multiple) need. She also happened to look just like one of my friends from Placerville (shout out to Becky Bowman), and that made me feel even better :).

Funny thing.......evidently, most people wouldn't normally choose to have surgery during the Christmas holiday, so the place was kinda empty. It was just me, and about 14 other patients, on my floor, and they were all OLD. Okay, I take that back.....there were maybe two other patients who were under the age of 70, and I felt this weird obligation to acknowledge them, as we passed in the hallways. (You know, like Harley riders do that little subtle hand wave, as they pass another rider?)

The first day that I was moved out of Intensive Care, two doctors (the electrophysiologists),came into my room, to talk about the next procedure I would be having. Now, granted, I was heavily medicated, but the one guy sounded just like Elmer Fudd. No lie. This was confirmed by Scott. The Dr was very nice, and came to see me EVERY day, but it was painful. I kept praying he wouldn't have to use any words with the letter "R" in them. Fortunately, he was just a "fellow", and ended his rotation on the day I actually had my EP study and ablation, which was a relief, cuz I really couldn't get past the voice, and would not have been surprised AT ALL, if he had shown up in a red hunter's cap.

For you "30 Rock" fans, there was also a Dr who came in my room, and got on the computer at my bedside, and started peppering the nurse with all kinds of questions about "me". He looked and sounded JUST LIKE Dr. Spaceman. And to top it off, the questions he was asking didn't make any sense, and the nurse finally told him "You have the wrong patient up on the screen". He mumbled something, and quickly exited the room. Luckily, I never saw him again.

When you're in the hospital, you hear things that, out of context, sound very odd and inappropriate. I'm going to list some of the things we heard:
What they said:
1. "Do you have a preference where you want it?
2. "Is it flopping around as much?"
3. "Sorry, it slipped out"
4. "You have a nice annulus"
4.b "You have a gorgeous arch"


What they were referring to:
1. Where did I want my new I.V. line.
2. Did the line in my neck feel more stable.
3. Guy doing ultrasound "lost his place", while scanning my heart.
4. Referring to the structure that supports my mitral valve (during my cardiac ultrasound)
4.b Referring to my aortic arch (also, during my cardiac ultrasound)

(It should be noted that the last two comments were made by my Mayo cardiologist, who said them in complete seriousness. Being the immature person that I am, it took everything I had, to stifle my giggling).

Having open heart surgery was both horrifying, and amazing. It's so incredible that they can do what they do!

I have to say, that there's no way that I could've gotten through all of it without my husband. He was amazing. He saw, heard, and smelled things, that no one should, and yet, he never seemed (openly) repulsed and/or disgusted. He was always right there, and acted like there's nowhere else he'd rather be (okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but you get the gist). It's possible that I may have been a little difficult/emotional/impatient/irritable/annoyed, but he, as always, exhibited kindness and patience (yes, I put this in writing), and I hope he knows how much I appreciate it.

The trip home went smoothly, and aside from a few minor complications, I am on the mend. Scott DOES claim that, the first night home, I insisted that he go "get the nurse" to tell her my heart was "beating funny", but I'm not sure that actually happened. I DID dream of a toddler in a red sequin dress who spoke like Thurston Howell III, but pretty sure that was medication induced.

While it's not something I would ever CHOOSE to go through again, Scott and I, were both, overwhelmed with all the love and support we received, from friends and family throughout this whole experience. Now, I'm looking forward to a full recovery, no more shortness of breath, and loads of energy. If you thought I was annoying before......just wait!

AT&T: you make me mad

Grocery Stores

Going to the grocery store is always an adventure. I already touched on the subject in my blog "Shopping Together is NOT a Good Idea", but this is more specific to grocery stores. It is ALWAYS better to shop without family members, unless you're prepared to take out a second mortgage on your house. You end up at the checkout, and for a moment, you think you might have the wrong cart, because there's stuff in there you don't recognize. A lot of it. The males in my family are very resourceful. They know how to strategically place items, so they're not seen until the moment the cashier scans them.

While we're on the subject of checking out, that brings to mind one of my other pet peeves. I DO NOT LIKE IT when the cashier comments on your purchases. Why would they even GO THERE? They don't have any clue who I am, and/or what I might be planning.
"Oh, I see you have a liter of vodka, roses, stationary, filled prescriptions for sleeping pills & tranquilizers, and straight razors. Looks like SOMEBODY is having a romantic evening!"

I have a secret wish. I would like to work in the dairy section of a grocery store. In the back. Behind the milk, etc. Wouldn't it be fun to mess with the customers. Hold on to items from behind, so they can't pull it off the shelf? Speak in a low, ominous voice, and say "Do you think that's the best idea?" or "Remember your cholesterol", or "What would Dr. Oz say?". Additionally, I could be a perky, helpful, disembodied voice; "Light sour cream is a good choice; less calories, virtually no difference in taste" or "Don't waste your money. Fat free cream cheese is hideous, unless you enjoy eating caulking, chalk, or Mylanta". Or, I could offer hints about the customer's appearance. "Was that really the best choice to wear in public?", or "Undergarments would help that top hang a little better" or "Do you "OWN a mirror?". You know, just being helpful, that's all.

I'm not good around the displays in grocery stores. Especially in the produce section. Who's idea was it to construct these Jenga-inspired towers of fruits and vegetables? More than once, I have attempted to extricate a potato, or (insert ANY item of your choosing, except cantaloupe. I hate cantaloupe), only to have 127 OTHER items topple off the display. And, they don't just fall off.....they fall off and ROLL, so you can't even make a quick getaway, cuz the cart can't get through the minefield of root vegetables you just created. It's not like I'm grabbing at the stack willy nilly. I put some thought into which tater to grab for, and it's ALWAYS WRONG.

It's not just produce, either. Once, during the holidays, there was an elaborate candle display, directly across from the in-store pharmacy, (where there is a perpetual line of disgruntled patients, or WITNESSES, as I like to call them), and I (carefully) chose a lovely candle for our mantle. Okay. They were rectangular in shape, so they seemed stable. They were not. Stable. The entire display came crashing down. It should be noted that my husband and son were with me when this occured. They WERE with me. When I looked up, hoping to see the reassuring, supportive faces of my loved ones, they had fled the scene. Honestly, I don't remember what happened after that. I think my mind repressed it, in an effort to protect me.

Last, but not least, I was shopping for supplies to do some baking. Baking is something that my family loves for me to do. Actually, there seems to be a direct correlation between me, in the kitchen, and the amount of love and affection I inspire. My husband is never more loving than when I'm cooking or baking. AND, if I have an apron on? The look on his face is reminiscent of our early dating days.....he REALLY, REALLY likes me when I have an apron on. I digress. Back to the baking supplies. I needed butterscotch chips for my oft-requested Oatmeal Scotchies. I found the chips. They were piled high, at the end of an aisle ("BIG HOLIDAY PROMOTION"!!). Do I even need to say it? You know what happened. However, what made this particularly awkward, was the fact that those little bags of chips are quite slippery. They DO NOT stack. I tried. They just kept sliding off. I have NO idea how they were stacked there, in the first place. I finally gave up, and threw all of them in my cart. We had to clean out two shelves of our pantry to house those dumb chips. Of course, my husband was ecstatic, cuz he thought I was actually going to make that many cookies. (He's still waiting).

I am weak in grocery stores. I have no self control or willpower. I am a sucker for "NEW!!" items. I AM a marketing dream come true. I buy things at eye level. I buy things at the ends of aisles. Even knowing that I am being duped, I cannot help myself. I KNOW that "Cookies & Cream", "Ice Cream Sandwich", "Chocolate Sundae", and "Oreo" flavors are EXACTLY THE SAME, but they slap a new name on it, and in my cart it goes! And cereals!!! I once had heart palpitations over a new creation "Rice Krispie Treat" cereal. And "Reese's" cereal? Forget about it! In the cart it goes!

Lest you think that I am totally without hope, or good nutrition, let me clarify that these are not everyday purchases. Normally, we mostly eat fresh fruits & vegetables, fish, lean meats.....you know, all the stuff on the "perimeter of the store", where you're supposed to buy the "good for you" stuff. Once in a while, though, I venture into the forbidden center aisles, and that's where the nutritional good intentions go out the window. Really. It's maybe, every third shopping trip, when something "bad" gets into the cart, or when there's anything "NEW!", which only happens.......well....um........okay....EVERY time.

Pregnancy

Today is my younger son's 11th birthday. As all parents say, I can hardly believe how quickly the time has passed. Anyhoo, that's what inspired today's blog.

I had my first son, Alex, when I was 26 years old. Pregnancy was easy (the birth, not so much), and recovery to my pre-pregnancy body was relatively easy. I used Jane Fonda's nazi boot camp videos (I don't think they were actually called that, but they should have been), and was back to "normal" in a couple months.

Fast forward 14 years, and I'm giving birth to my second son, Sam. NOT so easy. None of it. Including the "getting pregnant" part. Let me explain. I was older. Older than 26. By 14 years. (Don't make me say it, just do the math). But,I REALLY wanted to have a baby with Scott. I just really liked him, and it seemed like a good idea. He took some convincing, cuz his point was that our other kids were just about grown, and we could be "free". Alex wasn't crazy about the idea either.....he kinda liked being the only kid there. Well, as so often happens, I wore them both down, and ended up getting pregnant. By the way, this was "pre-privacy law" days, and the word had traveled throughout the hospital (where I work) that I was pregnant, before I even got back from the lab!

Sadly, though, we miscarried. When Alex found out, he felt bad. He knew I was sad, so in an effort to cheer me up, he told me, excitedly, one day, when I picked him up from school, "Mom! We're learning about the reproductive system, and the teacher said that women can get pregnant between the 12th and 15th day of their cycle,and today is March 14th, so you should try again! I'll go to bed early, and I'll turn my music on really loud, so you and Scott will have privacy". Apparently, his understanding was that ALL women, across the earth, are fertile on the exact same days.

At that point, I WAS ready to just stop trying. Everyone tells you "don't be obsessed", but how can you NOT be obsessed, when you have to take your temperature before you even get out of bed? Plus, I was having all these thoughts about how Scott's little reproductive guys were like little muscular dudes in Speedos, and my eggs were shriveled up little raisins, and the Speedo dudes were looking at each other, like "What? He wants us to what? Really?"

Scott said "I don't think that particular visual imagery is helping the situation".

Plus, talk about a buzzkill. If I took my temperature, and realized it was "time", I'd inform Scott that his services would be required, and it got to the point, where he acted like he was working a chain gang. Seriously, getting pregnant is hard work.

Well, I had all but given up hope, and BOOM, got pregnant (I know, I know, it's a cliche). It was Christmas Eve 1998, and we were just hangin out until time to go to church. Scott was playing his guitar, and for some reason, I felt compelled to take a pregnancy test. Okay. Truth. I had just read a Christmas newsletter, and someone that I dislike, had gushed on and on about "expecting". It ticked me off.....I was having thoughts like "Hey. How come this loser person can have a baby, and I can't?"(I'm paraphrasing). Soooo, that's what prompted the 'ol dipstick test.

Lo and behold, it came up POSITIVE! I ran out to grab Scott, screaming and dragging him into the bathroom. The look on his face was priceless, cuz he couldn't imagine what I was taking him to see!

So, naturally, we were a little nervous for the first three months, but everything went well. You know those women that get pregnant, and it's just like a little basketball in front of them? If you're not looking at them from the front, you don't even know they're pregnant? I HATE those women. I fell into the category of pregnancy-shows-in-the-rear first. On the plus side, one of my favorite parts of being pregnant, was not having to suck in the belly. You just let it all hang out, baby!

The day of delivery approached, and we were getting pretty excited. Unfortunately, my Dr. was planning to be out of town, so he decided to put me in the hospital and **WARNING: DISTASTEFUL PHRASE AHEAD** give me some medicine, and see if my "cervix was ripe" (I DID warn you).
Scott and I were psyched! We planned on an evening of fun and frivolity, hangin out in the beautiful birthing suite.....just as soon as those OTHER breeders vacated the premises. At last, we were moved into the luxury accomodations, but I wasn't feeling too good at that point. Having lots of back pain. Turned out, that was labor, and long story short, Sam was delivered that night via emergency C-Section. I didn't get to be awake for his birth, and when I did come to, they brought this little blond-haired baby to me, and I turned to Scott and said, "Are you positive this is the baby they took out of me?" (he was)

So, we had our little bundle of joy. He HAS been a joy. Oh sure, there's times when it would be nice to be free from the responsibility of a kid still at home, and Scott never misses the opportunity to say "you just HAD to have that kid, didn't you?". But on the other hand, sometimes, I say "You know, Sam, Daddy didn't want you", just so he knows that I love him THE most. JUST KIDDING. I would NEVER say that. Geez!

Well, now the reproductive ship has sailed, so we're just gonna enjoy this last kid til he moves on. Sam is aware, however, that having older parents means that he needs to make a REALLY good living, so he can buy us matching Rascal scooters for when we can no longer ambulate. I also requested that mine have more power than Scott's and I'll probably get that, because, after all, having Sam was my idea to begin with!