That's how the Ravioli family rolls. My head is spinning.
It's reeling from all of the fog. And then traveling at warp speed.....that can do a girl in.
Thursday I had my follow-up with my PCP, so that he could read the results of my blood work. Good news is that the blood work was all perfectly normal.
The bad news?
That it all came back perfectly normal.
I do have my health. So that is something.
We discussed what could possibly be causing my hair to fall out by the handfuls. We discussed my appointment with the GYN and he sent my healthy ass on my way.
As I was traveling the road toward home, I called Rav to tell him that there isn't a GD thing wrong with me - medically speaking. And his voice sounds funny. He sounds as if he is teetering. He then asks me where the dustpan and hand broom is.
It's in our room, I reply. (as I had been cleaning the mutant dust bunnies earlier that day).
Okay, he says. Then proceeds with:
You won't believe what our daughter - you're daughter has done.
Me: Oh, god. What'd she do?
Rav: Well, she has sprinkled salt from the kitchen, all the way up to our bedroom. It's everywhere. You can't escape it.
Me: (beginning to belly laugh)
Rav: Oh my god!! It's everywhere!
Me: (full-on laughter)
Rav: Go ahead and laugh your ass off because it's all over your new iHome. Awww.....OH shit! It's all in our bed. F*&% it.
I'm not even trying to clean all of this up. Maybe it's good luck. And since we'll be laying in it, it'll always be over our left shoulders.
Me: Bwaaaaahahahahaha.
Okay, honey. You sound like your hands are full. I'll just talk to you when I get home.
Rav: Yeah, okay.
That's the funny thing about kids. You just never know what they're gonna do next. You never know what you'll find in your bed, what you'll find in your toilet, that that squishy stuff is that you just stepped in bare-footed, or why in the hell there is a slotted spoon in your underwear drawer.
There is, I'm convinced, a method to their madness. The imaginative, eccentric uses of the most everyday items becomes an art form. It becomes a great source of distress, possible catastrophe and amusement.
And it is all too fleeting.
Thank goodness for it all.
For it is divine.
3 ripples in the pond:
You're just saying that because you knew HE had to clean it up! Heh.
(I owe you an e-mail, but am digging out and don't know the answer, but have a way to find out...)
Jess - You are partially right. It's easier to romanticize when you're not the one stuck in the 'mud and the blood and the beer'. However, I'm convinced that in 10-15 years, it's this crazy shit that I'll miss the most.....so, I'm trying to suck it all in now;)
You know, whenever I leave the house I kind of hope stuff like that will happen on The Viking's shift, and it NEVER DOES! I always call home, hoping to hear screaming and wailing of sirens and panic in his voice and it's always just calm and serene. I HATE that.
Not that I'd want anything seriously bad to happen. I just want some kind of equality, some proof that the kids don't really hate me and reserve their worst messes and behavior for me. I'm still holding out hope.
That salt story is pretty funny. My Girl did that once with flour. I came down to find teeny white footprints all over the downstairs and she feigned innocence and blamed it on The Viking.
Okay, at first I thought you were crazy to call it divine, but now that I'm remembering, you're right. It is.
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