Subject Line: Panic

So my father-in-law sent his three kids and their spouses an email a few weeks ago.

Subject Line: Mom

When we opened the email, we learned that Tom's mother had won an award for her artwork. Yay.

But of course we were too busy trying to backpedal from the fatalistic mental gymnastics we'd done (Tom's mom in ICU, Tom's mom hit by a car, Tom's mom with flesh-eating bacteria, etc) to care much about art awards.

Tom's father obviously doesn't think there is anything wrong with sending an email with the subject line "Mom," because each subsequent email this summer has been part of the same darn email thread. Hooray, we get to have little panicky moments in our inboxes with regularity!

This got me thinking about subject lines. For instance, since becoming a mom, I have dreaded emails with the subject line: "Today" as in:

From: Your Child's Teacher
Subject Line: Today

Nothing good can come of that, I tell you. Nothing good.

So what about you?

What would be your most dreaded Subject line, real or imagined? How about?

From: Your High School Friend
Subject Line: Bought a scanner! Sleepover pics on Facebook!

Hmmmm.

I'd love to hear from you!

Hell Hath No Fury...

like a daughter "swabbed."

Our jam-packed weekend came to a screeching halt today when Tom texted me that Molly was sick and would be missing her long-anticipated soccer tournament.

My mind immediately went to strep because it has been going around and because that's what started Molly's horrible health roller coaster ride a year ago. I also noted that it was Sunday and trying to get help on Monday, Memorial Day, would be nearly impossible.

Tom told me everything was fine and that he didn't think she had strep. That was annoying, and it spurred me on even more, because I sometimes feel as if I need to step it up when he isn't worried enough. I am angry at myself for times when I've deferred to Tom about the kids' health and regretted it later.

Anyway, emboldened by my Mommy-Mania Hormone, I dragged her to the Minute Clinic at CVS. We wandered the aisles for over an hour (note, not a "minute") and spent $50 on miscellaneous health and beauty items and a 2 lb bag of Twizzlers.

She tried to convince me she was POSITIVE she didn't have strep. Her impassioned reasoning led me to lean toward believing her because by then she was as cool as a cucumber and full of perk, but I didn't want to be dealing with a 104 fever in the middle of the night if her self-diagnosis was wrong.

On the other hand, I was fearful of even allowing her into the little exam room because in a similar room exactly a year before, a mundane WEEKEND STREP VISIT turned into weeks of battling a debilitating super-bug that I like to call "Possum Fever." Icky, dirty exam room.

When we finally got into the exam room today, I started squirting antibacterial stuff everywhere. The Physician's Assistant typed on the computer, either ignoring my craziness or figuring out how to spell "Munchausen by Proxy."

The P.A. heard one of Molly's sassy little remarks and looked at her freckled nose and said, "Doesn't she remind you of Lindsay Lohan in "The Parent Trap?"

Dear God. I was none too thrilled with having my offspring compared to Li-Lo, especially because she has been the star of many a cautionary tale in our household.

Anyway, a few minutes later, I would have been grateful for the pre-"Mean Girls" Lindsay to show up, because I was in much deeper dukey.

You see, Molly has been deathly afraid of being swabbed for the past few years. There has been kicking (sorry Docs), screaming, and carrying on. It's lovely, and it has been getting far worse with age.

The P.A. saw serious trouble brewing and gave me an out, mouthing that she didn't think it was strep, but I knew I couldn't back down at that point. What's next? No, you don't need that tetanus booster? You don't have to go to school? Here's $300 for your latest tattoo?

I thought I'd have to hold her arms,but that was nothing. The struggle that ensued as we pinned her down and tried to pry her mouth open would have made snagging Lindsay's last bottle of vodka in a bar fight seem easy.

Molly screamed bloody murder, writhed and kicked. The P.A. tried to pry the screaming mouth open, but the whole teeth-gnashing thing got in the way. I grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked. The doctor tried to battle her into submission, then tried to reason, then tried to talk to her about the color of her toenail polish. The whole thing was a nightmare, which I don't feel fully capable or willing to describe at this point.

We finally got it done, much to the relief of CVS patrons and the poor P.A. who now thinks:
A) I'm crazy. This girl ain't sick, she's just mean.
B) I'm cruel. Hello? Ponytail yanking? What is this, the WWF?
C) My daughter is crazy. There may have been frothing at the mouth.
D) I'm ineffective as a parent. Control your child, woman!
E) all of the above

I made Molly, who said, "Wow, that didn't hurt at all," apologize to the P.A., which she did earnestly and remorsefully, and we slunk out of there. At home, we apologized to each other and held each other for a long, long, long time.

I'm sorry Molly missed her big tournament.

I'm glad she doesn't have strep.

I'm glad I had a Mike's Hard Lemonade in the fridge and the aforementioned vat of Twizzlers.

And when Tom, the King of Consequences, wanted to know what consequence I'd given Molly for her deplorable behavior, I had to admit that she wasn't the only one with a consequence.

Guess who will be taking her to all of her future "swabbings?"

Yep, I may have been wrong about the strep today, but I've paid my dues.

Time to share the joy.

Bah Humbug!

Okay, so I'm a little amused/annoyed that my son wants me to buy him a $39 LEGO Advent Calendar "so the family will be able to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas," but he doesn't want to fork over his own money to buy a present (at .50 each!) for his mom, dad and sister at the school Christmas Shop.

Oh yeah, this same kid just dropped $30 PLUS SHIPPING on another LEGO set that will arrive today.

BTW, the Christmas Shop is called, "The Spirit of Giving."

Recipe for Disaster?

Take one 10 year old boy. Add an all-night church lock in. Keep him awake for 32 hours straight. Top off with the final basketball game of the season. Watch as absolutely NO hilarity ensues.