It has been a busy week in this Mama's household, culminating with the Annual Maple Fest in our town this weekend. Which I took an entire day off to attend. 2 of my kids were in the parade, and I had signed up to help out at the Cub Scout booth for a few hours.
First, though, I had to go see the MD. I figured everyone I live and work with is probably tired of hearing me whine about how awful I feel all the time. And, I was getting tired of people telling me how terrible I look. I may have put this off for a few months with the excuse that, it is really illness that has me looking so bad, and not the possibility that, maybe it isn't... Hmmm.
Which calls to mind the title of this post. Why DO we get all dressed up for appointments in which we know darn well the MD is only going to see us in a gown anyhow? Maybe it's a subconscious thing. If we FEEL okay and all spiffed up, then, we must BE okay? Who knows. Off to the Doctor I went. In which the entire appointment was inconclusive, tests were ordered, and the doctor finally said: "Moriah, I think you are exhausted and stressed out, and it's making you sick. Go on vacation! ALONE!"
Until insurance starts to cover those, lets see if it's something else, first, shall we? Anyhow, two weeks of various tests, and another dress-up follow up appointment to go. In which I will likely be given a clean bill of health and told to get more sleep. Ah well.
On the way out of the MD office, I happened to notice a neighbor in the waiting room. Not sure if she happened to see me or not. However, I am hoping she didn't. As, one of the babysitters stopped by yesterday and mentioned that George has been telling her his Mama is having a baby. I can only imagine how many people the little darling has mentioned this to. And, seeing a neighbor in that particular office probably didn't help stall the rumors the little monster is starting. NO. Mama is NOT having another baby.
On to more fun things. Yesterday we spent the day doing various Maple Fest related activities. Beginning with the Annual Library Book Sale. In which a small crowd gathers outside the library early, and older women wander in right before the doors are unlocked, and hip check their way thru the doors first, on the way to the Harlequin section. No one was hurt in the initial stampede, and Kaila made it past the most aggressive woman charging for the door. I should have probably lectured Kaila on manners and respect a little more than I did, but, at those sales; it's the survival of the fittest.
I had also signed up to assist at the Boy Scout booth with Joe. I had done so, completely intending to volunteer Jasin for the help. However, Joe insisted he needed to choose which parent came with him, and after careful consideration, chose myself, as I had given birth to him. I insisted I would not be AT ALL put out, if Daddy went, instead, male bonding and all that, but, he was clear; Mom must attend.
Once the Scout Master had 10 minutes to spare, I was told about the first camping trip of the season. It takes place next weekend. WHAT? I have to work, but, we'll figure it out somehow. Then, I was told about the next camping trip, in which the application needed to be in by May 1st. You know, three days from now? THAT day. And, then I was handed the application, which included some complex calculations and percentages of sales made, minus camp cost, minus scout contribution, how many children live in the household, and parent's occupations. Whew.
I do need to chat with Joe about camping expectations, however. He is under the impression that he will truly be roughing it. Including hunting and fishing for his own food, foraging for shoots and berries, and setting up his own tent, making fire, and pretty much going out into the wilderness alone armed with a Swiss army knife, some matches, a tent and sleeping bag, with Dad along to tote a gun, which Joe will probably have to use to shoot dinner or errant bears with. I am afraid he will be a smidgen disappointed when it isn't quite so untamed, and that he will likely need to leave firearms at home.
I did tell him the camping trip ends with a family dinner, followed by a skit the scouts put on, according to the Scout Master.
"What is this 'skit'?"
"The Scout Master said it's where all the packs put on a show, and do a song or a play or something like that."
"And this is supposed to teach me survival, how?"
"Joe. Roll with it. It's your first year. I don't think anyone expects the Cub Scouts to be left in the wilds alone to fend for themselves and live off the land for 4 days. You will have lots of fun, not have to kill, gut, or clean anything, or even start fires with two rocks. One step at a time, kiddo. Maybe next year they will will expect you to wrestle bears. This year, I expect a craft made from Popsicle sticks and yarn, okay?"
"Fine." he grudgingly agreed.
In all honesty, I am certain he will have an amazing time. Just watching him at the festival, selling candy bars with his friends and fellow scouts, he was having such a good time. It was so a-la "Sand Lot" that I didn't want the day to end for him. Scouts are good for my Joe.
The most common thing I heard all day, was, "Where's George?" "Hey! That's George!" "How ya doing, George?" As my 3 yr old wandered around in a baseball cap, jeans and his 'Cars' tee shirt. He looked adorable, and behaved pretty well, considering. He's aware he needs to toe the line. The other night, after working, and completing a million things at home, I kicked back in my recliner, sipping ginger ale for the ever present nausea anymore, and ignoring everything I needed to get done, just scrolling through Facebook. I happen to run across a post along the lines of; "Whoever's little kids those are on First Avenue, better hope they don't throw stuff at the wrong vehicle, or Mom and Dad are going to have some angry people pounding on their door..."
SNAP!!!! Went the recliner, as my feet hit the floor. "WERE YOU GUYS THROWING THINGS AT PASSING VEHICLES TODAY???!!!!!!"
"GEORGE!!! It was George! I swear, Mom! It was George, and we made him stop!" The older three were pretty quick to throw their brother under that particular bus.
"And I hit 'em, too, Mom!" George proudly announced. "Are you going to burn my buns?"
Anyhow, that's the excitement around here. Thankfully George was stopped before law enforcement was called.
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