Lessons Learned: A week in review

Black ice. Ever heard of it? So why haven’t I? Somebody explain to me how I’ve lived in this poor excuse for an oasis a little over six years now and had yet to experience the malice that is black ice. I should know by now that black ice is not just grape Kool-Aid cubes floating in a tub of Hunch Punch at a frat party. It’s not just a cool name for a goth rock band that jams out in a garage somewhere in Minnesota, either. It’s definitely not just something you can bid on at eBay when searching for a memento from the tires of Bon Jovi’s tour bus. It’s this. It’s dangerous. And it almost killed me. Lesson learned: DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT, attempt to pass the Budweiser truck that’s going 20 miles per hour on a 65-mile-per-hour highway IF the outside temperature is so cold that icicles form at the tip of your nose when you look toward the sun and happen to sneeze. And, by the way, when the car is spinning in circles and your life starts flashing before your eyes, go easy on yourself when you realize that the first regret that pops into your mind involves bra-wear, ‘cause heaven knows that’s the first thing the paramedics will notice when they’re untangling your hair from the radiator fan, right?

Nail clippers. Evidently, I’ve never heard of those things, either. It’s funny, I kinda rag on one of the characters in my novel because she doesn’t keep up with her child’s nails and ear wax maintenance. And yet I just took my son to the doctor’s office for a day care physical thingy and got a good chiding for the condition of my son’s toenails. I wanted to burst out with, “But I just picked him up from his father’s, where he’s been for a whole WEEK! The toenails should have been clipped by said individual!” But the fact of the matter is that those toenails had OBVIOUSLY gone two weeks AT THE VERY LEAST without so much as a warning. Lesson Learned: Go to a doctor that isn’t so freaking thorough. Weight. Height. Medications. Toilet habits. All important observations to make of a six-year-old boy. But “Let’s take a look at those feet, kiddo.” Come on, who asks that??

OCK. I’m pretty sure you’ve never heard of that one. I, on the other hand, have heard it almost as much as I’ve heard the theme song to Go Diego, Go! It’s Kyra’s current favorite word. Just before OPPIT, EGGO, MO and PSSSS. Believe it or not, I can translate all of it. Piece a cake. OPPIT = Stop it. EGGO = Diego. MO = More and PSSS = Please. But OCK?? Where do I begin? It’s book, look, snack, rock, back, sock, walk, and quite possibly Barack. We are having problems with OCK around here. At least I am. Everybody else seems to know when she’s hunting for her sock as opposed to her favorite book. I’m the only one that never guesses right. But there is a lesson to be learned in this. And here it is: Mothers are FAMOUS for not understanding their daughters. So don’t take it so personally when she throws her socks at you as you are handing her a book. In a few years it will be the maxi pads without wings because she specifically asked you for pantiliners instead.