Previously on Open Salon Dec, 15th, 2008
"lalalala, oh Gabba*hic* Gabba*hic* Tooties freeking *hic*happy*!" Jules is singing a little too loud for the car, but it doesn't really matter."Faster, Daddy!Faster!"
I have a song in my head, too. I'm making it up. It goes, "bad mom! gosh golly your a shitty mom". It's kind of sing-songy. Undertimes of stress, my mental soundtrack flips to a deranged musical, kind of a 'seven brides for seven brothers' on acid sort of feel. This for sure a time of stress.
"Ew!Gross! Dad, Julian is drooling all over the place, it's disgusting, what's the matter with him?" Magnolia is sitting next to our little Droolian in the back seat seriously creeped out by the chipper little slime machine. We had to pull her out of school a little early today.
We pulled up to a stoplight and a shaking husband looks over at me, "Let's see that x-ray again."
It's not one of the things that you would ever think that you see. Or that you would want to see, but sure as the pope poops in the woods there it was.
The Doc came in after x-rays were taken, he looked at me a little funny, then paused and then....." Do you have any coins in you house bigger than a quarter?"
Julian has always had a funny kind of appetite. Dog hair, polar fleece, string, etc..That was about the extent of it until he turned one, then his diapers started to get interesting. It was like Christmas's dirty little present you weren't looking forward to opening. But to aviod being disgusting, I'll stop talking about Julians biz.
As we rushed Jules from the urgent care to the ER, quite a few emotions were experienced and all at the same time. We were giggling because we couldn't f-ing believe it, dazed because we were lucky and nervous because an endoscopy is simple, yet scary. And if you were just quiet enough, you could hear the hauntingly soft sound of jingling change with every step he took. And it was all for temporarily ignoring my dharma.
Dharma is a funny thing. It's our lifes purpose and what we are supposed to do everyday. A mother mothers and janitor janitors, thus is life and all we should expect of it. But then there are the days when you wish you could pitch a tantrum and avoid getting up, getting kids ready for their dharma and slap on a plastic smile over the sweat, tears and strain and roll your ass and babes to the soccer game. At 6:45.AM. On a Saturday. Dharma, as others have put it, is our righteous duty. That sounds a lot better than the little pile of screaming dharma in bed at three o'clock in the morning. It just means the lot in life you have chosen, and hopefully not chosen for you, and they way you strive to perform to the highest standard everyday. I like that.
Now what happens when we let out our inner toddler, bitch or sociopath out? This would be a time where your wants are severely opposed by your calling. And what happens when you avoid your dharma? A gentle little reminder. And they are all different. And in hindsight, you realize that the whole bloody mess could have been avoided and you would have gotten your rewards in the end, but due to impatience, you are now stuck cleaning up a mess instead of sleeping. Cruel fate.
A fate such as driving over your own cell phone. Twice. Once while looking for it, and the second time, returning from an unsuccessful search, only to spy a crumpled, vibrating, glowing mess on the road behind you, taking a voicemail. And as Earl would say, "That, my friends is karma."
I'm not always neglectful of my children, but when I am everyone sure as hell knows it. I talk on the phone at a time when I should be heading to soccer, it's smashed to smithereens. I go talk in the garden with my hubbie for a moment, Julian is in the bathroom swallowing quarters. I sleep, they color on the walls. Gentle reminders, right?
But I am not alone in punishment, there are other mothers and fathers that experience similar plights, however they differ from me, as they have the discretion not to tell anyone about them and cover up well. When you talk to these people about the thunda' karma has bestowed upon you they disapprovingly nod and give you deep eyes full of pity for my poor, wretched little children, so alone and neglected. When all of the time those perfect soccer moms are doing all they can to sit on their manicured hands and try not to empathize about the hell their own spawn put them through with nail polish on the carpet. Or the "not on my watch" father who still hasn't told his wife that their daughter broke her arm outside at some point during the fourth quarter of Seahawks- Eagles game, but he really wasn't paying attention. That's whatcha get, and if you try to hide it, the next time it's gonna hit you two fold, and in public.
Some people call it 'comeuppance'. Just some way you deserve to be punished. But I like the paradigm of Dharma and Karma. That they aren't words that are often heard in America makes them exotic and more interesting and slightly more profound. They offer an ideal that is universal, pure and simple. And defining dharma and karma is a hell of a lot better than telling someone your dog ate your high heels because you forgot to feed her.
In the end, it really only took about five minutes to take the quarter out, and within an hour he was awake and fully pissed off due to the fact he was tethered to IV's and EKG monitors, and the really expensive machine that goes 'bing'. He was the kid screaming at the hospital. I should have been more sympathetic, but I was still in awe that he could have actually gotten that thing down his gullet. I can see him in the Jim Rose freak show. The kid that swallows foreign objects.
The one little joy that I had at the Hospital was seeing Jules in this itty bitty hospital gown, running down the hall with his ass hanging out as he raced his own IV stand. It just was the cutest thing ever.
The next good sign that he was recooperating was his appetite. Within two hours after he was out of surgery, he had had 5 popsicles, 4 puddings and 12 bags of graham crackers. And was still "so hungry!"
His flair for the drama has yet to leave and ever since the ordeal, he has to eat every thirty seconds. He can now eat his weight in pizza and crayons.
Now a normal child would have been quickly weaned from their PICA-esque tendencies after the first time they figure that the nutritional value of quarters, or say, paint chips, was not what the need and expereinced adverse reactions. But not Jules. Not two days later, on my hubby's watch he was caught mumbling. Upon further investigation we found not a quarter, but three pennies and a magnet. He's a stinking vaccuum. Maybe he'll shit out a copay sometime soon.
What an expensive little bastard (and by bastard, I mean sweet little angel). I'm thinking that I'm going to put his quarter on E-bay with the starting bid at $10,000.00. Hey, there was an Aussey woman who got $300.00 dollars for grundies and condom wrapper that belonged to the mistress of her husband. I'm thinking the story is worth it.
But as the Doctors (we had three, but there were probably about ten others that came in to see the cute, squishy piggy bank) said, "You are not alone as the only negligent parents in the area, this is my seventh foreign object extraction this week!". This was on a Wednesday.
The Doctors still couldn't help but laugh and the seredipitous situations. Like the perverted plumber right next to us in the ER that found the problem with the pea traps is that they look really funny in a pair of pants.
It's taken me about three weeks to finish writing this because I have to keep two eyes on that little guy, he's to busy and mischeivious with an insatiable appetite.Speaking of which, I wonder why he's burping bubbles......