Would you like a loan to go with that sandwich...

This week I saw a Genetic Specialist. I went alone and it turned out to be an interesting trip. I was worried about going b/c I had lost all the papers and didn't have a family tree to turn in. I kept imagining the dr becoming angry and telling me to come back when my homework was done. Why didn't I have the paperwork? Because I made the appt last summer and they mailed the papers and I was supposed to go in January but 2 days before the appt, they called and said the Specialist had a baby early and could I come back in July. So of course, you can't expect me to find any paperwork in this house that came a year ago. So I show up and instead of a dr, it's a Genetic Counselor who comes in. I immediately go into the whole "I'm so sorry I don't have my family tree completed, I have no papers, I was supposed to come in January but someone had a baby...", to which she replied "that was me, except I didn't have a baby, I had 2 babies". And then she tells me she already has my family tree. I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. How in the world did she get my family tree. She then tells me she took a whole history over the phone and I didn't remember even talking to her, then I remembered, oh, yeah, this is the lady that asked if my husband and I are related in any way. So she spends over an hour with me, going over everything I needed to know and answering all my questions. Then the dr comes in and spends about 2 minutes, asking if I had q's and did I understand what the counselor had just told me and then she left. That really irritated me b/c I spent an hour talking with the Genetic Counselor, who probably doesn't make beans for a living, who confessed she is having trouble paying for childcare for her preemie twins, and I'll bet that dr made all the money for that visit.
So anyway, they took blood and told me to come back in 2 months for the results. Since I have Greta, my handy dandy Australian gps friend, I am very comfortable making the drive up to Barnes and back alone. However, I was worn out and hungry when I left the appt (I was, at this time, 5 days into my no-carb diet and I was really craving a sandwich...but that's another post). So Greta tells me to turn left and I begin to argue with her. She says turn, I say no, she says Recalculating, then she says turn, and I continued to argue with her until finally I gave in when I realized I was in a questionable neighborhood.
I'm so hungry at this point, I decide I have to have a sandwich. I know from my days of eating carbs that there is a Jimmy Johns in the corner of a strip mall at the Festus exit. So I take the exit, park on the side of the building, walk in and discover I'm at a bank, not a Jimmy Johns. That's right, I pretty much tried to order a sandwich at a bank. I had thought when I pulled up that it was odd to see a sign in a Jimmy Johns window that said "ask us about small business loans". But in my carb-deprived mind, I really thought I was in the right spot. So I had to get back in the car and drive over to the next strip mall to get my carb fix.
And I didn't share any of it with Greta.

No Sip Sirwhat

Can you stand just 1 more work story? I am pulling this one out of the vault and then closing the doors for awhile. This is a classic work story I have told many times.
Years ago, when I was working at the outpatient clinic at the Hospital, I had a 4 yr old that came for therapy 3 times a week. If you know anything about therapy, you know that 3 times a week is a lot and that must mean this child's speech was REALLY delayed. He was basically unintelligible. One day, as we sat at the table, I stated something that was obvious and without even looking up, he said "No Sip, Sirwhat", to which I replied "what?". Again, he shrugged his shoulders and said "No Sip, Sirwhat". My mind instantly began to run thru the sounds this child could not say- sh, l, k. I then realized exactly what this child was telling me.
The kid's mom and brother just happened to be listening and watching thru the observation window. When I realized what he had said, I asked "where did you learn that", to which he replied "my brother".
Remember the scene in Christmas Story, when you can hear the mom on the phone, beating her son b/c he had taught Ralphie a bad word? That scene played itself out on the other side of the window. Big Brother was in Big Trouble. I could hear him trying to defend himself, but it was of no use. He was caught.
No Sip Sirwhat has become a common phrase in our house. The girls don't even know what it means or where it came from but it is a staple of our household vocabulary.
So leave a comment and let me know something so obvious, it will leave me shaking my head, saying No Sip Sirwhat.

Say Busta!,

Before I was an in-home speech therapist, I worked in an outpatient clinic at a hospital. One day, I had a new kid on my schedule. He had a long, complicated name but when he arrived, his mother provided 2 pieces of info: He goes by Buster and that's the only word he can say. I sat the kid down in the floor and attempted to elicit some words. Mom again repeated to me "He can say his name", which I noted she pronounced "Busta". Then she began her attempts to elicit the 1 word in his vocabulary, Buster. She began her attempts in an encouraging voice, as in "Say Busta!" As her child ignored her, she became increasingly frustrated and repeatedly said "Say Busta!" Her agitation increased as he continued to ignore her. She had great inflection in her voice, as it moved from encouragement, to frustration, to pleading, to complete "hands on the hips" agitation. My favorite was the "this is ridiculous" tone. I sat back and watched in silence, as I knew from years of experience that a)this child had no ability to talk and b)if he could talk, he wasn't going to do it for her anyway. But for 1 hour, I had to listen to her insist that her son could Say Busta! By the end of the hour, I found myself wanting to blurt out Say Busta!
I never saw Buster again, but his mom's words have stuck in my head. It's not really the words, as it is the variety of inflections she used as her frustration grew. "Say Busta" has become a popular phrase in our house. I can't really say that any specific situation makes us want to yell it out, we just find ourselves occasionally trying to lighten the mood by insisting that someone "Say Busta!
I guess I could tack on a moral of the story...but when it comes down to it, there's no moral.
It was just really funny and I will never be able to control the impulse to yell Say Busta'!

Just Another Day at Work...

I was thinking today, as I drove down one gravel road after another, how different my job as an in-home therapist would be if I lived in another part of the country. I once had a friend who had been an in-home therapist in New Orleans. She carried a gun. I'll admit, there's been a few times I probably needed one too but most days, it's those low water bridges I'm worried about. When I show up for a visit and I'm greeted by someone covered in blood, I don't worry about violence- except the kind that involves butchering chickens. Today, I had a lengthy conversation about how it's been too wet to put up hay and I have 2 families that frequently send fresh eggs home with me. I sometimes drive so far out in the country, Greta's map tells me I'm driving in the middle of a field. These are not things I would experience as a therapist in the city. For example, I'm quite sure I would not have had this conversation several years ago, as I was starting my career as an in-home therapist:
Mom: We're having a baby boy!
Me: Do you have a name picked out?
Mom: Johnnie Ray
Me: Oh, are you going to call him by that name?
Mom: Nah, we're just gonna call him J.P.
Me: J.P.?
Mom: Yep, that's right, we'll name him Johnnie Ray after his daddy but we'll just call him J.P.

I did not...

I am not currently drinking a cup of coffee on a Friday night just so I can stay up long enough to enjoy a quiet evening at home. I have not already had a nap and I'm not about to fall asleep again.
It was not a busy week. I did not take on another (temporary) job, leaving me with a grand total of 5 jobs. I am not doing my part to keep the unemployment rate down.
I'm so glad I don't spoil my kids, I would never do that. Emily did not add to her boot collection today, making a grand total of 7 pairs. I am NOT enjoying Megan's new found love of shopping and luckily, she's not spoiled either. And since these things never happen to me, I'll tell you that Emily did not say, at the checkout line, as she is trying desperately to buy a trinket of some sort, "Mom, I know you're tired and I know you don't want to listen to my crap..." Of course, this did not make me bust out laughing!
My Facebook page did not get hacked this week and I did not have people emailing me, asking why I was sending them to adult sites.
My oil doesn't need to be changed and my tires are not about to blow. My brother in law did not tell me a month ago they were bald. I don't know which is worse, not having the time or the money to get them replaced? Right now, I don't have the time.
I did not struggle to keep a straight face this week when someone asked me if our new gecko can stand up and walk like the Geico gecko. Seriously!

What have YOU not done lately?

Scammed!

I've been scammed. As a matter of fact, millions of us have been scammed. Scammed into believing a blog story that was pure fiction. I fell for it completely, until the facts came out and of course, hindsight is 20/20. I'm not going to mention which blog it was, it's been removed from blogspot anyway. Luckily, I never posted the link on my blog.
I hope you will believe me when I say my blog is real! It all really happened- don't ever doubt me. I do not place ads on my blog, therefore I have no reason to profit from my story.
So in honor of my recent experience, I'm posting a new topic called "I've Been Scammed by a Fashion Statement".
Tonight's featured fashion scam involves those "no show socks" that everyone is wearing. What's the deal with those? They're the size of infant booties! I can only imagine the conversation that took place at the Hanes boardroom.
Ok, folks, we need to cut costs. Any ideas?
Yeah, boss, let's take our infant booties that require much less materials to produce, and market them as "Low Cut". Let's make raw, blistered heels a new fashion statement. Let's make it a faux pas for your socks to show.
Great idea! We'll use 1/64 of the material actually needed to cover the average foot!

I totally fell for this scam and bought several packages for Megan, upon her request. I didn't grasp the ridiculous notion of wearing infant booties until I started folding them in the laundry. I was stunned at how small they are! My friend KP said she got tired of the blistered heels on her daughter's feet and she got tired of fighting the battle so she threw them out!
My socks will continue to show around my ankles.
I will continue to buy infant booties for my daughter, all in the name of fashion.
I only regret not saving the ones she wore when she was 3 months old.
I could have saved a lot of money.
And avoided another scam.

Now it's your turn. Tell me a Fashion Scam you have fallen for. Or just feel free to discuss a ridiculous piece of fashion that you wore.

New Orleans

There's 1 good reason to go to New Orleans...


Scott and I can't get enough of it. We ate shrimp 4/4 days we were there.
Of course, that's not all we ate...

Imagine my excitement when we discovered a nearby Greek festival. (In case you've never met me, allow me to explain that I was Greek in my former life but sadly, I was reincarnated as a kid from the Missouri Bootheel, where ham and beans, cornbread and blackeyed peas are served on a regular basis.)

Greek beignets...

Gyros...

Souvlaki...

Then it was on to the French Quarter where we had French Beignets..

Then we ventured to the brand new Insectarium...

Megan and Tinni were spotted in the Bug Kitchen, eating cricket pancakes and other disgusting foods made from creepy crawlies. I told Megan she could never again complain about what I cook for dinner. The girl won't eat beef but she ate a pancake full of crickets.

Fried mealworms...

Superworm Salsa...

Minutes before we left, Emily and Tinni were roasting marshmallows and passing out smores.

When we came home and I unpacked my suitcase, I noticed an oily spot on my jeans. I am unable to consult my Stain Removal Chart b/c I don't know if it was the gyro, souvlaki, baklava, beignet (French or Greek, take your pick), crab cheramie, or shrimp.

It certainly wasn't the cricket pancakes.