No. Not now. Not this.

 

My friend Anissa had a stroke today. She is in the ICU at an Atlanta hospital.

I met her a few years ago through Neil’s Interview Project. I interviewed her and fell in her love with her strong resilient spirit from day one.

She is just hitting her stride. Her daughter’s cancer is gone. She had started a new project this year to help moms laugh more about not being perfect.

She’s a ball of fire that just can’t be extinguished. Hell, even Ralph Macchio thinks she’s cool.

She is in my thoughts and prayers.

Please keep her in yours.

Anissa – get well soon. You need to get back to molesting wildlife with your fabulous bewbs.

I’m not dead. Really.

I just feel like it. The last month has been a total roller coaster ride through hell punctuated by a few moments of sweetness and delight.

In case you’ve been wondering what happened to me, I’ll give you some options to choose from. Some of them are quite true and some of them are…let’s say…a stretch.

1. My dad had…

• A heart attack.
• Congestive heart failure.
• Mild kidney failure.
• Three stents and a bypass.
• A baby.

2. He is now…

• In a rehab center.
• Driving my mom nuts.
• Undergoing physical therapy
• Wishing he could do all the things that got him in this trouble.
• Channeling his inner Benny Hill and chasing nurses about the ward.

3. Doodle is…

• Potty training.
• Having the most gag-a-riffic poop attacks in his two-year existence.
• Stubborn as ever.
• Waking me up at 5 a.m. by using me as a human trampoline.
• Sharing all of his toys, saying please and thank you and using the living room furniture as its makers intended.

4. I was in San Diego last weekend…

• Helping my professional association pass its new bylaws.
• Making inappropriate comments on Twitter regarding my navel.
• Hanging out with some great colleagues from across the country.
• Taking on more responsibility and leadership roles that I don’t have time to do as well as I’d like to.
• Picking up a nasty batch of the flu.
• Collecting hotel toiletry samples to restock my personal stash.

5. I missed my industry awards dinner last night because…

• I didn’t win.
• I didn’t enter.
• I was sick with the flu.
• I couldn’t find a sitter.
• I was stalking Duff Goldman from Ace of Cakes.

6. My Parents Connect Potty Training Project gig…

• Has been going stunningly well.
• Has led to a stellar increase in the stock price of M&Ms and carpet cleaners.
• Has led to hundred of children being potty trained overnight.
• Has brought an odd little potty training doll to my house, which will be reviewed later.

7. I’ve only been at work one day this week because…

• I was looking for a rehab center for my dad.
• I was getting dad settled in previously mentioned rehab center.
• I was celebrating the sacrifices of our veterans by taking the kids to the park and the bread store.
• I was coming down with the flu.
• I was hit with the flu like a soap opera bitch slap.

8. This weekend, I will

• Put my brother on a plane back home to his family.
• Become a referee.
• Attempt to mask my flu symptoms and take the kids to a birthday party.
• Dread the jury duty that awaits me on Monday.
• Escape though a tunnel I have dug between my house and Mexico with a plastic spoon.

Thanks to those of you who have reached out to make sure I was okay. It’s good to know you’re missed. I really am okay and I’ll get back here soon. I promise.

 

Tattoo IV: The end. For now.

Here’s part I, part II, and part III.

When we left off yesterday, I was bouncing between the roof and the floor of the Mandalay Bay Events Center.

“$300?!?!” I gasped.

“They’re willing to let it go at $150. At cost.”

Steve felt horrible about what happened. Boo was near tears at the sight of my rage.

I didn’t yell.

I didn’t scream.

I took her by the hand and we made a beeline for the scene of the crime.

We talked to the vendor who was incredibly nice and sweet to Boo. Yep. $150 was the price for her crime.

Since he didn’t take credit cards, we had to trudge through the casino to the nearest ATM with cash in it (the closest one had been drained by ink-seekers) and back. (I had it all in $20’s and didn’t have the nerve to ask for the $10 back.)

I barely spoke to her the entire walk. There were a few exchanges though. She needed to understand the gravity of her actions.

We reviewed the rules. We talked about why the rules were made. We talked about how much $300 is and how many beds she’d have to fold, socks she’d have to match, and dishes she’d have to clear to make a dent in the day’s damage.

THIS is the face of regret.

We talked about what her punishment should be. Yes, it was an accident, but it was an accident that happened because she didn’t follow the rules.

So, there’s no TV at Chez Mom for Miss Boo for a good long while. And, once I financially recover from what was supposed to be a cheap afternoon of family fun, I’ll be looking for a jeweler to reset these crystals into something for Boo’s 16th birthday, because this will be one of those learning moments that I doubt she’ll ever forget.

And if she does, I’ll have this blog to remind her.

And that’s how I dropped $160 at the tattoo convention and maintained my tattoo virginity for yet another day.

Tattoo III: A trip to the ATM

So, in case you missed it, here is part I and part II of the story. Both are essential reading should you wish for this chapter in the tattoo show saga to make any sort of sense.

Anywho.

When we left off, I was holding an icepack to my 2YO Doodle’s forehead and checking him for symptoms of a concussion. (In case you were wondering, teaching a toddler his colors and how to count to ten come in very handy for these instances.) He had quieted down and his concerned sister was getting a little bored at waiting for his swelling to reduce.

So, I asked my friend, Steve, to go ahead and take Boo around to a few booths while I kept Doodle out of the fray. I figured they’d flip through a few sample books and talk to a couple artists and we’d catch up with them with no problem.

Ten minutes pass and Doodle appears to be fine and ready to move again, so we take off in search of them. After a few aisles, I can’t find them. I call and text and we rendezvous at the center display where some pacific islanders are tattooing old school sans electricity (i.e. tapping).

“Do you wanna tell your mom, or do I have to?” Steve asks Boo.

Boo gives me a guilty look and quickly averts her eyes to her shoes.

“Well,” Steve says to me. “You can either give me $75 or feed me for a month.”

“What?” I ask. “What happened?”

I am told the tale of how “she who loves all things shiny and pretty” reached across a table filled with jewelry and accidentally knocked over a pair of earrings onto the concrete floor, breaking one of the matched set of amethyst quartz crystals.

Of course she couldn't have broken anything that I could wear.

“How much?” I asked.

“They retail for $300.”

Yeah. This is pretty much where I hit the concrete floor and the roof at the same time.

Yep. I’m dragging this out. Come back for Part IV tomorrow to see if I’m still the mother of two.

Tattoo II: He’s lump.

If you’re catching this story midstream, go here for part I.

We wandered about the exhibit floor, showing Boo some of the artists at work. I have to say I was a little worried about some of the graphic imagery that my super-sensitive girl would see and how she’d react, but she didn’t bat an eyelash. She flipped past the skulls and squealed about the hearts and flowers and birds.

After about 45 minutes in the stroller, the 2YO was done sitting still. He wanted to see the inky world on his own two feet. So, he takes off down the aisle dodging between ink-covered calves. I take off after him. He sees me over his shoulder, cackles and takes off into overdrive.

Rule #1? Broken. But he’s two. So what do you expect?

I catch up with him at the end of he row, intending to scoop him up in a barrellful of giggles.

Just as I reach out for him, he trips over his own little Chuck Taylor’s and goes head first into the concrete floor.

I gasped at the thud and clutched him to my shoulder, trying to simultaneously bring comfort and quiet his sobs.

Within seconds, his red spot swells to a lump the circumference of a golf ball. He’s got a huge goose egg. I feel sick with worry.

We high-tail it to the concession stand, where the manager quickly fills a take-out bag with ice and I plop down next to his stroller, hoping the frozen crystals would ease his pain and take the knot down a few notches.

This was taken a few hours later. It's a huge lump, but he's fine and as happy as ever.

I’d like to say this is the end of the day’s saga, but it’s not.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s installment when you find out what happened with Boo while I was icing Doodle’s noggin.