Yesterday morning I was worried about our family holiday cards. I was mad at myself for not having taken the time to get some made for the family and friends we hold so dear.
But I'm not worried about it anymore. Because I now have a different perspective. Yesterday afternoon my 6 year old daughter was running down my driveway and fell and hit her head. The next thing I know we were in an urgent care center where we were having trouble keeping her awake. The ambulance came, strapped her to a board with a neck brace and whisked us off to Scottish Rite Children's Hospital which, by the way, is the fucking bomb [IBT (I beseech thee) please see note below]. They even have a free car valet service because they KNOW that when someone has a sick kid the last thing they want to do is fuck around with parking the car.
She had a CT scan which gave us good news. She does indeed have a brain, the brain is intact and there weren't any fractures or hemorrhaging. It was just a concussion. Whew. My home girl, B, had followed the ambulance and then brought us home when we were discharged. And when we got home Don had a peanut butter and honey sandwich for my daughter and Cosmo's for B and I. I'm telling you, the man is a super stud. One of a kind. Plus he smells good. What more could you want?
So maybe I'll get some cards out and maybe I won't. But my people know I love them. And I know that they love me. And it is ALL good.
http://www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com/
*IBT note: I've recently received a phone call from a loyal reader regarding this entry. This person is like a mother to me. In fact, it WAS my mother. And she was taking me to task because I said that Scottish Rite Children's Hospital was the fucking bomb. She was wondering just what kind of monster she had reared. Why would I disparage the good name of a wonderful medical facility where my many children had each, at one time or another, received superlative treatment??? What was WRONG with me? WHY would I say it was the fucking bomb???
I explained to her that it was a compliment. And then we jumped right into Bomb 101: A Bomb Vs. THE Bomb. If one were to state that something was "A fucking bomb" that would imply that it sucked. To state that something is "The fucking bomb" is a good thing. When someone eats my meatloaf and says, "Man. That was the fucking bomb!" Then I know they liked it. If someone were to eat it and then tell me, "Man. That was a fucking bomb." Then I know that they spent 12-24 hours on or near a toilet regretting having eaten it.
I suppose this is the vernacular of a new generation. I am feeling...something...it just may be SHAME. Shame that I could navigate the differences of something being A Fucking Bomb verses The Fucking Bomb in my sleep but I'm pretty sure that if I were to take an open book test right now I couldn't find the area of triangle if my life depended upon it. At least I make good meatloaf. It's the fucking bomb!
But I'm not worried about it anymore. Because I now have a different perspective. Yesterday afternoon my 6 year old daughter was running down my driveway and fell and hit her head. The next thing I know we were in an urgent care center where we were having trouble keeping her awake. The ambulance came, strapped her to a board with a neck brace and whisked us off to Scottish Rite Children's Hospital which, by the way, is the fucking bomb [IBT (I beseech thee) please see note below]. They even have a free car valet service because they KNOW that when someone has a sick kid the last thing they want to do is fuck around with parking the car.
She had a CT scan which gave us good news. She does indeed have a brain, the brain is intact and there weren't any fractures or hemorrhaging. It was just a concussion. Whew. My home girl, B, had followed the ambulance and then brought us home when we were discharged. And when we got home Don had a peanut butter and honey sandwich for my daughter and Cosmo's for B and I. I'm telling you, the man is a super stud. One of a kind. Plus he smells good. What more could you want?
So maybe I'll get some cards out and maybe I won't. But my people know I love them. And I know that they love me. And it is ALL good.
http://www.rqmitchell.blogspot.com/
*IBT note: I've recently received a phone call from a loyal reader regarding this entry. This person is like a mother to me. In fact, it WAS my mother. And she was taking me to task because I said that Scottish Rite Children's Hospital was the fucking bomb. She was wondering just what kind of monster she had reared. Why would I disparage the good name of a wonderful medical facility where my many children had each, at one time or another, received superlative treatment??? What was WRONG with me? WHY would I say it was the fucking bomb???
I explained to her that it was a compliment. And then we jumped right into Bomb 101: A Bomb Vs. THE Bomb. If one were to state that something was "A fucking bomb" that would imply that it sucked. To state that something is "The fucking bomb" is a good thing. When someone eats my meatloaf and says, "Man. That was the fucking bomb!" Then I know they liked it. If someone were to eat it and then tell me, "Man. That was a fucking bomb." Then I know that they spent 12-24 hours on or near a toilet regretting having eaten it.
I suppose this is the vernacular of a new generation. I am feeling...something...it just may be SHAME. Shame that I could navigate the differences of something being A Fucking Bomb verses The Fucking Bomb in my sleep but I'm pretty sure that if I were to take an open book test right now I couldn't find the area of triangle if my life depended upon it. At least I make good meatloaf. It's the fucking bomb!
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