Can we chat? It feels like ages since we’ve really talked. Girlfriends, I’ve been so busy I don’t know whether to wind my butt or scratch my watch. Maintaining a blog has been low on the priority list as I’ve been tied up with commiserating over my lack of an invitation to Fashion Week. And I’ve had to worry about Charlie Sheen AND Lindsey Lohan all in one week. And then they went and whacked off Zsa Zsa’s leg. Sister Mercy! It’s enough to make a gal take to the sofa with Oprah reruns and bon bons. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that since the Hula-gen’s are in the middle of a series of health crises.
Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was bragging about each of the Hula-gen’s staying healthy for a change? Well, I knew it couldn’t last. The other shoe dropped, and it was a platform with a five inch spiked heel. First the dog got kidney stones, which involved some inadvertent peeing on our bed in the middle of the night. By the dog, not me. Lord, how I hate changing bed linens at 2am. Jack had surgery this morning, and all went well, but he has to stay at the vet’s office for a couple of days, and I’m sure he’ll be incredibly needy when he comes home. He’s almost as good as Mama J. at guilting you into doing things for him. Almost.
Mama J.’s heart is out of rhythm again. They are testing her for A-Fib tomorrow, so another hospital stay could be in her future in order to shock her back into rhythm. Bless her heart; she just can’t stay out of the hospital for more than three months at a time. And we can’t keep her home when she feels bad. She gets stir crazy in the house, which I understand, but I really don’t think a trip to Bob Evans for biscuits and gravy is what the doctor had in mind when he said to take it easy while we wait for her test results. My sister-in-law gets the enabling award for driving her there. I can’t judge though. I’ve been lured by biscuits and gravy into bad behavior before, too. Gravy is the root of all evil. Quick gravy tangent-At the Chamber of Commerce breakfast last month I showed my country roots when I got to the end of the buffet line with a big biscuit on my plate and loudly asked, “Did I miss the gravy?” There wasn’t any. And it seems I might have been the only one expecting it.
Hubby took Papa T. to the eye doctor yesterday during the whole Bob Evans incident, and they found out Papa T. has to have some unexpected eye surgery next week. It’s to repair work he’s had done previously, and his recovery is going to overlap Hubby’s surgery to have a heel spur removed March 1st. Hubby is going to be on crutches for a couple of weeks, so there is going to be a big scramble to get everyone to their respective appointments. Since Hula will be the only one with a driver’s license not in high school at that time, she will be shuttling folks around town to various doctor’s offices. Good times. I haven’t had this much fun since the hogs ate my little sister.
I haven’t even mentioned Teen Angel’s vasculitis yet. It flared up again recently with such force that she looks like she has leprosy. Thank heavens it’s not swimsuit season or we would have a fashion crisis on our hands the size of Kim Kardashian’s backside. She’s taking it all in stride, although she doesn’t like that I’ve taken to affectionately calling her Dot. And I haven’t even mentioned the sad state of my sinuses or how Ticketmaster shut me out on tickets for the Nashville Adele concert at the Ryman. Oh, and Teen Angel has taken up roller derby. ROLLER DERBY! Is this what children do to you after you nurture them and keep them safe for eighteen years? They join activities that can cause broken bones and busted teeth that I spent a few thousand dollars straightening with braces. Aye, yi, yi. It’s all too much to think about right now. I’ll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow’s anotha’ day. Let’s just hope tomorrow doesn’t bring any hemorrhoids.
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