Since we do not live in a soundproof booth ( see previous installment), it is sometimes necessary to have code words with which to refer to folks. Some are kind, some are not.
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Faced with the drudgery of life and having three kids at home on a Saturday night, the wife would often suggest a ride to the beach, which is twenty minutes away. This may seem like a good idea, since fresh air, even when really cold, is good for the lungs and a little running around in sand is good for working off extra energy. We would gather everyone up and suggest appropriate clothing for the weather including hats, scarves, boots, and coats. Anyone who has ever had more than one child knows that this is an endeavor in and of itself. Once dressed, and in the car ( another five to ten minutes of discussion and mild aggression, “no, you have to sit where the lump is because you are the shortest” or “you can’t sit behind mom/other mom because you kick the back of her seat and she will get mad at you.”) and seatbelted, we would head to one of our favorite locations along the Jersey Shore. Upon arrival, there is a scramble to get out of the car like uncorked champagne. Children run in every direction screaming like banshees because they are outside and allowed to use outside voices. ( My apologies to anyone who had the great luck of living nearby.) The wife and I would start the walk to the beach from the car. Someone would invariably need to have a hand held and tug on one side while whining that it was too cold/ too hot/ too windy/to sandy until we hit sand. The digging, running, staring at waves, taking pictures of sunset, screaming, playing tag, and eventual return to my side was always worth the effort. The drive home was usually quiet in the back seat, so there was room for the kids in the front seat to start up. The wife and I had an opportunity to amuse ourselves, usually with pithy comments about our surroundings, or road rage, depending on the season and state of traffic. My voice carries, so the wife regularly reminds me that we do not live in a soundproof booth. My umbrage usually takes over, which often ends up with more need for said booth. Not to be outdone, the wife started yelling, “ Smell it!” as we rolled down Main Street. Of course, Main Street has many stores and restaurants that cater to folks who speak Spanish primarily, so that turned into a lesson for the kids in the back who were all enrolled in Spanish at the time. “!Huelelo!” was then the new battlecry. Part of the joy of the household is that the main Foodchik works with Health Insurance providers and is privy to the language of diagnosis codes. The youngest boy has a propensity for managing to get whacked in the family jewels. We, a funny people by nature, have come up with a variety of responses to this including, but not limited to asking him if he needs ICD number 54520, which is the code for: Orchiectomy, simple (including subcapsular), with or without testicular prosthesis, scrotal or inguinal approach: 54660: Insertion of testicular prosthesis (separate procedure) 54690: Laparoscopic, surgical; orchiectomy: 55175: Scrotoplasty; simple: 55180 : complicated: 55970” Gender Affirming Surgery - Medical Clinical Policy Bulletins ... or in layman’s terms, getting your nuts cut off. You would think that this would reduce the frequency of such outbursts, but you would be wrong. This increasingly enormous human being regularly gets hit in the nads, grabs himself, looks skyward, and exclaims, “not again!” Dogs, table corners ( our table is round, go figure), chairs, cats, anything with a handle, elbows, his own bookbag, and bicycle parts have all been guilty of assaulting this child’s anatomy. |
AuthorI make stuff. Sometimes the stuff is pretty, sometimes not. My wife, 2 dogs, 3 kids and 3 cats keep me busy and on my toes. Archives
January 2022
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