Hey Hey Hey!
That should sound exactly like Dwayne from What’s Happening!! The only show deserving of two exclamation points in its title.
How are you? That’s awesome! Or, that sucks! Depending on your answer.
Me? Glad you asked. It’s been quite a month around here.
Let’s see…with school coming to an end I’m trying to soak up every last-minute of free time before my boys are home full-time, expecting to be constantly fed and entertained. I know this means that they will still start their he started it he pushed me he’s an idiot crap no later than 7:30 on any given morning, and that it will continue all day with grace periods just long enough to prevent me from trying to sell them on eBay. But it’s OK. I can no longer keep up with anything relating to school. After April, it’s all downhill. I’m burnt out. I forget to sign their nightly reading chart, I no longer have the necessary endurance to make my left-handed 8-year-old re-write his vocabulary sentences 27 times because it’s illegible. The nightly race of homework, dinner, practices and games, baths and wrestling them into bed. I’d give anything if they could pack their own lunches…ugh. It’s like the end of a marathon, where sometimes the runners actually shit their pants rather than stop. I’ve totally shit my pants, and I can’t wait to cross the finish line.
In addition to all of that usual rigmarole, I very recently had an irregular PAP smear. TMI? Sorry, it’s my blog, you knew what you signed up for. Anyway, it was the kind where the secretary calls to inform you that it showed potential for pre-cancerous cells and we’ll need you to come back in for a biopsy. Biopsy! Hooray! What a wonderfully cheerful word! So I did that on Friday, and now I have to wait until next week to get the results. Don’t project too much, people say. Excuse me? Did you say don’t project too much? It’s what I’m best at. It all works out, doesn’t it? Sure, unless you have cancer and die leaving your young sons motherless. I’ve already written and rewritten both scenarios in my head. Of course I’ve figured out my treatment plan, chemo and radiation, but if it becomes too much, I’ll just go straight to home hospice, in which case I’ll get great drugs.
But that’s what the mind does, at least mine. I have no control over it, my mind has a mind of its own. I’m hopeful that it will turn out to be nothing, but so was Deborah Winger in Terms of Endearment. I know, I’m an idiot, women have irregular PAP smears all the time, it’s just part of having lady parts. And why the fuck does it have to be called a PAP smear? That’s gross, it sounds like something a fat old man puts on a sandwich.
Besides that, everything really is great. My divorce was final on Wednesday, the day after my sons 8th birthday. New beginnings, right? Its been over for almost 2 years now, we’ve both moved on and have established a friendly relationship, and co-parent with the best interest of our boys always being paramount. But like anything in life, the finality of a chapter is not without reflection and emotion.
When one door closes, another one opens. Say a little prayer to the God of your understanding/misunderstanding or just cross your fingers for me, will you? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to online wig shopping.