Friday, October 21, 2016

Imparting Wisdom (Threatening the Preacher)

I find myself flinching when I see either of my children's Bible class teachers practically leaping over pews to catch me.  From about three pews away they drop the normal lead-in, "You HAVE to hear this...."

You've read my blog.  You know my children.  This couldn't possibly turn out well.  Especially in church.

I sigh, resigned to my fate, and say, "Which one are you teaching this quarter?"

I then find out if it is the boy or girl child which will continue to disparage my good name.

Most recently, it was Little Sunshine.  Her teacher stopped me with the usual lead-in and then proceeded to tell me the following:

"We were studying I Corinthians 12 and talking about how each member of the church has an important role.  We talked last week about how an eye cannot be an ear or a hand a foot, each has an important job with our bodies and all together it is stronger.  So, I was reviewing the lesson, and I said, What if our preacher decided he didn't want to preach anymore....and Emma immediately commented "Well, I'd just have to slap some sense into that man." and I just had to laugh!"

Glad she is laughing.....and afraid that I know exactly where the child got it.  But, wait, it gets better:

"So I just had to tell the preacher...."

Oy.  Yet another sermon topic my children have provided the preacher.  It's very, very hard to overcome one's raising.  But in my defense, I do believe that generations of the women in my family would offer evidence that at times the only way to impart wisdom is through a gentle application of love to the back of the head.

As we walked out to the parking lot, I saw the preacher walking with Emma and heard him ask her, "So, there's a chance you might not be happy if I quit preaching?"

Emma replied, "Yep, I'd just have to slap you."

Well, he asked, I am going to say this one is his own fault.  At least she is steadfast and consistent.  I'm pretty sure Sunday's sermon will revolve around I Corinthians 4: 21  "What do you want? Shall I come to you with a rod, or in love and a spirit of gentleness?"

Better have my steel-toed shoes on for that one.

Monday, October 3, 2016

PSA of Burning Importance

There are things my friends from the north will never be able to fully appreciate.  One of those things is the satisfaction of growing your very own cooking staple:  jalapenos.  We Texans love our jalapenos.  They can go in almost anything.  I spend so much money on jalapenos for various recipes that I decided this year I would grow my own.

The kids have been fascinated.  They report daily on the plants' progress, tallying the totals for each plant and letting me know if some of the jalapenos are turning red, which is a little past the prime of their use for my cooking.

Little Sunshine was giving me her report and brought in a few jalapenos one night.  She showed me they were red and asked what I wanted her to do with them.  I told her thank you, and that I was not in need of jalapenos at just that moment, so why not put them in the kitchen.

She skipped away, and I did not give it another thought.  El Hubbo hollered at her that it was time to take her shower.  She skipped back in my bedroom, wrapped in a towel, and headed for the shower.

Now, the shower process for the tiniest human in the house is generally the longest for any human in the house.  On average, she spends 30-45 minutes.  I mean, it takes time to clean that little body, sing songs, wash hair, sing more songs, tease the dog and then squeal when he joins her.

This evening, however, instead of songs about rainbows and how awesome she is, we heard screams of "IT BURNS!"  "HELP ME!  OH SOOOOMMMMEEEOOONNNEEE HELP ME!"  "IT BURNS!"  "WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME!?!"

El Hubbo and I looked quizzically at each other and then dashed for the bathroom.

I pull back the curtain, and my naked little girl was screaming and rubbing her eyes.

"What is wrong baby??"


"Well, let me see?"


I am completely dumbfounded.  El Hubbo and I look at each other and it is clear that the Parents of the Year have no idea what is going on.  I finally reach my hand into the shower, half afraid that maybe acid is flowing forth from the shower head, and I was about to watch the skin melt from my hand.

It was just water, whew.  Skin still intact.


El Hubbo and I begin quizzing her.  Every question was met with:  "I DON'T KNOW! IT BURNS!  DO SOMETHING!"

Finally, El Hubbo looks at me and says, "Did she wash her hands after she brought in the jalapenos?"


I snapped my fingers and ran to the kitchen to get the milk.  We rinsed her face and hands, washed her eyes out, and slowly she became a wet, wiggly, snotty mess in the shower.

We snickered (out of her earshot) and made comment to each other that we bet she'd remember to wash her hands after picking jalapenos from now on!

But there is more to the story......

A few days later, she proudly announced that her sentence had won Best Sentence in class.   Take a gander at this, and tell me you don't stifle a laugh:

"My lips burned with intensity and my eyes hurt from rubbing them after touching jalapenos."

And that Public Service Announcement comes to you courtesy of Little Sunshine.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Random Report from the West

I lay here in multi-splendored glory, pondering those things that make a marriage work.  This past week has been a prime example of many of the concepts that I believe make it work:  support, willingness to be used, allowing your OCD to be aggravated by new toys.

In less positive news, my in-laws were in a very scary accident as they left their hometown.  It would seem a youngster with a rather large truck with a reinforced bumper (extremely common in our neck of the woods) failed to yield the right-of-way as he rushed to his destination point.  Fortunately, my father-in-law saw him coming and was able to minimize the t-bone impact, but it left my in-laws very bumped, bruised, and bloody and with an unexpected trip to the ER.  They were released and continue to recover, and will eventually be alright, but understandably the family was scrambling as we worked out a plan to take care of everything.

My very minor role was to drive to a town about 45 minutes away (with kids in tow) and retrieve suitcases from the car.  I arrived and met the wrecker-driver only to find no suitcases.  As I called El Hubbo and reported the lack of travel gear, he began to question his father.  I questioned the wisdom of expecting a man who had taken an extremely hard hit to the head any questions related to the whereabouts of his t-shirts and other sundries.  The wrecker driver, observing our inexperience at handling such situations, suggested we call the police or sherriff's department in the town where the wreck occurred. (About 30 minutes away.....remember we are technically in "rural 'merica".)

El Hubbo, began the hunt, I took the kids to eat.  Soon, I received the call....the mystery was solved.  Bags were in the hometown fire station.  Alrighty, so the kids and I loaded up and headed out.  Thirty minutes later, the bags were secured and we began a race to beat incoming storms back to Lubbock.

We delivered the bags and checked on Mimi and Papa.  We then headed home where I was greeted with this......

Yes, my closet imploded.  I sighed, turned the light off, texted my boss that I would not be coming in the next morning and went to bed.  I'm a firm believer that Scarlett O'Hara said it best:  "Tomorrow is another day."

The next day was spent sorting out clothes for donation and creating various piles of clothes throughout my house that I could roam around like a lost zombie each morning attempting to cobble together an acceptable outfit for work.  I researched closet systems, and informed El Hubbo that he officially had plans for the weekend.  If you wish to test the strength of your vows, attempt to work on a project such as this.  I'm not sure who may have had the most creative death threat lobbed at the other, but when we both arrived at the checkout lane of the Home Depot with a shovel, we decided a military detente was in order.

On a happy note, I won something!  Or, technically, El Hubbo did.  You see, I am big Circle E candle fan.  As in they are my candle of choice.  I follow them on facebook.  They posted a special that if you commented on a picture they had posted with a recommendation for a teacher to win a candle, they would select three deserving teachers to win.  In my not-so-altruistic way I commented the following:

"Few realize the time an ag teacher spends in and out of the classroom. Darin Martinez loves his job and is always working in the classroom, at the shop, at the school farm to try to provide students with a great experience. He's on the road to stock shows, judging contests, leadership contests, scholarship interviews, meetings, etc. Given he is around not-so-pleasant smells most of the time, he loves when I burn a Circle E Candles, inc in the house. Love you, babe!"

And we, I mean, HE won!  I, er HE, was soooo excited!  And it has already come in it's fabulous, peanut-packed glory!

Finally, for being a relatively good sport, I got El Hubbo something he could really be excited about.  Ladies, let me tell you, this is a cheap, homerun of a gift.  You need not buy your guy anything else for Christmas.  There are lightbulbs that also serve as bluetooth speakers.

As all little kids, he couldn't wait to get it open and installed.  Interestingly, the directions are not grammatically correct, which causes me some concern about what the potential safety rating may be, however, this did not stop him from playing incessantly with the color change feature until I almost experienced a seizure.  It comes with a remote, so he can lay in bed, listen to his music and change the colors of the light.  This makes our bedroom seem way too much like a bad European discotheque, but you can see he is happy.

That's it.  Bonus post complete.  As you can see we are rocking right along.  

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Mid-Life Crisis

Lately I have felt much older than my actual age.  Life can sometimes be hard.  Stress takes it's toll.  Things happen.  Years pile on.

This is apparently not how El Hubbo has felt.  Living in a world where one is youthful and exuberant with rainbows and lollipops is what he prefers.

I may have remedied that with a big ol' dose of reality.

Our dinner conversation:

Me:  "Hey, the other day when I picked up the kids I saw you had a new welder delivered.  I saw the sub come out and try to figure out what he needed to do."

Him:  "What?  Oh yeah!  Who did you see?"

Me:  "It looked like one of the coaches.  Maybe an older or middle-aged coach?"

Him:  "Oh, yeah - no, he's not that old."

Me:  "Well at least middle-aged."

Him:  "No, he's about my age."

Me;  (Looking at him quizzically) "Well, you are aware you are in your late forties?  That is middle-aged."

Realization dawned on him.  His youth has fled.  The dew is no longer on the flower.  The sun is setting.

Ever sensitive to his emotional needs, I begin to laugh.  "Well, I guess you can start your Mid-Life Crisis now."

He frowned, lowered his head and began to ponder life as an old man.  Number One Son attempted to console him by patting him on the back.

El Hubbo looked at both of us and said, "I'm going to stab you both in the eye."

Ah, family love.  The Martinez way.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

I Blame You, Alexander Bell

Brenda is tired.  Brenda is cranky.  Brenda has spend the day referring to herself in third person.  Brenda is in sore need of a vacation.  Technically, Brenda will soon take some days off for "vacation" but that "vacation" will require her to ride herd on her children and her father.  If you are a follower of this blog, you understand that this "vacation" is no "vacation" at all, no how, no way, no sir!

My children have recently transitioned to being able to stay at home and see to themselves periodically.  Today I got up for work, wrote out a list of chores, posted them on the fridge, woke up the boy-child to let him know I was leaving, and then eased myself out the door.

8:30 a.m.: Phone call 1 - "Mom, Emma won't wake up!"  "Why are you waking her up?  Haven't you learned it is best to let her sleep as long as possible so that she won't bother you?"  "Yeah, well, what about putting the dogs outside?"  "Well, can't you handle that task?  Then you could watch a little tv in peace."  "Yeah, that's true.   BUT IT ISN'T FAIR THAT SHEEEEEEEEEEEE'SSSSS   ASSSSSLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP"  In the background, I hear:  "JJJJJAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!!!!  LEAVE ME ALONE! GO AWAY!"   I tell him now he's done it, now he can deal with it.  "FINE!" he says.  "I love you" I tell him and hang up.

9:15 a.m.:  Phone call 2 - I ignore as I am in a meeting.
9:16 a.m.:  Phone call 3 - I ignore because I am still in a meeting.
9:17 a.m.:  Phone call 4 - I ignore because I am still in a meeting.
9:18 a.m.:  Phone call 5 - I step out of meeting:  "WHAT?"  "Oh, um, hi, mama.  Do you know where my purple sock with cupcakes on it is?"  "Huh?  I didn't know you had a purple sock with cupcakes on it, and you had to keep calling me for that????"  "Oh, well, ok, well, I love you, Mama, Bye!"  "I love you, too.  Bye."

9:24 a.m.:  Phone call 6 - "Yes."  "MAMA!  Jake won't let me have any cereal!"  In background:  "Not true! "  "NO!  JAKE!  DO NOT GET ON THE PHONE!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  "YOU LITTLE...."  "QUIT IT!  NOOOOOO  I'M TELLING!"  At this point, I realize they have forgotten I am on the phone and I just hope for the best and hang up.

12:35 p.m.:  Phone call 7:  "Hello."  "Um, hi, Mama?"  (I'm not sure why she always questions....I am pretty sure my number is the only one she has memorized - a decision I am now reconsidering the wisdom of - and I am the only one that answers it - so, why is she surprised every time I answer?)   "Yes, baby?"  " Mama, I need to tell you something.  Um, Jacob hit me in the face with his shorts, then he sprayed me in the face with bugspray, and then he crushed my foot in the door when I went to water the plants.  And I think next time you leave us alone you are just going to have to take one of us with you."  

Ok, shorts = disgusting.  Crushed foot =  probably not that bad as she was very calm in giving me this report.  Bugspray in face = should probably address that one.  "Put your brother on the phone."  "Oh, Jacob..... Mama wants to talk to you."

" Yes?"  "Did you really spray your sister in the face with bugspray?"  "Well, uh, yes.  I had to defend myself someway!"  "Like, the Raid, or the Mosquito Repellent?"  (See, doing my due diligence as a mother.)  "The Mosquito Repellent.  Obviously, it doesn't work because she's still bothering me!"  "JAKE!  Not the point, son!  DO NOT SPRAY YOUR SISTER WITH THE BUGSPRAY.  OF ANY KIND."  "BUT...."   

I have hit the raving lunatic stage at this point.  "DO NOT SPRAY YOUR SISTER WITH THE BUGSPRAY.  PUT HER ON THE OTHER PHONE."  "I'm here, mama"  (Obviously she was listening in to enjoy her brother's chewing out.  "AS YOU TWO SEEM TO HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY, THERE WILL BE WEED PULLING WHEN I GET HOME!"

In unison:  "NO! We haven't finished our chores for today, yet."

Not in unison:  "But it was HIS fault!"  "But she won't leave me alone!"


1:25 p.m. :  Phone call 8:  "Um, mama?"  "Yes? Are you bleeding?" "No."  "Is your brother bleeding?"  "No."  "What is the emergency?"  "Um, so, Jacob said he wished I wasn't born. ."  "Put your brother on the phone."  "Well, she gets me in trouble and I am so mad.  I tell her what we need to do and she says NO and then refuses to do the work and tells me no or ignores me and I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!  Put her in charge!  I don't care!"  "Really?  She doesn't listen when you ask her to do something and this bothers you?  I can't imagine what that is like?!?!?"  

 "Quit being sarcastic, mom, this is serious."  "Huh, I've heard that before, too."   "OK, but I'm not as bad as her!"  "Jake, quit telling your sister you wish she was never born."  "But..."  "QUIT IT!"  "Ok"  "Tell her you are sorry."  "I'm sorry, Emma"  Female voice pipes up:  "It's ok, Jakey - NOW COME HERE AND GIVE ME A HUG!"  "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"  

I think i heard the phones being dropped to the floor and the sound of running feet.  I just hung up.

3:30 p.m.:  Phone call 9:  I ignore as I am in a meeting.  And very, very tired of my children.
3:31 p.m.:  Phone call 10:  I ignore as I am still in a meeting.
3:32 p.m.:  Phone call 11:  I ignore as I am still in a meeting.  Still tired of offspring.
3:33 p.m.;  Phone call 12:  "WHAT!"  "Um, hi, mama?"  "What, Emma?"  "Um, yeah, Jake and I have headaches and we don't feel very good and we don't know what to do about it."  "Tell you what, Emma, how about y'all finish your chores, and drink some water.  And as soon as I get home, you can pull weeds, which I have heard does WONDERS for headaches."  "That won't help our headaches!  I think we are gonna lay down."  "I think those chores had better be done by the time I get home."  "Um, ok, and Mama? "  "Yes."  "I love you, mama."  "I love you, too.  But you are still doing chores."  

At this point, I have resolved that should the opportunity arise to have a conversation with Alexander Graham Bell, he is going to get an earful from me.

Oddly enough, when I arrived home, the chores had been done.  The children were helping each other and saying "please" and "thank you" and "do you need help with....?"  Obviously, they have been replaced by aliens.

Now, remind me again, why would Brenda need a vacation?

Monday, June 27, 2016

You Have The Right To Remain Silent

I cannot make this stuff up.  When I say my life is here to entertain others, I really mean it.

Tonight I was exhausted.  I have three stacks of projects on my desk that I literally broke out a ruler and measured today.  Each stack measured approximately 6 inches.  That is 18 inches of projects that everyone involved believes should be my first priority.  EIGHTEEN INCHES.  This does not even include emails, walk-in traffic/questions, etc.  I shouldn't complain as I have a good job, of which I generally enjoy the associated tasks, but GOODNESS, EIGHTEEN INCHES!

I finally called it quits and decided to pray that it wouldn't multiply overnight.  I'm convinced there is a secret project breeding program and my office has been designated as an ideal habitat for such activity.

I rushed home to meet someone who planned to try to convince me to buy Cosco knives.  I ran (ok, limped hurriedly) around the house trying to "fake clean" it to the point it would be not too unpresentable.  I mean I lit a candle, made the boy-child take out the trash, and hid the dirty dishes under the sink....a real effort was made here!  Five minutes before our appointment, she texts me and tells me we can just do the demo online and sends me a link.  I look at the link, and it isn't really a is a catalog.  And then she texts to see if I would like to order anything.  Sorry, Sweetie, but I only order from those who at least fake an effort to really try to sell me something.  I have plenty of knives.

At this point, I look pitifully at El Hubbo and ask if we can go to town for dinner.  He looks like he'd rather stay home, but then considers the fact that I have sunk so low in my chair I am in danger of falling out and he would then have to help me up off the floor.....ok, he agrees to go get pizza.  Of course we have to go get it as we live one-half mile beyond the delivery boundary line, and they absolutely, positively will not go beyond the boundary line when making deliveries no matter how much you try to bribe them.

We round up the children and actually make them put on pants so we can go eat.  We're not even sure when they showered last.....

We arrived at Dominos and ordered.  We received our pizza and were munching away and I was visiting with my dad on the phone when we see a car pull up and come to a rapid stop right behind our vehicle.  And a "shadow" marked Sheriff's vehicle screeches to a stop, lights flashing, and a deputy gets out and advances rapidly to the driver's side of the first car.  Another LEO gets out (wearing an ATF vest) and positions herself at the back opposite corner with her hand on her holstered gun.  El Hubbo had his back to the windows that direction and I motioned for him to check it out.

Of course, Little Sunshine takes this opportunity to announce to the restaurant, "HEY!  LOOK AT THE COPS DAD!  ARE THEY GONNA ARREST HIM???"

I tell dad, hey, I gotta go, need to pay attention.

El Hubbo has put a restraining hand on Number One Son to keep him from running up and plastering his nose up against the window.

Ever helpful Little Sunshine starts asking her father and I if we have our "friends".  (Yes, it's code.  You'll just have to figure it out.)  We tell her to hush, we do not discuss our "friends" in public.

It was just like our own, personal episode of CSI.  The kids sat happily finishing their pizza, giving play-by-play commentary:  "Hey, are they reading him his rights?  What does that mean?  Isn't Miranda a girl's name?  It starts, You have the right to remain silent, anything you say CAN and WILL be used against you in a court of law."

I made a mental note to be quicker about erasing my cop dramas from the recorded shows on our t.v.

El Hubbo wasn't much better.  He's grinning and almost jumped out of his chair with excitement when he saw one of the officers pull a rather large revolver and holster out of the car.  "Look at that hogleg!"

I made a mental note to limit El Hubbo's John Wayne movie consumption.

The officers were in very cautionary stances, so El Hubbo and I kept an eye on the situation.  We were toward the back of the restaurant, with an exit door nearby.  We asked the kids, if they knew what they were to do if for some reason the guy tried to run in the restaurant.

"Get down, get low, get hidden!"  Yes, and be quiet, my babies.  Side lecture:  In all seriousness, El Hubbo and I have attempted to prepare our children to react in the best way possible to maximize survival should an active shooter situation arise.  We believe that evil exists in this world, and there is no way to legislate evil.  It is evil because it does not obey moral or statutory laws.  This has been the case since the dawn of time.  We believe in being prepared to combat evil appropriately and individually if necessary to save our or other's lives, especially that of our children.  Lecture over.

"Hey!  They are putting handcuffs on that dude!"  So much for quiet.

We continued to sit for awhile, at which point, Number One Son says, "Dessert, anyone?"  We found that a little too funny.

Finally, the situation was over, the suspect arrested and hauled away in a second Law Enforcement Vehicle, someone arrived to drive his car away.  We gathered up our left over pizza and headed for the car.  The kids waved at the officers still sitting in their vehicle with the lights flashing.  I'm pretty sure El Hubbo winked at the pretty ATF agent and gave her a thumbs up.  I back out and obey all, and I do mean ALL, traffic laws.

The kids chattered away, breaking into "Bad boys, bad boys, whacha gonna do?" in the backseat.

And, that, folks is how the Martinez's do "Dinner and a Show".

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Medical Sparring

My father.  The infamous Oso.  The Bear.

Just as when one is dealing with his spirit animal, one should always proceed with caution with my paternal parental unit.  Not everyone is ready for his wit and charm, but doctors in particular seem to struggle with quite how to deal with the man.

In Oso's not-so-humble opinion doctors are by-and-large "quacks".  The many years of medical training they have is bunk, and they have no idea what they are talking about.  He has stretched the patience of more than one member of the AMA, leading one to proclaim my father "the most non-compliant patient I have ever seen."  And, this particular doctor used to be a prison doctor!  That statement actually exists in a medical chart.  It also happen to provide my father with a peculiar point-of-pride.  In his mind, this meant he won.

With mom's passing, I have inherited the dubious honor of accompanying my father to the more important doctor visits.  We arrived and signed in with almost no incident.  When the nurse called my father's name out into the lobby, we were of course sitting opposite from the door.  Across all the other patients, my father bellows back, "Here I am!  Aren't you glad I cleared my schedule for you?"  This should have been the nurse's clue to suddenly feel sick and pass him off to someone else, but she decided to hang in there.

She tells him to step up on the scales.  Little did she know what this would involve.  He hands me a ziplock bag......yes, a ziplock bag.......and begins to pull things out of his pockets.  His keys.  His knife.  His glasses.  His cell phone.  His change.  His wallet.  His pen.  His glasses holder.  His mints.  and more stuff I cannot recall right now.  Just as he was about to step up, he then felt the pocket of his shirt and said, "Oh, you better hold this, no telling how much it weighs."  I am pretty sure the nurse rolled her eyes when she saw him hand me a business card.  (I know I did.)

She records the weight and he steps off.  He says to me, "I have to remember the other pair of shoes next time.  I bet they are a half pound lighter than these."  Now, if you knew my father, you would understand that half a pound was not going to make a huge difference.  The man is 6'4" and overweight.  There will be a lot of pounds recorded no matter what.

The nurse leads us to the exam room and begins to update the charts.  This is where my father starts really having fun.  This is his warmup for the doctor.  It's like a great big game of Balderdash where he tells a lengthy story in response to each question and the nurse must try to decipher the truths from the lies.

The best one today was when she asked if he had been hospitalized since they had seen him last.  His response, "Why of course not!"

And now, the whole reason I have to be present:  I respond, "Yes, he was hospitalized in Dallas at Baylor.  He fell - "

Dad interrupts, "that wasn't anything.  I was going along, you see there was a hotel at the hospital and of course it was no where near the hospital, but there were these hallways, and they claim I got off my medications, but I was walking to go see Dixie, and I went down this hall and may have slightly run into the wall, but I think I just missed my turn....

I interrupt, "Missed your turn!?!  Dad, you knocked yourself to the ground and didn't know what year it was."

"Well I rarely know what year it is!  And anyway I was trying to get up and no one would let and then they called security.  I wanted to examine that column, because you know 300+ pounds hitting it had to have cracked, but I couldn't find a crack nowhere and I told them I didn't want to go to the ER, so they hauled me to Dixie's room, and then she chewed me out, and HEY! Come to think of it she called you and you made them take me to the ER!  It was your fault, you little stinker.."

"Dad, again, you went off your meds, and you weren't acting right, and YES I made you go to the ER, and "

"I'm going to get even with you..."

"Right, like right now?"

He laughed (you, see this is our "normal" dynamic), however, the nurse was not quite sure what to make of all this.  I summarized for her, "Yes, he was hospitalized.."


"Dad, shut it."  He realized I had declared the game over, and he conceded.  I continued, "he missed his medications regularly enough to have some issues.  They got him straightened out, but there are some medication differences compared to what the doctor here prescribed, so we would like him to review that."

She looked at me with relief, as she was clearly out-matched with my father.  She made her notes and then began to take his blood pressure.  Now this man has suffered a heart-attack and has a medication list a mile long.  You can probably guess that high blood pressure is among his medical issues.  The nurse looks at the machine and looks at me with alarm.  "Is he feeling ok?"  (I'm guessing she had decided he was a mental case and would direct all of her questions to me.  Smart lady. )

"He's acting normally."  Again, "normally" being relative.....she showed me the result and it was low.  As in, low enough to barely register.  Zombies and vampires have higher blood pressures.  I said, "I don't think that is right.  He takes it regularly and runs higher than that."

Dad looked at me with some concern at this point.  "What?  High?"  (He can't hear, so he's guessing at the conversation.)

"No, low.  What do you regularly run?"

"I don't regularly run."

"No, Dad, your BLOOD PRESSURE, what does your BLOOD PRESSURE REGULARLY RUN?"  "Oh!  I don't know.  I take it with a portable wrist cuff.  I usually take it in the morning, but if I take it after I've been moving around, it's higher."


"Oh!  You want the numbers?"

The nurse at this point asks him if he feels ok, is he dizzy?

He grabbed his chest and popped his eyed wide and pretends to start to fall off the exam table.  She paled.

"Dad!  Quit it!"

He began to laugh and told her he felt fine.  She resumed breathing.  (Although at a heart doctor's office, one would think she would be better equipped to handle a sudden heart-attack situation?)  She shakily started to take his blood pressure on the other arm.  The numbers kept getting lower.  Dad kept assuring her he felt fine.

I suggested we try another machine.  She responded we'd have to see what the doctor said.  A technician came in to test the ICD unit implanted in my father's chest.  He saw the blood pressure machine and said, "Wow, are you feeling ok?"

Dad, excited that fresh meat had entered the room, tried the grab the chest and die routine again.  The technician was not as gullible as the nurse.  Everything checked out with the ICD and as he started to roll his cart out said, "Well, looks good, we'll see you next time!"

Dad pointed to the blood pressure machine and responded, "Well, don't get ahead of yourself, we better wait and see how this turns out!"  The tech laughed.  The nurse almost fainted.

Finally, the doctor arrived.  Now, this doctor has had the pleasure of ten year's worth of verbal sparring with my father.  He is unafraid, brash, and can go toe-to-toe with him anytime.  This is probably why this is the ONLY doctor my father has ever made ANY attempt to please.

The doctors launched right in:  "Well, what is happening with this blood pressure?"

My father, "I don't know!  You're the doctor!"

Unfazed, the doctor grabbed his arm.  He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.  I said, "He's not acting any weirder than usual."

Dad started to say something, and the doctor put his finger on dad's lips and said, "Shhhhhh.  You are weird, so no weirder than normal is ok.  This machine is wrong."  He asked the nurse to get him another machine.  She was all-too-willing to get out of that room - she was obviously over my father's charms.

The doctor asked dad how he had been.

"Well, I've been trying to behave myself," And, then, "but that is hard for me" and the doctor simultaneously said, "I know that is difficult for you."

See, perfect doctor match for my father.

A new machine was brought in and the blood pressure was determined not to be an issue.  Dad relatively behaved himself for the remainder of the doctor's examination.  The doctor said he seemed to be doing better than he had in a long time, he didn't want him to change anything, and he would see him in 6 months and do an echo at that time.

My father, said, "hey!  You didn't say anything about my weight!"  There is history here.  This doctor has threatened my father with surgery, told him he wouldn't see him anymore because there was no point, punched my father in the stomach (that was a particularly fun visit to observe) and bribed my father to lose weight.  Now you understand the ziplock bag and practical stripping prior to stepping on the scale.  My father has come to look forward to the challenge of proving to the doctor that he is wrong, and that my father can lose weight anytime he wants to.

The doctor pulled the charts back up and reviewed them....."What?  You lost 17 pounds!  That is good!  Keep it up!  Or, do we need to try a new machine there?"

Dad smiled like a little boy who had been praised by his father.  "You weren't going to check!  You used to bet me on my weight, you would have owed me big, this time."  The doctor laughed and dismissed us.

We scheduled his next appointment and as we were walking out dad leaned over and whispered, "Let's go eat.  I have some celebrating to do.  I haven't eaten all day, which probably accounted for most of that weight loss."

I rolled my eyes, and made sure I saved the next visit on my calendar.