After two days of clutching his side and cursing his condition, D. decided to consult a professional in hopes of tracing the origins of his mysterious pain. I wrote in this post about how D. and I put the scientific method through all sorts of rigorous trials to try to figure out the cause of his discomfort.

And since a pulled muscle typically doesn’t present (see? I told y’all that I was ON TOP OF THINGS when it comes to medicine…well, actually I’ve just heard EK and Katy use that term when they talk about Medical Things) with sharp, stabbing pains, it seemed wise to let a more “qualified” person analyze the situation. Maybe even a “doctor.”

As it turns out, D.’s gallbladder has gone into slacker mode and is only half as efficient as it should be. He had some tests done on Wednesday, and Thursday we found out that surgery will probably be his best option. I instantly named about 5 or 6 people we know who have had the surgery (when will you believe me? My mind is a STEEL TRAP filled with statistics, procedures, warning signs, and worst case scenarios). After doing a little bit of his own research, D. realized that it’s actually a pretty safe procedure that is also incredibly common.

But here is why I love my husband. The thought of someone slicing open his stomach, inserting a tube, slicing open his stomach in another place, inserting a light, and then using the tube to PULL OUT HIS GALLBLADDER doesn’t bother him. Not the least little bit (keep in mind that this is the same person who watched my c-section as if it were the 1999 Egg Bowl. While I was in the recovery room, D. went all play-by-play on me, basically re-hashing how the doctors pulled out various innards and organs, laid them on a table, and then “they just shoved it all back in there!” Which did not inspire any confidence at all that I would ever be normal again).

No, what bothers him is the list of foods he’ll no longer be able to eat.

The list goes something like this: no more cold foods, white flour, white sugar, acidic foods, fried foods, or caffeine.

D. looked at me after reading the list and said, “WHAT ELSE IS THERE?”

“Well,” I replied, “there’s grilled meat, whole wheat flour, Splenda, caffeine free diet Pepsi – there will be stuff that you can eat.”

“Mmmmm…a cake made with WHOLE WHEAT FLOUR and SPLENDA – doesn’t that sound DELICIOUS?”

When he had his initial doctor’s appointment, the nurse asked him if he had been following a low-cholesterol diet.

“Not exactly,” he replied.

When she tried to dig a little deeper about his eating habits, he finally confessed, “I like things like country fried steak and rice with a pan of homemade gravy.”

But no more.

Until the surgery, it’ll be broth and Jello for all! And after the surgery it will be foods that aren’t cold, sugared, caffeinated, floured or fried.

With a pan of gravy on the side, of course.

Your child would look like this, too, if you left the house this morning with the new box of diapers in the back of your car (the box of diapers that should have been in the house because the previous box is, you know, empty), and your husband, who has upper rib fat cancer and is in a great deal of pain and has no intention, no intention at all of leaving the house, finds something, anything to take the place of a diaper.

I’m actually very relieved that D. found the Swimmers. I had visions of him having to take a towel and secure it around A.’s waist with rope or something. Like ye olden days.

A. has no clothes on because the first Swimmer had a bit of a leaking problem, and D., due to pain from upper rib fat cancer, just didn’t have it in him to dress the child one more time.

Apparently, however, a life with no clothes and a faux diaper suits the young lad…he actually fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the day.

And he had a brand new box of diapers waiting on him when he got up from his nap.

Clothes, too.

‘Cause we’re fancy like that.

You may think I’m kidding, but this is an actual picture from an actual article in today’s Meridian Star. The article next to the picture informs the reader that the couple in the center had “a mock shotgun wedding” on December 22, 2005. And they took it to a whole new level by having the father of the bride actually HOLD A SHOTGUN in the picture.

I can’t tell if the bride is expecting or not, but since they admitted before God and everyone – in the newspaper, no less – that they had a shotgun wedding, well…I’m just sayin’.

Those of you who know me understand that I’m not being catty or judgmental when I analyze this picture. I love these people. I’m fascinated by these people. I want for them to invite me to dinner and tell me their stories, and I want, more than anything, to attend their weddings.

This picture is yet another reminder that there is a completely separate South from the one in which I live. I love to visit The Other South from time to time – but, truth be told, I forget about it here in the land of soccer moms.

The Other South is the one news reporters like to feature after tornadoes and other natural disasters (I’m thinking of Elise and Tracey’s story of a man talking about seeking shelter in a culvert and consequently losing his leg). And honestly, I think if I were a reporter I’d interview people from The Other South, too – because they’re just much more entertaining than the rest of us.

A few years ago, after a series of tornadoes here in our area, one of the local news stations interviewed a woman who lost her home. They inquired about the well-being of her relatives, and she mentioned that her mother had passed away during the storm. Very sad. And then they asked if she had found her brother, and she said, “Oh, yeah, I found him.”

“Where?” asked the compassionate reporter.

Gesturing with her head, she matter-of-factly said, “Dead, over yonder in that ravine.”

I know. It’s sad. But gosh dog it’s funny.

It’s not funny that she lost her brother. It’s funny that she felt no need to sugarcoat the issue, no need to beat around the bush. THAT’s the part of The Other South that I adore.

Yesterday D. and I were at a hospital because he was having some tests done, which basically means that I sat in a waiting room for three hours and listened to other people’s conversations.

I had forgotten how hospitals really attract an almost surreal cross-section of the human condition. Because we live in suburbia, I am sometimes a little culture-shocked when I see Real Alabama in action. Culture-shocked, but totally, 100% entertained.

Here’s what I learned yesterday at the hospital, because these were the things people were talking about in LOUD voices, ACROSS rooms, while anyone who wanted to hear could just tune right in:

1. One elderly woman had twins “and they died” because she has a blood vessel wrapped around her kidney.

2. Another woman, from Talladega (and it’s pronounced “Tal-ah-deeeeega,” not “Tal-a-day-ga”), was there with a friend who is “eat up” with cancer and was “having some fluid drained.”

3. The woman who is “eat up” with cancer couldn’t in fact have fluid drained because “I just had a cup of fluid in my side, and that’s not enough.”

4. The woman from Talladega doesn’t like her grandchildren and hopes her children don’t move nearby because she “ain’t gone keep ’em.”

5. They should’ve done a PET scan (I don’t even know what that is) on the cancer victim from Talladega because “them CAT scans don’t catch nothin'” – but “them PET scans will flat find some cancer.”

The Other South, my friends, is alive and well.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A. loves the little girl next door. Her name is Sarah, and she’s 4, and A. thinks she’s the greatest.

Tonight Sarah came over while D. helped her daddy with some computer stuff. And when they walked in the front door, A. screamed, “OH, SARAH” like someone had just handed him buckets of chocolate and gold.

He ran up to her, gave her a big hug, and then the next thing caught me way off guard.

He stood back, gave her the once-over with his little blue eyes and said, “OH, Sarah – you’re SO cute.”

Help me.

Yesterday D. was in all manner of pain.

There was the clinching of the side. The wincing with the motion. The sighing with the sitting. He was uncomfortable at every turn.

When we were on the way home from church, he mentioned that his pain was getting worse, and of course Nurse Nancy here said, “Do you need to go to the doctor? Do you think it’s your appendix or something?”

“No,” he said. “I think it’ll be okay. But if it’s not better tomorrow, I’ll go see someone.”

And so the speculation began, because I am nothing if not medically cautious. I personally have diagnosed myself with several major diseases using only the internet and back issues of Ladies’ Home Journal.

One Christmas when D. and I were dating he even gave me a copy of the Merck Medical Encyclopedia. I couldn’t understand a THING because it had all the Latin phrases and extensive protocols for each condition, but boy did I have big fun trying to make sense of it all. HOURS of fun.

When it comes to fatal and chronic conditions, I am ON TOP OF THINGS. And my doctor LOVES to see me coming, as I’m sure you can imagine.

[Side note: one of the more embarrassing instances of this habit of mine was when we first moved here and I had a throbbing pain in my right hip that sort of radiated down my leg and around my side. When I met the doctor – for the FIRST TIME, I might add – he said, “What’s going on today?”

I said – and this is not an exaggeration for effect, this is the truth and nothing but the truth – “Doctor, I’m eat up with bladder cancer” (in my family, you can’t just have a little cancer…you must in fact be “eat up” with it).

He fell out laughing, so I immediately liked him. Then he examined me and diagnosed me with an inflamed sciatic nerve.

So I’m not what you would call ACCURATE with my armchair medical practice. But I get an “E” for Effort.]

Anyhoo. Back to D.’s mystery pain. We ran through the following line of questioning. If it wasn’t his appendix, was it

1) a heart attack? Did his arm tingle?
2) a cracked rib? Had he run into anything? (However, as a general rule, in this family, if someone is going to run into something or fall down something, 9 times out of 10 it will be me, graceful swan that I am.)
3) a pulled muscle? Had he lifted A. at some point? 38 lb. toddlers do take a toll on the muscles, after all.
4) some form of indigestion?
5) bursitis? I don’t know what bursitis is, but my mama mentioned it as a possible medical malady EVERY SINGLE TIME she had any sort of muscle discomfort.
6) arthritis? See explanation for #5, only include the words “flared up” – because for Mama, arthritis is always described as “flared up.”

We did this routine all day long. Finally, around 7 last night, D. looked at me with a pained expression on his face, and said, “I think I know what it is.”

“What? A pulled muscle?”

“No. It’s upper rib fat cancer.”

I nearly wet my pants. He beat me at my own game.

And y’all will be happy to know that the upper rib fat cancer *cough* pulled muscle *cough* is much better today.

Boo seems to be going through a phase where ignoring us / challenging us is the order of the day.

I sort of expected that this would happen…terrible two’s and all…but we’ve made it through the two’s (so far) pretty unscathed. The first part of two was hard, but for the last six or seven months, we’ve cruised, for the most part. Yes, we’ve had to discipline, and yes, we’ve been occasionally frustrated, but by and large we haven’t been completely stressed out from dealing with A.’s behavior.

There are two exceptions I can recall: 1) when Jeanie, who’s married to one of our pastors, spoke to A. one Sunday at church and reached out to hug him, and he slapped her across the face, and 2) when Alex threw a fit in the McDonald’s drive-thru because he wanted “inside, sit on chair, INSIIIIIIIIIDE” and the lady at the drive-thru window looked at me and said, “Oh. He’s one of THOSE kind of children.”

I just thought I was humbled by those two incidents.

And then there was this past weekend. Mercy.

I have to think that part of the willfulness is a result of his first day back at Mothers’ Day Out this past Friday. It’s like all the two year olds got in a huddle and said, “Hey, over the holidays, I figured out that THIS really ticks off my mama and daddy. You should try it. But if THAT doesn’t work, try THIS.”

Basically, we had a weekend filled with some variation of the following:
“NO,”
“NO, I don’t want to,”
“NO, I’m not gonna (fill in the blank),” and
“NO, MAMA / DADDY, NO NO NO NO NO NO [eyes rolling back in head while tears stream down face] NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

The key component in our conflict is the remote control. Yes, I said remote control. Yes, he’s TWO. But he’s OUR two year old, and his fascination with television and things that beep and click shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows us. That apple don’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid.

The problem, though, is that he won’t WATCH anything. He just clicks. And a TiVo remote, as you may know, makes Many Beeping Noises when you pull up the menu, scroll through the menu, select a show, etc. Beeping noises that are very, very attractive to toddlers. Several times I’ve walked in the den to find the words “Would you like to delete this program?” on the screen, and Alex just on the verge of clicking “Delete now,” and the thought of losing that day’s unwatched “Starting Over” transforms me into some demented FBI agent trying to wrestle a gun from a criminal. I will dive, roll, tumble, leap – whatever I have to do to Take Back the Remote and restore order to our television viewing.

Seriously, though, this remote deal bothers me. It even scares me a little. It’s like D. said this morning: if we don’t get a handle on this issue, then Boo is headed for a bevy of control issues (not that toddlers don’t have enough of those without remotes entering into the fray). He’ll think he dictates what we watch in our house. That he gets to be in control of everyone else’s television. That he can always pick what and when and who he wants to see. And I think D. is right about that. In “Seinfeld” lingo, Boo would have “hand” – and an almost three year-old with hand is dangerous indeed.

Aside from the inevitable ADD – and I have LONG contended that ADD is partially a result, at least these days, of too many viewing options (hello, pot? meet kettle) – it’s just an obedience issue. If we say to leave the remote alone, then dadgummit, he should leave the remote alone. The end.

I can keep the remote deal in perspective when I think rationally and remember a) he’s two b) of course he would like something that beeps and clicks c) he’s not bullying the other two year olds and locking them in closets.

What scares me is the level of willfullness and the thought that it’s not going anywhere until he’s, say, 80.

It’s the prospect of all the many ways the willfulness will manifest itself, and the realization that D. and I, really, have such a short period of time to try to teach and train and conquer that willful little heart. I trust that God will enable us to do that, somehow…but the level of commitment and consistency that it will take just blows my mind.

So now all those comments people made right after A. was born start to make sense. People would say things like “it’s a whole new level of faith and fear,” and “oh, he’s going to keep you on your knees,” and I would think, “yeah, okay, I know – but do you see how CUTE this little angel is? Do you see those DIMPLES, people? Because those are some reallllly cute dimples.”

And here I sit – almost three years later – with knots in my shoulders from the stress of it all.

Feeling humbled now, Miss Mama Smartypants? :-)