Scatterbrain Gets the Smush and Squish

I’m having one of those mornings where I have added a couple of sentences to no less than five posts that I’ve started over the last couple of weeks.  And I can’t seem to gain traction, for any long period of time, on any one of them.  Ever have one of those mornings?  It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Anyhoo, to add insult to injury this week, I had my yearly Mammogram appointment.  Joy of joys, it is not.  Necessary, though, it is.  I just went all Yoda on you.  I apologize…  I think the smushing of the girls also inadvertently did something to the brain.

I’ve been going for 10 years (as The Nana had some fun lumps – as in both of her girls removed, when she was 40).  And guess what? This is my 40-year-old Mammogram.  And I’m a bit more than nervous.  I keep repeating to myself that I’ve got a Faith bigger than my fear, no news is good news, early detection is key, and all them good thangs.

Here are a few things I’m going to try to remember for next year’s Annual Smush and Squish Appointment:

1. Don’t make appointment so early as to not even have time to grab a cup of coffee to see myself through the hour.

2. Don’t try out lame Tata jokes on the Mammographer.  She will. Not. Laugh. Even when I break out into a rendition of “Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie em’ in a knot?  Can you tie em’ in a bow?”.

3. Discomfort grows as does age.

3a.) Age grows as does discomfort.

4.) “I’ll position you.”  And, “Don’t help.”, are code phrases for “Keep your dern hands to yourself! I’ll be the one handling your Tatas this morning, thank-you-very-much!”  Whatevs…

And lastly,

5.)  Schedule Mammogram on Hump Day next year.  It’s far more appropriate.

Indeed.

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Morning Bugs

You know those weeks where you fly out of bed Monday morning rarin’ to go and realize about, oh, say, Wednesday, that you’ll be danged lucky to still be alive come Friday morning?  Yeah. It’s been one of those.  Only, without the morning bugs. Thankfully.  But more on that in a moment, because I’m just sure all 9 of you are dying to know what morning bugs are (they aren’t), and why they’ve taken up residence with us (they haven’t).

Our church has been hosting their VBS this week and I foolishly enthusiastically agreed to help. Again.  It’s so rewarding.  And I love the little smiles on all of the little faces each morning. But Sweet Exhaustion, am I toast when I get home.  (Once you hit 40, it’s frightening the lengths your body will go to remind you that you are no longer 25.)  Alas…

Some sweet friends of ours, that happen to live right down the street, invited us to come down and take a dip in their pool.  It was a hot and humid day today, (and in case I missed the weather report about it being hot and humid, my hair was practically screaming about the humidity!), so we were practically at their door before hanging up the phone.

Everyone was ready to splish and splash as soon as the floaties were put into place and the goggles were righted. The only thing that baffled me was when Sweetgirl whipped out her big paintbrush.  To play with. In the pool.  My sweetchildren certainly are special gifts from God.  How they come up their ideas of fun, I have no idea. Really. I did not teach them that paintbrushes were appropriate pool toys. At least, I don’t think I did…

When we finally packed up to start the long walk home, (all four houses down, that is), Sweetboy noticed the beautiful coos coming from the Morning Doves in the trees.  And so he said, “I just love those Morning Bug sounds, Mama.”

And there you have it.  Morning bugs.  Only not.  Indeed.