Never Judge The Smell of An Ailing Seagull--Ever!

Picture it—a crisp, autumn day. All of em off to school with the right backpacks, no forgotten library books and we remembered who needed sneakers for gym. After a carefree drop off at nursery school, I am headed to the wildlife rehabilitation center to do my monthly magazine interview—what a life!

I arrive without incident and immediately after I am greeted by one of the friendliest people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, I am nearly knocked off my Reeboks by the most wretched stench I’ve ever encountered (and I have 5 boys in my life!). It was the combination of ailing seagull, lame goose and tattered pigeon. Yowsa! After I wiped the tears from my eyes, I transitioned into breathing in through my mouth (a little trick I learned years ago while changing all those diapers for over a decade) and stoically conducted my interview (which, by the way, was truly fascinating). Had no idea that people kidnap baby deer and try to raise them as pets, did you? In any case, it was a delightful morning and when the gal that I interviewed sat down to eat lunch with her patients, I decided that was a great time to make my exit.

I quickly scurried (gotta use verbs like that after visiting a wildlife rehab center!) back to the nursery school to fetch Annie, only to be told by her teacher that she was not acting like the little chatterbox that she usually was and just wasn’t quite herself. Ought oh!
We make it home to the comfortable confines of our luxurious chenille sofa (or so it was once upon a time) and no sooner do I sit down to shell peas for dinner, the phone rings.

It was my long-lost travelling husband. I know how much he misses us when he’s away so I prepared to park it for a while and chat about the week, but not in this case. The school nurse had just contacted him in Poughkeepsie (don’t ask) to say that our 3rd grader had just thrown up in PE class.

I immediately have a flashback to earlier that morning when he is doubled over and clutching his stomach saying how much it hurt. I’d seen this before during statewide testing week…not a chance pal…..you’re going to school!

Off we go to get him, Annie, myself and my very guilty conscience. No sooner are we out of our neighborhood, I hear a strange gurgling in the back seat. “Annie, are you OK, honey?” BARF!! AND SOME MORE!! AND YET AGAIN!! Not only is my guilty conscience along for the ride, I’m now hauling a sick 3-year old who has managed to throw up all over herself and the entire backseat including the notebook I’ve just used on the interview at the Seagull infirmary.

The self-to-self pep talk begins. “It’s OK, Cheryl. Breathe! You’ve been through worse-- it’s only a little vomit. Just keep driving and soon, you’ll have both sickies back home, perched on the couch with his and her basins."

In I scamper (there I go again!) to the school clinic and there he is, lying on the couch—white, pasty and the first words to escape his sick little mouth are “I told you I shouldn’t have gone to school today”. Thanks kid! Say it a little louder—don’t think the principal heard you that time.

Well, payback’s a bitch. Before I can gently caress his sweaty little brow, I hear a lot of chaos in the hallway. Oh my--it’s my 4th graders class lining up behind the petition with all the puking—the nurse is now donning latex gloves and is armed with a bag of popsicle sticks. Dear Lord, she’s checking them for head lice.

She asked me why I was suddenly so pale. “I cannot go on living if I am about to have the stomach bug rip through our household of 10 and also have head lice to deal with” I gasp. “Call the men in the white suits and tell them to take me away, do you hear me?”

Am I in the middle of a bad dream, I wonder? No—this is your life Cheryl. It’s OK, Brian will be home to support me. Oh wait—no—he’s in Poughkeepsie on business, remember?

Within minutes I learn that my kid does not have lice, and I come down off the ledge. Back in the car we get, and home sweet home we go. Life lessons can be so cruel—but the two I’ve got registered now are believing my poor kids when they have green complexions on a testing day and never again will I judge the smell of an ailing seagull! Ever!

Parents as Fans--A Winning Combination!

As the mother of eight, five of them boys, I know I’ve only just begun doing my time as a loyal, supportive parent who gives so freely of one’s self when it comes to sitting on the sidelines, or in yesterday’s case in the bleachers, cheering on my children as they flub goals, miss grounders or strike out looking. It’s just part of the territory.

I’m already well trained by my two oldest sons that I’m not to hoot and holler, no matter what the circumstance, until they’ve actually made a play or gotten a hit. If I should so much sneeze or breathe too loudly causing the hairs in my nostrils to move, I am to quickly leave the area and come back when I can behave. Got it boys!

Thank goodness for my younger boys, who also call me Mom, and love it when I clap and cheer even if they’ve just been taken out of the game so another kid on the team can play. I’m showing them my love and support—and boy are they proud!

But back to the six-hour torture session, I mean Babe Ruth game, that I attended yesterday—that would be all Sunday afternoon my friends—the day of rest that the Lord intended all of us to take each week. I don’t think the gentlemen who scheduled this game got that memo, but no problem….I’m a loyal, supportive mother who will be there for those very long and painful games no matter what day of the week they are held.

Keep in mind that we are playing on our home field, and are short one player for this afternoon delight called a “Double Session”. Not only do we now have to forfeit the game and borrow a player from the other team, the manager on the other team can’t see any harm in playing two games rather than one long one—after all—that means they technically win both games, am I right?

Also, we’d hate to disappoint the visiting PAF’s (Parents as Fans) that have arrived all the way from Cranston (in droves I might add) to cheer on their undefeated team! Did I mention yet that our team TaseRight (Something to do with meatballs) hasn’t won a single game? I think it’s us, quite frankly—the Butler’s have yet to be on a winning team unless selling the most magazines in the local Fundraiser counts as a win! Otherwise, when cleats, clubs or bats are involved—we haven’t felt the thrill of victory too often.

But back to those PAF’s. Here’s where I struggle with my good Catholic upbringing—when you are the parent of the losing team (and I do have a lot of experience with this my friends) it is very difficult to digest all the rambunctious ranting and raving going on one bleacher over—particularly when they feel it necessary to do the Wave every time one of our kids strikes out or drops a ball! Not fair I tell ya! Still, I always remember that motto “Turn the Other Cheek” and try to behave like the 40-something woman of finesse that I am……….rather than sticking my fingers in the corners of my mouth and whistling like I’m calling in the dog every time the other team makes a mistake. (I hope that big mama from yesterday isn’t suffering from a throat infection this morning.).

I could go on and on but I don’t want to take too much more of your valuable time, so I’m going to end on this note………

PAF’s need to come to an understanding that cheering and being enthusiastic when your own team is doing well is completely understandable and most of us applaud you for it.
However, when the winning team is up 30 to 1 and it’s quite obvious well into the 6th inning that there’s a better chance of finding Brad Pitt working the concession stand than the losing team making a comeback, layoff the nasty remarks to the boys that are not doing so well. Yes, they do have feelings believe it or not and listening to 25 grown men and women screeching “C’mon Bucko…….show him who’s boss” at the very last out of the 6 hour game when they already feel defeated, tired and cranky is really not necessary, is it?

Do they have PAF etiquette classes anyplace? If not, yours truly would love the job!