Bewitching

Photo by Trish

be·witch
tr.v. be·witched, be·witch·ing, be·witch·es
1. To place under one's power by or as if by magic; cast a spell over.
2. To captivate completely; entrance.

Adam Lambert & Blog This Mom: Together Again

Adam Lambert's album cover was released today. If you need me, I'll be right over here licking my computer screen.

All Trails Lead to Petey

When my oldest daughter, Kristen, was a little girl she named a snail that she found on the front sidewalk Petey. As the days went by, Kristen was amazed that Petey was everywhere until the day that she discovered multiple snails on the sidewalk. Kristen realized that they couldn’t all be Petey, but that was what she called them all anyway.

Now Kristen is 25.

All snails are still called Petey.

Happy Birthday, Kristen.

I love you.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Xanax

Warning: This post may include TMI and references to a certain female organ that rhymes with China and a certain other organ that rhymes with Madder and a certain male organ that rhymes with Venus and a certain activity that rhymes with Hex. Rhymes will be utilized rather than actual names to thwart Googling pervs.

Another Warning: See the title up there? The word Xanax? I’m guessing the desire for one will hit you before you’re finished reading the first paragraph, and, if not then, likely during the second paragraph. If so, follow the instructions in the last paragraph.

One day I was minding my own business while having Hex with my husband when I felt something in my China other than his Venus. Upon investigation, I determined that I was harboring a superball all up in there. (This explains why I’d bounce a few times whenever I sat on a hard surface.) (Not really.) (But it sort of feels like it.) So I went to my China doctor, who told me it seemed like it wasn’t so much an issue having to do with my China as possibly my Madder. She referred me to a urologist (an urologist?) ("an" seems weird) (which is it?).

The thought of going to this urologist ("this" solved the "a" or "an" dilemma) made me veRy nErVous. I didn’t want some dude up in my China or looking into my Madder with a scope. Really, who would, right? Except for Googling pervs. But they're not here because of the rhyming. So a very good friend gave me a Xanax to take before the appointment. I felt so much relief knowing that I could go to this appointment with a little something to get me through it.

On the day of the appointment, I decided not to take the Xanax. I decided to go to the urology appointment and just feel my feelings. (I'm pretty sure this got me extra credit points in therapy, by the way.) Also? Maybe I would even tell the doctor that I was having feelings about the procedure. There would be an idea! Share my concerns with my chosen medical professional.

So I went in stone cold sober, to feel my feelings, and have my superball (that is not an actual superball, just in case you missed that part) checked out.

Waiting in the doctor's office, one of the feelings that I got in touch with was that I knew that I had love in my purse. My friend gave me her Xanax during a time in her life when she was dealing with all manner of personal bullshit, so I knew that she gave it with love, and I swear to God my purse felt all warm and fuzzy (although maybe I shouldn't have put it down on the floor mat during the drive over).

It turned out that the urologist gave me THE CREEPS! And guess what? If I’d taken that Xanax, I might not have been tuned into that particular feeling. This first appointment turned out to be just a consultation (although I wasn't sure going in), and the procedure was supposed to take place the following week. After a brief inner struggle over whether or not to just get the procedure over and done with (I was trained to be a good girl, after all), I called and canceled the appointment. I got a referral to another doctor’s office and feel much better about that upcoming appointment.

Meanwhile, I told my friend that I planned to give back her Xanax. Only this morning another friend and I were having coffee. She told me she was getting on an airplane today, and that she not only hates to fly, but this time she was flying alone, without her family. So . . . I asked her if she needed a Xanax to take with her, laughing and telling her how it helped me. My traveling friend said she didn’t think she’d take it, but that she would put it in her purse, just in case.

And that is how The Sisterhood of the Traveling Xanax got its start.

So . . . to my friend who gave me the Xanax in the first place, you’re just now finding out what I did with it, and I hope you still love me as much as I love you. The Traveling Xanax should be home by Sunday, so if anyone else needs a turn, I can hook a sister up.