Took George the Younger back to the doc this morning. Good news is that we have the red scourge on the run. You can actually see real sweet butter brown skin peeking through in between the "thing-like" red patches. I guess high dosages of steroids disguised in the form of shaving cream really works. Of course, with every piece of good news comes the potential for bad news. Turns out that Pityriasis Rosea can turn in to something called Pityriasis "Blah-blah-blah". (this is the layman's term for the very long medical technical term that I had the doc repeat twice before I finally embraced the fact that I was never going to be able to understand what he was saying). The definition of this confusing term is that because we had to use such strong steroids to get George the Younger some relief, the long term issue is another condition where the skin gets really scaly and lizard looking. Silver lining here is that this particular malady can be cleared up with a couple of pills (which George the Younger cannot swallow, but we will cross that proverbial bridge when we get there).
In other news, I got a nice weekend away from all the boys this weekend. Went to see my sister in AZ for a super fun 50th bday party for her partner Jeanna. The two Georges remained at the homestead while Henry went camping somewhere here in CA. For those of you who have read this blog in it's entirety, you will remember that I once sent George the Younger on a field trip to "somewhere in CA where there were very large trees" (i.e. I had no earthly idea where he was exactly for four days). Henry also went "somewhere in CA where there were some very large trees" with a buddy and his family from school (i.e. I had no earthly idea where he was exactly for two days). I'm kinda realizing that I need to focus on their whereabouts just a skosh more in the future. But, like his brother, Henry arrived home at the appointed hour on Sunday evening smelling like campfire, in the same clothes that he left home in on Friday morning for school. This is an obvious sign of a young boy who had a good time. He didn't change his clothes or brush his fuzzy teeth for three days AND he got to play with FIRE. Cool beans.
As for the Georges, they stayed home and managed to have the quintessential manly weekend. They played two baseball games and went to see the new XXX movie. Car porn. Not real porn. It wasn't that manly of a weekend yet. Still, when I left on Friday George the Elder was supposed to find some time over the weekend to have "the sex talk" with George the Younger. I left him instructions. I left reading material. George the Older reports that the talk occurred. I have deep abiding suspicions that the talk lasted about 3.5 minutes and some details were overlooked. So, when George the Younger is faced with the possibility of sex - or during conversations with his buddies - there's still going to be a lot of fiction. The age-old circle of erroneous information endures. This is why men believe that porn films are "real".
The party in AZ was tres tres fun. Friday night was a costume party. Theme = Golden Girls on a Cruise. In hindsight, I was woefully unprepared for the degree to which those party-goers had both the imagination and the ability to execute some incredibly realistic getups. I wanted a do-over. Some of the disguises were so complete that I had several people come up to me the next day at the pool party and I had no clue that I had met (or conversed with them at length) less than 24 hours ago. The hallmark of good masquerading.
Beyond some tasty food, free drinks and costumes, there was also gambling, dancing and a tarot card reader. A little bit of something-something for every one. Plus there was a great toast and slide show depicting the sum total of Jeanna's 50 years-to-date. The things you would never imagine about someone!?! And the guests were invited to present their own personal haiku tributes. Again, the creativity of using a limited number of syllables was unprecedented.
The only negative to the weekend was that I left on Friday fully convinced that I had packed every single thing that I would need for the weekend. Costume. Check. Clothes for pool party. Check. All necessary toiletries. Check. Reading material. Check. Camera. Nope. What a dope. I am going to party with lots of incredibly creatively costumed lesbians and I was without the ability to record it digitally. Crap. Lucky for me there was a professional photographer there who, I am sure, captured the flavor of the weekend with far more competence. O.K., maybe he didn't get a photo of "Ben Dover" trying to molest the party-goers with his (her?) cane, so I will just have to try to work through that memory over the next few years with the therapist that I now need to hire. He was, however, snapping away at the lot of us (many with very large enhanced foam butts) trying to do the electric slide. There's something about that last turn that resulted in a hugely hysterical collision of dancing old folks. Looking forward to those.
And finally, this week is Spring break. I love my boys. I am looking forward to next Monday.
1 comment:
I have a feeling with George and Henry want to go camping without parental supervision when girls might be involved, that you will suddenly feel compelled to know the same, age, social security number and presence of any tattooes.
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