My Doctor Is A Quack
It has taken me some time, but I am slowly but surely realizing my mom is a genius. Growing up, she worked as a teacher and came home to my brother, dad, and me, only for my dad to have to leave to go work the night shift soon after she arrived.
I can only imagine how exhausting and trying that was for both of my parents.
One of my favorite memories growing up was our “makeover parties.” My mom would pull out an old, beat up, black makeup bag that was filled with blue eye shadow and other 80s makeup that was so atrocious, it would make Tammy Faye Baker proud. She would lie with her head on a towel at the foot of her bed, and my brother and I would paint the godawful stuff all over her face. We’d also put her hair in ponytails and make her look like… well, a complete freak of nature.
The whole time we were “pampering” her, she’d lay with her eyes closed, murmuring the occasional, “I bet this looks beautiful!” while Corey and I would giggle because we were trying to make her look as much like Bozo the Clown as we possibly could.
Now that I’m grown up (I am grown up, right?), I know exactly what she was doing. She was completely using us for her own relaxation.
That wench!
That genius, genius, wench.
[P.S. I love you, Mom. I have the utmost respect when I refer to you as "wench." Really. For seriouses. I no eever eever do 'gain, kay?]
Yesterday, I was wiped out and, of course, Colby and Lily were bouncing off the walls. I plopped down onto the couch, craving just one measely second of peace where I could stare at the ceiling and not be responsible for anything.
It’s like my kids have an alarm that goes off in their little minds.
Wee-oo! Wee-oo! Mommy’s immobile! Burst into action, now, now, now!
Half a second after my head hit the couch cushion, the kids were on top of me.
“Wake up, Mommy!”
“Mommy!”
“Open you eyeeees, Mooom!”
Then, I remembered my mom and all of her genius.
“Caaan’t,” I groaned. “I’m siiiick. I need a doctor, STAT!”
A huge grin erupted on Colby’s face while he placed his fists on his hips, superhero style. “I’m Dock-er Co-bee,” he said. “I make you better!”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I sighed in true damsel-in-distress form.
“I dock-er Yee-wee!” Lily chimed in.
[At this point, there was a squabble where Colby said girls can't be doctors and Lily screamed that she was a doctor too ("No! I! Dock! Er! Yee! Wee!"), which I put and end to pronto with a simple, "Boys and girls can both be doctors" and all was well in the world of my little doctor wannabes.]
Colby grabbed a Duplo off the floor and placed it delicately on my forehead.
“Hm. Temper-ture,” he scowled, turning around to grab another Duplo from the pile.
“Hm. Tep-turr,” Lily copied him, placing a block on my head.
This continued for close to ten minutes, each time they would grab a new Duplo and place it on a different part of my head or arms. They’re amazingly versatile, those Duplos.
(Did you know that they are not only thermometers, but syringes, medicine, water, and snacks? I think the Lego company is really missing out on some marketing opportunities…)
For ten minutes, I laid on the couch while my kids gently nursed me back to health and not-so-gently gave me shots (in the temple, no less. Apparently, I need Botox). But still, it was relaxing and calm and made me completely grasp the genius behind the makeover parties from my childhood.
In the end, after receiving far more imaginary medicine than is appropriate for my imaginary disease, the suspense was killing me.
“Doctor Colby,” I said, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look me in the eye. “Give it to me straight, doc. What’s my diagnosis?”
His head tilted, his eyes squinted, and he asked, “What you say?”
“What’s my diagnosis, like what’s wrong with me?”
(Sheesh, for a doctor he’s pretty rusty on his basic medical terms.)
“Oh!” he said. “Your weg is bwoken.”
“My leg? My leg is broken?”
“Yeah, it’s bwoken.”
Now, normally, I trust my medical professional’s advice, but I think someone needs to revoke this guy’s license. First of all, he was working on my head the whole time and unless he has figured out some new technology to fix broken leg bones through the forehead, he’s a total quack.
Plus, I could totally walk on my leg when I stood up soon after.
Psh.
Even so, I will undoubtedly be going back to see him again. There’s just something about a cute, blue-eyed doctor with a sweet little speech impediment and an arsenal of Duplos that lets you know you’re in good hands.
