Car Chatter

“I’m gonna buy a chihuahua when I go to college.” says my 12 going on 22 year old son from the backseat of the car.

“I’m gonna name it ‘Karma’, and every time it poops in the house I’ll say ‘Bad, Karma. Bad, Karma.’”

Southern Gothic

Full bloom

Part of me aches for all the perfection that these flowers achieve in their life cycles.

Pistols versus Paintbrushes

Freeform Painting by Harry

Will & Harry both have a gift for drawing.  This talent must have skipped a generation for me – my mother & son’s grandmother is also a talented artist.  While my mother believes that the ability to put pencil or paintbush to paper can be taught, I am not so certain that this is just hardwired in the DNA of my children.

The artwork of my two son’s reflects their personalities.  Will’s drawing are meticulous, detailed, renderings of cars, Iron Man, tanks.  Harry’s art is more abstract with big splashes of color.  Both seem to enjoy the process of creating, and I hope I can continue to cultivate their talent and interest in art. 

I have competition, though.  Being the XY creatures they are, my sons have a love affair with all things military – especially guns. Great wars take place in and round my yard and neighborhood.  Fellow neighbors ambush my sons with sprays of foam darts.  The carcasses litter the sidewalk.  My pediatric sensibilities limit their choices to Nerf and water guns with an occasional cap gun thrown in the mix.  No BB guns  – my past life as a medical student digging the small spheres out of the leg of a surgery clinic patient quashed that pursuit.  No airsoft. I can be quite the ogre when the subject comes up about the choices I’ve limited. 

Protecting their artistic talents from the testosterone battle fields is my duty as their mom.  Quiet creativity takes a backseat to the default setting of the military channel, and I keep pushing it further to the forefront.  On the surface, this conflict appears to by feminine ideals versus masculine, but that’s not what it is really all about for me.  In truth, I’m trying to perserve gifts and talents that have longevity and legacy far beyond the youthful pursuits of war.

Wish you were here…

Start of Summer

The heady fragrance of these flowers is intoxicating – wish it would translate to the pictures. Their essence is the herald of summer regardless of the calender date.

Overheard

“Hey, hey mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna

Black Dog

make you drool.”

Harry, age 8. His version of Led Zepplin’s “Black Dog” which actually puts the title into better perspective.

Overheard

Small patient: “Glad you could do my sketch-up today!”

Favorite Things

picture credit from google image

 

 

To the tune of “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music

 

Four month old giggles and nine month old babbles

Dermatology cases in which I like to dabble

E-prescribing program that I am now trying

These are a few of my favorite things

 

A parent who stops me in Target to say thank-you

Tough diagnosis and putting together the clues

Recognition from a preteen that I am connecting

These are a few of my favorite things

 

Coaching new parents and caring for preemies

Referrals from OBs who bring their kids to me

Hugs at the knees and scared children now smiling

These are a few of my favorite things

 

Insurance pratfalls

Noncompliance

When the ED calls

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don’t feel so bad

Cross posted at http://www.mothersinmedicine.com/

WWBD

Overheard:

“What would Batman do?”

Dad to 4 year old before vaccinations.

Thank you ping pong

I did something nice for a fellow doctor. He’s a family practice physician who has given up all of his hospital priviledges. Dr. M chooses to focus on his outpatient practice until an admission comes along. Our hospitalist service usually covers his adult admissions, but when he has a rare pediatric admission, he turns to me.  My partners are not keen on the extra work, but I believe in pay it forward.

Did I say I didn’t grumble?  I did.  About all the questions the family had for me.  About the child’s slower than normal recovery. About the armchair quarterbacking from the Dr. M.  Yes.  I did moan. Some.

So the awesome thank-you basket from my favorite bakery kind of brought tears of humility to my eyes.  He didn’t have to do that, but it was darn nice that he did.

I wasn’t sure what to do next.  Do I thank him for the appreciation?  My Southern upbringing has gotten a little carried away with the rules and regulations of acknowledging generosity.  When my first son came along, I was still writing the customary thank yous for china and candlesticks from my wedding.  Six months had elapsed between the two events (do the math – I got pregnant after the engagement and before the wedding).  My hormone addled brain finally got them all finished when Eldest’s first birthday rolled around. 

Now with a public persona – albeit small town public persona – the rules of society drop off and leave me hanging.  I’m never sure if I need to recognize every flower, fruit basket and meal that I receive.  If these gifts are given in appreciation, do I need to thank the thanker? In an ideal world, I would love to jot a short note on my personal stationary to all  who support me.

Topic Day

Come on over to Mothers in Medicine! We’re having topic day, and our theme this time is about our mentors.  Come see what we’ve said about those who inspire us.