For those of you that don’t know, Ms. Pat (Big T’s mom) had a severe brain aneurysm on our wedding day. Then brain surgery 2 days later on October 1st. On October 5th, they called in the family with the grim news that they (the doctors and such) gave her less than a 50% chance of making it. She was placed on a ventilator and was being fed by tubes, basically surviving on life support. There wasn’t much in the way of response at all. The awesome thing is, nobody gave up hope.

Now, on with the good stuff…

The home team scored one this weekend when Tony’s mom got to come home both Saturday and Sunday on a “day-pass.”

It works like this… they don’t do any of the therapy sessions on the weekends, so they send her home to break her back in slowly to life with husband and puppy. They start the time clock around 10AM (I think) and she’s allowed to be at home all day! Yay!

Only catch is, the rules and regs state the she has to be back at Patricia Neal by 9:00 PM. No exceptions, no excuses. If she didn’t show back up by precisely 9PM, they send the dogs and lynch mob out to hunt her down and bring her back for multiple lashings with a wet noodle.

Anyway, me and Big T went up to see her while she was in her own surroundings, eating her own home cooked food. I don’t give a shit what they say, there is no place like home to make one snap back to theirself.

When we got there, Big T told him Mom the joke of the day. Which made her cackle like a hen.

So, the women folk were sitting around the kitchen table as women folk commonly do and the men folk were congregated in the livingroom around the t.v., farting, burping and scratching their balls as men frequently do.

The phone rang and Ms. Pat answered it. It was T’s neice Christine. Ms. Pat is back to her self. She decided to tell T’s joke.

“Christine, honey, don’t buy a Butterball Turkey this year. They’ve recalled ’em. Yah, they’ve been recalled. They forgot to butter the turkey balls.”

In all seriousness, she’s come so far in the last six weeks that they are actually kicking her loose today.

So, here’s to Ms. Pat, getting out to enjoy the drama and stress of the holiday season!!! I honestly couldn’t think of anything that sums up the Thanksgiving holiday, like the near loss of a loved one turned upside-down by an obvious miracle.

Give thanks, Kids. You never realize how important your family is to you until an eye-opening asskicker happens.

Howdy kids. My daughter called me last night and told and asked me what she should do with Tyler, my lil angel of a grandson. She said he was spiking a bigtime temperature and he couldn’t catch his breath. Turns out he was taking 50+ breaths per minute, which is way too much for a 2 year old.

After spending the evening at the ER, they told us he has pneumonia. Apparently, a kid can go from slight sniffles sans snot and goo to pneumonia in no time flat. So, his right lung is kinda jacked up and he’s taking a shit-pot of munchkin strength anti-biotics and breathing treatments.

Of course, no pneumonia epidemic is gonna get him down. Absolutely not. He was still raisin’ all hell in the waiting room and wasn’t diggin that nurse trying to take his vitals during check-in. It was all over when Natalie tried to strip him down to get him in a sexy, midget sized hospital gown. It pissed him off even more that he was getting a draft on his ass.

Keep my lil angel in your prayers, please. Even though he’s still full of piss and vinegar, pneumonia is an ass-kicker.

It dawned on me over the weekend, and it saddens me greatly. Big T and I started talking about creating a clone shortly after we married (2 months ago).

This is great news and I couldn’t be any more tickled for real. Growing a mini-T in the oven. It’s beautiful.

So, what’s so sad about about it, you might be asking. Well, I’ll tell ya.

I decided with my advancing age (an astounding 37 years), that maybe I should go see Dr. Brad and get official clearance that my oven is still capable of baking without undercooking or burning the buns.

Now don’t you fret, kids. The news is nothing Earth shattering. Just a FAT reality check.

1st. I’m getting old. Dammit. If a body is in the 35+ age group and goes to the OB/GYN and tell them that you’re gonna have hot monkey sex and procreate… LORD HAVE MERCY. Red flags start flying up, sirens start sounding throughout the office, and a big fat sticker goes on your chart. Dayum.

In fact, simply because I’m post-35 (apparently well into middle age), I will have to go through the joys of doctor visits nearly double what I did with my last clone (16 years ago).

2nd. Dr. Brad looks at me all serious during the consultation after the exam (ewwww!)… and says, “We strongly suggest you drop 45-50 pounds before actively pursuing pregnancy.”

I sat there for a minute. Depressed already that I am old and I saw the sticker stating such on my chart….
before asking Dr. Brad, “So, why didn’t you just tell me I’m old and fat? Wouldn’t that be exactly what you’re saying? Besides, you aren’t telling me anything these crows feet around my eyes and the scale haven’t already disclosed.”

“Well, no. It’s just that with your age..” He started.

“Fine, I’ll go to the gym. But I think you should just start being honest with your patients. Old and fat, buddy.”

He smiled that doctor smile when he realized I wasn’t, in fact, pissed off and about to go hormonal on him and his entire staff.

My youngest clone is 16 years old.

She and her friends are so much more “grown up” than me and my friends were at her age.  All we really cared about was ditching school to go to the beach, sneaking a cigarette now and then, and other stupid crap.

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These guys talk about saving the world, like the little tree huggers they are.

They talk about saving the rain forest.  They talk openly about so many things.

I guess I’m the type of mom who, for better or worse, never kept any secrets from my kids.  I’ve never pretended that smoking, drugs, alcohol, or sex don’t exist in their worlds.  I took the preemptive approach of actually telling my kids the pros/cons – good/evil of these things…. and from a young age.

All of these things were unthinkable and taboo in our house when I was growing up.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t encourage my kids to smoke it up, drink it down and knock boots.  Quite the contrary.  I encourage them not to do any of it, at least the youngest one and her friends (who still listen).

I just think it to their advantage if they know they can talk to me about anything and that I will be there for them and they won’t be treated as if they have the plaque and be banned from my sight for being human.

With that in mind… the youngest and her lil friend designed and baked me a penis for my bachelorette party.  Dear Lord.

Dr. Tony Lightens the Mood

I’m sure everybody knows that Tony’s mama got really, really, REALLY sick on the day we got married.  It is amazing, incredible even to see Ms. Pat now and how incredibly far she’s come along since that day. Had I known the day we got married, before I walked down the aisle, that she wasn’t there I’d have postponed the whole damn thing again (yah, yah Spanky, you’d have won the bet again).  But I didn’t know until I actually walked up to Tony and they played the first song in the ceremony that she was even sick.

By 4:30 that afternoon, Tony’s brother called and said that Tony needed to come to make Ms. Pat go to the hospital because she was “out of it” and really, really ill.  We made it to Methodist Medical Center, where they quickly found out she had suffered a life threatening aneurysm and needed to be transferred to Univeristy of Tennessee hospital immediately.  They did surgery and it honestly appeared that things weren’t going so well and the outlook was grim.

That was six weeks ago.  Today she is in EXCELLENT shape!  The first thing she got back was her since of humor.  When asked “Mom, how do you feel?”

She’d shoot back, “With my fingers.”

She is breathing and eating without any assistance from machines, which 6 weeks ago she could not have lived without..  Her right side is getting stronger and stronger by the day.  She has improved so much that she has been moved from UT to Patricia Neal Rehab Center where she’s walking with parallel bars and peddlin’ her ass off on the bikes.  GO MS. PAT!

So, we were there to visit her last night.  Tony keeps her laughin all the time, which is what she needs for sure.  Nobody needs to be sad and worried anymore!! She’s made it through the bad stuff already.

We walked into her room and Leacha is sitting on the end of the bed with her.  I took the real chair and Tony got to sit on the portable shitter.

“Damn, mom.” He says.  “If you’re not careful on this thing, you’ll shit on your shoes.”

It’s always so good to see her smile and laugh.

As it turns out, Ms. Pat had found out what all had happened to her in the last six weeks yesterday.  When we got there, Tony’s sis (Leacha) asked his mom to tell him what had happened. 

She looked at Leacha really sad, then over to him still really sad, like she was afraid she’d scare him if she told him.

“He already knows what happened, Mom.  He just wants to hear you tell him so he knows you know what happened.”  Leacha told her.

Ms. Pat looks over at Tony, still worried, “Well, they told me I had a brain aneurysm and that I was real sick.”

“Yah.  You were pretty serious, Mom.” Tony pets her arm.  “You know how that happened don’t you?”  He asked her all serious like.

“No.”  She tells him as we all sit and wait for his professional diagnosis.

“Well, it happens when people hold in their farts.” He explains.  “If ya don’t let it out, then it travels up and causes real problems.”

“That’s your son.”  Leacha tells her.

Ms. Pat laughed to hard to say anything back.

Thank God for Dr. Tony and his warped since of reality.