Naturally, as with all freak ailments, it happened on a Saturday, which meant the doctor’s office was closed.  Even worse was that we had tickets to the Panther game that night.  (You have no idea how much I love football.  Give it a few months.)  And J was going out of his mind at the thought that we might miss the game.  After resisting the urge to ring his selfish neck, I did something far more productive and took Keenan to the closest Urgicare.  The best explanation they came up with was Lymphitis and a script was written.  Within hours he was improving.  Within a couple days he was normal.  And within six months he had another flare up.

We could never seem to pin the flare ups on anything in particular.  I had to pick him up from school one day.  He was participating in some science exercise where they were pushing oranges on the floor with their noses, when suddenly *poof* his throat blew up.  Hi ho hi ho, it’s off to the doctor we go. 

By the time I made that trip to the doctor, they were hating me.  Observe:

nurse: Why are you here today?

me: Keenan has lymphitis.

nurse (turning to me with a frustrated look because I’m just another self-diagnosing amateur in her book, and saying with a distinct edge in her voice): What are his symptoms?

me: Swollen lymph node.  Same side as always.  Can’t speak.  Can’t eat.  The usual.

nurse: The doctor will see you shortly.

Ahhh.  And then the doctor arrives.

Dr: What brings you here today?

me(mind you, at one point we were there practically bi-weekly): Well, the boy has lymphitis again.

Dr(giving me the same disgusted look as the nurse):  I’ll be the judge of that.

After a thorough examination, he refused to admit that I was right.  As Michael would say, it must have chapped his chicken.  It’s not like I was trying to do his job.  I still needed him for the script.  Right?

We finally had Keenan tested by a specialist, only to discover that he is allergic to EVERYTHING.  Everything, you ask?  Yes, EVERYTHING.  In fact, he’s allergic to air (pollen, dust mites, dust, mold, mildew).  The testing grew even more specific, just to be sure that he was, in fact, allergic to every tree.  Yup.  His arm looked like one of those depression maps, especially near his bicep where I  could’ve sworn I saw Italy.  Oh, and the pets?  He’s allergic to all of them, especially cats.  Good thing we have two of those. 

The specialist had a talk with us about what to do to help him prevent these reactions.  The moment he mentioned the pets, Keenan’s eyes overflowed.  (And since he has such enormous brown eyes rimmed with long black eyelashes, it was quite the spectacle.)

Keenan: Mom, are we going to have to get rid of the animals? *sniffle*

me: No, baby.  We’ll get rid of you first.  They’re lower maintenance.

Knowing me as well as he does, that sparked a laugh and a smile.  Success!

Which brings me to today.  This morning, as I’m getting ready for work, I received two text messages from the boy, sent from his bedroom across the hall. 

Keenan: Help! I’m having an allergic reaction and I can’t speak.

After I recovered from the initial panic, I mused that he could’ve come and knocked on the door since it didn’t affect his legs at all.  So, I’ve put in a call to the doctor.  I know they can’t wait to see us again.  And this time, I’ll behave.  As best I can.  For those that know me…not very reassuring, huh?

My guess would be that it’s because she includes him.  They get along amazingly well, even when everyone swore that they wouldn’t.  Believe it or not, people thought Rachel would grow to resent him for all the attention he required as an infant.  (He was a thirty week premie that weighed in at a whopping 2 lbs 10 oz. at birth.)  Instead, the poor kid never stood a chance.  He’s had two mothers from the start.  And now because of it, he often behaves as Rachel’s man servant, which annoys me greatly.

Keenan will be minding his own business, doing his own thing, which usually means video games, when Rachel will yell for him.  He’ll patiently drop what he’s doing, and see what she wants.  Too often, he hears, “Can you get me a drink?”  Way too often.  I’m looking forward to the day he stops indulging her.

Well, the boy is coming into his own.  He’s starting to show his personality.  And his favorite target is Rachel.  He’s subtle.  I’ve been calling Rachel a ‘heiffer’ for years.  (She’s a size 3, so it isn’t that.)  But he will run with it.  If Rachel’s hogging the couch he’ll say, “Hey, moooove over.”  We’ll laugh.  She’ll pretend she’s getting a complex.  The balance is restored.

I can’t wait to see how the little boy I never knew I always wanted turns out.  He’s starting middle school soon.  And in honor of the occasion, he’s growing his hair all summer.  I’m adjusting to the mop on his head.  Apparently it’s very fashionable, all the cool boys are doing it.  I just hope he’s never too cool to hang with his mother.

We tried to do the family thing, meet Jay and Spring there, have a meal out in public together, just four adults outnumbered by five kids ages five to fifteen.  Ahhh.  It’s a well known fact that if you don’t get to Carmella’s before 6pm, you’re not eating there.  We arrived at 6:30pm.  Right.  S made an executive decision and herded my kids back to the car while I said our goodbyes.

And we came up with plan B: Longhorn.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.  We don’t take the kids out in public much.  I thought it was because of money, but now I’ve reconsidered.

For the next hour, everything I said began with ‘Rachel!’  Keep in mind, she’s FIFTEEN!  It was ‘Rachel, don’t steal food off your brother’s plate!’  ‘Rachel, stop hogging the butter.’  ‘Rachel, did you really just steal the last of the sour cream?’

By the time dinner was over, I was exhausted.  I’m backing out of the parking space and she’s now making car noises: revving engines, changing gears, etc.  And I lost it. 

Me: For the love of God, shut up before I pull out a gun and tranq you!

The entire car went silent then, for a moment.  Then everyone burst out laughing.  Everyone but Rachel.

Rachel: Did you really just threaten to tranq me?

Me: Yup.

S: Think it would work?

Me: It’ll help me.  It’s either that or a valium salt lick will be installed inside the front door.

S: I don’t think that would work.

Me: Oh, no, that’s for me.

Ah.  And we look back on these moments and laugh.  Doesn’t make me a bad mom, right?

I love my lazy children.   And this is why.

Her teacher announces that Rachel has failed to turn in her portion of the group research paper.  Great.

me: So, what are the parameters of the assignment?  I’ll make sure you have it tomorrow.  (If she has to pull an all-nighter.)

English teacher (henceforth, et): Well, she had to read a book, then write a paper on it.

me: How long does it have to be?

et: A page and a half, double spaced.

me: What? She writes longer text messages!

et (laughing): I’m sure.  Now don’t be too hard on her.  She said she did it, but that the cat turned off the computer.

At this point, I want to laugh.  me: Did she happen to mention which one of our lazy, albeit highly evolved cats did this?

et: No.

me: Thanks for the call.  You’ll have your paper tomorrow.

At this point, I’m dying because I have to wait to nail Rachel.  And really, I was rather looking forward to it.  I pick her (and Ashley, who thinks she’s my other daughter) up from play practice.  Before she can even sit down, I ask which cat turned off the computer thereby preventing her from completing her assigned work.

Rachel (already looking guilty and biting her lip): Ummm, Sophie?

me: Hah! She weighs what?  Two pounds?  You should’ve gone with Harry.

Then I announced that she needed to take out a piece of paper and something to write with since she was no longer allowed to speak until she finished her paper.  She tried to argue with me, which she found particularly frustrating while writing.  Then we stopped at the local market to pick up some bread.

me: And remember…no speaking.  So, if you find the rosemary foccia bread, simply wave your hands in the air wildly until I see you.

It was a good night.  It was a quiet night.  It was the night I became a legend at her high school.  Believe it or not, the kids heard about the entire incident through Ashley and thought the punishment was brilliant.

I’m not sure it had the same pinache as the ‘you’re grounded until you’re married’ time, but that’s a whole different story.