Just a Fond Memory

When I was in 8th grade we went to Epcot for our class trip. When we were in France my girlfriends and I saw this Frenchman working there that we thought was incredibly cute. We all wanted to talk to him, but I was the only one willing to go practice my "flirting skills" on this man who was probably in his mid-20's.


I walk up to him grinning and slightly blushing and asked, "Parlez-vous français?" (Do you speak French?). He answered me in French of course. I only understood "oui".


Why am I telling you this? Because it came to mind for no reason and it made me smile. He was very kind to me. He could have just said "oui" and been done with it. It was obvious that I didn't understand a WORD he was saying, but he said it with a smile that said he understood what it took for me to go talk to him (my FRIENDS were watching!). He then asked me if I was having a good time and where we were from and that he hoped we'd have a great second half of the day.


Could he have been telling me what a disgusting little creature I was? I s'pose so. But I don't think he was. Looking back at the memory of an awkward brace-faced four-eyed little girl, and the way he treated me, I believe he was showing kindness, not because he was being paid to, but because he just understood.


And I have to say that it's a memory I'm glad to remember.


(Did I mention that I was wearing a pink and purple sombrero from Mexico?)

Possible Side Effects

Always Notify Doctor:

Less common: Anxiety; confusion (may be more common in the elderly); fast, pounding, or irregular heartbeat; lack of memory of events taking place after benzodiazepine is taken (may be more common with triazolam); mental depression

Rare: Abnormal thinking, including disorientation, delusions (holding false beliefs that cannot be changed by facts), or loss of sense of reality; agitation; behavior changes, including aggressive behavior, bizarre behavior, decreased inhibition, or outbursts of anger; convulsions (seizures); hallucinations (seeing, hearing, or feeling things that are not there); hypotension (low blood pressure); muscle weakness; skin rash or itching; sore throat, fever, and chills; trouble in sleeping; ulcers or sores in mouth or throat (continuing); uncontrolled movements of body, including the eyes; unusual bleeding or bruising; unusual excitement, nervousness, or irritability; unusual tiredness or weakness (severe); yellow eyes or skin

I fall under both for my reaction. I wasn't quite having tea with the Easter Bunny, but I was talking to people who weren't there. I knew they weren't there, but I was talking to them anyway. I was afraid to go to hospital because they would stick me with needles. WTH WOULD BE IN THOSE NEEDLES?! WERE THEY GOING TO STRAP ME DOWN?! WOULD THEY PLACE MY CHILDREN IN FOSTER CARE?!

WOULD I END UP IN A ROOM WITH BRITTNEY SPEARS?!

I could feel my pulse pounding...in my knees. I was extremely paranoid. I had abnormal breathing patterns. Breathing took too much effort. Could I stop without dieing...?

I was up.

I was down.

I told people off (okay...that felt good). I cried. I cried some more.

Should I call my pastor for help? No, he'd send me to the hospital and they'd STRAP ME DOWN AND STICK ME WITH NEEDLES AND MAKE ME PEE IN A BEDPAN!!!

I was being watched...by my teddy bear. He was sad and about to cry.

Those are just some highlights of what I remember from a 2 1/2 hours "bad trip", folks. The next day I was depressed and fighting tears for hours.

Anyone want my left over Lorazepam? I have eight 1 mg tablets left.

It was 7:00 a.m...

when the melodious sounds of the Can-can began to pour forth from the alarm on my cell phone. It was telling me that it was time to end my slumber and begin the day. However, it was too late. I'd already wakened early that morning to the sound that every parent longs to hear before daybreak...the sound of a child vomiting.

Truth be told, it wasn't the sweet sound of Gomer's gagging and choking which awoken me. Nor was it the spewing forth of putrid liquids and solids mixed together hitting water at high velocity that awoke me. For I hadn't truly slept. The deep and burly sound of White Boy hacking and coughing

All.

Night.

Long.

had prevented my nightly dreams, but for good reason. "Cough syrup tastes bad," the eldest informed me previously. "I'd rather cough and keep you up all night instead." (Okay, I added the part about wanting to keep me up all night...consider it creative liberty.)

My joy was increased exponentially by the full operetta that my children performed for me before the morning sun began to gently grace the fields. I didst hear a duet of Gomer and Happy vomiting loudly into the porcelain god. There was a trio of White Boy, Gilligan and Happy barking forth their lungs.

And the most delicate whispers of Princess singing with the morning birds the story of her earache, headache and fever (sentence fragment done of purpose for emphasis).

The roosters began to crow (I really do have roosters in case you're wondering...). The Can-can began to play. And I, like all good parents, sheathed myself with my pillow and comforter believing that if I didn't make any noise, they wouldn't remember that I was here rose from bed, with a willing spirit and heart full of love to care for the five blood sucking, flu ridden leaches beautiful blessings that have been bestowed upon me.

I spent an hour at Wal-Mart buying flu supplies and half an hour at the local gourmet coffee house sipping green tea and eating a cheese danish, egg over-easy, hash browns with onion and pepper, an order of bacon, and a Belgium waffle with lots of syrup. It was a struggle to eat each delectable bite of food. But I did it, for the children. I knew I would need my strength to hide in my office and blog care for the poor little things and nurse them all back to health.

I'm truly a self-sacrificial mother. And that is why they love me so.

The End