Make it Rain…

wpid-img_20150215_152346_657.jpgFor those of you who have never watched a rap video, Making it Rain, according to urban dictionary, is when one, “throws a lot of money into the air at a strip club to show the ladies how rich you are.” I am pretty sure that this has been a lifelong dream of my husband.  I know this because every time he takes money out of the ATM for the nanny he offers to “Make it Rain” if I want to dance for him.   So far, his advances have been met with an eye roll.

We were lucky with Z.  She is a thumb sucker so we never had to worry about additional paraphernalia at bedtime.   But, Baby Bird has been a different story.   She requires a paci at bed every night.   And…. if she looses said paci, then it results in screaming.

I had the bright idea that we would just place a couple of extra pacis in her crib so that if she lost it in the night that she could easily placate herself.   This was great until she started clutching a paci in each of her tiny, clenched fists.  Now she cries if she doesn’t have a paci in her mouth and both hands.

So now we have fixed this problem by keeping a bucket of pacis nearby and tossing handfuls in every time we put her to bed.  Sometimes she wakes with one in her mouth and 2-3 in each hand.  It occurred to me the other night that tossing handfuls of pacis at a one year old was not the “Making it Rain” that my husband has been dreaming of.  Oh how life has changed.  wpid-img_20150215_152346_657.jpg

So MUCH Shaking My Head

A terribly frail elderly couple came into my office today.  The gentleman is ninety two years old.  He has horn- rimmed glasses perched atop the fragile bridge of his nose.  He is hobbling in on his rolater.   (In case you don’t have the pleasure of knowing what a rolater is, it is one of those super snazzy walkers that have a seat and brakes that all the cool seniors are sporting these days.)  His was candy apple red, like a race car.

He uses every ounce of strength to sit down in the examination room, grimacing with pain.  After the pleasantries of greeting him, he says, “Doc, I got to have a cortisone shot for my joints.  I am just achy all over.”

“The cold weather must be really getting to your bones,” I nod sympathetically.

He grinned sheepishly at me, “Nah Doc, that’s not it.  I know what I done.”

I wait with baited breath.  Could it be the dreaded “fall in the bathroom” or “slipping on ice” that I frequently hear tell of.   I was totally unprepared for the next words out of his mouth.

“Well, I want to have a big garden this year, so I was out in the front yard with the chainsaw cutting down some trees to clear out a piece for it…” he starts

“Wait a second,” I interrupted, “Do you think at ninety-two you should be out there on your rolater using a chainsaw?  I have to question the safety of such a decision.”

He sighs, “Now Doc, I knew you were going to get on to me about that.  I was real safe.  I locked the rolater and sat on the seat.  I didn’t even climb up in the tree or nothing. “

“Well that IS a relief,” I replied, “I am glad that you didn’t climb into a tree with a chainsaw and your walker.”

So MUCH shaking my head.

*shared with permission

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