Asthmatic Encounters

Kids do strange things at camp. They are out of their normal environment and routine, and it makes them.... Well, interesting. For example, a 12 year-old girl walked up to me at camp and started the following conversation:

Calm Kid: I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Right now?

Calm Kid: Yes.

Me: Like, right this instant?

Calm Kid: (takes deep breath, waves at friend, nods) Yep. I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Right now? At this very moment, you are having an asthma attack?

Calm Kid: (smiles, nods again) Uh huh. I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Ok...

Now, unlike my boyfriend, I'm not an MD, so I might not be very well versed in asthma symptoms. BUT I checked WebMD (which is practically the same as being in medical school), and here's what they said:

An asthma attack is a sudden worsening of asthma symptoms caused by the tightening of muscles of your airways (bronchospasm). During the attack, the lining of the airways becomes swollen or inflamed and more and thicker mucus than normal is produced. All of these factors -- bronchospasm, inflammation, and mucus production -- cause asthma attack symptoms such as difficulty breathing, wheezing, coughing, shortness of breath, and difficulty performing normal daily activities. Other symptoms of an asthma attack include:

• Severe wheezing when breathing both in and out
• Coughing that won't stop
• Very rapid breathing
• Chest pain or pressure
• Tightened neck and chest muscles, called retractions
• Difficulty talking
• Feelings of anxiety or panic
• Pale, sweaty face
• Blue lips or fingernails
• Or worsening symptoms despite use of your medications.

If you have asthma, you may go for weeks to months without having any asthma attack symptoms. Then suddenly, when you least expect it, you might have asthma symptoms such as shortness of breath, coughing, and wheezing.

Guess they forgot to mention those asthma attacks disguised as normal breathing patterns.

Crazy-Busy-My-Life-Is-Not-My-Own Encounters

When I was in high school, our theater department did a production of Annie - shocking, I know. Being the theater nerd that I was/am, I was heavily involved in the show. No, I did not play the title role, despite the red tint in my hair... instead, I was the stage manager. For the purpose of this post, all you need to know about stage managers is that they have to be at all the practices. As a result of my perfect practice attendance, I STILL no every line in that show. No joke. (I'll save my thoughts on how my memory is waisted on trivialities for another day.)

Anywho, there's this line that Miss Hannigan - played by one of my best friends to this day - says:

"It never rains, but it pours."

Those words are so true. Really REALLY true.

Lately I feel like I can't have just one thing going on in my world. It's either a million things, or nothing at all. What's with that? What happened to "everything in moderation"?

Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be busy than bored, but I'd also rather have a butler than a vacuum cleaner. Most days, I'd love to have the butler, but every now and then you just need to vacuum yourself. Or at least have time to vacuum for yourself. (my brain is so fried, I'm not even sure that made sense... this is me not caring)

So, blogoshpere and my nine faithful followers, I apologize for my lengthy leave of absence. Following my upcoming two week adventure, I shall try my hardest not to neglect you again. I shall also try to return with more coherent thoughts and some lighthearted erindipitous encounters.

Prego Encounters

It seems like everyone is either engaged or pregnant. Don't drink the water, people! Clearly there's something pretty dangerous floating around in it.

I would normally ride out this epidemic with a quiet encouraging smile on my face, but the effects of this plethora of engagements and pregnancies have begun to take their toll on the youth of our church. I felt the wrath of the engagement plague within my first few months of working with kids (You can read about it here), but without a diamond on my left hand and a man on my right, I've managed to escape the pregnancy inquiries. That is until I saw Gloria last weekend.

Gloria is six. She's a spunky young thing with little control over her vocal volume.

As I was corralling children in the communion line before Sunday School, Gloria decided to try and cut in front of some of her classmates. Needless to say, that didn't go over well, so Gloria got to come stand by me. She stood quietly for a few seconds then looked up at me started the following very brief, not-so-quiet, and incredibly painful conversation:

Gloria: (loudly) DO YOU HAVE A BABY IN YOUR TUMMY?

Me: Shhhh! Um, no, I don't have a baby in my tummy.

Gloria: (louder) OH, IT CAME OUT ALREADY?

Me: SHHHHH! No, I don't have any babies. EVER. Cross your arms and stay quiet!

On one hand, the people in the pew behind us got a good laugh out of it, and the high school boys in my Sunday school class got to pester me with questions as to whether or not I had a "bun in the oven."

On the other, all high waisted dresses are officially stricken from my wardrobe.

Mower Encounters

I'm fully aware of how t.v. commercials are strategically placed to appeal to certain age groups. If you're ever home to watch daytime t.v., all you'll see are commercials for JG Wentworth, life insurance and denture cream. The commercials for prime-time target a much younger demographic and late, late night t.v. commercials are all about lonely singles. But I'm trying to figure out what the main demographic is for Sunday night television.

Last night, as I was watching Shrek 2 on TBS, I saw six lawn mower commercials. SIX. On a Sunday night. At 9:30. Is that the time of the day when married men ages 30 to 45 sit down and watch t.v.? If so, my dad has been an anomaly for my entire life. I think it would make sense if they were airing episodes of "Family Guy," but Shrek 2?

Oh well, at least I now know the different options available for my next riding mower purchase. And with 0% financing, there's no better time to buy.

Murderous Encounters

I must have Holy Week on the brain.

I was driving to work this morning behind a black car that had custom silver lettering on the back. (The letters were in the place that usually designates the model of the car).

Anyways, I could have sworn that the letters read, "BARABUS." And although that clearly would have meant someone forgot to use spell check when they picked out their letters, I spent a good 45 seconds wondering why in the world someone would plaster the name of Barabbas on the back of their car. Maybe he wanted to be constantly reminded that he is like the thief/murder who got a second chance at life while an innocent man was put to death. Maybe this "Barabus" thing would be the next trend in Christian wrist wear. Maybe it was his last name. Maybe it's his dog's name...

My ponderings came to a halt when I glanced again at those shiny letters. Turns out they actually said "BRABUS."

I don't even want to know.

Close Encounters

Well, she's at it again.

My adorable adopted niece - previously featured here and here - has gotten more adorable. Much like the toddler who thought Fr. Jeremy was God, she too has her own perception of the Big Guy and His Only Son.

While listening to a children's song that talked about the Emperor Constantine, Ana's mom asked her if she knew anyone by that name - which was a total setup, considering our head priest is named Fr. Constantine. Ana replied with a confident nod, "Yes, I do." When her mother asked her who it was that she knew, she again nodded confidently and said, "GOD."

You see, Fr. Constantine is an older man, with grey/white hair and a white goatee. He works at the church and serves in the altar. Plus, he has sparkly robes and a sometimes booming voice. Makes perfect sense that she would think he's God.

But the kicker is what she thinks about Fr. Jeremy, our much younger assistant. One morning they ran into Fr. J. at Panera and on the way home had a conversation about Lent and the upcoming celebration of Christ's resurrection. Ana's mom asked where Jesus is. Olivia, Ana's older sister, answered by saying "He is in our hearts." Ana answered and said, "Nuh uh. We just left him at Panera!"

The older senior priest is God and the young tall one is Jesus.

I love three-year-old theology.

Merry Men Encounters

We got a new office copier a few weeks ago.

The fact that this was big and exciting news makes me feel so old and trapped in corporate America - even though I'm really not that old and I don't work anywhere near corporate America.

Anyways, we got the new copier and this copy-wizard man came to train us and show us how to use it. So, there I was, standing with our secretary, our accountant and our deacon, listening to this copy guy give us the low down on the new machine. Totally boring, except for one thing: the copy guy kept referring to our deacon and our two priests (who were not present) as "friars."

He would say things like, "So, if Friar Jeremy wants to print something, all he has to do is..."

Over and over, it was "Friar this," and, "Friar that." I don't know why I was insanely amused by this. Maybe I was desperate for entertainment. Or maybe I was just giggling because even though I know what "Friar Jeremey" really looks like, I kept picturing this guy:

"Ooo de lolly, ooo de lolly, golly what a day..."