Tag Archives: embarassing moments

I hope there’s wine in hell.

Yesterday The Caboose pinched his middle finger in his closet door. Not the whole finger, just the fleshy tip. It made a purple blister at the pinch site, and the tip of his finger was all swollen and throbbing. We applied ice and elevated the injury. To protect it, he curled the other fingers protectively, extending the middle finger full and straight. You get the picture.

He was making a hand gesture similar to this one. Only with one less finger. (Thanks, Microsoft, for the royalty-free image.)

This morning, it was hurting a bit, so I gave some ibuprofen. Then we got ready for church.

Mass was lovely. Sitting around us were friends, neighbors, and a nun. As the “peace be with you” moment approached, I look over at the boy and see that he has resumed the protective hand position, with the other fingers curled tightly and the injured middle finger fully extended.

I wanted to die.

“Peace be with you.” he sweetly said to the nun.


OK, so he had a growth spurt.

I can’t always talk on the Internet about the stupid funny things Slick does, because occasionally he and The Trailblazer are so bored they read my blog.  (Usually during class…)  But today the lad threw me a bone.

The Mass of the Holy Spirit was today.  The students at Jesuit High School forgo their military-style khakis and wear a coat and tie on this day every year for the occasion.  Today Slick thought it would be funny to wear his old fish tie.

I love this kid!!

Going up to communion, last year’s history teacher caught a glimpse and started snickering.  This triggered a snickering contagion that passed through my son.   I’m completely stunned that he did not get Penance Hall for this.  And that lightning hasn’t yet struck him down for his irreverence.

And I’m glad I wasn’t there.  Because I would’ve peed in my pants laughing.

This may be TMI.

I’ve made a few vague references to peeing in my pants once or twice here, so the intuitive amongst you may have figured out that I (along with thousands millions of other women, so don’t judge) experience occasional bladder issues when sneezing or laughing or jogging or jumping on a trampoline.

There.  Now you all know.

It’s not a chronic problem or anything.  Just an occasional (and minor) condition that I sometimes feel the need to be prepared for.  So my shopping routine sometimes includes the purchase of panty-liner type products I lovingly call pee-pee pads.

I usually slip into Walgreen’s at an odd hour when the crowd is light and the chances are slim that I’ll bump into my priest or a neighbor and spare myself the awkward moment when they glance in my hand to see what I’m buying.

But today I needed school supplies and groceries and pee-pee pads, so I decided to be a big girl and go to Wal-Mart, where I could get everything I needed in one stop.

I scope the aisle I need to go down and, seeing no one I know, trot on swiftly to snatch what I need.  My plan is to do a slow-rolling grab, then proceed to the shampoo aisle to calm my nerves.  From there I’ll compose myself and continue shopping.

I get to the spot for my grab-and-go, but alas, the product I need is on the top shelf with only a few remaining, pushed back far beyond my reach.


I go around the aisle to look at this predicament from a different angle, hoping to spot a misplaced package of what I need on a lower shelf.  Nothing.

I stand there.  Staring.  As if my glare and presence are going to make the packages move to a shelf within my 5’2” reach.  Still nothing.

I glance around, and notice a really tall older man on the next aisle. Perhaps I could ask him for help.  (He’s much older, and probably won’t think anything of it when I asked him to hand me a package of pee-pee pads.)  Nope.  Not gonna happen.

Can I stand on a lower shelf and try to reach it myself?  (Visual: me lying on the ground after the shelf falls on top of me, surrounded by neighbors and friends, covered with hundreds of packages of incontinence products.)  Nope.  Not gonna happen.

So I make another lap around the aisle looking for solutions.  (Lo and behold, the aisle next to the pee-pee pads is full of geriatric products.  Hmmm.)  I pull a cane off the rack of geriatric aides, and (shrugging off all previous anxiety) use the cane to pull the package I need to the edge of the shelf where I can stand on my tip-toes and reach it.

Smugly, and with a sense of accomplishment, I put the pads into my cart and turn around to return the cane to the next aisle.  The man I had considered asking for help was now nearby.  “You had to get creative?” he said.  I gathered a smiled and managed a little laugh, returned the cane, and high-tailed it to the grocery section.

I gotta find a web site where I can order this stuff online.