Plain and simple: wizzwhoppers lead to mosquitoes. You may be asking yourself "what the heck is a wizzwhopper?!"...well, in my family, that's what we call mosquito-eaters. Your family may use another name (i.e. - skeeters, skeeter-eaters, gollywhoppers, atc). Either way they lead right to mosquitoes, and therefore mosquito season. We've had quite a bit of wet weather this winter and early spring, so I suspect that mosquito season will be here before we know it (or before Target has their "OFF" section declared for summer). And I know mosquito season is fast approaching by the amount of wizzwhoppers slipping into my home when I let Roxie (our dog) in and out...and when Chuck Norris (our cat {I feel like I have to remind you that our cat's name is CN, just in case}) is intently starring at a corner of our wall - that's how I know it's time to prepare myself for the dreaded mosquito season.
Mosquitoes and I have battles of epic proportion - think Holyfield vs. Tyson. Except unlike Holyfield who gets his ear bitten by another human, I get mine bit by bugs. And it's not just the ear.
I'll never forget the summer my parents sent me to girl scout camp (well, actually they sent me to girl scout camp for a period of five years, then I think they finally figured out that "camping was not my thing").
The first year I went to girl scout camp was at Camp T, where someone thought it would be fantastic that I actually got to stay in covered wagons (literally). Being in the 3rd grade, I was a bit excited and terrified at the same time. The week before I arrived at camp it had rained, and rained, and rained, and left stagnant puddles around my wagon - generally what we in Texas like to call a breeding ground. When we arrived at camp, Pebbles (my camp counselor) showed me to a wagon that I was going to share with three other girls. Upon looking at my wagon, my excitement transformed into petrification. Holy thin mints - I had a 4-poster bed...for mosquito netting!! As I pouted on the ramp of my wagon, my mom went to work putting up netting - it was a horrific concoction of army green and fishnet pantyhose (apparently we'd bought the off-brand netting). My parents waved goodbye and I was left with my wagon, mosquito netting, and loosely-called latrine. The next morning one of my wagon-mates wakes me up: I'm on the "floor" of our wagon and tangled in my netting, which had been ripped off my 4-poster bed along with two of the posts. Pebbles comes to assess the damage and my netting is beyond repair...as well as the bed's posts. She assures me that I will be just fine without the netting, and that maybe I'll win the camp's award for "best camper" (whatever the heck that entailed). The next several nights were filled with ending up on the floor again, wetting my pants, and getting stuck in the latrine. Finally it was time to go home. My parents were appalled when they picked me up from camp to count over 120+ mosquito bites all over my body. With all the horror I'd dealt with during the week, I hadn't even noticed the bites, but I was ready to go home.
Two years later, my parents drop me off at Camp SR. This time I was staying in covered tents slightly elevated off the dirt. There was netting again - the brand the camp recommended. At least this time I made it two nights without winding up tangled in my netting; however, this year I did notice the mosquito bites that soon followed and reacted the only way I knew how - I scratched...with a ferocity that landed me in the nurses station. I thought "Hallelujah! I get to go home early!", but the nurse couldn't get a hold of my parents. So with her best judgement, and my medical release form in hand, she figured the best bet was to give me some Benadryll.
Nurse, (think raspy, smokes-too-much voice): "Sweetheart, can you swallow pills?"
Me: "Uh, no, we've been practicing with M&Ms, but I always spit them up."
Nurse (puzzled): "Huh."
She turns around to a cabinet and fiddles in there for a while. I was hoping she was looking for the good, pink stuff (calamine lotion and/or the bubblegum-flavored penicillin that had to be kept in the fridge). When she faces me she's holding two Benadryll and a straw.
Nurse: "Open up. I'm going to put the Benadryll in the end of the straw and blow it down your throat. It won't hurt. It'll be over in no time."
She was right, it didn't hurt (that I remember) and it was over too fast - I had to go back to my tent. {Disclaimer: I realize now that this was in no way, shape, or form legal, but I do not hold Camp SR liable of any damage at this time}. I can't remember if the nurse did finally get a hold of my parents, but they didn't come to pick me up any sooner then the end date - and again, they counted the bites.
That was not the last year they sent me to camp.
So, as I see wizzwhoppers buzzing about my home I am reminded that mosquito season is coming...and I don't do well with mosquitoes.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
lost, then found
Since it's spring, we've been doing a lot of cleaning. I have to admit that I'm a bit of a pack rat - not that I save everything, but I tend to find a senitmental value to most things and think that I might need it in the future. Today I found out that I was wrong...I do not need to keep everything, because I end up saving a lot of junk. And towards the end of the day, things I once thought held some sentimental fascination no longer strike the same chord in me...and thus it ends up in the trash.
Anyhow, while I was cleaning out a desk I came across a glasses container - the case from 3rd grade. I couldn't believe it! Could this actually hold the one physical reminder of my "tortured" (and I say that in quotations simply because anyone who survived elementary and middle school as a self-professed nerd would say that they were tourtured in school by those more "fortunate" then they)?! If anything can take me down memory lane, it's my glasses I had from 3rd through 8th grade.
It all began when my 3rd grade teacher told the school nurse that I was squinting in class, so the nurse pulled me out of class to do a simple vision test. I failed. The nurse sent home a letter to my parents (before cell phones they still sent home letters) stating that I needed to see an optomitrist due to my inability to see 20/20. I don't remember physically giving my parents the letter, but somehow I ended up at my parent's optomitrist - and he was fairly new to the profession and eager to see any and everyone who wanted to see him - we'll call him Dr. H. Sure enough, Dr. H determined that at the age 8 I had vision problems and needed glasses to wear daily. I was upset, I didn't want anything to be wrong...and let's face it, being "big boned" in the 3rd grade wasn't going to help my new acquisition of glasses (might as well add head gear...well, that does come later).
After informing me of what was already determined at school, Dr. H told me and my parents that I was going to get (that's in italics and you'll find out why) to pick out my first pair of glasses. Seeing the wide array of colors and shapes outside his office made me a little excited! Back then Guess was a very popular brand, and sure enough the company had expanded to making eyewear for kids. And there. they. were. The most spectacular Guess glasses! They were perfect! Petite frame, color: cotten candy (a speckling of periwinkle, pink, and turquoise)! So I picked them up and took them back to where my parents and Dr. H were sitting, waiting for me.
Right away, my mother already thought they were heinous: "Ee gads, those colors?!".
My dad was a bit more encouraging: "Well, try them on".
My mother gasps just loud enough for me to notice and I turn to her, she looks horrified. "Really?", I think to myself, "they couldn't be that bad". As I turn back around, Dr. H has placed the portable mirror in front of me. Aw, man, they were that bad. The petite frames were stretched enough arcoss my face that the ear peices were bent as far as they could go, as if they might pop off - screws holding them together as best as they could. I told my parents "But, I really like them" (at this point I am near tears because, well frankly, I wanted the ones called cotten candy - perhaps that's why they didn't fit...I'd had too much cotten candy to wear the kids frames).
Dr. H rumages around in some other frames while I sit there trying to bend the Guess, cotten candy, kid frams back to their normal position. He pulls out a pair of adult, red-framed glasses and asks me to put them on. They slide on and I immediately feel bug-like, as if my eyes are protruding off of my face.
Mom: "Oh, those are wonderful!"
Dad: "And they are so becoming."
Dr. H: "Yes, so becoming."
Before I realize it, the order is being written up and I am told that they will be in within 3-5 business days. All I can do as I sit there is, "wait! Did I really only get to try on 2 pairs of glasses", and then we're off to the next errand. And my parents keep repeating to me: they're so becoming. At age 8, I don't have any idea what this means, except for the fact that I trust them...that maybe these glasses will transform me into a more noticable 3rd grader (the one that Josh H. would notice).
And...I was wrong. The red-framed glasses came in, Dr. H adjusts them a bit so they sit straight on the bridge of my nose, and I'm sent back to school. The first thing out of Josh H.'s mouth is "Sally Jesse Raphael! You look like Sally Jesse Raphael! Bwaaa Haahh!" Soon most of my 3rd grade class is laughing along.
I did everything I could to get rid of those glasses: sat on them, put them in my backpack without their case, bent the earpeice too far back, rolled over them with the teacher's chair. And they broke 3 times. Each time they broke, I received the same red-framed glasses. Each time! So my nickname through the rest of elementary school and early junior high was Sally Jesse Raphael (I also earned David Letterman, but you'll hear about that when I tell you about the head gear).
{If I was blog-savvy this is where I would insert my 3rd grade class picture}
I did finally get contacts...and moved on from the SJR nickname...but finding those glasses brought it all back. It is funny now - to think how much I hated them, and I still have a phobia of red glasses (which Dr. H and his practice still like to remind me of) - but now I can laugh at it. I may not have gotten the Guess, cotten candy glasses, and it's fine - I made my husband buy me a pair of Coach glasses just recently. I can wear those with a bit more pride.
No, they are not red.
Anyhow, while I was cleaning out a desk I came across a glasses container - the case from 3rd grade. I couldn't believe it! Could this actually hold the one physical reminder of my "tortured" (and I say that in quotations simply because anyone who survived elementary and middle school as a self-professed nerd would say that they were tourtured in school by those more "fortunate" then they)?! If anything can take me down memory lane, it's my glasses I had from 3rd through 8th grade.
It all began when my 3rd grade teacher told the school nurse that I was squinting in class, so the nurse pulled me out of class to do a simple vision test. I failed. The nurse sent home a letter to my parents (before cell phones they still sent home letters) stating that I needed to see an optomitrist due to my inability to see 20/20. I don't remember physically giving my parents the letter, but somehow I ended up at my parent's optomitrist - and he was fairly new to the profession and eager to see any and everyone who wanted to see him - we'll call him Dr. H. Sure enough, Dr. H determined that at the age 8 I had vision problems and needed glasses to wear daily. I was upset, I didn't want anything to be wrong...and let's face it, being "big boned" in the 3rd grade wasn't going to help my new acquisition of glasses (might as well add head gear...well, that does come later).
After informing me of what was already determined at school, Dr. H told me and my parents that I was going to get (that's in italics and you'll find out why) to pick out my first pair of glasses. Seeing the wide array of colors and shapes outside his office made me a little excited! Back then Guess was a very popular brand, and sure enough the company had expanded to making eyewear for kids. And there. they. were. The most spectacular Guess glasses! They were perfect! Petite frame, color: cotten candy (a speckling of periwinkle, pink, and turquoise)! So I picked them up and took them back to where my parents and Dr. H were sitting, waiting for me.
Right away, my mother already thought they were heinous: "Ee gads, those colors?!".
My dad was a bit more encouraging: "Well, try them on".
My mother gasps just loud enough for me to notice and I turn to her, she looks horrified. "Really?", I think to myself, "they couldn't be that bad". As I turn back around, Dr. H has placed the portable mirror in front of me. Aw, man, they were that bad. The petite frames were stretched enough arcoss my face that the ear peices were bent as far as they could go, as if they might pop off - screws holding them together as best as they could. I told my parents "But, I really like them" (at this point I am near tears because, well frankly, I wanted the ones called cotten candy - perhaps that's why they didn't fit...I'd had too much cotten candy to wear the kids frames).
Dr. H rumages around in some other frames while I sit there trying to bend the Guess, cotten candy, kid frams back to their normal position. He pulls out a pair of adult, red-framed glasses and asks me to put them on. They slide on and I immediately feel bug-like, as if my eyes are protruding off of my face.
Mom: "Oh, those are wonderful!"
Dad: "And they are so becoming."
Dr. H: "Yes, so becoming."
Before I realize it, the order is being written up and I am told that they will be in within 3-5 business days. All I can do as I sit there is, "wait! Did I really only get to try on 2 pairs of glasses", and then we're off to the next errand. And my parents keep repeating to me: they're so becoming. At age 8, I don't have any idea what this means, except for the fact that I trust them...that maybe these glasses will transform me into a more noticable 3rd grader (the one that Josh H. would notice).
And...I was wrong. The red-framed glasses came in, Dr. H adjusts them a bit so they sit straight on the bridge of my nose, and I'm sent back to school. The first thing out of Josh H.'s mouth is "Sally Jesse Raphael! You look like Sally Jesse Raphael! Bwaaa Haahh!" Soon most of my 3rd grade class is laughing along.
I did everything I could to get rid of those glasses: sat on them, put them in my backpack without their case, bent the earpeice too far back, rolled over them with the teacher's chair. And they broke 3 times. Each time they broke, I received the same red-framed glasses. Each time! So my nickname through the rest of elementary school and early junior high was Sally Jesse Raphael (I also earned David Letterman, but you'll hear about that when I tell you about the head gear).
{If I was blog-savvy this is where I would insert my 3rd grade class picture}
I did finally get contacts...and moved on from the SJR nickname...but finding those glasses brought it all back. It is funny now - to think how much I hated them, and I still have a phobia of red glasses (which Dr. H and his practice still like to remind me of) - but now I can laugh at it. I may not have gotten the Guess, cotten candy glasses, and it's fine - I made my husband buy me a pair of Coach glasses just recently. I can wear those with a bit more pride.
No, they are not red.
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