Another day, another earthquake

So Tree Guy and I had never experienced an earthquake before.  Then this weekend we had two in one day!  The first one happened at 2:30am Saturday morning. Tree Guy was in bed and I was folding laundry. It sounded and felt like the Jolly Green Giant was jackhammering our house. Tree Guy woke up and yelled, "What the hell was that?!" He was certain I did something to mess up the washer or dryer, thus creating the ruckus. No amount of denial on my part would convince him.

After the 5th "Are you sure you weren't using any kind of appliance?", I yelled, "Noooooooooo! I WASN'T USING ANY KIND OF APPLIANCE! Maybe it was an earthquake." Which was a ridiculous suggestion. We live in a part of the country where earthquakes aren't common, and the ones we have usually can't be felt. Nothing was showing up on the news yet, so I checked online for word from those faithful twitterers and discovered that, lo and behold, it was an earthquake! A 4.6 on the Richter scale. Cool. Nature Boy slept through it.

We knew to expect aftershocks. But Saturday night at around 11:45pm I was jackhammered awake by another earthquake. This one was bigger and longer lasting than the first one. Tree Guy was the one up this time, so he got the full experience. Our dog Raven just chilled out on the floor next to my side of the bed. (She freaks out at thunder, but doesn't bat an eyelash at an earthquake.) Nature Boy slept through this one too. Turns out, this earthquake was a 5.6 on the Richter scale. The biggest earthquake in our state's history. The only damage done that we can see is that the dishes in the dishwasher were all knocked around and there's a big chip in my great-grandma's serving bowl.  (Stupid earthquake.)

Tree Guy is a big disaster movie fan. His favorite movie growing up was Red Dawn. We just watched Cloverfield Friday night, then BAM!, an earthquake. I figured it would make Tree Guy all eager to have a disaster movie marathon, but when I mentioned it, he was all, "Um, no thanks." We are soft here in Oklahoma, I tell you.  We know what to do when a tornado comes to town, but send us an earthquake and we freak out.

And the Californians laugh.

Another day, another chocolate bar

Man, y'all.  In the past week, I've made appointments for a glaucoma screening (for my EBP), a mammogram, and an endometrial biopsy.  This means at least one of the following:

1.  I'm a hypochondriac.

2.  I got the short end of the stick genetically.

3.  I'm getting old.

I seriously doubt #1 is the answer.  I've been traumatized enough medically what with the bowel surgeries, dreaded NG tubes, collapsed lung, and that whole paralyzation thing.  I sure as heck don't seek out more of the same.  If anything, I wait too long to go to the doctor.  I usually have a laundry list of complaints gathered over months before I deem it time to visit my PCP.  (Doctors love that, right?) 

I definitely think there is something to option #2.  It's a trade off though.  If I hadn't inherited the autoimmune problems and mental health issues, I'd have missed out on the good stuff--like my sunny disposition.  Yeah.  My mom's side of the family has a strong history of cancer, hence the mammograms. And colonoscopies. (Crohn's disease makes having them more often than usual a necessity. Hurray.) Fortunately, I have a good butt doctor who is generous with the drugs, so the worst part about my colonoscopies is the prep. Greasy Sprite followed by hours on the john, anyone?  

I'm not going to insult my brethren by calling my 37-year-old self old.  But if skin tags, night sweats, and chin hairs are any indication, I'm at least on my way.  And arthritis has me walking like Frankenstein right now.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?  I think I need some chocolate--STAT.

Some kids are a-holes

I know it's not PC to say so, but as I am constitutionally incapable of keeping my opinions to myself, I had to let it fly.  And I don't think I'm alone in my assertion.  Y'all know what I'm talking about.

You're at the grocery store and a teenage steam punk/emo/scene/whateverthehell bumps into you and then has the nerve to say, "Watch it, old lady."  Or you're at the skating rink with your kids when you see a little rink-hag totally cheating at the Red Light/Green Light game by moving forward 5 feet after every other kid has stopped. She gets away with it every time and wins, of course, because her big brother is the DJ, and no one makes a fuss because the prize is just a stupid plastic bead necklace of which you have 20 at home from that crazy trip to Marti Gras in college.  Or you're at play uh, football practice and the kid who's had the lead role in the past two shows been the quarterback on your son's team every year since first grade keeps interrupting the director coach to draw attention to himself because he's just too charming and hilarious to settle for mere applause a trophy after the show championship game.  And he gets away with it because he's too darn talented for anyone to expect him to follow the rules all the other kids have to follow.  Or you've been carefully nurturing and protecting your child's fragile self-esteem for years when one (stupid, ugly, turd-burglar, poopy face, jerk-of-a) bully with a motor mouth and a cruel streak makes a few comments totally zeroing in on your child's insecurities, and that delicate balance you've been maintaining is thrown off kilter.  And then the bully throws in a punch or a kick for good measure.  And you feel like kicking that kid's ass.  (Or maybe that's just me.)

I'll give the moms of toddlers and (because I'm feeling generous and, okay, I had a fit-throwing, head-butting preschooler myself) preschoolers a free pass.  These little ones may be infuriating at times, but they don't have the impulse control or the maturity to do better.  And I'm not talking about garden-variety, normal kid misbehavior either:  sneaking candy, eye rolling, no-I-don't-have-any-homework, occasional smart-mouthed comebacks, I-didn't-do-it-maybe-it-was-my-sister kind of behavior.  I'm talking about kids of the age of reason who know they are breaking the rules and don't give a crap because the rules don't apply to them, what they want takes precedence over the rights of everyone else, and everyone knows that grown-ups are too stupid to figure out what they did anyway.

I think allowing these behaviors, writing them off as oh, they're just being kids, is a good recipe for cooking up an entitled, narcissistic adult. 

Here's some food for thought.  Imagine being at work when a coworker comes up to you and says, "You're a stupid, ugly loser and no one likes you, " and then pushes you down on the floor.  You'd go to your boss and complain, right?  (Unless you have your crazy papers like I do, in which case all bets are off.)  Imagine your boss responding, "Oh, that's just how coworkers are sometimes.  You've got to let it go.  Do you have any brothers?  No?  Ah, well then you must just be overly sensitive to rough housing."  The end.  Doesn't that sound crazy?  Is there any justice in that?

Kids have to deal with this kind of thing all the time.  We would never tolerate attacks from other adults.  But kid bullies are tolerated because it's just the way kids are.  Being bullied is a rite of passage.  Bullied kids are just being too sensitive/wimpy/reactive.  Blah blah blah.

Or. 

Could it possibly be that tolerating bullying among children is one of the last vestiges of the time in history when children weren't so precious?  Do children have full legal rights (including the right to live free of violence), or do they only earn those rights when they reach the age of 18?  Is it okay that kids have to deal with behaviors that we, as adults, would never stand for among our peers?  And if it is, why?  Because the sink-or-swim approach just works so wonderfully for children?  Because we had to deal with it, so by God, they do too?   Because they need to be toughened up for the real world of adulthood?  (You know, the one in which we don't stand for verbal or physical abuse.)

Let me know what you think.