10 things a hypochondriac would say

Hey there. I'll be brief...got the headache working again. If you hang around my Facebook page, you're probably tired of me complaining about my aching head. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I've come up with several possible diagnoses as to the origins of this headache:

1. Brain tumor (may as well start big)
2. Brain aneurysm
3. High blood pressure (leading, of course, to #2)
4. Displaced vertebrae in my neck 
5. Tension headache (of offspring or spousal origins)
6. Sinus infection
7. Sleep-deprivation related pain
8. Caffeine overload
9. Caffeine deficiency
10. Overactive imagination

Tomorrow, I'll dust off my medical degree from Google University and figure it out once and for all.

Images unavailable

We had a great Labor Day. One of the best holidays I can recall in a long while. I took Gabby for a two-mile walk at 5am, then fell back into bed until 10am. We all  lounged around the house until about 1pm, when we set  out for a local park.

I didn't want to mess with packing a picnic, so we ate lunch here first. Then headed out with the dog, a football and a bag of stale buns to feed the fish and the ducks. Though the park was busy, there was plenty of room to roam and play. We found an open space in the grass and scattered to toss the football, playing keep away from the dog.

The sky was so blue. The kids were laughing. The dog was wagging her tail. It was then that blogger's remorse began to set in. I did not bring a camera with me. I could blog about the afternoon, but there would be no cute pictures of Gabby and Robbie going after the football or Annie with her hair blown every which way by the breeze or Charlie happily dripping wet from the water sprayers at the playground.

Soon enough, I got over myself and just enjoyed the time with my family.

Then later tonight, I was chatting with my sister-in-law, Erin, on Facebook. Today was my niece's birthday. (Boy, how fast those 6 years have gone!) I told Erin I'd love to see some pictures of Camryn's big day.

"I'm a bad mom. I only got a few pictures. The camera battery went dead," Erin tapped out via instant message.

I thought about it for a minute. Why do we think that way? As a former scrapbooker, I used to never be caught without my camera for even the smallest "occasion." I bought Annie a new outfit once because it matched a little scrapbook cut out I had and I could just imagine the adorable layout I could create. But I've come to understand and to believe something that I shared with Erin.

"You're not a bad mom," I said. "Sometimes it's better to be present in the moment than to be watching it happen in front of you as you look through a camera lens."

So, dear readers, imagine an ocean-blue sky, cotton ball clouds, crunchy brown grass and a very still pond. Picture a family wobbily tossing a football from person to person as the dog alternately tries to get the ball and to get away to chase an unseen scent. Let your mind's eye see the growing-up-so-fast smile of a six-year-old who just got her ears pierced today.

Because those are the only images available. Except for the precious pictures attached to the memories already filed away in our joyful hearts.

Who do you think you are?

Somewhere in the recent history of my life, I was listening to someone talking about how we perceive others and how we might be prone to judge others, thinking "who do they think they are?!"

I'd really like to be more specific about where I was, who was speaking and exactly what they said. But gosh doggit, I truly can't remember. I've spent two days now wracking my brain, trying to figure out where I was. I think it might have been at church. Gosh, I'm not even 40 yet and my memory is slipping...

Anyway, the phrase "who do you think you are" has been rolling around in my head lately. Who do I think I am? Usually what comes up is "wife, mommy, blogger." Sometimes "part-time communications manager" shows itself, with the part-time being very deliberate because it somehow makes the fact that I'm a working mother o.k. (at least to me).

"Friend" doesn't often appear, though I do think I am a good friend. (Right friends who are reading this? Right?!) "Daughter" is another one that is true but rare in my response to the question.

But who I think I am is really pretty boring compared to who Robbie thinks he is. Robbie's self-chosen identities change frequently.

Last week, when he got undressed to take a bath I saw that he had drawn all over his belly and his legs with marker.

"Robbie, why did you do that?" I asked.

"Because I am HeatBlast" -- an alien from Ben10, his current favorite show.

A few days later, he was wearing a black cape, jumping off the couch and the ottoman. Of course, I was not surprised when he called out, "Look, I am Batman!"

But I have come to find out that even Robbie's soon to be six-year-old mind has its limitations about who he thinks he is:

"Mom, I wish I was a pterodactyl," he recently told me matter of factly. "But I'm not. I'm just a kid."

A boy and a hockey stick

This morning, Robbie was playing with a mini hockey stick. First, he built block cities and used the hockey stick to wipe them out as quickly as he'd built them.

Then, he put on a most enjoyable concert from the base of the fireplace, wildly strumming the imaginary strings of his makeshift guitar.

Then the stick became a putter as he attempted to make par with a pair of rolled up sweatsocks. All of which amused me and made me delight in his 5-year-old imagination.

Until...

He slipped the hockey stick down into the leg of his pajamas, with the blade end of the stick resting against his hip. He put his hand on the blade, holding it as a sheriff might hang onto a gun in its holster.

"Robbie, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Quiet Mom," he said looking at me with perfect determination in his eyes. "I'm goin' on a catshoot."

Quick! Somebody hide the cat!