It's the Super Bowl!

The only interest I have in the defining celebration/contest of the weekend is that I get to watch one more football game.  I love football season.  I don't, however, feel like it's a life-changing event requiring me to paint my face, throw off my shirt, or worship at the altar of NFL sponsors.

For some reason, on any given Sunday morning, I'm either highly cynical or completely ironic.  Just ask my husband.  He's the victim of any and every long-winded speech I deliver from the platform built on every worry, fear and injustice I find the day before Monday hits.  Some get the Sunday blues.  I, the Sunday Spews.

It's Going Around

With three kids, it is not unheard of to find us at the doctor's office.  I will say, however, that my kids need to either being holding a lung in their hand or bleeding profusely from the eyes before we go.  (Maybe I exaggerate a wee bit)  

I abhor a visit to the doctor.  I am a victim of white coat syndrome no matter whom the patient may be.  And what does not help my anxiety are three little words:  It's going around.

"It's going around," the nurse chirps in her high sing-song voice.  The pitch of her voice is from her joy in actually announcing, "We have a big freakin' reason to test you now!"