Mothers Days should never be filled with extreme highs and lows in the same day, but that seems to happen all too frequently.
We actually began our Mothers Day last Friday evening. This was partly because we knew we were going to be travelling on Sunday, and partly because we just couldn't wait. "We" being "me." It was time to give Mommy something she really, really needed that wasn't also considered a major appliance ("But, Dear, it's a Kirby! You know how expensive those things are??").
For some time now we've been looking for a new digital camera. Our old Fuji Finepix 3800 had about run its course, and was starting to give us a real attitude about work. You know how it is with adolescents. The camera is not quite two years old, but that's nearly 20 in digital camera years, and it's been getting uppity in its old age. So it's time to retire it, and we've been thinking seriously about getting a digital SLR. (Read: Woody's been thinking seriously about it. Mrs. Woody likes the idea, but wishes we could wait until the prices drop lower. Woody, on the other hand, thinks prices have been falling like granite, and that this is the time to strike. Which of course means that tomorrow I'll find an ad for the same darn'd camera for about $200 less than I just paid.)
So, you may have guessed, we got Mommy a new digital SLR camera. And she was thrilled, even though she knows this has to cover Mothers Day, our tenth wedding anniversary, her next birthday, Christmas, and (just for good measure) Kwanzaa this year. She is also intimidated, because this thing has an owner's manual that is about the same thickness and coherency as the U.S. Tax Code. So, even though she got the camera Friday night, and the battery's been charged since early Saturday, the camera itself will probably not see service for about another week. She's alternating chapters of the owner's manual and "The Da Vinci Code" for her recreational reading right now.
We made her work for it, too. We presented her with an old parchment that was probably burned in the Chicago Fire, and which contained a hidden message that told her what she'd just won. ("What do we have for our contestant, Don Pardo?")
Saturday was a bye for Woody. We needed to get the house ready for Sunday, and we pushed it right up to bed time. Then, on Sunday, a most wonderful gift for Mommy came in the form of two small personages at Church. Our Woodyettes, perennial winners of the Most Timid on Stage award, vowed to Mommy that they were planning to not only get up with the rest of the Primary kids in Sacrament, they were planning to by golly SING with the rest of the kids. And they did! For awhile there we were concerned that Jelly - easily the more timid of the two - was going to just melt out of sight and not even make it up on the stand. Then we were concerned that she was going to pull her usual trick of standing there looking for all the world like someone who's just been singled out to listen to fingernails on a chalkboard for the rest of her life. But by the second verse (thank goodness they sang TWO verses!), Jelly was actually moving her mouth. She was singing! Jelly and Doodle both got lots of smoochies and hugs when they got back to their seats, and Jelly looked like she'd just won the Boston Marathon. Exhausted, but hurting that good kind of hurt. Mommy, of course, had suddenly acquired leaky plumbing.
So much for the highs.
Our intention had been to leave immediately following Church and drive up to visit Mrs. Woody's mom and siblings for a surprise Mothers Day present. Mrs. Woody's brother had flown down from Utah, and we were asked to drive up to make it a full set of kids.
Unfortunately, I began having heart palpitations during Church and was uncomfortable enough that Mrs. Woody insisted that we visit the emergency room. I finally agreed, and we spent the next four hours sitting in the busiest emergency room I have visited in my entire adult life. They had patients crowded into hallways for treatment, and I began to feel cocky about the fact that I was still ambulatory.
Of course, it goes without saying that for the entire four hours we were there, I experienced NOT ONE SINGLE EPISODE of palpitation. Go home, the doctor said, and have your usual doctor check you out first thing tomorrow. It also goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that the moment we got home - I'm talking, like, within half an hour - I was having the silly palpitations again.
My chest betrayed me.
Meanwhile, poor Mrs. Woody was nearly beside herself with worry. Heart trouble is nothing to sneer at, and when it's your loving spouse it can be nearly unbearable.
Two things ameliorated the fear factor yesterday: First, she was able to gently suggest (Mrs. Woody never nags. Really.) that I get a blessing before we left Church yesterday. We had tons of Priesthood handy, and any one of them would have been all too glad to assist. Then, she was able to get hold of her visiting teacher, a wonderful lady who was more than happy to take our Woodyettes for the afternoon. We knew they would be cared for, and Mrs. Woody could concentrate on her hubby.
Today, of course, my friendly physician was unable to detect any sign of palpitations, but has referred me to a cardiologist who will, I assume, put me on the monitor. Maybe even give me a stress test.
Gotta look forward to that.
UPDATE: So, I am, like, feeling reeeeeal good right now. The dude in the white jacket gave me Xanax, and, like, I am feeling cosmic right now. Dude, I could give Rush Limbaugh a run for his zionist capitalist infidel money! I should, like, go on Oprah or something, man.
Also, I should point out that, not unlike my memory of my childrens' ages, I totally understated the age of the old digital camera. Like, it's nearly THREE years old, man. That's nearly 30 in camera years. But then, I remember knowing everything when I was 30, too. Wasn't that, like, last year, man?