Browsing Archives for The Country Doctor

The British are Coming… The British are Coming!!

July 10th, 2008

Last night, we had some very special guests from London arrive with our good friends Mike and Liz. I worked half the day at the Garden Center before their arrival, so was in a bit of a tiz when I got home to get the house ready for company and preparations for dinner under way. 

The Country Doctor had taken half of the day off so he was already home when I arrived.  He asked me what he should do to help get things ready and I mentioned picking up the yard, checking the boy’s bedrooms, and cleaning up the grill.  He set the boys to picking up the yard and sort of limped half heartedly upstairs to check the bedrooms. He glanced out of the window at the grill, but I could tell that none of my “jobs” were very inspiring to him. They were simply too mundane… too simple… too easy… He was looking for a challenge.  
He is ALWAYS looking for a challenge.  
Preferably something that includes a lot of suffering and pain.    

Then he noticed the screen porch.

The screens on the screen porch had accumulated a layer of cotton from some nearby cottonwoods. He decided to spray them off.

So FIRST… he had to move all of the screen porch furniture into my freshly cleaned living room.

And I thought… okay… well okay… but just hurry up!  
Our guest were due to arrive in about half an hour!

Next, he REMOVED THE DOOR to the screen porch!  
And I thought.. what…. huh… wait… what…?

THEN he took that door out to the barn and decided to shorten it a little bit because it was sticking… 
And I thought…. wait… hold on… just wait a second… you know… it could probably stick for a few more days as OUR COMPANY from LONDON is going to BE HERE ANY MINUTE… and my LIVING ROOM… is now a total WRECK!!!  AND my screen porch is EMPTY!!!  And now I have to stop what I AM DOING and BLOG THIS!!!

The Country Doctor was not moved by my vivid emotional outburst, which included both of my hands wrapped around his neck in an attempt to rid myself of the problem once and for all!   Instead, he removed my hands from his neck, and calmly went about fixing that STUPID DOOR as if he did not even know that me and my emotional pain existed. 
Which is nothing new!

Then he carried the door back in, rehung it, sprayed off the porch and put the furniture back out just in time for our company to arrive.  
But that is not the point!
The point is – HOW MANY YEARS OF MY LIFE DISAPPEARED due to this callous act of disregard for my feelings!   
How many I tell ya!!!  
HOW MANY!!!!
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The World’s Loudest Quiet Man

February 25th, 2008

Motherhood comes with a few unexpected surprises don’t it?. I find that I can no longer do any jumping jacks without… well without… well… I just can’t do them. I also stopped sleeping deeply, with any rhythm or with much hope of ever sleeping well again. As my children have grown, I have somewhat re-discovered the benefits of a good’s nights sleep, but I still sleep lightly, waking up at the smallest sounds and then struggling to get back to sleep. I am sure this is some sort of built in safety mechanism for a mother to protect her young. Unfortunately, I am married to the world’s loudest quiet man so that long after my kids are sleeping through the night, I am still wakened by him and his strange ability to creep and pound at the same time.


The Country Doctor is a night owl. He prefers the wee hours to any others. I have explained to him on numerous occasions, that I do not share his proclivity for two a.m. and three a.m. and four a.m. to no avail. He claims he is “quiet as a mouse.” He claims he is “silent as the grave.” He claims to “move with the stealth of ninja” and yet I am awake and he is the one clanging the metal spoon on the cereal bowl as if he were testing out a new drum for Metallica. I lie in bed wondering how much longer he will pound, slam, squeak, and wrench before he finally gives up the ghost. I can hear him creeping from the computer where he has just finished clattering out a missive as if using an ax to type with, and then I hear him silently glide to the kitchen and pick up a bag of chips and crush it into a tiny ball over and over again, pausing only to slam the cabinet doors, open and shut all the drawers in the kitchen, empty all the silverware onto the floor and then rearrange the living room furniture. He finishes his bedtime routine off by tiptoeing up the stairs, where he then sorts through the medicine cabinet tossing all the medicine bottles, and ointments over his shoulder where they clatter to the tile floor. Afterwards he drops to his knees, army crawls to his side of the bed, shimmys under the covers and falls dead asleep while I lay beside him wide awake plotting his grisly demise and making a mental note to make sure I paid the latest life insurance premium .

I feel a strong urge to validate my tale with a witness. My sister stayed with us one night back when the Country Doctor was still in medical school. The next morning she stared at him in awe as she recounted how amazingly noisy he was. She mentioned the pounding and the slamming and the stomping and the clattering. I have never felt so vindicated in my entire life. Thank you April for that precious gift. The Country Doctor of course, believes that my sister and I share some sort of genetic intolerance to the mildest squeakings of a gerbil and that since he never makes any noise louder than the sound of a cotton ball landing on a bath towel, it is we who have the problem and not of course, himself.

As a new bride and shortly thereafter a new mother, I was mystified by his need to make enough noise during the hours between midnight and dawn to raise the dead, but I suffered in silence. Until….. Until….

The Country Doctor’s brother, Mr. Panties, was visiting us when our first born was an infant. My nerves were completely fried from waking up every two hours to feed my son and then listening to my husband storm around our small home during the hours in between.

On the eve, that has gone down in infamy as “the night Rechelle became Rechelle” The Country Doctor and Mr. Panties set up camp in the basement. They were having a great time combing through every experience that had ever happened to them since they first became aware of their own existence. I grew tired of this and excused myself to put the baby to bed. Up to that point, I had managed to portray myself as reserved, shy, and even a bit mousy around the CD’s family. The Country Doctor’s family is huge and loud and quite sure of themselves. They are also completely unafraid to forcefully argue a point or issue a proclomation, or interject an opinion. Not really knowing how to fit in with them, I stayed pretty quiet. I laid down in our tiny bedroom where I could clearly hear every word of their conversation in the basement. They were not even trying to talk quietly and their conversation was riddled with loud laughter. I tossed and turned and covered my head with a pillow. I tried counting fluffy sheep jumping over a sweet little fence, but all I could picture was myself kicking the Country Doctor and Mr. Panties through a goal post over and over again. After an hour of this, I raised my gray shrunken head off the pillow. I twisted my trembling, sleepless, ragged frame from the bed, and I silently scuffled to the basement. At the top of the stairs I announced my true self to the world, my new husband and his brother.

“HEY!!! COULD YOU TWO SHUT UP!!!! I AM TRYING TO SLEEP!!!

>A silence rapid and profound, instantly permeated our tiny house. I shuffled back to bed and fell asleep immediately, only to be awakened by my infant son 2.3 seconds later. Mr. Panties never looked at me the same again. The Country Doctor resumed his nightly bedlam shortly thereafter, which still includes the deafening roar that he has never been able to hear. And I… well I… still scuffle to the top of the stairs and tell him to PUHLEEEEZ!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY AND RIGHT AND GOOD IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE WOULD YOU PLEEEEEZ SHUT THE HELL UP! After which a gorgeous silence descends… and I sleep.

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Ask The Country Doctor

February 22nd, 2008

During the move last Spring, I discovered two shoe boxes full of pictures that I had never sorted, or put in an album, or framed or anything. Actually the truth is that I always knew about those two boxes of photos. I kept them on a shelf above the washer and the dryer and I had been tossing packets of photos into those two boxes for years. But the move forced me to physically lift the boxes, touch the photos, glance through them, and I knew I would have to eventually get them organized.

Last night, I started sorting the boxes. I now have eight messy piles with labels like “Brothers”, “Extended Family”, “Old House” and “Friends”. I plan to loosely organize these photos and put them in albums according to their categories. I am not even going to try to place them in any sort of accurate order. It may not make the most sense, but it will at least tuck the photos securely away in an album where we can occasionally look at them.

As a blogger the photos were something of a goldmine of ideas and future stories. There are photos from my childhood and from the Country Doctor’s childhood and from our wedding and our rehearsal dinner. I found cheerleading photos and pictures of my sister as an infant grabbing handfuls of my birthday cake right off my plate. She still does that. I also found pictures of me going through a heavy duty, post college, granola phase and pictures from my freshman year at KU. But I think we should start with someone else. Don’t you? Someone far more deserving of a photo tribute than little old me. I pick…The Country Doctor!

Here we have The Country Doctor covered by his offspring. He was probably about six months into his three year residency at this point. These three little boys didn’t see him much, so when they did, they demanded a wrestling match, which the Country Doctor inevitably lost. It appears they knocked him unconscious in this particular bout.

This is a picture from April’s wedding. I think this may have been our third or fourth date. He is talking to my grandmother Edna. It was one of the few times they ever got to talk as she passed away a year later. She liked him though. She liked him a lot. Which she kept telling me over and over again, every time I talked to her.


For Halloween one year I actually made all three of my boy’s costumes. Drew was the baby back then and I made him a pair of angel wings by gluing a feather boa to two hangers that I somehow attached together.


And here we have the Country Doctor and his hot new girlfriend! We’d been dating about six months by the taking of this picture. He seems to be getting used to the fact that he is dating a genuine grade A goofball.

So after viewing the evidence presented, do you have any questions for the man? I have absolutely nothing to pester him with these days and I can’t bear it much longer. Feel free to ask a question of the Country Doctor or the Country Doctor’s Wife in the comments. I’ll try to get his answers up a little sooner than last time, but I can’t make any promises.

Now lineup all your babies and all your co-workers and all your bosses, and all the people standing around you in the produce aisle and if you are alone then line up all your favorite books and all your most well worn slippers and kiss them right down the row for me! One, two, three, four and then ask a question… there you go! Over and out – Me.

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Country Doctor Surprises Family with Surgery in Living Room

November 1st, 2007

A few years ago, Dewey, my third son cut his head open while jumping on the neighbor’s trampoline. It was a pretty decent gash, but I am the mother of four boys and deep gashes mean very little to me. Unless the child is missing a limb, drowning in a pool of blood, or unconscious, I don’t get too worried. So Drew was upset and I had him lay down for a nap.

Later that evening, we had “Back to School Night” in the city park. This is an evening of games, hot dogs, train rides, etc…where the kids get to run wild one last time before the dreaded end of summer.

When Drew woke up from his nap, his head had stopped bleeding, but during all the running around at the park, it started to bleed again. In fact, as were were waiting in line to ride the train, a lady behind me said…

“Uh ma’am – your son’s head is bleeding”.

Me – “Yes, I know”

Lady in Park – “Um…there is blood dripping on his shirt…”

Me – “Yes, I see thanks..”

Lady in Park – Looks at me strangely

Me – Thinking to myself – hmmm – maybe I should do something…

But Drew was fine – he was running around, playing, clearly not in danger of death, and yet the lady in the park had done her job and I started to feel ever so slight tremors of unfit motherhood. So after another couple of hours of playing I loaded the boys up and we headed home.

The country doctor was on call that night. I called him when we got home and said,

“Honey I think you better come home and look at Dewey – he has a severe head wound.”

I have to use shocking terminology like severe head wound, hemorrhage, car crash, paralyzed, seizure or guts sticking out – to get the Country Doctor to take action. He is 17 trillion times worse at under-reacting to our children’s health conditions than I am.

The Country Doctor came home and had Drew lay face down on the couch. He poked around on his head for a while, as the rest of us sat in the living room and watched.

Suddenly – out of nowhere – the Country Doctor pulled a medical staple gun out of his lab coat pocket and shot three staples into the back of Drew’s head! Ca Chunk!, Ca Chunk!, Ca Chunk! – followed by piercing screams of protest from Drew.

The rest of the family sat motionless in utter silence, our eyes as big as grapefruits.

The Country Doctor stated calmly that he wished he could do all of his E.R. visits the same way – stealth stapling.

“It is so much easier and saves so much time,” he explained, “No wheedling, no empty this isn’t going to hurt promises, no pain meds, no parents questioning the treatment, no panicky mothers making their children freak out.”

We stared at him in horror – while he calmly applied an icepack to Drew’s head.

Drew started first grade with three shiny staples in his head to brag about. He recovered quickly, but I am still a little shaky.

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When Dad Does Homework

October 21st, 2007

A few nights ago, while I was at a very important, high ranking, celebrity studded, executive, highly classified, uh…er…um…bunko meeting…

The country doctor was forced to help Jack, our kindergartner with his homework.

They were looking for pictures that started with the letter “G”.

He did a pretty good job until I saw this one…

Which I am not sure embodies the wholesome spirit of kindergarten “G” sounds.

I pointed to the picture of Giuliani and asked Jack what it was…

He said, “it’s a guy… a guh… guh… guy.”

And I said, “That’s right!…very guh….guh…good!”

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Poptart Makes Everything More Tolerable.

September 17th, 2007

The country doctor and I found ourselves in the rare predicament of being without children on a Saturday night. My sister, April drove over from her new house and picked up a bunch of crap she had stored in our barn and while she was being very bossy about how to pack her stuff in the back of her van, the country doctor and I were shoving our kids under the seats in the front of her van. Boy was she surprised when they popped out when she got back home!

The two of us had a nice evening out and finally got to see the The Bourne Ultimatum, which I loved. The next afternoon – after putting it off as long as we possibly could, by planting some grass, and unpacking a thousand boxes of damp mildewy books into the new library, we headed to April’s new farmhouse to collect our children.

The country doctor asked me to drive. Normally – I try very hard to be disagreeable to everything the man says, but since I felt kind of sorry for him for planting all that grass, I took the wheel.

When I set out on a drive, I must have food and drink close at hand. The country doctor does not share this need. He does not want to stop until he arrives at his destination. Plus – the mere idea of making a PURCHASE of any type of NON ESSENTIAL ITEM causes the man to seize up and percoadjulate wildly. One of us is always being made miserable by the other’s traveling preferences. However, I was in a rare mood of compassion for the poor man, and decided that I could travel without my beverage and food needs being cared for.

We got about 10 miles down the road and I started to get really, really sleepy. We were listening to Trail Mix, a folk music show, and the sappy lyrics combined with the melodramatic guitar playing was putting me into a stupor.

I knew I was going to need some coffee – but I also knew that stopping to get a drink would put the country doctor into a state of hydraulic paralysis. So I went another ten miles, passing a few good stops, holding my eyes open really big as if I was in a state of supreme shock. Woozy…wooozy…wooz…ier… Finally I just thought – this is ridiculous! I need a cup of coffee – I am going to get a cup of coffee. I stopped at the next gas station and got a cup of coffee…and um…er…a strawberry poptart to go with it.

When I got back in the car – the country doctor had switched the radio to a K.C.Chiefs football game. He was also reading the Sunday paper.

He had, of course refused to get anything to drink or eat for himself. I looked at him and said, “It’s a bit much don’t you think?”

“What is?” he replied

“You – sitting there with the paper, listening to the Chiefs – AND depriving yourself of food and drink all at the same time – isn’t that a bit too much pleasure for you to stand?”

“I know,” he said “It’s awesome, but I feel terrible about it!”

“Which is basically Nirvana for you. To feel good… and bad about feeling good at the same time.”

“Yes, exactly” he replied.

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