Damn You, Little Rock

Poor Monkey Boy. He had his tonsils and adenoids out this week. He’s miserable. As it turns out, the reason they promote the ice cream and popsicles part of this event is the rest of it totally sucks. There is a lot of whimpering with intermittent screams of pain.

(Fine, the whimpering is me because of his terrible screams of pain. Have I mentioned I was once diagnosed with high drama?)

The patient did not enjoy his surgery. Watching him come out of anesthesia ranks in my Top 5 worse life experiences. That was just wretched. Fortunately, he doesn't remember that part at all.

We're big believers in non-suffering. Fortunately, they've given him good pain meds. He's spent a fair amount of time high on pills and jello. We're prepping him for a life as a Widespread Panic fan.

I told him he's not supposed to operate motor vehicles while on pain meds, but he was all, "I'm Superman. I can do whatever I want."

Happy New Year! It’s the Year of the Dragon. Apparently, that happened yesterday.

I have been brought up to date on these current events by Monkey Boy. He was informed by “Banana Cake.” Or at least that’s what he told me. He also told me he was born in the Year of the Dog, which turned out to be true. Honestly, I was a little disappointed he wasn’t from the Year of the Monkey. But the Banana Cake person was a bit of a mystery.

Monkey Boy’s school is really spectacular. They have children of all different races from many countries. They spend a fair amount of time talking about other cultures and learning customs and traditions from around the world. I wasn’t surprised at all they talked about the Chinese New Year, or as he calls it “Luna New Year.” (I got that reference. He has an enormous crush on a little girl named Luna.)

I figured Banana Cake was someone who came to class. I asked if perhaps her name was “Anna Kate.” He was insistent her name was Banana Cake and obviously I have some kind of impairment if I couldn’t understand that.

Then I was just curious. I asked his teacher what was going on. She laughed. Hard. Then she explained one of the other children’s grandmother is a retired teacher. She comes to class once a month to read stories and do activities with the students. Her grandchildren call her “Nana Kake.” (Some other day we’ll discuss the wretched things Southern children call their grandparents.) She lets the other kids call her this too.

Monkey Boy has transformed this into “Banana Cake.” His teacher has tried to correct him. His classmate has attempted to clear up the confusion. But his mind is set. Her name is Banana Cake. And she is wonderful.

Monkey Boy spent the weekend with his grandparents. According to his report, he ate nothing but chocolate and “the white horse was shy.” I have no idea what that means.

Of course, I never fully understand any report he gives me. Sample conversation:

Me: Did you see Jamie and Paige while you were there?

Him: No.

Me: OK.

*moving on to other topics*

Him: They hugged me.

Me: Who hugged you?

Him: (as if I were simple) Jamie and Paige.

Me: So you *did* see Jamie and Paige?

Him: No.

Here’s hoping no one is dependent on his testimony any time soon.