Vocational Therapy

I’m writing this blog entry some 35,000 feet above God’s green earth, somewhere between California and Arizona, partaking of the company jet’s lovely peanuts and refreshments – free, yay! Since I have about an hour before we’re on the ground, I thought I’d take the opportunity to retell a story that Nurse Betty told me over text today.

I’ve been in the fantastically brown and hot Phoenix for the last two days. While I’ve been gone, Nurse Betty has been taking care of my dear, sweet Princess. She’s pretty wonderful like that and has gladly taken care of my Princess each time I go out of town for work.

Princess calls her "Grandma" - albeit lovingly and somewhat sarcastically, and it isn't because she’s like another mother, only older. Try something a little more sinister. Sit in a circle, boys and girls. The Single Girl is going to tell you a story.

At one point Princess needed some help dealing with some of her feelings about her dad, so I took her to a therapist. We’ll call her therapist "Cookoo for Coco Puffs", because although her medical specialty was Psychology, Cookoo for Coco Puffs was herself somewhat off the metaphorical reservation.

Case in point: we travelled to Napa for Princess’ bimonthly visit, and Nurse Betty came with us, just so all three of us could take our monthly pilgrimage to the Buckhorn Grill. Mmmm....Roadhouse Buck, oh how I've missed your salty, crunchy, bbq goodness. I could get a donut on the way there, too! Nurse Betty and I were sitting with Princess out in the waiting room when out walks Cookoo for Coco Puffs, crazy hair and all - think Albert Einstein - to greet Princess and take her back for the session. Cookoo for Coco Puffs greets us, and I introduce Nurse Betty. On the way back to her office, Cookoo for Coco Puffs asks poor Princess if Nurse Betty IS HER GRANDMA.

No shit.

Let's just clear one thing up. Nurse Betty wasn’t looking bad that day. She hadn’t just pulled a double shift at work, nor was she un-showered or wearing any sort of grandma attire like bifocals, Bend-over pants with elastic band, or even orthopedic grandma shoes. She looked pretty good, actually. She would've had to be about 6 when she had me, so Cookoo must have been off her happy meds that day. Princess really rubbed it in that poor Nurse Betty was mistaken for her Grandma. I had a little piece of that fun, too, given that this meant Nurse Betty would be my mother in this equation.

But, getting back to the story Nurse Betty told me today. Evidently Princess 2 wasn’t happy about going to school this morning and was whining about being forced to go. Nurse Betty tried to explain all the different reasons why she needed to go to school, but Princess 2 wasn’t having any of it.

My darling, sweet, innocent daughter decided to pitch in and help Nurse Betty cajole Princess 2 into getting herself ready for school…by asking Princess 2 one simple question:

“DO YOU WANT TO BE A TRUCK DRIVER?”, she bust out suddenly. “Because I have a family member who is a truck driver. He never went to school, has no teeth and a big tattoo on his belly. Do you want to be like him?”

***Side Note: The toothless, tatted-up truck driver is from her dad’s side. Her dad is not the toothless, tatted-up truck driver. The Single Girl might have made some mistakes in her life, but I never chose THAT to marry.***

Princess 2 was really quiet, as was Nurse Betty, until Nurse Betty couldn’t take it any longer and started laughing so hard she almost peed her pants. However, within the next 5 minutes, Princess 2 was up, brushing her teeth and combing her hair. I guess the image of becoming something so horrible in her mind was enough of a motivation. Yay for vocational therapy!