Me: (busying myself about the house at bedtime) Alfredo, have you seen my medical folder?
Alfredo: It’s in the drawer where it always lives.
Me: (looking again, facepalm) Any closer and it would have bit me… Jeesh, Hanford. Okay, right… Hank, are you ready to go to Hogwarts?
Hank: Yes, Mama, why do you need your medical file? Do you have another doctors appointment?
Me: (distracted, hustling about) Nothing gets past you, my dear.
Hank: Is it with the specialist?
Me: Nope, it is with our médica família (family doctor). I need her to schedule some physical therapy for me and I need to see a nutritionist and I have a medication question and I don’t want to wait until July. (grabbing Harry Potter) My bed or yours?
Hank: Your bed, please.
Me: (leaving the room) Right you are.
Hank: (close behind) So you aren’t any worse, are you?
Me: (climbing into bed) Well, my darling that is the positive; I am not any worse, but I am not any better either. It has been a solid year since all this began and I cannot sit idle by and let one more day come to an end without fighting back.
Me: I have been a very good patient and listened to the Rheumatologist and the Auto-Immune Specialist but if I have to sit in this apartment one more day without actively fighting these diseases I will loose my mind. And since they don’t want me to do any unsupervised activities, but agree that I should keep moving I am going to a professional to help me with my walking and hopefully to help me hold my pens and brushes study again.
Hank: You have really missed drawing and painting.
Me: Truth. (opening our book)
Hank: So your appointment is in the morning?
Hank: So I will remember when you and papa start fighting.
Me: Excuse me? (putting down our book)
Hank: You and papa always fight a little about doctors appointments and specialists appointments and things. It’s normal and totally fine.
Me: Whoa, it… well….
Hank: You have explained it before, mama. You are the chefe da família (head of the family) and papa is also the chefe da família (head of the family) and that means that sometimes when a decision has to be made and you have different ideas you yell until one of you wins.
Me: (in utter hysterics)
Hank: (laughing too) It’s just the way our family works and you both love each other, but you yell to see who wins and then later you are kissing again so I know it is fine.
Me: (positively purple with laughter)
Hank: (giggling) What did I say?
Me: (trying to regain composure, wiping tears from my eyes) Oh honey, you spoke the god’s honest truth and there is nothing wrong with that. Everyone needs a mirror hung in front of their face from time to time. (deep cleaning breaths) Best thing ever. And you are sure you are okay with the yelling?
Hank: I mean I don’t love it, but it is how you work. There is a better choice but when you are a little stressed and someone has to win. It’s like sports I think.
Me: (regressing into hysterics, positively hyperventilating)
Hank: What did I say again?!? In sports people yell… WHHAAT?!
Me: No, you are right. Fighting for the alpha position in this family is a sporting event. (giggling) We should sell tickets. (chuckling)
Hank: (shaking his head at his silly mother)
Me: (deep breath) You know your Grandpa Snitch calls your Papa and I, The Bickersons. Apparently there was a radio show when he was a kid about two people that loved each other very much but they would bicker and argue their way through any household decision.
Hank: That is you and papa. Don’t worry, I will explain this all to Molly. You love each other, but someone has to win…
Me: (giggling) And we both put up a pretty good fight, right?
Hank: Yup. Now, can we go to Hogwarts, please?
Me: (sigh, cracking the spine) Chapter Seven, The Sorting Hat.