A Right-Handed Hook

"What's a prick?" Dee asked me, all nonchalant-like as he cuddled beside me on the couch, watching Jersey Shore (what?!). And let's stop right there for a moment and ponder this moment of extremes: a cuddling cherub, full of life and innocence, asking me what a prick is.

I did a double take as I looked at his innocent, little, chubby, freckly face. Did this child just ask me this question? I asked myself, feeling a hot flash overwhelm me.

"Ummmmmmmmmm, a prick? Uhhhhh, why are you asking me this?" I said, hoping he'd change the topic and forget all about it. But, a part of me was curious, truly wondering.

"Jake called me that the other day," Dee said.

And then Dee explained. Apparently, Jake shouted out some embarrassing words to a girl Dee likes, something to the effect of, "Hey *** ! Dee wants to kiss you!!" You know, stupid and embarrassing kid stuff that makes a child want to cry. Not sure why Dee is so often the butt of bullies' jokes, but he is.

So, Dee went inside the school and sat on the stairs, very upset and embarrassed. The principal found him and asked him what was wrong. By the way, I love this principal. He is the best thing to have hit this school in a long time. Dee told him, and the principal dealt with the problem.

Jake is now upset with Dee because Dee "snitched" on him. Hence, the word "prick".

Aren't kids adorable?

So, of course I told Dee what it meant: "It's a bad word for the word 'penis'."

"Oh," Dee said, all serious. "That's not very nice."

I agree.

So, what do you do? As a mother, it's such a hard thing, knowing that your child is going through something that, in the grand scheme of things, isn't really that big a deal, but for him at this time in his life, is absolutely monumental. I can hug him all I like, he still has to face things on his own in the morning.

In other news, my right hand is swollen and in pain. Arthritis sucks. It zaps me of all my energy and makes me cry. I woke up the other morning with a hand that would not close. The joints on that hand are getting worse. I'm just glad I'm going to a new rheumatologist in April, albeit in Toronto. Yes, Ontario's health system is so awesome, one has to travel almost five hours in order to be able to see a doctor. I suppose it could be worse. The worst would be that I couldn't find a specialist at all. I already have one here at home, but I don't like her, and I needed a new one. My current rheumatologist was useless. Very pleasant, nice smile, dressed well, but I'm not dating her. She had no interest in me at all. I even went so far as to print off a pile of information for her regarding my special genetic issue that causes me much of my grief, and she told me, in no uncertain terms, that she didn't have time for that. Really? I felt like saying. Is that why you get paid $200,000 a year?

The most unfortunate thing in all this is that, now, I have to wait to use my right-handed hook on Jake. April can't come fast enough.