The Hocker

This post is part of "Laughter Lives! Tuesday" on the Riggs Family Blog. Check our their blog to read everyone else's "Laughter Lives!" posts.

Disclaimer #1: I have given this entry a title, mainly as a warning. If things gross you out, please don’t read this.

Disclaimer #2: I did get permission from all parties involved prior to sharing this story.

Set up: The timing of this event was great. It had been a stressful week. My daughter had just gotten out of surgery the Sunday before, having been there all week. She was not walking yet and her recovery was going slow. This was my chance to get out of the house for a while.

About a year ago, on a Saturday, 2 of the boys and I were driving home from a basketball game at church. (Both boys will remain unnamed to protect all involved.) We were travelling on the interstate. The older of the 2 had recently celebrated a birthday, which allowed him to ride in the front seat of my van. He had also been battling a cold and drainage.

As we were going approximately 69.5 mph, the child in the front seat cleared his throat. Hard. This produced what I like to call a hocker. He turns to me and looks with a “what do I do with it” kind of look. I quickly look for an empty cup. Nothing.

So I say “just roll down the window, and spit it out. But please don’t let it hit the side of the van.” It was winter and the van was not going to be washed anytime soon.

The window goes down, he spits, rolls the window back up. I’m assuming all is well.

I was mistaken.

A few seconds goes by and he doesn’t turn his head around.

Our conversation goes something like this:
Me: Did it come out?
Child: Yes ma’am.
Me: Did it go down the side of the van?
Child: No ma’am.
Me: I turn around and quickly check the child in the back of the van to see if he was hit by the hocker. He was clean.
Me: So is it all over the window?
Child: No ma’am, it’s not on the window?
Me: Well what’s the matter?

The boy turns around and I almost wet my pants. The hocker, which wasn’t on the side of the van, or on the window, or on the child in the back seat, was on my son’s face.

The whole hocker.

And I died. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t see. As I tried to compose, I could see through my tears that I was now traveling about 53 mph on the interstate. I contemplated pulling over, but we were only a mile from our exit. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. It was hysterical.

Thank goodness this child is not afraid to laugh at himself, and he begins laughing too. When I could finally get words out – I say “Don’t touch it. I have to take a picture of it when we get home.”







We arrive home in just a few minutes and the clean child in the back seat runs in to get my camera. I took this opportunity to explain some of the laws of physics to my son, such as, you can't spit into the wind. Ever. Meanwhile, my husband comes out to see what’s going on. He doesn’t really appreciate it as much as I did.

I guess you had to be there.

TRUMPED!!

While walking through the W*l-M*rt parking lot the other day, I was busy giving instructions about our impending venture inside the store. I announced that I only needed a few things, therefore, we didn’t need to get a cart. (A cart really slows me down when I’m shopping some days.) I figured that between the five of us, we have 10 hands. And some of those hands can carry more than one thing, so no cart necessary.

After the announcement of “no cart”, my girl (A) gets a little bit of the whinies, saying she was tired, and didn’t know if she’d be able to walk through the store. Now, she knew that we were heading to the park after our quick stop, and I’m sure she’d have renewed energy by that time. I assured her that she would be able to make it, that we wouldn’t be in there long, and I needed her help carrying some things.

Well my oldest son, C, immediately tells A that the boys always have to walk in the store and they never get to ride in a cart, and she always gets to ride in the cart, blah, blah, blah. Basically, wanting to do his brotherly-fatherly duty and try to explain that she didn’t have it that bad, but the boys do. (Apparently he forgot that he is 12 and would look rather silly sitting in the shopping cart!)

Poor fella. He didn’t know what was coming his way. I looked at him and asked him if he had a titanium rod in his back that went from his shoulder down to his bottom, and had his back been sliced open twice so far this year? Answer: Well, no. My reply: OK then. Maybe she has a point. She’s allowed to ride in the cart from time to time.

Trumped. She’s not really old enough to realize it yet, but she has the mac-daddy of all trumps. 3 surgeries in one year, with 10 years of surgeries to go. Hoping she doesn’t realize it too soon!