Petootie

This picture is from World Youth Day and has nothing to do with petootie. I just wanted to post it, because I like it. Of course, a person with a Free Hug sign could be enough to scare the petootie out of the average mom, on any average day -- but WYD was far from average. Still, I do remember a certain level of nervousness...

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"You scared the petootie right out of me."

Just what exactly is petootie? I'll be darned if I know, but up until about 6 months, or so, ago give me a good fright or come screaming into the house with a deep cut across your head, and after the blood and guts had cleared, I'd be heard saying, "Well that scared the petootie right out of me." For a while there, if petootie had some weight associated with it, I would have been pencil thin, but no luck.

Over fourth of July, family, as only loving family can, tried to get me and my petootie with a huge styrofoam ball. One nephew faked an awesome trip, a real head slammer, while the other, equally as endearing, dropped this ball behind me, waiting for me to say, "Well that scared..." you get the picture. And there, bob's your uncle -- petootie. But nothing...

Well, for some reason, lately -- probably dementia, I have been forgetting all about petootie and being so frighten I lose mine. Spine tingling, near miss car accidents, rocks dropped on toes, a lantern bursting into flames only got a brief look up from my knitting and the comment, "I think there is a fire extinguisher right inside the camper door."

Yesterday bore another such experience. While blueberry picking the middle one came up to me and said, "I have a poking feeling on my chest."

"Really," I said, looking at her calmly standing before me wearing a light jacket and shirt, (shorts, and sneakers too... ) "Do you think we should take your jacket off and have a look."

"I can't."

I pondered her I can't just a second, when I realized that the zipper was stuck, and it wasn't that she didn't want to get the jacket off, but she couldn't. I put my can of blueberries down on the ground, offered the obvious instruction of, "Don't kick it." then yarning on the zipper, I peeled the jacket off her.

"Now it hurts by my belly button."

"Well let's get a look at your chest."

Shock flashed on her face when she realized that out in this public blueberry patch I was asking her to lift her shirt. She hesitated. I grab her shirt tail and gave it a quick lift skywards. Below her stomach and chest had been stung 5 times by a bee, who gave a parting assault to her shoulder before flying off.

Thankful she hadn't shown signs of being allergic to bees, I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing we were 45 minutes from the closest hospital, without traffic. Still, we were heading home. So I gathered up the rest of the children and as we walked to get our berries weighed, I asked, "Did it scare your petootie out of you?"

"No," was her response. "I didn't know what was going on."

Giving her a squeeze, and a kiss on her head, I replied, "Me neither." Maybe old age calmness is prevailing.