tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49833181838278760582011-04-21T16:52:42.297-07:00Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16320822091842227161noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4983318183827876058.post-83023919842777348432008-09-15T06:40:00.000-07:002008-09-15T08:42:52.774-07:00<div><span style="font-family:verdana;">It all started as a routine trip to Walmart (as most good stories do). I had my list of items to get, and N8 had his list of things to do. After declining his notion to go to the electronics department to play Guitar Hero for about the 24th time (which is, after all, the reason we shop at Walmart), we pressed forward to the "health and beauty" department. </span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:verdana;">While in this department, I spotted it...yes, this would take N8's mind off of Guitar Hero. It was an interactive station with colorful lights and buttons, AND it took several minutes to complete the "mission", which gave me time to grab the items I needed. So I sent N8 over to the blood pressure meter and went about my shopping. Upon returning, N8 still had his arm in the cuff and was awaiting his "score". Finally, it lit up...166...133...0. These scores meant that N8 had high blood pressure and no pulse. We giggled at the paradox of these scores, and then went to check out.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">On the way home, N8 and I still laughed about his pulse score of zero. Every now and then, N8 would abruptly stop talking, fall limp in his seat, stick out his tongue, and wait several seconds before saying "Did I look like I didn't have a pulse just then?" to which I would reply, "Well, not really. You can't fake <strong><em>not</em></strong> having a pulse." To my son, this was not a matter of fact that I stated but rather a challenge. </span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">For the rest of the day, all conversations and activities included N8 randomly falling to the floor in various positions and waiting for as long as he could until asking "How about now?". </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Invariably, my answer (amidst giggles) was always, "N8, you can't fake <strong><em>not</em></strong> having a pulse." </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It was a good day, and rest assured, N8 <strong>DOES</strong> have a pulse.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM6APJjHf1I/AAAAAAAAAAs/BtYdoOm1iSk/s1600-h/N8+no+pulse1+9-14-08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246271613682810706" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM6APJjHf1I/AAAAAAAAAAs/BtYdoOm1iSk/s320/N8+no+pulse1+9-14-08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">N8 wanted to "see what he would look like with no pulse".</span></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wGfMViI/AAAAAAAAAAU/YlUbgbpbTbw/s1600-h/N8+no+pulse2+9-14-08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246269980773471778" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wGfMViI/AAAAAAAAAAU/YlUbgbpbTbw/s320/N8+no+pulse2+9-14-08.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm guessing this is what he would look like "with no pulse during a rain storm".</span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wZCD3CI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_b0nC3TsUZ4/s1600-h/N8+no+pulse+coffee+9-14-08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246269985751555106" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wZCD3CI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_b0nC3TsUZ4/s320/N8+no+pulse+coffee+9-14-08.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This is N8 "with no pulse and in desparate need of coffee"!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wnCcgjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/A7snD-fw34M/s1600-h/N8+no+pulse+how+about+now+9-14-08.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246269989511266866" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-NHq8ITU9Ys/SM5-wnCcgjI/AAAAAAAAAAk/A7snD-fw34M/s320/N8+no+pulse+how+about+now+9-14-08.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He got tired of asking "How about now?" so he wrote it and then flopped on the floor in front of me. </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4983318183827876058-8302391984277734843?l=jinglesn8.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16320822091842227161noreply@blogger.com3