Interrupting RAD Week to Say to My Sister . . .

Last night when
I was out to dinner with some friends I was informed my sister Stephanie, the Beloved Nie of the Blogosphere had been released from her personal prison-- the hospital. I tried not to look like a loser for not knowing before half the planet knew, but when I arrived home I checked my family email and her blog lo and behold it was true!

Now to be fair, Steph had texted me that very morning and didn't say a word about her discharge from Camp Newneck. I had a day yesterday where the cleaning of my house took precedence over just about everything else, including my usual nooner with the computer. And at naptime, the golden computer time of the day, I had to run errands which included taking some safety cones to Lucy, a bathing suit to Topher and a stop to get my favorite treat these days-- an icee at the Surf n Slurp. And the other device of internet capabilities--my phone--was (as usual) not on my person (under the couch) for most of the day. Anyway, these are my excuses for being the last person on planet earth to know of this happy occasion.

She was in that hospital for a month. It was really hard for her. She had to be away from her children and the rest of decent society. Plus, pain.

One day I got a text from her:

Court, I need to get out of here. I am not kidding.

I texted back.

Hang in there Cub! You can do it!

She texted back.

No. It's like being in the Chokey.

So I texted back.

No. It is called the Pokey.

The term of endearment for prison, right?

Then she texted back again.

No way. Chokey.

And that reminded me of a similar conversation hours after she delivered her oldest child Claire at the Utah Valley Regional Hospital. We were watching Live! with Regis and Kelly, when Kelly was somewhat new to the show.

"Oh," said Stephanie, "I like Kelly Pipa."

"It's Ripa," I corrected. "Kelly Ripa."

"No. It's Pipa. Kelly Pipa."

And back and forth and repeat. Until a nurse walks in and confirms my story.

To her credit, we laugh about that incident a lot and she never blames her confusion on residual affects of an epidural. Good on her.

But I guess what I didn't know this time around is that the Chokey is a horrible place where children are stashed in the book Matilda. I've only read James and the Giant Peach. But Pokey, Chokey, sound equally appropriate in this situation.

Not that Maricopa Medical Center (that is for you Mr. Murphy) isn't a swell place. Not that there aren't loving nurses and attentive doctors and fancy flaming murals on the walls, but my sister, possibly the World's Greatest Homebody is never happy anywhere other than her own nest.

So cheers to you Cub! Welcome home and by home I mean, your half-way house. It isn't really home until you are back in Provo calling around the neighborhood for a lost Jimmy and eating your signature Va-Nie-lla cupcakes.

Chup goes a little bit cheaper here:

I found you a place to live:

I am c jane and I Pokey, Chokey, Pipa, Ripa let's call the whole thing off.

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