Welcome to Nausea Awareness Week, currently being celebrated by Anithe & Co. Action Hero will joyously share this situation to anyone who asks, saying "I puked in Mommy's car! Splash-ed on Mommy and Boy Wonner's bapack! I puke in Mommy's car! Yucky." Fortunately, it was only the once. Sadly, today brought another incident, this time for Boy Wonder, who let loose in the library at the end of day camp today. Poor dear. He was quite subdued and a bit feverish when I got there, but did have this to say as we walked out the door:
"Action Hero puked in your car."
"Yep. He sure did."
"And I just puked in the library at my camp."
(pause. Then smile.)
"Mom? Maybe we shoud carry a bucket!"
That's not a bad idea, considering.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Barfing in cars with boys
Brought to you by Gross Moments in Parenting, Volume MCXLD, Chapter 51: Stomach Contents and the Viewing Thereof. Anithe & Co., var. dates from 2003 to present.
Also brought to you with apologies to Beverly Donofrio. (Although, since at one point she had a toddler son, I'm sure she'd understand.)
So, hey. My car smells. Want to know why? Too bad; I'm going to tell you anyway.
It began in dramatic fashion in May 2005, when I arrived at daycare to pick up Boy Wonder and was greeted by a slightly rattled thermometer-holding teacher. "I'm so glad you're here!" she said. "He's been acting really weird all afternoon, and just now he sat down on the floor and just started sobbing! So I took his temperature and it's 104 degrees!" Well, damn. That was the highest fever he'd ever had in his life, and I was accordingly freaked out. I bundled him into the car, checked my purse for the bottle of toddler ibuprofen, and suddenly remembered it was in my desk drawer at work. I was torn: go back to my office and grab the ibuprofen, or head home and give a dose there? I decided to head back to work, but in any case, no ibuprofen was given; as I pulled into the parking lot, he suddenly made odd hiccuping noises and barfed from here to eternity. Then he did it twice more on the way home. Oddly enough, by the time we got home his fever was nearly gone, and the next day, the doctor couldn't find a thing wrong. "Well, when a child's fever is very high, it does sometimes cause vomiting," he said. This was news to me, as previous fevers had not manifested in such a fashion.
But, ever since then, it's proved quite accurate. When Boy Wonder's gets a fever above a certain level, he vomits with great force. He really, really, hates throwing up, and breaks into hysterics immediately afterward. And, unfortunately, these episodes often occur in the car. The most recent winter featured several such episodes, two in my car and one in Dragon's. The one in Dragon's car featured a special bonus nosebleed, and the subsequent fever lasted four days before breaking.
Why all the background? Well, you'd think that I would remember this all, and apply the knowledge that fever = barfing, as needed. But you'd be wrong.
Today, I arrived at my parents' house to pick up the boys. Boy Wonder was quite cheerful, but Action Hero was sitting dazedly on my mother's lap, and barely looked up when I came in. When he did look up, he began whimpering and crying quietly. "He's been like this since he woke up from his nap," said my mother. "Does he feel warm to you?" He did, but not THAT warm. (However, he did tell me that he wanted to go in the kitchen because the Lightning McQueen sleeping bag was scaring him, so that should have been an indicator that things were not quite right.) So what did I do? I packed the kids up and we all walked out to the car, where, 10 seconds after I buckled Action Hero into his carseat, he barfed from here to eternity.
"He barfed on my BACKPACK!" said Boy Wonder, and burst into hysterics. Action Hero, rather stunned by the whole thing and with good reason, also burst into hysterics. Everyone was removed from the car, taken back inside, and mopped up. Action Hero's clothes were changed, and he stopped looking so dazed. The carseat was temporarily mopped up. We all boarded, and I called Dragon to tell him that we were riding home in the Vomit Comet.
By the time we got home, Action Hero was asking for apple juice and dinner. (He received well-watered juice and Saltine crackers.) By bedtime, his fever was essentially gone.
Let's hope it stays that way. And that, next time a slightly warm Action Hero is afraid of his sleeping bag, I'll just go get a bucket instead of heading for the car.
Also brought to you with apologies to Beverly Donofrio. (Although, since at one point she had a toddler son, I'm sure she'd understand.)
So, hey. My car smells. Want to know why? Too bad; I'm going to tell you anyway.
It began in dramatic fashion in May 2005, when I arrived at daycare to pick up Boy Wonder and was greeted by a slightly rattled thermometer-holding teacher. "I'm so glad you're here!" she said. "He's been acting really weird all afternoon, and just now he sat down on the floor and just started sobbing! So I took his temperature and it's 104 degrees!" Well, damn. That was the highest fever he'd ever had in his life, and I was accordingly freaked out. I bundled him into the car, checked my purse for the bottle of toddler ibuprofen, and suddenly remembered it was in my desk drawer at work. I was torn: go back to my office and grab the ibuprofen, or head home and give a dose there? I decided to head back to work, but in any case, no ibuprofen was given; as I pulled into the parking lot, he suddenly made odd hiccuping noises and barfed from here to eternity. Then he did it twice more on the way home. Oddly enough, by the time we got home his fever was nearly gone, and the next day, the doctor couldn't find a thing wrong. "Well, when a child's fever is very high, it does sometimes cause vomiting," he said. This was news to me, as previous fevers had not manifested in such a fashion.
But, ever since then, it's proved quite accurate. When Boy Wonder's gets a fever above a certain level, he vomits with great force. He really, really, hates throwing up, and breaks into hysterics immediately afterward. And, unfortunately, these episodes often occur in the car. The most recent winter featured several such episodes, two in my car and one in Dragon's. The one in Dragon's car featured a special bonus nosebleed, and the subsequent fever lasted four days before breaking.
Why all the background? Well, you'd think that I would remember this all, and apply the knowledge that fever = barfing, as needed. But you'd be wrong.
Today, I arrived at my parents' house to pick up the boys. Boy Wonder was quite cheerful, but Action Hero was sitting dazedly on my mother's lap, and barely looked up when I came in. When he did look up, he began whimpering and crying quietly. "He's been like this since he woke up from his nap," said my mother. "Does he feel warm to you?" He did, but not THAT warm. (However, he did tell me that he wanted to go in the kitchen because the Lightning McQueen sleeping bag was scaring him, so that should have been an indicator that things were not quite right.) So what did I do? I packed the kids up and we all walked out to the car, where, 10 seconds after I buckled Action Hero into his carseat, he barfed from here to eternity.
"He barfed on my BACKPACK!" said Boy Wonder, and burst into hysterics. Action Hero, rather stunned by the whole thing and with good reason, also burst into hysterics. Everyone was removed from the car, taken back inside, and mopped up. Action Hero's clothes were changed, and he stopped looking so dazed. The carseat was temporarily mopped up. We all boarded, and I called Dragon to tell him that we were riding home in the Vomit Comet.
By the time we got home, Action Hero was asking for apple juice and dinner. (He received well-watered juice and Saltine crackers.) By bedtime, his fever was essentially gone.
Let's hope it stays that way. And that, next time a slightly warm Action Hero is afraid of his sleeping bag, I'll just go get a bucket instead of heading for the car.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Family Storm
On a lighter note, way way back, Boy Wonder announced that he was a superhero named Captain Thunderstorm. Apparently, this was not just a passing fancy on his part. He has since expanded the name game, and the fantasy life, to encompass all the members of our immediate family, my parents, my friend and her daughter, and the occasional school friend.
Through many discussions with Boy Wonder, the truth has been revealed to me. We are the Family Thunderstorm, it would appear, and we are powerful. Boy Wonder, of course, is our leader, Captain Thunderstorm. He is supported in superhero-ness by Captain Daddymanstorm, Captain Womanstorm, and Captain Babystorm; surely you can figure out who is who. (Although I think "Captain Laundrystorm" would work just as well for me after this weekend; here at the House of Strep we are not doing the usual summer playing-outside thing, so today presented ample opportunity for clean clothes. My laundry is done, man.) Also included are Captain Grandmastorm and Captain Grandpastorm (again, self-explanatory). We are divided into various teams. The two main teams are the boy team and the girl team, and the boy team is divided into Team Crystal and Team Rocket. The girl team is divided into Team Flower and Team Butterfly. But we all work in the same office.
We all have assigned uniform colors. (He drew pictures of each of us in uniform one day. Yes, I saved them.) We all have assigned numbers, though these change daily. Some of us serve as special helpers to Captain Thunderstorm, and if you tell him forcefully to pick up his toys, you will lose your status as a special helper. One day, when my parents were visiting, Boy Wonder announced grandly, "The boy team has 57 special powers!" After a short pause, my dad said, "OK. Name them." (I think the Captain got up to seven, all involving lightning or flying, before turning his attention to something else.) Oh, and we have a submarine. A yellow one.
This certainly makes the afternoon commute more interesting, and Boy Wonder has spent many a happy hour working out the logistics of, and drawing the adventures of, our superhero team. I myself have three different interpretations of our submarine. And there's nothing quite like zoning out while washing the dishes and then hearing a little, fake-deep voice say, "Captain Womanstorm. You must get your papers and work in your office now."
I'll get right on that. Thanks, Captain!
Through many discussions with Boy Wonder, the truth has been revealed to me. We are the Family Thunderstorm, it would appear, and we are powerful. Boy Wonder, of course, is our leader, Captain Thunderstorm. He is supported in superhero-ness by Captain Daddymanstorm, Captain Womanstorm, and Captain Babystorm; surely you can figure out who is who. (Although I think "Captain Laundrystorm" would work just as well for me after this weekend; here at the House of Strep we are not doing the usual summer playing-outside thing, so today presented ample opportunity for clean clothes. My laundry is done, man.) Also included are Captain Grandmastorm and Captain Grandpastorm (again, self-explanatory). We are divided into various teams. The two main teams are the boy team and the girl team, and the boy team is divided into Team Crystal and Team Rocket. The girl team is divided into Team Flower and Team Butterfly. But we all work in the same office.
We all have assigned uniform colors. (He drew pictures of each of us in uniform one day. Yes, I saved them.) We all have assigned numbers, though these change daily. Some of us serve as special helpers to Captain Thunderstorm, and if you tell him forcefully to pick up his toys, you will lose your status as a special helper. One day, when my parents were visiting, Boy Wonder announced grandly, "The boy team has 57 special powers!" After a short pause, my dad said, "OK. Name them." (I think the Captain got up to seven, all involving lightning or flying, before turning his attention to something else.) Oh, and we have a submarine. A yellow one.
This certainly makes the afternoon commute more interesting, and Boy Wonder has spent many a happy hour working out the logistics of, and drawing the adventures of, our superhero team. I myself have three different interpretations of our submarine. And there's nothing quite like zoning out while washing the dishes and then hearing a little, fake-deep voice say, "Captain Womanstorm. You must get your papers and work in your office now."
I'll get right on that. Thanks, Captain!
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The really pretty crappy day
Replace "Alexander" above with "Anithe" and that'll be just right. Where do I begin?
Yesterday morning, 5:38AM. Kids wake up. Early. I take them downstairs to the living room and hazily flip on a cartoon. Boy Wonder coughs a few times and says, "Mom? My neck hurts when I squeeze it." I respond, "Well, stop squeezing it then. And come here, let me look at it." Well, no bloody wonder his neck hurts; I feel the sides of his neck and note that the lymph nodes along his jawline are swollen to the size of, like, Delaware. Whee. When queried whether anything else hurt, he says that his tummy might hurt. Double whee! And time to call the doctor, because sore throat/neck + abdominal pain = strep. Doctor's office opens at 8:00. We have some time to kill here.
6:00-7:48: Which we fill by making assorted phone calls. First to my mother, who is upset to say that if Boy Wonder is ill, he should not visit her, because if she gets sick then her surgery* must be postponed. Second, to my supervisor, indicating that I will be taking at least the morning off to transport child to and from doctor. Incoming call from my father, who has heard from my mother, who is upset because she thinks I think that she doesn't WANT to watch the kids.
8:00: We call the doctor's office and are provided with an 8:45 (!) appointment. I put sandals on everyone and leave. I realize I must stop for gas before driving across town to the doctor's new office location. I swear, and stop for gas. We arrive at doctor's new office location at...
8:43: We are whisked into exam room and presented with a doctor, who high-fives both children. Boy Wonder: "Do I smell...candy suckers?" Doctor: Cracks up. Presents Action Hero with sucker; promises Boy Wonder one when exam is finished. Boy Wonder is examined, and the Rapid Strep Test (sticking large Q-tip device down throat of patient) is performed. We head into the waiting room to wait for results. This is a bad idea, because...
9:04: Boy Wonder, having not been sufficiently cautioned about the dangers of running in flip-flop sandals, runs across the waiting room in flip-flop sandals, trips, slides across rug, and whacks forehead on chair leg. As he breaks into hysterics and Action Hero looks on in awe, I race back toward the exam room and request an ice pack from some startled nurses. I race back out into the waiting room to find a startled doctor (not the one we just saw) checking out the situation. We are whisked back into the exam room, where Boy Wonder's forehead is ice-packed and he has his pupils checked and is presented with a bandage. I suppose that if you're going to fall and whack your head, you might as well do it at the doctor's office. We are also informed that the strep test was negative, but presented with medication anyway because, well, giant lymph nodes. We chill with the ice pack for a few more minutes before heading off into the parking lot, where...
9:33: Action Hero takes off running, giggling madly, and is brought back to reality as I pick him up and shriek about the dangers of parking lots. Once safely in parked car, we make more phone calls. Mom: sad that she cannot spend time with grandchildren until they are symptom-free. Dragon: will come home around lunchtime. Daycare director: yes, of course Action Hero can come in. We start the car and go about our day.
11:00: Action Hero is at daycare. Boy Wonder's medicine has been acquired and given. Boy Wonder is in the living room, watching a cartoon, as I prepare lunch for him. I see something silver and shiny out of the corner of my left eye...and then I can't see out of my left eye at all. I realize in horror that I am starting on my first migraine headache in 15 years.** I gulp two generic ibuprofen tablets, reconsider, and take two more. I prepare Boy Wonder lunch and read him a story (once the silver whirlies have concluded) and wait to see what kind of headache is going to hit. Dragon comes home. I briefly consider calling my supervisor, but decide that I will feel like too much of a jackass if I call and say, "Um, I'm not feeling well," after calling and saying, "I'm going to be late," then calling and saying, "I'll be in after lunch." Off to work I go, feeling a bit like I'm riding the Tilt-a-Whirl...
3:00: which I deal with by chewing a LOT of peppermint gum, and my headache has fizzled. Well, whew. Never thought I could whack down a migraine wtih ibuprofen and pepperminnt gum, but not complaining. When filling coworker in on headache and doctor-visit misadventures, I end up filling her in on everything.*** She buys me a Coke.
8:00PM: While putting children to bed, I discover swollen glands in Action Hero's tiny neck. "Owie, Mommy. Dat hurts. No touchie neck."
8:57PM: Dragon leaves to see new Batman movie; I bid him happy watching as I rest on couch under blanket. I promise to make iced tea and save recorded TV show episodes for him.
8:58PM: I close my eyes and do not wake up until Dragon comes home from movie, whereupon he sends me off to bed.
Thus concludes the yesterday portion of our adventure. The today portion, also beginning at around 5:38, involves another call to doctor (the startled one), who thinks we should wait for a couple of days to treat Action Hero, since the strep test was negative and it may be all viral anyway. It also involves Action Hero hitting his head on the coffee table and getting a big bruise, and then getting a call back from Startled Doctor that, while Boy Wonder's rapid test for strep was negative, the more traditional overnight test came back positive. Welcome to the House of Strep. He will call in a prescription for Action Hero.
*She is having one of her kidneys removed. Because it has cancer on it. Tests currently pending on whether or not cancer is anywhere else. We hope it's not.
**I got migraine headachaes regularly from fifth through eighth grade. Thirty minutes or so of whirly flashing lights in front of one eye, followed by Very Bad headache lasting six to eight hours, followed by barfing, followed by passing out in exhaustion.
***See first footnote.
