Yesterday was Action Hero's third birthday. Since Boy Wonder's birthday is in three weeks, Easter is next Sunday, and our family schedule has been JUST A BIT thrown off lately, we are celebrating both boys' birthdays AND Easter on, well, Easter. So we had a low-key little celebration here yesterday, for which I baked a cake.
Boy Wonder, who had already displayed a small (GIANT) hint of jealousy that Action Hero had presents and he didn't, saw me begin to mix the cake. "But I wanted a Transformers cake," he said, a whine creeping into his voice.
"Well, I'm sure you do want one. But it's Action Hero's birthday, not yours. And it's a yellow vanilla cake, not chocolate. You like vanilla."
"I will NOT like it! I won't eat it. I will just have fruit punch for dessert tonight." And off he went, probably to dream of a Transformer cake and birthday presents just for him.
I continued baking, and set the cake aside to cool. Several hours later, when it was time for frosting, I got a bit carried away with the food coloring, making the filling between layers light purple and the top layer of frosting sky blue. (This seemed like it would be pretty jazzy, what with the yellow cake.) Then I put Smarties candies on top, shaped like a smiley face. Then I put three big birthday candles in the cake, and summoned everyone (well, my dynamic duo, Dragon, and my dad)for the birthday song.
It was a pretty hokey-looking cake, but I had fun. And, as it turned out, so did everyone else involved. Action Hero did a great job of blowing out the candles, and was very, very pleased with the smiley face. Overall, he was so pleased with the cake that he ate three pieces of it...and so did Boy Wonder, having apparently forgotten his earlier vow to stick to fruit punch. We were all quite astonished at their cake-eating prowess.
I gave them some cake for breakfast this morning, and they enjoyed that too. But my favorite moment of the day came in the car, after picking up Boy Wonder but before picking up Action Hero.
"Mom? What kind of cake do I want for my birthday?"
"I don't know, what kind of cake do you want? We can go to the grocery store and look in the book this weekend."
"No! I want a YELLOW cake! Only I don't like the blue and purple frosting. I want green frosting on top. And yellow in the middle. Can you do that? And I don't want the Smarties. Can you put Sweet Tarts on it instead? And there will be six candles, three red and three blue."
I was stunned. "You mean...you want me to make your cake? You don't want to get one at the grocery store?"
"Yeah! Don't forget about the Sweet Tarts, okay?"
TAKE THAT, OPTIMUS PRIME.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
Blank. Verse.
I always thought her hands were so elegant
(much more so than mine)
with long slender fingers
and nails that actually grew nicely
instead of breaking every fifteen seconds
and then they were skeletal and shaky
but somehow more elegant than ever
He put on his coat to leave, and she said,
Where are you going?
And he said, The gra-...uh. Where you'll be b-...
And finally he simply said, Forest Home
(and she knew what he meant,
but still it was easier not to actually say it)
and my father said, Will Dragon buy a suit?
I hope not, because I don't even have one
and I don't know what I will wear
she always picked out my ties
and right now I can't even decide whether or not to
make a pot of coffee
I wanted to take him home and
tuck him into bed and tell him it would be all right
but I couldn't
because I knew
and then
I wanted to lift her out of the bed
and carry her to the sun room
so she could look out the window
and maybe smile, just one more time
and my grandmother said, I wish I could take her place
I wish I could crawl in that bed instead
and evemtually my cell phone rang
and surely by now you will have realized
that this is all in the past tense
and that's because my mother died today>
and I have had way too much wine
so I'm posting this lousy poem
instead of a coherent post
(much more so than mine)
with long slender fingers
and nails that actually grew nicely
instead of breaking every fifteen seconds
and then they were skeletal and shaky
but somehow more elegant than ever
He put on his coat to leave, and she said,
Where are you going?
And he said, The gra-...uh. Where you'll be b-...
And finally he simply said, Forest Home
(and she knew what he meant,
but still it was easier not to actually say it)
and my father said, Will Dragon buy a suit?
I hope not, because I don't even have one
and I don't know what I will wear
she always picked out my ties
and right now I can't even decide whether or not to
make a pot of coffee
I wanted to take him home and
tuck him into bed and tell him it would be all right
but I couldn't
because I knew
and then
I wanted to lift her out of the bed
and carry her to the sun room
so she could look out the window
and maybe smile, just one more time
and my grandmother said, I wish I could take her place
I wish I could crawl in that bed instead
and evemtually my cell phone rang
and surely by now you will have realized
that this is all in the past tense
and that's because my mother died today>
and I have had way too much wine
so I'm posting this lousy poem
instead of a coherent post
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Free advice
From Boy Wonder. Given to Action Hero, who was afraid of the car wash today and became a little weepy.
"Action Hero, I need to tell you something. When I was three, I was very scared of the car wash! I cried all the time when we went to the car wash.* But then I learned a lesson.** And when I was four, I wasn't afraid of the car wash anymore! So right now you are scared, and probably you will be scared when you are three too. But then you will be four, and then you will not cry at the car wash."
I found this rather cute. I also find it amazing how quickly Boy Wonder flips from Helpful, Protective Older Brother to Bossy, Teasing Older Brother.
Action Hero had no comment, except to ask if he could have lemonade and pretzels when we got home.
*Which we've only ever gone too once every three months, because it's free after an oil change.
**I am not sure which lesson he is talking about. I think Young Boy Wonder liked the car wash better after I told him it was like the car taking a shower, or perhaps running through the sprinkler. Perhaps that's it.
"Action Hero, I need to tell you something. When I was three, I was very scared of the car wash! I cried all the time when we went to the car wash.* But then I learned a lesson.** And when I was four, I wasn't afraid of the car wash anymore! So right now you are scared, and probably you will be scared when you are three too. But then you will be four, and then you will not cry at the car wash."
I found this rather cute. I also find it amazing how quickly Boy Wonder flips from Helpful, Protective Older Brother to Bossy, Teasing Older Brother.
Action Hero had no comment, except to ask if he could have lemonade and pretzels when we got home.
*Which we've only ever gone too once every three months, because it's free after an oil change.
**I am not sure which lesson he is talking about. I think Young Boy Wonder liked the car wash better after I told him it was like the car taking a shower, or perhaps running through the sprinkler. Perhaps that's it.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Black swan, white wine
Sorry, ladies.
(The above is actually a pretty good book, filled with quality novellas and short stories, and Misses Datlow and Windling should in no way be blamed for the fact that I have consumed so much Black Swan Riesling tonight that my nose is numb. They are good editors. I own many of their anthologies.)
I have been absent, mostly due to the vagaries of being a married mother with a full-time job going to school-part time, whose kids keep coming down with a variety of childhood ailments and whose mother has Stage 4 cancer. The past month and a half have brought many adventures, including the following:
Action Hero can TALK. Boy, can he ever. He has moved from babbling to being able to carry on coherent conversations.
Boy Wonder can COMPLAIN. Boy, can he ever. His favorite phrase is, "No fair!" This is trotted out on nearly every occasion on which he is displeased. He cannot have a third cookie? NO FAIR. He cannot have a treat because he has spent the past half hour teasing his brother until he cries? NO FAIR. He cannot have Kool-Aid for breakfast? NO FAIR. The sky is blue? NO FAIR. He also recently said, "You have RUINED my LIFE!" (You know, I think that was also concerning Kool-Aid for breakfast.) I was not expecting that for another seven years at least.
As dinner was cooking the other night, I heard a loud popping noise coming from inside the oven, and thought What the hell? Investigation revealed that the cookie sheet, on which the Tater Tots were cooking, had bent, as cookie sheets usually do in hot ovens, so I determined that the pan had just bent unusually loudly, and wondered if we perhaps had mice too, and if one of them had been startled when I turned on the oven. As it turned out, neither was accurate*; instead, the lightbulb inside the oven had burst, and rained down slivered-glass destruction upon the Tater Tots, as I discovered when I removed them from the oven. The kids were slightly less thrilled with the carrot sticks and cucumber slices that were hastily cut up to replace the Tater Tots, but only slightly. They like carrots and cucumbers pretty well. Especially cucumbers. Boy Wonder would happily eat a garden full of salt-sprinkled cucumbers, and Action Hero just likes to eat.
Earlier this week, I was thinking, "Gosh, I never really get one-on-one time with Action Hero. He is like Boy Wonder's little sidekick." And Fate laughed. And that very night, my darling little sidekick woke up at midnight coughing his head off with a horrid attack of croup. HERE'S YOUR ONE-ON-ONE TIME RIGHT HERE, said Fate. Action Hero is doing well now, although still a touch viral and feverish. Poor dear.
Still, my children are cute, I have an astonishing GPA considering that I am a married mother working full-time and going to school part-time (thank you, reading comprehension skills), and my mother is doing quite well, considering.
Thank you for your support. Will go enjoy Riesling buzz now.
*KNOCK ON WOOD. Loudly, and with great vigor.
(The above is actually a pretty good book, filled with quality novellas and short stories, and Misses Datlow and Windling should in no way be blamed for the fact that I have consumed so much Black Swan Riesling tonight that my nose is numb. They are good editors. I own many of their anthologies.)
I have been absent, mostly due to the vagaries of being a married mother with a full-time job going to school-part time, whose kids keep coming down with a variety of childhood ailments and whose mother has Stage 4 cancer. The past month and a half have brought many adventures, including the following:
Action Hero can TALK. Boy, can he ever. He has moved from babbling to being able to carry on coherent conversations.
Boy Wonder can COMPLAIN. Boy, can he ever. His favorite phrase is, "No fair!" This is trotted out on nearly every occasion on which he is displeased. He cannot have a third cookie? NO FAIR. He cannot have a treat because he has spent the past half hour teasing his brother until he cries? NO FAIR. He cannot have Kool-Aid for breakfast? NO FAIR. The sky is blue? NO FAIR. He also recently said, "You have RUINED my LIFE!" (You know, I think that was also concerning Kool-Aid for breakfast.) I was not expecting that for another seven years at least.
As dinner was cooking the other night, I heard a loud popping noise coming from inside the oven, and thought What the hell? Investigation revealed that the cookie sheet, on which the Tater Tots were cooking, had bent, as cookie sheets usually do in hot ovens, so I determined that the pan had just bent unusually loudly, and wondered if we perhaps had mice too, and if one of them had been startled when I turned on the oven. As it turned out, neither was accurate*; instead, the lightbulb inside the oven had burst, and rained down slivered-glass destruction upon the Tater Tots, as I discovered when I removed them from the oven. The kids were slightly less thrilled with the carrot sticks and cucumber slices that were hastily cut up to replace the Tater Tots, but only slightly. They like carrots and cucumbers pretty well. Especially cucumbers. Boy Wonder would happily eat a garden full of salt-sprinkled cucumbers, and Action Hero just likes to eat.
Earlier this week, I was thinking, "Gosh, I never really get one-on-one time with Action Hero. He is like Boy Wonder's little sidekick." And Fate laughed. And that very night, my darling little sidekick woke up at midnight coughing his head off with a horrid attack of croup. HERE'S YOUR ONE-ON-ONE TIME RIGHT HERE, said Fate. Action Hero is doing well now, although still a touch viral and feverish. Poor dear.
Still, my children are cute, I have an astonishing GPA considering that I am a married mother working full-time and going to school part-time (thank you, reading comprehension skills), and my mother is doing quite well, considering.
Thank you for your support. Will go enjoy Riesling buzz now.
*KNOCK ON WOOD. Loudly, and with great vigor.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Aftershocks
(Not actually "shocks," but "aftermoments of mild startlement" just doesn't have the same ring.)
Christmas or Christmess?
In preparation for the someone from the insurance company who is going to be calling in the next couple of days, I decided to look for any original-packaging type items. I was pretty sure the box and manual for the digital camera were somewhere in the basement, so downstairs I went. Whereupon I shouted the following:
"Hey Dragon? Were you digging around in the box of Christmas lights?"
"Me? Uh, no."
"Well, damn. I guess they did mess around in the basement after all."
A quick check revealed that all of our holiday decorations appeared intact, complete with Sesame Street's holiday-themed DVDs. At least we still have Elmo Saves Christmas! Nothing else appears to be missing, but, well, it's a basement. Here in Wisconsin, we put junk that we're not quite sure what to do with in the basement. I already had to toss a lot of what was down there after our December plumbing adventure, so I'm not clear on what I should be looking for (other than "Are all major appliances still there?" Which they are.)
Adventures in Banking
While looking through the paperwork this morning, I realized I was missing one booklet of checks. Now, they could have already gone to the Great Paper Pile in the Sky, or I could have written them out of sequence. Or they could have been taken yesterday, because even delinquent middle schoolers know what checks are. The nice man at the bank offered to just put a stop payment on that batch of checks, for free, but I bank and pay bills online, man, and you can do that with an account number and a routing number, both of which are displayed prominently on a check. So I made him open a brand-new account for me, and for some reason the branch manager came over to introduce himself. Hopefully, no one will steal our mail over the next couple of weeks. (But if they do, I take comfort in the fact that that's a federal crime.) As I was leaving the bank and heading to work, I briefly wondered if a piano would fall out of the sky and land on my head, or if perhaps a bike messenger would plow into me.
Safe-ty
Dragon called to say that he was leaving work early to undertake some DIY home security projects; anything I needed? I requested that he look for one of those fireproof-box type things, as the police officer recommended we get one of those for sensitive documents and decent-quality jewelry.He brought back a nice one, and now we have to decide where to keep it and its key. Oh wait, I'm on the Internet. Excuse me; he brought back a professional-grade, robbery-proof safe, which will soon be moved to an undisclosed location after we memorize the impossible-to-crack combination.
Thank you for listening. Tune in tomorrow for further adventures from the House of Strep, Spontaneous Vomiting, Relatives with Cancer, and Far Fewer Electronic Devices Than We Had Earlier This Week.
Christmas or Christmess?
In preparation for the someone from the insurance company who is going to be calling in the next couple of days, I decided to look for any original-packaging type items. I was pretty sure the box and manual for the digital camera were somewhere in the basement, so downstairs I went. Whereupon I shouted the following:
"Hey Dragon? Were you digging around in the box of Christmas lights?"
"Me? Uh, no."
"Well, damn. I guess they did mess around in the basement after all."
A quick check revealed that all of our holiday decorations appeared intact, complete with Sesame Street's holiday-themed DVDs. At least we still have Elmo Saves Christmas! Nothing else appears to be missing, but, well, it's a basement. Here in Wisconsin, we put junk that we're not quite sure what to do with in the basement. I already had to toss a lot of what was down there after our December plumbing adventure, so I'm not clear on what I should be looking for (other than "Are all major appliances still there?" Which they are.)
Adventures in Banking
While looking through the paperwork this morning, I realized I was missing one booklet of checks. Now, they could have already gone to the Great Paper Pile in the Sky, or I could have written them out of sequence. Or they could have been taken yesterday, because even delinquent middle schoolers know what checks are. The nice man at the bank offered to just put a stop payment on that batch of checks, for free, but I bank and pay bills online, man, and you can do that with an account number and a routing number, both of which are displayed prominently on a check. So I made him open a brand-new account for me, and for some reason the branch manager came over to introduce himself. Hopefully, no one will steal our mail over the next couple of weeks. (But if they do, I take comfort in the fact that that's a federal crime.) As I was leaving the bank and heading to work, I briefly wondered if a piano would fall out of the sky and land on my head, or if perhaps a bike messenger would plow into me.
Safe-ty
Dragon called to say that he was leaving work early to undertake some DIY home security projects; anything I needed? I requested that he look for one of those fireproof-box type things, as the police officer recommended we get one of those for sensitive documents and decent-quality jewelry.
Thank you for listening. Tune in tomorrow for further adventures from the House of Strep, Spontaneous Vomiting, Relatives with Cancer, and Far Fewer Electronic Devices Than We Had Earlier This Week.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Dear Universe: WTF?
So, yesterday my mother came home from the hospital. Yay! I was going to stop by and visit her on the way to class today; accordingly, I left work at 4:30 feeling glad about seeing her and looking forward to class.
The phone rang as I was in the parking structure, walking to my car. It was Dragon.
"Hey, did you have any problems with the garage door this morning? It won't open."
"No. Sorry."
Then, a few minutes later, the phone rang again. And again, it was Dragon.
"Hi. I've just called the police. Someone's broken into our house. The computer room is trashed. I've got the kids outside and we're waiting for the police."
"Okay. I'll come home then." Call to school admin, asking her to explain to instructor that I will not be at class. Call parents, asking Dad to perhaps not tell Mom about break-in. (He does anyway, I later find out.)
Dragon was still waiting for the police when I got home 20 minutes later (boy, that felt like a long drive.) I'd spent the drive home having visions of calling all of the banks and credit card companies to cancel/freeze accounts, and having to look up everyone's number without benefit of the Internet. I went in to check things out, being careful to not touch anything, and confronted a confusing mess in the computer room. The camera and iPod (sniff) were missing, but the computers, although disconnected and in six different places, were still there. Credit cards, though scattered everywhere, were also still there. Papers were everywhere. The living room was also somewhat messy, and the DVD player and PlayStation 2, along with some games, had vanished. Still there: TV, DVDs, and digital photo frame. Upstairs, most of the dresser drawers had been dumped out, and my jewelry box was in pieces and mostly empty. Still there, though: wedding bands and engagement ring.
Soon the police, in the form of a nice female officer, arrived to collect evidence. (Noteworthy: "There's a beautiful handprint on this window. Unfortunately, I think it belongs to one of your sons.") Reports from the neighbors indicate that several middle-school-aged kids were the culprits; they were seen emerging from the house with a sack (my pillowcase, that would be).
So, not as bad as it could have been; big mess, but for the moment, most of the valuable items are still here. (Many of them will be relocated shortly.) We have our suspicions as to who these middle schoolers might be, and we have attentive neighbors.
On the other hand, I could cheerfully rip the lungs out of said middle schoolers, or perhaps their parents, because Boy Wonder is freaked right the hell out by all this. Thanks, guys; you left us most of our stuff, but now my five-year-old is afraid to go to the damn bathroom without me. Because there were Bad Guys in our house, and our closets, and what if they come back?
They didn't cover this in the parenting book, I don't think.
The phone rang as I was in the parking structure, walking to my car. It was Dragon.
"Hey, did you have any problems with the garage door this morning? It won't open."
"No. Sorry."
Then, a few minutes later, the phone rang again. And again, it was Dragon.
"Hi. I've just called the police. Someone's broken into our house. The computer room is trashed. I've got the kids outside and we're waiting for the police."
"Okay. I'll come home then." Call to school admin, asking her to explain to instructor that I will not be at class. Call parents, asking Dad to perhaps not tell Mom about break-in. (He does anyway, I later find out.)
Dragon was still waiting for the police when I got home 20 minutes later (boy, that felt like a long drive.) I'd spent the drive home having visions of calling all of the banks and credit card companies to cancel/freeze accounts, and having to look up everyone's number without benefit of the Internet. I went in to check things out, being careful to not touch anything, and confronted a confusing mess in the computer room. The camera and iPod (sniff) were missing, but the computers, although disconnected and in six different places, were still there. Credit cards, though scattered everywhere, were also still there. Papers were everywhere. The living room was also somewhat messy, and the DVD player and PlayStation 2, along with some games, had vanished. Still there: TV, DVDs, and digital photo frame. Upstairs, most of the dresser drawers had been dumped out, and my jewelry box was in pieces and mostly empty. Still there, though: wedding bands and engagement ring.
Soon the police, in the form of a nice female officer, arrived to collect evidence. (Noteworthy: "There's a beautiful handprint on this window. Unfortunately, I think it belongs to one of your sons.") Reports from the neighbors indicate that several middle-school-aged kids were the culprits; they were seen emerging from the house with a sack (my pillowcase, that would be).
So, not as bad as it could have been; big mess, but for the moment, most of the valuable items are still here. (Many of them will be relocated shortly.) We have our suspicions as to who these middle schoolers might be, and we have attentive neighbors.
On the other hand, I could cheerfully rip the lungs out of said middle schoolers, or perhaps their parents, because Boy Wonder is freaked right the hell out by all this. Thanks, guys; you left us most of our stuff, but now my five-year-old is afraid to go to the damn bathroom without me. Because there were Bad Guys in our house, and our closets, and what if they come back?
They didn't cover this in the parenting book, I don't think.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Action Hero singalong
The other day, Dragon e-mailed me this link, accompanied by a message saying, "Watch this with Action Hero in your lap!" I was at work at the time, so was not able to accomplish this immediately. But, once I'd acquired Action Hero from daycare, we watched it. And Dragon has created a tiny monster. Here, you watch this, and then I will explain.
Feist on Sesame Street
Action Hero LOVES this clip. LOVES it. We watched it for the first time on Friday. When it was done, he said, "Aden! Aden!" (Guess what that means.) So we watched it a few more times, and then he said, "She say hi to me! To ME!" I puzzled over this for a few seconds, and upon another viewing, realized that the singer gives a little wave when she comes out from behind the gate and starts walking. And, since he is two and thus the center of his own little universe, she is waving at him, of course. Anyway. We watched it a few more times the next day, and when it was time to stop, he started shrieking and stomping his feet, saying, "Aden! Aden!" He was quite put out when no more YouTube was forthcoming, but recovered enough to dance quietly around the living room, singing, "One two free four, countin countin nummer four," for a little while. And we watched it
Of course, child song love has drawbacks for grownups. First of all, I am pretty sure that the regular versoin of this song, which is probably not about counting chickens and penguins, is never going to sound "right"; I will always see dancing monsters when I think of it. And, second, but perhaps more important, I cannot get it out of my head.
I bet you can't either, now. You're welcome!
Feist on Sesame Street
Action Hero LOVES this clip. LOVES it. We watched it for the first time on Friday. When it was done, he said, "Aden! Aden!" (Guess what that means.) So we watched it a few more times, and then he said, "She say hi to me! To ME!" I puzzled over this for a few seconds, and upon another viewing, realized that the singer gives a little wave when she comes out from behind the gate and starts walking. And, since he is two and thus the center of his own little universe, she is waving at him, of course. Anyway. We watched it a few more times the next day, and when it was time to stop, he started shrieking and stomping his feet, saying, "Aden! Aden!" He was quite put out when no more YouTube was forthcoming, but recovered enough to dance quietly around the living room, singing, "One two free four, countin countin nummer four," for a little while. And we watched it
Of course, child song love has drawbacks for grownups. First of all, I am pretty sure that the regular versoin of this song, which is probably not about counting chickens and penguins, is never going to sound "right"; I will always see dancing monsters when I think of it. And, second, but perhaps more important, I cannot get it out of my head.
I bet you can't either, now. You're welcome!
Saturday, August 02, 2008
More barfing. No, I'm not kidding. And some bad news.
My family would like to turn this year in for a refund, please. Though it all looked very bright and pretty right after the holidays, it is not performing very satisfactorily.
The day began reasonably well, with trips to Target (diapers) and the library (Boy Wonder and I have now read 70 books together this summer; 30 more and he will get FABULOUS PRIZES. Well, he'll get prizes, anyway, and he will certainly think they are fabulous). In between trips, I made pancakes for lunch. Some phone conversations indicated that my mother, currently in the hospital minus a kidney and various lymph nodes, was feeling reasonably well and up to a visit with Boy Wonder. Action Hero was sleeping, so he and Dragon held down the fort at home while Boy Wonder and I went to the hospital.
News on the hospital front was not great; reports are back on the kidney and lymph nodes, and it's NOT QUITE THE NEWS WE WERE HOPING FOR. Chemotherapy, perhaps even a bit on the aggressive side, will be required. My mother is not thrilled, but is feeling more ...comfortable? secure? something along those lines?...now that she knows what is going on. After having been a nurse for 40 years, the past three weeks of not knowing were driving her right up the wall. She is looking forward to getting all aggressive with the chemo. We managed to have a nice visit, and she was very happy to see Boy Wonder.
Who, as we were in the parking lot on our way to the car, suddenly said, "Mom! I'm COLD!" We had just walked under a shady overhang area and the wind had been blowing, so I didn't find anything odd about that. He also dozed off on the way home, which I also did not find odd; it was 4:00 and if he's going to doze off anywhere during the daytime, it's late afternoon in the car. But when he began rubbing his eyes and complaining of a headache, I started getting rather worried. He was really not acting like his usual self, or even his not-feeling-well self; he was acting really odd and was obviously in pain. He didn't have a fever. Had he bumped his head? Did he somehow have a concussion? Soon enough, all was revealed; at 4:56, I said, "Boy Wonder. Does your belly hurt?" and he nodded, got up, and said, "I think I am going to puke." Which he then trotted off to the bathroom and did, voluminously. Twice. Then his skin became hot to the touch.
So, once again, Dragon and Action Hero (now awake) held down the fort at home while Boy Wonder and I went to the hospital - a different one, with Urgent Care. A bit further away than the other one, but, as it's just opened and is probably not high on the local radar, absolutely lacking in other Urgent Care seekers. Thus, we had the staff to ourselves, and quite attentive they were, immediately ushering us into an exam room and presenting us with techs, nurses, and a doctor in short order. Visit in brief: temp of 102. Patient very drowsy, kept dozing off on gurney but would wake up periodically to say, "I don't want a shot!" Conclusion: there may still be some strep, or related bacteria, hanging around in there, as his throat and neck glands were still quite irritated. Different antibiotics were prescribed and acquired, along with new bottles of children's fever medicines, since in recent weeks we've killed the old bottles but good. Home at 7:30.
Current status: Boy Wonder dosed with antibiotic and "fever medicine"; he did perk up a bit but still requested an escort to bed shortly after we arrived home. I cannot visit the hospital tonight, in case I am carrying any Bad Sore Throat and Fever germs. I briefly wondered if I should visit the bar instead, but am instead visiting my couch, library books in tow.
The day began reasonably well, with trips to Target (diapers) and the library (Boy Wonder and I have now read 70 books together this summer; 30 more and he will get FABULOUS PRIZES. Well, he'll get prizes, anyway, and he will certainly think they are fabulous). In between trips, I made pancakes for lunch. Some phone conversations indicated that my mother, currently in the hospital minus a kidney and various lymph nodes, was feeling reasonably well and up to a visit with Boy Wonder. Action Hero was sleeping, so he and Dragon held down the fort at home while Boy Wonder and I went to the hospital.
News on the hospital front was not great; reports are back on the kidney and lymph nodes, and it's NOT QUITE THE NEWS WE WERE HOPING FOR. Chemotherapy, perhaps even a bit on the aggressive side, will be required. My mother is not thrilled, but is feeling more ...comfortable? secure? something along those lines?...now that she knows what is going on. After having been a nurse for 40 years, the past three weeks of not knowing were driving her right up the wall. She is looking forward to getting all aggressive with the chemo. We managed to have a nice visit, and she was very happy to see Boy Wonder.
Who, as we were in the parking lot on our way to the car, suddenly said, "Mom! I'm COLD!" We had just walked under a shady overhang area and the wind had been blowing, so I didn't find anything odd about that. He also dozed off on the way home, which I also did not find odd; it was 4:00 and if he's going to doze off anywhere during the daytime, it's late afternoon in the car. But when he began rubbing his eyes and complaining of a headache, I started getting rather worried. He was really not acting like his usual self, or even his not-feeling-well self; he was acting really odd and was obviously in pain. He didn't have a fever. Had he bumped his head? Did he somehow have a concussion? Soon enough, all was revealed; at 4:56, I said, "Boy Wonder. Does your belly hurt?" and he nodded, got up, and said, "I think I am going to puke." Which he then trotted off to the bathroom and did, voluminously. Twice. Then his skin became hot to the touch.
So, once again, Dragon and Action Hero (now awake) held down the fort at home while Boy Wonder and I went to the hospital - a different one, with Urgent Care. A bit further away than the other one, but, as it's just opened and is probably not high on the local radar, absolutely lacking in other Urgent Care seekers. Thus, we had the staff to ourselves, and quite attentive they were, immediately ushering us into an exam room and presenting us with techs, nurses, and a doctor in short order. Visit in brief: temp of 102. Patient very drowsy, kept dozing off on gurney but would wake up periodically to say, "I don't want a shot!" Conclusion: there may still be some strep, or related bacteria, hanging around in there, as his throat and neck glands were still quite irritated. Different antibiotics were prescribed and acquired, along with new bottles of children's fever medicines, since in recent weeks we've killed the old bottles but good. Home at 7:30.
Current status: Boy Wonder dosed with antibiotic and "fever medicine"; he did perk up a bit but still requested an escort to bed shortly after we arrived home. I cannot visit the hospital tonight, in case I am carrying any Bad Sore Throat and Fever germs. I briefly wondered if I should visit the bar instead, but am instead visiting my couch, library books in tow.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Barfing in school libraries with boys
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.
"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.
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.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Double grossness
Brought to you by Gross Moments in Parenting, Volume MCXLD, Chapter 57: Noses and Their Contents. Anithe & Co., var. dates from 2003 to present.
When I came up with the joke citation above, I had no idea I was going to get so much mileage out of it. Ha.
When Boy Wonder was about the age Action Hero is now, he paused during dinner and said, "Oh, no. Corn! Nose!" and we spend a wild few minutes extracting a large kernel of corn from his nose. He did not enjoy it, and has (so far) not repeated the trick.
Last Sunday, Action Hero decided that it was his turn in that particular spotlight, and, as we were having macaroni and cheese for lunch, he suddenly paused, looked thoughtful, and pointed at his plate of noodles. He said, "In nose," and then nodded sagely. (Hey, at least I have informative kids.)
"Action Hero. Is there a noodle in your nose?"
"Yes." (another earnest nod)
"Okay, tilt your head back and let me take a look...hey, what do you know. There is." (turning around) "Hey! Dragon! What did we do when Boy Wonder put corn up his nose?"
"Why?"
"Oh, you know, no reason. No, because Action Hero has food in his nose now."
Anyway. For some reason, Action Hero understands the concept of nose-blowing slightly better than Boy Wonder did at that age, and the noodle was rather smaller than a corn kernel, so all was well a few minutes later.
Gross Moments in Parenting also presents the following special bonus section, When Fingernails Detach! We hope you enjoy it as much as...uh, wait. No one's enjoying this. Never mind. Here, have a gross story.
Several weeks ago, as I was in the basement doing laundry, I heard earsplitting shrieks from the first floor, and ran upstairs to find Action Hero saying, "Owie finger! Pinch door! OWWIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE! WAHH!" And my, there were tears. And I said, "Aw, honey, did you pinch...DAMN. You sure did." For lo, he had been sitting at the foot of the steps, and gotten his thumb stuck in the door hinge; his little cuticle was a bloody mess and the thumbnail was quickly turning purple. Ice, lots of hugs, and eventually a Spiderman bandaid, complete with antibiotic ointment, were applied, and he recovered (although he burst into tears every time he looked at his hand for the next three hours). The finger healed nicely over the next week, but the nail looked pretty grody, and had gotten worse over the past couple of days. No more bruising, but it looked all dry and weird.
Today he came running up to me shouting, "Owie, owie! Finger owie pinch!" And I was like, "Um, yeah, you pinched your finger last month, but it should be all bet...oh, MAN. Let me take a look at that." For lo, his little thumbnail is now only attached in one upper corner, and the rest has detached itself from the nail bed. Whoo! Fingernail-falling-off action! In the absence of having any idea on what to do, as I've never incurred such a fingernail event, we wrapped it in a Band-aid (Elmo this time) and spent much of the evening meal watching him tell himself sternly, "Leave bannaid. No touch! Leave lone!"
In conclusion, yech. (But it could be worse. I haven't gotten to Hey! Fevers Can Make Your Kid Barf! Who Knew? yet.)
When I came up with the joke citation above, I had no idea I was going to get so much mileage out of it. Ha.
When Boy Wonder was about the age Action Hero is now, he paused during dinner and said, "Oh, no. Corn! Nose!" and we spend a wild few minutes extracting a large kernel of corn from his nose. He did not enjoy it, and has (so far) not repeated the trick.
Last Sunday, Action Hero decided that it was his turn in that particular spotlight, and, as we were having macaroni and cheese for lunch, he suddenly paused, looked thoughtful, and pointed at his plate of noodles. He said, "In nose," and then nodded sagely. (Hey, at least I have informative kids.)
"Action Hero. Is there a noodle in your nose?"
"Yes." (another earnest nod)
"Okay, tilt your head back and let me take a look...hey, what do you know. There is." (turning around) "Hey! Dragon! What did we do when Boy Wonder put corn up his nose?"
"Why?"
"Oh, you know, no reason. No, because Action Hero has food in his nose now."
Anyway. For some reason, Action Hero understands the concept of nose-blowing slightly better than Boy Wonder did at that age, and the noodle was rather smaller than a corn kernel, so all was well a few minutes later.
Gross Moments in Parenting also presents the following special bonus section, When Fingernails Detach! We hope you enjoy it as much as...uh, wait. No one's enjoying this. Never mind. Here, have a gross story.
Several weeks ago, as I was in the basement doing laundry, I heard earsplitting shrieks from the first floor, and ran upstairs to find Action Hero saying, "Owie finger! Pinch door! OWWIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE! WAHH!" And my, there were tears. And I said, "Aw, honey, did you pinch...DAMN. You sure did." For lo, he had been sitting at the foot of the steps, and gotten his thumb stuck in the door hinge; his little cuticle was a bloody mess and the thumbnail was quickly turning purple. Ice, lots of hugs, and eventually a Spiderman bandaid, complete with antibiotic ointment, were applied, and he recovered (although he burst into tears every time he looked at his hand for the next three hours). The finger healed nicely over the next week, but the nail looked pretty grody, and had gotten worse over the past couple of days. No more bruising, but it looked all dry and weird.
Today he came running up to me shouting, "Owie, owie! Finger owie pinch!" And I was like, "Um, yeah, you pinched your finger last month, but it should be all bet...oh, MAN. Let me take a look at that." For lo, his little thumbnail is now only attached in one upper corner, and the rest has detached itself from the nail bed. Whoo! Fingernail-falling-off action! In the absence of having any idea on what to do, as I've never incurred such a fingernail event, we wrapped it in a Band-aid (Elmo this time) and spent much of the evening meal watching him tell himself sternly, "Leave bannaid. No touch! Leave lone!"
In conclusion, yech. (But it could be worse. I haven't gotten to Hey! Fevers Can Make Your Kid Barf! Who Knew? yet.)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The sincerest form of flattery
Action Hero loves to push and pull various objects throughtout the house, enacting different scenarios as he does so. He will pick up my keys, jump on his ride-along car, and say, "Bye Mommy! I drive car! See morrow!" and spend the next few minutes tooling around the house, bidding us all cheery farewells. Or he will push a chair around and announce that he is riding a rocketship, and bid us all cheery farewells. Or he will put on a backpack, grab my keys, and announce that he is going to school (bidding us all cheery farewells, of course).
Because it is nearly summer here, and because we have had approximately 90 zillion inches of rain recently, the grass has gone crazy and Dragon had to cut it yesterday. Apparently, this and previous mowing observation made quite an impression on Action Hero, as this morning found him pushing around a rolling Spiderman backpack saying, "I cuttin grass, Mommy! Cuttin grass!" Sadly, the camera was not available.
Because it is nearly summer here, and because we have had approximately 90 zillion inches of rain recently, the grass has gone crazy and Dragon had to cut it yesterday. Apparently, this and previous mowing observation made quite an impression on Action Hero, as this morning found him pushing around a rolling Spiderman backpack saying, "I cuttin grass, Mommy! Cuttin grass!" Sadly, the camera was not available.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
When the muse strikes...
There's half a tree on my neighbor's garage. There's a bunch of water on my basement floor. Action Hero threw a block at Boy Wonder, leaving a small owie under his eye. Then Action Hero put a macaroni noodle up his nose.
Excuse me, I have to go write a country song now.
Excuse me, I have to go write a country song now.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Night terrors
Or, The Curious Incident of the Punch in the Night-time.
The scene: Charming Bungalow. It is 3:45 in the morning, and our heroine Anithe wakes (probably from a weird dream; those have been prevalent lately) to the sound of a crying Action Hero.
Action Hero: Mommy! Mommy!
Me: What's wrong, honey? (picks him up and hugs him)
Action Hero: Boyboy punch me in da EYE! Da EYE!
Me: Uh. There, there. (looks across the room at Boy Wonder, soundly asleep and snoring gently) But you know, I think that was a dream.
Action Hero: (sniffle) DWEEM! Puncha da eye. (sniffle)
Me: Uh-huh. Well, come sleep on my shoulder for a while, 'kay?
So, why is my two-year-old dreaming about his brother punching him in da eye, anyway? Since we don't actually run around punching each other in the eyes at our house.
Theory 1: Well, why not? He and Boy Wonder have been having small tugs of war over toys, and Boy Wonder, being both larger and more possessive, frequently yanks toys away. Plus Action Hero accidentally whacked Boy Wonder in the eye the other day, as both of them ran up the stairs (it really was accidental, Boy Wonder was behind him and Action Hero was just Racing with Big Brother, a favored activity in these parts). Boy Wonder then said, "My eye! My eye!" and needed much consolation.
Theory 2: You may have seen dogs and cats do all sorts of wacky things - kick, make running motions with their paws, or shake their heads - in their sleep? Well, kids do the same thing. From my vast experience as a parent of two behaviorally quite similar children, the smaller they are, the more they twitch, flail, and make amusing facial expressions. It is likely that Action Hero flailed in his sleep, whacking himself in the eye and startling awake, and his small sleepy brain concluded that the only other person in the room was to blame.
The scene: Charming Bungalow. It is 3:45 in the morning, and our heroine Anithe wakes (probably from a weird dream; those have been prevalent lately) to the sound of a crying Action Hero.
Action Hero: Mommy! Mommy!
Me: What's wrong, honey? (picks him up and hugs him)
Action Hero: Boyboy punch me in da EYE! Da EYE!
Me: Uh. There, there. (looks across the room at Boy Wonder, soundly asleep and snoring gently) But you know, I think that was a dream.
Action Hero: (sniffle) DWEEM! Puncha da eye. (sniffle)
Me: Uh-huh. Well, come sleep on my shoulder for a while, 'kay?
So, why is my two-year-old dreaming about his brother punching him in da eye, anyway? Since we don't actually run around punching each other in the eyes at our house.
Theory 1: Well, why not? He and Boy Wonder have been having small tugs of war over toys, and Boy Wonder, being both larger and more possessive, frequently yanks toys away. Plus Action Hero accidentally whacked Boy Wonder in the eye the other day, as both of them ran up the stairs (it really was accidental, Boy Wonder was behind him and Action Hero was just Racing with Big Brother, a favored activity in these parts). Boy Wonder then said, "My eye! My eye!" and needed much consolation.
Theory 2: You may have seen dogs and cats do all sorts of wacky things - kick, make running motions with their paws, or shake their heads - in their sleep? Well, kids do the same thing. From my vast experience as a parent of two behaviorally quite similar children, the smaller they are, the more they twitch, flail, and make amusing facial expressions. It is likely that Action Hero flailed in his sleep, whacking himself in the eye and startling awake, and his small sleepy brain concluded that the only other person in the room was to blame.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Still taking things literally
Today I had a Home and School Meeting to go to (sort of the Catholic School version of the PTA, I think), so Dragon picked up the boys and got them situated with dinner (they had a picnic! in the backyard!) while I sat in a church hall basement and listened to a summary of fundraising efforts. Good times. And good cookies. Anyway, I made it it home before sunset, and, as I pulled into the garage, I noticed something colorful (not a bat! whoo!) flapping merrily against the garage window. Further investigation revealed a red, white, and blue windsock, in the style of Modern Kindergarten Art Class.
After hugging each of the children about six thousand times, I said to Boy Wonder, "Honey, did you make the red, white, and blue thing outside?"
"No." he replied.
"What?"
"I didn't make it outside. I made it at school."
And to think, a large company pays me to edit its documents.
After hugging each of the children about six thousand times, I said to Boy Wonder, "Honey, did you make the red, white, and blue thing outside?"
"No." he replied.
"What?"
"I didn't make it outside. I made it at school."
And to think, a large company pays me to edit its documents.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
(Another) non-Kodak moment
Brought to you by Gross Moments in Parenting, Volume MCXLD, Chapter 57: Noses and Their Contents. Anithe & Co., var. dates from 2003 to present.
Entirely normal parenting moment: hearing the two-year-old cry in the middle of the night. Picking him up, comforting him as he buries his face in your shoulder, and carrying him back to your bed to cuddle for a while.
Slightly unnerving parenting moment: realizing, once it gets light out and you can actually see said two-year-old's face, the blanket, and the shoulder of your nightshirt, that he was crying because he was having a nosebleed.
Entirely normal parenting moment: hearing the two-year-old cry in the middle of the night. Picking him up, comforting him as he buries his face in your shoulder, and carrying him back to your bed to cuddle for a while.
Slightly unnerving parenting moment: realizing, once it gets light out and you can actually see said two-year-old's face, the blanket, and the shoulder of your nightshirt, that he was crying because he was having a nosebleed.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Where have all the sandals gone?
Many matters have been weighing on my mind recently, including but not limited to finances, both Charming Bungalow-related and other; relationships with family members; the nature and logistics of being a working mother; and how to introduce more variety, and health, to the household dinner menu.
So I'm going to blog about footwear. Specifically, sandals.
Last summer, once the weather started getting warmer, I spent quite some time looking for my sandals. Not of the flip-flop variety; if one loses those, one can buy another pair for $1. Not of the Rugged Outdoor Casual variety, either; my pair of those, which Dragon purchased as a gift for me about six years ago, are easy to find and in good condition to boot. (Er, sorry. No pun intended. Really.) I was looking for my office-appropriate sandals, consisting of, as far as I recall, a pair of flat strappy slip-ons and a pair of low-heeled slip-ons. I didn't find them right away, though, and, as last year was rather eventful, before I knew it, autumn had arrived and I was looking for the office-appropriate boots. (Those, I found.)
Warmer weather has arrived again, though, so I once again decided to look for the sandals. And I looked. And looked. And today, I looked some more. I looked in the basement. I looked in the attic. I even looked in the garage. And I have NO BLOODY IDEA where on earth they are. I can't exactly retrace my steps now, since we moved into Charming Bungalow going on two years ago, but here are my efforts so far.
We moved into Charming Bungalow over Labor Day weekend, 2006; I'd been wearing my sandals a lot (while house-hunting, actually), and decided that the moving efforts would require sneakers. So, figuring it would be getting cooler soon anyway, I packed them away. Where? Don't know. I remember throwing all of our shoes into a cardboard box, as they were shoes and didn't need careful packing treatment, and then transferring the ones we weren't wearing regularly into a plastic storage bin.
And that's where the trail ends. I have found plastic storage bins containing clothes, toys, table linens, holiday decorations, purses, winter hats, and winter boots. One of these bins did contain a pair of sandals that fits Action Hero; I found various items of clothing that I'd forgotten about, so it was sort of like shopping; and I've been meaning to change purses as the current one has a big hole in the lining that swallowed $1.25, two tubes of lip balm, and the flash drive with all of my schoolwork on it before I noticed (all items were easily retrievable, but still), so now I have a fine selection of different purses to choose from. So the search wasn't a total loss. However, St. Anthony (patron saint of lost things, who has assisted me in finding various household items) has not seen fit to reveal the sandals.
Still, I hope to find them one day. They were plain, black, conservative sandals, and those seem to be rather hard to come by these days what with all the patterned, pointy-toed, wedge-heeled, cork-soled deals filling the stores these days. (At least, last summer, when I briefly considered replacing the sandals and couldn't find a darn thing that was similar.) I can't imagine that I would have inadvertently tossed them out with something else, as I'm pretty sure there are two more pairs of sandals that were with them, and that would have made for a pretty heavy bag to inadvertently toss. But I've looked in every available plastic storage bin, and I don't think there's anywhere else to look now.
Perhaps I ought to appeal to St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes.*
*Who probably has as many--more, really--weighty matters to consider as I do, so I ought not trouble him with finding missing shoes. I will continue appealing to St. Anthony.
So I'm going to blog about footwear. Specifically, sandals.
Last summer, once the weather started getting warmer, I spent quite some time looking for my sandals. Not of the flip-flop variety; if one loses those, one can buy another pair for $1. Not of the Rugged Outdoor Casual variety, either; my pair of those, which Dragon purchased as a gift for me about six years ago, are easy to find and in good condition to boot. (Er, sorry. No pun intended. Really.) I was looking for my office-appropriate sandals, consisting of, as far as I recall, a pair of flat strappy slip-ons and a pair of low-heeled slip-ons. I didn't find them right away, though, and, as last year was rather eventful, before I knew it, autumn had arrived and I was looking for the office-appropriate boots. (Those, I found.)
Warmer weather has arrived again, though, so I once again decided to look for the sandals. And I looked. And looked. And today, I looked some more. I looked in the basement. I looked in the attic. I even looked in the garage. And I have NO BLOODY IDEA where on earth they are. I can't exactly retrace my steps now, since we moved into Charming Bungalow going on two years ago, but here are my efforts so far.
We moved into Charming Bungalow over Labor Day weekend, 2006; I'd been wearing my sandals a lot (while house-hunting, actually), and decided that the moving efforts would require sneakers. So, figuring it would be getting cooler soon anyway, I packed them away. Where? Don't know. I remember throwing all of our shoes into a cardboard box, as they were shoes and didn't need careful packing treatment, and then transferring the ones we weren't wearing regularly into a plastic storage bin.
And that's where the trail ends. I have found plastic storage bins containing clothes, toys, table linens, holiday decorations, purses, winter hats, and winter boots. One of these bins did contain a pair of sandals that fits Action Hero; I found various items of clothing that I'd forgotten about, so it was sort of like shopping; and I've been meaning to change purses as the current one has a big hole in the lining that swallowed $1.25, two tubes of lip balm, and the flash drive with all of my schoolwork on it before I noticed (all items were easily retrievable, but still), so now I have a fine selection of different purses to choose from. So the search wasn't a total loss. However, St. Anthony (patron saint of lost things, who has assisted me in finding various household items) has not seen fit to reveal the sandals.
Still, I hope to find them one day. They were plain, black, conservative sandals, and those seem to be rather hard to come by these days what with all the patterned, pointy-toed, wedge-heeled, cork-soled deals filling the stores these days. (At least, last summer, when I briefly considered replacing the sandals and couldn't find a darn thing that was similar.) I can't imagine that I would have inadvertently tossed them out with something else, as I'm pretty sure there are two more pairs of sandals that were with them, and that would have made for a pretty heavy bag to inadvertently toss. But I've looked in every available plastic storage bin, and I don't think there's anywhere else to look now.
Perhaps I ought to appeal to St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes.*
*Who probably has as many--more, really--weighty matters to consider as I do, so I ought not trouble him with finding missing shoes. I will continue appealing to St. Anthony.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Dude, where's my rebate?
Have you gotten your economic stimulus check today?
We haven't! And we didn't get it yesterday, or the day before, or the day before, either. Or the day before THAT. You get the point.
I was getting quite concerned, actually. I read all of the intial press releases and news articles, and got all excited: we e-filed way back in February and received our refund as a direct deposit, and Dragon's SSN put us in Group 1 of the direct-deposit-rebate receivers. I did the online rebate calculator thingie, and it looked like we were available for the maximum. More excitement abounded. Surely, I thought, we would have our rebate by May 2! The day after, at the latest!
Only (as mentioned above) we didn't, and I suddenly realized that we had never actually gotten The Notice explaining that we would be getting one. I visited the eligibility calculator several thousand more times, checked the Reasons Why You Might Not Be Eligible, and got a bit worried, especially when an informal survey revealed that several acquaintances had received notices.
So I finally broke down and called Them. You know, those people. Who are, as it turns out, required to immediately identify themselves by name and employee number upon answering the official Rebate Hotline. I guess they must get, oh, I don't know, a lot of complaints, or something?
Anyway. Mr. Rebate Answer Person was quite nice, considering that he's probably had to answer variations of my post title eight hours a day for the past month, and said, "Oh, I think I understand now. Did you have your taxes done through a preparer?" Why yes, we had. "And you had them take the cost of tax preparation out of your refund?" Indeed. "In that case, the direct deposit was routed through THEIR bank first, and then they wired the refund to your account." Oh. "In those cases, we issue a paper check; yours should be on the way in a couple of weeks." But we are getting one? "Oh yes, I don't see why not. All of your SSNs are valid, and you're certainly within the income guidelines." Duh; if the income was higher, I wouldn't be so darn concered about this here rebate thing.
So that's settled. Weeping and obsessive online balance-checking may endure for a week, but joy (and a tax rebate) cometh by Memorial Day weekend. At least according to Mr. Rebate Answer Person. Let's hope he's correct!
We haven't! And we didn't get it yesterday, or the day before, or the day before, either. Or the day before THAT. You get the point.
I was getting quite concerned, actually. I read all of the intial press releases and news articles, and got all excited: we e-filed way back in February and received our refund as a direct deposit, and Dragon's SSN put us in Group 1 of the direct-deposit-rebate receivers. I did the online rebate calculator thingie, and it looked like we were available for the maximum. More excitement abounded. Surely, I thought, we would have our rebate by May 2! The day after, at the latest!
Only (as mentioned above) we didn't, and I suddenly realized that we had never actually gotten The Notice explaining that we would be getting one. I visited the eligibility calculator several thousand more times, checked the Reasons Why You Might Not Be Eligible, and got a bit worried, especially when an informal survey revealed that several acquaintances had received notices.
So I finally broke down and called Them. You know, those people. Who are, as it turns out, required to immediately identify themselves by name and employee number upon answering the official Rebate Hotline. I guess they must get, oh, I don't know, a lot of complaints, or something?
Anyway. Mr. Rebate Answer Person was quite nice, considering that he's probably had to answer variations of my post title eight hours a day for the past month, and said, "Oh, I think I understand now. Did you have your taxes done through a preparer?" Why yes, we had. "And you had them take the cost of tax preparation out of your refund?" Indeed. "In that case, the direct deposit was routed through THEIR bank first, and then they wired the refund to your account." Oh. "In those cases, we issue a paper check; yours should be on the way in a couple of weeks." But we are getting one? "Oh yes, I don't see why not. All of your SSNs are valid, and you're certainly within the income guidelines." Duh; if the income was higher, I wouldn't be so darn concered about this here rebate thing.
So that's settled. Weeping and obsessive online balance-checking may endure for a week, but joy (and a tax rebate) cometh by Memorial Day weekend. At least according to Mr. Rebate Answer Person. Let's hope he's correct!
