Life has been insane busy

I'm too tired to say much now. These past 30 days or so have been a blur.

After the kids got over their illnesses, I got sick. The bug liked sinuses.

I got better, then started tunic production. Oldest had to pin a hem, which just about killed her.

I packed way too much food for the event. We went to the event. We were rained on the entire time. We opted to not sleep on site and instead went to a lovely, DRY hotel.

The event was awesome.

I finally have most things put back in order. We finished panelling the storage shed, so many of the fabric tubs got moved outside. As a result, there is space in the living room.

Easter was a blur. Spring Break is not off to a good start. My internet provided has decided I am a spammer and I have a migraine. I'll try again tomorrow to hit the road.

And How Has YOUR Week Been?

Starting with last Friday...

All last week I was busy with The Red Door Sale at church. On Friday, Oldest woke up and informed me, between coughs, that her throat hurt. I took her to the doctor instead of heading to church. She was poked for blood, then X-rayed head and chest. Some where in there a rapid strep test was done. I passed the baton to Hubby and he took over. I went on to church and they visited the pharmacy to get antibiotics for her sinus infection.

Saturday, Hubby had a meeting. I had three children with me at The Red Door Sale. The Boy Child took offense at one of the workers helping himself to one of the doughnuts I had purchased on the way. "Don't eat Mommy's doughnuts!!!" The old guy was startled.

"No, son, Mr. Marvin is allowed to have a doughnut. That's why I bought TWO DOZEN." I refused to allow the doughnuts to be sold as part of the bake sale, instead pointing out their existance to our workers. Marvin's wife said that she wasn't surprised that he had jumped on the doughnut. She "never buys them". I'm glad Marvin didn't let TBC chase him away. Marvin deserved that doughnut.

Want to see funny? Watch three old ladies try to teach my son the finer points of negotiation ACROSS THE ROOM... at full volume. "TELL HER YOU'RE ONLY GOING TO PAY 50 CENTS FOR THAT PUZZLE!!!" "TELL HER THAT ORCA IS ONLY WORTH 25 CENTS." Once our cashiers realized what was going on, the negotiations went much smoother.

We all came home and collapsed. I was still barely able to move on Sunday. I slept half the day, plagued by migraines.

Monday dawned and The Boy Child had an attitude. I was ready to tear his little butt up and send him to school when he stood his ground and said, "Mommy, I'm telling you I just don't feel good enough to go to school." This was different than "don't WANT to go". I touched him and he was feverish.

Lovely.

Middlest had missed the bus. We all boarded Mhyrk and dropped her at school. I made an appointment for The Boy Child. The deposit and report for The Red Door Sale got done. We arrived at the doctor's office and I informed Oldest she was going back to the exam room so the doctor could see that she wasn't better yet.

Well... The doc said that TBC only had a virus, no need for antibiotics. Due to a mix up in the back, Oldest had two rapid strep tests. TBC had one rapid strep test. Neither had strep. Yippee. Oldest was written a note for the entire week, so she would have plenty of time to get better. This made her third trip to see Dr. T in three weeks. He wanted her completely well before going back to school. I was told to keep the boy home until his fever was completely gone. Lots of Robitussin CF and fever reducers were called for.

We have mostly stuck to the house all week. Sometime on Tuesday, TBC started complaining that his right ear hurt when I tried to take his temperature in the ear. You could tell just by looking at him that he did not feel good at all. On Wednesday evening, I noticed the mucus in his left eye. Then he barfed on me. And the sofa. It was a special shade of green. Blue Slurpee will do that. Especially when mixed in the tummy with Yellow Slurpee.

More lovely.

OK, Thursday: We got to the doctor's office at just after nine. My child is talented. If it is above his neck, it's infected.

Double ear infection. Check.

Sinus infection. Check.

Double ocular infection (both eyes filled with mucus). Check. This is not necessarily "pink eye", but I have to keep my hands washed as if it is.

We have the Pink Medicine (Yay!*) and eye drops.

*We loves the Pink Medicine. Long story, involving a pink balloon and TBC.

At this point I've finally convinced him that I'm not poking his eye out with a cotton swab. He sits still and I nab the yucky green lumps out the corner of his eyes. Even his tears are tinted green.

Is it time for that stiff drink yet? Please?

Face Plant, Dude!

No sooner than I got the young ones on the bus, an idiot ran the bus stop sign. All the bus driver could do was blow the horn. I guess it's time for me to start body blocking the road again... with camera in hand. Yeah, idiot, I'll be HAPPY to take your ass to court for endangering my children.

I fumed the whole way back inside the house, then started reading emails. I had things I needed to do, but email reading was on the To Do List. Then my cell phone rang.

"Hi, this is the school nurse. Your son tripped as he was exitting the bus. He's got a pretty messy bloody nose but I don't think it's broken..."

These days the school nurses are really limited in the care they can render. The nurse could not appy Afrin Nose Spray (to stop the bleeding), but I could. "Do you have pertroleum jelly?" I asked. I grabbed The Boy Child a clean jacket and pair of pants. He took off his outer shirt while I was on the phone with the nurse, so I assumed there was no blood on the guitar T-shirt. I was wrong.

I remained calm but hurried. I zipped past the assistant principal who was doing hall duty. When I walked into the clinic, the first thing I noticed was the blood on the wall. "Is that from you?" I asked.

The nurse rolled her eyes and affirmed that it was indeed his blood. "I'm waiting until he leaves for class to clean up." Apparently while the nose was actively bleeding, TBC was getting blood everywhere. Upon closer inspection, it looked like he tried to put his bookbag and coat on the table. The coat was covered in bloody streaks. All in all it looked like several large drops of blood were smeared down the left side of the jacket. When the jacket contacted the wall, blood was transferred. The wall looked worse than TBC at this point.

Afrin was squirted up his nose. Then pertroleum jelly was applied to a long-handled cotton swab. The nurse was amazed that I got the jelly up the nostril with minimal fuss. "This is exactly what I do when Oldest has a nose bleed," I told her and reminded him. I asked for a baby wipe to clean his face and hands. Then I made sure that it was all right to drop the blood contaminated tissues and wipes into the regular trash can.

We sent him off to class. I told the nurse that I had a doctor's appointment "at a new office that I have never been to before. I need to leave early. Call me if his nose starts to bleed." I left the school and attempted to call Hubby's cell phone. (Calls between us are free.) No luck. I left a quick voice mail on his regular office phone when I got back into the house. "If I'm already in the Other Town at my appointment and his nose starts to bleed again, you're going to have to handle it."

A couple of hours later I noticed the blood on my tan pants. When I picked up his jacket and outer shirt to bring them home, the not yet dried blood transferred over. Good thing I saw that prior to my appointment. I changed clothes and started the washing machine.

About 30 minutes prior to my launch time, Hubby called. "Whatcha doing? What are you having for lunch? What..."

"Where are you?" I interrupted.

"The Freeway. About to turn onto our street. I haven't had lunch..." Hubby had come home to be in a better position to handle the nose issue. Good Daddy points for him today.

I went to my appointment and discussed chemicals and surgery, always fun topics. When I finished, I called Hubby from the parking lot. He was amazed I was done already. "Well, I didn't even take my clothes off today. Talking doesn't take long."

I was on Major Highway when the cell phone rang with the school audio. As I flipped it open I was relieved to see it was the High School. "Mom, blah blah blah, missed bus, blah blah blah, come get me..." I could make out less than half of what Oldest was saying.

"Call your father," I interrupted. I went for loud and distinct as well as no room for argument. "He's at home. I'm on Major Highway. Call him at home. Love. You. Good. Bye." I flipped the phone shut.

All the drama averted, I made a bank deposit run and called home again. "Is Oldest home yet? Good. I'm going to the grocery store." Dinner purchased, I headed home. apparently the younger children had literally just walked in the door ahead of me.

"I got a Green Face today," TBC proudly informed me. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. It took a face plant and nose bleed to knock the meanness out of him so he'd be good today.

When last we met, Janie had poison ivy... and a fire story

Although itchy spots are still being dealt with, I think I'm FINALLY healed up. All ivy in the yard will be KILLED in the near future. That's a promise. The only way around that would be for us to move to a (nicer) house in the next couple of months.

I have survived several days at home with three children. My parents visited for a few days. On Saturday, I took Mom with me as we ran an errand and I almost ended up running off the road.

As we traveled down a local road, we passed the scene of a fire, the remains still smoking. Our hair dresser and gun shop had burned down, along with the other four businesses on that side. I felt sick. All those people (50+) out of a job less than a week before Christmas! Middlest was in the back seat, trying mightily not to cry. Mom recalled an incident when Middlest was just a bun in the oven. Oldest had been collecting gravel from their parking lot. Mom told her, "They have all those rocks numbered. They'll miss them if you take any." Oldest listened and put the rocks back.

On Monday prior to Christmas, my parents headed home. I took the girls and went to the scene of the fire, excuse being we were going to see the chiropractor. I had called the chiropractic office early that morning and was relieved to hear the receptionist's voice on their machine. When business hours had started, I called again and spoke to the doctor. "Yes, we're open. And thankful!!!"

I was overwhelmingly happy when we ran into our hairdresser, the Wonderful Karen, just out front of the chiropractor's office. We had panned to get Oldest's hair cut that day, but the fire ruined everything. Wonderful Karen was there attempting to meet clients and make other arrangements for future appointments. I got her cell number, then went to talk to the gun shop owner. I gave a hug and told her when/if she got back into business, I'd be happy to order a gun from her. I guess my procrastination was a good thing this time. I had not placed my order (or gave money) for a weapon yet. It will be awhile now.

Apparently ATF agents were notified by the fire department and arrived on scene while the fire was still being fought. While ammunition was going off in the heat, the ATF agents pulled out all the records that they could get. At that time it was unknown if the fire had been set to cover a burglary, so they needed all the serial numbers they could find. It is believed LOTS of guns were destroyed in the fire. If any show up later, we'll know different.

Today I took The Boy Child to see the fire scene. We met one of the business owners. He showed us the melted tail lights on his company truck. This older gentleman tried very hard to not cry as he told me "Everything happens for a purpose, even if we don't know what it is. I lost my faith for a little bit there, but I'm getting it back." He also said it looked like the fire had started in our hair salon. That would make sense. As I had discussed with the chiropractor's receptionist: there were two hair shops, a gun shop, and a nail school all on that side. Those chemicals all burn with a passion. Maybe sprinklers would be an excellent idea when they rebuild?

You all take care. Don't leave any appliances plugged in that don't need to be.

Alive and Itchy

Actually, I'm much better now. I should be considering it has been two freaking weeks since I did battle with the ivy.

The ivy won, in case you were wondering.

Black Friday while everyone else was out shopping, I stayed home and did yard work. I had both girls fetching and carrying garbage bags. I can get SO much more accomplished if I don't have to break stride to carry bags to the curb. I had on long sleeves and gloves. I only handled the vines with the gloved hands.

I still got poison ivy. Or oak. Whatever.

The retired pediatrician says Viriginia Creeper looks a whole bunch like one of the ivys. That's got to be the case, as I only saw Virginia Creeper and English Ivy.

I stripped off my work clothes by the washer and walked upstairs to wait for The Boy Child to get out the tub. (He had been in charge of Earthworm Relocation... and played more than worked, as goes his usual help with yard work.) I was standing with my hands on my hips, contemplating Life In General, when it occurred to me that I had not scrubbed up with Dawn dish detergent yet. (Side note: my hips are one of the places I DO NOT have ivy rash. Go figure.) I hopped in the shower and scrubbed all body parts several times. I noticed a bug bite on my right calf.

For about one day I was fine. Then all hell broke loose. As usual, I had managed to get scraped in two places by the ivy on one arm. The scrapes began to get histamine bumps around them. A rash appeared on my left shin. Apparently I scratched the bug bite in my sleep. The bug bite area started looking like poison ivy rash. After that I dressed up to go to bed so I wouldn't spread it any further. I was a mess. Long pajamas, gauze, and various creams were my nightly routine.

I gave it a week to get better, then dragged myself in to see a doctor. I wore shorts and a short-sleeve shirt (under my regular clothes) to show off my boo-boos better without needing to undress. It was still dang cold in the exam room. The doc prescribed prednisone and sulfur-drug antibiotics. The spot on my leg (the original bug bite) continued to get worse. I began to wonder if some bad spider had gotten me.

Finally, Hubby (My Hero!) handed me the cream he had been prescribed for ivy rash. In one night my leg went from bright, angry red to a healing pink.

My arms still itch. It was too hot yesterday to be wearing long-sleeves, but I did anyway. Applying that cream to my arms seems to have helped them a bit, too. But I still itch.

I'm tired of itching.

Outback and the tire rut appology

We returned the Dodge Magnum to the airport today. We went to Outback on the way home. Middle Child was very adamant that she did NOT want to eat at Outback. I informed her she could starve while she watched us eat. Or not. Her choice.

Heather the Waitress was taking our order when disaster struck. One girl knocked the other girl's glass over. It sloshed all over the table. Heather the Waitress ran to grab towels. As we tried to be helpful, I came to the conclusion that it was a good time to make a potty run.

"Mommy," asked Middlest, "why do the doors say 'blokes' and 'sheilas'?"

I explained it was Australian slang for guys and gals. Middlest picked a stall, so I went to the other two to check. There wasn't toilet paper hung in any of the stalls. Middlest's stall had two rolls perched on the toilet tank. I opted to wait for her to get done and use that stall. I locked the door and started to bend over, my eyes on my jeans front.

I connected with the coat hanger on the back of the door. If I don't have a bruise in my hairline tomorrow, it'll be a miracle.

I walked Middlest back to the table and told Charles I needed to go speak with a manager. I headed back towards the door and spoke with the (rather pregnant) hostess. She was indeed some version of manager and she appoligized for my bathroom experience. I complained politely about the toilet paper situation, then quietly whispered, "And it really stinks in there..." Right at that moment, a guy in a blue shirt walked up.

"This is Chris, our store owner. He's the one that can do anything to the building," Pregnant Hostess/Manager began to explain.

I quickly repeated to Chris the Owner what had happened. His jaw dropped. He promised "as soon as the customers clear out tonight, that hook is GONE." Then he mentioned that they would soon be renovating the restrooms.

"If that's the case, the best thing you can do for your ladies' room is to have stalls that open OUT," I suggested.

Pregnant Hostess/Manager nodded her agreement. Chris the Owner stared at us blankly.

"When doors open inward, you have to dance around to get inside and close the door," I explained.

"You have to rub up against the toilets in there just to get in," Pregnant Hostess/Manager added helpfully.

"And if you have a small child with you," I continued, "it's even more complicated."

Pregnant Hostess/Manager offered to go show Chris the Owner right that moment what we were talking about. He caught on that she was joking and thanked me for "the very good input" about the bathrooms. I returned to our table and gave Charles the Headline version of the story. Oldest looked up and stared at Chris the Owner as he arranged tables for a party near us.

"That guy looks like Uncle Jim!"

Having seen Chris the Owner straight on, I didn't notice it. Viewing him from the side, he looked a LOT like my brother. I caught his attention as he neared our table and told him he favored my brother quite a bit.

"Then your brother must be a very fine looking fellow!"

The rest of dinner progressed without drama. The Boy Child not only tore into the Blooming Onion, he ate ALL of his cheeseburger. Wonders will never cease.

Once we got home, I decided to accomplish two things I had put off all day. I headed to Sally Beauty Supply and Wal-mart.

At Sally I got the necessary things for fixing my broken nails. "You don't need all that stuff," the manager said when I came to the checkout. "Put all that back. Buy this stuff. It's what I use." One bottle for $3 versus a handful of items for about $20... SOLD. This super-glue in a nail polish bottle is called "Brush-On Gel Resin", apparently by "ibd" company. It dries a little rough, so there will be buffing/sanding later.

At Wal-mart I assembled the "I'm sorry the tow truck driver left ruts in your yard" basket. The neighbor is diabetic, so I got some fruit, "Motts Healthy Harvest" apple sauce ("with no added sugar!"), three kinds of Gevalia coffee, and six kinds of sugar free candy. I placed it all in a bright red dish pan. I wrapped it all in "Saran Wrap Holiday Colors" green plastic wrap and enclosed a card.

I left it on their front stoop without ringing the bell. I'll let you know if anything is said.

It was one of those days where little goes right

Today was picture day for the younger set, so last night I stayed up ironing shirts for The Boy Child. This morning he agreed that the blue shirt was the one to wear. We put on the spiffy new "zipper" tie. Less than two minutes later, I took the tie back. "You are NOT wearing that to school if you're going to act like that." I was seriously afriad the kid was going to choke himself.

I needed to get some groceries. Instead of spending 20 minutes at the bus stop, I had them load up into Karl the Wonder Truck. Getting out of Karl, TBC fell and got his tan pants muddy. Proving how insensitive and evil I am, I told him to go into school. He wasn't bloodied and I needed to get those groceries and get home before Oldest did. According to The Informant (Middlest) "he cried the whole way inside." At some point during the day his teacher had him change into his emergency pants. He came home wearing camo pants with the tan pants in his book bag.

I arrived at the gate and the guard acted funny. I rolled my window all the way down. The male guard took my ID card away. "Ma'am, we can't let you through the gate," said the female guard. "Your inspection sticker expired... in September." My mouth fell open. How the hell could I have missed that?

"Can I have my ID card back?" I asked. The male guard was walking off with it.

"Yes, ma'am. Turn your truck around and he'll give it to you."

Karl obliged the U-turn and the guard handed over my card. "There's a place across the street that will inspect it for you." He was just trying to be helpful.

"No thank you. I have a place that does that for me." No one was behind me, so I pulled out the cell phone and "parked" at the red light. "Hi, Diane. This is Janie. Can you inspect my truck this morning?"

"Sure, how quick can you get here?" Diane the Office Manager asked sweetly.

"I'm driving straight there."

Diane, the business owner, and I had a lovely conversation. They had just had a customer whose inspection sticker had expired in August, so I was instructed to "don't feel so bad." I asked them to change the oil since I was there. "Mrs. B, the time is up but you haven't driven the miles yet. We checked the viscosity and the oil is still good. Wouldn't you rather wait another month or two?" I LOVE this repair shop. They won't try to get you to pay for something unneccessary. With Karl inspected, I headed home.

Oldest had not beaten me home. I didn't feel like I should go shopping and leave her home alone. Instead, I started work on the tunic-chemise I had cut out early in the morning. The sewing was coming along nicely when Oldest started rattling the door knob. By the time I made it to the foyer, she had it unlocked. "Weren't you supposed to get home earlier from exams?" I asked after she had a minute to unwind.

"The substitute bus driver said, 'No problem, I'll take the Peachtree kids home and be right back for you.' We stood out in the bugs for TWENTY MINUTES!!!"

I waited for the complaining to stop. "In 20 minutes you could have walked home."

I took a break from the sewing and read emails and such on the computer for a bit. I even carried the laptop to the bathroom for several minutes. Hubby finally walked in. "Are you ready to go?"

"No, because you didn't call me."

"Oh yeah??? Check your voice mail..."

I ignored the invitation to fight and got ready to run out the door. I called Oldest to the top of the stairs. "Go into my bedroom and take the portable phone off its charger. Keep it beside you."

"Oh, are you going somewhere?"

I have positively BRILLIANT children.

Hubby drove out to the antique and reproduction store. When the owner saw me, his face lit up. "You're BACK! I'll be with you in just a minute."

I turned to Hubby. "He's happy because he just *knows* he's going to make a sale." We wandered around and decided on a couple of styles. The owner checked to see how we were doing. We went to the catalogue table and flipped through books. The owner was finally done with the other customers, so he turned his full attention to us. We were once again warned that it could take more than two months to get an order shipped. He wrote down numbers, then went to his office to check prices.

The first bedroom set was, ahem, prohibitively expensive. The other two sets were discontinued by their manufacturers. However, one set was on the show room floor. We walked back and looked at it again. "There aren't any bed-side tables," I noted.

"But these coordinate wonderfully," the owner said as he walked to another set, "...with THIS set, which has also been discontinued. I can take the night-stands from this set and sell them to you." We decided this was indeed acceptable.

"So if we buy these discontinued things from the show room.... when can we have them?" I asked cautiously.

"TODAY, if you want them." He agreed to hold them for a few days for us and ran to get tags. We measured the pieces. We agreed to let him know for sure in a couple of days that we wanted them. We'll set up delivery arrangements at that time.

Think that was a nice resolution to a shopping trip? Hah. Now is when things take a down-turn. Hubby was hungry, but didn't want to eat. "I'm going to be driving with Bill. He might want to stop and eat then."

"Honey," I said, "I think you need to stop making excuses for not eating. *IF* Bill wants to eat, I'm sure he'll understand if you're not hungry because you had a late lunch. You need to eat now." We headed to the Wendy's closest to the house. Orders placed and filled, we returned to the car... that would not start.

Halloween mini-Frostys melting in the back seat, I called AAA. I ate the kid's fries. Hubby used his I-Phone to see if Enterprise had a car he could rent, but the on-line service wouldn't allow him to order. It was too close to closing time. "Call them," I said as I handed over my phone. "Ask them to come pick you up," I suggested once he was on the line with an employee.

The Enterprise employee arrived just before the AAA guy. Hubby went to rent a car and I rode back to the house in the tow truck. Since loading a car takes several minutes, especially in the MIDDLE of Wendy's parking lot, Hubby beat me home. He has a Dodge Magnum, so he's happy.

The tow truck driver insisted upon backing up across the NEIGHBOR'S grass. This is the same neighbor that spends all his time working on his yard. This is the same neighbor that build a gazebo in the back yard to keep the herons out of his Koi pond. I wonder what kind of gift basket I can assemble to appologize for the tire ruts.

If you are wondering, the AAA guy thinks it's the starter. I'll worry about that on Monday. In the meantime, I have to order the mattress. It would be a waste to get the nice furniture and not be able to sleep on it.

Mean Mommy Evidence #1: Telephone

Oldest came storming into the room, shrieking about the current crisis upstairs. I held up my hand in a STOP position and asked the lady I was speaking with to please hold.

"Do you see this phone growing out of my ear? It means I'M NOT LISTENING TO YOU!!! Take your medicine and go to bed. Good night."

I returned to my conversation. "Someone put a hole in their soap. Oh the humanity! Pat yourself on your back RIGHT NOW that you only have one!"

It Made Me Smile... maybe due to shopping related

http://punditkitchen.com/2008/08/02/political-pictures-plane-crash-buy-own-gas/

I guess I'm still a little warped from being sick this week... or am I just like this normally?

I'm actually MUCH better now. This morning we even went to the lodge to help clean up. Man, was it HUMID out this morning! And nary a cloud in the sky. The sweat just poured off me.

The chillinz and I returned home and got bathed. The Boy Child: "I don't want to take a bath"... as I'm putting shampoo in his hair.

Hubby returned home in a MOOD. He was exhausted from working all morning, but he cut the grass. As he put up the mower, the rain began to fall. I carried a mug of Gatorade to the bathroom and left Mr. Grumpy alone.

I took Middlest out shopping by herself. She got quite the haul today.* The Boy Child was thought of and bought for. I think he's most looking forward to wearing his new Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. (Less than $10 for two sets of pjs, what could I do?)

*Friday began the tax free weekend for clothing and school supplies. I took both girls shopping. Oldest got the haul from JC Penny. TBC didn't get a single thing from that expedition.

Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. I'm going to resist the urge to go out shopping again. I want to remain healthy.

We had a mini tornado run through the yard!

It was about 4:40 PM. I was sitting at the compter which is next to the fireplace. The wind began making a strange LOUD sound as it blew across the top of the chimney. "That NOT right!" I exclaimed as I put down the keyboard and raced to the front door.

The girls started shrieking. (They remember the lightning strike VERY well.) "Shut up and stay inside the house," I instructed. The rain was falling lightly and the wind dying down as I opened the front door. A bucket that had previously been in our side yard was in the middle of the lane. The inflatable baby pool was in the neighbor's driveway. A garbage can* was down the street on its side. I retrieved our items and double checked that it wasn't our garbage can. I unlocked the garage pedestrian door and put the container of toys inside.

A fire truck cruised down the street. A couple of the fire fighers eyed me, but since I was obviously fine they continued on. As I returned to our porch, a police cruiser slowly rolled past. "Something happened and they are checking for damage. Turn on the news station."

The 24 hour local news station was running the noon news again. I watched the news scroll across the bottom. No mention of tornadic activity. It wasn't until almost twenty minutes later that I turned over to the regular station and discovered "We've been live with breaking news about the weather situation for the last hour..."

Really? Do you think you could have mentioned it on your other station?

I glanced out into the back yard. Limbs were down all over the place! Most were just twigs, but four long limbs of about one to two inches diamater were up against the dining room. I zipped back out the front door in time to see the neighbor retrieving his garbage can.*

*These garbage cans are about 90 gallon jobbers that the trucks lift to empty.


We soon discovered that others had not been so lucky. There were fatalities in Suffolk. The hospital there was damaged. Several houses were destroyed, many more severely damaged. We saw pictures of vehicles with power poles or trees crunched through them. Several vehicles were flipped. I saw video of a law enforcement officer getting on his hands and knees to check that one upside down car was indeed empty.

Charles was late home. Apparently once they got all the employees down to the ground floor, they wouldn't let them leave. A water spout took out power to part of the base. We saw a cell phone picture of (most likely) the same water spout. The photographer was a friend of the weather lab guy and sent it to him. They had to upload the picture to show it on the news.

Cell phone activity was reported as sporadic. People in Suffolk could receive but not send calls. We are literally two minutes from Suffolk, but most of the damage appears to be 20 to 30 minutes away from our house.

When I finally got tired of listening, they had just reported that the governor will be making disaster area declarations very soon.

And in the middle of all of this, I had a child having a temper tantrum. Got to love Motherhood.

April 23, Catching up on Blogging

Where do I begin?

My MasterCard Moment:

New toilet for kids: $188;

Total spent at 3 stores over 3 days because old toilet was leaking and to "do it right": $1100 and counting;

4 days of "family togetherness": PRICELESS.


We had a nice visit with my parents for Spring Break. Most all of Grandma’s great-grandchildren, all of her children, and all of her grandchildren* came to see her in one day. That was nice for her and the rest of us.

*Jim intended to visit when we had dinner at his restaurant, but I don’t know for sure that he made it out to the Island.

On both the trip South and the return North, we stopped and saw my in-laws for a couple of hours. As I was trying to untangle a few tomato plants for MIL, I broke one. It was one of the few things I managed to get done (planted) the day after our return home.

Why? Heh. Read on.

After a nice breakfast out Wednesday morning, Hubby announced we should go visit Lowe’s. “The kids need a new toilet in their bathroom.” Lowe’s was running their normal “spend $299 at one time and get zero interest for 12 months.” We scoped out what we wanted, then returned home to take measurements and make a list.

Then the Hell began.

I lost track of how many trips to Lowe’s and Churchland Hardware that my poor Karl had to make. I did have the fore-thought to completely empty Karl’s bed. The two large boxes which act as Karl the Wonder Truck’s “trunk” had to take up temporary residence in our living room.

Hubby and Oldest came tearing into the house after that first shopping expedition at Lowe’s. “I’m LATE!” He had a meeting that would start in a few minutes. I told him to not worry about the stuff and just go. Several minutes after he left, the phone rang…

“Um, Janie, is he home?”

“No.” I could almost hear the panic start to build. The whole meeting depended upon Hubby’s presence. “He left several minutes ago. He’s probably pulling up to the Lodge right now.”

The girls really didn’t understand the meaning of “clean the bathroom completely of ALL stuff”. The girls took their last baths in their tub. We got everything movable out. When we ripped up the ancient linoleum, the scope of the problem hit us. There was mold around the toilet hole. A radius of more than twelve inches was pure black.

The whole floor needed to be replaced. The old toilet was temporarily moved to the tub. Various tools and the garbage can sat with the toilet.

All the new fixtures for the bathroom were removed from Karl and carried to the living room. We could barely move through the room. Hubby consulted with Dad via telephone and made a new materials list. I took a turn at gathering materials. Churchland Hardware didn’t have “flooring” plywood. We decided to send Hubby to Lowe’s instead. I insisted he get a power miter saw.

Yes, I insisted my husband purchase power tools. (Tim Allen would be so proud.)

We used the zip-rip-something saw that my parents gave Hubby for Christmas. We carefully removed the plywood from the center of the room. The toilet had leaked at some point in the distant past, but all was dry.

I worked around Hubby and managed to get the room painted. Just like in our bathroom, the rocket scientist that installed the sink couldn’t figure out what to do with the slightly too large sink top… so he cut holes in the wall to make it fit. (I would still very much like to find this person and slap the crap out of him.) With the old sink top removed, the wall needed to be patched. I had to balance mud drying time and priming and painting.

Gazing at the sheetrock of the kitchen ceiling, I made an observation. “If we were to install a light over the sink, now would be a good time to do it, rather than trying to do it all from below at some future point.”

This decision added at least one day to the job. Everyone had to take baths in our bathroom. The children were forced to use the downstairs toilet.

To be continued…

February 29, 2008

Normally I give my blogs a title, but it's not every year we have a 29th of February.


I felt a bit like Bob Barker... or Drew Carey for you babies.

"Child Number One, come on down!"

The first contestant had a seat on the sofa. "Tell your father why your assistant principal had to call me today AND you have In School Suspension tomorrow..."

"Go to your room. Child Number Three, come on down!"

The second contestant took his seat. "Tell your father why you've been suspended from school for three days..."

"Go to your room. Child Number Two, come on down!" I didn't tell her she was a winner. Instead she was instructed to get her shoes and coat.

"Why?"

I gave her The Look.

"Ohhh..."

"Here's the key. Unlock the car door. It's the round one... teeth down... umm, turn left... still locked? Turn right..." She finally got the door open. "Drat, I forgot something." I returned with two LARGE Slurpee cups.

She squealed with glee.

"The Good Child gets the Slurpee."

Mommy gets one, too. Just "because".

FIRE: In My Throat and Behind Taco Bell

As I said in my last post, Wednesday was my birthday. While we were being held hostage by Applebee’s, we started talking about who was sick with what. I mentioned my drippy nose. It had been getting worse by small increments for a couple of days.

“Oh, watch that close,” Carolyn said. “I’m just getting over that. It had a terrible sore throat with it. Be sure to drink plenty of water.”

On Thursday, I noticed my throat was hurting. At bedtime it was pretty bad. I sprayed my throat with Chloraseptic spray and tried to sleep. At Midnight I woke. There was no denying it. My throat was on FIRE. I took some Sudafed with Mucinex in case the post nasal drip was the cause. Later I woke up just because I had swallowed. It was getting awful. I took a large dose of Ibuprophen, sprayed some more Chloraseptic, and went back to fitfully napping. By the time I was supposed to get up in the morning, I decided if I didn’t have strep throat, it was some sort of miracle.

The children were sent off to school and I did some light housework. My throat wasn’t so bad at this point, but still very much actively hurting. I picked Oldest up from school to transport her to her appointment. Returning to the car after the appointment, I looked at my watch. “It’s 11:50. You’re missing lunch, aren’t you? How’s Taco Bell sound?”

We had just gotten into our food good when the lights blinked out. I giggled and said, “At least WE have our food.” The lights came on, then went out again. A couple of the employees went outside to see something. Our cashier flipped open her cell phone.

“Hi, we need you to send a fire truck to the Taco Bell at Blah Blah. There’s a fire behind us…. Where the old gas station used to be…”

I had an OMG moment. Caddy was parked on that side! I instructed Oldest to keep eating and pushed past employees. “I need to move my car!”

Caddy was the only vehicle parked there at the time. It was four parking spaces from the drive thru lane. A small strip of grass separated the drive thru from the wooden fence on the property line. The fire raged on the other side of the fence. Gee, my vehicle was indeed the closest vehicle to the fire. A fire truck might need to park there.

As I finished parking on the other side of the lot, I noticed an employee locking the door on my side. I went back to the door I had exited. All the employees were milling about, either just outside or just inside that door. An employee I had not seen before was locking the door. “I need to get back inside. My child is in there.”

He began to argue with me. “We’re closed. We have no power. We’re closed…”

“MY CHILD IS IN THERE! I NEED TO GO BACK INSIDE TO MY CHILD…”

Our cashier appeared. “Her child is really inside. Let her back in.”

God bless that lady.

I rushed back inside. “If someone will get me a container for our food, we’ll leave and be out your hair,” I said to no one in particular. Oldest was busy wrapping her burrito in its paper. The cashier looked to see what we had, then got a lid and bag and brought them to me.

I turned to the other customers. “A bucket truck has touched the power lines. It is on fire. Big flames.” To Oldest I said, “Let’s go.”

“Can I see it?”

“Get in the car.” I explained the need to leave and make room for rescue personnel and vehicles to respond. “As I pull out the back exit, you can see the smoke and flames.” It was most impressive. The smoke was no longer grey. It had become an ugly black. The entire bucket truck was being consumed. Fire trucks began to line the boulevard.

As we drove back to her school, I explained the seriousness of the situation. “I don’t know what happened to the bucket truck operator. Touching power lines doesn’t end well. He or she may well be dead right now. If so, I hope he died quickly. God bless him.” I explained that women could be bucket truck operators, but all the ones I knew had been male.

She was quiet as she digested this information. “I hope he’s OK.”

“I do, too. The best thing to do right now, instead of feeling sorry for him or her, is to just ask God to bless them.”

We signed her back into school. She trotted off to class with her Taco Bell cup and an exciting lunch story to tell everyone. It was time for me to go see the doctor.

As I checked in, I told the Taco Bell fire story to our favorite receptionist. She had been home at lunch at the time of the power outage and her lights had only blinked. “A bucket truck touched the power lines a couple of years ago when they were building the car lot next to us. He was fried. It happens more often than you might think. Dangerous work.”

I had to wait over an hour to be seen as a walk in. This is actually not a bad wait time. The nurse said, “Yeah, we had sent a girl to Quiznoes to get us lunch and they had no power. Maybe that was why. Now I’m going to make you mad…” She grabbed the top of my head and thoroughly swabbed the back of my throat. I tried mightily not to gag.

When she finished I said, “I’m not mad. I understand why you have to do it. I still don’t like it.” I smiled at her and thought of the off color comments I could make, but decided to not offend this nurse I had never seen before.

The doctor finally arrived. I put aside my sudoku book and told him about my fiery throat the night before. He popped out the room to get the rapid strep test results. “She says it’s ‘lightly positive, but definitely positive’. Get these lozenges and here’s your antibiotic prescription.” He wrote a note and a prescription.

I rushed straight home and arrived about five minutes before Oldest did. “I don’t have my antibiotics yet, because I came home so you wouldn’t have to stand outside. Get ready to walk out the door NOW.”

I’ve been living off benzocaine laced lozenges since Friday afternoon, but the antibiotics are starting to work. I actually slept Saturday night. (Friday night was better than Thursday, but far from decent.) I was snoozing along until about 5 AM Sunday morning.

THUMP. (Small pause.) THUMP. (Pause.) THUMP.

After the eighth or ninth THUMP, I got up. I walked over to the rabbit’s cage and kneeled down. He excitedly ran to greet me, to see what I had brought him to eat for breakfast.

“HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.”

I hissed at the rabbit for a good 30 seconds. Bunny frantically raced around the cage, trying to get away from me. Then in a low growl I told him, “There is NO REASON for you to be making THAT noise at THIS time of the morning. STOP. IT. NOW.”

Two nights of sleeping on the sofa are enough. I’m ready to be better now, thank you.

I do believe I’m rambling. It must be time for more pain meds and such.

Be blessed.

That Long Promised Birthday Post

I had a hard time waking, probably because someone kept me up past Midnight. I stumbled into the bathroom and discovered I couldn’t use the sink. There was a large Victoria’s Secret box blocking access.

Decent start, yes?

As I got dressed, I noticed the bruise on my foot. This would be the bruise caused by dropping a bottle of Maple Syrup out of the refrigerator and bouncing it off my metatarsal. When I had mentioned the incident to my friend, Nether the Lich… Wait, didn’t you know I have undead friends? Hey, pay attention! Anyways, Nether made the cute suggestion “You should draw a face on that bruise…” I picked up the teal Sharpie and outlined the area, then added spikey hair, eyes, and mouth. I could barely see it.

Downstairs, I picked up the purple Sharpie. (I have a thing for Sharpies. Must. Have. All. Colors.) I retraced the eyes and mouth, then added a nose. Oldest wandered through and asked what I was doing. “I’m drawing a bruise on my… wait…”

“Hey, I can draw a bruise on my foot.” She helpfully pantomimes a big scribble above her foot. Smarty Pants.

I wandered back upstairs to find where I had left my watch. Distracted by my hair comb, I instead started fluffing out my damp curls. I turned to leave the bathroom and ACTUALLY REMEMBERED what I had originally come in there for. Watch on my arm, I returned to the kitchen.

Watching Good Morning America got my blood pressure up. The video of the Iranian “incident” got me extremely angry. Am I the only person that recalls the bombing of the Cole? I believe 17 sailors died that day, all because jerks in a motor boat pulled up along side the Cole and blew a big hole in its side. I would have opened fire this week. The Iranians just better be glad I’m not in charge. Time to change the subject.

Oldest was sent to school with a house key. We might not be home when she arrived from school. The bus driver for the younger set was warned that Big Sister might be meeting the bus, but that parental units would soon be home.

Once all the children were safely off to school, I headed upstairs again. As I washed my hands, the sunlight shone on my hair. For all my “going back to my original color”, there sure is a lot of LIGHT in there. Closer examination caused me to say out loud, “Thanks for the DNA, Granny!” I’m going white like Granny did. Very little of this grey nonsense for me! I did the Happy Dance, then went to brush my teeth.

Note to self: in future, apply lip color AFTER tooth brushing. (Wipes toothbrush.)

I headed over to the jewelry repair shop. Not only were they not open, they have a snooty note on the front door stating “Our Insurance Regulations State We May Not Open Our Doors Outside of Our Normal Business Hours.” Instead of standing out front, acting like I was really interested in their window display, I walked into the thrift store next to them.

Two clear glass mugs with sailing ships etched upon them followed me home. Two other not quite so pretty mugs accompanied them.

Finally, I had wasted enough time that the jewelry repair was open. Mickey and Minnie have had dead batteries for literally years. I picked out a pretty red band to go with the red in their clothing, then agreed to return the next day to retrieve my watch. I had to get to church on time.

Sometimes it’s a drag being the youngest participating member of the church women’s group. This day it was my job to play Vanna White. This must be why I took accounting in college. I covered the dry erase board with numbers large enough for the old ladies to see them, then translated for those that still couldn’t see. When the business part of the meeting was over, they sang Happy Birthday to me. Then I was informed I was picking the restaurant for our lunch. No pressure, I just had to make a dozen people happy. “What are you interested in eating?” I was asked. Steak. More discussion followed and our meeting was adjourned to Applebee’s.

Applebee’s then proceed to hold us hostage. That must have been it. Why else would it take over an hour to get our food? The restaurant wasn’t even busy. The waitress apologized for the slow service and tried to make it up to us by giving us all free desserts. I, of course, couldn’t eat my free dessert because I had been forced to eat the largest meal. Everyone else got a “Pick A Pair”. The ONLY steak dish on the menu was a three course meal. Salad was my appetizer. Steak was the main course. Hot fudge “shooter” was my dessert. For being the Birthday Girl I received a FREE Blond Brownie with Caramel Sauce. (It’s still in the freezer.)

Finally free of the restaurant, I was treated to Riding With Old Ladies Part 2. It was… “exciting.” Next time, I either drive myself or volunteer to drive the Over 80 Crowd.

Look! Another white hair!

I rushed in the door, more than an hour after my expected time of return. I thrust food boxes at Hubby and raced upstairs. (When ya gotta go…) I raced back downstairs. “Let’s go. Who’s vehicle?” I hopped in the driver seat of Karl the Wonder Truck.

On the half hour drive to the dealership, I caught Hubby up to date with my day’s activities. His day had not been uneventful either. When we finally arrived, I made sure that Caddy was ready for pick up. I handed over the check book and bid Hubby good-bye. Hopping back into Karl, I put on my sunglasses and turned up the radio.

When I arrived home, I let myself in the door. I was greeted with the sound of crashing and falling objects. Oldest had experienced a moment of panic and things had gotten turned over in her quest to look out the window.

At this point, it was after 3 PM. This was also the point that I realized I had not picked up my birthday cake at 11 AM as promised. Drat.

Hubby managed to beat the younger crowd home. I suggested we order Chinese food from Our Favorite Chinese Restaurant. The guy recognized my voice. It’s not like we order food every week or something.

I picked up the cake, then swung by the restaurant. Hubby met me outside to carry in the food and shut the car door. I zipped inside with the cake. Observant Children wondered out loud “what’s for dinner?” as I applied red candles all around the blue “Happy Birthday Janie”.

We always take pictures of our cakes. I have this delusion that one day I’ll put copies in a special album. I’ll use our previous cakes as inspiration for future cakes. This is the reason I took all three Wilton Cake Decorating classes before I became a mother.

As I was saying, we always take pictures of our cakes. Or actually, *I* usually take the pictures. Hubby was having an argument with my digital camera as I tried to hold the cake as Mr. Photographer instructed. Red wax puddled all around “Janie”. I wished for World Peace and Lottery Wins, then blew out what remained of the candles.

The French wine “Pinot Evil” accompanied the Beef Mixed Vegetables and Sweet and Sour Chicken. (Hubby had his very own order of General Tsao’s Chicken. Spicy. Ick.) For those that have never taken a year of High School French Class, Pinot is pronounced “Pee No”. Rather than being rude, this rhymes with “See No”. The Three Wise Monkeys decorated the bottle: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil.

I wisely pointed out to the children that the Fourth Monkey was not on the bottle. Fourth Monkey is:

“Have No Fun.”

I want one!

Ooo, let the linky love begin.

Those of you that know me personally know how I feel about guns, especially if I made you sit through a retelling of my “nightmare” about the bad guys coming in the old style Southern house with enclosed porch. Haven’t heard that one? Remind me to tell it another day.

As nice Mr. LawDog (http://thelawdogfiles.blogspot.com/) suggested, I hippy-hopped over to read his friend’s blog: http://bayourenaissanceman.blogspot.com/ . Scrolling down to the bottom of the page, what do I see?

http://blog.riflegear.com/archive/2007/12/26/hello-kitty-ar-15---evil-black-rifle-meets-cute-and.aspx

I know four members of my family will want one, but three are under age.

The Boy Child is a HUGE Hello Kitty fan. He constantly irritates his sisters by using their Hello Kitty dishes that were imported straight from Japan. Unfortunately, Grandma and Company* only bought in pairs. We have two girls, right?

Hubby just walked in and remarked, “It’s a good rifle. Want one?” I love my Hubby.

*”And Company” would be Grandma’s sister, niece, and assorted friends. I find it quite amusing to find the warning “For Sale Only Inside Japan” all over the Hello Kitty stuff.

I survived Chuck E. Cheese and nine 5 year olds...

I'm breathing a big sigh of relief now. We had a good time at Chuck E. Cheese for CS's birthday party.

In all, 22 invitations were sent out. RSVPs rolled in this week from about half the invitees. Eight said they would show up. I suppose for prime vacation season, we did well.

Having scheduled the party for Noon, we arrived at 11:30.

I remembered to bring the 105 tokens we had at home. As children arrived or checked back in, I would give them three tokens. This kept them relatively close at hand while we waited for the pizzas.

The only real thing to bug me was being told to have the children sit down because Chuck E. was coming out to sing Happy Birthday. We waited over ten minutes: an eternity to the five year old set. Pizza was eaten. The cake was cut and eaten. After having told the kids (till I was blue in the face) to sit back down, now I told them "Yes! Get up and go play!" We passed out tokens and stood back.

At 1:30, we had to clear our table. We were allowed to move our stuff to a booth and Hubby carried the gifts and extra stuff outside. All the guests left some time after 2:00.

After an eternity at the ticket redemption counter, we finally walked to the truck. I noted the time on the way home: 3:56 PM.

FOUR AND A HALF HOURS at Chuck E. Cheese. My ears are still ringing.

I need a drink. A stiff drink. See y'all later.

A Birth Story for July 22

I had tried to tell the doctors that something was not quite right. I gained ten pounds in ten days after the 4th of July. The only thing I salted was the tomatoes on my sandwiches, so I was doing excellent in the salt intake department. I drank two liters of water every day in addition to milk on my cereal and juice with meals. I allowed myself one soda per day. Things just weren't adding up to that sudden weight gain. I was still three weeks from my due date.

The super brilliant Navy doctors (watch out for the dripping sarcasm...) decided I obviously was doing something wrong and hospitalized me. I was placed on a liquids-restricted diet. Although my blood pressure was steadily going up, I was constantly told "there's no protein in your urine, so you don't have pre-eclampsia." Guess what? As soon as my liquids were restricted, the protein was no longer being diluted and it showed up.

After having just chased home my husband and mother, the SAME doctor on watch decided I was an emergency and had to be induced NOW. "Now" being 1:00 AM.
To this day I believe she wanted to do a C-section and she got quite mad when I refused to get more "complicated" just for her benefit. She roughly inserted an internal monitor and I screamed in pain, the first non-calm reaction I had had. "That's not supposed to hurt," was her stupid-faced response. In the fog of sudden intense pain, I hated this woman. She had zero bed-side manners. (I hope she no longer practices medicine.) Dr. Stupid-Idiot was quite beside herself when her duty was over and I was still calm and progressing "normally".

Meanwhile, the epidural was only working on my right side, since no one told me to not sleep on my side. I had requested the oxygen mask before it was forced upon me, so I could remove it to talk whenever I wanted. I stayed highly oxygenated and remained calm. The baby did not "stress". The one-sided epidural was my only complaint besides them saying, "Now Janie, you're about to have another contraction."

"No, shit, I felt it before you opened your damned mouth," is what I would have said to the assorted nurses and doctors had I not been in the groove and busy inhaling for a controlled push. I pushed like a good little girl, even though I knew they had told me too early to start pushing. The child birth classes taught in that very same hospital had said to WAIT until the urge to push was overwhelming, otherwise you would get overly tired and end up more likely to have a C-section. At about 9:30 AM the urge finally arrived. Some where in here, another doctor said the internal monitor wasn’t working right and removed it.

By the way, never be the only woman in active labor in a teaching hospital. Only one other woman was on the floor, so they left one staff member with her and all the rest piled into my room. They stood shoulder to shoulder against the walls. Three corpsmen alone were ready to grab the baby to do the initial checkup.

Then someone walked in with the gallon of iodine.

I'm allergic to iodine. Early in the pregnancy, a brilliant corpsman had swabbed down my entire genitals in preparation for a clean-catch urine specimen. After she said, "Now I'm using iodine," I started yelling. No, she hadn't bothered to look at my chart first. The same chart that said in capital letters "NO IODINE". I itched for a week.

I refused to allow that to happen again. I had already laid down the law and Daddy-to-Be dutifully used the black Sharpie to write down my thigh and across my belly, "USE NO IODINE -- ALLERGIC!!!" The entire staff thought it was amusing. Apparently this corpsman hadn’t been invited in to read my belly and leg.

“But this is for the baby,” was the response to my shrieks to remove the iodine from the room.

“If I’m allergic, my baby MIGHT BE ALLERGIC, TOO!” I was ready to get up, grab the bottle and throw it either out the window or at the corpsman. Either way, the nasty stuff would be gone.

“Just get it out of here,” said one of the doctors. “It’s upsetting her and she’s been really calm up till now.” God forbid they should admit I might have a point about the baby’s possible allergies. I didn’t want to see my newborn covered in an itchy rash. The nasty brown bottle left the room.

About ten o'clock I knew I had a slight problem. Pulling off the oxygen mask to talk around the gagging, I looked at Mom. "Throw up," was all I could whisper.

"SOMETHING for her to throw up IN!" Mom translated for the two dozen medical staff members watching. I'm sure it was a comical sight, but I was too busy trying to keep whatever it was down while they searched the room for the kidney pan. When I finally relaxed to vomit, it was 95% air. A very small amount of stomach acid came up with the massive burps. Apparently every time I inhaled to push, I swallowed another gulp of air. It all came up and I begged for just enough water to wash the acid from my mouth. I had insisted upon an anti-acid medicine earlier in the morning. Now I insisted upon another dose. They were amazed that I willingly drank the nasty stuff. It was the same ingredients as something like Maalox, but with no extra water or flavorings like manufacturers have to put in so people can stand to drink it. It was just a special kind of nasty; but hey, it worked.

Now that the air was out of the way, I felt like I “had” to push. It was no longer optional. At about this point, I felt the urge to scream with a push. As I started to just scream, an almost Zen thought entered my mind, “It would be such a waste of energy.” That, and next I would be laughing hysterically at everyone’s reaction to my sudden outburst. I was outside myself, outside the pain. Everything was going well.

“We’re ready to do the episiotomy,” broke me out of my state of mind.

“What? WHAT? NO, NO, NO...” This was the ONE THING I had insisted I DID NOT want to happen. No how, no way. I did not need cutting.

“But it’ll help the baby come out quicker,” the young male doctor said as he came at me with the scissors. Weren’t things moving fast enough? The baby wasn’t stressing? My husband and mother tried to remind them about my birth plan and my wishes. If I could have gotten my leg free, I would have kicked the scissors from his hand. The older, female OB in charge told the young doc to wait until after the next contraction, and then do the episiotomy.

Like Hell you will! I bore down and pushed with everything I had. The head popped out. The female OB shoved the young doc out of the way and un-looped the umbilical cord from the baby’s neck. It was wrapped around twice. Once again all calm, we waited for the next contraction.

“We should have threatened you with an episiotomy a couple of hours ago,” the old female doc said.

Yep, and a couple of hours ago I would have been able to get off this table and kick your funny ass.

Our baby girl was finally out. She looked amazing like my baby pictures, but she had Daddy written all over her. “She’s so alert,” the medical team kept saying. Gee, don’t drug me up to the gills and the baby comes out awake. Imagine that. Daddy went to the nursery with Baby and we returned our attention to my body.

As the young male doctor massaged my uterus to make it contract, I started quietly whining that it hurt. I understood why, I was just letting out the stress and allowing myself to whine. My mother chose this moment to get in my face and say something about the doctor needing to do it, blah, blah, blah…

“WOULD YOU RATHER I SCREAMED ABOUT IT?!?”

“Nope,” said Mom and sat back down.

Here is where I stop my story about my oldest child’s birth. TRICARE wonders why I won’t go to their doctors. That malfunctioning internal monitor I mentioned earlier had caused a small problem. Go look up “amniotic embolism”, if you are interested. I may write about that one day.

The children are feeling better

It seems that I planned badly and every day this week we have some sort of appointment. (Cue the whiney children...)

Based upon the way they all acted (read: argued) at Oldest's physical yesterday, they are completely healed. Heading out the door to my doctor's appointment today, I instructed the girls to each bring a book. "You get a toy," I told the boy. I should have specified "a quiet toy".

Both girls were told to stay in the waiting room when the nurse called me back. "You are with me, boy," I said firmly. There was no room for argument. I allowed him to demonstrate "Shake 'n Go Mater" for both the nurse and the doctor. "Now switch him off. He's too noisy and we need to talk."

Between the nurse and doctor, Youngest demanded the April issue of "Martha Stewart Living". It was the pretty magazine with Easter stuff on the cover. He turned a few pages. "There's no Easter eggs!" he whined.

"Keep turning pages. They're in there. You're in the middle of the ads in the front. Keep going." He gave me the "you can't possibly know what you are talking about" look. Several pages later, he got to the food section. Now bored with the magazine, he dropped it on the floor and ran Mater over it.

The good news is that I shall live. My cholestrol is "excellent" and won't need to be checked again for a few years.

I am SO going to that special place in Hell for Mommies

Sunday night, I was trying to play NWN with some friends. I was walking into "Estrogen's Castle" when Oldest, already late for bed, asked, "What's that on the floor? The red thing. Is it paint?"

I knew I couldn't properly concentrate to play NWN until all the children were in bed. With a perfectly straight face I said:

"It's the blood of little children that didn't go to bed on time."

For some reason, Oldest hopped right into bed.

I've been a little too busy to post. Here's why.

"What happened?" you might ask. Even today, tonsillectomies and adenoidectomies are not without complications. Complications of the "Is my child bleeding to death?" type. Multiply that by two.

I had thought, how silly of me, that getting them both done on the same day would be a GOOD THING (TM). I was wrong.

Big Sister (a.k.a. Oldest) did just fine, but she had two separate procedures separated by three years. I'm still grumpy with that first doctor for refusing to remove her tonsils with her adenoids when she was four. By the time she was almost seven, Oldest was back to snoring. We went to a different doctor and he removed her tonsils. She ate a hot dog, albeit cut into small pieces, after her adenoidectomy. Likewise, I can recall no major issues when Oldest had her tonsillectomy.

*Sigh.*

I don't normally post pictures of my family on this blog, but today is a little different. Perhaps you will understand more when you read the following timeline.

Timeline for T&A Tuesday, June 12

07:15 We arrive at surgery center.
08:00 CS goes into OR.
08:30 JM goes into OR.
10:30 CS goes home.
11:30 JM almost faints, curls into fetal position, nose bleeding.
13:00 JM goes back into OR to have right side of adenoid site cauterized.
14:00 JM and I head home.
14:30 CS wakes from nap with blood on shirt, pillow, and hands.
15:00? CS spits up small amount of blood.
16:00 CS vomits 100cc of DARK blood.
17:30 CS vomits 300cc of DARK blood. I contact on-call doc.
17:35 Doctor instructs me to take CS to Obici ER.
17:40 CS projectile vomits blood into ice cream bucket before I get past the neighbors’ house.
17:41 I begin my attempt to set new land speed record to Obici.
18:00? I note lack of attention caused by passing busy weigh station @ 80mph.
18:05 Left lane of US58 opens up and I discover Caddy CAN do 100…
18:15 Arrive Obici ER.
18:16 Male ER patient asks, “Did he do that?” and points at bucket. Same patient announces to nurse, “You’ve got a lady with a boy and a bucket of blood you MIGHT WANT TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT!” (I thanked the man later.)
18:20 ER crew is getting history from me and IV into CS.
18:25 “Hurry up and wait” begins as we wait for Admissions Clerk.
19:00 CS is in surgery to cauterize his right tonsil site.
20:30 Recovery Room Nurse and I discover CS to be first ever patient to have surgery with his shoes on. Then she gives him morphine.
22:30 The bed assigned to CS is for patients in traction. Evil, foolish nurse calls them “monkey bars”.
23:30 I finally convince CS to let nurse know he needs something to be able to sleep. And, no, they are NOT monkey bars. (This speech is to be repeated at least three more times during the night.)
EVERY HOUR DURING THE DAMNED NIGHT: The IV pole alarms and is not heard at nurses’ station. I must wake up enough to push call button so they will reset it.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13
09:00? Hubby & JM arrive. I finally get to eat some food down in the cafeteria.
10:30 Hubby stays with CS. I take JM home.
11:05 I change answering machine message and pass out on sofa.
13:30? CS is discharged.

#1. I thank GOD for the GOD-given Mother Instinct which said, "Do not take JM home while her nose is bleeding. This is not normal, no matter what these nurses say." Within the hour, the nurses were agreeing with me whole-heartedly.

#2. I thank GOD for having me realize CS's vomiting was NOT a "wait and see" situation.

#3. Since finally catching up on my sleep, I no longer want to slap the nurse that said "monkey bars", however I would like to point out to her that it was a BAD THING, especially since she was NOT the person tasked with keeping CS from falling out of the bed all night.

Monkey bars, indeed.

Now, if CS will decide to talk again, I will be happier. I do not blame him for refusing to open his mouth or speak in front of "others" after the past couple of days he has had.

When we went to get CBCs (Complete Blood Counts) done on JM and CS today at the urging of their regular pediatrician, the lab tech was practicly in tears as she apologized for having to hurt him some more. The techs could see all the tape residue and needle marks on both of his arms. JM was very brave and sat in the chair all by herself and willingly bared her arms for the techs to choose a vein to draw her blood.

The pediatrician called late in the afternoon to say, "Neither one lost enough blood to 'hurt them', but they need to start on vitamins with iron to build them back up."

How was your week? Mine stunk. BIG TIME.