When I Grow Up

My kid is slated to be "The Kindergarten Star of the Week" next week. 

The Star of the Week has an entire bulletin board dedicated to him/her in the Kindergarten classroom.  This bulletin board is filled with pictures of the child doing his favorite things and posing with his favorite people. 

A note came home in his backpack today explaining the whole process.  In addition to sifting through all 12,000 pictures of William, I am also to "interview" William and document his answers on a special sheet that will be posted on the bulletin board and, I presume, at some point will be read aloud to the class.

It's all very cute.  I would love to say "William is very excited to be the Star of the Week", but really, his attitude was more "Meh" than "Yay!".

Despite is cool demeanor about the whole thing, I dutifully conducted the interview this evening, and documented answers to questions like "what do you most like to eat", and "what are your favorite things".  His answers were exactly as I could have predicted.  He loves cheeseburgers and Tootsie Rolls.  His favorite things are Legos and his bicycle. 

But then we got to the "what do you want to be when you grow up" question. 

His reply?

Yes.   You read that right.  He's not sure if he'd like to be an ELF, a CHICKEN, or an astronaut.

Personally, I vote for "elf", as it seems those guys live forever (either making toys or baking Keebler cookies). Plus, I'll bet that job probably doesn't even require a college degree. 

Gag Me With A Spoon

My kids are The World's Most Persnickety Eaters.  Ever.  For years William would not eat meat.  Of any kind.  He still doesn't eat cheese.  And chicken?  Only if he's forced.  And now Paige is following in his footsteps.  Except, Paige won't even eat peanut butter - peanut butter being the only protein that kept my son alive for the first 5 years of his life.

It's frustrating.  And sort of scary.  I fill them with all sorts of vitamins every morning to stave off, I don't know, rickets? Gout?

And here's the real kicker: each night when Dave and I require the children to sample the food I've prepared for dinner, my children don't put up much of a fuss.  They obey.  They're good kids, after all.

But then they vomit.

On the table.

At dinnertime.

William has gotten better about it over the years.  Mostly his tastes elicit only mild gagging.  Paige, on the other hand, regurgitates everything she's eaten for the last 36 hours.  In fact, she vomited on my poor father-in-law over the Thanksgiving holiday.  He had the nerve to let her sample his guacamole AFTER SHE ASKED FOR IT.  He was paid back for his kindness with a lap full of everything Paige had just consumed for dinner.

Do any of you have this issue with your children?  What do you do? 

So far, our only solution has been to make the children sample new foods on a fairly empty stomach (at the beginning of the meal).  This works somewhat.  Although, seriously, who wants to dig in to a freshly-cooked meal with the sound of dry-heaving in the background? 

I blame myself for all of this.  I was a SUPER picky eater as a child, and I still don't eat a wide variety of foods.  For instance, I don't eat fish.  Ever.  And I'm not big of Asian food.  Clearly I've passed on the picky gene to my children.

Internet, I want you to tell me there's something obvious and glaring that I'm doing wrong.  That I can't see the food forest for all the vomiting trees. 

Or perhaps I'm just A Terrible Mother who is raising ricket-y, gout-y, malnourished children.

It's UP!

I hounded Dave all morning to get out the Christmas tree.  The kids were excited to start the Christmas season, and I was just anxious to, well, get it over with.  I hate to say it, but I really dread putting up the tree and all the decorations. 

Does that mean my heart is a cold black stone?  Probably.

Poor Dave has to do most of the work in the beginning...  he puts our artificial tree together, carefully separates all of the bendy little pipe cleaner branches, and then strings the lights. 

While he is working, my job is to wrestle the children out of the Christmas tree box. 

When Dave is  finished lighting and fluffing, we turn the kids loose with the ornaments.  William meticulously places the ornaments with equal spacing. 

Paige, on the other hand, piled eleventy hundred ornaments in a single square foot area at the bottom of the tree.

At the end of the evening, we stood back and admired our work.  I asked the children what they wanted Santa to bring them this year.  William enumerated his list item by item. 

Paige, however, simply answered "CAKE!".

Forget toys.  My girl just wants her some cake for Christmas. 

So I suppose I have 28 days to figure out how to wrap up a CAKE and put it under the tree.

The Sting of Thanksgiving

Every year at Thanksgiving, I am reminded of the first time I invited my family over to my house for the holiday.  It was 1998.  Back then, Dave and I had been married just a little over a year.  We were living in our first house - a little bungalow in the historic preservation district.  The house was adorable, but the kitchen (circa 1936) left MUCH to be desired.  The oven leaked, leaving the faint smell of natural gas lingering around the house for days after I cooked.  And the counter space was, um, LACKING.

So, as you might imagine, I stressed about cooking Thanksgiving.  I wanted to get it right.  It was important to me to impress my mother while also avoiding scorn from my brothers.  And Internet, I would like for you to know that I cooked an EXCELLENT dinner.  The turkey was juicy and golden brown.  All the side dishes came out at the same time (aren't you impressed?!).  I was very proud. 

As we were all seated around the table, with all the food steaming in front of us, we bowed our heads and Dave began to say the prayer. 

And that's when it happened.

In mid-sentence, Dave STOOD UP from the table and yelled SHIT!!! at the top of his lungs WHILE GRABBING HIS *ahem* MAN PARTS.

Then he ran away.  Into the kitchen.  IN MID-PRAYER, y'all!

I ran after Dave to find him in the kitchen STILL HOLDING HIS PARTS.  Apparently, just as Dave was thanking Jesus for our bountiful feast, a wayward wasp decided to crawl up his pants and began stinging him all the way up to, uh, The Motherland.  Dave had managed to catch the wasp just before it stung him on his giblets.  He was holding the wasp through his pants.  So I did the only thing I could do in that situation.  I unbuttoned his pants and removed them right there in the kitchen.

Wanna guess when my momma walked in?  Yeah.  I had a lot of explaining to do that Thanksgiving.

The Turkey Tide has Changed

Oh Internet, today was AWESOME! 

My mother-in-law and I decided weeks ago that we just did NOT have it in us to cook Thanksgiving dinner.  We're just all cooked out.  So we catered.  We catered the entire meal.  Turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, cranberry salad, and rolls.  The whole shebang.

And catering the meal meant that Pam and I actually ENJOYED our day.  We stayed in our pajamas until 11am.  By noon today we were sitting quietly enjoying a glass of wine and feeling a bit guilty about it. 

It felt so odd not to be scurrying around the kitchen (sweating!) making eleventy million recipes and worrying that it would all come out at the same time.  In fact, up to that point, the ONLY work we'd done was preheat the oven.

And an hour later we were eating. 

Oh you heard me: We went from SITTING AROUND to EATING in one hour.

An hour after THAT, the dishes were completely done, kitchen was clean, and we were sitting comfortably drinking coffee in front of the fire.

OMG it was THE BEST THANKSGIVING EVER.

Now, I'll admit the food was not as good as OUR food would have been.  And the menfolk seemed less than enthused about the whole thing.  I think they pine for our cooking.  Our "special" dishes. 

And I feel a little sad for the menfolk, because after today, WE MAY NEVER COOK AGAIN!

Taming the Turkey

So, this year I'm hosting Thanksgiving at my house.  Or I should say "hosting".  Yes, I'm "hosting" Thanksgiving.  People (three of them - all adults) are coming to my house.  They'll be here from Wednesday until Saturday.  And I will, indeed, be feeding them Thanksgiving.

But I ain't cookin'.

Oh you heard me.  I'm "hosting", but I'm not "cooking".  Instead, I've ORDERED my ENTIRE MEAL from a local gourmet restaurant.  $141 bought me enough turkey and all the fixin's for eight people.

Is that the laziest thing you've ever heard?

Oh!  It just gets BETTER! My GUESTS are bringing dessert!  Yes!  *I* am not cooking A THING, but my GUESTS are cooking for ME!

I am an excellent "hostess", no?

Remember this if I ever invite you to dinner.

Cowgirls

Has anyone seen this ridiculous reality show on television? 

The show follows a group of rookie candidates as they try out for the Dallas Cowboys cheerleading team.

While I was sick last week I spent an unusually high number of hours trapped in bed with nothing but a fever and the remote to keep me company.  So when I saw the cheerleading show advertised and I'll admit, I was intrigued.  I mean, *I* was a cheerleader in high school.  And most of the time I really loved it.  Cheerleading is a very athletic sport.  Yes.  I just called cheerleading a "sport".  And it is.  It's damn hard work to be a cheerleader.   Those girls are athletes.  Don't let anyone tell you any different.

However, when I tuned in to Making the Team, I found conestants that look like your typical Playboy centerfold instead of "athletes".  Bleached blonde girls.  Store-bought boobies.  Orange-tinted fake-baked tans. 

And instead of doing athletic things, the girls are encouraged to "shake it", and "look more sexy".  And before they can make the team, contestants are required to try on the skimpy team uniform and stand before the judges and have their bodies carefully examined for any traces of body fat that may impede their ability to dance without jiggling.

The judges grab wee little pinches of "fat" on these girls bellies and under their arms and demand that the "weight" be "dealt with".

I found the whole thing disgusting.  I can literally HEAR their eating disorders developing. 

Why do women put themselves through this sort of thing?  Am I just turning into an Old Woman?  Or am I really just jealous that *I* don't look like that girl up there in that uniform?

Cut to the Chase

Five years ago today my daddy died very suddenly of a brain aneurysm.  I wrote a big, long, sad post this afternoon about the day he died.  I'll spare you that post.  Because, frankly, who wants *that*?

Instead, I'll cut to the chase. Which is: after all this time, I still feel cheated.  Like I didn't get enough time with him.

I suppose everyone feels that way after the death of a loved one.  Like there's never enough time

Blogging In Sick

Paige and I have come down with the same virus William had two weeks ago.

I'm sicker than I've ever been.  Ever.  I'm having to alternate Tylenol and Motrin every 2 hours just to keep the fever at a manageable level.  Otherwise, I'm writhing around in bed shivering and silently begging God to just KILL ME NOW!

I'm a little dramatic when I'm sick.  Can you tell?

I just managed to get myself out of bed, and into the kitchen to eat some soup.  You have NO IDEA what a triumph this is!  I walked!  I ate!  I walked BACK to the bed! 

I'm the King of the World!

And now would you look at me?  I'm TYPING! 

Someday.  SOMEDAY, I'm going to work myself up to a SHOWER. 

Someday. Maybe not today, though. 

Thank Heaven

She likes to comb my hair.

And tonight, after her bath, she insisted on gently applying baby lotion to my face.

All that plus the pigtails.

Oh my GOSH, those pigtails.

A Day that Ends with an Ice Cream Ball is a Good Day

Yesterday:

1)  My kid woke up without a fever(!).

2)  I did a dance. 

3)  I took the baby to Mother's Day Out.

4)  I convinced my 50lb. 6 year old boy to RIDE IN THE STROLLER at the zoo (so as not to wear his virus-ravaged body plum out)

5)  My back and his psyche will never be the same.

6)  We had an AMAZING day with the animals - all of which seemed to be waiting for us to arrive and greeted us as their personal guests.

7)  Including the morbidly obese squirrels.

8)  Ok, I'm not sure if those squirrels were greeting us, or were just so fat they couldn't lumber away.

9) My husband emailed neighbor Susan and invited her to dinner with me at my favorite restaurant. 

10) My husband* then called me and told me he'd made dinner reservations at 6:30p, and that he'd be feeding the children and putting them to bed "so stay out late and have fun".

11)  So, we did just that.  Wine, dinner, and a monstrous Ice Cream Ball covered in caramel and pecans.  Be still my heart.


*Isn't my husband a lovely human being?  I know! Right?

Better. No, Really!

William is feeling better today!  Yes! 

We left the house.  We did things.  And did I mention WE LEFT THE HOUSE?!?

It was a good day.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.  Tonight, however, I have to sleep.  Being out in the SUNSHINE amongst OTHER HUMANS is exhausting, y'all!

Par-TAY (The Pity Kind)

My kid woke up with NO FEVER this morning.

After taking his temperature, I literally danced a jig right there in my kitchen.  Complete with the Cabbage Patch and The Running Man. 

I'm sorry you weren't there to see it. 

I promptly put my boy in the bathtub (he hasn't bathed since LAST THURSDAY!), and then began disinfecting every last part of my house.  I put all our toothbrushes in the dishwasher.  I laundered all of his bedding and stuffed animals in HOT HOT HOT water.  Then I wiped down all of the doorknobs, sink handles, toilets, and stair railing with Clorox wipes.

Then I sat back enjoyed the glow of my radioactively clean house.  Ahhhhh.  "The pox upon my family has been lifted!".

And then I noticed William looked a little green around the gills.  Uh oh.

I checked his temperature again.  101 degrees.

I had to leave the room so that he wouldn't hear me uttering expletives and threatening the unseen virus with harm. 

I had plans this evening.  Plans to attend a board meeting (more on that later).  Plans that involved me hiring a sitter (Dave also had a meeting this evening). 

I cancelled the sitter.  The sitter service charged a cancellation fee.  I cussed again.  Then I called in "sick" to my meeting.  THEN, I resigned myself to YET ANOTHER day home with my sick kid tomorrow.

And then I had myself a good 'ol pity party.

Waaah.  Poor me.

Mother May I?

This kid?  This one right here?

That kid insisted (INSISTED!) that his friend's mother call me last week while he was visiting to make SURE it was okay that he play video games. 

He'd used up his weekly tokens and didn't know if he was allowed "bonus" tokens whilst visiting friends.

Have you ever heard of such a thing?  Wouldn't most children play WITH RECKLESS ABANDON at a friend's house if given the opportunity? 

Well, as you can see, my kid is *not* Most Children.  He likes rules.  He likes parameters. 

He's a very easy child to raise, as you might imagine.  Oh, he has his quirks, but in the rules department, he's pretty much a non-breaker.    He rarely leaves the seat up.  He never ever gets a snack without asking first.  Never takes food out of the kitchen.  He wears his helmet when riding his bike.  HE FLOSSES, for goodness sake!

But this never-breaking-rules thing has given me some problems during the last 4 days of The Black Plague.  Normally, we don't let him watch much television.  But, when you're sick, all bets are off.  We even offered to let him play video games (with no timer, even!), but his heart wasn't in it.  I suppose jabbing his fingertips on that little  controller was more energy than his limp little self could muster.  So we said "watch television, kiddo!", "knock yourself out!".

But he just can't grasp the concept.

Which means that, every half hour, he hobbles his weak little body down the stairs to ask if he can watch another episode of his cartoon.  Poor baby.  He's too sick to comprehend this  momentary change in The Rules.

So today, I've set myself a timer.  Every 30 minutes I make sure I'm upstairs near him when his show ends.  That way I can start the next one for him while he lays there marinating in his germs.

It's pitiful.  And also very sweet.  He's such a good boy.

Perhaps if I told him the new Rule is: "you must feel better!", he'd, you know, GET BETTER ALREADY!

Dr. Google

So, yeah, uh, MY KID IS STILL SICK!

I'm sorry.  I shouldn't YELL!  But, dang, he's really sick.  Like, 104 degree fever for 3 full days sick.  Like, glassy-eyed, sunken cheeked, limp bodied sick.

He won't eat.  When his fever gets too high it makes him vomit, so he's just sworn off food altogether.  He is sipping fluids, so I'm assuming he's not going to become dehydrated.

OMG can you FEEL my worry?  I hover around trying not to look worried, while simultaneously worrying LIKE MAD. 

Then?  THEN?  Someone suggested ON FACEBOOK (the most reliable medical community in the world, no?) that he could have VIRAL MENINGITIS.

What the HECK, Facebook?  Are you TRYING to kill me? 

A quick Google search (you know, Google, the MD of all paranoid mothers) told me viral meningitis SOUNDS terrifying, but is actually something the body can fight off on its own.

Well, thank goodness for THAT.  Now I can focus on the other 1,478,353 things on my List of Worries.

Just Your Typical "Eye Sunburn"

My kid came home from Kindergarten on Friday afternoon complaining of eye pain. 

Which was, uh, *weird*.

To be exact, he said "I need to go to the eye doctor, momma, my eyes have a sunburn".

Ok, *really* weird.

I grabbed him under his chin intending to point his little face up toward me - where I could examine his "sunburned eyes" for myself.

I knew the instant I touched him he was running a fever.  I scooped him up and brought him into the house, where I scanned his forehead with the temporal thermometer.

And can I just stop right here and give a shout out to the unknown nerdy scientist who invented the temporal thermometer?  Do you have one of these?  YOU NEED ONE.  Right now.  Got gitcha one. 

Ok, now where were we?  Right.  William's fever.  103.4 degrees.  Big fever.

He said his head hurt.  "Where?" I asked him.  "All over here." he answered - rubbing all of his hair.

I dosed him with ibuprofen, started a movie, and settled him on the couch.

Then I started making phone calls.  The first to my husband.  The second to my mother.  She was supposed to watch our children this weekend while Dave and I attended a wedding reception.*  I explained the situation and told her we'd most likely have to cancel our plans.

Bummer.

Turns out we DID have to cancel our plans.  William woke up every four hours (right as his Tylenol was wearing off) during the night.  His temperature reached 104 at one point.  And I would like for you to know that I did not, at any time, freak out about that high temperature.

My sister-in-law warned me that fevers always go up during the night.  I was mentally prepared.  I was ready.

What I *wasn't* prepared for was the fever to continue to rise steadily throughout the DAY today.  I also wasn't prepared to see him looking so, well, SICK.  He just wanted to sit, slumped sideways on the couch, staring glassy-eyed at the television.

OMG it was pitiful.

We got in to see our pediatrician this morning (Yes! This practice sees patients on Saturdays, y'all!), and William was tested for flu and strep.  Both tests were negative.

What we have here is just a run-of-the-mill Nasty Virus.  Well, that *and* a Pitiful Kid, AND a worried mother.

If anyone needs me I'll be over here wringing my hands and grinding my teeth to dust.


*Hi Jenny!  We were SO SAD to miss the reception.  Seriously.  So DANG sad.   We love you! 

Gimpy McGimpypants

For those of you who are paying attention, I deleted my post from yesterday.  I decided my words - although heartfelt and entirely TRUE - could create repercussions not only for myself, but also for my son. 

And that will never do.

And for those of you who have no idea what blog post I'm talking about, well, sorry.  I bet you're really curious!  And you just have to stay that way.

I spent the day in my husband's tiny little hometown about 2 hours away from Oklahoma City.  The baby and I loaded up in the car first thing this morning and headed south in order to check on my sister-in-law.

Why?  Because she managed to BREAK HER ANKLE on Sunday night. 

And get THIS: she broke her ankle while hanging curtains.

I'm serious.  She's going to be in a cast for 6 weeks due to a DECORATING INJURY.

When I first heard the news, I told her to make up a better story.  I encouraged her to tell people she was hang gliding.  Over water!  SHARK INFESTED water!  Oh!  And she was DOING the hang gliding in order to SAVE some ORPHANS!  Yes!  And the orphans were in a BURNING BUILDING! 

Oh wait.  There aren't burning buildings full of orphans in the middle of the ocean.

Hmmmm.  Ok, I'll think of something else.  ANYTHING but I-was-hanging-curtains-and-stepped-wrong.  That's just lame!

Paige and I brought her books and magazines and cookies, and I did a few loads of her laundry and emptied her dishwasher.  You know, what I NORMALLY do during the day... it's just this time I was not in MY home doing MY laundry and MY dishes.

Going there today and helping her made me feel good.  And happy.  And useful. 

Besides, it's not every day you get to help someone who selflessly sacrifices her life for orphans decorates with such gusto.

Let's Laugh, Shall We?

I'm so happy today is election day.  Because that means NO MORE ROBO-CALLS at dinner, or during Paige's nap.  Or EVER.

And can we talk about the non-stop, back-to-back, NEVER ENDING political ads on tv?

I realize all of this is part of living in a democracy.  And I'm ever so thankful to be a citizen of this here country.  And I even marched my happy self down to the polls and voted this morning.

I'm just happy it's ending today.  I'm dun wore plum out on this here election.  Ain't y'all?

In an effort to escape election-itis for a moment, please enjoy these cute videos of my cute 2 year old doing cute things while looking cute.

No need to thank me.

Falling Back

Yesterday was October 31st.  That's a holiday in most cities. 

Except, here in the Actual Buckle of the Bible Belt we do not celebrate Halloween on Halloween if Halloween happens to fall on a Sunday.  Sunday is a day for worshipping, not for trick or treating.

Instead we trick or treated on Saturday.  On October 30th.  On NOT Halloween.

It's all very confusing.  What makes it even MORE confusing, is when there happens to be an OU Football game on NOT Halloween.  Then how do you decide?  Do you trick or treat during the beloved Sooners football game (GASP! Clutch your pearls!), or do you trick or treat the day of worship (More gasping! More clutching of the pearls!).

It's a lose:lose situation.  Do you anger the football fans or Jesus?  Around here that constitutes a genuine dilemma, folks. 

Turns out, the entire City of Oklahoma City and its' surrounding suburbs opted for trick or treating on NOT Halloween, EXCEPT for the suburb where the college campus is located.  THEY decided they'd like to trick or treat on ACTUAL Halloween and take their chances with their Maker.

Isn't that hilarious?

Also?  I so TOTALLY did not start this post wanting to rant about the weird Halloween traditions around here.  That rant just came pouring out of my fingertips just now almost of its own volition. 

Sorry about that.

I really came here to tell you about my Actual Halloween.  Yesterday.  Sunday.  The day we were supposed to roll our clocks back and cease Daylight Savings Time.

What's that you say?  Oh!  We don't turn our clocks back until NEXT weekend?  WELL NOW YOU TELL ME.

We slept in yesterday morning (because, you know, we THOUGHT we'd gained an hour) and still managed to get ourselves and the children to the 8am church service. 

(tralala we're so stooopid)

Except, when we arrived at church the service was almost over.  BECAUSE IT WAS REALLY NINE O'CLOCK.  Not eight.  Nine.

Thank heavens they also have a 9:30 service so we stuck around for that.  All's well that ends well, right?

WRONG.

When we arrived home at 10am 11am, we opened the back door and KERSPLASH! our feet sunk into a LAKE in our HOUSE.

The  majority of our lower level WAS FLOODED.  A sprinkler head burst just as we were on our way to early service the nine-thirty service and steadily filled first, our flower bed, and then our HOUSE with water.

Bummer.

We spent the morning sucking up the water with a ShopVac, carting our rugs out to the driveway to dry in the sun, and setting up one BAZILLION box fans to dry out our walls and trim.

And our piano. *sob*

Oh well, at least we were well-rested from that FAKE extra hour of sleep!