3 Krispy Kreme doughnuts is never a good choice

The following is an account of what will go down in our little family’s history as the “3 Krispy Kreme Incident.
Wed, 30 June, 2010, 7am: James complains that his stomach “feels funny.” I should have known then that this was my sign to change the plan. The plan included me dropping him with my friend, (who shall be referenced as “SuperNanny” to protect her identity) so that I could make my doc’s appointment and run errands, then later we would trade off, so SuperNanny could do her errands without kids too. I feed him a pancake and strawberry jam sandwich, take him to SuperNanny’s and let her know that I will call after my appointment because he said his stomach hurt, while he rambles out of the car shouting “hellos” at his buddy and grabs a shovel to play in the dirt with him. SuperNanny reassures me that I don’t need to call, because he looks fine, which he did. Errands and appointments finished I head home to prepare for my shift.
Wed, 30 June, 2010, 5pm: It is raining. SuperNanny pulls into the driveway, James slumps out looking tired, buts looks expectantly at the car for his pals to join him. SuperNanny tells me that they took a long time at the bowling alley, and afterwards got stuck at the Krispy Kreme waiting for the rain to stop. Since it was late and Brain was home, she was not going to leave the kids. I asked if she was sure, she says no problem, and “by the way, I let your kid eat 3 Krispy Kreme doughnuts!” We laugh.
Thursday, 1 July, 2010, sometime after waking up and before I have had coffee: James is in his bed. “My stomach is hurting.” I remind him that he ate 3 doughnuts the day before and not much else, so that is probably why his stomach hurt. I make him a smoothie and let him drink it in bed, with his mini DVD playing the Planet Heroes. Later, he is still in bed, in his undies and mopey. I call SuperNanny and let her now he is not feeling well and she tells me his buddy has red puffy eyes, so we both take a raincheck. Later finding nothing in the house suitable to feed a sick kid, I slide him into his sweatpants and take him to the HEB. Later I plop him in front of the TV with crackers, applejuice and miso soup, while he watches his Science Channel space geek shows. He mopes for the entire afternoon. I give him motrin and by 6pm he asks for Ramen noodles, gobbles that down. Brain comes home and now James is peppier.
Friday, 2 July, 2010 3pm: Brain has given me leave to get out of the house before my mood gets any worse. I come home later, have a bite to eat. Brain comes downstairs and informs me that James has been mopey and not eaten or moved much and watched muppet movies all afternoon. He suspects appendicitis and suggests we go to the ER. James comes down the stairs sliding on his butt, baby-steps to the couch and wants to watch his show about the black holes in space. I put it on, go upstairs to get some books and toys, and try to change into appropriate “hospital attire.” For some reason the comfy pants and t-shirt I am wearing are not suitable, so I put on jeans I haven’t worn in weeks, a clean t-shirt, grab multiple sweaters, socks and a couple of pairs of tennis shoes. I end up choosing a flimsy green sweater and uncomfortable shoes which I curse myself for entire night.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, 4:30 pm: Sitting in the ER at Brook Army Medical Center, James is reading about space, and occasionally offering trivia tidbits to us.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, 5:00 pm: Sitting in the ER at Brook Army Medical Center, we hear James’ name being called and follow the red haired nurse into the triage room. James is taking baby-steps, and I am thinking “okay I should carry him, but this will help him get a bed sooner…good work James!” the red-head asks the basic history, how he feels, what he ate, etc. all the while James is staring at the wall behind me, scrunching his brow. She points out the pain chart, the rainbow colored one with the little faces that go from purple smiley to red crying face with big tear drops. This is what he’s been fixed on. She asks him to pick a face that shows how he is feeling. I know he is reading this chart carefully, and weighing his decision pretty heavily on what he thinks everyone else wants to him to choose, and not what he really feels. “James, stop reading the words and pick the face that looks like what you feel!” James is pale, with purple bags under his eyes and has not smiled with any sincerity in the last 24 hours, so I am thinking he is definitely the super sad face, maybe just bordering on the last teary eyed red face. We are all staring at James…“Um…blue, I think.” Brain looks at me knowingly. “Are you sure?” all 3 of ask him. The nurse suggests the red one and makes a notation.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, later sometime, in ER bay #11: James is laying on a gurney wearing an adult size hospital gown and is very concerned about whether or not anyone can see his underwear.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, even later sometime, in ER bay #11: After the nice male nurse (with the bone tattoos on his arms) takes his vitals, we meet Dr. Gibson. He is goofy, has navy blue Crocs on, James remarks “just like mine,” and makes him laugh during the exam. He orders an x-ray, and ultrasound to check his appendix. James thinks he is the 2nd best doctor in the universe, after Brain of course.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, much later, in the X-ray waiting room: James wanted Daddy to go in with him, so I am watching Fox news dishing out propaganda polls about how the administration is handling the “Crisis in the Gulf, Day 74.”
Friday, 2 July, 2010, sometime after the X-ray: We are in the ultra-cold, ultra-sound exam room looking at fuzzy images of James’ guts and he says, “Wow, it’s very active. It looks like Ganymede!” Radiologists come in, look some more, and tell us they don’t see anything. They think we could go home.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, sometime around 9ish or 10ish, maybe: We are in the ortho-room of the ER now, with little aluminum crutches hanging on the wall. After seeing a surgical intern, (who was very nice, but looked like he was 12) we are waiting. After some hemming and hawing and seeing some older surgical residents (like teens, not tweens) we are now waiting for a CT scan. James will need an IV.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, time??: James took the IV like a champ. He sucked it up. He didn’t cry until afterward when everyone told him how brave he was. He whimpers “I wish people didn’t have to get sick.”
Back down the hall into the CT exam, which is frigid cold, James again chooses Daddy to be with him, who puts on the lead apron, and I watch James ask the tech questions from behind the glass. It is just like the big doughnut Dr. Gibson said it would be. I am looking at pictures of the inside of my son, looking for the appendix, but it all looks like Hubble images from outer space to me.
Friday, 2 July, 2010, after 11pm I think: Back in the ortho-room, Dr. Gibson says he didn’t see anything, but will need to confirm with radiology (dullish), and surgical team (they are so cute!). More hemming hawing, talking with bosses; and we wait. James is so sleepy and punchy, still saying he is “uh, feeling better” while wincing during the prodding and exams. He is hungry and so we discuss food options. I can’t remember why, but he says “too bad I’m not a grown-up.” Brain says he likes that James is not a grown-up and that he is still cute or something. James says “yeah, but soon I won’t be cute anymore. You guys aren’t cute anymore.” They (the cute surgical team) decide to admit him for observation. Upgrade!
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, midnight: Pediatric Unit, 5th floor. James flirts like a geek with the nurses, who think he is adorable. My communication has broken down into short phrased demands, “Cold room…more blankets… call Brain to bring food.” I manage to read Mr. Funny and Mr. Cheerful to James, who promptly falls asleep, when 2 pediatric residents come in all perky and caffeinated, and ask me to repeat the same medical history we have recited all night. James sleeps through their exams, yet is still able to tell them how it only hurts “a little worse” when they poke his belly.
Brain sleeps on the extra bed, but only after I tell him to take it “because I am going to read.” Eventually I turn off the light, and begin to precariously arrange myself between the end of James’ bed and the world’s most hideously uncomfortable chair. With James’ feet under my face, I wake up when the nurse comes in to take vitals and check his drip. “Your son is so cute, and smart…most 6 year olds can barely speak when they come in.” I contemplate this uncomfortably and try another position.
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, 7am-ish: Do I hear cute surgical team chatting outside? I am scrunched fetal style at the bottom of James bed. They enter the room, make some cute exams, and cutely allow us to feed the boy real food and he can probably go home, or something cute like that.
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, 8am-ish: I call to order James’s breakfast, and Brain goes to cafeteria to bring up ours. James is awake and hungry. He watches Thomas the Tank Engine, without complaint.
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, 9am-ish: We grudgingly eat our breakfast, while waiting for James’ breakfast that has not arrived. James is now starving and has seen all of Thomas and Bob the Builder, and is now watching a “Bob Ross” like watercolor painter guy, (who is annoying).
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, 10am ish: I brush the fur off my teeth, and go to the nurse station. “When is my son’s breakfast going to arrive?” I ask with a smile. The day shifters look nervous, as they tell me there was confusion about his being able to eat or something and apologize profusely. The little one takes me to a kitchenette and offers jellos, yogurts, juice and milk cartons. She pulls open a drawer of broken graham crackers and cocoa packets. The bigger one calls the cafeteria and a tray arrives a bit later. Where is that cute surgical team?
Saturday, 3 July, 2010, Noonish: James is buzzing around the room after much bad cable TV. Brain muscles the nurses, and eventually we are cleared for release. James finally makes a bowel movement. The IV is pulled, while he makes little “ow” noises that sound like a kitten crying. Stuff is gathered, and we go home. He is upstairs playing with Brain and his Planet Heroes and singing “Starman” while I type this.

I was on TV!!!

My television debut...I was pretty nervous, but thankfully I had some company, James!
He filled in last minute for the Monica's Piggies and Paws segment!

Well, it's been awhile, and here's a thought.

So I had this thought while taking a shower this morning:
"Nostalgia gets way too dusty, so chuck it."
Then I thought it would be a good idea to blog this stuff so I can share my infinite wisdom with the world. Upon reading this on my laptop screen, I am thinking maybe it's not so brilliant. Eh, so, whatever.
Getting back to my dusty nostalgia thought....keeping things, i.e. tchochke's one will receive as birthday gifts, thank you's etc. is only going to add to the already abundant amount of garbage that is probably strewn throughout an already cluttered house. Keeping it because a sweet grandma or a first teacher or that cool guy gifted it, is only an excuse to hold on to the overblown memories that were probably created to fill some emotional hole or other. Speaking from personal experience, I found it totally liberating to toss out the trinkets I have collected and held on to for "sentimental reasons" realizing it was just plain guilt. Who needs guilt? I have dust mite allergies, and I really don't want to get hay fever when I come over to visit, so chuck the nostalgia friends and so will I. Oh, and please don't be offended when I recycle the birthday cards either.

when her dogs decide to play with a bird

This morning I am a bit hungover, as I decided to drink a lot of wine on July 4th because it is Brian's birthday and he is in Afghanistan. So, with that said I was not quite up to par, especially to chase to dogs around the backyard first thing in the morning. I opened the back door to let them out for the morning pee, and I see a big black grackle bird. I thought that the bird would fly away once the door opened, but birds being small minded creatures, this one decided to merely hop away a couple of feet around the corner of the garage. (Side note: Darby is a retriever breed, Henry is a mutt breed, with some retriever sprinkled in.) In the second it took for me to open the door, Darby bolts out around the corner, Henry is hesitating as he usually does, and as I am trying to coax Henry out the door, Darby comes back bouncing proudly with the grackle in his mouth. I have seen this before; Darby instinctively has a soft grip on the bird and will drop it if I tell him too, pure mechanics as he won't do anything else I ever ask him to do. So I am telling Darby to "DROP IT" and Henry bursts out, grabs the bird, and now Darby is chasing him around the yard. Keep Away is the dogs favorite game and it is "on." I am yelling "Henry DROP IT," with no effect, because I never insisted that Henry actually go through the PetSmart training course. Now James is outside, "Mom, what does Henry have in his mouth? is that a bird?" I have cornered Henry and proceed to pry his mouth open, trying to avoid actually touching the bird, and the bird drops out and feebly hops away, then Darby gets him. I say "DROP IT," he drops it, Henry gets it. This goes on about three more times; chase, me prying open Henry's death grip, Darby grabs, chase, "DROP IT," etc. James is on the steps watching this, making comments like "Mom I think Henry likes the bird. I think he is going to marry that bird." Finally I realize that I am getting nowhere, so I get Darby and James inside, then let Henry play with the bird. As I pour James a bowl of Lucky Charms, I decide that perhaps feeding the dogs will distract them away from the bird. It works, as it always does. I let my coffee cool on the counter, and with the dogs and James inside enjoying their breakfast, I go out and with a small shovel, toss the stupid bird over the fence.

Just a little hiking...

My boy running the trail at Govt. Canyon.

….when her husband is deployed, early even.

NOTE: see also "...when her husband is at combat training"

I was sitting at the gate trying my best not to cry and waiting to watch the plane take off because James insisted we do so, when a nice older gentleman comes up and says he noticed me and my husband saying goodbye. He told me he was a pastor at a local church, then asked if I wouldn’t mind if he prayed for me. I said sure, like any non-church-attending person, who doesn’t want to appear rude would say, thinking “how nice, he’s gonna pray for me at church on Sunday.” Then he put his hand on top of my head and started praying right there. So I lost my hard won composure and the tears flowed and James looked at the pastor like “what is this guy doing with his hand on my mom’s head” so I hugged James so he wouldn’t say anything rude. The pastor finished and I thanked him meekly. I had to laugh once he got through the gate because I know how ridiculous Brian would have thought that was. Then I hoped he would try to pray over Brian in the plane and cause him as much awkwardness as I had just experienced. What can I say, I have been through a lot of different emotions in the last week.

So I am still trying to get over my resentment towards the Air Force for making him leave eleven days early, but I guess I should just move on and deal with the task at hand: keeping myself from yelling at James, feeding the dogs and getting back to my routine. (pause in typing)
I just talked James into jumping on his bed as opposed to jumping on the stairs. Anything for a few more moments of peace.

So my mother is here and she is great at cooking and making me dinner. Tonight is taco night! So I will probably gain about 20 more pounds before Brian returns. Great!

More once the routine gets easier….probably never.

When she has a couple of hours to herself

After dropping James off at MDO (mother’s day out), I went back home to have a cuppa joe and ponder what to do with the precious few hours to myself. I decided that since my mom and sister are due to arrive later this evening, I should clean the floors of debris, dust and dog fur, so as not to appear as an unfit lazy house frau. So I sat on the couch and drank my coffee and flipped channels for a while to gain the energy to sweep, dust and vacuum. After I watched some trash TV, I switched it off and tossed out the wild dogs and swept the floors. Feeling pretty accomplished, I organized the toys, which is a futile and thankless chore, but I found myself feeling much better after I was done. Then I dusted the furniture which made me feel really productive. Unfortunately if all came to a nasty end once I got out the vacuum cleaner. You see, my cleaning lady uses it sometimes, and she just doesn’t care for it the way I do. It needs special love and attention; it is high maintenance. I have neglected it since Maria has been cleaning for me. I emptied out the dust canister thinking that would help, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I made a vain attempt to vacuum the living room rugs, fruitlessly going back and forth over the same tuft of fur over and over. Then I had to do it, I took apart my high maintenance vacuum cleaner. I washed the canister and other filter parts in the kitchen sink in a warm bath of soapy water. Then I produced an old toothbrush and scrubbed out the crusted dust and fur from the sweeper brush and trimmed the hairs and strings wrapped around it with a small pair of scissors. I rinsed out the inner parts and gently laid them out to dry on the counter top. I wiped off the rest of the vacuum with a damp towel and set it aside to rest. I essentially gave my vacuum cleaner a spa day. So much for my free time.

When her husband is in Combat Training preparing for TDY in Afghanistan

I am certain there are things I have failed to list, however I will update as time permits.  Please don't hold your breath.

1. Go on a “not cooking anything remotely healthy for dinner strike” to include macaroni n’ cheese, alphabet soup, pancakes, Sonic and Little Caesars pizza.
2. Make a huge list of things to get done and take 3 days to accomplish the first task
3. Avoid to do list by going shopping for things you really need, like a new toilet seat cover, curtains for son’s room, dog beds etc.
4. Oh yeah, play with son.  Teach him how to play games like Old Maid (because you are feeling like one) and Connect Four, etc.
5. Feel fabulous once completed the monumental feat of having showered, shaved legs and dried and styled hair like the guy at the salon did.
6. Rearrange everything in the house so that when the husband finally comes home, he won’t know where anything is
7. Welcome sleep, even if it means having a five-year-old boy and a large needy dog in bed too.
8. Count the days until Mother and Sister arrive so you can finally get drunk guilt-free
9. Put pictures of husband up everywhere
10. Realize there are no good pictures of the family together, especially ones you don’t look fat in
11. Try to get on a TV show where a professional dog trainer can come to the house and help with the 3 chaotic dogs
12. Avoid answering phone calls from mother-in-law
13. Avoid giving in-laws the Skype address so you can post-pone the inevitable “trying to video-phone” technical disaster
14. Forget absolutely everything important to tell husband when he calls because your just so happy to be talking to him
15. Comfort the boy and the dogs as much as possible
16. Keep the Prozac prescription current

In the few days before her in-laws visit

1. Panic
2. Assess the aesthetic environment, realize house looks like it was decorated by a 5 year-old with a flair for the eclectic
3. Wake at 3 am and obsess about what Mother-in-law will think of the paint squares on the living room walls
4. Panic when Maria the house cleaner is not able to clean the house, and get one of her best friends to Windex the windows
5. Obsessively wipe the lint and dust collected on the washer and dryer, even though I know Mother-in-law won’t go into the laundry room
6. Wake at 3 am and obsess over what meals to serve in-laws, especially the one with Irritable Bowel Syndrome
7. Buy fancy plug in air freshener to mask the “big dog” smell lingering, even after the house cleaners were able to make it before impending visit
8. Vacuum the sofa bed with best friend who the other day Windexed the windows, then ask her to Febreeze the curtains
9. Shop for non-spicy groceries at the peak of the “after work” shopping traffic
10. Wake at 3 am and obsess over sleeping arrangements, “should we put her in our room, and risk her finding things I bought at the Pure Romance party?”
11. Absolutely do not let 5 year-old son play with any toys in the living room, while forgetting that the mess in his room will make it impossible to access his closet
12. Start drinking wine an hour before they arrive

“Oh, your not staying the night?”

If she needed $2800

Well, let me start by saying what I would not do:
1. Prostitution (not that I think its wrong, I know some ladies gotta bring home the bacon, but I personally could not do it)
2. Armed robbery (I just don't like guns)
3. Embezzlement (I totally suck at lying)
4. I guess anything illegal because I just can't do jailtime

That said, I guess I would ask my husband for a loan, but he is poor too, so that's out. I could get a part time job, as long as it would be at night when Brian would be home to take care of the kid, or if anyone of my friends could provide free childcare (would need to ask very nicely).
Clip coupons and save, save, save! Don't feed the kids any meat for dinner! Peanut butter has a lot of protein!
If any of these things could not work for you, sell your furniture, car or your children.

when she needs to print and fax...

...and her printer runs out of ink.

So I had to print out some documents and get them faxed out quick, but my printer crapped out because we had to print this huge novel of an application the night before. So I called my friends and neighbors! Debbie wasn’t home, but Monica was! So I start rushing around to get out of the house and the phone rings, 3 different times:
1. The auction house called to let me know that the antique buffet I bid on is mine and could I please pick it up today.
2. Someone from the HOA to let me know she was getting the Christmas decorations out and could I help her with the bows blah, blah, blah.
3. Brian: “Have you sent that fax yet?”

So I get to Monica’s eventually and she is feeding Baby Girl, and she tells me the printer may or may not work and I have to crawl under the desk to hook it up. Whatever, I am desperate! Thankfully the printer worked, and I didn’t even have to crawl under the desk! Now I have to fax 43 pages. Monica says to call Letty, because she had used her fax before. I call and what do you know, Letty had to fax something too! But she didn’t have a phone line to fax on, but I did! Well, Letty didn’t really have the fax machine, because her husband gave it away.

Luckily the nearby UPS store had a working fax machine, only 99 cents a copy. But because I am so friendly the lady gave me break and only charged me for 40 and not 43. I am going to buy a printer/fax/copier and start charging the ‘hood 50 cents a page.

Jamie would call a plumber

Know your limitations...
I recently had water spewing from the top of my water heater, all over my attic, so I did the first thing that came to mind...I called my neighbor Ben. He is usually home in the early part of the day, and he has come to my rescue a number of times. He came over with a wrench in his hand, went up to the attic and turned off the valve. He explained that what needed to be fixed was something Brian and I could do ourselves. Knowing that "do-it-yourself" is not a prevalent term in our vernacular, I called a plumber. It may have cost us more than we would have liked, but having it done by someone who knew exactly what needed to be done saved the sanity of our household.