Remember last time I was telling you about how Alex wasn’t feeling well and had become clingy? Well, it’s back BIG time. He’s sick (four days until Christmas) and stuck to my side again complete with “I’m Sexy and I Know It” looping on the iPad. In fact, he just asked me to get his pants off the ceiling (apparently he flung his pants so high this time they got stuck on the ceiling fan). At least it knocked some of the dust bunnies off so I didn’t have to dust. There’s always a flipside to having an obsessive-compulsive miniature stripper…
This time he is joined by middle child Simon. Simon only has a little ear infection and cold but enough for him to also want mommy. So much so that the other night they invaded my room en masse. As some of you may have seen from the photo, not only did they invade, they claimed it as part of the Monkies Empire complete with a flag raising par to Iwo Jima. Long live the kings. Anyway, since they are both congested it sounded like a Darth Vader convention. Hubby Shelby is smart and hightailed it for the big comfy couch. No sleep for me for two nights, great photo for Facebook, two doctor’s visits, three prescriptions filled, and a partridge in a pear tree.
I also have to pause here to also reflect on my loser-parent-moment-of-the-day. While trying to corral my offspring, pay the bill, and get all the paperwork, a charming Asian couple came in with adorable twin daughters, about four years old, in matching party dresses. Not only are the girls polite and well-behaved, the parents are loaded down with a huge tray of gourmet pastries and a ginormous chocolate cake complete with ganache. If I searched hard enough, I might have had a piece of month-old gum in my purse but I don’t think that would have held up in the competition. Next, the violin playing darlings spring forth with “Happy Holidays!” in unison and them proceed to tell the good doctor “I love you!” What I failed to mention was that while they were saying it, they were also signing it. Apparently, sign language as well as violin are electives being taught at their preschool. The mother sees the miniature candy canes the doctor is giving out and asks if she can have two for the girls. The nurse asks if the girls like it to which the mom replies that they have been discussing candy canes are party of Christmas. Okay. Then is comes out that her girls don’t know how to eat candy because they are never given any because it causes cavities. This while I’m giving both my children their SECOND lollipop to keep them quiet. Let’s all say it together – EPIC FAIL!
And of course, we can’t leave my dear teenager out of the spotlight. You know that adage about cleanliness being close to G-dliness? If that statement is true, Christopher must be roommates with Beelzebub. He leaves a trail of food, packaging, clothing, books, etc. that rivals Hansel & Gretel. Not only is he a slob but has become the ring leader of the neighborhood pee-wee gang. While each of the members are relatively polite, moral, and ethical children; put them together and they collectively have the I.Q. of a butter dish. Prime example: at about 5:30 p.m. my neighbor, the mother of a few of the other members, appears at my door wanting “a word with me.” Oh crap! There are few words that strike fear in my hearts but those are at the top of my list – especially knowing my children like I do. Apparently, the lawn guy of another neighbor just finished spiffing up their yard before Christmas and three of the wee gangsters basically decimated the gravel driveway addition and he, rightly so, wanted them to fix it. I assured the good lady that they would be down tout de suite and walked her to the door. It took all I could to keep from wringing their necks ala Homer & Bart Simpson style. Instead I asked them in that whisper yell what in the hell they were thinking? Clearly, they weren’t!
As they scurried off to do the time for their crime, I tried to get Alex to sit tight in the warm house of which he wanted no part. Fine. We high off down to street to assess the damage. Let me just say an IED couldn’t have sprayed these little black granite rocks any further. They were all over the street, covering the concrete driveway, peppered throughout the lawn and flowerbeds – while I know it’s the season, I am truly convinced the miracle this year was that no windows were broken or eyes put out. Or that my two didn’t get potched till they couldn’t sit down! So the accused set out to right their wrong. With a little help from a couple of parental units, everything was righted. Even after their hard time and a good long, painful lecture, they are back at the video games in the comfort of their own living room. Little pishers!
If any of you out there are looking for the sentimental ending that I usually apply here, sorry – ain’t happenin’. There is nothing uplifting or endearing about the past few days. As I am writing this my two oldest miscreants are playing “Call of Duty: Black Ops.” The middle is acting as the strategist while the oldest is the implementing soldier and they are eerily on target and accurate. I don’t know if I should be afraid or apply camo face paint, find a strategic vantage point, and reload the Nerf gun. If I survive the invasion of the Monkies Empire over the next few days, I’ll keep you posted. Otherwise, send in the gendarmes and look for the next blog in exile…
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Family OR The Ties That Bind
A few weeks ago, youngest Alex felt hot and complained of a sore throat – voila, 102° temperature and red tonsils. Since he was supposed to have his well-child check-up the next day, I decided to use it to see if the doctor thought it was a well-child or sick-child. Regardless, he couldn’t go to school. Fast forward 24 hours later and a diagnosis of a virus that must run its course, we wake up to oldest Christopher’s fever and a recurrence of Alex’s. Oh happy day! For the second day in a row, I go into work for an hour or two and return home to telecommute.
A side story must be injected here for anyone to clearly enjoy the irony in this story. Our babysitter’s first grandchild was born that Monday morning. Unfortunately, the baby was premature and had a few issues that, thankfully, the doctors think will right themselves over time. Of course I told Cecilia to spend the week with her daughter and granddaughter – seriously, what could we possibly need? Here is where I am kicking myself for saying these words. Before noon of the second day of self-imposed incarceration, I was ready to lock my “sick” children outside. While my pediatrician doesn’t even take a fever call until it hits 104, youngest Alex’s school takes this fever thing rather seriously. A fever of ANYTHING over 98.6 (aka 98.7) requires a troop of ubber-cadets like that in the movie “Monsters, Inc.” when there was the smallest exposure between a monster and a human child and they swoop in and decontaminate more than Mr. Clean could even fathom!
Fast forward and, thankfully, everyone is better. Pooh-pooh – not to jinx it, just sayin’. However, even with everyone well, there was a little too much together time for even the Waltons. Ever since his “illness,” Alex has yet to leave my side. He follows me EVERYWHERE! I know I should be thankful for this phase because all too soon he will come to consider me a Neanderthal and only expect food, money, and a ride from me. I haven’t even been able to take a shower without my faithful sidekick. That is until just the other day. We were actually in the shower when I bent over to pick up the dropped soap and I hear him exclaim, “WOW! That’s a big butt!” Lately, he’s been locked on the other side of the bathroom door and his only comment has been, “Mommy, are you coming out?”
So as I start my diet, the holiday season is upon us. Clearly there is irony in my sad state of affairs. While I’m trying to diminish my derriere, I decide it’s time to start decorating. This year for some reason I just want to get everything up so I can relax. Hubby brings down the five thousand tubs of décor and I start to promptly unpack to kick start this endeavor. The next day, Christopher is gone all day to a Bat Mitzvah, Shelby is at work, the younger two are occupied, so I decide to continue the process. Up and down the attic ladder hauling a few loads until I smell something foul. I grabbed the wreath bag and head down only to have the smell follow me. I then discovered that it was from the bag which had urine and small animal droppings. Shelby kept telling me he heard something in the attic at night but I regularly pepper the attic with mothballs to keep attic rodents (a.k.a. squirrels) at bay.
So I get my Clorox wipes and clean it off only to be repelled by an even more intense odor when I opened the bag. Apparently the urine went through the zipper and onto all the wreaths and garlands. For those hunter-gather types that douse themselves in deer urine before climbing into a hunting blind, you know how unique that smell is. Well that may be fine when you are hunting but not for my holiday décor. After taking the bag outside and washing everything down with a liberal application of soap, water, clean wipes, and Lysol, I went in to prepare for war. I grabbed my flashlight and mothballs and headed for the attic – I was going to show them who was queen of the attic.
As I start slinging mothballs, I noticed a box right next to where the wreath bag had been. As I shined my flashlight into it, I found it was filled with torn plastic and paper. What in the hell was in there? Let me take you back a few years to Hurricane Ike. Remember when the National Guard was handing out ice and MREs? For those of you not familiar with the military and their need to create acronyms for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING (for instance instead of “car” we have a POV which stands for “privately owned vehicle” - see?), an MRE stands for “meals ready to eat” and consist of dehydrated shrink-wrapped courses complete with some type of warming system similar to those things you crack in half and put in your gloves when it’s cold only this version is on steroids. Well, when we were in the ice line, a nice soldier asked if we needed any of these meals to which my Army-obsessed Christopher shouts out a resounding, “Yes!” In goes a case and off we go. We ate a few of them for kicks and grins but after the electricity came back on we abandoned the case until sometime later. In a round of cleaning I was about to toss them, when darling Christopher begs me to put them with the camping gear because they would make such GREAT meals for his scouting excursions. So up in the attic they go. Until today. I can’t wait till he gets home because he gets to get the box out of the attic and clean the area. So if your child ever says “Please, these would be great for camping!” the translation of that phrase is “Mom this would make great attic rodent bait so they can pee and poop on your holiday decorations!” Loosely translated, of course.
Ahhh, the holidays. I’m sure this will be the first of many interesting events as the holiday season continues. However, as I’m going through the photos of the past year trying to put together the holiday card, I am reminded by all these types of incidents that at the time painful, frustrating, aggravating – you fill in the word, but we can later look back and laugh. They’re our memories. Family memories of times that go by way too fast and are often not appreciated until they are long gone. These are the ties that bind us and THIS is what I signed up for.
A side story must be injected here for anyone to clearly enjoy the irony in this story. Our babysitter’s first grandchild was born that Monday morning. Unfortunately, the baby was premature and had a few issues that, thankfully, the doctors think will right themselves over time. Of course I told Cecilia to spend the week with her daughter and granddaughter – seriously, what could we possibly need? Here is where I am kicking myself for saying these words. Before noon of the second day of self-imposed incarceration, I was ready to lock my “sick” children outside. While my pediatrician doesn’t even take a fever call until it hits 104, youngest Alex’s school takes this fever thing rather seriously. A fever of ANYTHING over 98.6 (aka 98.7) requires a troop of ubber-cadets like that in the movie “Monsters, Inc.” when there was the smallest exposure between a monster and a human child and they swoop in and decontaminate more than Mr. Clean could even fathom!
Fast forward and, thankfully, everyone is better. Pooh-pooh – not to jinx it, just sayin’. However, even with everyone well, there was a little too much together time for even the Waltons. Ever since his “illness,” Alex has yet to leave my side. He follows me EVERYWHERE! I know I should be thankful for this phase because all too soon he will come to consider me a Neanderthal and only expect food, money, and a ride from me. I haven’t even been able to take a shower without my faithful sidekick. That is until just the other day. We were actually in the shower when I bent over to pick up the dropped soap and I hear him exclaim, “WOW! That’s a big butt!” Lately, he’s been locked on the other side of the bathroom door and his only comment has been, “Mommy, are you coming out?”
So as I start my diet, the holiday season is upon us. Clearly there is irony in my sad state of affairs. While I’m trying to diminish my derriere, I decide it’s time to start decorating. This year for some reason I just want to get everything up so I can relax. Hubby brings down the five thousand tubs of décor and I start to promptly unpack to kick start this endeavor. The next day, Christopher is gone all day to a Bat Mitzvah, Shelby is at work, the younger two are occupied, so I decide to continue the process. Up and down the attic ladder hauling a few loads until I smell something foul. I grabbed the wreath bag and head down only to have the smell follow me. I then discovered that it was from the bag which had urine and small animal droppings. Shelby kept telling me he heard something in the attic at night but I regularly pepper the attic with mothballs to keep attic rodents (a.k.a. squirrels) at bay.
So I get my Clorox wipes and clean it off only to be repelled by an even more intense odor when I opened the bag. Apparently the urine went through the zipper and onto all the wreaths and garlands. For those hunter-gather types that douse themselves in deer urine before climbing into a hunting blind, you know how unique that smell is. Well that may be fine when you are hunting but not for my holiday décor. After taking the bag outside and washing everything down with a liberal application of soap, water, clean wipes, and Lysol, I went in to prepare for war. I grabbed my flashlight and mothballs and headed for the attic – I was going to show them who was queen of the attic.
As I start slinging mothballs, I noticed a box right next to where the wreath bag had been. As I shined my flashlight into it, I found it was filled with torn plastic and paper. What in the hell was in there? Let me take you back a few years to Hurricane Ike. Remember when the National Guard was handing out ice and MREs? For those of you not familiar with the military and their need to create acronyms for everything, and I mean EVERYTHING (for instance instead of “car” we have a POV which stands for “privately owned vehicle” - see?), an MRE stands for “meals ready to eat” and consist of dehydrated shrink-wrapped courses complete with some type of warming system similar to those things you crack in half and put in your gloves when it’s cold only this version is on steroids. Well, when we were in the ice line, a nice soldier asked if we needed any of these meals to which my Army-obsessed Christopher shouts out a resounding, “Yes!” In goes a case and off we go. We ate a few of them for kicks and grins but after the electricity came back on we abandoned the case until sometime later. In a round of cleaning I was about to toss them, when darling Christopher begs me to put them with the camping gear because they would make such GREAT meals for his scouting excursions. So up in the attic they go. Until today. I can’t wait till he gets home because he gets to get the box out of the attic and clean the area. So if your child ever says “Please, these would be great for camping!” the translation of that phrase is “Mom this would make great attic rodent bait so they can pee and poop on your holiday decorations!” Loosely translated, of course.
Ahhh, the holidays. I’m sure this will be the first of many interesting events as the holiday season continues. However, as I’m going through the photos of the past year trying to put together the holiday card, I am reminded by all these types of incidents that at the time painful, frustrating, aggravating – you fill in the word, but we can later look back and laugh. They’re our memories. Family memories of times that go by way too fast and are often not appreciated until they are long gone. These are the ties that bind us and THIS is what I signed up for.
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