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.