Dear Captain's Adenoids:
Good evening. I hope this letter finds you well. Oh, wait, you must not be well given that you just willfully and deliberately gave the Captain another ear infection. So that makes 5 ear infections, 5 sinus infections, and a case of the croup, all since November. If this is how you treat your friends, I hate to see how you treat your enemies.
I realize that we haven't always gotten along, but your constant defiance and contempt for the rules I set down is more than appalling. Never forget, I created you, gave you a nice warm home to live in, and plenty of good food and singalongs to entertain you. While I feel that you should be ashamed of your behavior, much to my dismay you persevere.
So let's get down to it. I realize there is not much I can do right now to fight you, but I am working on evicting you. I don't care what it costs or how difficult you intend to be, I will have you forcibly removed from the premises. Start packing your bags; your days are numbered.
Signed,
Mediocre Mama
President & CEO
Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Where did I go?
In a nutshell, I went to work. And I kept working. And I worked nights. And I worked weekends. And the Lord said, you shall work for 40 days and 40 nights, and at the end of such forty nights, Moses said, you shall suffer in the desert for 40 years, with a child in need of a tonsillectomy and a husband in need of a job. And so I went to the Seder and drank with Elijah and forgot my cares in a glass of Baron Herzog (Kosher for Pesach).
Alright, minus the desert part, it soooo all happened that way. After a massive blitz at my office with little end in sight to the work (thank goodness), and a chronically sick Captain Kid who is seemingly en route to the operating room, my family became a national statistic with a 30 days notice along with a bunch of other people from his office. Such are the times we live in. And so my family goes. And so this Mediocre Mama shifts to breadwinner, if only for a little while.
And so began my first week of brown-bagging my lunches and contemplating consignment sales and hand-me-downs. Maybe it's all for the best. In this wasteful society, I have been heartened by the trend of reusing and recycling. Let's face it, how far behind is the trend of regifting so I can get rid of some of that ugly crap I registered for when I got married a mere 8 years ago? It's all in vogue and I am embracing it, along with my new status and all the uncertainty that lies ahead.
So begins the next phase of this journey of family and motherhood. Less than 2 years ago it was I who pondered my future and the things that lie ahead. Now it's someone else's turn.
And so it goes, and so it goes...
And the least that I can do? Blog it.
Alright, minus the desert part, it soooo all happened that way. After a massive blitz at my office with little end in sight to the work (thank goodness), and a chronically sick Captain Kid who is seemingly en route to the operating room, my family became a national statistic with a 30 days notice along with a bunch of other people from his office. Such are the times we live in. And so my family goes. And so this Mediocre Mama shifts to breadwinner, if only for a little while.
And so began my first week of brown-bagging my lunches and contemplating consignment sales and hand-me-downs. Maybe it's all for the best. In this wasteful society, I have been heartened by the trend of reusing and recycling. Let's face it, how far behind is the trend of regifting so I can get rid of some of that ugly crap I registered for when I got married a mere 8 years ago? It's all in vogue and I am embracing it, along with my new status and all the uncertainty that lies ahead.
So begins the next phase of this journey of family and motherhood. Less than 2 years ago it was I who pondered my future and the things that lie ahead. Now it's someone else's turn.
And so it goes, and so it goes...
And the least that I can do? Blog it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Dog food.
One of the tougher aspects of back surgery is that when you drop shit it just has to sit on the floor until someone comes home to pick it up. As I type this I await the return of my husband so that he can get the lid from the jam, which is now sitting butter side down on the kitchen floor.
This has caused the greatest consternation for me since on bed rest, namely that I would manage to drop something rather important (such as a percocet) and the Dog or Captain might happen upon it before I was able to have the Deviant Dad collect the offending item. In most instances I've kicked the matter to the side of the room or under the kitchen cabinet so as to avoid any mishaps.
Then there was the other thought, which was what if something important fell on the floor that I couldn't just kick under the counter. And that is just what happened yesterday when the dog walked to the middle of the room and started wretching. My first instinct was to chase her off the rug and my second instinct was to chase her into the garage, where she stayed until the Dad got home. But I was left with the more pressing problem, namely, a pile of dog puke in my living room. Talk about helpless.
I did all that I could do, which in this case involved dropping paper towels over the nastiness. In truth, it was sort of a fun little game. But it was a few more hours until the Dad returned from work, which meant that I had to live with a pile of this stuff in my living room until his return.
Since being on bed rest I've become acquainted with all manner of handicapped accouterments, but as it happens they do not have a device for cleaning up puke. Where in the hell is Ron Popeil when you need him?
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Business casual.
Tomorrow a good friend is driving me to my office to play a little catch-up and bring some work home that I can do horizontally (no, not that kind of work, I don't think I'll be doing that kind of horizontal work for some time). I'm a consultant and the work environment is fairly casual, but not so casual that I can wear the drawstring sweats I've been living in for the last month. I can wear nice jeans to work, but my doctor reprimanded me for wearing them when last I saw him; my incision is exactly at waistband level.
So until I'm all healed I'm somewhat at a loss for what to do with my wardrobe. Apparently, they do not make drawstring business casual slacks or jeans. And as for wearing a skirt...well, with the Deviant Dad as my designated leg shaver let's just say I'm not eager to show off my legs (not to mention the big orthopedic shoes I'm sporting these days). So all of this has led me to the dark place. Yes, I'm hitting the maternity clothes.
There is something vaguely demoralizing about throwing maternity clothes back on again. I remember about 4 weeks after I had the Captain I pulled out my most comfy maternity t-shirt, contemplated putting it on, and had to say enough is enough. But this back surgery has led me into fashion depths that I have not previously known. Even when I was pregnant I was wearing shoes that were somewhat uncomfortable and likely inappropriate. I have walked miles in heels (probably how I got myself in this mess to begin with) and worn wool in the spring. Yes, my fashion owns me and I love it.
At the moment, however, my options are few. I concede that I don't want to invest in a pair of pants for the sole purpose of waiting for my incision to close up. Of course I worry, too, that by just throwing on maternity clothes I'm tempting myself down the dark path once again. I have too many friends that are pregnant or trying to conceive for me to take just a nibble without desiring the entire cake. Let's just say it's a good thing I'll be laid up for so long. And in all likelihood any temptation will be quashed by a few more bad episodes with the Captain. At least for the time being.
So until I'm all healed I'm somewhat at a loss for what to do with my wardrobe. Apparently, they do not make drawstring business casual slacks or jeans. And as for wearing a skirt...well, with the Deviant Dad as my designated leg shaver let's just say I'm not eager to show off my legs (not to mention the big orthopedic shoes I'm sporting these days). So all of this has led me to the dark place. Yes, I'm hitting the maternity clothes.
There is something vaguely demoralizing about throwing maternity clothes back on again. I remember about 4 weeks after I had the Captain I pulled out my most comfy maternity t-shirt, contemplated putting it on, and had to say enough is enough. But this back surgery has led me into fashion depths that I have not previously known. Even when I was pregnant I was wearing shoes that were somewhat uncomfortable and likely inappropriate. I have walked miles in heels (probably how I got myself in this mess to begin with) and worn wool in the spring. Yes, my fashion owns me and I love it.
At the moment, however, my options are few. I concede that I don't want to invest in a pair of pants for the sole purpose of waiting for my incision to close up. Of course I worry, too, that by just throwing on maternity clothes I'm tempting myself down the dark path once again. I have too many friends that are pregnant or trying to conceive for me to take just a nibble without desiring the entire cake. Let's just say it's a good thing I'll be laid up for so long. And in all likelihood any temptation will be quashed by a few more bad episodes with the Captain. At least for the time being.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Hit me baby one more time.
I held my breath as the Captain returned to school this week, hoping upon hope that his new fabulous behavioral idiosyncrasies (euphemism for bad toddler, no cookie) would stay closeted. Day one was perfecto. Day two he apparently whacked another kid. He followed it up today by knocking over my neighbor's 1 year old. Who knows what deviant behavior lies ahead.
And so I'm sure I can add this to the parent-teacher itinerary for the spring. I know that this is really typical tot behavior, but I'm also convinced that this is all coming out as an homage to his frustration with his Mediocre Mama.
I generally feel useless in the disciplinary department right now. Since I can't lift him I can't throw him in time out. And what's worse is that he's learned to work the system. It used to be that when he was bad he was only eligible for parole by promising to be a "good boy." Those words were the height of humiliation to him so if I managed to drag them out I knew it was lesson learned. Well, he has since learned the lesson...the lesson that the words "good boy" get you out of a punishment. So that effectively went out the window. Next, we moved the lesson to the word "sorry." At first he resisted this one, too. It didn't take long, but now he puts on the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen and loudly declares, "Sorry, Mommy," "Sorry, Daddy," "Sorry, Doggy." He may even give a kiss or a hug to boot. This is generally followed by returning to the horrible behavior within mere seconds.
So without an arsenal of physical punishments I can impose, the verbal punishments have become somewhat useless. Truthfully, he's just too smart for me and has become the master of verbal manipulations himself; I'm once again losing my edge. There's something almost sinister and adult about how he does it, too. And it all comes down to this - my Kid can manage to get us to fork over a cookie like no other. I'm sure you'll think we're pushovers, but I assure you that we are not the only ones to fall victim. He's just too darn good at it.
It goes something like this:
Captain Kid - I want cookie.
Me - You want a cookie?
CK - Cookie? Okay!
Basically, he brings up the item he desires (generally in a somewhat garbled voice so that you have to confirm what he's saying), gets you to repeat it, and then pretends it was your idea all along. Like, what a nice thought, eating a cookie. I'll do it Mom!
Okay, he's either aiming to be a politician or a lawyer because I've never seen a kid his age twist words like this. But I figure if he's capable of doing this at the tender age of 2 that the Dad and I are ultimately screwed; I think in the game of terrible 2's we're losing 2-0. And I'm beginning to think that all I've got left over him is spelling words to the Deviant Dad (is it time to give him a B-A-T-H?). But what with the fact that he's going to this fancy school and all, I'm sure they're bound to teach him to read any day now and then I'm totally fucked.
Hopefully my back will improve soon so that I will once again be able to grab him and throw him in his room against his will as a punishment. But for the moment, the back situation is going nowhere. My doctor put me on 3 more weeks of bed rest (major thanks to all those who've e-mailed, dropped by, sent-food). Until I am well, all I can do is try to rationalize with him. Why do I think I'd have an easier time getting Britney into rehab?
And so I'm sure I can add this to the parent-teacher itinerary for the spring. I know that this is really typical tot behavior, but I'm also convinced that this is all coming out as an homage to his frustration with his Mediocre Mama.
I generally feel useless in the disciplinary department right now. Since I can't lift him I can't throw him in time out. And what's worse is that he's learned to work the system. It used to be that when he was bad he was only eligible for parole by promising to be a "good boy." Those words were the height of humiliation to him so if I managed to drag them out I knew it was lesson learned. Well, he has since learned the lesson...the lesson that the words "good boy" get you out of a punishment. So that effectively went out the window. Next, we moved the lesson to the word "sorry." At first he resisted this one, too. It didn't take long, but now he puts on the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen and loudly declares, "Sorry, Mommy," "Sorry, Daddy," "Sorry, Doggy." He may even give a kiss or a hug to boot. This is generally followed by returning to the horrible behavior within mere seconds.
So without an arsenal of physical punishments I can impose, the verbal punishments have become somewhat useless. Truthfully, he's just too smart for me and has become the master of verbal manipulations himself; I'm once again losing my edge. There's something almost sinister and adult about how he does it, too. And it all comes down to this - my Kid can manage to get us to fork over a cookie like no other. I'm sure you'll think we're pushovers, but I assure you that we are not the only ones to fall victim. He's just too darn good at it.
It goes something like this:
Captain Kid - I want cookie.
Me - You want a cookie?
CK - Cookie? Okay!
Basically, he brings up the item he desires (generally in a somewhat garbled voice so that you have to confirm what he's saying), gets you to repeat it, and then pretends it was your idea all along. Like, what a nice thought, eating a cookie. I'll do it Mom!
Okay, he's either aiming to be a politician or a lawyer because I've never seen a kid his age twist words like this. But I figure if he's capable of doing this at the tender age of 2 that the Dad and I are ultimately screwed; I think in the game of terrible 2's we're losing 2-0. And I'm beginning to think that all I've got left over him is spelling words to the Deviant Dad (is it time to give him a B-A-T-H?). But what with the fact that he's going to this fancy school and all, I'm sure they're bound to teach him to read any day now and then I'm totally fucked.
Hopefully my back will improve soon so that I will once again be able to grab him and throw him in his room against his will as a punishment. But for the moment, the back situation is going nowhere. My doctor put me on 3 more weeks of bed rest (major thanks to all those who've e-mailed, dropped by, sent-food). Until I am well, all I can do is try to rationalize with him. Why do I think I'd have an easier time getting Britney into rehab?
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy Poo Year.
I somehow turned around and the clock turned to 2008. The many weeks I've spent convalescing gave me loads of time to reflect on 2007, flip through my old blogs, and watch full seasons of "Project Runway" and "The Biggest Loser" (thank you Bravo TV and the Writer's Strike).
I started this blog back in April, when the Deviant Dad was working 30-40 days straight, during a period of boredom, loneliness and a general feeling that motherhood had gotten the best of me. Ironically I've ended 2007 during a period of boredom, loneliness and probably some of the best mediocre mothering I've ever performed. Back in April I punctuated long days of boredom with the Captain with trips to the park, walks to the market, some trolling for lousy babysitters, and an occasional trip to the chiropractor. Now I just watch, let him come to me, and try to stay awake to pay attention to him between the pain and percocet, which I've charmingly begun to refer to as my Pez (frankly, I would fill a Pez dispenser with percocet if only I could find one with Britney's head on top).
For the first few weeks of my recovery the Captain was just great. But after several weeks of having surrogate parents around, no school, and a very overextended Dad (playing the role of caretaker, chauffeur, father, mother and breadwinner), I fear at times he's had enough of me (yes, both the Captain and the Dad). I can't say as I blame him; last week was the breaking point when he entertained himself by dumping milk on my coat and jumping up and down on my bad leg as I lay on the sofa. Throw on top of that the 8 days of Hanukkah, a Christmas Day Celebration, grandparents and family in town spoiling him with toys and affection, and his Mediocre Mama spoiling him with TV and meals in the family room, he for sure hit the height of bad-ass toddler behavior. In happier news he's spending time on the potty these days and speaking in full sentences. But I can't help but worry about some of his other behavior issues that have cropped up from all this mediocre mothering and how they will play out when he goes back to school; Teacher is not going to tolerate this bullshit with hitting and pushing.
As for me, it's just all been so...isolating. I missed every holiday party this season and spent both New Years and Christmas curled up on a friend's sofa. I've been out of work for a month and with all my doping it's been kind of hard to focus on anything more substantial than a magazine. I walk with a limp, cannot bend or lift, have numbness all over my foot and terrible nerve pain in my leg, and lets just say I've got some junk in the trunk from sedentary living and comfort eating. Add to that some grim facts, such as the fact that I've burned through all my vacation time for the next year and that I just don't know when the pain will subside, going into 2008 doesn't give me that "starting anew" feeling that one hopes for come January 1. This January 1st is starting off with a lot of baggage.
As I enter 2008, the only resolution I can make is to get well because it's the only thing in my sight. As for the rest of the year ahead? My Magic 8 ball is pointing to "Outlook hazy. Ask again later."
I started this blog back in April, when the Deviant Dad was working 30-40 days straight, during a period of boredom, loneliness and a general feeling that motherhood had gotten the best of me. Ironically I've ended 2007 during a period of boredom, loneliness and probably some of the best mediocre mothering I've ever performed. Back in April I punctuated long days of boredom with the Captain with trips to the park, walks to the market, some trolling for lousy babysitters, and an occasional trip to the chiropractor. Now I just watch, let him come to me, and try to stay awake to pay attention to him between the pain and percocet, which I've charmingly begun to refer to as my Pez (frankly, I would fill a Pez dispenser with percocet if only I could find one with Britney's head on top).
For the first few weeks of my recovery the Captain was just great. But after several weeks of having surrogate parents around, no school, and a very overextended Dad (playing the role of caretaker, chauffeur, father, mother and breadwinner), I fear at times he's had enough of me (yes, both the Captain and the Dad). I can't say as I blame him; last week was the breaking point when he entertained himself by dumping milk on my coat and jumping up and down on my bad leg as I lay on the sofa. Throw on top of that the 8 days of Hanukkah, a Christmas Day Celebration, grandparents and family in town spoiling him with toys and affection, and his Mediocre Mama spoiling him with TV and meals in the family room, he for sure hit the height of bad-ass toddler behavior. In happier news he's spending time on the potty these days and speaking in full sentences. But I can't help but worry about some of his other behavior issues that have cropped up from all this mediocre mothering and how they will play out when he goes back to school; Teacher is not going to tolerate this bullshit with hitting and pushing.
As for me, it's just all been so...isolating. I missed every holiday party this season and spent both New Years and Christmas curled up on a friend's sofa. I've been out of work for a month and with all my doping it's been kind of hard to focus on anything more substantial than a magazine. I walk with a limp, cannot bend or lift, have numbness all over my foot and terrible nerve pain in my leg, and lets just say I've got some junk in the trunk from sedentary living and comfort eating. Add to that some grim facts, such as the fact that I've burned through all my vacation time for the next year and that I just don't know when the pain will subside, going into 2008 doesn't give me that "starting anew" feeling that one hopes for come January 1. This January 1st is starting off with a lot of baggage.
As I enter 2008, the only resolution I can make is to get well because it's the only thing in my sight. As for the rest of the year ahead? My Magic 8 ball is pointing to "Outlook hazy. Ask again later."
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Back in the saddle again.
Sort of.
Surgery was Monday and I'm making progress. Don't have much of a brain to post this (I'm sorry, the drug dispensing gods stole my brain) but I did want to make it clear that I came through alright and that I am walking again. It's going to be a fun road to recovery, but I am improving and, most importantly, I have taken a shower. And for that the entire State of Maryland is grateful.
Happy Holidays.
Surgery was Monday and I'm making progress. Don't have much of a brain to post this (I'm sorry, the drug dispensing gods stole my brain) but I did want to make it clear that I came through alright and that I am walking again. It's going to be a fun road to recovery, but I am improving and, most importantly, I have taken a shower. And for that the entire State of Maryland is grateful.
Happy Holidays.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Baby got back.
Without going into the horrible details, I am playing patient at the moment and am practicing the height of mediocre mothering. My back is out. Beyond out. It started 2 weeks ago and will hopefully end tomorrow morning when I'm admitted for surgery. I can't walk. I can barely type this e-mail at the moment, what with the heavy drugs and all. I've got family in and my current "quality time" with Captain Kid involves throwing Playhouse Disney on TV and vegging out in bed with him. I'm about to have 6 weeks of recovery ahead of me and I don't even want to talk about work.
You know what they say, when life throws you lemons, make gin and tonic with a twist. But for right now the only drinking I'm doing is accompanied by a couple of little pills on the side. I'll update more after surgery, but for now...the doctor is out.
You know what they say, when life throws you lemons, make gin and tonic with a twist. But for right now the only drinking I'm doing is accompanied by a couple of little pills on the side. I'll update more after surgery, but for now...the doctor is out.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The Chuck E. Cheese Effect
A number of years ago I had the distinct misfortune of taking a family trip to Chuck E. Cheese with a couple of toddlers. It was during such a visit that I discovered the truth...Chuck E. Cheese is actually Satan.
Here's what it broils down to. Nowhere in the world will a child's worst attributes come out like at Chuck E. Cheese. They push and shove, they eat too many carbs, and it's all "mine. Mine. MINE!!!" If you have the misfortune that I did you will see a fight break out. You may even see (and yes I did) a kid puking (minus the head spinning, but I think you know where I'm going with all this). I'm pretty sure that my experience put off parenthood a good 5 years. And if after reading this column you STILL want kids, pack up your favorite niece or nephew and head on over.
I bring all this up, not because I plan to visit the 7th Circle again, but because after a 2 week long coughing fit, Captain Kid was diagnosed with walking pneumonia yesterday and I'm convinced that the same devil was tinkering with his brain. Yes, it's 9 o'clock on a Saturday and I've been sipping wine for a couple of hours to cope with what was a nightmare of a day. First off, I think walking pneumonia is a bit of a misnomer. Try Running-like-a-maniac-completely-unable-to-settle-down-for-even-a-minute-whilst-throwing-toys-cups-of-milk-and-insanely-bucking-his-head-at-anything-and-everything-he-can-including-DOG-Mom's-leg-and-the-floor Pneumonia. And naturally when they're sick all you can do is take it and resist the urge to throw them and/or yourself out a window.
The truth is that it's days like today where I doubt my capacity to ever do this again. And I don't understand how time and time again he manages to draw me back in. But mother nature must have a short ass memory for this kind of shit. Hell, she got me past Chuck E. Cheese in the first place.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Fever in the morning, fever all through the night.
"...and while you're at the store, see Cookie Puss and more." You say it's your birthday? It's my birthday too, yeah. And nothing says birthday like a toddler with 102.3 fever. That's right, for my birthday this year the Captain decided to surprise me with a virus. Amazing, I didn't even have to put it on my amazon wish list.
Yesterday morning he woke up a bit warm and I gave him some Tylenol. But by the afternoon he was poking at his ear and running 101 (We play your favorite oldies, CBS-FM). So we ran him to the doctor, where he had his usual fit, and turns out no infection, just a virus, which is worse than an infection, as far as I'm concerned because there ain't nothing we can do and we're supposed to be leaving for France, um, tomorrow.
So now my birthday dinner plans are canceled and I've left a message with the Satalians that we may be delaying travel a day (at this point I'm hoping to get the trip in at all). Plus I just had the worst night's sleep. Really, he only got up once and I gave him more Tylenol. But it's that weird sensation buzzing in your head that you better not fall too deeply into sleep because he'll have you hopping any minute now. And so another year goes by.
Friday, May 11, 2007
"Captain Chunk"
The Dad has secured 2 whole days off from work, which is why I've been somewhat out of writing commission the last few days. We took a great drive to the beach, followed by a horrifying ride back. After a day of hot dogs, milk, eating sand and running on the beach, it was inevitable. A mere 5 minutes from home, the Captain projectiled all over the back seat of the car.
For me, the worst part is avoiding that compulsion to run and hide. Kid or no kid, no one wants to be anywhere near that. I remember back in college I had a particularly bad bout of food poisoning and had to funk up the bathroom I shared with 5 girls. I taped up a skull and cross bone on the door and put up a friendly message. Stay away, but if you could just occasionally open my bedroom door and make sure I'm not dead that would be great.
So last night our entire evening off turned to disinfecting and fabric cleaning. And try though I might explain to my in-laws that the only thing that will get the odor out of the car is time, they are still on a vigilante mission to disinfect. Like I hadn't already tried that.
This is not the first time the young Captain blew his chunks, but the last time ended with a rage and prayer for the downfall of Iberia airline. Back in November, the Captain and I had to return to the East Coast to spend some time with my grandmother before she passed away. A dear friend had been visiting me and accompanied me on my travels back. Though the Captain is a handful, he was incredible on the 8 hour flight and over the first 6 hours had managed to enchant all of coach class. But two hours before landing the vomiting started and it just went on and on.
After the first round of vomiting I brought him to the back of the plane to change his clothes, where I was greeted with a friendly flight attendant who asked me to take my seat due to light turbulence. I mean, what the fuck, can't I just clean my child? They refused to let me clean him or myself off and made us take our seats, puke covered and all. Then it just continued and he got sick 4 more times. Dear Friend graciously removed her shirt from under her vest so that I would have something less funky to wear and I changed right there in my seat. As for the Captain, I changed him out of his outfit 3 times until I had no more clothes. We had airline blankets covered in his puke and carry on luggage had cooties. Finally, friendly flight attendant made his way back over to me. Noticing the desperate situation, he did what any friendly flight attendant would do and flung a stack of airsick bags at me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with these, tell him to aim it?
In the end I dragged the Captain off the plane and had him wearing nothing but a diaper and an airline blanket. He spent an additional 4 hours throwing up, miserable and shaking and I naturally caught the bug 2 days later. But upon leaving the airplane, I blissfully left 4 puke covered blankets on the floor so that when they said, "You have a good day now," I could reply, "Oh, I will."
For me, the worst part is avoiding that compulsion to run and hide. Kid or no kid, no one wants to be anywhere near that. I remember back in college I had a particularly bad bout of food poisoning and had to funk up the bathroom I shared with 5 girls. I taped up a skull and cross bone on the door and put up a friendly message. Stay away, but if you could just occasionally open my bedroom door and make sure I'm not dead that would be great.
So last night our entire evening off turned to disinfecting and fabric cleaning. And try though I might explain to my in-laws that the only thing that will get the odor out of the car is time, they are still on a vigilante mission to disinfect. Like I hadn't already tried that.
This is not the first time the young Captain blew his chunks, but the last time ended with a rage and prayer for the downfall of Iberia airline. Back in November, the Captain and I had to return to the East Coast to spend some time with my grandmother before she passed away. A dear friend had been visiting me and accompanied me on my travels back. Though the Captain is a handful, he was incredible on the 8 hour flight and over the first 6 hours had managed to enchant all of coach class. But two hours before landing the vomiting started and it just went on and on.
After the first round of vomiting I brought him to the back of the plane to change his clothes, where I was greeted with a friendly flight attendant who asked me to take my seat due to light turbulence. I mean, what the fuck, can't I just clean my child? They refused to let me clean him or myself off and made us take our seats, puke covered and all. Then it just continued and he got sick 4 more times. Dear Friend graciously removed her shirt from under her vest so that I would have something less funky to wear and I changed right there in my seat. As for the Captain, I changed him out of his outfit 3 times until I had no more clothes. We had airline blankets covered in his puke and carry on luggage had cooties. Finally, friendly flight attendant made his way back over to me. Noticing the desperate situation, he did what any friendly flight attendant would do and flung a stack of airsick bags at me. What the fuck am I supposed to do with these, tell him to aim it?
In the end I dragged the Captain off the plane and had him wearing nothing but a diaper and an airline blanket. He spent an additional 4 hours throwing up, miserable and shaking and I naturally caught the bug 2 days later. But upon leaving the airplane, I blissfully left 4 puke covered blankets on the floor so that when they said, "You have a good day now," I could reply, "Oh, I will."
Friday, May 4, 2007
Once bitten, twice shy.
Unfortunately, the Captain is neither. Which is why I got a lot of dirty looks from mothers at the park today. I submit...
This is the second time that the Captain has been terrorized by an evil Spanish mosquito (yes, just one), which left him with 20 bites this morning. He was whimpering in the middle of the night and naturally I figured he'd just gotten too much sleep yesterday. Little did I know that he was being accosted.
So today we get to play fun with antihistamines. No really, it's sort of fun watching him slug around as though drunk. And boy are these good napping days. Mama's going to get some housework done today, that's for sure.
The worst part is that I can't lock this child in the house, meaning I have to endure the uncomfortable stares and pulling away of small children who's parents look at me with horror, thinking that I've brought a chicken pox infested child to the park. And have I mentioned that the Captain loves flirting with mothers and willfully runs away from me to hug strangers? Probably something for another post, but let's just say that not many people want typhoid toddler giving them a big smooch. Poor kid.
This is the second time that the Captain has been terrorized by an evil Spanish mosquito (yes, just one), which left him with 20 bites this morning. He was whimpering in the middle of the night and naturally I figured he'd just gotten too much sleep yesterday. Little did I know that he was being accosted.
So today we get to play fun with antihistamines. No really, it's sort of fun watching him slug around as though drunk. And boy are these good napping days. Mama's going to get some housework done today, that's for sure.
The worst part is that I can't lock this child in the house, meaning I have to endure the uncomfortable stares and pulling away of small children who's parents look at me with horror, thinking that I've brought a chicken pox infested child to the park. And have I mentioned that the Captain loves flirting with mothers and willfully runs away from me to hug strangers? Probably something for another post, but let's just say that not many people want typhoid toddler giving them a big smooch. Poor kid.
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