Hello, Flu.

(Hell. That's what I typed first for the title, just "Hell." And that pretty much sums it all up.)

My daughter came home from school around noon yesterday. Her teacher called and said she was crying and coughing and complaining. So I went to pick her up. And she was just a MESS when I finally arrived - all of ten minutes later. By this morning her fever was up to 103.4 and I knew she had it bad.

When my son was sick this weekend, he never seemed too bad. I thought it was the flu, but he never seemed to be in really bad shape. And as of yesterday afternoon, he no longer has had a fever and is doing much better. (I kept him home today just in case. But his butt is going back to school tomorrow before he drives me completely insane!)

After I took my daughter to the doctor this morning, I called my husband to tell him it was officially the flu. And he proceeded to tell me that he would see me really soon because he now had the chills to go along with the congestion and cough. By the time he made it home, he was in rough shape.

I asked him to let me know what kind of medicines he thought he would need because I was headed to the grocery store and then the drugstore to pick up the TamiFlu (? spelled correctly) for my daughter. I felt a little under the weather, so I wanted to stock up before anything took ahold of me and neither one of us would be in any shape to go out.

Well, in the middle of the grocery store, there in the tea and coffee aisle, I suddenly felt cold. Very cold and shiver-y. It was as sudden as that. By the time I paid for the groceries - and by the way, I have no idea what I bought - and got them loaded into the van, I called my husband on the phone to whine that I was sick, "uuuuuggggh."

I still had to go to the drugstore to get my daughter's prescription. And I was sick. This is when I started to pout. Big time. And when I pulled into the drive-thru lane - which, by the way, bugs the crap out of me with the spelling - and they told me they would be with me in a second, I wanted to cry. Instead I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

Yep. Sleep. Right there in the van in the drive-thru lane. The lady woke me up, charged me $75 for a little bottle of medicine, and sent me on my way. I think it might have been prudent of her to ask me if I was okay to drive. But, eh, maybe she just wanted for me to clear out of her lane. Either way, I made it home in one piece.

So we're all suffering with the flu. Well, the boy is doing better, having gone through it and come out the other side. This is the first time we've all been this sick. The first time I've had the flu in a very long time. And because the kids are sick and no one can take US to the doctor, we don't get the fancy flu medicine that supposed to cut out half the suffering. Nope, we get to feel the full effect. Yay.

Hold me. And bring warm blankets. And mint green tea.

Sick...

again...with the sick.

I'm really hating the fact that someone has been perpetually sick here at our house for, oh, I don't know, 3 weeks now? It's like a very cruel way to slowly drive me insane and crush my spirit. It's just not fair, I tell you, it's just not fair.

Right now it's my son who's running the fever. Although if you check back with me later, it's bound to be yet another person. In fact, I'm just waiting for the phone call from my daughter's teacher telling me she's sick too. (What can I say, I'm optimistic.)

So there's nothing further to post for now. We're too busy being sick. Darn it.

Birthday!

Yesterday was my daughter's 6th birthday. As is tradition here at our house, we decorated all up, ordered a cake, and had ourselves a party. Normally we have what we call a "family party" which is just our fancy way of saying "It's just us kid!" But after attending her first round of actual birthday parties this year, my daughter begged to have one herself - an actual party with guests other than family - and we gave in and invited the neighboring kids to join us. No big deal, we thought, we'll just have them come over for a little cake and then everyone will be happy. Well, the little shindig turned into a full-fledged party. We ordered an obnoxious amount of pizza, got them all hopped up on cake and ice cream, and opened presents. All on a Thursday night. A school night. I hope their parents don't hate us too much. But while they all ran around the living room screaming and I sat there with the nerve that leads from the back of my head directly to my left eye twinge-ing, my daughter was filled with pure joy. And that, folks, is what we do it all for.

Pictures to come sometimes soon-ish. (Or whenever the heck I get around to uploading them. I'm recouperating. It may take some time.)

(Sara, we got the package yesterday - right on time. You're good. Real good.)

Giving a whole new meaning to 'laying out on the beach'.

Scene: Son doing his homework at the kitchen table. Assignment is to read a book and write about the setting and main characters.

Son: (speaking aloud while writing) "It takes place on a b*tch."

Me: (who is only half paying attention while I get another child a drink) "Say what?!"

Son: "On a b*tch."

Me: (trying desperately to figure out what he's talking about. I mean, what kind of books do they give first graders now-a-days anyway?) "Oh...I think you mean beach. Beach!"

Son: "B*tch, beach, same thing."

Hello conundrum. Nice to see you again.

I think the house can be removed from it's quarantine now. My daughter is officially no longer contagious now that she's been using the eye drops for her pink eye for more than 24 hours. We all seem to be holding down food (and eliminating it in a normal way.) (Ewwww.)

I haven't posted because I've been busy. Busy running errands, mailing packages - Sara, it's officially on it's way! And that darn post office was BUSY, let me tell you - and dealing with a difficult little boy. And no, it's not MY boy. It's the one I babysit. And let me just say I'm running out of ideas.

Just when I think we've got a handle on everything and he's doing better, we have these days that make me want to throw my hands up and give up. When I get to the point of wondering if I want to keep on being his babysitter, I have a tendency to withdraw into silence. I guess I'm trying to figure it all out and regroup.

I've heard, Just quit. He's not your child, why should you deal with all this? Why put yourself through it? And to that I say: I don't want to give up on him. I feel like I'm a constant in his little life, and I think it would throw him into even more turmoil if I just abandoned him. And that's what it would feel like, me abandoning him. I think it would bring out even more aggressive behavior on his part. And then sometimes I wonder if there is a better situation out there for him (IE: someone without children of their own who can concentrate on just him,) and I then wonder if I would actually be doing him a favor to bail. But I think the last part is just me trying to rationalize bailing on them.

This job is hard. It's not like a regular job where you can just turn in your notice and they find another person to fill your place with an ad in the paper. (Well, technically, it is.) But it's also personal, very, very personal. If I quit it would create hard feelings and a very difficult situation for the parents while they try to scramble for childcare. If I quit I'll lose any kind of reference - in a very reference-reliant profession - from the only family I've been a nanny for since we've moved here.

And, also, if I quit I lose a salary. There's always that to consider.

You can't escape your destiny.

Well, it seems to be our destiny to be sick around here. At least, it's the kids destiny. (Although, I'm usually not far behind them.)

Friday night my little girl started throwing up. In her bed. And she continued to throw up in her bed all night long until I ran out of clean sheets and blankets to put on the bed. Then I moved her downstairs - at around 4 AM - so she could continue to sleep, throw up, sleep throw up, ad infinitum. I was worried about her being sick from the whole peanut butter incident. (See: previous post.) I was worried she had come down with salmonella. But then...

My son started throwing up Saturday evening, and he doesn't go anywhere near peanut butter. So I knew it was just a virus. However, it was a particularly nasty virus. And there was a lot of puke.

But as of Sunday evening, everyone was holding down food and looking better. Phew, I thought, I'm home free. Well, home free as long as I don't get sick. Then this morning - never think you're home free, it'll curse you even to think it - I looked at my daughter's eye and noticed it was a little pink. So off to the doctor we went. And guess what? She's got pink eye! Oh boy...

All I can say is, stay very far away from us. Very far. We'll be contagious until the middle of the week, I'm sure.

Well, F*CK

Have you seen this?

It's a recall on peanut butter. Peter Pan peanut butter.

Guess what I have in my pantry right now...

Peter Pan peanut butter.

Guess what the serial numbers are on the the 2 (2!) jars I have in there...

If you guessed they start with 2111, you guessed right!

Now guess what I've fed my daughter and also the boy I babysit today...

Peter Pan peanut butter! The one that's recalled for salmonella. Go me!

F*CK.

*Stepping onto my soapbox*

You know what I hate?

(Oh, I hate a lot of things, as evidenced by the abundance of complaining I do here, but this thing is something I just realized I hated. Like, I've always been uncomfortable talking to people who are doing this, but I never put my finger on why exactly until yesterday. Yesterday I figured it out and was so bothered by it I wrote this little diatribe whilst waiting in the car line to pick up my kids from school. In fact, I was writing while I was pulling up car lengths, slowly drifting forward and madly scribbling words down onto the pad of paper I keep around for just this kind of thing. Oh, but I digress...)

I hate talking to people who are wearing sunglasses.

I have nothing against sunglasses. I think they serve a very, very useful purpose. And they can make you look cool, which is useful in and of itself. So I'm pro-sunglasses. But I'm anti-wearing-them-while-you-talk-to-me. Because I can't see your eyes. And that bothers me. I can't tell if you are even looking at me, or if you've been distracted by something directly to my right (or left, for that matter) and are no longer listening to a word I'm saying. I can't look you in the eye. I can't tell if you are with me or not. And this inevitably leads to me looking at the zit on your nose or maybe your mouth. And then I start looking at your teeth, and then I'm totally distracted. By that time I'M not even with me anymore. I'm trying to figure out how long you've had that zit, or if you had braces when you were younger. Or even worse, I'm staring at the plaque build-up on your teeth and wondering when the last time you brushed was. And since I'm not wearing sunglasses while we talk, you can clearly see me looking at your zit or your mouth and that just makes it awkward for the both of us, now doesn't it.

So let me reiterate - I'm anti-wearing-sunglasses-while-you-talk-to-me.

Phew. I feel better now that I've gotten that off my chest. Thank you.
*stepping off my soapbox*

Chocolate and...

You know, it's really unfair that Valentine's Day comes at a time when my jeans were already feeling a little too snug. But don't worry, it's not going to stop me from eating the chocolates my dear hubby got for me. (The man knows what I like!) Nothing could stop me from eating chocolate.

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I think I'm going to officially name my house Diarrhea House. (Or something like that.) Okay, so maybe not officially, because I really don't want to have to put a plaque on the front with that name on it, but let's just say that all the kids who come into the house come down with a bad case of the, um, runs. (And some adults too.) (Now you know too much, don't you?)

So no time to write more. I'm too busy changing diapers and washing hands, and changing diapers and washing hands...

I'm mean, but my floor is clean.

Well look-ey here, I have a BLOG! And I haven't written anything! I'm nothing if not consistent, right? (Hee hee, I crack myself up.) (But not you, you didn't even smile. At least give me a little patronizing laugh. Please?)

So...how have you been? I've been not busy but busy at the same time. (Oh, I now that doesn't make sense, but bear with me.) I've dealt with kids who had a little bit of not feeling well, and also a lotta bit of diarrhea. I've had my son home from school and lots of errands to run. I've also bought a new vacuum. (Hold your excitement please. I'll tell you about that later.) But first I know I have to tell you about the coat so you don't throw a hissy fit. Because I know y'all are waiting with bated breath to find out if I bought her one, right?

I didn't. (I know, mean mom, mean mom!) And it's not because I have a mean, black heart (although I totally do,) it's because we didn't go to any stores looking for coats. If she had fallen in love with one, I would have bought it for her. But we were too busy going to my son's belt testing (he's now a white belt with black stripe - High White! Go big stuff!) and going to a birthday party for my daughter's classmate. Then Sunday was spent Playing, with a capital P. We did, however, go shoe shopping for my daughter. She came home one day and had miraculously grown two shoe sizes. She actually came home limping with cuts on her heels and cramped toes. We managed to find her a pair of tennis shoes (athletic shoes? Cross trainers? What are they called now-a-days?) but we didn't find anything else for her. It's hard to find shoes in a 13WW. And did you know that her feet are thismuch away from being the same size as mine? Did I mention she's 5? As my dad says, Look at the paws on that puppy; she's going to be a biggun'. So if you see any black mary janes (not patent, please) in a size 13 WW, or even a size 13 W because they might fit, let me know. And anyone want a pair of Skechers pink cowboy boots, fairly good condition, in a size 12?

Annnd, on Monday I went and bought myself a new vacuum cleaner! I was sick of the jet-engine roar the old one made. The old one left my ears ringing after I finished vacuuming. So off to the store I went. I had already researched several options online (I'm a dork, I know!) and knew what I didn't want, so I figured I would just see if there was anything else left. And there was. But I didn't want to spend $300. So I just bought one that looked neat and was $55, research be damned. And when I got home I assembled it and vacuumed right away. (Who can resist playing with a new toy as soon as you get home?) I bought one of those bagless ones. Which, I thought I really didn't give a fig about bagless, but I bought one anyway because that seems to be the new direction all the cleaners are going in. And I want to be trendy whilst I vacuum. But there is a good side to the bagless - I can see all the dirt. I can see it working! And I was officially flabbergasted at the dirt and dust that came up from just the living room carpet. This is a floor that we don't even wear shoes on, and it was filthy. We were living in filth! So today I'm wheeling the old vacuum cleaner out to the curb for trash pickup. And I'm hoping they'll actually pick it up. Or maybe someone else will wander by and want an old Dirt Devil that has a roar like a jet engine. Maybe they like their ears to ring.

And of course I couldn't write today and not say Happy Valentine's Day! It's not really a big holiday around here, but more a good excuse to eat lots of chocolate and go out to dinner. We just gave the kids cards and gift cards to Target. And the kids were all about figuring out what to buy for themselves. But unfortunately, they have mean-ass parents and only got gift cards for a little teeny tiny bit of money, and now they cannot buy the Nintendo DS and the whole new wardrobe (including shoes) they were planning on. (Mean-ass parents!)

So have a happy day. We love you! I love you! Somebody loves you! Yippee!

This is where I take a little thing and turn it into a BIG thing.

This morning while we were getting shoes and coats on, my daughter said to me, "Mom, why don't I have pretty coats like Sarah? All I have is this coat." And she gave the coat an appropriate look of disdain. So I asked her what kind of coats Sarah has. She told me she had pretty pink, pretty purple, and other pretty coats. Notice her liberal use of the word pretty. That was just in case I didn't understand that she thought her coat was decidedly un-pretty.

Now some of you may think that it was a clever ploy on my daughter's part to convince me to buy her a new coat (or two.) But if you knew my daughter, you would know that it was actually a question - why? Why don't I have more pretty coats? Why does someone else have something that I would like, and why don't I have it too?

And, oh boy, did that open up a whole can of worms with me. On one hand, I wanted her to appreciate her current coat, which is a very nice one. Other people have said how nice it looks. But it is, unfortunately, not pink or purple. She has a good coat that serves it's purpose well, thankyouverymuch. And on the other hand, I wanted her to know that there will be things that other people have that we want, and that's okay. It happens to us all - we see things we would like to have, but for whatever reason we can't or won't have them. And on yet another hand (this must be the ever-elusive third hand I'm talking about) I wanted to go get her a pink coat and a purple coat and a whole bunch of other pretty, pretty coats.

It's that third "hand' that gets me into trouble. I don't want to start my daughter on a I have things that are better than yours kind of cycle. She's already competitive - very, very competitive. She's the child who will notice your seashell collection, for example, and instead of telling you that yours is a very nice collection, she will tell you that she has a bigger collection that she collected on a very special trip to the beach. And did she mention that her collection is bigger? So you can see why I don't want her to start comparing her clothing (or herself) to others. Because there will always be something bigger and better. There will always be someone who has more, who has nicer, who has prettier.

And isn't that what we, as women - nay, as parents - should not encourage in a little girl? We don't want our little girls to always be comparing themselves to others. It will only lead to being an adult who never feels good enough. Or maybe it will lead to being an adult who needs to feel superior to others, who always tries to put other "lesser" people in "their place." And that, oh my goodness, is not what I want for my little girl.

I want my little girl to feel comfortable with what she has and who she is. I want her to strive to be a better person because it's what she wants, not what she thinks others want for her. I don't want her to take a look around and find herself lacking in any way. I want her to feel pride for herself and what she has in life. I want her to be a confident girl who turns into a confident woman.

So all that leads to one question: Do I buy her a new coat? Because there, um, seems to be a lot at stake here.

Trying.

This morning I sent my kids upstairs to get dressed and heard the sounds of them playing together. I heard the high pitched squeals, giggles, and screams associated with their play. When I first heard the laughter I felt a tinge of anger - it was time to get dressed, not play. Then my anger quickly dissolved into happiness. I am so happy that the two of them can laugh and play together. They are playmates, and that makes me smile.

Sometimes I get so angry at them for "messing around" when they should be concentrating on a task. It always seems to happen when we have some sort of time constraint or something equally as serious (to me.) I yell and separate them and threaten to withhold privileges. I can't understand how they can forget the task at hand and be so silly.

Then I remember that I, too, was once silly. I remember sitting at the dinner table at my best friend's house and getting into so much trouble for laughing and carrying on. They used to yell at us and threaten and get so angry because we just couldn't stop snorting and spitting and "messing around." I never understood why her parents would get so frustrated with us. After all, we were only laughing. What was the big deal?

Well, now that I have kids, I understand what the big deal was. I understand the anger. And I'm a victim of that anger. Because when I'm not rushed, or trying to think, or trying to talk to someone, or my head doesn't hurt, I am very happy that they can laugh and carry on together. I love the sound of their laughter.

The trick is trying to remember that it's not a big deal to them and not begrudging them the chance to be playmates. I'm trying.

Otherwise known as: I got nothing to say today.

I have learned a few new things I thought I would share with you:

• If you order a leotard for your child's dance class in September, and it isn't given to you until February, it will no longer fit. (Okay, so I knew this one. But I'm thinking her dance class teacher doesn't know this one. So I'm posting it just in case others do not know it. A public service, if you will.)
• When you show a toddler how to sweep the kitchen with a broom, he will not stop at just the kitchen. He will sweep your walls, carpet, cabinets and even try to reach the TV with the broom, thus causing several broom related furniture knock-downs. Also, you will somehow end up with crumbs and dust bunnies all over the carpet, walls, and cabinets.
• Dusting with a toddler helping is very self-defeating. (See previous item.)
• When you walk into a furniture store that is having a "going out of business" sale and the prices are still several hundreds of dollars more than other furniture stores, you should just turn right around and leave. Do not go in any further. Also, do not allow children to come with you into said store.
• Never eat something you really, really want (and wanted to be selfish with) in front of a child. This one falls under Murphy's Law. Because even if the child has never before eaten whatever it is you are eating, and even if the child has gagged at the mere smell of whatever it is you are eating, the child will want some. And then want some more. And even more. And they will eat until you don't have any left. (Poor, poor me. I mean, you. Poor you.)

It seems that life is an ever-learning thing, especially if you're out of your ever-loving mind (like I am.)

The thing we shall not talk about.

Lately I've been obsessed with our family's financial outlook. And I've wanted to talk about it more in depth on here, but out of respect to my dear husband, I haven't. (See, I do think of your feelings, honey. Just maybe not as often as you'd like me too...) So I'm directing you over to Dad Gone Mad today, because he wrote a post that had me sitting here nodding my head. So go read.

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It was such a shock to me when I came to realize that some people who appear to 'have it all' really don't have anything. The 'all' they have is financed, borrowed, or begged. Now, I know that there are those who truly do have money for all they have (and I hate them.) (Kinda.) (Not really.) And I'm not saying I am against financing, etc... because goodness knows that would be like the pot calling the kettle black. I'm just saying that for the longest time I sat back and wondered how it was people have things and money to spare, and then when I found out that all was not necessarily how it seemed it was an Aha! moment for me. I always wondered how 'they' did it. Now I realize that some people might look at our life and wonder how we do it. And to them I say, we don't really do it all. We're struggling just like you.

Now excuse me while I go figure out how in the heck I'm supposed to get 15% of our take-home pay into a savings account. I guess we could not eat. Or cut off the cable and internet. (But I'd almost rather not eat.) Do you save 15%? If you do, how in the holy heck do you do it?

Tete-a-tete.

My husband went to a parent-teacher conference regarding our son yesterday. It was the required middle of the year meeting where they tell you how well/badly your child is doing and whether or not they are 'on track' with the state standards.

First let me tell you that I felt like my husband was filling in for me by going to this conference. I felt like I was supposed to be there, not him; like it was my duty as a mom to be the one who went to these things. How sexist is that? Then I had to reconcile those feelings with the whole equal parenting thing and get over it. Besides, I think he is much better at these sorts of things that I am. I am more prone to sit and nod my head, barely asking any questions. Then I'll go home and think about what was said and then have a billion questions. He can think of the questions right then and there (which is one of the reasons why I like him so much - he's a quick thinker.)

Our son is doing well in school. (In case you were wondering.) Sometimes we feel like he is so far behind. And it's not that we think he's not smart, it's just that we don't have anything to gauge him by. Being the first born is hard - we gauge his level by his sister, comparing what she is doing now to what he was capable of doing when he was her age. And she's, number one, a girl and girls are usually ahead of boys at this age, and, number two, frickin' smart. But our boy, he is smart too! His teacher said he is ahead a grade level in his math. His reading, on the other hand, is just a smidge behind. It's his reading comprehension that needs a little work. In other words, he can read you the story but the words all mean nothing to him when he's done. And I know why. He's too busy thinking about the battle on Hoth he's going to wage once he is done reading and can go play a little Xbox.

Him being good at math and not as good at reading is very strange to me. Everyone always says how much like me he is, what with his little quirks and his fastidiousness about things. But I'm a math - well, how should I put this - retard. And a reading genius. (Well, not so much genius, but a good reader nonetheless.) When I went to college I had to take remedial math (for zero credits, I might add) in order to even get myself up to college level. But I entered college in a sophomore English Lit. class because I received college credits in English while I was still in high school. When I correct his math homework, he can come up with the answer quicker than I can. And he's in first grade, folks. I'm the lady who is counting on her fingers while she tries to add up her bank deposit. Also, I chronically over-tip because I can't do the whole 15% thing. But I read like a mofo, often going through a book a day. I remember being little and my dad telling me I read differently than others because I didn't look at the single words, but looked at the whole sentence at once. And that was when I was young. So the boy is the total opposite of me.

I'm going to have to cajole him into reading me more books. And the I'll have to worm a synopsis out of him too. Wish me luck, guys, because he's going to fight me the whole way. Maybe if I promise him he can add up my bank deposit for me...

Trolling... stalking... lusting... for furniture.

I've been looking for new furniture for my front room/computer room/game room for a good long time now. Basically, I've been looking since I've moved into this house. But I haven't been seriously looking, as in going to furniture stores and trying to find the correct colors and styles. I've been surfing the web and trolling Craigslist.*

I have found several things that I want, several pieces of furniture that I think would be just the thing for the room. Unfortunately, I haven't found anything for free, which is why I haven't gotten anything new yet. So because I am a generous and kindly person (don't laugh!) I will share some of my findings with you:

There's this couch, which I loved when I first saw it. But then I figured out that it wasn't so much the couch I loved, per se, but the view behind the couch. And unless the people across the street are willing to give up their houses so I can make it into an ocean over there, I don't think I'll get that view anytime soon. But man, do I wish...

This entertainment console would go great with my floors. I would really like to get rid of this black metal thing I have in here now, and I think this would be perfect. Also, I'd like the big TV on it, please.

I want this rug for my downstairs bathroom, or "powder room," mainly because I think I want to paint the walls a blue-ish gray-ish color. And I think the rug is pretty. Ooh, ooh, it will also go great with that ocean view! I'll get to work on those pesky across-the-street neighbors right now!


*I seem to have an addiction to Craigslist. I'm constantly looking at the furniture for sale. Also, I am constantly amazed at what people will sell and/or give away. One woman, for instance, was giving away old bras. And another person wanted to sell a couch for $100 that was so dirty (with goodness knows what) and so torn that I don't even think you could give it to anyone for free. I'm amazed, I tell you, amazed. My husband threatened to enroll me in Craigslist Anonymous and I told him that it could be worse - I could buy things from there. He said he thinks it's worse that I don't buy anything. I'm just a Craigslist stalker. But being a crazy Internet stalker is nothing new to me, so, eh, I don't see the problem.

Sharing.

When I read this post over at Woulda Coulda Shoulda, I knew I had to get people over there to read it. I just had to share. It's beautiful. Read it. (And then let me know if you need a tissue, because I've got a whole box of them right here.)

Did somebody say Hiatus?

So, new look... you likey?

It's, um, different. But I was getting tired of looking at the same old, same old. If you were on here several times last night (which, who wasn't?) you would have seen all the incarnations, all the different types of layouts I tried. And then I ended up going back to the original layout only to get up this morning and change it first thing. Even before my coffee.

I like the colors, the simplicity of the whole thing. But I don't like the BIG TYPE. The words, they are so big. And, um, big. Large even. So who knows how long this look will be around. I'll try it for a while and see if I like it. You like? You tell me. Me go now.




PS - It's snowing. Big fat snow flakes are coming from the sky. My God, it's a miracle.