Pelted with Battery Acid

It seems that the time has come for me to share a few product reviews. I'm going to start with the toy industry, and this is not a specific review so much as a pontification upon the insanity that has befallen the toy market. First of all, I believe there is a such thing as too safe. I'm all for child safety and I'm glad that technology and research has come so far as to grant us such knowledge as backsleeping prevents SIDS and long cords might strangle babies. However.

Has anyone stopped to consider that a good deal of fun has left the world of toys? Pull toys have strings that are so short that my 16 month old must either bend down to pull the toy or hike the toy 6 inches off the ground and kind of drag its backside along the floor. His wagon has seatbelts. How, may I ask, is he supposed to one day kneel in the wagon and steer it as he charges down a hill if he is wearing a seatbelt? [long silence] I thought as much.

And what about parents? These toys are strapped into the packaging within an inch of their lives. Every toy is bound to the cardboard with no less than thirty industrial strength twist ties, plastic barriers, and occasionally screws! When you have to pull out the Phillips head to get the toy out of the box, something is amiss. Then, THEN! You have to install the batteries. This for sure involves a screwdriver, because heaven forbid the little one was to touch a battery. I suppose it could spontaneously explode and pelt your child with battery acid, but it really seems unlikely to me.

I'm not saying safety is bad, but it's kind of extreme sometimes. Toys don't even have corners anymore. Of course, if you listen to the news and pay attention to the daily recall of toys, you'll find that they are all swathed in lead paint, so maybe that's the balance.

On a separate note, does anyone have any good gift ideas for a second baby, same gender, around $50? Thanky.

I guess I'll take her word for it...

Well, well, well. It looks like the Pigs family will continue to be testosterone dominant, as we found out today that the yet-unnamed baby (though I liked the tenderloin suggestion a few weeks ago) is a....

I mean, clearly, it's a boy. These pictures are about as clear as mud. The sonographer squeals, "Ooh! I see it!" I turn and squint and blink and see nothing. She draws the cute little arrow you see above and oohs and ahhs at the cuteness that it this alleged penis. I quickly give up and take her word for it, just glad that in the middle of moving across the country I will not have to purchase new clothes and bedding. Woo! Piglet will have a buddy. In a couple of years, I have faith that they will amuse one another (and Gus) and leave me to watch them play.

Gus, by the way, is blissfully unaware of any impending changes. We're going to give him 5 weeks to get used to baby #2, then BAM! move him to Georgia. If we think he's neurotic now, just wait until we try to rock his world at the ripe old age of 7. Should be interesting!

Bellybutton Hood

Today was Day One of my writing teaching extravaganza and it went fairly well. There is, of course, the requisite Boy Named Will in one of my groups. I don't know how many times I have to say it before people stop naming their children names I have warned them about. If you haven't read it here before, it bears repeating: Never name your child Will, Brandon, Zachary, Lexi or Brittany. Just don't. It's been established again and again, and today I saw it one more time.

Who is Will, you might ask? Will is the kid who makes the smart remarks to take attention away from his stupidity. Will is the kid whose temper is something you are warned about. Will is the kid whose arm is incapable of raising, but whose rear end has never met a chair. That's Will. And it's often Brandon and Zach too. Brittany is a different story. Brittany could have any litany of issues, but I can guarantee you she has issues. She often, but not always hangs around with Lexi. Brittany and Lexi are likely to suffer excessive cattiness, may have body issues, and I wouldn't be surprised if they had problems getting their work done combined with parents who make excuses for them. Just my opinion, of course, but my opinion is based on some pretty consistent observations and quality data collection.

The most difficult part of my day was actually trying to fit into some item of clothing which resembled something professional. The dilemma was twofold: one, my stomach is poking out and becoming round. This makes pants with buttons a challenge and length of shirts an issue. If you take a look at today's styles, you wouldn't think this would be too much of a problem since shirts have become nice and long of late. But I have to stop and remind you that the professional side of my closet underwent a fairly rigid pause about Fall 2005. It was January 2006 when I became knocked up with Piglet and subsequently stopped working at the end of that school year. Winter 2007 I spent breastfeeding in warm up suits, and then all of a sudden, there we are at Winter 2008 and I found my wardrobe to consist of shorter shirts and dusty pants. It's a sad waste of clothes, I tell you. After trying on approximately 63 outfits, I squeezed into my former black Fat Pants and a newish shirt of appropriate length which was too thin for the cold weather, but looked okay except for the hood of my bellybutton poking out if you looked too closely. Hopefully, none of those Wills looked too closely.

Ah, well. The teaching was fun and my day went well. I am now snuggled down in bed, my most perplexing thoughts revolving around the mystery of Stephano Dimera being allowed to wear a suit in prison while those around him wear standard jail attire. Don't laugh, I think that soaps have suddenly bumped up in quality as compared to the reruns that fill my Tivo, as they are inexplicably unaffected by the writer's strike. And to all a good night.

Mucinex gives me smelly rotten egg gas.

Life is crazy. The RSV fiasco is ongoing, apparently the cough can last 2-4 weeks. The inhaler makes Piglet more hyper than a monkey on crack. That's good fun. On top of this fun, he's cutting two molars and acting angsty when I don't cater to his every whim. His whims currently being wanting to water the plants 32 times a day, Swiffering the hardwoods, and turning the light switches ("Dats!") off and on. And off and on and off and on and off and on. These tasks keep him - and me - extremely busy. He's truly obsessed with water ("Wa-Wa!"). Water from the faucet, water in his cup, water pouring from the downspout, water in the pond behind our house. Water, water, water. He calls all plants "WA-WA!" as well because he believes they all need to be watered. Right now. For instance, in the Enterprise Rent a Car facility, he spotted two fake ficus trees. "Wa wa! Wa wa! Wa wa!" he yelled until I wheeled him out to console him that they had surely been watered and were taken care of. No worries.

Of course, you know that I contracted Piglet's nasty cold, which promptly turned into a nasty sinus infection. I've never experienced that before. My cheekbone ached, my jaw hurt to smile or talk, the roots of my upper teeth were sore. A very strange experience that prompted me to have my poor OB paged at 7:45 on a Sunday morning, something I've never done before. Two days later, I'm feeling almost skippy compared to my non-breathing nights and hacking days. Since I'm nearly in good health again, it's clearly time to get busy on this move.

Somehow in the next six months or so, I have to plan and complete the following tasks: fly to Georgia in last weeks of being permitted to fly, purchase home, get own house ready to put on market, sell Texas house, have baby, move across country, find new doctors, banks, friends, preschool, etc, etc. So right now I spend my days talking to movers, realtors, loan officers, hotels, car rental places, doctors, insurance companies, relocation services, and Home Depot. Did I mention that I have to replace my bedroom carpet before putting the house on the market due to one rectum dragging beagle? I won't name any names, but it's pretty nasty and unfortunate. Apparently, dog drag and Resolve can create a somewhat bleached look on carpet, not one that most buyers are searching for. Did I mention that our health insurance has changed management and suddenly Piglet's prescription has tripled and having his vaccines done once a month instead of all at once is suddenly a no-no? At least that's what person #1 told me, until I raised a stink and suddenly bigwig person #2 said no, #1 was wrong and now I don't know who to believe, all I know is Piglet needs some shots or I'm not going to be able to get him into preschool or mother's day out in the fall. Which! I can't register him for yet because I don't know where I'm going to be living, plus with a September birthday, he probably won't be old enough for a two year old program anyway. Gah!

I'd also like to state that I don't know how single moms do it because my husband has a huge deadline this week and is kind of MIA and I am zonked after one full day of Piglet including bath and bedtime and dinner alone. You might also be interested to know that Mucinex gives me smelly rotten egg gas, and that none of my clothes fit me and I have to somehow find something to wear to school on Thursday when I'm going to start teaching some writing once a week to the fourth graders. And it's not like I look pregnant, I just look like I've been throwing back one too many beers and got a little thick around the middle. I need to make more of an effort to blog, but it's just been hard to squeeze in the time.

Sidenote: If anyone knows anything about the testing in Georgia schools, I love for you to email me because from what I've seen so far, I'm kind of confused trying to figure out the schools around where we are looking. That is all.

Hodge Podge

Arrrrgh. Ack. Gack. I detest being sick in general, but being sick when I'm pregnant and can't take medicine is simply wretched. How did I get sick? Me, the Germ Nazi? Well, when Piglet gets sick, it's all downhill from there.

We ventured to the great state of Georgia over the weekend to inspect our future homeland up close and try to find some areas we like. Of course, upon arrival, Piglet contracted the plague and it proved to be an impossible task to locate a pediatrician that would see him or an urgent care that saw children under 2. Many phone calls later, we found ourselves in a children's urgent care and got the big bad RSV diagnosis and left with an inhaler and a wicked cough.

Once that was all taken care of, we toured around with the person who was possibly one of the scariest realtors in the world. There are a few things that you don't want your realtor to say to you while driving you around. Among them:

"I finally got a new GPS! It was only $200 at WalMart. I hope you don't mind that I hold it between my legs when I drive."

"Whoa! Whooooooooooooa! [brakes slamming] This was-is my turn! [screech!]"

"Wow! I never knew all this was out here! I'm learning right along with you!"

"I never knew that! Wow!" [when told that the roads in Georgia are curvy and awkward and change names because of the differences in how the roads were planned, as compared to, say, Dallas.]

"I'm not really sure about that."

"Um....I'll have to ask someone about that."

"Can you read this map for me and get me back to that first neighborhood? I'm not sure where we are."

It made for a pretty long day. Afer I slid all over the backseat of the car and managed not to retch on the leather, I was relieved to know we had another realtor lined up to go around with the next day, who turned out to be fabulous. Whew! Now if we can just get everyone over various ailments and illnesses, we'll be good to go. In the meantime, I'm going to go lie down with my useless saline spray and box of Kleenex and feel sorry for myself. Boo, hiss.

Bopf.

You know, beagles are ridiculous animals. Gus can go months and months being a perfectly pleasant pet, and then BAM! He reminds you that he's still capable of all kinds of debauchery. You'd think that the M&M's would have been enough, but he waits until things get hectic before starting his shenanigans.

It all begins with insurance. We've always been really happy with our insurance. I've never paid more than a $20 copay for a doctor's visit or a prescription. Then all of a sudden, I go to pick up Piglet's Prevacid and lo and behold it suddenly costs $63! This does not rest easily on my frugal ears. This is my CVS. My CVS in which I am not accustomed to paying for things. Grumble, mutter, growl.

Fast forward half an hour. Piglet and I arrive home. There is a large foil packet in the middle of the family room floor. This is not typically where we store foil. Said foil is bare of all crumbs. It is also missing three large biscuits. The dog is lolling about on the couch, belly up, looking quite meaty and full. Why the big mystery, you ask? That packet of biscuits had been on my kitchen counter, specifically on my island in the middle of the kitchen. I looked at Gus. I eyed the counter. I gazed thoughtfully at Piglet, my eyes question marks. "BOPF?" he said helpfully. No, no. No one has bopfed, but something peculiar has definitely transpired.

After some investigation, the only conclusion I can draw is that Gus has learned how to jump from the kitchen floor, the proper domain for a beagle, catlike onto Piglet's IKEA play table, and then leap onto the counter, where he mowed through the contents of the island. Guess what else was missing? Piglet's last Prevacid tablet. I wonder if Gus knows those now cost three dollars a piece or if he was having a little indigestion from consuming three large biscuits. Perhaps he did bopf. We may never know.

What am I going to do with this dog?

Lonely or Determined?

Want an M&M?

Saturday

9:30pm: Decided that upon official entrance to second trimester would surely not need barf medicine anymore. Didn't take it. Went to bed.

Sunday

3:30am: Wide awake, cursing self for not taking medicine. Husband grinding teeth.

7:30am: Piglet awakens. Begin crazy run around process of getting ready for church. It's brunch morning, so put sausage and egg casserole in oven to cook. Smell is repulsive. Shower. Eat many crackers. Attempt to stifle nausea. Getting ready process is slo-o-o-o-w.

8:30am: Hear suspicious rattling sound from dining room. Clad in only pants and bra, race to scene. Upon investigation, discover Gus under table eating his fifth bag of M&M's. Scream and give chase.

8:35am: Dog quarantined in bathtub. Attempt to pour capfuls of hydrogen peroxide down dog's throat. Dog not accepting treatment, instead growling and snarking at my hand. Upgraded to syringe, squirting peroxide in general direction of dog's face. Process continued for some time with increasing agitation from dog.

8:55am: Scheduled departure in fifteen minutes. Am still in bathtub with dog, half-dressed with no makeup. No regurgitation from chocolate-filled growling beast. Casserole is bubbling away producing eggy, cheesy smell which is making stomach churn.

8:58am: Dog's stomach gives massive lurch and....RETCH! We have ginormous amount of chocolate laden dog vomit surrounded by foamy mounds of peroxide foam speckled with Beneful dog food. Ten seconds later....HURLP! A dark chocolately mound, dwarfed by the first eruption, lands in another part of the bathtub. I gulp, I gag, I fight the vomit while holding the dog in the tub.

8:59am: My barfphobic husband rushes in and takes my place. I gasp for fresh air and drag the dog outside.

9:05am: Pull casserole out of oven, gagging on smell. Race to get dressed and apply some semblance of makeup. Give in and take anti-barf medicine. Dress Piglet. Bring husband meat fork and Drano at his request.

9:10am: Ready to go. Husband emerges from bathroom slightly green and wielding meat fork. Decline to learn meat fork's use in getting dog barf, chocolate, and peroxide foam down bath drain. Request that it be destroyed immediately.

Rest of morning:
Late to church, gag on brunch food, barfy all day and tired from not sleeping well. Piglet emerges from church nursery with Instant Cold which he did not have upon entering. Apparently he got sick within 90 minutes. Nursery Ladies give me disapproving bad mother looks for bringing him to church sick.

Later:
Regain appetite around 7:30pm. Eat dinner. Top dinner off with bag of M&M's for kicks. Gus begs at my feet for treat. Are you kidding me, dog? "Gus, you've had your share of M&M's today, buddy. Go away." Gus turns around, walks to corner, and retches his dinner all over the floor. Sigh.

America's Youth

Quick - I need ideas of what to get two girls who were kind enough to dogsit Gus for a week. In the past, I've given them gift cards to Claire's, Limited Too, and Learning Express (Webkinz). They are in 2nd and 4th grades. Help!