I am going to be sick. I have almost thrown up about ten times this morning. Why, you ask? Well.
This morning, a new friend invited us to go to one of these indoor playground type places full of those inflatable slides and other fun kid stuff. Piglet had an absolute ball and Little Piggie napped in his stroller the whole time. Then the big moment came.
I was helping Piglet climb onto one of the inflatables. He hefted his girth up there and flopped onto his face. Then. He looked up at me in horror, licking a pink chunky substance from his lips. This was not his pink chunky substance. He had landed smack into a puddle of OtherKid Puke. It was all over his face, shirt, hands, and pants.
My breakfast rose into my throat and I struggled not to barf. Your own barf is bad, your kid's barf is worse, but OtherKid Barf?? Kill me now. I was having flashbacks to a kid named Chris in my class my second year of teaching who infamously barfed fabulously all over 3 desks before looking up at me weakly with a vomit string from his chin to his desk and saying, "I had eggs for breakfast." HURLP.
I raced to my bag of goods and swabbed every skin surface down with an antibacterial wipe, even his tongue. Is that bad? I don't care. The chemicals can't be as bad as some other kid's barf in your mouth, right? Once to the car, I stripped his clothes off and he rode home in his diaper.
Two hours later, I am still completely grossed out and paranoid that we are going to have some stomach flu plague go through our house this weekend. Please send positive anti-stomach bug thoughts our way.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
TWOOOOOO!
Happy birthday to Piglet!
Happy birthday to Piglet!
Happy birthday dear Piglet!
Happy birthday, you're TWO!
Piglet is two today. He's singing happy birthday to himself, but has the decency to look embarrassed when I catch him and start singing along. He genuinely believes that it is not a coincidence that today is trash day. He believes that the garbage truck came to see him especially for his birthday. There were moments of glee.
Happy birthday to Piglet!
Happy birthday dear Piglet!
Happy birthday, you're TWO!
Piglet is two today. He's singing happy birthday to himself, but has the decency to look embarrassed when I catch him and start singing along. He genuinely believes that it is not a coincidence that today is trash day. He believes that the garbage truck came to see him especially for his birthday. There were moments of glee.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Like a pig in mud
Can I just say how much I love fall? I didn't realize how much I had missed fall while living in Texas. (And no, Texans, "that one day when it was 75 degrees" doesn't count as fall, it's supposed to be a season!) In Texas, it inevitably went from 90 degrees, then one day plummeted to 50 and all of a sudden (or "all of the sudden" as they say in Texas), it was winter. Poof! Just like that.
It's been soooooo beautiful here. Sunny and 80 degrees, low humidity, a breeze....ahhhhhh. I didn't even want to leave the playground yesterday. And soon? The leaves will change! Like, colors! Our trees in Texas just turned brown and threw up all over the yard one day in November. Again, poof! Winter.
I'll stop knocking Texas now. I know I'll miss it this winter when those random 75 degree heat waves in January don't surface to help me get through to spring.
It's been soooooo beautiful here. Sunny and 80 degrees, low humidity, a breeze....ahhhhhh. I didn't even want to leave the playground yesterday. And soon? The leaves will change! Like, colors! Our trees in Texas just turned brown and threw up all over the yard one day in November. Again, poof! Winter.
I'll stop knocking Texas now. I know I'll miss it this winter when those random 75 degree heat waves in January don't surface to help me get through to spring.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
D'jew hear me?
Why is it when you go to your local DMV you see the lowest denominators of society. The word my grandmother has always used is actually "scummins", a word that only applies in a few places, the DMV being one of them. State fairs, WalMart on Saturday, and the campground at Myrtle Beach may be some others. If you happen to be scummins yourself, I apologize for being such a snob, but I haven't been as entertained by scummins in a public setting since my Backwoods Emergency Room experience at the beach a few years ago.
As you know, when you walk into a DMV there is always a line, a collection of plastic chairs connected by a long metal bar, and a staff comprised of people of ambiguous gender clad in unattractive blue uniforms that want to be police uniforms, but aren't. That should set the scene fairly well. Instantly bored, I began to chat up the woman in line in front of me. She was very excited to be getting her license reinstated from her DUI 15 months before. She waited an extra two months, she explained, because every time she drove by the DMV the line was too long to stop. Did you catch that? Every time she DROVE by? You know, without her license? Yeah.
I at last got past the "guard" who tried to scare me away by insinuating that I didn't have all of my documents for an out of state transfer of license, but hooHOO! I had read the website and had everything proclaiming me to be me and then some. It pleased her and she sent me to the row of chairs with paperwork. That was when the 400 pound man almost sat on me. This man - possibly the largest man I have ever seen who wasn't on The Biggest Loser - chose to sit directly beside me on those tiny chairs. I'm not going to lie - I did a precautionary, yet discreet, lift in case the whole row went down. His girth more than infringed upon my space as I attempted to fill out my Very Important Form. Luckily, they quickly called him back for his vision test, after which he returned his cataract sunglasses to his face.
My favorite scummins were the ones who were standing at the window beside me as I applied for my license. This was beyond country-come-to-town. This was greasy folks slithered out from under their rock and saw people for the first time. It was a momma and her two sons, each in their twenties or so. All three had the thickest, largest glasses I have ever seen (and I can assess this accurately), a lack of some teeth, though the front two were prominently available for viewing in all three individuals, loooooong greasy stringy hair, and acid washed jeans. Both boys/men topped their coif with camouflage trucker hats that had seen better days. The momma was hanging over the counter trying to exert her influence on the ambiguously gendered officer. "One of your secretaries? In the back? She knows him PERSONALLY." She jabbed her finger into one of her son's sides. "D'jew hear me? She knows him PERSONALLY." She nodded proudly. After stating this fact several more times and passing on the offer to register to vote (whew!) she was informed that she did not qualify for whatever business she was pursuing at the DMV that day.
It was great people watching. I was in and out in about an hour and pretty pleased with the process. Mr. Pigs went later that afternoon and his stories only topped mine when he met the guy who had managed to get two DUIs in a single day. Now that? Takes talent. The good news is that my license is good for the next ten years. When I have to go do that process again, I will be 42 and my children will be 12 and 10! The bad news is that for some reason in Georgia, they put your weight on your license. Who knew they did that anymore? All in all, an interesting experience.
As you know, when you walk into a DMV there is always a line, a collection of plastic chairs connected by a long metal bar, and a staff comprised of people of ambiguous gender clad in unattractive blue uniforms that want to be police uniforms, but aren't. That should set the scene fairly well. Instantly bored, I began to chat up the woman in line in front of me. She was very excited to be getting her license reinstated from her DUI 15 months before. She waited an extra two months, she explained, because every time she drove by the DMV the line was too long to stop. Did you catch that? Every time she DROVE by? You know, without her license? Yeah.
I at last got past the "guard" who tried to scare me away by insinuating that I didn't have all of my documents for an out of state transfer of license, but hooHOO! I had read the website and had everything proclaiming me to be me and then some. It pleased her and she sent me to the row of chairs with paperwork. That was when the 400 pound man almost sat on me. This man - possibly the largest man I have ever seen who wasn't on The Biggest Loser - chose to sit directly beside me on those tiny chairs. I'm not going to lie - I did a precautionary, yet discreet, lift in case the whole row went down. His girth more than infringed upon my space as I attempted to fill out my Very Important Form. Luckily, they quickly called him back for his vision test, after which he returned his cataract sunglasses to his face.
My favorite scummins were the ones who were standing at the window beside me as I applied for my license. This was beyond country-come-to-town. This was greasy folks slithered out from under their rock and saw people for the first time. It was a momma and her two sons, each in their twenties or so. All three had the thickest, largest glasses I have ever seen (and I can assess this accurately), a lack of some teeth, though the front two were prominently available for viewing in all three individuals, loooooong greasy stringy hair, and acid washed jeans. Both boys/men topped their coif with camouflage trucker hats that had seen better days. The momma was hanging over the counter trying to exert her influence on the ambiguously gendered officer. "One of your secretaries? In the back? She knows him PERSONALLY." She jabbed her finger into one of her son's sides. "D'jew hear me? She knows him PERSONALLY." She nodded proudly. After stating this fact several more times and passing on the offer to register to vote (whew!) she was informed that she did not qualify for whatever business she was pursuing at the DMV that day.
It was great people watching. I was in and out in about an hour and pretty pleased with the process. Mr. Pigs went later that afternoon and his stories only topped mine when he met the guy who had managed to get two DUIs in a single day. Now that? Takes talent. The good news is that my license is good for the next ten years. When I have to go do that process again, I will be 42 and my children will be 12 and 10! The bad news is that for some reason in Georgia, they put your weight on your license. Who knew they did that anymore? All in all, an interesting experience.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Eat! Poop!
Everyone knows that men are terrible communicators and listeners, but I didn't realize it started at the age of 2. Well, almost 2. Did I mention that Piglet will be two next week? He has no idea what's going on, but likes to yell, "TWOOOOOOO!" whenever he hears me say it.
Today I picked him up from preschool (the most awesome, amazing, supertastic creation in the history of time) and his teacher came up to me giggling.
Teacher: I was changing Piglet's diaper today and he yelled out, "BOOBIES!!!" [giggles]
Me: Heh....heh, heh. Wonder where he learned that? [Inwardly cursing Mr. Pigs for teaching him the word months ago during Piglet's going through my bathing suit drawer phase.]
-Later in the car-
Me: Piglet, what did you do at school today?
Piglet: Eat lunch.
Me: What did you have?
Piglet: Pee-butter crackers.
Me: Well, that's weird because I packed you a sandwich.
Piglet: [shrugs]
Me: What else did you do at school?
Piglet: Eat snack.
Me: Did you do anything other than eat?
Piglet: Poopoo!
That was pretty much the end of our discussion. Every day I ask who he played with and he says, "Boys!" and I ask what he played and he says, "Toys!" I may never know what really goes on at school. I know for a fact that they had a fire drill today [and that he was the only one who didn't cry.....clearly gifted beyond his years], but was that mentioned? Nooooo.....can't top the fact that he ate and pooped.
Today I picked him up from preschool (the most awesome, amazing, supertastic creation in the history of time) and his teacher came up to me giggling.
Teacher: I was changing Piglet's diaper today and he yelled out, "BOOBIES!!!" [giggles]
Me: Heh....heh, heh. Wonder where he learned that? [Inwardly cursing Mr. Pigs for teaching him the word months ago during Piglet's going through my bathing suit drawer phase.]
-Later in the car-
Me: Piglet, what did you do at school today?
Piglet: Eat lunch.
Me: What did you have?
Piglet: Pee-butter crackers.
Me: Well, that's weird because I packed you a sandwich.
Piglet: [shrugs]
Me: What else did you do at school?
Piglet: Eat snack.
Me: Did you do anything other than eat?
Piglet: Poopoo!
That was pretty much the end of our discussion. Every day I ask who he played with and he says, "Boys!" and I ask what he played and he says, "Toys!" I may never know what really goes on at school. I know for a fact that they had a fire drill today [and that he was the only one who didn't cry.....clearly gifted beyond his years], but was that mentioned? Nooooo.....can't top the fact that he ate and pooped.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Dude. Piglet has some issues regarding going to bed. Primarily, he's just not into that. These are the times when I sure miss the crib which contained him so tidily, even though I know he could climb out of it by now anyway.
It all began when we sold our house and it no longer mattered what it looked like. We set Piglet up a mattress and box springs on the floor, bought him some truck sheets at Target, and started his training. He loved it. It was his Big Boy Bed that he showed to anyone who came over. He climbed in and out with ease and mostly slept in the bed. All over the bed, yes, but in it nonetheless.
Then he got a little adventurous. Instead of napping, he would roam around the room getting into trouble and wear himself out until he was crying from exhaustion and would fall asleep in front of the door or on the chair. He soon got over this phase and we thought we were in the clear.
Upon our Big Move to Georgia, his Big Boy Furniture was delivered to the new house. This brought about delight and glee! He slept in his bed JUST FINE for naps and nights for a couple of weeks. Then began the wandering again. This time, it wasn't so safe. With the addition of the new digs, we now had drawers to go through and bed height to leap from, and all kinds of things to take out of things. After a non-nap, his room looked like a cyclone had gone through.
We went through several rounds of putting him back in his bed to no avail. Then I got out the pack n play and stuck him in that. It worked for one day, then he figured out that he can climb out of it just fine and still get to play. Last straw was setting up a sleeping bag and pillow in this weird little room off of his room that used to contain toys and now contains....nothing. It's his little sleeping prison complete with baby gate on the door. And you know what? The weird little booger likes it. We could've saved a lot of money on furntiture if I'd known he'd prefer a thirty year old skunky sleeping bag on the floor. What's a person to do??
It all began when we sold our house and it no longer mattered what it looked like. We set Piglet up a mattress and box springs on the floor, bought him some truck sheets at Target, and started his training. He loved it. It was his Big Boy Bed that he showed to anyone who came over. He climbed in and out with ease and mostly slept in the bed. All over the bed, yes, but in it nonetheless.
Then he got a little adventurous. Instead of napping, he would roam around the room getting into trouble and wear himself out until he was crying from exhaustion and would fall asleep in front of the door or on the chair. He soon got over this phase and we thought we were in the clear.
Upon our Big Move to Georgia, his Big Boy Furniture was delivered to the new house. This brought about delight and glee! He slept in his bed JUST FINE for naps and nights for a couple of weeks. Then began the wandering again. This time, it wasn't so safe. With the addition of the new digs, we now had drawers to go through and bed height to leap from, and all kinds of things to take out of things. After a non-nap, his room looked like a cyclone had gone through.
We went through several rounds of putting him back in his bed to no avail. Then I got out the pack n play and stuck him in that. It worked for one day, then he figured out that he can climb out of it just fine and still get to play. Last straw was setting up a sleeping bag and pillow in this weird little room off of his room that used to contain toys and now contains....nothing. It's his little sleeping prison complete with baby gate on the door. And you know what? The weird little booger likes it. We could've saved a lot of money on furntiture if I'd known he'd prefer a thirty year old skunky sleeping bag on the floor. What's a person to do??
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Awkward! (and moist)
Cough, hack, wheeze. Groan. I've had a temperature of 102-103 since Thursday. Drenching sweats that require 4 or so full outfit changes a day, chills so bad my hair follicles are sore from goosebumps, not good. Miiiiiiiiiserable. Have no doctor, went to urgent care. They declared me a carrier of the flu. Sorry, nothing we can do, you'll feel better in a couple days. Come back if you get worse!
Today, my temperature was climbing, climbing, even after the load of Tylenol in my system. Mr. Pigs sent me back up there. Thus began my afternoon of embarrassment. Though the Advil had been in my system nearly two hours, I was still shivering and relished in the afternoon sauna that was Mr. Pigs' car which was parked in the driveway. I arrived at the doctor's, checked in and sat. THEN my fever decided to break. Sweat came rushing down every part of me, soaking my shirt front and back, running down my legs, dripping from my nose. I daintily dabbed with a tissue and fanned with a magazine. I was drenched. The nurse behind the desk slid the window closed and watched me from behind the glass.
I sat that way for about half an hour while I waited my turn. When I was called back, I tried to apologize for my moist condition, but no one seemed to have either sympathy or a sense of humor. I asked for some paper towels. They sent me to pee in a cup. This was when I discovered my underwear (that's panties to you, Katie!) was drenched front and back. I got the pleasure of putting the sweat-soaked unkies back on and pulling my moist shorts up over them. Ew, ew, ew!
Back to the exam room, the doctor came in and was listening to my lungs. He twice had to wipe of his stethoscope due to my copious sweating. He also commented on my "freakin' huge glands!" and ordered a chest xray and a mono test. Good times. I had to remove (peel off) my bra for the xray but leave my shirt on. Bra was soaked. When I wrung it over the sink, water actually came out of it.
Walking to the xray room, I felt rather free and loose in my shirt. I stood still for my photo op and then it happened. I felt it coming and WHOOSH! My milk, confused by the bra being off and the loosey goosey nature of the shirt, let down and started pumping. Whooooaaa! I snatched my shirt away from my chest, trying to avoid milk boob circles. Milk began streaming down my stomach. I awkwardly asked the nurse for some paper towels - again. She looked at me like I was some kind of liquid-producing freak and handed me some towels. "Heh heh..." I attempted a laugh. Awkward, awkward and awkward again. We finished up and I had I had to put that nasty soaked bra back on.
Turns out? I have pneumonia. Don't ask me how, I have no idea. All I know is I've got a Z-pack and high hopes that I might feel a little better tomorrow.
**Postscript: I forgot to mention that the doctor? Was younger than I am and cute. Just in case that makes the embarrassing sweat anymore understandable.
Today, my temperature was climbing, climbing, even after the load of Tylenol in my system. Mr. Pigs sent me back up there. Thus began my afternoon of embarrassment. Though the Advil had been in my system nearly two hours, I was still shivering and relished in the afternoon sauna that was Mr. Pigs' car which was parked in the driveway. I arrived at the doctor's, checked in and sat. THEN my fever decided to break. Sweat came rushing down every part of me, soaking my shirt front and back, running down my legs, dripping from my nose. I daintily dabbed with a tissue and fanned with a magazine. I was drenched. The nurse behind the desk slid the window closed and watched me from behind the glass.
I sat that way for about half an hour while I waited my turn. When I was called back, I tried to apologize for my moist condition, but no one seemed to have either sympathy or a sense of humor. I asked for some paper towels. They sent me to pee in a cup. This was when I discovered my underwear (that's panties to you, Katie!) was drenched front and back. I got the pleasure of putting the sweat-soaked unkies back on and pulling my moist shorts up over them. Ew, ew, ew!
Back to the exam room, the doctor came in and was listening to my lungs. He twice had to wipe of his stethoscope due to my copious sweating. He also commented on my "freakin' huge glands!" and ordered a chest xray and a mono test. Good times. I had to remove (peel off) my bra for the xray but leave my shirt on. Bra was soaked. When I wrung it over the sink, water actually came out of it.
Walking to the xray room, I felt rather free and loose in my shirt. I stood still for my photo op and then it happened. I felt it coming and WHOOSH! My milk, confused by the bra being off and the loosey goosey nature of the shirt, let down and started pumping. Whooooaaa! I snatched my shirt away from my chest, trying to avoid milk boob circles. Milk began streaming down my stomach. I awkwardly asked the nurse for some paper towels - again. She looked at me like I was some kind of liquid-producing freak and handed me some towels. "Heh heh..." I attempted a laugh. Awkward, awkward and awkward again. We finished up and I had I had to put that nasty soaked bra back on.
Turns out? I have pneumonia. Don't ask me how, I have no idea. All I know is I've got a Z-pack and high hopes that I might feel a little better tomorrow.
**Postscript: I forgot to mention that the doctor? Was younger than I am and cute. Just in case that makes the embarrassing sweat anymore understandable.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Tis the Season!
Well, here we are on Tuesday again. Is this going to be my posting day? I surely hope not! We've had a big weekend around here....the official start of football season. It feels weird to participate again after being away for six years. We had good friends come in from Raleigh and except for the fact that our group had bred and doubled from six to twelve, you wouldn't notice that any time had passed.
*****24 hour pause******
Speaking of time passing, it's somehow Wednesday and this never got published, so here I am again. Let me finish off the weekend...the highlights involved one trip to the ER for six stitches for my friend's two year old son. Even after reading the kids No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, it seems that it's a temptation that can't be overcome. He was a tough little man and gets his stitches out soon. His sister was left behind from the hospital trip and I had the pleasure of conversing with this four year old chatterbox who I thought was traumatized by her brother being whisked away bleeding from the head to the hospital. The conversation when like thi
Me: Are you okay? Are you worried about brother?
E: (sniff, snort) Daddy made me stay down here! He was angry!
Me: He's not angry, he's just worried about your brother. He'll be okay
E: My sleeping bag has Hello Kitty and my white cat protects me and I have a blow up bed. Can I have some water?
Me: Sure. (procure water from fridge]
E: (disdainful look) This is chocolate milk. Will you read me a book?
Me: [begin reading]
E: I have a booger.
Me: You'd better take care of that.
E: It's on my finger. [shows me]
Me: What are you going to do about that?
E: Will you please get me a Kleenex? [duh, lady expression]
Me: [hand her Kleenex]
E: [hands besmirched Kleenex back to me] Read, please.
After this deep conversation, the weekend was fairly calm. [With the exception of Piglet becoming insane about his nap. More about this later.) The (6) kids played happily in their Clemson orange attire and had a good time. We ate junky food, me personally consuming at least a vat of boiled peanuts alone. We capped off the night with pizza and called it a day.
I forgot to mention that my washing machine broke on Thursday. One day it worked fine and all of a sudden it was dead. So all weekend I watched laundry build and build and build. I couldn't even give the poor bed jumping monkey clean sheets after his head wound. Good thing for me the repair man showed up Tuesday morning to tell me that the GFCI outlet had been tripped and the washer was just fine. I felt pretty darn cool not being able to figure that out myself. That'll be $74, ma'am. Followed by 8 loads of laundry. Congratulations, you're stupid!
*****24 hour pause******
Speaking of time passing, it's somehow Wednesday and this never got published, so here I am again. Let me finish off the weekend...the highlights involved one trip to the ER for six stitches for my friend's two year old son. Even after reading the kids No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, it seems that it's a temptation that can't be overcome. He was a tough little man and gets his stitches out soon. His sister was left behind from the hospital trip and I had the pleasure of conversing with this four year old chatterbox who I thought was traumatized by her brother being whisked away bleeding from the head to the hospital. The conversation when like thi
Me: Are you okay? Are you worried about brother?
E: (sniff, snort) Daddy made me stay down here! He was angry!
Me: He's not angry, he's just worried about your brother. He'll be okay
E: My sleeping bag has Hello Kitty and my white cat protects me and I have a blow up bed. Can I have some water?
Me: Sure. (procure water from fridge]
E: (disdainful look) This is chocolate milk. Will you read me a book?
Me: [begin reading]
E: I have a booger.
Me: You'd better take care of that.
E: It's on my finger. [shows me]
Me: What are you going to do about that?
E: Will you please get me a Kleenex? [duh, lady expression]
Me: [hand her Kleenex]
E: [hands besmirched Kleenex back to me] Read, please.
After this deep conversation, the weekend was fairly calm. [With the exception of Piglet becoming insane about his nap. More about this later.) The (6) kids played happily in their Clemson orange attire and had a good time. We ate junky food, me personally consuming at least a vat of boiled peanuts alone. We capped off the night with pizza and called it a day.
I forgot to mention that my washing machine broke on Thursday. One day it worked fine and all of a sudden it was dead. So all weekend I watched laundry build and build and build. I couldn't even give the poor bed jumping monkey clean sheets after his head wound. Good thing for me the repair man showed up Tuesday morning to tell me that the GFCI outlet had been tripped and the washer was just fine. I felt pretty darn cool not being able to figure that out myself. That'll be $74, ma'am. Followed by 8 loads of laundry. Congratulations, you're stupid!
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