Crisis and Luxury

Last night was a little more excitement than I bargained for.  We had dinner at Three Brothers, since I'm a slacker housewife and had nothing much in the house to cook.  That was nice, except that Noah had his babyTurrett's going on.  You know, he'd just be sitting in the high chair and he'd throw is napkin, "I dont' WANT this na'kin!"  His has new frog rain boots, which he's been wearing with everything, as I don't have the energy to insist otherwise.  I've learned from MJ that I need to pick my battles, and this is definitely one area that's just not worth it.  Anyway, before the food even arrived, he kicked them off, shouting that he didn't want the boots on anymore.  He shouted for his food;  he wanted a bite of mine...but when I tried to give him a bite he shouted that he didn't want it.He was simply hungry, and probably a bit tired still.  He wanted to eat a bite of my sauce, not my food.  I was supposed to know this.

After dinner, we came home and Cam had to get her shower and get ready for bed...but she complained that she couldn't breathe well and she was wheezing.  She's never actually been diagnosed with athsma, but she does have respiratory distress when her allergies kick in.  After she got in bed, she called me twice to say that she couldn't breathe and she was scared.  I asked her if she needed to go to the doctor right away, and she said yes.  Her lips weren't bluish, and she could hold a coversation, so I was concerned but not terrified.  I didn't need to call an ambulance, but I wasn't going to call for an appointment with Nighttime Peds, either.  We drove to the hospital, amidst many protests from a very scared little girl.

We didn't have to wait too long.  The doctor scolded me for having the house open...I knew it was better for it to be closed, but I really thought it wouldn't affect her so badly.  She does shower before bed every night, and she has a window air conditioner in her room (we have central in the rest of the house).  Not to mention, I'd really love to smell the spring air.  It would also be nice to forego the $300 gas & electric bill for a couple of months.  Anway, they gave her an albuterol nebulizer treatment, and she was much better.  Cam talked non-stop, partially from feeling better and the albuterol making her nervous, and partially because she was so tired.  They sent us home with an inhaler of the same.  In the forever that you have to wait before being discharged, there was a commotion.  Three other children had come in for the same problem (totalling five).  The respiratory therapists were running around like crazy, with kids literally receiving treatments on chairs in the hallway. 

And then there was a two-week-old baby.  He arrived about half an hour before we left.  I heard bits and pieces of his story, and his constant screams.  On my way out to exit admission, I saw his terrified father, standing over his tiny little self, trying to console him.  His mother looked vacant.  The doctor was right outside our room, calling for the helicopter to transfer him-I don't know whether it was to University or Hopkins.  Either way, that little baby was very sick, and I prayed for him and his new family.  I just can't imagine being those parents.  I have had scary situations with my own children, namely Noah, but nothing that comes even close.  It wasn't lost on me that I was walking out of there with my daughter holding my hand, and they were getting ready to put their baby on a helicopter.  I was so thankful that it wasn't me, but so sorry for their plight.

I was glad to see my friend Kim.  She works there, and had seen our name and stopped in to say hi and see what was going on.  I wish she could have chatted with us the entire time, it would have put me more at ease.

Anyway...today we visit our regular doctor.  Might as well take the whole lot of them and make sure they're all ok, since they've all been suffering with the allergies; especially since we're coming up on the weekend.  I guess it would probably be a good idea to play inside today, despite my desire to do otherwise.  I tell myself that this is only temporary, and it is manageable.  The other parents may not have that luxury.

Fiesta Time & the Chipmunk Assassin

On the corner, a few houses down from me, live a bunch of Mexicans.  And I do mean a bunch-several families live in the same house.  In the summer, whiffs of well-seasoned barbecued meats and wafts of ranchera or salsa music float on the breeze into our open windows.  Yes, it's fiesta time.  Just about every weekend, they have a party and invite friends...they eat, laugh, and drink, and often sing loudly.  Either that, or turn up their favorite songs so that the entire neighborhood can hear as well.  They are out until all hours-kids and all.  Sometimes it's a little annoying, depending on the volume of the music, and, well, whether the music sucks or not.  Most of the time, I simply note that they're having more fun than me.  Kinda like tonight. 

I had a fabulous day.  It was Courtney's turn to go to Starbucks, so I had 15 extra minutes this morning.  I wasn't too tired, and had a great day at work.  It wasn't too busy, but just enough to keep me from getting bored.  After work, I went to my mom's, where my husband and children had been since lunch time.  The kids played hard all day, and then we cooked out.  We ate burgers, hot dogs, potato & pasta salads, and mac & cheese.  The kids loved it because there were no veggies tonight (usually we do a stir fry when we grill, but no one felt like it today).  Then there was angelfood cake with strawberries & whipped cream, or ice cream (or both) for dessert.  We sat out on the deck and relaxed in the breeze, and it was truly heavenly.  I gave the kids a bath at my mom's, so I only had to tuck them in when we got home.  They are suffering so badly, the poor things...their eyes are swollen and itchy, their noses are stuffy, they have headaches and earaches.  The allergy medicines just can't keep up with the huge volume of pollen in the air right now, and their poor little minds can't grasp that the medicine will not cure their misery completely.

Anyway, by the time I came downstairs fom tucking the last one in, G was already asleep on the couch.  Part of me cannot blame him-he's under an open window, the cool breeze on his face, and he's snuggled up under a soft blanket. 

 

The other part of me is screaming, TALK TO ME!  WAKE UP AND SEE ME!  He hasn't seen me all day, and spent most of the time at my mom's inside on the sofa, watching Pirates of the Caribbean (again) on his laptop.  I think tonight, it's going to be me and a new book, until I fall asleep, too.

Tomorrow we're having Family Bowling Day.  A bunch of us will get together for duckpins and some greasy pizza.  Sounds like we made a good plan, considering it's supposed to rain until Tuesday.  Hopefully, I can get some flowers in the ground and clean up my perennials this week.  My garden is a hot mess right now, but just seeing the stuff that is blooming is encouraging.

And then there are the chipmunks.  Or, were the chipmunks.  See, we have a colony of them living in my garden, in the yard, and out back in the retaining wall.  We recently discovered that they are under our porch stoop, as well.  G insisted that they will ruin the foundation of the porch and cause it to collapse, and that we must get rid of them.  Well, last night, while I worked, he decided to do just that.  He lit a fire in one of the holes.  He was trying to smoke them out.  Instead of going the other way, a family (read: parents and babies...cute little baby chipmunks) ran right past the fire.  At least one baby was badly burned.  The parents fled, and he put the babies into the lawn waste bag (although they were all alive).  Did I mention my children saw all of this heinousness?  They have been traumatized.  As soon as I got home from work, they converged on my car, crying about how daddy killed the baby chipmunks.  What can you even say to that?!  What kind of man does something like that, let alone in front of his kids?!

Anyway.  One more confession to make, since it's obviously been too long since I blogged, and I have a lot to say.  I drove the Tahoe a couple of times last week, and I discovered something: I don't miss it that much.  The Sienna's drive is so nice, and it seems so much more agile...not lumbering and hulking like the Tahoe.  Then there's the fact that it starts right away...the Tahoe always starts, but always sounds like it's not going to.  Here lately, it's sputtering so badly that it sounds like it's could quit running at any second.  Frankly, that's embarrassing.  So yeah, I kinda like the minivan.  On the other hand, I think I would have liked any vehicle that was 8 years newer.

Hope you're having a great weekend!

Sights & Sounds

My husband is a deaf bastard. That, and he listens psychologically. By that, I mean, if he' hopes it's interesting, he turns it up. If he wants me to be interested, he turns it up. If it's funny, he turns it up. This somehow increases the humor. Likewise, volume increases a song's quality. You get the picture...and I get a headache. I think many men carry the same gene.

My middle son, Collin, has been going through some stuff lately. He hasn't been sleeping as well...meaning, he gets out of bed several times each night, or alternatively, plays in his room by 4watt nightlight. You may already know that he's been drawing on doors and ceilings and Lord knows what else. He has also been lying ALL THE TIME. In fact, he lied about having written on the ceiling. He is blaming everything on his brother. I know it's just a stage in his "development" (why do they have to develop into lying, cheating mini-men?), but it's old already. I wish I knew the cause of it all. Is he bored? I can certainly empathize with understimulation. Is he nervous about something? Unsure of his place in the home? I don't know. And my daughter...every time she gets punished, she freaks out. She rants, screams, blames everyone else, acts like an idiot. The baby has also been ranting, as well as pinching, biting, hitting, yelling, etc. What am I doing wrong, lately?! I feel like a terrible mother. I used to have much more of a handle on my children, it seems.

Ah, but spring is among us! It's been warmer during the day, here on the east coast, which means I have not been home. Today was particularly gorgeous, and a spent a portion of it on Black Hole Creek, at my friend's house. You can't ask for much better scenery than that. Perhaps everyone's moods will improve once they've run off the winter blues outside?

My Own Private Artscape

I have no business being awake right now.  I’m tired and a little sore, from three days in a row at the gym (yay, me!).  I have to get up early, of course, and I have a million things to do tomorrow.

There have been a lot of artistic happenings in my house lately.  Unfortunately, I’m none too pleased about them.  See, my sons have taken to caveman expressions of their creativity.  Yep, they’re writing on the walls.  My middle son, Collin, was sad about being punished or something, and he decided to let everyone know by writing with both a Sharpie and a kids’ tattoo marker [read: indelible] on his door.  See the little smiley faces?  Someday, that will be cute.  Someday, after I’ve finished painting over it.  Maybe I should just leave it there for another five years or so, to assure no further damage is done.  When I was putting Collin into bed tonight, he told me Noah had written on Collin’s walls with a brown marker (and I’m thinking, PLEASE let it be a Crayola!).  Our house is a cape cod, with the angled ceilings upstairs.  I painted Collin’s ceiling to look like the sky.  So, when a little boy stands on Collin’s Little Tykes race car bed, he can reach the slope-y ceiling, and he can paint the sky with turd brown, the whole length of the bed.  He can do the bed while he’s at it, too, and some wall as well.  Oh, and by the way?  There is no way in hell that a turd brown dry erase marker will ever come off a flat-painted ceiling.  Not with Lysol wipes.  Not with a Magic Eraser.  Nope...more painting in my future.  I also discovered that Noah found some glitter glue, and decorated Collin’s pillow, the carpet and the wall.  He also found some sand art that someone had created, and dumped that on the carpet.  They emptied the trash can onto the floor, tore everything out of Collin’s closet in search of God-knows-what, and drug half the toys out of his toybox.  Remember what I said, how when you realize it’s quiet, it’s already too late?  Another prime example.  Not to mention that this all took place in the space of THREE MINUTES.  Noah has written on downstairs walls with crayon three times this week.  He also wrote on the floor, and all over his high chair tray, and twice all over the upstairs toilet.  Oh, I cannot wait until they are teenagers.  For now, I think I’m going to keep all art supplies under lock and key.  And man, I can’t wait for this weather to turn, so I can send their little asses outside rather than busy them with creative stuff inside.  There’s a time and a place for art.  The time is when they’re strapped into a high chair and cannot reach a wall (because a Magic Eraser does work well on a high chair), and the place is not on my walls.  Someday, this will all be very humorous to me.  But for now, I’m thinking I should paint my house with blackboard paint and pass out some chalk.

 

Cars & Boys

I hate buying a used car.  You never know what you’re going to get, and obviously, any car of any age can have issues.  This morning, I pressed the remote start button, and there was merely a click.  SIGH.  Know what that means.  There was enough battery for me to open the side door and let Cameron in so that I could try to start it, which it refused to do.  There was not enough juice left to close the door.  Beautiful.  So, I checked the warranty information, and confirmed what I already knew to be true: batteries are not covered.  OF COURSE.  Happy Monday.  Thank God, I still have the Tahoe, so we were able to jump in her and go.  Now, if only she will play nice for the remainder of the day.

On a funny note, last night, G and I were sitting here in the living room, ignoring eachother on opposing laptops like always, when there was a funny, long, foamy sound from the bathroom.  Collin was supposed to be rinsing after brushing his teeth.  I yelled, "COLLIN!  What was that--shaving cream?!"  There was a brief pause, where he was almost audibly thinking, Crap!  Should I tell her?  He said, "Uh, I don’t know, I can’t read!"  He of course was full of it, he knew exactly what it was.  He had filled the sink with his Mr. Men Crazy Soap (bath foam).  At least it was nothing I had to clean off the walls...where better to make a mess than where we can just turn on the water and rinse it away?

I’m hoping all these nasty, cold, wet days are going to lead to some pretty fabulous May flowers, as the old saying goes.  I’m really sick of this weather, and I check Southwest & Airtran almost daily for an airfare that I can afford (times five, of course) to someplace warm.  I think everyone else is feeling much the same.  It’s a shame we couldn’t get a group rate on a flight/vacation package, eh?  We have not had a harsh winter, I don’t think (at least, the beginning of it wasn’t), but now it just seems to be dragging along.  March was supposed to have gone out like a lamb, and with the exception of one day, it didn’t.  At least the end of this week looks a little more promising.

Hope your week’s starting off better than mine!

Working a Hangover

I had to work today, but I felt like hell. I had three glasses of wine last night, but I feel like I had six or eight. I got to go in late (10:30am), but I still felt horrible. And then the real fun began.

I work for a financial institiution. First, I had to help an elderly lady with dementia. Last week, she and her new attorney removed her granddaughter from her account; today she decided to put her back on. I spent quite a while trying to determine whether the granddaughter really has Gram’s best interests in mind, or if she’s skimming money from the poor lady’s account. I think it’s the latter of the two. Unfortunately, now that she is once again a joint owner, she can do whatever she pleases. However, in my research, I’ve found that the granddaughter accessed the lady’s home equity line of credit...a big no-no when you’re name’s not on the loan. Then there was the girl who couldn’t figure out how her money was gone from her checking account. I printed out the account history so she could plainly see how much she’s been working her debit card, and she still didn’t understand. "Where did my last paycheck go?" she asked. It was all I could do not to be sarcastic and, well, a little mean about it. I mean, come on...if you deposit $1000 and proceed to have 34 debits from your account, what exactly do you suppose is going to happen to your balance?

And then there was the Safe Deposit Box. That is usually not my favorite thing to do. You stand there, in the hallway, until the person is done rummaging through their stuff. You must not see the contents of their box. That’s it. There is nothing to read, nothing to sit on, nothing to do except stand there and think. On a day like today, that wasn’t such a bad thing, though, because it sure beat talking to someone or having to think a lot. I gladly clicked "assist" and got up to find the man in the lobby. It wasn’t long after I signed him in and he began rummaging that I heard it...a long, quiet, but quite destinct fart. Initially, I was amused, and looked forward to sharing my tale with my coworkers. Well, then the smell crept around the corner, took hold of my throat, and proceeded to choke me. I thought for sure that I would vomit. I mean, it smelled for all the world like he had soiled his drawers. Ten minutes later, when the man was done, I had to check the desk to make sure he’d removed all of his items. The smell was quite concentrated in that area, and I quickly grabbed the Lysol out of the bathroom, making sure that he was gone from the lobby. So much for hangover help.

Then there were the three people who signed in to see a rep at 1:55 (we close at 2:00pm). Thanks. There is one man who does it EVERY WEEK. I really think we should be able to tell him that he needs to get in earlier...no one goes to his place of employment and makes him stay late. Asshole.

Ah, don’t mind me, I’m just grumpy because I don’t feel good. I’ve been having a headache for more than a week now, too. I’m really not mean, honestly. I really want a cheeseburger, and I’m trying to coerce G to go to Fuddrucker’s. I may go without him. He and his friends were up until God knows when last night. A bunch of them came over here after his work party (more on that later), since we are close. If you read my previous blog, you know I wasn’t pleased about the idea, but he connived until he got his way. He put me on the spot, and asked if they couldn’t come over right in front of them. Bet he’s been practicing that one since late infancy. Anyway, my thinking is that he kind of owes me. I know he laid on the couch and ignored the children all day. He also left the dog out all night, so her barking ass woke me up at 6:00 this morning. Someone left the gate open last night, so she was not in the yard...she was on the front porch. I really hope he cleaned up the Green House. I also heard there was puking going on by one of the girls last night. I hope there’s none of that mess out back, either. I’m too old for this crap.

Inflation

Last time I saw REM was in 1989 (shut up) at Merriweather Post Pavilion.  I think we paid something like $19 or maybe even as much as $25 for lawn seats.  Well, I got an update from Ticketmaster this morning, and saw that they are coming back to Merriweather, 19 years later.  A few grey hairs formed instantly on my head, as I tried to get my brain around the idea that it has been practically two decades since that muddy day, in the aftermath of hurricane Hugo.  I can remember virtually every detail.  I had on new jeans, which were caked with mud.  I wore my favorite black shirt from Le Chateau (anyone remember that store??? I was shocked to find they still exist).  My hair was freshly dyed.  I was going with two of my favorite boys, too.  I’m pretty sure the one boy’s car-the Notorious Vev-broke down on the way home (or was that a different show?).  Anyway, the point of the story is that pavilion seats on this tour cost $75.  Lawn seats cost $40-a total of $101.70 for two people to attend, once you add the service charges and whatever other BS they tack on.  They’re also playing with Modest Mouse, whom I would really like to see.  However, when you consider we’d need a babysitter (ok, that’s usually free, but it can be a hassle), plus taking off work (it’s on a Wednesday night...I work every Wednesday) and getting there...it’s a bit of an undertaking.  And I’ve already seen REM, a couple of times.  Is it really worth it?  SIGH.  Maybe we should just go to the movies, or better yet, hit the Redbox at the McDonald’s.  I love inflation.

We are going "out" tonight.  G’s place of employment decided against their annual holiday party this year, opting for a bull roast instead.  His place of employment is in White Marsh, however, the bull roast is being held at La Fontaine Bleu in good ol’ downtown Glen Dirty (that’s Glen Burnie, for you non-locals).  Love that.  Previously, they’ve had employee events at the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Maryland Zoo in Baltimore, etc.  I guess inflation is hurting us all. 

So, I took two hours’ leave tomorrow morning so that I won’t have to get up too early.  G was wanting to have an after party here, since we are close to the classy venue...but I protested.  One, I have to get up early.  Two, that would require cleaning my house some more.  Three, we have three children!  He forgets these things, from time to time.  He also forgets that he has to get up with those three children tomorrow, probably no later than 8am.  If the after party started at 12 midnight, how long do you suppose it would last?  And do you suppose my DH would get up?  Yeah, me neither.

Happy Friday!