haiku friday

Sobbing in public
Not for your eyes to witness
Leaving me exposed

Nowhere close to hide
The mascara left it's mark
A beacon to all

and the chickens say cluck

As many of you are well aware, Grady had his adenoids removed and tubes put in last week. Well, Mother Nature decided to kick a kid while he was down and then point and laugh.... bitch. Why the anger you ask? Because Friday Grady was diagnosed with Hand Foot Mouth Disease. So along with having a sore throat from the adenoids and pain in his ears from the tubes, he was now erupting in blisters on his hands, face and bottom. He was OH so pretty to say the least and just a bundle of happiness and joy. I was begging my husband to ram pencils in my ears so the whining would stop. PLEASE make it stop!! Then to top it off, the older one, we think, also got a form of it. He had the fever and said his mouth and throat hurt but nothing else. It was so fun at our house.....barf.

Because everyone was napping on Saturday I took the opportunity and began the process of cleaning out the basement. As I was I found a hug box of old children's books. Knowing that my neighbor was collecting them for a charity I called and offered to drop them off instead of selling them in my garage sale. Well, trying to be "a nice" person bit me in the arse. We partook in the common small talk and she asked how the boys were. I told her about Grady's surgery and that he also had HFM, not thinking much about it. Silly, silly me! I should remember that my neighborhood is like a bad replay of high school. We have cliques, back stabbing, the works! And of course, with me being as (different, non-conformist, punk, not barbie) as I am, I keep to myself and try to stay away from all that is high school. Obviously my comment about Grady having HFM sent the chickens a clucking. The phone lines were burning and the whispers were going. A few of the mothers had their kids scope Drake out at school to see if he was "infected". One had the audacity to call here and harass hubby saying their child saw Drake with a rash all over his face. Hmmm, NO. His face is just as pasty irish white as it always is - sorry Barbie! She then had the all out nerve to go HERE! Oh yeah, she did. She went on to imply that by sending Drake to school we were risking the lives of others but this was all I heard - cluck cluck cluck. The chickens in the hen house were quite worked up - I could see them running around clucking from one person to another. "Can you believe her??" ""Oh I know. SHE would do that. She does have tattoos you know..." "And those piercings!" Yep, I am sure that is about how it all went down. And to that I give my big one finger standing. Good thing it is Cinco de Mayo and hubby had the Modelo's chilled to perfection. Arrrreba!!

the surgery

I had all good intentions to post this last night - right before I crashed on the couch at 7:30. The physical and mental exhaustion of the past week(s) took its toll and I lost. Not that I am complaining! I have not slept like that for days! So now I am back, refreshed and on my second cup of java. Strap your selves in!

Where to begin... hmmm. Well, I guess I will start here: Being the good mother that I am, cough cough, I decided I would wake Grady up at 11:30 pm to feed him before the 'no food after midnight' cut off. Yeah, that didn't work so well. Because he had spiked a fever he wanted nothing to do with the food I was trying to force down his throat. In fact, he spit it back at me. Isn't he a cherub? So back to bed he went. He awoke nice and early and thankfully, not hungry. I did get him to eat a popsicle before the 'no liquids after 8:00' though. You would have thought he won the lottery. A popsicle...AT 6:30 am?! Are you serious?!? SCORE!! The problems began when his brother came downstairs and wanted cereal for breakfast. I tried hiding Drake while he ate but darn how his voice carries when he asks for another bowl. Grady's ears quickly perked up and then HE wanted cereal too. I convinced him he could have whatever he wanted after he saw the doctor. He quickly chose doughnuts and not just any doughnuts, Krispy Kreme doughnuts. (I LOVE this boy) So the bribe was set. After another two hours of standing guard in front of the pantry we decided to leave.

We fielded the "Can I have my doughnut now?" question the entire way there. How many times can a toddler ask the same question in a 15 minute car ride - WAY. TOO. MANY. We had just registered and settled in the little play area when they called us back - sweet! As soon as the automatic door closed behind us we heard the dreaded words... the doctor is running behind. Joy! I will now mention that it wasn't just a little behind - it was TWO frickin' hours behind. Two hours that hubby and I were encapsulated in a small room (with no windows), with a three year old that would not stop chanting "I want my doughnut!" " I don't like this room. Mommy I want to leave" "I go now and get my doughnut?!" Oh the insanity of it all. To top it off we, being the good parents that we are, cough cough, opted to not eat breakfast as a way to help Grady with his not eating experience. That did not, however, include the nice piping hot cups of coffee we had just gotten. The ones we weren't allowed to bring back with us into the pre-surgery room. The ones that might have taken the edge off the chanting three year old and his obsession with doughnuts. Though, Young Hot Doctor or YHD, in scrubs was nice on the eyes and did ease the pain slightly. Even better was when hubby pointed out to YHD that a mutual friend of theirs wife thought he was hot. That made YHD blush - making him even hotter as he stood there in scrubs. sigh

Then the nurse brought Grady his surgery pajamas to change into - light lavender. Guess they try and give you ones you won't steal. As though the monstrous Children's Hospital Stamps all over them wouldn't be enough of a deterrent. Grady hated them and refused to keep the top on. I don't blame him. He looked like an over washed Barney doll. He finally stopped chanting/ screaming when he got the pre-anesthetic relaxer drug. He was a riot and we liked him again! Is it bad to be entertained by your three year old son in a complete drunk/stoned state? No, I didn't think so either. He insisted I was laying on the floor even as he was sitting in my lap. "Momma, why you on the floor?? giggle giggle Momma you on the floor!" All the while his head is drooping from side to side with that lackadaisical look of euphoria. Wish I had my camera to capture it cause I can guarantee the next time I see that face he will be grounded!

After that all went well. He came out of surgery like a trooper. His first words were, of course, about those damn doughnuts. I swear that boy has a one track mind. As soon as YHD gave us a prescription for oxycodone (HELLO MOMMA!!) and discharged him we were off to Krispy Kreme. Before we could pull away from the drive though window Grady woofed down three doughnuts without breathing. When he finally came up for air and asked for a fourth I had to say no. This was met with lots of tears and discourse. I persuaded him to wait until we got home so that his tummy could rest but the chanting continued until we got home. Ironically all the chanting about doughnuts did not deter me from partaking in their soft and sweet goodness - yum.

Now he is up and about riding his big wheel around the house like nothing ever happened. Deep down this was how I knew (and hoped) it would be. I am glad this is all behind us and hope that the surgery fixed everything it was supposed too. Guess we will find out when we go see YHD in a month for Grady's follow-up. Wonder what I will wear...???

for the love of pete, someone get me a paxil!

We are now at two days and counting till Grady's surgery and my anxiety is in FULL form. It has taken the form of over eating (ok, nothing REALLY new but if I can blame my big butt on something I will dammit), excessive crabbiness and lots of wine consumption. I guess those last two can fall under the previous side note as well, sigh... what is a lassie to do? This anxiety is invading every aspect of my daily living, so much so that it is now rearing it's ugly head in my dreams. Last night I dreamt I let Drake and his friend M drown in a pool. I already have a phobia of Drake and water because he can't see without his glasses, this just made it ten times worse. The worst part was I had to drag their bodies up from the bottom of the pool that all of a sudden was over flowing with people. I woke up shaking and ready to vomit. I finally googled what they were going to be doing to monster boy during his surgery - can't decide if that made it better or worse. I keep having flashbacks to my surgery and that darn little boy I treat. I know the possibilities of something freakish happening are slim but in the words of my friend Jes, "If it's freaky it happens to me." That is how I feel about Grady. I mean, we have the whole birth thing, then the dinosaur ridge on his head AND we can't forget the feet debacle! So you can see why I am all a tizzy over this simple, do it with your eyes closed surgery. Yeah, I thought so. Did I mention that we don't check in until 10 am and he can't eat after midnight - Gremlins anyone? Then, too add to the joyousness of the occasion, Grady decided to spike a fever tonight - due to yet ANOTHER ear infection. Thankfully they will operate even if he has one cause I don't think I can postpone it. So for now I will continue to sit and fester about the millions of possibilities that could happen and patiently wait for some happy pills in the mail.

under the knife

I found out today that my little Grady monster needs to have surgery. I have known this was an extreme possibility for a while now but have avoided talking or thinking about it in hopes that it would go away. I know, denial is not just a river in Egypt, but it has been a nice place to visit for quite some time now. Now before you get your internet selves worked up into a tizzy, oh wait - that is just me, he just has to have his adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears. (JCR - I know you are feeling me here) I also know that millions of kids have tubes and undergo this surgery everyday, yada yada yada. BUT, they aren't my kid. I was Ok with having the tubes and was prepared for that outcome. After the winter my poor little guy has had I think I would have begged for it. It was the 'adenoid removal' part I was not expecting. When he said those words I instantly had flashbacks and balled myself up in the fetal position in the corner of the examination room. That may be a little extreme and I surely would have done it if Grady's ENT was not a super hottie!!

I thanked his pediatrician the last time we were there for recommended the orthopedic she did because he was so cute. She laughed and agreed. I will have to thank her again for the ENT eye candy! John laughs at me every time as I get dolled up for Grady's appointments.

J- "You do remember I am coming with you right?"
K- "What, oh yeah, I know honey."
J- "You do remember we are going about OUR child?"
K- "Yes I know."
J- "And he IS married."
K- "Yeah, yeah. You're killin' me here. Can't a girl dream?? You sure you don't need to take that conference call or something??"

Talk about tangent - sorry! Back to me in the fetal position - oh yes, it is all coming back to me now. I was six years old and had to have my tonsils and adenoids removed. My parents sugar coated it and said everything was going to be fine and I was going to feel great afterwards. Heck, they promised me a week of ice cream to dull the pain. And it was all fine and dandy until little miss 'nurse in training' came in and tried to get blood from my arm. She missed, not once, not twice but four fricking times. On the fourth try she broke the needle in my arm and all hara-kiri broke loose. It was an ugly scene. "Will the parents of blah blah please come to room 103 IMEDIATELY!!" bellowed the intercom. You can imagine their proud parent moment when they walked in to see their beloved six year old daughter strapped to a bed, screaming bloody murder and being held down by four nurses and a doctor. They finally rolled me over and sedated me in my arse to calm me down and draw blood. Thus my immense fear of needles was born. (not tattoo needles mind you, just the kind that draw blood) The hospital was then dumb enough to put me in a secluded recovery room so when I came to, still strapped to the bed, no one was there. I was scared and the screaming began again. Think Linda Blair in 'The Exorcist' screaming.

Yep, that was me. So since that day I have passed out every time I have had blood drawn. I always prep the nurses and warn them that I will faint and usually they will oblige and allow me to lay down while they do IT. Sometimes, if I use my pouty eyes, they will even use a pediatric needle. I know - I am pathetic. But there always is one that thinks you are exaggerating. She stopped thinking that when I took out her cart and face planted on the floor in front of three other patients. I showed her and had a shiner to prove it!!

And that leads me to today and Grady and his forthcoming surgery. I know what is in store for him and I am terrified. I will have to go with him that day but know I will be a walking freak show. Children's Hospital - I apologize ahead of time. Any chance you can slip me some more of that sedative???

well thought out twinkle - or not

While driving my car last weekend and being repeatedly kicked in the back by Drake, hubby mentioned how I should probably upgrade to a big girl car. "And what pray tell do you mean by that?" I queried. "I think we have outgrown your car. We need something bigger". Humph. I love my car. I downsized to get my car. It is fast and zippy. It's a diesel, so it gets great gas mileage and I can always find parking when we go to Milwaukee or Chicago. "I will NOT drive a minivan and you can't make me!!" "No, not a minivan, just something a bit... bigger."


This is the Mazda 5

So we spent some time Sunday looking at cars online. I really like the Mazda5. It has the third row seating but without the height and bulk of a van. It was actually almost the same height as my VW. I liked that I could tint out my windows and still have it look somewhat cool. I also really liked that the second row seats are bucket and recline - great for road trips! So nothing was every really decided and I thought it was just something we were throwing around. I didn't think twice when he asked me to drive his car to work Monday. Bad judgment on my part, very bad. He said he was going to have a dealership appraise it "just" so we would know what range we could look in. Lies, lies, lies. I should also mention that he exhibits numerous signs of ADD and has sever impulsivity issues. So with that said, you can probably see where this bumpy road is going.

At about 9am I got a text message that he was going to put my car up for sale online just to see if there was any interest. Well, there was, and a lot. Bugger had it sold in under six hours for more then the dealer was willing to offer. "GREAT!" he says as he is flashing his wheel and deal smile. "Crap!" I say. "You just turned us into a one car household!" Yeah, I was met with a blank stare and shrugging shoulders. He tried to woo my green side by telling me that the guy who is buying it is going to rebuild it and turn it into a bio-diesel car. "Much better for the environment honey!" Much better my butt! Now we have to rush and find a car. We can't just have one car. Hello?! I commute to Illinois everyday, you will become housebound and have to scrounge through your day. "What if you get called out to an emergency.... you know, like what happened twice last week??? Hell, once you had to fly out to Boston with one hour notice. What then?? Aaaaaahhh!" You can visualize the melt down can you not?

After a few glasses of wine and many nasty looks I decided that I am taking his car and claiming it as my own. It will now be his responsibility to find a new ride and preferably before we head out east next week for a brief holiday. Otherwise he will have to put his kicks to the pavement if he wants to go anywhere. Or, weather permitting, his new motorcycle girlfriend.

if looks could kill

If looks could kill I would be a widow today. I would have the bed to myself every night and would do a lot less laundry. I would stumble over a lot less shoes and dirty socks. But unfortunately my looks do not kill and my husband still lives. This same husband called at 4:30 on his way home to inform me one of his co-workers was going to spend the night. Could I make the house presentable? WHAT?!? Are you crazy?? Thankfully (and luckily) I scoured the house Sunday in preparation for our out of town guests coming Friday. Unluckily, Grady was in full gear and taking out eight toys to every two I put away. I quickly remade the bed with fresh sheets and fluffed all the pillows. He quickly jumped on the bed and threw off all the pillows and the comforter. What happened next was not pretty. My head began to spin and fangs sprouted in my mouth. By the look on his face it was quite a grotesque sight and he quickly scampered, with a little help on the behind, downstairs. I could hear him telling Drake, “Momma scaaarry Dake…. and mad!” At least I got my point across though it did not last very long.

The idea of an overnight visitor would not be so bad if it were not Tuesday night. Tuesday night is boys club and family night at church. We leave the house just before 6 and do not arrive home till almost 9:30. This does not leave much time for cleaning between homework, dinner and corralling the natives. And as I had said, Grady was in a very rambunctious mood.

His pre-school class had started practicing for their annual Christmas program and he was very content in sharing all his new songs. BUT no one else in the house could sing or even offer the correct words to the songs. So away he sang random words to no particular song, at the top of his lungs. This did not bode well with the seven year old who had homework and reading to do. “MOM!! Please make him stop!!!” This just fueled the musical fires of the little one till everyone’s ears were pierced with his challenged singing voice. Husband, who was on a conference call, offered no help except to make faces that the boy child was too loud. Again…if looks could kill.

After running around like a lunatic, frantically cleaning, the guest never arrived. They ended up working at the office until 5:30 am. (Husband went back to the office at 9:00 to finish up and never came home). So all my anxiety and death stares were for not. Guess I will have to save them up for another day…. just hopefully not too soon!

infliction continues

Intestinal infliction still continues and is now being shared with other family members. Will not elaborate with details, don't worry. I will silently suffer in my world of malodorous funk and diaper piles. Have begun to fervently pray infliction does not attack the maternal figure as we are only one week away from our holiday. Jes, bet you are so happy there was no play date Monday aren't ya?!?

the many reason i was late to work today

1. After dressing the two year old in a new little fall ensemble, he decided to take that moment in time to have a diaper blow out. Oh yes, it was a good one. Out the sides, out the bottom, it was everywhere…and I was already running a little bit late. Begin frantically searching for another fall outfit.

2. At that moment my seven year old bellows from upstairs, “Mom!? Did you pack the cookies for the Dragon Dash??” CRAP!! I forgot I signed up to bake for the annual PTO fundraiser. After checking his assignment notebook I then remembered why I signed up and cursed at myself for forgetting. I initially signed up because I knew I had off on Columbus Day, yesterday, and would have time to complete my maternal duties. Yeah well that was before I scheduled two doctors appointments and ran a gazillion errands in between. I proceeded to quick turn on the oven and pop some pre-made cookies on a tray.

3. THEN serious head trauma occurred. While coming down the stairs after brushing his teeth, the two year old takes a header into the wooden banister base, which leaves a lovely hole and imprint. Screams, tears and possibilities of a concussion ring in my ears. The imprint, though still there, quickly begins to swell and turn a rather nice shade of eggplant. I quickly slap, or shall I say gently place, an ice pack and pray his teacher does not call DCFS.

4. Finally everyone is off to their place of education, including me. Until the department of transportation decided to close 2 of the 3 lanes of 94 into Illinois. HELLO! It is rush hour and there are no lanes open. Did I mention I am late?? By now I am an hour late and don’t quite care at this point. What are they going to do… fire me? Yeah, we know that doesn’t happen where I work. Oooops! Did I just say that?

Hopefully my trek home is a lot less involved.