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Yesterday morning Scott decided to go outside before the bus came to get some fresh air and calm his nerves a bit.  It was pretty cold out so he put on a hat and gloves and then grabbed his basketball.  As I was prodding Jane, aka The Dawdler, to get ready in time for the bus pick-up, Scott came barging back into the house.

"Mommy!  You know how on TV they say, 'Call your doctor if you experience a sudden drop in blood pressure'?  Well, I think that's happening to me, because my face is all red and I feel like the blood is dropping out of it!"

I tried to keep a straight face, knowing exactly where he heard "that" on TV.

"Oh, no, you're fine.  You just feel that way because it is so cold outside.  That TV commercial is talking about something that would happen to a grown up if they took that medicine."

With that he calmed down, grabbed his backpack, and ran outside to catch the bus.

And I was left to wonder if tomorrow he'd ask:

"Mommy!  You know how on TV they say to call your doctor if you experience an erection lasting for more than four hours?"

Anyone who watches sports with their child will know what I am talking about here and how completely annoying it is to be inundated with these commercials.  I understand that the advertising dollars are lucrative, but wouldn't it be great if you could enjoy sports with children without having to feel like they see so much inappropriate garbage?  Cialis, Viagra, beer commercials, violent movie previews, news of sports stars being charged for sexual assault, the list goes on and on.  Matt and I have wondered why ESPN can't just have an ESPN For Kids station, I'd even pay for it, like I do for HBO, where parents would know that their kids, who love to watch sports, could view safely.  Now how do I make that happen before my kid starts asking me about Erectile Dysfunction?

*** Oh, and as another aside, "Viagra" doesn't even come up on spell check because apparently it is so well known that it is in dictionary! 

A New Variety of Wine

Jane and I went on a few errands yesterday, including a trip to the liquor store.  In Pennsylvania, if you want to buy wine or other liquor you need to go to a special place called The State Store.  Beer is purchased somewhere else entirely.  It is a complete hassle.  One of the inconveniences of being a PA resident.

I usually don't go to the liquor store with my children because there is way too much opportunity for them to knock over a bottle of something.  But Jane is pretty good these days in stores and actually quite helpful.  I just wanted to pick up a few bottles of wine, so I headed in.

Jane pushed the cart with me and I searched for specials and known favorites.  I spotted a Chardonnay in a brand of wine we like, but I really needed the Pinot Noir (pronounced pee-no new-are, which is relevant, you'll see).

We continued to walk around and then went up to the checkout.  I held up the wine, with a very distinctive sun logo on it, and asked, "Do you have this in a Pinot Noir?"

We followed the store clerk to the back of the building where some of the red wines were hiding.  As we looked at the shelves, Jane recognized the logo and pointed, "Look Mommy, there's the penis wine you wanted!"

Pinot, penis, whatever.

Even funnier is that nobody seemed to understand what she said but me, who burst out laughing.  I wonder what they would have thought had they heard her!

 

My Last Post About Puke, I Promise

This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good.  A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me.  I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What?  Really?"

We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times.  I sat there incredulously.  She couldn't possibly be sick again.  It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.

When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now.  I'm not sick anymore."

I stared at her.  What the hell was going on in my house?

I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.

Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach.  Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party.  We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.

It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker.  You know the type.  I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.

My sister and her kids are also Pukers.  My sister used to get car sick when we were kids.  We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road.  My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).

Even Matt is a Puker.  Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things.  The next day, it is as if it never happened.

I am not a Puker.  I am more like an anti-Puker.  The exact opposite of a Puker.  The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago.  I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad.  I thought I might be dying.  Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course).  I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.

I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit.  I am terrified of throwing up, actually.  I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.

Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long.  Her usual silly, fun, self.  I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about.  Was it what she ate for breakfast?  Did she stick something in her mouth and gag?  Matt told me to just get over it.  Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.

A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.

"hello?"  I heard on the other end of the line.

"Mom?  Is that you?  You sound terrible."

"I'm sick."  The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.

"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"

"No.  I tried to eat something and I threw it up."

"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest."  Oh, the guilt!

No more, I said!  Now you are picking on Grammy?  That is just wrong!

How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?

 

The Perfect Snow

We've been waiting for a snow day here.  Last year I promised Scott that there would be at least one good snow storm where he would have an official day off from school.  It never happened.  This year there hasn't even been a delayed opening, a highly anticipated event given that it would be Scott's first time experiencing the thrill of an unexpected shortened day.

The principal at Scott's school is retiring this year.  I do not know the man very well, but he gets mixed reviews and it does seem like it is time for someone new.  A week ago a notice came home announcing his replacement, a woman, and there has been speculation about what kind of changes she might bring with her.

When Scott came home from school on Thursday, he was talking about a possible snow storm brewing.  "If school is delayed, the principal cuts out recess time." 

"Oh, really, I guess that makes sense.  Who told you that?"

"My teacher.  She told us all about times when it snowed before."

After a brief silence, he asked,  "Mom, why can't that new principal start now?"

"Huh?  Well, usually principals start at the beginning of a school year to make the transition smoother.  What a minute.  I doubt the new person is going to let you have recess on a delayed opening day anymore than your current principal."

In the morning there were a few inches of snow on the ground and school was called off.  Hooray!  I expected all smiles from my boy and instead I got, "Great.  Now we have to make it up at the end of the year.  It will cut into my summer."

Leave it to Scott.  He really has a knack for finding the negative in every situation.

But the day turned out to be as good as it gets, really, as far as snow days are concerned.  Matt went out early and shoveled some then we all bundled up and went out to shovel and play.

I grew up in a snow skiing family.  I learned how to ski when I was five years old, snowplowing in front of my father.  My childhood is filled with very happy memories of being outside, gliding down the mountain, wriggling my toes to stay warm, and lunch with hot chocolate before heading back out in the cold.  My kids do not experience these same things as often as I did.

I couldn't help but notice as we were outside how ideal the conditions were.  The temperature was cool, but not too cold.  The snow was fluffy, wet enough for snow balls and snow man making, but not overly soggy or slushy.  I smiled to myself thinking of my mother describing the conditions as "peas and mashed potatoes" when the snow would get chunked up and then thick on a skiing day.  I knew that the melting layer on top would make for a crunchy cover the next day, or a thin layer of ice where the snow had not melted all the way.

We all shoveled and the kids made snow angels and rolled around.  After a long time we came in, changed our clothes, snuggled up and had hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows.  Late in the afternoon the kids went back out with Matt and made another snow man and sledded with the neighbors on their front yard hill.

When they came back, wet and tired, in it was almost time for dinner.  Matt made chili, Scott took a bath, and Jane watched a little TV.  We were all exhausted in that good way from lots of fresh air and activity. 

And all sound asleep early.  A fitting ending to our perfect snow day.

Triple Run Around Day

Scott has been sick.  It is the same thing that everyone seems to be having.  A cold.  A nagging cough.  Maybe it turns into croup or an ear infection or a sinus infection.  Or all of those things, which is the case for Scott.   Or a full-blown throwing up flu, like Matt had.  Then it just goes back to the cough that will never go away.

This is an unusual thing for the healthy boy.  He almost never gets sick.  Jane doesn't get sick much either, even though she has asthma.  We don't do a lot of doctor visits or antibiotics.

So, as I am sure you can imagine, when Scott is sick he has a difficult time with it.  I remember the first time he got sick, it was around this time of the year when he was not quite 2.  It was when he finally watched an entire 25 minute TV program.  Blues Clues.  He called it "Boo's coos" which sounded a lot like "Booze Cruise".  Friends called and sympathized, "Taking care of sick kids is the worst.  They are so miserable."  Funny, I didn't feel that way.  I was actually enjoying this reprieve from his constant activity.  He was sitting still!  Watching the TV for more than a few minutes!  I took a shower!

It is hard to remember those days now.  Scott seems so mature lately.  He is doing so well.  In school and with basketball.  And even at home, getting along with his sister and helping out.

But the sickness thing is slowing him down.  Last weekend he complained that his ear hurt and I promptly hauled him, kicking and screaming, to the doctor.  Then he decided to stay home and miss his basketball game because he felt so tired and his chest hurt.  He has been quiet this week.  Afraid that he will feel lousy.  "When will I ever be better?" he keeps asking.

Last night he coughed so much that he woke up and I had to give him medicine a 2:30am.  This morning though, he perked up a bit.  A big smile crossed his face as he looked at the clothes I had laid out for him, sweat pants and a t-shirt for gym class.

"Today is Triple Run Around Day!" 

"Huh?  Are you doing something special in gym?"

"No.  It's just that I have gym and recess and basketball practice.  All on the same day."

A trifecta of activity.  I think he might be finally feeling like himself again.

** I, on the other hand, was dreading my scheduled 6 mile run, but I did do it.  I thought about how much he likes to run while I toiled away, willing myself to take each step.  I still don't feel like I am myself.  I am going to jump back on the blogging train and attempt to write my way out of my funk.  Because you never know what tomorrow might hold with a boy who is off and running again and the possibility of something as exciting as Triple Run Around Day.

Thanks to everyone who has been wondering where I've been.  It is nice to feel missed and I am sorry for being out of touch.  I will be posting updates on all sorts of things.  I hope we are still friends.  'kay?

The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on Fire!

Since my husband is now working from home, he can do some things during the day that he would not ordinarily.  On Thursday it looked like this outside:

 (can you see the ice on the tree?)


So he decided to make a fire.  Typically on Thursday's, I have a good chunk of the day to myself.  Jane goes to preschool and then Delilah picks her up for a playdate with Annie.  I usually run errands and, you know, do stuff without any children.  I look forward to Thursdays, especially now, during the holidays, when I am busy, busy, busy.  It is a fabulous arrangement. 

Except when Jane refuses to go to school.

Jane didn't want to go to dance class the day before, either.  Since she hadn't missed any classes and had been sick the day before, I let her stay home.  I hate to push about classes.  Maybe it was just an off day.  But the little voice inside my head said don't let her get away with it. 

Then the school thing.  I always say that you have to go to school or go to the doctor.  She screamed and cried and pitched a royal fit.  I finally gave in when she said she'd take a nap.  I figured she must still be sick and put her back in bed.

Normally she loooovves dance and school.  Can't wait to go.  I am hoping it is just some phase.  A combination of being tired, the holiday frazzles, and knowing that Daddy is home.  Lately, she is vaguely aware of time, saying, "is that this year?" when I tell her it is time to go to school.  Or announcing, "it is 17 o'clock, time for dinner!" at 8am.  When I say we have to go to dance, she thinks, when I am ready the class will be there.

I was not happy considering the long list of things I needed to do during the time she was supposed to be occupied.  But so it goes in the world of small children and mothers who think they will actually accomplish something.

As best as I could, I tried not to panic (dance costs a fortune and school is only 5 hours per week for crying-out-loud, you'd think she could go) and attempted to make the day super boring.  Constantly mentioning how she could have been at school having fun, or making a project, or whatever else I could dream up.  Maybe today they went on the stage and it was super fun.  Or it was so-and-so's birthday, I wonder what kind of treat they brought in?

I think she was on to me because she didn't bite at all.  Just asked to lie down and watch TV.

Anyway, Matt saw that she was home and decided to make the fire.  So it would be all cozy at home (he wasn't aware of my no fun plan).  In fact he asked Jane why she didn't go to school and she replied, "it's complicated."  Really.  He was stoking up the fire right around lunchtime when I heard him say, "Oh No!" 

I looked over and there were huge flames in the fireplace, the smoke detectors went off and the room filled with smoke.  Matt told me to call 911, "there's a fire in the chimney!"

I grabbed Jane and rushed over to my neighbor's house.  She has three kids and is great in any kind of crisis.  We heard sirens right away and went to the windows. 

I was glad that I was dressed when this happened, because I am often still in my pj's or a bathrobe.  I kid you not.  If my husband and I ever got divorced, number one on his rather long list of reasons why he was leaving me would be, "does not get dressed all day".

I live in a small town, one where all three fire trucks and several other emergency vehicles show up when you call.  Jane was happy to be playing with the neighbors and all the kids were watching with excitement as the trucks pulled up.  She was rehashing the events to them, "I had to get low and go, just like on Elmo Visits the Firehouse!"

I went back to our house, got the dog and put her in the neighbor's yard, then went to see how bad the situation was.  Turns out there wasn't a fire in the chimney.  It was just a back draft caused by moisture and wind and putting dry, real wood on top of an artificial log (not recommended by fire-fighters, apparently).  They tromped around a bit more and told us to move our Christmas tree back and basically that was it.  My mother showed up at some point because she was a few doors down at a cookie exchange.  "All the ladies want to know what's going on," she said as she slipped in her high heeled dress boots.

Another neighbor, a very nice older lady, was outside shoveling ice off of her walk and came over.  I met her on the driveway and explained the situation.  "Well, good thing your husband is home," she said.  I couldn't help but point out that if he hadn't been there, then there wouldn't have been a fire made at all.

Back at my neighbor's house, Jane was having a ball.  "Did you get my babies from my room?  I hope they are OK!"  she asked excitedly.  Libby, our dog, was running around inside their house, also having a grand old time.  My neighbor told me that Jane might as well stay so I could air out and clean up the house.  Her kids weren't going to school because the afternoon Kindergarten classes had been canceled.

Matt felt badly for Scott that he missed all the excitement.  But it was probably just as well.  He tends to panic.  The next night, while out for dinner in town, we heard sirens and Scott stiffened, "what's that?"  Jane said happily, "it's the police and fire trucks, just like at our house!"  Scott said, "Are we in trouble?  Are they coming for us?"  Yeah, better that he wasn't there.

My husband is embarrassed that he overreacted.  But I don't care about that.  I am only mad because this week, when Jane says she doesn't want to go to school or dance, I can't say, "Why would you want to stay home, it is so boring." 

She knows better.

Bedside Manner

Three year old princess begs for a bigger bed, "for all my stuff", meaning her stuffed animals, books, and whatever else she can bring into her toddler bed.

Parents finally give in and decide to buy her a regular-sized bed.

The whole family goes out on one of the busiest shopping days of the year to purchase a new bed.

Two hours later, two trips to the bathroom and a stop at Starbucks, the family arrives back home with a bed and a frame that needs to be assembled.

Crabby kids watch TV and play video games while parents try to set up bed.

Dad cuts his hand and mom yells at kids.

At 9pm (an hour past bed time) the bed is all fixed up, complete with princess sheets.

Little girl exclaims, "I love it!  Thank-you, Mommy and Daddy.  Thank-you!"

Fifteen minutes later as parents tuck the princess into her new bed, she shuffles around and says she is uncomfortable and scared.

"I want my old bed back."

Dad proceeds to lay on the floor next to the new big bed so that the princess can fall asleep.

Parents wonder why they spent money and time to arrive back where they started.

When I Grow Up

As part of the Star of the Week activities at Scott's school, each child answers questions asked by their classmates.  I saw this when I went in to observe last month.  The other day, seemingly out of the blue, Scott said, "why does the teacher ask what you want to be when you grow up during star of the week?"

"Huh?"

"It is always the last question, after all the kids are done, she always asks it.  How are we supposed to know?  We are only 6 or 7 years old.  I don't know if I want to be a sports guy or something else.  Don't you figure that out when you're like 25 or something?"

"Most people never really know, or change their minds several times.  I guess she thinks by asking she will know more about what you like to do.  But, I agree with you, I never knew how to answer that question when I was a kid, either."  Flashback to me at 10 years old wanting to be a professional baton twirler and my parents crushing my dreams by telling me that there was no such job.

"So, what should I say?"

Sensing that he felt pressured to be honest about something he couldn't answer, I offered an out, "you could say you don't know yet."

"No, she wants you to say something."

"Well, you could say a professional athlete, that's pretty standard for boys your age to say."

"What did you say when you were a kid, mom?"

"I used to say a teacher.  Teachers love when you say that because it means you want to be like them.  That's always a good answer."

"But it was true, right?  I mean you do want to be a teacher some day, don't you?"

How come that kid knows me better than I know myself?

********************************************************

While getting ready for bed, Jane was rearranging the things in her room for the umpteenth time.  I said, "maybe you'll be a decorator someday and fix up people's houses."

"No!  I just want to be a mommy."

"Aww, that's so sweet.  And you have a perfect role model with your mommy,"  Matt said.

"You know, Jane, you can be a mommy and a decorator,"  I chimed in.

"But you're just a mommy," she countered.

What kind of role model am I, exactly?

The People Who Came Up With the Name "My Gym" Are Geniuses

On our way to a birthday party (we've had this conversation several times before):

Scott:    Where's the party?

Me:       It's at My Gym.

Jane:    My gym!

Scott:   Not your gym, Jane.  The place is called My Gym.

Jane:    Right, my gym.  Not your gym, my gym!

Me:      *Giggling*

Scott:    Mommy, it's at My Gym, right?

Jane:    No!  Not your gym, my gym!

Me:       *Still giggling*

Scott:    Mom!  She's wrong!

Me:        OK.  Jane, it's called My Gym, but it's for everyone.

Jane:    The party is at my gym, right?

Me:        Yes, sweetie, the name of the place is My Gym.  The place where you used to take gym class.

Jane:    Right, my gym, Scott.  Not your gym!

Scott:    *Sigh*

Me:       *Giggling*

She's Becoming More Like Me Every Day

Me:  Jane, you need to clean this stuff up.  You can't just leave all your things on the sofa.  Where will we sit?

Jane:  You can sit on the floor, or go in the basement.

Me:  No.  I want to be able to sit on the sofa.

Jane:  But it's too hard to clean it all up.

Me:  Then you shouldn't have put it all there.

Jane:  You have to help me!  I can't do it all by myself!

Me:  Why not?  You put it all there by yourself.

Jane:  I have a headache of this!  All this work.  My leg hurts!  You need to calm me down!

I knew she was maturing before my eyes.  She's learning all my excuses.


** I wanted to write about the dentist visit, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.