Today was field trip day for Sarah's preschool class. We went to the Children's Museum. It is a huge building full of all kinds of educational stations, learning experiences and nooks and crannies to hide in, behind, and under.
We got there and there was a bus parked in front. Not a good sign. We walk in and it is complete chaos. There are kids everywhere in bright, neon, colored shirts sporting what school they attended. Ours happened to be bright green, except Colin who wore his orange shirt that says appropriately, "TROUBLE" across the front.
We decided to start at the back of the museum and let the entrance part die down a bit. They were quite content running up and down stairs, going into the mock FedEx airplane and sliding down the big slide. This went on for a while and we started seeing kids making their way through already to the end, so we decided to start our tour.
Mistake number one. It was still so very crowded you couldn't step to the side, front or back without bumping into someone. Normally crowds don't bother me. This was more than a crowd though, and I had two kids full of energy and lots of things to catch their attention. I would eye one, but to do that I had to take my eyes off the other. It only took a split second.
Colin was gone. I didn't panic, at first. I knew he had to be close, it had only been a second since I had eyes on him. I looked in and out of the different exhibits, one after the other. After making a complete round I steadied myself and made a last look at where Sarah was. He usually follows her. I had a friend with me with her little boy who was watching Sarah while I looked for Colin, by the way.
I decided it was time for help. I found the nearest employee and I was ok until I had to mutter the words, "My little boy is lost." I felt a huge lump in my throat form. To his credit he immediately got on a radio and issued a "Code Purple". Oh God, my child was a code. I felt like everyone and everything was going in slow motion. My heart started beating incredibly fast and I felt like my legs just weren't moving fast enough. We both were looking, and after what seemed like an eternity, I looked up and there he was. He was in, what I can only describe as, a giant, kid sized, hamster cage. This thing went up for at least 3 stories. He was having a ball, completely unaware of the goings on below.
Anyone else think that LoJacks for kids are a good idea?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I See Dead People, and a Neurosurgeon
So today was the appointment with the neurosurgeon. This said appointment was at 8:00 a.m. downtown, and also was in the company of my two little ones. Oh yes, Sarah and Colin were going with me. I had no babysitter. My husband had to stay home to get Gracie ready and off to school.
On the way to the appointment we happen to pass by a huge cemetery and Sarah exclaims "That's where every one gets killed."
"No, hon, that's where people are buried."
"Oh. I saw somebody die." She almost proudly exclaims.
I am stunned at first but then I remember who I am talking to. Sarah has one of the most vivid imaginations of any 4 year old I know. I let her tell her story.
I said "When did you see someone die?"
"Well, me and Jacob (her very best friend) were in San Francisco and we saw this man."
"San Francisco, huh?"
"Yeah, and we saw this man and we called him Daddy. Not my Daddy, but we called him Daddy and he was about 100 years old and he died."
That was all. End of story. I'm just glad she didn't say he was in the car with us or anything. I was fully expecting the "I see dead people" line at any moment.
Anyways, we get to the appointment actually on time and after many fights over pushing the various elevator buttons we get to the office.
The have these balls of what looks like to me is hardened grass. They were perfectly round and sitting in a nice glass bowl on top of very nice table. My children were drawn to these darn things like flies to shit. They would not leave these things alone. Sarah began hoarding the things, trying to stuff them down her shirt and Colin just thought they were baseballs.
So began - "Stop that. Don't touch that. Put that down. If you don't sit down I'm getting the paddle. Stop running. No, you can't have one. No, you can't ring the bell. STOP ringing the bell. No, I don't know how old that lady is. No, you can't ask. I don't know his name. No he would not like one the balls off the table."
Finally they called us back. More waiting, more threatening and then the doctor came in. Basically I get to have physical therapy for two weeks and come back to seem him after. Thank God, no surgery.
Anyone free in two weeks to watch a lovely 3 year old little boy and darling 4 year old little girl? I'll ship them to you, free of charge.
On the way to the appointment we happen to pass by a huge cemetery and Sarah exclaims "That's where every one gets killed."
"No, hon, that's where people are buried."
"Oh. I saw somebody die." She almost proudly exclaims.
I am stunned at first but then I remember who I am talking to. Sarah has one of the most vivid imaginations of any 4 year old I know. I let her tell her story.
I said "When did you see someone die?"
"Well, me and Jacob (her very best friend) were in San Francisco and we saw this man."
"San Francisco, huh?"
"Yeah, and we saw this man and we called him Daddy. Not my Daddy, but we called him Daddy and he was about 100 years old and he died."
That was all. End of story. I'm just glad she didn't say he was in the car with us or anything. I was fully expecting the "I see dead people" line at any moment.
Anyways, we get to the appointment actually on time and after many fights over pushing the various elevator buttons we get to the office.
The have these balls of what looks like to me is hardened grass. They were perfectly round and sitting in a nice glass bowl on top of very nice table. My children were drawn to these darn things like flies to shit. They would not leave these things alone. Sarah began hoarding the things, trying to stuff them down her shirt and Colin just thought they were baseballs.
So began - "Stop that. Don't touch that. Put that down. If you don't sit down I'm getting the paddle. Stop running. No, you can't have one. No, you can't ring the bell. STOP ringing the bell. No, I don't know how old that lady is. No, you can't ask. I don't know his name. No he would not like one the balls off the table."
Finally they called us back. More waiting, more threatening and then the doctor came in. Basically I get to have physical therapy for two weeks and come back to seem him after. Thank God, no surgery.
Anyone free in two weeks to watch a lovely 3 year old little boy and darling 4 year old little girl? I'll ship them to you, free of charge.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Day In The Life
Yes, another day lost. I think I might have been unrealistic in my goal of posting every day for two weeks. I mean, lets face it, I don't have that interesting a life. Yesterday was no exception.
2:00 a.m.- Colin wakes wakes up and wants to sleep in the bed with me.
6:45 a.m.- Colin wakes up again and is, of course, immediately hungry.
6:46 a.m. - Colin says, " Can I play Nick Jr.?" I say no. He says "I not your friend anymore."
7:00 a.m. - Feeding the bottomless pit that is my son's stomach. "Can I play Nick Jr.?" No again. "You mean momma."
7:30 a.m. to 8:45 a.m. - Getting the two girls dressed, fed, ready for school.
By 9 I was out the door, headed for the grocery store. With Colin by himself, he is pretty manageable. He doesn't even require the use of the basket anymore. He will walk beside me, only straying occasionally. Unlike Sarah, who will make two laps around Wal-Mart in the span of a minute and a half.
After the grocery store it was more of "Can I play Nick Jr. Can I play crash car game. I not your friend. You mean."
On to lunch with a friend which went rather well. Everyone behaved and ate well. I got them toys out of the little 50 cent machine and Colin decided to throw a fit about the color he got. Not just a little one. He screamed and stomped his foot, the whole routine. I then threw his toy in the trash. He cried a cry I have yet to hear out of him. He was heartbroken. I felt guilty as hell and my friend reminded me that was why they had that cry, to make you feel guilty and cave. That was a hard one. Hopefully, now, he will remember this and next time when I threaten, he will believe me and stop the fit throwing.
I put him to bed for a nap and after he calmed down he crawled up in my lap and said "I like you Momma." When he does this he takes his little hands and puts them on my cheeks and looks directly into my eyes. I melt.
Finally got a call about an appointment for the neurosurgeon. Not looking forward to that appointment. Till next time.....
2:00 a.m.- Colin wakes wakes up and wants to sleep in the bed with me.
6:45 a.m.- Colin wakes up again and is, of course, immediately hungry.
6:46 a.m. - Colin says, " Can I play Nick Jr.?" I say no. He says "I not your friend anymore."
7:00 a.m. - Feeding the bottomless pit that is my son's stomach. "Can I play Nick Jr.?" No again. "You mean momma."
7:30 a.m. to 8:45 a.m. - Getting the two girls dressed, fed, ready for school.
By 9 I was out the door, headed for the grocery store. With Colin by himself, he is pretty manageable. He doesn't even require the use of the basket anymore. He will walk beside me, only straying occasionally. Unlike Sarah, who will make two laps around Wal-Mart in the span of a minute and a half.
After the grocery store it was more of "Can I play Nick Jr. Can I play crash car game. I not your friend. You mean."
On to lunch with a friend which went rather well. Everyone behaved and ate well. I got them toys out of the little 50 cent machine and Colin decided to throw a fit about the color he got. Not just a little one. He screamed and stomped his foot, the whole routine. I then threw his toy in the trash. He cried a cry I have yet to hear out of him. He was heartbroken. I felt guilty as hell and my friend reminded me that was why they had that cry, to make you feel guilty and cave. That was a hard one. Hopefully, now, he will remember this and next time when I threaten, he will believe me and stop the fit throwing.
I put him to bed for a nap and after he calmed down he crawled up in my lap and said "I like you Momma." When he does this he takes his little hands and puts them on my cheeks and looks directly into my eyes. I melt.
Finally got a call about an appointment for the neurosurgeon. Not looking forward to that appointment. Till next time.....
Sunday, February 24, 2008
La Cucaracha
Well, it's Sunday. Not much going here. I'm trying to think of things that happened over the 2 months that I didn't post, and I can't come up with anything. I know my kids have done things that I wish I had written down. I guess I could share with you a story that I believe shaped my hatred of the one bug that I believe has no purpose, whatsoever, except to creep the ever loving hell out of me.
The cockroach. Not those little kitchen things that get in your cabinets. No sir, I am talking about the big brown bastards that I firmly believe mutate in the sewers we have here in the South. They have wings for Christ's sake. As if having them crawling around wasn't bad enough, they have to have wings for those aerial assaults. Like the one I am about to share with you.
I was about 11 or 12 and was in the shower. I was happily washing my hair, minding my own business, when out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. I tried my hardest to convince myself I was imagining things, but I looked harder and there he was, looking down at me from the rod the shower curtain was hanging on. I froze. I felt as if I were in an old western movie, getting ready for a shoot out. I was staring at him, he was staring at me.
Cue: "The Ecstasy of Gold"
My hair was completely bubbled up from shampoo. I didn't want to take my eyes of him for fear of losing him. I stepped back and as gently as possible began rinsing the shampoo out of my hair without closing my eyes. Try THAT sometime. My eyes stung, but I was not taking them off that thing. Then it happened.
It plays over in slow motion in my mind, when in reality I know it took all of a tenth of a second to play out. He dive-bombed me. He leaped off that rod and headed straight for me. I believe my family probably thought I was being murdered in the shower. I screamed and was out of that shower with shampoo dripping down my face and my towel barely wrapped around me.
I have other stories about those horrid creatures. Is that sad? That, I must say, is probably one of the only complaints of my childhood. Maybe when I am out of material again I will share another one. Then again, maybe not. Who wants to hear of a poor girl being traumatized by an insect.
Hey, that sounds like a good B movie.
The cockroach. Not those little kitchen things that get in your cabinets. No sir, I am talking about the big brown bastards that I firmly believe mutate in the sewers we have here in the South. They have wings for Christ's sake. As if having them crawling around wasn't bad enough, they have to have wings for those aerial assaults. Like the one I am about to share with you.
I was about 11 or 12 and was in the shower. I was happily washing my hair, minding my own business, when out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. I tried my hardest to convince myself I was imagining things, but I looked harder and there he was, looking down at me from the rod the shower curtain was hanging on. I froze. I felt as if I were in an old western movie, getting ready for a shoot out. I was staring at him, he was staring at me.
Cue: "The Ecstasy of Gold"
My hair was completely bubbled up from shampoo. I didn't want to take my eyes of him for fear of losing him. I stepped back and as gently as possible began rinsing the shampoo out of my hair without closing my eyes. Try THAT sometime. My eyes stung, but I was not taking them off that thing. Then it happened.
It plays over in slow motion in my mind, when in reality I know it took all of a tenth of a second to play out. He dive-bombed me. He leaped off that rod and headed straight for me. I believe my family probably thought I was being murdered in the shower. I screamed and was out of that shower with shampoo dripping down my face and my towel barely wrapped around me.
I have other stories about those horrid creatures. Is that sad? That, I must say, is probably one of the only complaints of my childhood. Maybe when I am out of material again I will share another one. Then again, maybe not. Who wants to hear of a poor girl being traumatized by an insect.
Hey, that sounds like a good B movie.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Getting Old Sucks
Well, crap. I missed a day already. I even had something to post about, but time got away from me. I went to the Dr. today to find out about the results from my MRI. Oh, I guess I didn't write about that.
I hurt my back at work about a month ago at work. I have never had back trouble in my entire life. I bent over to pick up a box and if felt like my back was being torn in two. I couldn't move. I laid over the box with my ass in the air crying helplessly. The thought of moving, actually having to stand up was, at the time, like asking me to cut off my own leg. The thought was unimaginable. I went by ambulance to the hospital and was sent home saying to see my primary care doctor.
After numerous visits to the doctor they finally decided to check out my back in a little more detail by ordering an MRI. The results: I have a protruding disc. I now get to go to a neurosurgeon to determine if it needs to be fixed by surgery. Of course, I am praying not, but my job requires me to lift very heavy boxes so I am kind of in a bind. Do I get surgery, fix it, and go about my business? Will the surgery fix it? Do I wait, maybe hurt it again, possibly worse than the first time, then be out of work for forever again? They are talking possible physical therapy and maybe a nerve block. I have lots of questions to be answered by the neuro guy.
It has been too soon since my lung surgery last year about this time to be thinking about having surgery again. That was such a painful ordeal, it still hurts to think about it. I'm trying not to borrow trouble, as my mom would say, but I'm worried.
As Scarlett would say, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
I hurt my back at work about a month ago at work. I have never had back trouble in my entire life. I bent over to pick up a box and if felt like my back was being torn in two. I couldn't move. I laid over the box with my ass in the air crying helplessly. The thought of moving, actually having to stand up was, at the time, like asking me to cut off my own leg. The thought was unimaginable. I went by ambulance to the hospital and was sent home saying to see my primary care doctor.
After numerous visits to the doctor they finally decided to check out my back in a little more detail by ordering an MRI. The results: I have a protruding disc. I now get to go to a neurosurgeon to determine if it needs to be fixed by surgery. Of course, I am praying not, but my job requires me to lift very heavy boxes so I am kind of in a bind. Do I get surgery, fix it, and go about my business? Will the surgery fix it? Do I wait, maybe hurt it again, possibly worse than the first time, then be out of work for forever again? They are talking possible physical therapy and maybe a nerve block. I have lots of questions to be answered by the neuro guy.
It has been too soon since my lung surgery last year about this time to be thinking about having surgery again. That was such a painful ordeal, it still hurts to think about it. I'm trying not to borrow trouble, as my mom would say, but I'm worried.
As Scarlett would say, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Little Soldier Boy
So, it's been longer this time than last and I won't go into boring details. I have set a short goal. I am going to attempt to blog every day for 2 weeks. I was going to scrap the whole blog thing but at my husband's insistence I have decided to give it another go. I will start this thing off with one of the funniest, if not THE funniest things I have ever written about. I hope I can put it into words clearly enough to convey, but if not, I'm sorry for my lack of talent. It was still damn funny.
My dear, only, son Colin is now 3. We have just recently, about a month ago, gotten rid of diapers and are now wearing "big boy underwear." Funny, I say "we". Mom's do that a lot. We tend to take some credit for all our children's feats. "We" learned to ride a bike, "we" ate all our veggies at supper today, "we" cleaned our room today. I say "we" until he does something horribly bad then it's all on him. No shared blame then, he gets hung out to dry.
Anyways, back to the story. Since he has graduated to underwear it has provided him with much better access to his, umm, happy place shall we say. Now, I am no prude and I know that little boys will grab themselves whenever, and wherever possible. I try to ignore it and tell him not to do it in public. I, however was not prepared for what happens when he actually gets really happy playing with it.
He was in the chair playing with the Leapster, proudly sporting his new tidy whities, and I noticed that the game stopped making it's usual blips and bleeps. I looked over, and there was Colin, with his little soldier at full attention. I was mortified as he had the biggest grin on his face I have ever seen. He then proceeds to hit it a couple of times, laughing as it stayed put. My husband noticed what was going on and I swear I thought he would have a heart attack for laughing so hard. Oh, did I mention that his parents were over at the time? I felt my face burning with embarrassment and I excused myself from the room. At this time I heard some reassuring words from my dear mother-in-law, "Well, at least we know it works!"
My dear, only, son Colin is now 3. We have just recently, about a month ago, gotten rid of diapers and are now wearing "big boy underwear." Funny, I say "we". Mom's do that a lot. We tend to take some credit for all our children's feats. "We" learned to ride a bike, "we" ate all our veggies at supper today, "we" cleaned our room today. I say "we" until he does something horribly bad then it's all on him. No shared blame then, he gets hung out to dry.
Anyways, back to the story. Since he has graduated to underwear it has provided him with much better access to his, umm, happy place shall we say. Now, I am no prude and I know that little boys will grab themselves whenever, and wherever possible. I try to ignore it and tell him not to do it in public. I, however was not prepared for what happens when he actually gets really happy playing with it.
He was in the chair playing with the Leapster, proudly sporting his new tidy whities, and I noticed that the game stopped making it's usual blips and bleeps. I looked over, and there was Colin, with his little soldier at full attention. I was mortified as he had the biggest grin on his face I have ever seen. He then proceeds to hit it a couple of times, laughing as it stayed put. My husband noticed what was going on and I swear I thought he would have a heart attack for laughing so hard. Oh, did I mention that his parents were over at the time? I felt my face burning with embarrassment and I excused myself from the room. At this time I heard some reassuring words from my dear mother-in-law, "Well, at least we know it works!"
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