life with WE

The flu is still here...

My kids are off of school today and tomorrow.  We still have the swine flu in the house - Mike is still pretty sick and while Warren is getting better - finally - he's not the best yet.

So, I'm out for a few days.  I've got temperatures to take, laundry to do and lysol to spray.  May you all stay healthy and have a wonderful, safe Halloween.

Hope to be back soon!

Tell me a story Jenny. Tell me a story!

I could bore/scare you with stories of swine flu.  Like it's so horrible and my son's fever is so high that Mike and I practically high fived when we got his fever to a whopping 101.7 last night.  Yeah, that was with motrin (given around the clock, slightly early), ice packs on the head, and a cool bath.  And that was the most progress we have made and of course it went right back up but for a few minutes, it was heavenly.  And the moaning and whimpering and I'm pretty sure hallucinations stopped.  And the doc mentioned this fever - would go on for THREE DAYS.  And then he said, "no tamiflu" and I said, "whatthefook" but I didn't really.  The doc was so nonchalant and acted like swine flu shmine flu but I have a different story to tell.  Basically I hate H1N1 and whoever invented it and then hoarded the tamiflu and swineflu vaccines and no it is not a terrorist plot or a conspiracy, but I still hate it all.

ANYWHO, I said I wouldn't do that, so I won't.

Instead, I regale you with this tale.  (Did I just use regale right?  Because if so, I'm awarding myself 50 points for that.)

Back when I was a kid my mom was great about reading us stories or telling us stories before bed.  While pregnant with Warren, I cried in a bookstore because I found THE SAME Mother Goose book that my mom had read to me all those years.  It had a black checkerboard border and I was all, "boo hoo hoo we have to have that for our unborn child and I need a double cheeseburger" and Mike was all, "on it and on it.  Done."  (Because he was smart like that.  Give the preggers anything she wants.)  Again, back to the story at hand.  One of my favorite stories of all time my mom would tell us was the tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff.  (Not a Mother Goose, but still good!)

Are you familiar with the tale?  To sum it up, three goats, all with the name of Gruff, eat all the grass off their hill.  They want more grass, naturally, but they only way to get to the nearest hill is to cross a bridge over the river.  Under said bridge lives a grump ass troll who wants to eat goats.  My mom told it as the three goats were all brothers - Littlest, Middle and Biggest.  The two younger stall the troll by offering the next largest brother, unbeknown to the brother.  By the time the big one crosses the bridge, the troll is HUNGRY and the big one rams the troll with his horns and sends him flying over the bridge where he floats down the river and is never heard from again.  (If you don't like my summary, see Wikipedia's - here.)

The best part of the story is when the teller talks about how the goats walk on the bridge.  The littlest goat walks like clip clop, clip clop, clip clop.  And you say it all nice and regular voiced.  Then the middle goat walks a little more CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP.  And you say it louder.  But then, the biggest is the best because it walks more CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP, which of course you are using your booming voice and then the giggles ensue.

Ohmygawd will she ever get to her point?

I told the story to my nieces when they were little.  I replaced the goats with their uncles.  Jon was the littlest, Rusty was the middle and Mike was the biggest.  And of course, it got a laugh, and is often still requested to this day.  I finally started telling my kids and wouldn't you know it?  Instant hit.  The last couple of times I told it, I brought it to the modern day and personalized the walks of the goats.  Elaine thinks I am a freaking genius (which I am) and telling the story always seems to silence her.  She stares at me with adoration as I detail the antics of Elaine, Warren and Jenny - the three billy goats.  Elaine goes across the bridge with a clip clop fallerina turn, clip clop, fallerina turn.  Warren?  Well he clops with his light saber.  So CLIP CLOP WANHN, CLIP CLOP WANHN.  (Wanhn is the best I could come up with for my light saber impression.  In real life, it is dead on.)  Me?  Of course, my walk is the LOUDEST, and it involves drinking coffee.  CLIP CLOP SLUUUUURP.  CLIP CLOP SLUUUUUURP.  The best part?  Mike is the troll.  Which is hilarious.  And when Mike the troll threatens to eat Jenny the biggest billy goat gruff, she responds with a bad ass, "Bring it."  And then she boop boop backs it up, lowers her horns and runs at ramming speed right into Mike's butt, sending him flying into the river.

So what is the conclusion?  #1 - some stories are classics and should be passed on through generations.  #2 - I am one tough mo fo billy goat.  #3 - Mike was very good to me when I was pregnant.  #4 - yesterday was a very long day and Warren and I are going to be stuck on the island of sickness (aka my bed) forever I'm afraid.  Send wine.  And beer.  And pills - lots of them!  (Kidding.  Or am I?)

Flu smackdown

And of course it finally hit us.  Warren is home today with what I'm assuming is the flu. 

He burst into tears yesterday when it suddenly dawned on him that he was getting sick.  "I hate being sick.  I don't feel good and I have to miss schoooooollllllllll."  Yeah buddy, I hate it to.

Expect posting to be sporadic (more sporadic than it has been lately).  Of course I could entertain you with minute to minute updates on his condition.  Oh wait, is that boring?

I think I'll use this flu to keep reading The Lost Symbol, which so far, so good!

And hopefully this means all will be well for trick or treating on Saturday...

Newsworthy?

I was a kid who personalized the news.  A story of a serial killer meant that one was coming for me and my family.  Animal cruelty stories meant that it was all on me to save those poor animals.  Everything worried me, got into my brain, and would overwhelm me.

Because Warren tends to be like me, I've chosen to basically shelter him from the news.  Which is not to say that he doesn't know what's going on in the world.  He does.  Ish.  I don't fill him in on every missing child.  Every shooting.  Every Afghanistan or Iraq update.  Heath care reform - um yeah, he's not really up to speed on that.  But Warren is like me, and personalizes everything.  There's no need for him to take on the world's issues.

I'd say I'm not sheltering him, but I guess in a way, I am.  The news now gives us so many more details and so much more sensationalism (is that a word?) then it did when I was a kid.  I'm afraid if something got into his head, it would never get out.  But I know that kids talk.  And I keep him up to speed on any major ongoings, past or present.  He knows basics about war, September 11th, the swine flu, kidnapped kids being returned home, the recession and job losses etc.  But I don't let him watch Law & Order with me, so why would I let him watch the news?

Talking about this with my neighbor yesterday, she mentioned that she has always let her kids watch the news.  To keep them informed to expose them, and at times to scare them.  I guess I can see that side of things too.

What do you do?  If you don't have kids, lets say mine were at your house.  Would you let them watch the news? 

Just curious.

So you're in an elevator...

Who would you most like to be stuck in an elevator with? Least like?

This was a writing prompt on my blog provider's main page.  And instantly, I knew who I would NOT want to be stuck in an elevator with.  And it's Hannibal Lecter.  Because duh, he'd totally try to eat my face and I'm thinking that hurts like a sunuvabeotch.  Don't you think?  Plus, if he's anything similar to the way he was portrayed by Sir Anthony Hopkins I'm going to crawl out of my skin because he was so freaky! 

Now who would I WANT to be stuck in an elevator with?  That's a good question.  Oprah?  Barack?  Brad Pitt?  I guess it depends on how long I'm going to be stuck in that elevator.  And if what happens in that elevator stays in that elevator?  (I think you know what I'm getting at.  wink wink.)

Today I'd say that I'd want to be stuck in an elevator with Mike.  And here's why:

• we don't get a lot of time together without the kiddos
• he knows I'm a freak and would not be bothered by me losing my mind and/or freaking out
• due to the above reason, he'd also be able to calm me down
• and if what happens in the elevator doesn't stay in the elevator, then of course, I'd have to choose my husband!  

Let's say Mike and I have had a lot of time together.  And that I'm not going to freak out because the elevator is stuck.   Instead, I'm going to use the time to chat it up with my fellow stuck person.  Well, then I choose Tina Fey.  She's my idol.  She's smart, talented and funny as all get out.  She can do it all.  I'd love to be her.  I'd settle for meeting her.  So she's who I would choose to get stuck in an elevator with if Mike's not available.

What about you?

Well of course it's my fault

Do you even want to wager a guess as to who's fault it is that Warren didn't finish his reading his school library book?

Well it's mine of course.

Although I'll swear to you that I asked him in the car yesterday, "did you finish your library book?"  And the answer was yes.  He says he told me he read two more chapters.  Two more chapters, yes - oh those sound a lot alike.

And then clearly it was my fault he didn't read the rest of it yesterday.  After all it is my library book to read and have a test on today.

"You should have brought my library book up for me to finish last night."  Really?  REALLY!  Oh I gave him a lecture which reduced him to tears.  Of course tears are not helpful when trying to finish reading a library book.  Not helpful at all.

Seriously.  I guess we have a discussion tonight about who's in second grade and who's responsible for things.

Clearly, someone needs to do my job better.

Michelle, my bell.

Today is my dad's birthday.  And it's my cousin Lizzie's birthday.  And it's my friend Michelle's birthday and anniversary.

Busy day eh?  And no, the cards aren't mailed.  But they have been purchased and are sitting on my kitchen counter right now.  That counts, right?

This year, let's talk about my friend Michelle.

I met Michelle my freshman year of college.  We were in the same rush group for sorority rush.  I was drawn to her instantly.  She was outgoing and kind and easy to talk to.  We joined the same sorority, lived in the same dorm, and dated boys from the same fraternity.  Sophomore through senior year we lived together.  Needless to say, we saw each other A LOT.  We laughed, cried and studied our way through college.  Over those years, we became good friends, and the rest as they say is history.

Michelle is one of the best people in the world.   To know her is great, to be friends with her is an honor.

She has this uncanny ability to remember personal details about everyone she meets.  Walking through campus with her was insane!  She knew everyone and knew what to ask about them.  "Oh, how's your dog?"  "How's the class going?  Did you do okay on the test?"  "Did you and your girlfriend work everything out?"  People tell her things.  She draws you in.  And she cares.  She cares about everyone - her heart is enormous.

She is also quite possibly the most driven person I know.  If she wants it, she works for it.  And she'll get it.  She earns it and deserves it.  She finished grad school in three semesters while being a teacher's assistant.  She has a great job and an awesome career.  She runs marathons like it's nobody's business.

She is self-sacrificing.  She has supported her husband through medical school and residency and all that business that comes with it.  She held it together while her husband served our country in Iraq, leaving her alone with their 1 year old son.  She is the kind of friend that would do anything for you.  And most of the time you don't even have to ask.  She just knows.  And she's there.

In addition to all of these things she's just a cool chick!  She has great taste in music and books.  She loves to get her drink on and laugh and chat with friends.  She has a creative side that is amazing - she can sew just about anything and has made some beautiful creations.  She is genuinely a good person - finds the good in all situations, doesn't talk behind people's backs.  She values her family and friends and lets them know how important they are to her.  She isn't afraid of her feelings - she taught me that it's okay to hug people and say that you love them.

Michelle is a beautiful woman with a wonderful soul.  I am proud and lucky to call her my friend.  I'm sure I don't tell you enough how thankful and happy I am to have you in my life.  I'm sorry I take our friendship for granted - I absolutely treasure it.  I admire everything about you and wish I could be like you when I grow up!  Happy birthday to one of the most amazing people on the planet!  I love you Mim!

Some memories are ugh...

I have a friend who has a two year old and is now pregnant with her second child.  Things are not all sunshine rainbows and unicorns for her right now, as you may (or may not) be able to imagine.  It's made me remember that similar time in my life.

Warren from about 20 months on was ... something.  I can't even find the words.  He was a typical boy, short on words, easily frustrated, very physical when showing his anger.  All typical as the books, pediatricians and other parents would say.  But that was of no comfort to me.  I was a stay at home mom, and we were together all day.  ALL DAY.  A day full of him pushing his limits and my limits.  A day full of him exploring and learning and realizing what he could and could not do.  His anger was directed at me, of course, and he'd hit me, and scream and I swear I'd watch for his head to spin around.  (It never did.)  I was angry and sad and frustrated.  I began to second guess every disciplinary decision I made.  I questioned my choice of being a stay at home mom.  I questioned my choice of even being a parent.  I questioned the choice of having another child.

Although I'd express some of these concerns to playgroup friends and Mike, I didn't share them all.  Because it felt wrong to share them all.  It felt wrong to say what I was thinking.  Because what I was thinking was not pleasant. 

I never felt so alone.

Alone.  Holding Warren's door shut, trapping him in his room while he screamed and screamed.  Throwing things, working out his anger.  Me crying on the other side of the door wondering what I'd done or hadn't done and what kind of child was on the other side of the door.  Separating us for both of our safety.

Alone.

I was surrounded by a good group of friends with children.  I had friends from college I talked to regularly.  I talked to my mom.  I talked to Mike.  But still, I was alone. 

Alone with bad thoughts.  Bad thoughts.  Thoughts of wanting to run away.  Of disliking Warren's behavior which would surely come out of my mouth as 'I don't like my kid'.  Thoughts of self loathing and hatred because what kind of a mother feels like this?

I made it through of course.  No injuries to Warren, none to myself.  And as Warren and I emerged from this phase, and Elaine was born I'd share bits and pieces of how awful it had been.  Surprise of all surprises, there was support.  Others felt the same.  Not everyone of course, some people have angelic children I suppose; or perhaps they have the patience of a saint.  None of these apply to me.

This morning, that two year old terror almost brought me to tears.  He got up, got himself dressed and brushed his teeth.  He brought Elaine her clothes, a hairbrush and her hairbows.  He chatted with her, encouraging her to get moving and get her stuff on.  He entertained her as I put the pigtails in her hair.  And then while I got dressed, he took her downstairs and got them both cereal.  As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, he was reading to her from our US states book.  Telling her about state birds, state flowers, and nicknames.

So to my friend...  You are not alone.  And it's okay not to like your boy at times because I know you still love him.  You are a good mom.  You are a loving caring mom.  And this boy of yours will turn out just fine.  Wonderful in fact.  And this phase - it won't last forever.  I know it doesn't seem that way now, but it will get better.  It will get easier.  Hang in there, and call me anytime.  I will not judge you.  I will listen and comfort. 

Feeling my age

Today I had that annual appointment - girls, you know what I'm talking about.  And there's nothing quite like this appointment to make you feel a whole year older.  OLDER.  I'm pretty sure I did a good job ignoring my birthday, what with nursing the hangover and all, but today, it smacked me in the face again.

There I am in the waiting room, surrounded by pregnant people, one of whom was sure she was in labor and therefore bumped my appointment back - and hello, she was not in labor.  Take a chill pill lady.  (Kidding, I'm not that mean.  Or am I?)  And it's my turn and I have to get on the scale (boo) and get my height measured and take my blood pressure (good!) and answer questions and then she gave m the  "so you're 35 now" as she began her exam. 

Say wha?

Yeah, I guess I am.  And next to me is a Redbook magazine with "Love yourself at 20, 30 and 40!"  And the 30 year old I'm supposed to relate to?  Alicia Silverstone.  Oh yeah, we are A LOT alike.  Alicia (age 33) says that her 30s are proving to be a time of change.  Really?  Like change from you can't play at teenager anymore?  But you could certainly play like a 21 year old.  I mean we're so the same in that manner.

Uff.

And this rain, is so NOT helping my attitude.  M'kay people?

I mention that I don't have a general practioner and boom, here's the blood taker lady - she'll draw your blood and we'll send it off!  Have you fasted?  Hello?  I was not prepared, I have not fasted.  "No worries, if it's bad we'll do it again."  Woo - possibly more blood drawn!  Rock on.

No mamogram yet, I guess that's something to look forward to in my 40s.  Love yourself at 40, and get your boobs smashed.

Aging is awesome.

My best intentions

Yesterday I had in my head that I would be a better parent.  I was going to participate with my kids - give them undivided attention.

The result?

I would up playing with the neighbor kids while my own children ignored me.

That's right.  I drew chalk Halloween pictures, fixed a bike seat, answered questions and was overall very pleasant.  And my kids?  Yeah, they saw none of it.  Warren was busy playing baseball and Elaine was playing dolls with another girl.

It counts though, right?  Because I was outside with them the whole time they were outside.

I thought so.