Marcus is sick with what can only be described as "The Crud." Apparently that is a medical term here in Alabama. It's what the urgent care doctor told me I had last time I was sick. The Crud. And one of our co-workers thinks she has the shingles. Half our students have pneumonia or some version of the dreaded Crud. Welcome to February in Alabama! 70 degrees one minute 21 the next. And how 'bout those 50 mph winds and tornadoes? Good times, I say, good times.
I'm currently obsessed with the idea of keeping myself and Dean healthy. I chugged a big glass of juice today and shoved countless Zicam swabs up my nose. I even gave Dean two servings of juice water. (All "the stuff" I've read about juice and obesity and aaaaaaaaah, evil suuuuuuuuuugaaaaaaaaaarrrr has sufficiently freaked me out, so I give Dean 1 part juice to 2 parts water. It's just how I roll. Yet I let him eat Gerber baby fruit roll ups. Go figure.) Anyway, we are all up on our vitamin C now.
I knew Marcus was really sick when he asked me to call in and let the secretary know he wouldn't be teaching class OR having rehearsal today. Usually he'll just try to push through. Not so much today. He got up long enough to eat some Fruity Pebbles and sit with Dean while I showered and got ready for work. When I came downstairs, they were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Well, watching is a generous way to describe it. Dean doesn't really watch it per se, he mostly just plays til the Hot Dog Dance comes on, then goes nuts. Marcus was conked out on the couch and Dean had his little hand on his Daddy's knee. It was kind of the cutest thing I've ever seen. As I got closer, I understood just how clogged Marcus's nose must be because MY GOD the poop. I quickly took Dean up for fresh pants and dragged Marcus back to bed. Once he was settled, I closed our bedroom door and sealed it with Lysol. Oh, yes, I did.
I do not want to get sick. I will not get sick. (knocks frantically on wooden tray table) I deny the existence of The Crud. And now I go to stick another Zicam swab up my nose and chug one more glass of juice before I settle in for the night. In our guest room.
Showing posts with label ew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ew. Show all posts
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Well, well
Dean had his one-year well-baby appointment today. You want the stats? You got it!
Weight: 22 lbs. 1 oz. (50th percentile)
Height; 29 1/2 inches (50th percentile)
Head: 18 1/8 inches (75th percentile--way to go, Dean!)
Vaccinations: 3
Band-aids: 3
Books as birthday gifts from doctor: 1 (cool, huh?)
Prescriptions for nasty, horrible eczema: 2
He had his first taste of whole milk today. He spit the first sip out, but that's usually what happens with his first sip of anything. He should be walking any minute now and is finally able to eat table food for most of his meals.
The eczema is awful and I only write about it because a)I want to have a record of it and b)it might help another parent. He had a huge, nasty patch behind his knee, which is where I used to get it when I was a child. There are little patches scattered all over his body, but that one was the worst. It had gotten infected, so the dr. gave us a very mild steroid cream to help speed up his healing and an oral antibiotic. She told us to stop using the creams we'd been using and lube him up with Lubriderm. We also stopped using Johnson's baby wash in favor of (get ready) a plain white Dove beauty bar! The doctor said that is what dermatologists recommend for eczema. It was weird to have him emerge from the tub smelling like he'd just taken off his make-up instead of like a baby. Just another step in our growing process, I suppose.
The oral antibiotic has already been an adventure. When I brought it home from the pharmacy, I realized that the bottle was sealed and contained powder instead of liquid. There were instructions telling how to mix it, but I didn't really trust myself with that task. (Plus, for what it cost, the least they could do was mix it up!) I called the pharmacy and the lady said "Oooooooooooooooh, yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." People in Alabama sometimes talk slow, you see. "We shoulda mixed that up. Come on back." So, back to the pharmacy went Marcus. When I opened the now-correctly-mixed bottle, the aroma of orange Sweet Tarts (or in Marcus's opinion, a ground-up orange Safety Pop) hit me. We tried our usual "give it to him in the bathtub" trick, which didn't work. He spit it all over Marcus's sleeve. We tried again before bed. He gargled it. GARGLED. How does a one-year old even know how to gargle? Anyway, tomorrow morning it's going in the cereal. And I may wear a Haz-Mat suit.
Weight: 22 lbs. 1 oz. (50th percentile)
Height; 29 1/2 inches (50th percentile)
Head: 18 1/8 inches (75th percentile--way to go, Dean!)
Vaccinations: 3
Band-aids: 3
Books as birthday gifts from doctor: 1 (cool, huh?)
Prescriptions for nasty, horrible eczema: 2
He had his first taste of whole milk today. He spit the first sip out, but that's usually what happens with his first sip of anything. He should be walking any minute now and is finally able to eat table food for most of his meals.
The eczema is awful and I only write about it because a)I want to have a record of it and b)it might help another parent. He had a huge, nasty patch behind his knee, which is where I used to get it when I was a child. There are little patches scattered all over his body, but that one was the worst. It had gotten infected, so the dr. gave us a very mild steroid cream to help speed up his healing and an oral antibiotic. She told us to stop using the creams we'd been using and lube him up with Lubriderm. We also stopped using Johnson's baby wash in favor of (get ready) a plain white Dove beauty bar! The doctor said that is what dermatologists recommend for eczema. It was weird to have him emerge from the tub smelling like he'd just taken off his make-up instead of like a baby. Just another step in our growing process, I suppose.
The oral antibiotic has already been an adventure. When I brought it home from the pharmacy, I realized that the bottle was sealed and contained powder instead of liquid. There were instructions telling how to mix it, but I didn't really trust myself with that task. (Plus, for what it cost, the least they could do was mix it up!) I called the pharmacy and the lady said "Oooooooooooooooh, yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." People in Alabama sometimes talk slow, you see. "We shoulda mixed that up. Come on back." So, back to the pharmacy went Marcus. When I opened the now-correctly-mixed bottle, the aroma of orange Sweet Tarts (or in Marcus's opinion, a ground-up orange Safety Pop) hit me. We tried our usual "give it to him in the bathtub" trick, which didn't work. He spit it all over Marcus's sleeve. We tried again before bed. He gargled it. GARGLED. How does a one-year old even know how to gargle? Anyway, tomorrow morning it's going in the cereal. And I may wear a Haz-Mat suit.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Can't help loving that man of mine
I have to tell you that I originally wrote this post yesterday (and it was brilliant! Brilliant, I say!) but it was sucked into the black hole of the internet by some kind of freak keystroke error, so here's my second, less brilliant shot. Boo.
It's funny how things change over the years. It's even funnier how they stay exactly the same. Marcus and I are still essentially newlyweds, but we have a ten-year history together, so sometimes the past peeks around a corner and reminds us of where we came from. Back then when we were just starting to "spark" as we say in the south, we were so pre-occupied with things that seem so trivial now. He would always make sure his long hair was freshly washed when he knew he'd be seeing me because he knew I liked the smell of his shampoo. I would wear green a lot because it's his favorite color (even though it does NOTHING for my skin tone). When living in NY, Marcus would do sweet things like making sure I had an umbrella or a metro card and I'd make sure the fridge was stocked with Coca-Cola and sharp cheddar cheese. When I was pregnant, he would take me to the diner at 11pm to satisfy a craving for a reuben, which must have disgusted him. (Ever seen a pregnant woman devour sauerkraut in the middle of the night? It ain't pretty.) I once chopped olives for him. I HATE olives. But he loves them and I love him, so there ya go. Since Dean's come along, we've become quite the team of care-takers and playmates.
Yesterday, Dean was sick. He had a cough and some sinus drainage and was really lethargic all day. He woke up from one of many naps and I tried to feed him a little lunch. He didnt' really eat much, so I put him on my lap on the couch and gave him a couple of Cheerios. Marcus had just made his lunch and was sitting down next to us to eat. Suddenly without warning, Dean started vomitting. I've never seen a baby throw up like that. It JUST KEPT COMING. It poured out of him over and over. And you don't even get the courtesy of a gag. It JUST KEEPS COMING. On me, on the couch, all over the place. Marcus calmly set his sandwich aside and ran for a towel, while it JUST KEPT COMING all over me. He put Dean in the bathtub and got him cleaned up while I peeled my clothes off and cleaned the couch. (thank GOD we got the microfiber sofa!) Once things had calmed down, I went into the bathroom to check on Dean and Marcus turned around, met my eyes and flashed me a smile. There I stood, half dressed, covered in baby vomit and sporting a nasty cold sore on my lip (YOW) and there he sat soaked with bath water, little baby hands clinging to his collar and hair, yet we were giving each other the same look as we have so many times before. It's that smile that reminds me how much he "gets it." He understands exactly what I'm thinking so much of the time and all it takes is that look to let me know we are on the same wavelength. I saw it when we were dating and it told me "I think you're cool." I saw it on our wedding day and it said "I'm so happy you're my wife." I saw it when I was in labor and it said "I wish I could take away the pain." (fortunately the epidural man took care of that one.) I saw it the first time we held Dean and it said "Look at what we have!" And I saw it yesterday. It said "Wow, baby vomit is gross. And there's some in your hair."
I'm sure we have many vomit-filled days in our future, not to mention other nasty things. It's so comforting to know that we can look through the sludge and still see each other.
It's funny how things change over the years. It's even funnier how they stay exactly the same. Marcus and I are still essentially newlyweds, but we have a ten-year history together, so sometimes the past peeks around a corner and reminds us of where we came from. Back then when we were just starting to "spark" as we say in the south, we were so pre-occupied with things that seem so trivial now. He would always make sure his long hair was freshly washed when he knew he'd be seeing me because he knew I liked the smell of his shampoo. I would wear green a lot because it's his favorite color (even though it does NOTHING for my skin tone). When living in NY, Marcus would do sweet things like making sure I had an umbrella or a metro card and I'd make sure the fridge was stocked with Coca-Cola and sharp cheddar cheese. When I was pregnant, he would take me to the diner at 11pm to satisfy a craving for a reuben, which must have disgusted him. (Ever seen a pregnant woman devour sauerkraut in the middle of the night? It ain't pretty.) I once chopped olives for him. I HATE olives. But he loves them and I love him, so there ya go. Since Dean's come along, we've become quite the team of care-takers and playmates.
Yesterday, Dean was sick. He had a cough and some sinus drainage and was really lethargic all day. He woke up from one of many naps and I tried to feed him a little lunch. He didnt' really eat much, so I put him on my lap on the couch and gave him a couple of Cheerios. Marcus had just made his lunch and was sitting down next to us to eat. Suddenly without warning, Dean started vomitting. I've never seen a baby throw up like that. It JUST KEPT COMING. It poured out of him over and over. And you don't even get the courtesy of a gag. It JUST KEEPS COMING. On me, on the couch, all over the place. Marcus calmly set his sandwich aside and ran for a towel, while it JUST KEPT COMING all over me. He put Dean in the bathtub and got him cleaned up while I peeled my clothes off and cleaned the couch. (thank GOD we got the microfiber sofa!) Once things had calmed down, I went into the bathroom to check on Dean and Marcus turned around, met my eyes and flashed me a smile. There I stood, half dressed, covered in baby vomit and sporting a nasty cold sore on my lip (YOW) and there he sat soaked with bath water, little baby hands clinging to his collar and hair, yet we were giving each other the same look as we have so many times before. It's that smile that reminds me how much he "gets it." He understands exactly what I'm thinking so much of the time and all it takes is that look to let me know we are on the same wavelength. I saw it when we were dating and it told me "I think you're cool." I saw it on our wedding day and it said "I'm so happy you're my wife." I saw it when I was in labor and it said "I wish I could take away the pain." (fortunately the epidural man took care of that one.) I saw it the first time we held Dean and it said "Look at what we have!" And I saw it yesterday. It said "Wow, baby vomit is gross. And there's some in your hair."
I'm sure we have many vomit-filled days in our future, not to mention other nasty things. It's so comforting to know that we can look through the sludge and still see each other.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
This is how I post when Dean keeps me awake all night
I will start by telling you that I have some kind of bizarre thing going on under my wedding ring. I don't know what has happened, but the skin is raw, almost like it's been burned. Marcus is certain I have a chemical burn from using too many Clorox wipes. Maybe so. It's better than it was, but still hurts a lot. The annoying part has been not being able to wear my ring. I finally just put a bunch of lotion on my finger and put the ring back on today. So there.
So, we grocery shop at Publix. I love it. It's a nice store and you can find whatever you need. They carry the right kind of baby food (Dean's a fan of some of the Beech-nut flavors) and my yogurt (soy, because I"m lactarded. It's not nearly as gross as it sounds.) My favorite thing they do is offer a penny mystery coupon in Sunday's paper. You clip it, bring it in and then find out what the mystery item is that you get for a penny! Last week it was Pringles chips. This week it was peanut butter. I didn't really need either of those items, but you better believe I grabbed them up for a penny! Ok, I digress. The one thing I don't care for as a part of my Publix shopping experience is the freaky, over-zealous baggers. Sometimes they are fine. Other times, like today, they are waaaay over the top. I suppose it's the store's policy to have the baggers bag your groceries (duh), then push your buggy to your car and load them up for you. They wear buttons saying "Don't tip." I always feel bad not giving them a dollar or something. Marcus HATES this practice. He likes to bag and carry the groceries so they will be easier to unload when we get home. He says the baggers make him feel unimportant and like his job has been taken away. I think he's being over-emotional about it, but who am I to judge, right? MY problem is that sometimes, the bagger finishes loading the buggy then just takes off to the parking lot WITH MY BABY IN THE BUGGY. Today, for instance, an older woman was my bagger. Y'all, I had 9 jars of baby food and some parmesan cheese. It all fit intot one bag. I was planning to push the buggy to the "lobby," take Dean and my bag out and walk to the car. She threw my one bag into the buggy and proceeded to take off with my buggy, bag and BABY. And I went all New York crazy in the Publix. (This is what all those years of "if you see something, say something" does to you. And it's not a bad thing!) I, quite loudly, screamed, "HEY!" She looked shocked. I noted my tone, smiled a little and said "I can get it." She said "No, ma'am! I'll take it for you!" and took off again. I ran up beside her, muttered something about wanting to stay near my baby and put a hand on the buggy, gripping it so hard my knuckle was white. Dean is fine with these people, who are always lovely, pushing him in the cart. And, truth be told, I very seriously doubt the Publix bagger is just going to take off with my kid, and even if they did, I"ll bet I could catch them, considering they'd almost certainly be slowed down by the weight of my groceries and my 20 pound child. I just wish they would at least ask "Ma'am, can I push your baby?" instead of taking off and giving me a heart attack.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting and this is just one of those small-town things I'm going to have to get used to again. Marcus is amazed by the number of people who come up in stores and restaurants to touch Dean. That doesn't bug me. What do you think? Would the baby in the buggy with the bagger thing freak you out?
So, we grocery shop at Publix. I love it. It's a nice store and you can find whatever you need. They carry the right kind of baby food (Dean's a fan of some of the Beech-nut flavors) and my yogurt (soy, because I"m lactarded. It's not nearly as gross as it sounds.) My favorite thing they do is offer a penny mystery coupon in Sunday's paper. You clip it, bring it in and then find out what the mystery item is that you get for a penny! Last week it was Pringles chips. This week it was peanut butter. I didn't really need either of those items, but you better believe I grabbed them up for a penny! Ok, I digress. The one thing I don't care for as a part of my Publix shopping experience is the freaky, over-zealous baggers. Sometimes they are fine. Other times, like today, they are waaaay over the top. I suppose it's the store's policy to have the baggers bag your groceries (duh), then push your buggy to your car and load them up for you. They wear buttons saying "Don't tip." I always feel bad not giving them a dollar or something. Marcus HATES this practice. He likes to bag and carry the groceries so they will be easier to unload when we get home. He says the baggers make him feel unimportant and like his job has been taken away. I think he's being over-emotional about it, but who am I to judge, right? MY problem is that sometimes, the bagger finishes loading the buggy then just takes off to the parking lot WITH MY BABY IN THE BUGGY. Today, for instance, an older woman was my bagger. Y'all, I had 9 jars of baby food and some parmesan cheese. It all fit intot one bag. I was planning to push the buggy to the "lobby," take Dean and my bag out and walk to the car. She threw my one bag into the buggy and proceeded to take off with my buggy, bag and BABY. And I went all New York crazy in the Publix. (This is what all those years of "if you see something, say something" does to you. And it's not a bad thing!) I, quite loudly, screamed, "HEY!" She looked shocked. I noted my tone, smiled a little and said "I can get it." She said "No, ma'am! I'll take it for you!" and took off again. I ran up beside her, muttered something about wanting to stay near my baby and put a hand on the buggy, gripping it so hard my knuckle was white. Dean is fine with these people, who are always lovely, pushing him in the cart. And, truth be told, I very seriously doubt the Publix bagger is just going to take off with my kid, and even if they did, I"ll bet I could catch them, considering they'd almost certainly be slowed down by the weight of my groceries and my 20 pound child. I just wish they would at least ask "Ma'am, can I push your baby?" instead of taking off and giving me a heart attack.
Perhaps I'm over-reacting and this is just one of those small-town things I'm going to have to get used to again. Marcus is amazed by the number of people who come up in stores and restaurants to touch Dean. That doesn't bug me. What do you think? Would the baby in the buggy with the bagger thing freak you out?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
My morning thus far
It is 8:42 am. I woke up around 7:45 (wow, we slept late) to the sweet sounds of Dean cooing in his room, then the knocking of his binky as he banged it against the headboard. I went in, lifted him up, got a great hug, then changed his diaper, which involved BIG POOP. This is the second time this week he's woken up with poopy pants. I'm hoping he does it after he wakes up and that he's not sleeping with it for hours. Anyway, enough about poop. We went downstairs, made coffee and started breakfast. I'd bought a jar of "stage 3" oatmeal w/pears. The jar is really big, but his appetite is increasing, so I figured he could handle it. Well, he LOVED it. He ate the entire jar. About halfway through feeding him, Marcus came down and started making our breakfast. Rewind for a moment to last night when I went to make Dean a bedtime bottle and, out of the corner of my eye, saw a lizard run across our kitchen. I squealed, but Marcus assured me this was a good thing...they eat bugs. Ok. The lizard may stay, but it had better not touch me. Back to breakfast today. Dean and I are singing and making faces at each other between bites, when all of a sudden I see the lizard out of the orner of my eye again, except it's tail's awfully skinny to be a lizard and that is fur and OH MY GAWD THAT IS A MOUSE! Marcus had to jump over the thing as it disappeared into a hole under our cabinet. (Nice.) So we added mousetraps to our shopping list. (Just what I want to deal with.) Dean finished his breakfast and I clapped for him, telling him what a big boy he was for finishing that WHOLE JAR of oatmeal! I picked him up, started telling him about our plans to go downstairs and play, when all of a sudden I heard it. And felt it. Baby vomit. SPLAT on my floor. BLECH on my sleeve, pants leg and ARM. All I could do was scream for help and wait for Marcus to come and take him so I could get cleaned up. Fortunately, I didn't vomit. I thought about it though.
How's YOUR morning going!?!?
How's YOUR morning going!?!?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Just call me Little Miss Muffett
So, the other day, Dean was ready for his afternoon snack, which usually consists of some type of home-made fruit puree. We sit at the table, like at mealtimes, and enjoy our snack together. (I usually have a soy yogurt or some dried fruit.) On this particular day, the weather was GORGEOUS. It was about 80 degrees with a nice, cool breeze. I decided it would be nice to turn the AC off and open the back door while Dean and I sat and had our snack so he could look out at the yard. Well, I got him set up in his highchair, pulled back the curtain, opened the door and came face to, uh, legs with this:
This photo does not do it justice. This was the biggest, ugliest, scariest spider I have EVER seen. (And growing up in the deep south, I've seen a LOT of spiders.) Y'all, it had HAIR. And big pincher teethy things. I flipped out, closed the door and stood there marveling at the size of the web, wondering if the thing would stay put until Marcus got home to kill it. Then I did what any genteel southern woman would do...I called my daddy. Only my mom answered the phone.
Here's how the conversation would have gone if DAD had answered:
JEN: Daddy, there's a BIG, HAIRY, ICKY spider outside my door and I'm sure he's going to eat Dean and me.
DAD: Oh, poooooooooor giiiiiiiiiiiirl. Call Marcus right now and tell him to come home! You're far too pretty to kill a big, hairy spider! If he can't get there soon enough, I'LL come get it for you! (which, ok, would never happen, because he hates spiders, too, but go with me here.)
JEN: Thanks, Daddy, you're the best!
DAD: And you're pretty! Tell Deano his Papa loves him!
Here's the conversation between my mom and me:
JEN: Mom, there's a BIG, HAIRY, ICKY spider outside my door and I'm sure he's going to eat Dean and me.
MOM: (emotionless) Kill it.
JEN: Did you hear me? It's BIG and HAIRY. It might eat us. I'm pretty sure it will. ME and DEAN.
MOM: So kill it.
JEN: ??????
MOM: Don't you have some bug spray? You ARE back in the south, you know.
JEN: Um, yeah, I think so.
MOM: Then grab it and kill the thing!
JEN: But I can't leave the baby alone. I'll just wait til Marcus gets home.
MOM: It's right outside the door. You can still see the baby. Put the phone on speaker and I'll talk to Dean and you KILL THE SPIDER.
JEN: Fine.
Jen puts phone on speaker. Grammy starts to sing "Baa Baa Blacksheep" to Dean. They giggle together. Jen glares at them, bug spray in hand. Jen opens door, realizes that she cannot close it AND get out without hitting spider web face first. Tells mom this. Is told to go around. Wishes Marcus would miraculously come home early, even though he has no transportation. Goes around, sees spider, squeals, sprays the EVER-LOVING HECK out of spider and web. Spider scurries up to outdoor light fixture. Jen blasts fixture with spray. Spider's movements get slower and it starts to turn a funky gray color. Jen squeals again, all the way back inside.
MOM: Did you kill it?
JEN: I think so. It turned gray when I sprayed it.
MOM: You'd better knock it down with a broom and step on it.
JEN : What if it has babies!?!? Remember that time I killed one on our porch and baby spiders shot out of it? That was gross!
MOM: Get the broom and knock it down and step on it. Then knock the web down.
JEN: Woops, gotta go, Dean needs his snack.
MOM: Knock the web down.
JEN: Will do, thanks a lot! Love ya! Bye!
Ok, so maybe that's a TAD exaggerated, but you get the picture. Anywho, Marcus came home and we went out to check on the thing. IT WAS STILL ALIVE. So he, at my mother's urging, knocked it down with a broom and stepped on it.
NASTY.
Post-script: In my defense, I feel I should point out that I'm not always this girly. Almost never, in fact. Remember the time I moved all the way to NY? Or the time I had a baby? Or built things with tools? Yeah. Keep that in mind. ;)
This photo does not do it justice. This was the biggest, ugliest, scariest spider I have EVER seen. (And growing up in the deep south, I've seen a LOT of spiders.) Y'all, it had HAIR. And big pincher teethy things. I flipped out, closed the door and stood there marveling at the size of the web, wondering if the thing would stay put until Marcus got home to kill it. Then I did what any genteel southern woman would do...I called my daddy. Only my mom answered the phone.
Here's how the conversation would have gone if DAD had answered:
JEN: Daddy, there's a BIG, HAIRY, ICKY spider outside my door and I'm sure he's going to eat Dean and me.
DAD: Oh, poooooooooor giiiiiiiiiiiirl. Call Marcus right now and tell him to come home! You're far too pretty to kill a big, hairy spider! If he can't get there soon enough, I'LL come get it for you! (which, ok, would never happen, because he hates spiders, too, but go with me here.)
JEN: Thanks, Daddy, you're the best!
DAD: And you're pretty! Tell Deano his Papa loves him!
Here's the conversation between my mom and me:
JEN: Mom, there's a BIG, HAIRY, ICKY spider outside my door and I'm sure he's going to eat Dean and me.
MOM: (emotionless) Kill it.
JEN: Did you hear me? It's BIG and HAIRY. It might eat us. I'm pretty sure it will. ME and DEAN.
MOM: So kill it.
JEN: ??????
MOM: Don't you have some bug spray? You ARE back in the south, you know.
JEN: Um, yeah, I think so.
MOM: Then grab it and kill the thing!
JEN: But I can't leave the baby alone. I'll just wait til Marcus gets home.
MOM: It's right outside the door. You can still see the baby. Put the phone on speaker and I'll talk to Dean and you KILL THE SPIDER.
JEN: Fine.
Jen puts phone on speaker. Grammy starts to sing "Baa Baa Blacksheep" to Dean. They giggle together. Jen glares at them, bug spray in hand. Jen opens door, realizes that she cannot close it AND get out without hitting spider web face first. Tells mom this. Is told to go around. Wishes Marcus would miraculously come home early, even though he has no transportation. Goes around, sees spider, squeals, sprays the EVER-LOVING HECK out of spider and web. Spider scurries up to outdoor light fixture. Jen blasts fixture with spray. Spider's movements get slower and it starts to turn a funky gray color. Jen squeals again, all the way back inside.
MOM: Did you kill it?
JEN: I think so. It turned gray when I sprayed it.
MOM: You'd better knock it down with a broom and step on it.
JEN : What if it has babies!?!? Remember that time I killed one on our porch and baby spiders shot out of it? That was gross!
MOM: Get the broom and knock it down and step on it. Then knock the web down.
JEN: Woops, gotta go, Dean needs his snack.
MOM: Knock the web down.
JEN: Will do, thanks a lot! Love ya! Bye!
Ok, so maybe that's a TAD exaggerated, but you get the picture. Anywho, Marcus came home and we went out to check on the thing. IT WAS STILL ALIVE. So he, at my mother's urging, knocked it down with a broom and stepped on it.
NASTY.
Post-script: In my defense, I feel I should point out that I'm not always this girly. Almost never, in fact. Remember the time I moved all the way to NY? Or the time I had a baby? Or built things with tools? Yeah. Keep that in mind. ;)
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Gotta find a new movie candy now
To answer the question posed by the t-shirt, no, you don't. :)
The bassinet has been assembled. Extra sheets have been special ordered. (Because the people at Disney make it so you can't just buy them at Target--you have to CALL and order them!) The baby clothes are washed, folded and hung and put in their place. Baby's shelves are full of books, bibs, burp towels and tiny little washcloths. There's food in the freezer. If I prop my feet up any higher, I'll be hanging from the ceiling. Can I have my baby now?
Warning: this part contains some kind of personal information, which leads to a really funny story. Hope it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. I have no modesty, so here we go. I woke up New Year's Eve feeling kinda funky with a sore spot on my left side kind of below my arm pit. (where underwire would hit you) It was worse yesterday when I woke up, so I got online to do some research about just what the heck it could be. I figured it out pretty quickly: I had a clogged milk duct. That can actually happen from your 6th month of pregnancy! So, it's New Year's Day. My doctor is on vacation until Jan. 2, but their answering service should be picking up. I call. The lady answers and sounds professional enough, asking my date of birth and what week of pregnancy I'm in. I then explain that I think I have a clogged milk duct and need some advice on how to treat it so it doesn't turn into an infection. She says "Okaaaaaaay, so you have a clogged milk dud?" (enter glare from Jen here) No, moron. DUCT. DUUUUUUUCT. I spell it for her. She says "ooooooh. okaaaaay. I'll get someone to call you." No one ever did, probably because she told the doctor on-call that I had a clogged milk dud and they didn't want to deal with someone that stupid on a holiday. Fortunately, my sister in law is also a nurse and mother of a one-year-old, so I called her and got some advice last night. And my milk dud is good as new today. I can't wait to tell the doctor this story when we see him on Friday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
