Flying Colors...

I've never really looked in the mirror and seen an overprotective mom staring back at me. After this weekend this outlook is starting to morph.

Right about the time I hit the "post" button on my last blog my gal started to deteriorate again (and why wouldn't she--as I am starting to find, stating anything out loud or in written form seems to be an omen that things will very shortly be going the exact opposite of the public display) So while I was boasting health and prosperity she was trying to sleep off one hell of fever. And being that this girl has literally never gotten hotter than 100 degrees it had me worried. The sleeping started Friday and only got worse as the day progressed. With the sleep came the heat and by days end she was at 102.

Saturday turned into further deterioration which was the continued fever, water hinder and still more sleep. She slept more than she was awake and would miserably roll around while roused. She insisted that we carry her because walking hurt and she stated that she just wasn't able to do it. The worry started to rise. Soo not my daughter. She hadn't eaten all day and by afternoon she was talking non-sense, asking odd questions and just generally not putting together any cohesive thoughts. When I stuck the thermometer in her ear and saw the reading of 104 coupled with her writhing stomach pain & unabated crying I just couldn't watch any longer. The fever was no longer responding to the Advil and I really didn't know what else to do. The advice line suggested the ER and I was actually relieved that I could put the diagnosis with someone who actually knew about these kinds of things. The words "emergency room" did send a quick chill up my spine as I have never heard anything good about them. Insane wait times, lots of germs, a bunch of red tape...not really my idea of a Saturday night but I was desperate.

Hubba went to put the gals socks on to ready her for the trip and you would have thought that he had struck her with a sledge hammer. She kicked her feet in rebellion and moaned "Whaaat are you doooing!?!?" As in--"Are you CRAZY!? Can't you see I'm dyin' over here?!" I then told her that we had to go to the hospital so she could see a doctor and she begrudgingly calmed down and allowed the socks. I packed up a puke bowl in the diaper bag and headed out. Luckily the local ER is a quick 10 minutes from the house so the car trip wasn't too big of a deal.

When we got there I carried her in donning only socks and her Paul Frank jammies. The woman that checked us in was very understanding. I was expecting heaps of forms and paper work to fill out with my not-so-spare hand and oddly all that was needed was a signature and she let us sit down, stating there was only one person in front of us. We weren't there 5 minutes and the mini fell asleep in my arms, like a large 40 pound baby. She was so hot that I began to sweat too simply from holding my human space heater. About 15 minutes into it we were seen. She was appropriately drugged (albeit literally gagging down the meds) and we were sent to a room. I had no idea when you went to the ER you got your own room! I was exceedingly impressed with this experience. It was feeling more like a hotel stay than a trip to the hospital! We got her all gowned-up and the doctor was in within minutes. He stated we needed to give a "sample." Oh joy! Being that it was a literal act of Congress to get this kid to go to the bathroom at home I started stressing at how I was going to manage coercing her to do it in the hospital. Evidently there is power in saying "the doctor said..." because this girl sat over those little hats and produced precisely what was asked in a matter of moments. Now all we had to do was wait for the results...

In the meantime I made a call home to the Hubba to inform him of what was going on. After giving him the scoop he leisurely slides into the conversation with "Well, Chase just puked all over his crib so whatever they give you for her tell them to send home double!" Sweet Jesus, are you kidding me? Precisely 3 hours earlier I had texted my sister regarding how odd/concerning it was that my boy showed no signs of this (yet another mark in the "gotta go" column of the situation.) Her exact words back "Don't jinx it!" I had officially considered this situation jinxed. The Hubba explained that he had hosed off both the bedding and the boy and he was back to sleep but that our weekend was only starting and it was 9PM on Saturday! Awesome!

After about 4 hours the doc finally came back with the results. I informed him of the boy's situation and he said "Goood!" I must have given him the "Are you f*%#ing crazy?" face as he quickly apologized for the fact that we were going to have to deal with 2 exploding kids but the presence of illness in someone else in the house indicated flu as opposed to his former belief that the gal might be responding poorly to her antibiotics. This is one of those times in life where I was forced to see the silver lining against my every grain of being. It was, however, promising that in the 4 hours we had been there the magic potion of medications they had given her upon admittance had done wonders in bringing down her fever. This was a very expensive lesson for me and the lesson here is this: Advil does NOT solve every ail on the planet. I was operating under the assumption that fever relief was fever relief. Oh how little I know about life (and medicine!) Evidently I should have been trying Tylenol too. Seriously!? I had NO idea. This is one of the many times I miss having the ability to just call my mom. Honestly, it just never even occurred to me. Thank you for not openly laughing at me and not pointing fingers (although I am sure, secretly you are doing so.) Five hours and $250 later we were allowed to go home--fancy hotel, huh? :)

Sunday met us with a whole new light. Lots less fever, ability to walk, talk, function, no more day sleeps, a bit of food and lots of orange juice. Do I hear laughter? Well, I suppose I should. Why on EARTH would you give a sick kid orange juice? The answer to that is simple--she asked for it. But you are the parent and you should KNOW better. Well, after seeing orange juice projectile vomited across the living room floor I now know better. Dense, gullible, naive, stupid--all worthy adjectives for me in this situation. All I know is I am getting better at reading the non-verbal cues of a potentially vomitous child and I am re-learning rules that I was taught long ago on that damn trial and error scale once again. Why do I always have to do it the hard way? As though somehow the rules don't apply to me and my kids and it will make sense if I break these rules because we are "different." This thinking drives me crazy and has notably gotten me in much trouble over the years! All I can say is I am working on it and awareness is the first step, right?

So today the cleaning rampage continues. Is it just me or does having the stomach flu hit your house make you want to just burn it down and start from scratch? There is just not enough bleach to cure this kind of gross. After a half a bottle I'm still not satisfied with the cleanliness factor. It feels like everything I touch is contaminated with the plague. I can't seem to wash my hands often enough and I am laundering everything that has been worn, touched or even looked at in the last 4 days. Just when I think we are on the "other side of it", like earthquake aftershocks, another wave hits and the cleaning frenzy starts anew. Now begins the countdown...when will the adults of the house get this? It was briefly mentioned last night before drifting off to sleep but I thought better of an extended conversation of it because of the aforementioned "jinx." I spent the 1st hour of the morning holding a trash can for the girl so she is clearly not over it. Have yet to change a "soup diaper" for the boy so there is hope on that front. Looks like another day of Kid TV and another wake of television detox following this calamity.

I will say that with all of the ailing around her I've gotten a lot more love than normal. After any particularly horrific episode for the fe-mini she ends it with "Mom, I love you so much!" I guess in her time over on the dark side she is feeling appreciative that I haven't deserted her; or maybe she is hallucinating. The boy has been leaps and bounds more snuggly which I can't complain about. So I guess there is some more silver lining to this whole situation. It's the tough times that bring us closer. It's the time when we learn who is fair weather and who is in it for the long haul. As much as we hate to have these experiences they are nonetheless bonding and telling ones. We learn about real trust, unconditional love and the level of commitment our loved ones have to us. That being said, being sick may be one of the first tests our kids put us through to prove our love as anyone willing to hold your hair back while you puke is obviously a soul mate, right? If that is the case I have officially passed this one with flying colors!

Today was a good day...

Now the title of this segment is very misleading but I am going to ask you to run with me on this trip. It's a reference to the old classic rap king Ice-Cube's-"It Was A Good Day!" For those of you unfamiliar with this tune, it's a little ditty about the perfect day for this young man...food, women, cars, games, sports and of course a lack of drive-by's. For some reason that song was running through my head when all of this went down. Perhaps because I was thinking of how disappointed I was that he never wrote the antithesis to this song to suit the kind of day that I was having...

The day started the previous night. I knew I was coming down with something but I didn't quite know what. Since I have been sick more than I have been well this winter it was not surprising and I was meeting this new "guest" with a smile. Unfortunately, said guest was not as kind. It came on unassuming and very stealthy...a little sore throat, little tired, little headache, little body ache. I figured I would just get a good night's sleep and be a brand new man the next morning. HA. Went to bed at 7:30 sharp and was up for the night by 11pm. My legs and body hurt so bad that I couldn't sleep and I had been disrupted at least 4 times with the whole sweating non-sense so I figured I would just stay awake for the show and see how it all played out.

By 6AM the boy was up and ready for the day. I, however, was not. In walking up the stairs to retrieve him I had the sudden onslaught of, "If you don't lay down NOW there will be a wet clean up!" hit me like a ton of bricks. I heeded the well-given advice of my body and curled up next to the dog as I was certain if I didn't that I would black out. I laid there for a moment waiting for the sweats to pass and then continued on to gather the boy. I was still fearing the backlash so I scooped him up and whisked him immediately downstairs to the couch where I could lay down and he could crack out on the previously chastised television set. This is when TV becomes not only your ally but your only hope. And herein lies the genius of not letting them watch all day, every day...this is a treat and they will suck this orange dry of every last bit of tasty juice! The boy thought it was Christmas. He kept turning to me and saying "Thank you mommy! Thank you!" Evidently at 2 they don't quite realize what a green, sweat laden face equates to so I just continued to take the compliments without further explanation. The gal finally woke up and came running downstairs ready to meet the day and found the boy engrossed in Dino Dan. "Shows?" she inquired. As though she had hit some episode of twilight zone or perhaps her birthday had come early. I explained I wasn't feeling well and we would be doing this for duration to which she smiled and hopped right onto the couch with the rest of us.

I had finally broken down and taken a couple Advil which gave me the illusion that things were better. I foolishly got up and started trying to be "mom" again. At which point I requisitioned my kids upstairs for some food. The boy who had been standing next to the couch for the past episode of Tot Toons looked at me and said "pee-pee" and then it hit. In my urgency to get down to the couch as quickly as possible to avoid breaking out the carpet cleaner I had overlooked one tiny detail...a diaper change. Poor kid had peed all the way through an industrial sized sleeping diaper and subsequently all over the carpet. So while the crisis was diverted for one "wet cleanup" it was NOT for another variety. So I changed the kid, retrieved our Little Green Machine and went to work.

By noon I began thinking that all of the stuff that I had managed to accomplish in the morning was in vain as I now felt worse than when I started. It was as though someone had gone to my ear with a can of expandable foam and just started filling my brain. It had its own pulse and throbbed like no other. My body was again feeling like I had just gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and my throat as though two tiny golf balls had been inserted very strategically to cause extreme discomfort upon each swallow. The chills and sweating continued though I had no fever. This fact kept me believing that I would beat this thing by days' end. "This thing" had quite a different plan.

When I laid the boy down for his nap I decided to take one of my own. Hubba wasn't due home until 4:30 so I had some time to recover. I figured the girl was self-entertaining enough and she had the Idiot Box on so she could work it out. I fed her lunch, told her I was going to take a nap and assumed the position on the couch. I still could not believe this was happening. She went about playing and tooling around the house as she always does with just a tad more freedom. I had just fallen asleep and it was at about this time that she crept up to the side of the couch, situated her face no more than 2 centimeters from mine and shouted "MOM!" Of course, I gasped quite audibly and leaped right out of my robe with hysterics. This brought her MUCH delight. She thought it was hilarious. She sat back and cackled uproariously at the confusion and distress she has just elicited, half patting herself on the back for it and half kicking herself for not thinking of it earlier. Now I am not saying this was her initial intention but she seemed quite pleased with the surprising results. When she visits me at night she seems to know to come to me with a quiet voice because everyone is sleeping. Since it was broad daylight and the day in question was kind of off, coming at me with an "outside voice" seemed like the obvious choice to her. Needless to say I was less than impressed with this decision and was none too shy about letting her know just how I felt about it. And all she could come back with was, "But mom it was just HA-LARIOUS!" That was when the phrase, "That was soo funny I forgot to laugh!" came at me with a whole new meaning and clarity!

Once I had regained consciousness and the pulse of a normally respirating human being the boy awoke from his nap--at least someone in the house got some sleep. So I brought him back downstairs at which point I declared TV time over. Don't ask me why I thought this was a good idea. I just did. I turned on the bounce house and let them jump their little hearts out. I thought I might be able to sleep through this. The girl then decided she wanted more food and went up to the kitchen leaving Boy Wonder alone with me. I turned off the wind tunnel and laid back down. He seemed to think that since I was in a very unfamiliar position (horizontal) that this was fair game for play. It's as though anything at this angle is an obvious playground for battle. He sees the weakness and pounces. I evidently looked like some sort of jungle gym apparatus that was cleverly placed for his entertainment and he took full advantage. He climbed, jumped, and rolled on me as though it was the thing to do. Each blow more painful than the last. I tried to explain that I didn't feel well but all that seemed to roll right in one ear and out the other.

He then turned his arsenal off and started begging for more shows to which I responded, "Let's wait until daddy gets home." He did not like this response in the slightest and proceeded to yell "Nooo!" Then he started repeating over and over the show he wanted to watch. I think he could see that I was a little low on fight for the day and thought he could break me down if he just kept at it long enough. He had seen results from this method in the past so why wouldn't it work this time around? I have to say that my illness allowed me to hold my ground as it fueled feelings of injustice that a miniature human being would try to take advantage of a situation like this. I suppose it is human nature but it pissed me off nonetheless. So I continued on my "no" campaign and he continued on his. And so the Battle of Stubborn was on. Being that I am the more experienced contender in this game I felt confident in my victory. Being that he's a little newer to the game he isn't quite clear on all the rules. After about 5 minutes of back and forth he finally got so pissed off and frustrated with me that he decided it was time for a good, old fashioned headbutt! Now a headbutt is painful on any given day but couple this with a splitting headache and a kid whose got a cranium the size of a large watermelon and we have a whole new kind of ouch. He had officially raised the bar! I was flabbergasted as I couldn't even begin to account for where he had learned such a tactic. Is this yet another thing that boys are just "born with?" Headbutting know-how? This can't be. Upon discussing this scenario with the male counterpart of this marriage I asked him, "Have you ever headbutted him? Has he learned this from YOU?" to which he replied in one long run-on sentence, "No. I don't think so. Well, maybe I could have. Yes, I suppose it's possible." Watching this play out in the Hubba's head was all too telling that this was most likely a learned act. Awesome! Reason #3,725,347 I will never understand the male species.

So this week has been an interesting one full of all sorts of hurdles. I don't know how chronically ill parents do it. I really don't. I am only on day 3 of feeling like crap and I am ready to throw in the towel. As I start to feel slightly better I am finding all sorts of hidden things that are out of place, that don't make sense, that need to be fixed, cleaned or thrown out because of my lack of attention. As I sit here and the sun is now illuminating the room I have realized that my midgetiest decided to take a pen and mark the entire area of desk under my wrists. He came to me yesterday with only 1 word...computer. I entered the room to find my screen filled with pages tiled out in a format that I didn't even know how to elicit. I know things could always be worse but why not hope for them to be better? :) Tomorrow is the fe-mini's 4th birthday so today is the day of confections and preparations. Hopefully her birthday will be filled with negativity...we went to the doc for her yesterday with a pre-diagnosis for a possible revisit of the Booty Strep! (see "Hind-Quarter Hootenany"- 11/19/2010 for more details on this) So I am asking that you send negative thoughts. No one likes the gift of antibiotics on their birthday, right? More on that one later. As for now I will leave you with the thought that as parents we know, tomorrow will be a new day. It may not be better but it will certainly be different. Here's to a day of different!