You See, Mom

So Mom, here's the deal.

You know how I sometimes just trip over the air?

Well, you see, Mom, it wasn't like that at all. 

I was actually on my scooter. Going like 123 miles an hour. 

And I hit something and boom! My face hit the ground. 

No, my hands aren't scraped at all. Why do you ask? No, I guess I didn't try to stop my face from hitting the ground. 

I guess I should work on that whole Protecting My Head, huh? 

Mom? Why are you looking at me like that?

The Good Wife, Otherwise Entitled "Suck It Up"

I feel I should preface this with two things.

1.  Kevin has always been a little on the neurotic side.  Mountains out of molehills and such.  Especially about health.  I'm not sure we know anyone else like that, do we?  Apples and trees, yo.

2.  When I'm asleep, truly asleep, I'm not a nice person at all when woken up.  

Many, many moons ago, Kevin woke me up around 1 or 2am to tell me his stomach hurt.  He was saying it was like gas, but it wouldn't go away.  

I was asleep, understand. I believe Andy was still young and had slept a total of 15 hours his entire life (it doesn't matter the age; he's 12 now and has probably slept a total of 25 hours).

And here was this man-child whining about a tummy ache.  And I was NOT HAPPY.  He got up out of bed, did the whole bathroom thing, the Pepto thing and came back to bed.  And juuuuuuuust as I was drifting back to sweet sleep, he started in again.  

And then said he thought he needed to go to the ER.  

Now, keep in mind we had kids asleep too.  Just sayin' that I'm not the kind of mom to just run off in the middle of the night and leave the kids asleep in their beds.  And that is totally rational and reasonable.

But I may not have said it like that.  I may have growled "well then go to the ER if you think you need to."  And promptly covered my head with the blanket to end this nonsense.

He went to the ER.  You know, after tapping my shoulder to tell me it...just as I was drifting off again.

I was so pissed.

Try to understand.  When you live with OCD, you live with The Issues.  Whatever The Issues are, they are always something that needs to be focused on.  OVER AND OVER AGAIN until that hamster wheel has completely broken into 50 tiny pieces.  So I do my best to understand and be compassionate.  

Ahem.

SoI drifted off to sleep again, while my husband took himself to the ER.  THAT'S compassion, yo.  Only to be woken up by Kevin who told me that the ER was so busy and that he had gotten through triage but then left.

I may or may not have cared.  A bit.  The man had woken me up three times now for a FREAKIN' TUMMY ACHE.

Not 30 minutes later again, he tapped me away to tell me he was going back.  I think I swore at him and told him to just go and not come back until he was fine.  

Less than an hour later, the phone rang.  It was Kevin.

"Kristin, I'm in the ER and my appendix has almost ruptured and they're prepping me for surgery. You might want to come up here."

Well.

All that needs to be said is there needs to be a statute of limitations on using this as a weapon in marriage.  

Back to Blogging Because I Win At This Parenting Gig

The irony here is that a couple days ago, I began debating closing my Facebook account.  Because that is the reason that the blog stopped - it was so much easier to post a fun thing on FB than to write it all here.

And part of the irony is that I was scrolling through the Blog of Yesteryear and cracking myself up about the neurotic nature of the elder boy.

And how NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED.

Which brings us to today.  Ahem.

Today I took Mr. Crazypants to the pediatrician.  Why?  Well, we need to back up to five days ago.

Five whole days ago, Andrew had a skateboard incident.  I didn't see it but apparently there was a rock involved.  Damned rocks...always causing troubles.  All I know is that I was texted to get home because Andy's wrist was hurting due to said accident and that he NEEDED me.

By the way, that text?  Was from Kevin, not the boy child.

So I moseyed on home, not really rushing because...you know, I've met my older boy before.  His stomach always hurts, there's always something that feels weird on his body (an elbow perhaps), there's always something.

There's always something that takes us to the psychiatrist, heh heh.

Anyway, I got home to a non-swollen, non-bruised wrist.  SHOCKER, right?  But I was tired after a dumb meeting I had been to, so I did the whole Mommy-Advil-Magic-Potion Thing and we went to bed.

Four days ago, I heard about the wrist a lot.  I administered more Advil, talked about sprains and basically made a lot of shit up hoping that the kid would buy it.

He did not.

Three days ago, there was less complaining but it was brought up enough times that perhaps I got a bit exasperated at one point.  Because again...no bruising, no swelling and nothing poking out.  See, when Rachel broke her wrist, there was a bone just poking straight out of her wrist that was so awful and ugly...his arm was perfection in comparison.

Two days ago, we brought in a former hockey player with Expertise on Bone Fractures who told him no, it was fine (thanks, Dan for trying). I thought for sure Andy would believe his cool uncle. He did. For about 2 hours.

Yesterday, rinse and repeat.  Except that after school, I did think maybe there was a slight swollen spot.  But knowing Mr. Crazypants, his brain willed that spot to swell just to prove a point.

So last night I threw my hands in the air and declared that yes, I would take him to the doctor today.  He was satisfied.  Privately I told Kevin that for the love of all creation, that kid wasn't going to stop until he heard from a Professional.  It was worth the copay just to shut the danged kid up.

We traipsed to the pediatrician, who has known me for 21 years (yes, in this new and improved update of the blog, Rachel is now 21) and knows that I'm slightly crazy and that Andy definitely has The Anxiety and The Issues.

Dr:  So Andrew what's happening?
A:  I hurt my wrist.  I fell off the skateboard.
Dr:  Ooh, did that happen today?
A:   No, Thursday.
Dr:  What?  Did you take a stagecoach here?
A:  No, she wouldn't bring me in here because she doesn't believe me.

Sigh.  Kid speaks the truth, yo.

Pediatrician sent us for an xray because OF COURSE he did.  In all fairness, only an xray was honestly going to be the definitive proof for Andrew's OCD brain so another $30 well spent.

We traipsed downstairs, filled out forms, wrist was xrayed, and we traipsed back upstairs to the pediatrician's office.

Dr:  Okay, I've got bad news and bad news.

We waited with baited breath.

Dr:  There is a fracture.  It's right here.

Doc began drawing on the paper the bones and where the fracture was.  My son jumped down from the examining table and began fist pumping in the air.  Doc stopped drawing and looked at him, shook his head and told him to sit down.

A:  Take that Mother!  I told you, I told you, I told you!

Dr:  Yeah mom, great job there.  Okay the other bad news is that it's just a slight fracture and it's stable so no cast.  Wrap it for about a week and you know, don't hit it on things and don't fall on it.

A:   Booyah.  I was right!

Again, the pediatrician knows me and my little weirdo, so he understood.

No you knock it off, Mother.

So to recap....my kid fractured his wrist 5 days ago and I kept telling him to suck it up and knock it off.  In the words of Charlie Sheen, poundsignwinning.

Remember this story, anyone?

Turner Falls with The Boys

The Waterfall of Oklahoma

It turns out I can take photos, but focusing is not my strong point.  I mean, yes, I intended to focus on the falls and not my kids...yes, I purposely blurred the children for effects.  Yep, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Turner Falls is a gorgeous place. Especially when there's not a lot of Oklahomans there.  Plenty of room to explore.

 

And explore they did.  I don't have that many photos because my Inner Mom was screaming that they were going to fall to their death.  Which of course they didn't.  

You'd think I'd be more reassured with the larger Y chromosome there.  I wasn't.  Look at how far he is from Andrew.  Sheesh.  Again, no one fell or even slipped.  But do understand...Paul can't even walk straight.  He trips over the flat floor.  

But apparently, he has incredible balance in rocky places.

This is me watching him through the zoom lens...not necessarily aiming for nice photos.  Hey Paul, that's enough!

"Look Mom!  Look at how high I climbed!"  

Those words should be grounds for punishment.  "Look Mom!  Look at what I can do!"  I'm fairly certain had she NOT been watching smaller children, my mother-in-law would have heard those words right as her son, the father of my children, flew off a retaining wall on his bike.  I listen to Kevin and Jason's stories in horror because isn't the rule of thumb that the children are worse than the parent?  I also had a good laugh when my MIL was listening to these stories and she was shaking her head and saying how glad she was that she never did know these things when they were kids, saying "I really thought I had my eye on you."  

Time for a commercial break to let you, the viewers, know that Andrew's shoe is now my size.

Anyway.

A good 45 minutes was spent teaching his spawn how to properly find and skip rocks.  According to Kevin, he skipped rocks with his dad EVERY Saturday at 3pm.  I may or may not have lowered the camera at that point and asked if he was sure it wasn't 3:05?  And why 3pm?  Because that's when his dad got off on Saturdays.  

As an adult, I'm fairly sure my FIL didn't do this every single Saturday of Kevin's life, but that makes for a good memory!

When I do get focus right, dang gurrrrllll.

Apparently, it's all in the rock.  And wrist.  And shoulder.  

And then there's Paul..."hey Mom, look at me!"

Andrew CAN focus.  Nicely done kid. And "Hey Kevin, it's Niagara Falls again!"

As if having such a pretty waterfall in Oklahoma isn't a tad weird enough...there's the story of the dude who decided to build and live in an old English-style castle.  You know, in Oklahoma.  And by "castle" I mean, several rock buildings up in the "mountains" (I do have put that in quotes because I married someone from the Rockies...you know, the real mountains).

Paul in the window.  See those steps on the left?  Yeah, so NOT happening.

The highlight of Spring Break 2013.  There are no photos of the Chickasaw Cultural Center, before this and the Action Figure Museum, after this.  Because I'm lazy.

Spring Hath Arrived

Okay, it's Oklahoma, so spring arrives every other day and sometimes in the fall too.

My poor snotty boys.  Paul is home today because his eyes are swollen and watery, snot spewing from his nostrils and looks like the Nightmare in Kindergarten.  When Andrew was so little and got sick so easily, I cursed all those parents who dragged their kids out to school or play areas while green snot was dripping.

I will not be that parent.  Even if it costs us another day absent.  Paul's missed 15 or 17 days, depending on which person at his school you believe.   He's allowed 20 per year.  Sigh...

Andrew's missed 21 days.  Which means we get to have an Appeal Process to determine if he can be promoted to the 5th grade despite missing 21 days.  The kid has straight As, so I'm not too worried.  

I just don't see the point of sending kids to school only to have the teacher call me to pick him back up.  Nor do I think it's worth it if the kid isn't going to be able to do any work because he feels badly.  Or doped up on Benadryl.  

Fun times, this parenting gig.  Fun times.

In other news, spring break starts tomorrow.  I see the following activities on my planner:

• Science Museum & Zoo Day
• Trip to the Chickasaw Cultural Center down in Sulpher & Turner Falls fun
• Throw out half the crap in the house (Extreme Spring Cleaning)
• Clean up backyard
• Dig up a potential garden (Paul and Rachel want to try their hand at this)
• PLAY PLAY PLAY

How Many Titles can say "Boys will be gross?"

My boy's school held the monthly skate night on Monday and as he rolled over to the parent table, the other mom I was sitting with suddenly turned to him and said "what did you just say?"

Oh, the fear that raced through me.  Inappropriateness is common at our house with boys, because obviously a joke is not a joke unless it involves the hiney area.  But then I noticed she had a twinkle in her eye, so I took a breath.

My son giggled.  "I was saying when I went to Dani's party, I chased the girls around with my head sweat."  

The other mom looked at me, amused.  I shrugged my shoulders and waved him off.  

Whew.  Dodged a bullet there.  No need to wax poetic about how girls never say sh!t like that - that was a total boy remark.  

The other mom has a boy too, so she nodded and we moved on to discuss other things.

Which boy?  Does it matter?  Really? Okay, fine.  This boy...

       

Worst. Parent. Ever.

So February 1st is now the new New Years Day, I hear.  Or maybe that's just in my head...regardless, it's a new year for the blog and unlike last year when I promised to blog at least weekly, this year...well, I'll try.  

The path to hell is paved with good intentions.  Set the GPS.

Oh, why am I starting off 2013 with worst. parent. ever. ?  So glad you asked....

Let me preface this story that it's been an unusually dry and windy fall/winter here in the Great State and allergies and sinuses aside, there has been an awful head/chest cold that everyone has held onto for a good month or longer.  The kind of cold that starts in the head by clogging up your ears to the point of pain and then slowly drifts down into your chest for a good thick cough and then works its way back up to the head.  We've all enjoyed it.

So, two weeks ago, I hauled myself and Andrew up to Kansas for a Boy Scout event called Trappers.  It deserves a post of its own so all I will say is that Andrew and I, plus a few thousand other people, camped for 2 nights outside of Newton, Kansas.  Camping involves campfire and as usual, everything from your clothes to your hair smells like campfire when it's over with.

We got home on a Sunday afternoon and I promptly threw him in the shower and then I did the same.  Our clothes were immediately thrown into the wash, same with the blankets.  Sleeping bags cannot go into the dryer so I figured I'd wait and air them out when it warmed up one day.  And by the end of the evening, I'd not gotten to the pillows, so we just made do with others in the house.

That's the clue in this story.  Just sayin'.

The next day, Monday, I had to haul The General's butt into the ER because he was wheezing.  Again, that story deserves its own post because any story involving Andrew's neurotic personality requires more than a paragraph.  We were discharged with a steroid and a stern talking to about campfires and asthma.  

Fast forward a week.  The head cold/allergies/whatever attacked Andrew full force.  Nose running something fierce and his complaints escalated...his nose hurt, his head hurt, his chest hurt...blah blah blah.  My response is "dude, we're all miserable from snot, so toughen up."  We forced him to go to school yesterday because hello, snot is no longer a valid excuse to stay home.  However, after lunch his teacher called and Kevin had to go pick him up.  And he was miserable...his little red nose, the raw upper lip from it, his cough and now a bit of wheezing.  

Breathing treatments ensued.  Inhalers were used and borrowed (thanks neighbor and bro).  Benadryl was administered.  The kid was genuinely looking ill and I worried that the dreaded "worst flu since the Spanish flu of 1918" had hit...one of his classmates was tested for flu so it wasn't completely out of the realm.  But just a mild fever so eh.  We got all set up for the ensuing Night In The Recliner So Breathing Is Easier and settled in.

Again, another story for another time, but when your 10 year old is neurotic, OCD and anxiety-prone, being unable to breathe easily tends to cause panic.  Which tends to cause more difficulty in breathing.  It's fun, really.  

Around 1am, I was in the recliner and he was on the couch.  But he was coughing so darn bad, I got him up and forced him back into the recliner and set up a breathing treatment.  I proceeded to collapse on the floor and laid my head on the recliner's footrest.  Our dog, Chewy, was curled up there, snuggled in with blankets and whichever person's legs happened to be there.  I was drifting in and out for a few minutes when it occurred to me that I smelled campfire.

Which was weird.  Campfire?  I shook my head and figured I was totally tired and my brain was pulling stunts.  I could still smell it so it was obviously a great stunt.

Breathing treatment ended.  I tucked him into the recliner and headed to the couch in hopes of an hour of sleep.  I got myself all snuggled up in the blankets and pillows and a while later, I still thought I was smelling campfire.  Huh.  Stupid brain.

 Another breathing treatment later and sporadic "sleep," it was time to get up and get Paul off to school.  I lay there and realized my brain was still messing with me about smelling campfire.

Or was it?  

Wait, no, wait.  I buried my nose into the pillow and distinctly smelled it.  But wait, I had washed the pillows...I had eventually done that.   But, but...what if it didn't wash out?

Oh wait....the sleeping bags.  The unwashed sleeping bags were on the floor of the piano room (because my house is so messy that things on the floor simply become part of the decor).  The DOGS have been curling up on them.  Wait...wait...no way.

I grabbed Chewydog and sure enough, just a lingering of campfire.  I snatched up the sleeping bags and sure enough, campfire.  I re-smelled the pillows and sure enough, campfire.

Holy crap, I made my kid sick.  By being a lazy housekeeper and a terribly unobservant laundress.  ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?  

I still have to haul The General's butt to the doctor because A) schools are pissy about kid's missing without doctor's notes and B) The General doesn't buy it when I tell him he's okay and only believes the doctor.

And who can blame the damn kid now?