Places I’d Rather Be

Pink eye is disgusting.  I need to get that off my chest right out the gate.

It was a tough weekend.  I’ll keep whining to a minimum and just say we spent so much time resting and hand sanitizing and proclaiming to the world how much we HATE being sick.

Also wash your hands, keep sick babies at home, make the world a better place.

Ok, so I might have needed to get more than just 1 thing off my chest…

We battled it all like champs, and after one more visit to the pediatrician for Porter, we’re on the tale end of all the germs.  We have to be, I’m pretty out of Lysol spray.

And since I’m pretty much wiped out from all the things this week, I’m turning this post over to a nice list of places I’d rather be than in muggy, south Alabama this weekend.

Feel free to leave me a list of your own in the comments.  I’m sure you could think of something good if it meant you didn’t have to deal with sticky weather.

Unless that’s your thing.  Then just never mind.  That’s weird.

1. Blue Mountain.  Because it’s empty, full of shallow areas for this kind of fun, and you can manage to drive on 98 without the fear of being run out of a lane by someone with a Louisiana or Arkansas license plate.  Yall!  Don’t lose your mind when you come to our slice of the Emerald Coast. Be better drivers!

 

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2. Driving through this amazingness. Today is the first official day of fall, so it’s only fitting.  Plus, I’m part Sanderson Sister, sooooo…

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3. I hear this place is all kinds of magic during this time of year. I’m not brave or rich enough for a real trip with my pack, but maybe one day.

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4. If you’re gonna have a fire pit, you might as well have one like this, right?  I mean, why even go through the trouble of setting one up if it can’t look like this?  I would like to be here, with cozy socks and apple cider yelling at my children to get away from the fire, telling Pat to stop making the fire so big, and jumping from my seat to save the things being thrown into it.

So maybe here isn’t a good idea…

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5. And here!  A cable knit comforter and a good sound machine?  I NEED the kind of sleep that could only come from flopping down into this bed.  You don’t even know, guys.

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Your turn.  Where would you rather be right now?

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Lysol is Good for the Soul

I’m using you guys as my Complaint Department today, ok?

If I could have a redo on this beautiful Thursday, I would seriously consider activating it.  Porter has croup, and his little cough is about the saddest thing in all the land.  His first sick visit to the pediatrician had us leaving with a round of steroids and at least 3 days home from daycare.

I took Amos with us as an afterthought because he’d ran a tiny bit of fever early Thursday morning, and woke up with really puffy eyes.  Turns out he was the sicker of the two.

I’m skipping the specifics and letting you know that he’s been drinking spinach and fruit smoothies for the last few days (I was afraid he might starve after a 2 week-long boycott of our real-food-go-to’s for him) and coupled with his illness, it did not end well.  The icing on this disgusting cake is that we’re a week and a half into operation “get that boy outta diapers quick-like!”

Bad, guys.

It was bad.

When he came to our bed at 6 this morning, he was smelling a little ripe.  I followed him back to his bed, and it was that scene from dirty jobs where Mike Rowe has to clean a basement that had seen a pretty bad sewage backup.

REAL BAD.

For. Real.

We were already germ-xing like, whoa! but I needed the big guns to help with this.  I know that between the daycare and sick days at home, I’ll never be able to smell Lemon Lysol and not think of all of the germ fighting I’ve done in my life.

The disaster zone was wide spread thanks to Amos tossing and turning during the night. We learned the hard way that green smoothies aren’t meant to be ingested when you’re sick.  Take that nugget of advice to the bank.  Or the toilet, whichever is closer.

Pat and I got things cleaned up as fast as we could since school doesn’t accept tardy notes that say things like “Hank’s little brother exploda-pooped all over the bottom bunk and his parents were busy praying and screaming about it.”

This gross morning didn’t end with toddler sick belly.  No way, that’d be too easy.  I got round 2 when I went outside to let our big dogs out of their crate *Side note* PLEASE! SOMEONE LET THEM COME LIVE WITH YOU!!! THEY CAN’T STAY IN A CRATE FOR EVER!.

Pat had to go on to drop Hank off, and my mom was on her way to help with the little boys, but I couldn’t leave without letting Simon and Suze try to escape while I stood in the enclosure with them (or pee, whatever you want to call it).  I let them out SIX TIMES yesterday.  More times in 1 day than I have since they had to be banished to the crate last week. They managed to knock over their water dish during the night, and the short version is they were brown when they rushed out at 7:24 AM.  I don’t know if you’re familiar with how big of a poop a 65lb dog can make, but it’s big.  And what they’d churned up in that crate was a level of Dante’s Inferno, I’m pretty sure.

I put that fire out…uh…NO!  I washed that poop up, ran inside to change clothes, doused myself with more Lysol, and Bo Duked my way across the hood of my Expedition to make it to work on time with Margaret Hannah.

I was there long enough to live it up with my class on our first color party day and came home to be with the little boys before 10.  It only took about 20 minutes before the next wave came over our house, and for the last 4 hours, I’ve been toting around my Lysol in one hand and a sick boy in the other.  You can’t be around too much Lysol, can you?

Surely not.

Pray for us, will you?  And spray a little Lysol out at your house for the homies caught up in this evil, please.  It’ll do your soul and immune system some good.

Kid Conversations & Sick Junk

Even though I like to think I’m raising a pretty hardy bunch of ‘chilruns, they continue to prove me wrong by catching every little bit of mess that passes through the daycare.  And then some stuff they just generate themselves, seems like.

Last week, a few toddlers passed around what we figured to be a simple fever virus.  No symptoms other than fever, and they were over it in about 2 days.  When Amos started having a temp Sunday night, I just assumed that’s what it could be.  He had 2 full days of fever and then was good.

Marnana decided she wanted in on the sick action Tuesday night.  2 days of fever, then total recovery.  Fine.  If you’re gonna be sick over this way, make it quick.

She did get super angry at Amos when he wanted to cuddle up next to her at the end of her first full sick day.  She was running a fever, and Amos normally stays as far away from her as possible since she’s part honey badger.  I guess he figured she could help him feel better that night.  He got situated next to her so sweet like.wp-1460142834806.jpg

And she got bent ALL KINDS out of shape over it and frustratingly shouted this:

MH: He won’t get off me, mom! I cannot control this!
Me: Control what? What does that even mean?
MH: It means I am not asponsible for this kid because he is pulling my skin everywhere.
Me: Your’e being silly, & you need to calm down. He’s just trying to be sweet & lay with you, Marnana!
MH: No mother! He has to move outta this house. I’m going to scream!!!
Hank: And get a spanking for it, too!
MH: You are not my dad, Hank, & I am fed up with this life you are causing me to live.

Total threenager in the house!  But, she did seem better the next day, so I took that as our cue to move on from the sick junk.

Except that’s never the end of the gross stories with the Feral Ferrell’s.  Amos went to daycare Thursday and seemed totally fine.  We got to my moms Thursday afternoon, and he just became so uncomfortable and fidgety that it was obvious something was wrong.  So wrong that he decided to puke all over the both of us.  I had to run to our house to change and get the vommick (that’s what it’s called at our house) off my body while my mom took on getting Amos cleaned up.img_20160407_162513.jpg

He still didn’t seem to have any other symptoms that were causes for concern, so we made plans for him to stay with my mom again, and all would be right with the world.  Except not. Of course.

Even though I’m constantly ranting about germs, and not sharing stuff, and staying out of each other’s faces, it just falls on deaf ears.  Case in point is when Hank got out of the shower Thursday night and came to me with this mess:

Hank: Mom, I have to tell you something
Me: I don’t like when you start things by saying that.
Hank: I, well, I just kinda was accidentally thirsty some, and, um, well, I just had to get something to drink since all the water was gone from your cup on the counter.
Me: So what did you do, son?
Hank: Well, I just accidently drank out of the milk jug because Amos doesn’t have a sippy cup in there either.
Me: Do you normally drink out of his cups that stay in there?
MH: Re just do that all the time
Hank: Well, but see, I drank that milk accidentally, but then I dint mean to, but I dropped my peppermint in there too, but I’m just real sorry about it OK?
Me: HANK! Where did you get a mint from?
Hank: Out of the Sonic bag that was in the garbage can

Not only are they sharing sippy cup germs secretly, we also have some minty milk to deal with.  What’s yours is mine in our house.

When Margaret Hannah woke up Friday morning, she had a weird rash on her knees, middle of her back, lower stomach, and forearms.  Uh… seems like a good reason to drive 45 minutes to the pediatrician’s office to find out what the heck was growing for sure!

Cut to a stressful ride over there that included 3 stops to poop.  Something about saying “Let’s go to the Doctor’s office” is a natural laxative for my crew.  We showed up 10 minutes late, had to wait another 10 minutes because records are always needing updating over there, and a 10 minute stint in the waiting room made for the perfect combination to generate another poop for both of them once we got into an exam room.

Geez!

The short of it is that Amos has acute bronchitis and a touch of pneumonia in his right lung.  MH has an aggressive case of hand, foot, and mouth disease.

Yes, please!  We need this in our lives right now like we need clean laundry!  Hank had his first t-ball game and Jamboree Saturday, I had Porter’s shower Sunday afternoon, and we missed a birthday party.  I mean! It’s just exactly how I wanted the weekend to play out.  PLUS I dare not forget that I’m 35ish weeks pregnant.

Yes, yes.  We can handle this like the bosses we are.

I just needed to complain a second.

Wash your hands people!  And do your part to keep your sick kids at home, please.  All of mankind will thank you.

 

I See You

Hey Frands!  I’m so excited there are more of you reading along.  I’ve been watching you stop by from my stats page.

Not creepy. AT ALL.

Ok, so I’ll try to stop checking so often, but I did want to let you know that I’m really looking forward to you being here.  Don’t be scurd! Subscribe, or comment on a post to let me know you were here.  It’s not like I won’t see it from that stat page I mentioned earlier anyway.

Good grief with the weird, already, Emily!

Just know I’m happy you’re here with us.

Now, for the real reason I’m writing: Grosspocalypse 2016.  If you can’t handle mom speak for throwup, poop, or other bodily functions, best hit the x now.  I speak truth up in hurr.

Everyone should know about that time the stomach virus took over our house.  Hank fell victim first.  His favorite time to let us know he’s sick is around 1 AM.  He’d also rather walk the longer distance to our room than right across the hall to the bathroom to pukeishly (it’s a word, don’t worry) let me know he’s puking.

He was hurting pretty bad and having a tough time keeping anything down/in/off the floor, but he kept asking to go jump on the trampoline between the puke bucket and the toilet trips.  He’s a trooper that way.

But then Pat got it.

And he insisted it was reaching Ebola level.

Like, he couldn’t even get out of the bed except to exercise his virus demons.  And beg for me to run to Freds at the butt crack of dawn to get him Ginger ale.  He swears that’s his cureall.  Like the dad from My Big Fat Greek Wedding with the windex.  If someone’s coming down with a cough, they should drink ginger ale.  There’s healing powers in that sodiewater. He swears.

I’ll spare you the real details and just keep it at “It was real bad.”  Marnana has flirted with the idea of catching it for the last 3 days.  I thought she for sure was sick, but it turned out to just be a really productive trip to the bathroom.

Did I really just type that sentence about my sweet 3 year old?

Yes.

So I’m hoping really hard that all the Lysol we’ve been through is keeping everything under control and that it’s all on its way out.  Hank was able to do daycare yesterday & Pat went to work. Sure signs of a full recovery.

Also, my washing machine was all “It’s so nice to see you this many times in a row, Emily.  I can do a lot for you if you’d just let me.”

I threw my hands up at her when she started in on me about how to live my life and left a particularly rank pile of bed sheets in there.  Get off my back Maytag!

Wash your hands, people. Wash. Your. Hands.