A Mom Thing

How an 8 year old boy enjoys Modern Art...

The other "F" word

It's been awhile since I've posted a silly little story.  So here goes...

Little Guy and Middle Guy got into it in the car on the way home from school the other day.  (It's inevitable when confined so closely next to each other for more than 30 seconds.)

As soon as the brakes rolled to a stop in the garage, they flew out of the car, wildly chasing each other in an attempt to get in the first throw. 

Middle Guy gave up first, disgusted.   He looks at Little Guy and says, "You're just a big fat turd."

Me:  "Hey, hey, hey ... we don't use words like that in this house.  Apologize now."

Middle Guy:  "Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to say 'fat' ... but he IS a turd!"

Me:  "Ummm.  'Turd' is not really an appropriate word either buddy."

Middle Guy:  "Oh, yeah."

Crocodile tears melt my heart

There is nothing more heart stabbing than a sick child.  Middle Guy was fighting some weird bug this weekend (and as you KNOW he was already on antibiotics for a symptom-free trip down strep-lane). 

We had (really) fun plans with great friends. He was good for most of it. Not QUITE himself, but good based on normal-kid-standards. Then it was a steep steppy spiral down over the course of two days.  Spots of normalcy (tubing in Lake Wisconsin and playing with friends) ... peppered with random ab-normal (for him) behavior (wanting to end tubing early, asking for less bumps, extreme sleep, total lack of appetite)...culminating in a zombie, hot comatose like state of crocodile tears and druggy hot sweaty couch sleep. Freakadellic.

We pulled out of Wisconsin early - much to our sadness - but highly distracted by a creepy dose of fear. We wanted to be closer to home and medical care if it was needed.  (Admittedly, I have baggage here. Honestly, we are not a "sick people" ... but I have some metaphorical bags all pre-packed in the closet to make sure I run from the creepy crawly quick U-turn of arm of fate.) A three-hour drive turned into 2.5.  I even considered the Madison emergency room at one point.  H shook his head and plowed on.

I tell you, I would look back to the back seat and see those croc-o-dile tears.  They ... simply... puddle... me. In an instant they just puddle me. I'm strong. Admittedly, a strong woman. But I think I (shamefully) would honestly trade national secrets for my family in a time of crisis.

All I could think of as we plowed on in the dark of night is that I love my family truly-madly-deeply.  Seriously. It was a weird A-Ha moment that I almost put on my BB Facebook as my status. But thought people might not understand.  I do, though.

They are my posse. They are my tribe. They are my ... everything.  I  offered to climb into the back and hold his hand. Honestly, I would have licked his forehead if it would have cooled him down. 

And then we hit a sleep stride.  And I think "IT" broke. When he 'woke on Foster Avenue, about 6 miles from home, I recognized him again.  It wasn't the foggy delirium or irrational zoning that prompted us to "hit the road" early...it was clearly  - him.  A glimpse of him.  A smile. Clarity in the eyes. A look.  A mom knows.

We trudged on.  Tucked in and hoped for the best.  He was less feverish in the morning. We talked to the doc. He made an astonishgly fast recovery and it appears he made it to the other side of the U.  (Editor's note: it's a little after dinner time and now he seems like we dreamed it all).

Reality check:  H....now...is asleep on the couch.  In the familiar Middle Guy fetal comatose pose.  Sleep.  At least I know they just need sleep.  And lots of unconditional love. And faith. Lots of love and faith. 

My posse.

 

 

I mean, really, need I say more?  Priceless. We are triple-blessed.

Angie's crock pot chicken bean soup

 

Ingredients

- 4 chicken breast halves
- 1 can black beans/rinsed
- 2 15-oz cans mexican stewed tomatoes
- 1 cup salsa
- 1 can chopped green chiles
- 1 can tomato sauce

Put in slow cooker on low for 8 hours.  Shred chicken before serving. Serve with sour cream or low fat plain yogurt and shredded cheese.

This recipe is delicious!  EVERYONE loved it!  One interesting trick to consider. I actually took out 2 of the chicken breasts halves once cooked (pre-shredding). They were fully flavored but still whole. I saved them for later in the week to shred on salads and quesadillas.  YUM.

The "tri-strep-da"...?

WHAT??  THREE KIDS WITH STREP? You have got to be kidding me?

Let me start at the beginning...

Middle Guy had a sore throat two days last week.  No fever. We worked our way through it.  Remember, he ran 4.5 miles on Saturday (his birthday/First Communion).  He was a bit more ornery than usual but FINE.  Now he's perfect.  I ignored the "strep alert" note from his teacher (they seem more frequent than usual lately.)

Fast Forward.  Daughter complained of a mild sore throat this week. Two days.  Slept more. Ate less. No fever. Really seemed fine. We upped the bedtime and gave a little motrin. All good.  Today I made a "safety" doc appointment after school "just for case."  Admittedly, I was haunted a bit by the strep throat alert from HER classroom.  I was also a little embarassed about my "safety" appointment though so didn't really even mention it to anyone. It seemed almost hypochondriacal.

I picked up the kids in my usual flurry at 3pm today (after an even CRAZIER day than usual).  I wanted to drop the boys off at home to do homework with H and spend some girl time with Daughter at the doc (random? I didn't think she was sick!  I figured we could hit Home Depot for some plants.).  She tried valiantly to convince me she felt "a hundo" and I should cancel the appointment. I almost fell for it. BUT.  I had already bothered to make the appointment (a coveted 3:45pm appointment). . . she had a tiny flush on her face (no fever) ... and I had put this off long enough. We'd go find out the test was negative then go shopping. Right?  W-R-O-N-G.

We went. We waited. She finished her homework. I blackberried. We talked.  And waited.

We got my favorite doc and I tried to justify our existence, "We just wanted to be sure. She feels FINE now but I thought...why not be sure...just in case... holiday weekend, you know..." (I blabbered on.)

Test positive. WOW. REALLY?  It's now 4:15pm. It's set that Daughter will be quarantined at home tomorrow.  They close at 4:45pm.  Uh-oh.  What about Middle Guy?  I am thinking ahead about how s-c-r-e-w-e-d I am. (You do the math.  24 hour medicine quarantine...)

I sheepishly ask the Front Desk Nurse (who I looove...but find a wee bit intimidating in a very respectful way)...ANY CHANCE I can "race home and get Middle Guy and bring him back to get checked?"  She asks how long that will take (I fudge a bit...40 minutes?  ... It's rush hour).  She says, make it in 30 and we'll wait. (THERE IS NO WAY I CAN DO THIS?) Ok. Deal, I say.  She asks for my cell number so she can  call me at 4:30 and see where I am.  (Uh-oh).  WE HAUL IT HOME. I take every shortcut and yellow light I know.  I drive into the garage honking like a wild lady.  The boys run to the  car not really knowing why or where?  I peel out and am on my way back.  The nurse calls at 4:35pm.  I fudge my location a TINY bit.  Say I'll be there in 5 minutes.   Believe it or not, I MAKE IT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Seriously, I made a 40+ minute round trip in 30 minutes. Safely.  I walked into the doc office and raised my arms in VICTORY proclaiming to anyone listening, I MADE IT.  I know people who would still be in the parking lot, LOADING their cars.  SERIOUSLY.

At this point, the boys are still kinda' wondering why they are there.

They quickly get the picture as the Nurse efficiently swabs them (she wants to go home and probably also doesn't think my kids have strep.)  Remember, the Little Guy doesn't even REMOTELY have symptoms.

Positive. Both boys. All three kids. STREP. No lie. A-mazing.  Un-believable. Really.

Runners AND doglovers?

How did I manage to marry into/create a family of doglovers AND runners?  I'm a not-natural doglover and the dog-love I have is usually carefully groomed and conditional to our dog.  And I hate running. I only do it for the calorie burn/stress-busting glow.  Now, I do it for the kids, too.

Remember last year when Daughter ran her first 5K?  She's run at least 3 or 4 official ones now.  Middle Guy ran his first one last year, too.  A-ma-zing.  I love it. 

H has started running again.  He will go EARLY in the morning and if a kid is awake, they get to go.  Here's a photo of the three of them stretching before a 4.5 mile run (!?!?!).  Love it.

 

Holy Roller?

  

On Saturday, Middle Guy turned 8 AND made his First Communion.  It was a BIG day.  He woke up early all excited.  He ran 4.5 miles with H and Daughter.  He had a good breakfast, showered and had me do his hair (we used Aveda's Be Curly!).  And then made his First Communion.  It was beautiful.  A really great ceremony that reminded me AGAIN how much I love our community.  I felt oddly ... peaceful ... all day.

I'm so proud of Middle Guy. He is becoming such an amazing young man. He CARES deeply about others. He is curious about everything.  He's a natural athlete. As I've said before, he's fearless. He speaks his mind and minds his speak. 

He is a young man of which there is justsomuch to be proud.  

Doghouse AGAIN

Remember last week?  Well...she's there again.  In the doghouse.  Same cabinet as last time.  About 10 granola bars and a few kiddie power bars.  Shameful.  The worst part?  She didn't even do the crime on site -- she carried the snacks over to her dogbed and ate them in comfort. 

I guess we should be glad it wasn't on the couch?

Split Personalities?

I think all moms wear multiple hats.  But I think many working moms also have split personalities. I know I do.  I might even go so far as to say I have parallel lives?  I was reminded recently how separate my two lives are. 

Due mostly to my BOD (blackberry obsession disorder), most people at my work really don't think of me as "part-time."  I'm Pavlovian in my response to that damn blinking red light.

Other than those who read this blog, most don't really know much about my "other life."  And those who read the blog probably think of it as more fictional than real?  (Oh, it's REAL. Filtered, but REAL.)

Anyway - I leave work most days, head burried in 'berry, racing to get the kids from school.  Most times I'm still on the phone or in a fog when I arrive at pick-up.

I arrive at pick-up. Most moms know I work "outside the home" because I'm usually dressier than they are.  But other than that, most don't really know what I do, where I go, or what that life looks like.  I think they'd be a little freaked to see me running a meeting or event.  It's just not the "me" they know.

Kinda weird, isn't it?  But I'm ok with it.  In some ways I prefer it that way -- compartments can make life simpler sometimes.

***

Early on Friday mornings, I work out with 3-4 other moms and a trainer.  It's a great group. He kicks our collective a**es and we get to breathlessly catch up between torture intervals.  It's a perfect way to end the work week. I always look forward to it - even when I don't.  One time recently, as we were "running" stairs with 8-pound medicine balls above our heads, one of the gals asked me what I did (for work).  I mention that I'm in PR. Usually that ends the conversation. 

Not this time. She actually knew what PR was. And had worked at a couple different agencies in town.  Between stair flights, we played the "name game" and realized we knew someone in common.  Funny. Small world. I've been working out with this gal at least once a week for a couple years now (?!) and we had never discussed this.  Odd? The trainer thought so.  How can you guys know each other so well, talk SO much and not know the basic facts about each other?

Double lives.  It works.  Mostly. Thoughts?