XY Versus XX

I just watched Ethan run head first into an interior wall with his Halloween football helmet on, so hard he fell down.

Since this is something that would never cross my mind to do, I was confused. I asked WHY?

He looked at me like, is the answer to that not obvious?

"First I was trying to walk, then my legs wanted to run, then I crashed because I felt like it."

If you have a little boy of your own, you are shaking your head in agreement. If you have a little girl, you are shaking your head in confusion. Don't tell me that XX and XY parenting is the same. It is not.

On the flip side, yesterday at the school Halloween party, I watched a little girl in a sparkly princess dress tell her friend that she could no longer talk to her because said friend dressed up as Ariel The Mermaid and she knows that Ariel is not a REAL princess, but a mermaid, and so now Sparkly Princess Girl will need to find a new best friend.

The betrayal was forgiven over juice boxes and cupcakes, but it left me thinking that maybe dealing with head-on wall trauma is easier to navigate than the underworld of the female psyche.

BOO !!!

Happy Halloween!

Enjoy the sugar rush! This one sure is ...

That's What I Get For Waking Up in Vegas

Or doing school Halloween party bags .... really, the same thing?

"The thing about glitter is, if you get it on you, be prepared to have it on you forever. Because glitter doesn’t go away. Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies. "

— Demetri Martin

Happy Halloween Weekend~! Enjoy!

Inspiring

If you read nothing else today online, read the article below.

Consider buying the Notes Left Behind book or making a donation to The Cure Starts Now foundation for pediatric brain cancer? (By the way, can you think of a worse phrase in the world than "pediatric brain cancer"? Few come to mind right now for me.)

Now hug your kids.

www.parentdish.com/2009/10/28/dying-girl-left-secret-notes-behind-interview-with-parents-authors/

And, again. One more hug.

Now, go get a tissue.

People ...

... some things are not crafts. They just are not. That is all.

I am deeply suspicious of people that spend many hours "crafting." While I do appreciate art and a nice watercolor or charcoal drawing, craft projects using recycled kitchen products, hot glue guns, and glitter do not do it for me.

Have you ever seen me with a hot glue gun? Not pretty, especially with the hand tremor. That said, I can handle making things with Ethan using egg crates, milk cartons and yogurt containers, but this is absolutely where I draw the line:

http://www.tamponcrafts.com/

No, just no. Some things should never be turned into ghosts, table centerpieces or Christmas ornaments.

Or for that matter, pan flutes.

The Fish Stick Is Key

I received this email awhile back and read it again on this blog that never fails to crack me up:

http://letshaveacocktail.blogspot.com/

How does one know when they are ready for children? I think a good place to start is this list. I, personally, have passed the Toy Test, the Night Test, and the Automobile Test with flying colors. Don't even get me started on the Physical Test. Summer = Skirt Suit. Enough said.

THE CHILD READINESS TEST

(original text from author at http://www.azrahn.com/humor/humorfiles/childtest.html)

MESS TEST Smear peanut butter on the sofa and curtains. Place a fish stick behind the couch and leave it there all summer.

TOY TEST Obtain a 55-gallon box of Legos (or you may substitute roofing tacks). Have a friend spread them all over the house. Put on a blindfold. Try to walk to the bathroom or kitchen. Do not scream because this would wake a child at night.

GROCERY STORE TEST Borrow one or two small animals (goats are best) and take them with you as you shop. Always keep them in sight and pay for anything they eat or damage.

DRESSING TEST Obtain one large, unhappy, live octopus. Stuff into a small net bag making sure that all the arms stay inside.

FEEDING TEST Obtain a large plastic milk jug. Fill halfway with water. Suspend from the ceiling with a cord. Start the jug swinging. Try to insert spoonfuls of soggy cereal into the mouth of the jug, while pretending to be an airplane. Now dump the contents of the jug on the floor.

NIGHT TEST Prepare by obtaining a small cloth bag and fill it with 8-12 pounds of sand. Soak it thoroughly in water. At 3:00p.m., begin to waltz and hum with the bag until 9:00p.m. Lay down your bag and set your alarm for 10:00p.m.Get up, pick up your bag, and sing every song you have ever heard. Make up about a dozen more and sing these too until 4:00a.m. Set alarm for 5:00a.m. Get up and make breakfast. Keep this up for 5 years. Look cheerful.

INGENUITY TEST Take an egg carton. Using a pair of scissors and pot of paint, turn it into an alligator. Now take a toilet paper tube and turn it into an attractive Christmas candle. Use only scotch tape and a piece of foil. Last, take a milk carton, a ping-pong ball, and an empty box of Cocoa Puffs. Make an exact replica of the Eiffel Tower.

AUTOMOBILE TEST Forget the BMW and buy a station wagon. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there. Get a dime. Stick it into the cassette player. Take a family size package of chocolate chip cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car. There, perfect.

PHYSICAL TEST (Women) Obtain a large beanbag chair and attach it to the front of your clothes. Leave it there for 9 months. Now remove 10 of the beans. And try not to notice your closet full of clothes. You won't be wearing them for a while.

PHYSICAL TEST (Men) Go to the nearest drug store. Set your wallet on the counter. Ask the clerk to help himself. Now proceed to the nearest food store. Go to the head office and arrange for your paycheck to be directly deposited to the store. Purchase a newspaper. Go home and read it quietly for the last time.

FINAL ASSIGNMENT Find a couple who already have a small child. Lecture them on how they can improve their discipline, patience, tolerance, toilet training and child's table manners. Suggest many ways they can improve. Emphasize to them that they should never allow their children to run wild. Enjoy this experience. It will be the last time you will have all the answers.

And how did you know when you were ready for kids? Because as you may be aware, most children come with very poor return policies.

Tropical Depression

That Prada gauze and all of the Internet threats from friends must have worked their magic. The rogue Left Arm has listened and is now starting to behave like a proper appendage with some manners. The situation has been downgraded from a Category Five to just some plain, old nasty weather. No MRSA. No spreading into other tissues. Now just an "ulcer ... like a bed sore."

You know what I thought when I heard that? Damn, am I sorry that I do not have an eHarmony profile!!! Because if I were online dating right now, I know that would be a big draw. If I had a nickle for every time I heard my single friends lament that there are just not enough young people with seeping open wounds on the market.

I'll have to keep arm wrapped and continue antibiotic #1 for another week, but am off the steroid and antibiotic #2. I have clearance to resume most normal activities, including DRINKING WINE and typing and walking AND DRINKING WINE and carrying things *(No scrubbing toilets or cleaning, I checked). But did I mention the WINE?

I was warned I would probably have some scarring that I may want to follow-up with a plastic surgeon. I think I will pass on that. Optional medical procedures are not on my holiday schedule this year. Besides, I don't think he or she will be able to do anything to erase the mental scarring. That is what the wine is for. Have I mentioned the wine? I might have.

Open Letters

Dear Body:

I am starting to suspect that you enjoy going to see doctors and visiting hospitals in the middle of the night. I, however, do not enjoy such activities.

There are many more entertaining and relaxing ways we can spend our time. I would wager there exists a worthwhile hobby that we could both enjoy? Karate? Tennis, perhaps? Yoga?

After twelve years of competitive horseback riding, I gave it up in college so that I could focus on more pressing pursuits (boys, hangovers and, when time permitted, studying). I have often talked of resuming riding again as an adult, it was a true passion. Maybe that would be good. Would you cooperate?

Surely you remember the good old days. We took a lot of wear-and-tear together. When the horse would refuse the jump, we would flip off onto hard wooden fences and get right back on after a quick limb check. The stirrup leathers would rub open wounds into our calves that would burn like venom when we took a shower that night. Even with a protective helmet, we suffered the occasional concussion. We broke every single one of our fingers, the pointer on the right will forever be bent at a fifteen degree angle. We got bitten. We got kicked. We had a horse fall on us when she slipped in the mud.

I know this was a long time ago, but the point of this story is that no matter what came our way, we healed. We got better and moved on! I do not understand what is going on with this arm situation. WHY ARE WE NOT GETTING ANY BETTER? We have been on three steroids, four antibiotics, I don't even know how many doctors' appointments -- something should be working. I am starting to worry. We have spent twelve days now with a three inch X two inch hole in our arm. That is too long.

Maybe this is your wake-up call to me and you are suggesting that we sit down together for a more formal negotiation. What do you want? More vegetables? Done. More consistent exercise? Fine, that can be arranged. Whatever your terms are, I will agree. Your part of the bargain is this: start acting like you are in your mid-thirties, not your mid-eighties. Deal?

We are missing all sorts of fun stuff this weekend. A Tri-Delt reunion tailgate. A wine and cheese social at Ethan's school. True, we have caught up on excellent television programming that we previously did not know existed: Bridezillas, Toddlers & Tiaras, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. All enriching viewing, no doubt, but starting to get a tad repetitious.

And a word about that allergic reaction to the new antibiotic that almost put us back in the hospital Thursday night. That was bullshit. All I am going to say about that. Cut out the monkey shines. Are we clear on this?

Sincerely,
Your Owner

Dear The Left Arm:

I know The Owner called you a bitch in her prior post. I am sure she did not mean it. I am sure she is just frustrated.

There has been some discussion of hospital admission and surgery if you do not get better this weekend. Maybe MRSA that is not responding to antibiotics? That will not be fun for you (or for me). So, let's do what we need to do to get this under control. Like, ten minutes ago.

I know I am the dominant one and have to do all the writing and the utensil holding and picking up of the stuff, but we are a team. I cannot pull the weight of two arms. You are needed. And truth is, I miss you.

Fondly,
The Right Arm




Dear Nurse/Husband:

Thank you for all your efforts to take care of me when what with the pain/the rest/and the multiple doctor runs, I have morphed into a character from Where The Wild Things Are (and not the cute kid one). One minor point to note: In the future, when I request "healthy food" from the store, mashed potatoes and pizza ("but it has green peppers") are not really what I had in mind. But good try!

Love,
The Management

Dear GP,

Even if this "type of IV injury" has resulted in "tissue necrosis and eventual amputation of hands and fingers" you did not NEED TO TELL ME THAT. You especially did not need to TELL ME THAT TWICE.

Best Regards,
Jenny

Dear Readers:

Do not Google "photos of tissue necrosis from IV infiltration" unless you want to wish you had been born without eyeballs.

.....................................

You Googled it, didn't you? Please do not call me at 4 am when it appears in your nightmares and you wake up in a cold sweat crying for your Mommy. You were warned.

Warmly,
JS

Dear Ethan:

When I told you last night I was sorry that I have not spent much time with you these last two weeks you said, "I get it. You're trying to tell me that you love me. I know. Don't worry, no damage done," and gave me a hug, taking special care not to bump my wonky arm, my heart about melted.

Love,

Your Momma

still typing with one hand

there will be no capital letters today. sincere apologies to the ocd contingency, myself included.

now on steroids and two pretty hard-core antibiotics. for the first time since the er, this b---c (that means you, left arm) is looking - maybe - 2 percent better. and the pain is a manageable six out of ten. more than a cavity, less than labor. it is a start, hope it is enough to avert a hospital stay. not my cup of tea.

we have spent $160 on different types of gauze, wraps, and bandage sort of paraphernalia in the past week. gauze! i know. and yes, i fully realize that that is the cost of a pair of shoes i have been coveting at nordstrom.

a special thanks to excellent friends. especially those two that suffered through years of medical school and sleepless residencies solely so that i could call you at 3 am with my questions about neosporin. you know who you are. i appeciate your efforts on my behalf.

All Sorts of Awesome

Typing is illegal right now (but I am bored).

This will be short.

Three weeks ago: Flu.

One week ago: CT Scan with IV contrast for complications after flu. Pneumonia? P/E? Chest looked fine but IV infiltrated *(blew a vein - ew) and contrast dye leaked into arm. Bad. Sent home from radiology with scary instructions and threats of doom and gloom.

Monday night: ER. Secondary infection from IV. Cellulitis. Disgusting. And scary. And disgusting. And painful! http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000855.htm

Now: Oral antibiotics and strict rest. No work, typing, etc.

Antibiotics do not appear to be doing the trick. Very worried. And disgusted. And worried. Keep fingers crossed the drugs start to do their thing. Really do not want to have to end up in hospital again. That would involve another IV.

A Cautionary Tale

Would you call this a farm (fat arm) or is it more of a felbow (fat elbow)? In either case, I do not proclaim to have a dedicated enough gym routine to enjoy defined arm muscles, but this is three times normal size. The IV exploded. No, for real. Exploded. In my arm. They are not supposed to do that.

The fashionable Sharpie marks are courtesy of the radiologist, who told me to head straight to the emergency room for surgical drainage if my felbow swelled outside of those marks. Three times normal size is OK; four is not.

One word. SERIOUSLYOMGFORTHELOVEOFOUCH. There was some crying.

This was yesterday. Today f[arm/]elbow has shrunk to human proportions but is black and blue and purple and green and feels like I lost a kickboxing match to a Clydesdale.

Story to follow, of course, but right now, my farm says it would like to stop typing and watch Tyra.

He Likes To Move It, Move It

Shaking his "maker of money." His words, not mine.

Unicorns And Fairies

If you follow any of my comments on Facebook (and if you don't, I do not mean this to be accusatory, simply a statement), you may have noticed that I have had the flu for the past week. Because I have posted 897 times about the flu. Because I have been home for going on ... 4,678 hours now. Or close to it. I never claimed to be a math major. I never even took Tax Law in law school, which took some serious schedule finessing to get out of. And may or may not have involved a lap dance with one of the deans, but you did not hear that from me.

So. Back to the flu.

Which, as I type this, of course I had it. Because like most other people, when the seasons change, I get sick. Or when I drive through a yellow light and don't tap my brake to make it look like I will stop but then decide to take my chances and accelerate instead of actually stopping, I get sick. Or when I am standing within a two-mile radius of someone who has a nose itch and is considering sneezing but instead just wrinkles their upper lip and makes a weird O-Face, I get sick. [An important sidenote: Mom, I am not going to explain the meaning of "O-Face" to you, so don't even ask. Love, Your Daughter.]

I also made a crucial error last week that stupidly, brazenly tempted fate. I might as well have yelled Macbeth in a packed theatre on opening night. Per the CDC's urging, I dutifully made an appointment and paid fifty dollars for my flu shot. Fifty dollars that could have used to feed the homeless. Or knit scarves for the disenfranchised. Or buy ten pumpkin spice lattes. WITH WHIP! Two days before I got sick. I want a refund, people.

Apparently, I have the worst immune system in the entire world. I'm sorry, please excuse me for one moment ... so, my immune system just informed me that it will now be filing a suit for libel against me for $40 million dollars. Upon advisement of counsel, I officially retract that statement, perhaps worst in the entire world is a bit of an exaggeration. I will concede that it is not as bad as that boy from the 1970s who had to spend his entire life in a bubble. Though it is undoubtedly in poor taste to make that comparison because 1) he had to live in a bubble and 2) I think he passed away. And now I feel mean for even saying that and a little depressed for him ... moving on ...

Several people have inquired whether I had the lower-case flu or scary horror movie music and scenes of The Impending Apocalypse FLU? I am not sure if it was the "meh" flu (sooo 2008) or swine/H1N1/whatever the kids these days are calling it FLU.

When I came down with a fever of 102, a rib-breaking cough, and sundry general awfulness (on a Saturday, natch), I called my doctor to inquire, So, about this thing? I was a bit reluctant to make that call because I assumed she would want me to come in and stick things up my nose, or at least, take some blood. Lady LOVES her some blood, she cannot get enough of it, this one. I called last week to get a copy of one of my lab reports from three years ago and she greeted me with unbridled joy, "Oh good! We are going to need some more blood!" I like to think such preferential treatment is because I am one of her favorite patients. I am sure this has nothing to do with the fact that my co-pay amounts cover a large chuck of that shiny Mercedes SUV lease.

When I called last Saturday, she could not have more emphatic about the fact that I was not to come into her office, or she would have no choice but to fumigate the place and then light it on fire. And then sweep all the ashes up while wearing a biohazard suit and moon boots.

NO NO NO NO. You and your flu stay far away from me and my office here.

Really? I'd thought you'd want to see me? And you know, test me for stuff? Don't you test for flu?

Hello? Have you not been listening!? FLU. You. Have. The. Flu.

Um-kay ... ?

Stay home - for five to seven days - do not leave the house, you are contagious. I will call in an anitviral prescription. Go to bed. DO NOT BRING YOUR FLUNESS INTO MY OFFICE. Oh, and shop at Banana Republic and Pottery Barn on-line for symptom relief. As much as possible over the next week. I find that my patients recover faster that way.

My husband debated the fact whether she actually said that last part, but I told him you do not argue with someone that has a 117-degree fever. Did I just write 102-degree fever a minute ago? Yes, I did. Whatever. I was hella hot. Point conveyed.

A word about TheraFlu tea. Have you ever tried that stuff? Me neither. You might want to. For your next date night or something. I swear it has absinthe in it and the FDA does not yet know about it. I would drink a cup of its lemony hot waterness and then be all, HEY JEFF! LIKE OMG!!! DID YOU JUST SEE THAT SPARKLY UNICORN!?? IN THE KITCHEN! NEXT TO THE BREADMAKER!?? TO THE LEFT OF ALL THE FAIRIES!??

And he'd be all , Exactly how much tea HAVE you had today?

And then he'd hide the tea box. Behind the fairies.

I will miss that lovely tea. The rest, not so much.