A.P.D.--The Happy Place Edition

Okay. The children are fully recovered from their illness. Though I am still technically contagious, I feel fine and the red spots are mostly gone and no longer hurt. So enough about this disgusting pestilence. Let's move on to happier things. With a picture even! Hooray!

One of the manifestations of my extreme introversion is the fact that I love to eat by myself. Love it. Just me, my food, and a book, and I am one happy Kristin.

However. Eating alone is virtually impossible with two little shadows named Cubby and Charlie around all the time. At breakfast, I usually eat standing up by the stove while I make the second batch of eggs or pour more milk or whatever. I spend every dinner time nagging about table manners and eating while getting up and down to wipe up spills, pour more milk, get more food and on and on and on.

I think often of the quote from the movie A Christmas Story: "My mother has not had a hot meal for herself in fifteen years."

Anyway.

So breakfast and dinner are definitely out for solitary dining. And that's okay. It's part of this insane mothering life. But lunch . . . well, lunch is sacred. Lunch I plan for and finagle nap schedules (for Charlie) and cartoon viewing (for Cubby) all day so I can sit down by myself to this:

Cheese sandwich (sharp cheddar, mayonnaise, mustard), potato chips, iced tea (sugar and lemon), and a book (Witch, by Barbara Michaels).

It doesn't even matter what I'm eating (though sandwiches and chips are hard to beat); all that matters is that I'm eating it by myself and reading. No talking, no getting up, no nothing but me, my food, and my book.

So what about about you, my lovelies? What's your happy place in the midst of the chaos?

Diseased Hooves

I was just thinking that it's high time I posted a picture around here. All these wordy words and not a picture to be seen for lo these many days. How boring. But since the only on-topic photo would be of my diseased hands and feet, I think you'll all agree it's best I decided not to post one.

Yes, I have indeed succumbed to the miserable human hoof and mouth disease. It doesn't usually affect adults. Except those of us with compromised immune systems. So it's Winston's fault I got it. And Cubby's and Charlie's fault I was exposed to it. They can all three share in the blame and I hope they appreciate the suffering their mother goes through because of them.

Right.

I don't feel so bad, really. Except for all the little red sore spots all over my palms and fingers that hurt whenever I move my hands. And the ones on my feet that hurt whenever I walk. Other than that, I'm just peachy.

Oh well. This too shall pass. In less than a week--if the children's experience is any indicator--I'll be all recovered and disease-free. In the meantime, we'll all just keep calm and carry on.

A Woodchuck Sunday Morning

Yesterday afternoon, Cubby was quite unpleasantly demanding in his insistence that A. must take him out in the canoe. However, due to the hot sunshine and the multitudes of speedboats out on the lake, A. was not keen on the idea. He (somewhat) placated the little dictator by promising they would go out first thing this morning. And then, of course, they couldn't leave Charlie behind, because Charlie is Not Pleased when he is left behind during manly outings.

Hence, this morning was the first all-boys canoe adventure. Though I was all for the uninterrupted time to take a shower and start the laundry and all the other glamorous things I do when unencumbered by children, I was convinced one or both of the children would fall in the water or the canoe would tip or something. Not that this would be life-threatening, thanks to the relative warmth of the water and the life vests they of course wear, but still. I worried a little bit.

No need. Cubby is well-schooled in proper canoe behavior, and Charlie was so thrilled to be going he just sat there and took it all in. A wonderful time was had by all, and I had my shower. Beauty.

After breakfast, A. asked if we wanted to come to the woods with him while he cut up a big oak tree for firewood. The kids were all for it, so into the Subaru we piled and made our merry way to our neighbors' house to cut wood.

We don't have our own woodlot, but our very elderly neighbors a half mile down the road generously allow A. free use of any downed trees on their property. Since their property is about 200 acres, that's a lot of available trees.

Now, when I say "elderly," I mean real, real old. The male half of the couple is, we think, 96 years old. Maybe 97. When we drove past their house, he was walking around to the gully with a shotgun over one shoulder and a dead squirrel swinging from his other hand. I guess it was eating their birdseed, so he decided to eliminate it.

A. hopes to be just like this man should he make it to 97.

The oak tree A. was cutting had uprooted and fallen so that the trunk of the tree was about a foot off the ground, propped up by the roots. This meant that almost immediately upon cutting into it, the released pressure of the cut wood caused the tree to shift and pinch A.'s saw in the cut. To get it out, he had to jack the tree up with my car jack. I just thought that was kind of funny.

The children had a wonderful time leaping off of tree trunks and dumping saw dust all over their heads. Charming. At one point, Cubby wandered a little way into the trees and returned announcing he had touched poop. So I made his rinse his hands with the water from the water bottle while I explained that we don't touch poop and especially wild animal poop, because it can carry some nasty diseases.

My wisdom is extensive and varied, obviously.

Then I brushed off the kids as best I could and hauled them back to the car, the whole time listening to Cubby explaining to me how he was sure that Daddy had gotten my car stuck and exactly how we should go about getting it unstuck.

Needless to say, we were not stuck. We drove right out, came home, and put the children down for desperately needed naps. Canoeing and lumberjacking is obviously exhausting.

So that was this morning. Who knows what wild excitement the afternoon will bring? You just never do know around here.

The Drama Continues

I know you're all out there pounding your computer screens (phone screens? what do the cool kids use these days?), shouting, "Did the Benadryl help Cubby sleep? Is Charlie following the same perilous path as his brother? How much Perry's Dark Chocolate ice cream does Kristin have on hand and will it be enough to get her through this wretched pestilence*? WE MUST KNOW."

Let's start with the bad news first, shall we? Charlie is indeed in full-on rash mode. He spent all of today either scratching his feet or guiding my hand to scratch his feet (motherhood is so glamorous). Including during his nap time, during which he did not actually nap. Instead I ended up just lying in his bed with him, rubbing his itchy feet so he would at least lie down and rest, if not actually sleep. He has it worse than Cubby. He has little blisters, the rash is more widespread, and he keeps complaining that his mouth hurts, no matter how innocuous the food he's eating.

But at least the Benadryl I gave him before bed tonight definitely knocked him right out, unlike his brother.

Which leads us nicely into . . .

Cubby's reaction to his first-ever dose of Benadryl was . . . amusing.

He took it at 6:50 last night and went to bed around 7:20. By 7:30, I was in the shower, which left A. the sole witness to the hilarity that followed.

At 7:32, Cubby appeared downstairs requesting bread and butter, which his indulgent father supplied before leading the miscreant back to bed.

At 7:40, Cubby cannonballed into the kitchen where A. had started the dishes, locked the door, "so Mommy won't catch me," and then announced happily, "Daddy, this medicine made me very lively!"

A. said it was like someone had given him speed. Cubby spent the next fifteen minutes "helping" with the dishes while ping-ponging around the kitchen. I came out of the shower sometime during this episode, but proceeded directly upstairs and so was unaware of any of this until A. came up to bed.

There was one more unauthorized escape around 8:15 p.m., and then nothing. When I went in to check on him at 9 p.m., he was so thoroughly knocked out that he didn't even wake up when I unraveled the twisted sheet from around his body and re-covered him.

So I suppose the lesson here is that if I ever want to give Cubby Benadryl again, I should make sure to do it two hours before I actually want him to sleep. And then throw him on a treadmill.

* The answer to that will always be, "Never enough."

Hoof and Mouth for Humans

Okay, actually Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease is not related to the Hoof and Mouth Disease that animals get. So despite A.'s insistence on calling it Hoof and Mouth, that is not what Cubby has.

He does, however, have Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. If this is something you have never heard of, that is because you are lucky. And also haven't been around a lot of small children. It's a highly contagious but not dangerous virus that affects mostly kids younger than five. It starts with a low fever (anybody remember Monday's post?), and then kids usually get either sores in their mouths or a rash on their hands and feet. Most sites I looked at said the rash isn't itchy.

Cubby and his maddeningly itchy feet disagree.

I spent much of last night going into Cubby's room every couple of hours to find him crying that he was too itchy to sleep. I alternated between applying hydrocortisone cream, witch hazel, and some kind of anti-itch spray for kids the MiL bought a couple of years ago. Also blowing on his feet after applying the witch hazel, which seemed to help the most but is also not something I really wanted to do for any length of time at 3 a.m.

A. picked up some children's Benadryl today, which I called to check with the pediatrician about because it says right on the package to consult a doctor for children 4-5 years of age. He said have at it and gave me the dosage, so we'll try that tonight and cross our fingers that Cubby isn't one of the unlucky children who get hyperactive rather than sleepy when dosed with Benadryl.

Oh, and Charlie woke up from his nap today grumpy, sleepy, and feverish. Another (tiny) man down.

Who wants to make a guess about the next time I get a full night's sleep? Personally, I'm guessing sometime around next week. Place your bets now.

The State of the Offspring

In order of birth . . .

Cubby is done with preschool for the year and was so, so excited for a "Nature and Art" day camp he was supposed to do this week. They were going to build shelters! Forage for wild edibles! I got him his very own (disposable) camera! OH, THE JOY.

Then he spent last night intermittently crying because his stomach hurt and he couldn't sleep. He got up this morning thoroughly wretched, feverish, and definitely in no condition to build shelters or anything else. I'm hoping for a speedy recovery today so he can go to the camp tomorrow, or else my heart might just break from his disappointment.

Charlie is a right little pisser when his brother is sick. He senses his advantage and brutally capitalizes on the weakness, jumping on Cubby's head, running off with Cubby's tea, pulling the blanket off of Cubby's prone form. What he really hates, however, is when Cubby claims my lap. Hell hath no fury like Charlie denied his rightful lap spot. He's going to be a real peach when this new baby arrives, I can already see. And speaking of that . . .

Winston is the in-utero name bestowed upon this unfortunate child by A. I must assume it's in homage to Churchill, of whom A. is a fan. This, despite the fact that we don't know the sex and won't for another couple of months.

Anyway. Winston is due on December 20, which is . . . well, I won't pretend I'm thrilled about this. As one of the unfortunates with a birthday near Christmas (mine is two days after), I can attest to the suckage. We can only hope Winston comes ten days early like Cubby did. December 10 isn't so bad. I won't even contemplate being overdue by, say, five days. No.

And that brings you all up to date. Now if I may be excused, I have some gestating to do in the form of inhaling an unhealthy quantity of Fig Newtons. Peace out.

Feeling Poetic, Part 3

Part 1 is here; Part 2 is here. Now on to Part 3 . . .

Back to that girl named K.,
Still married to that boy named A.
They had two little boys,
Then discovered, to their joy,
There's another baby on the way.

Hi. I'm pregnant. Again again.