The Saga Continues - With an All New Illness

Remember last week when I said I couldn't ever remember feeling as bad as I did then? I feel worse. Definitely worse. Bronchitis, sinus infection, cough, (which is way fun with those last few blisters still hanging out in the back of my throat) fever, ear pain, teeth pain, the works.

I was beginning to think my home was built on an Indian Burial ground. (even though I know it's not, it's built on what used to be a farm)  So this is a cold, that showed up before the HF&M cleared up, that showed up before the antibiotics were done, from the strep throat, that showed up before the antibiotics were done, from the double ear infections, that were caused by the head cold.  This is the house that Germs Built.  (It was a veiled literary reference. We actually had this book, which I think is much better)

I am so sick.  And I am so sick of being so sick. I have this trainer. I like her a lot. I see her twice a week, and she makes me hurt, a lot. Which is good. My body has a long way to go after two kids in just under two years. I haven't seen her in over two weeks. I have to text her the day before every regularly scheduled appointment to tell her I have some new disease that I'm pretty sure is contagious. I think, at this point, she just thinks I'm avoiding her.  I was totally going to go this morning, bronchitis and all. Then the fever showed up, and both my  kids started in with the coughing and runny noses. So I know it's contagious. And, while some sick part of me may be entertained by making an entire gym full of healthy, skinny people sick, I can barely stand up without falling over. So exercise is out.

I have finally realized what the problem is though, you know, with my House that Germs Built, the doctor! That's right. Every time I go to the damn doctor, or urgent care, I catch something new! That's it! No more doctors! Ever!  Ok, that may be extreme, I did really need antibiotics for the bronchitis I had before I got the cold I picked up from getting the antibiotics for the bronchitis. I wasn't taking chances though, I hand sanitized after every pen touch, and when I got home I washed my hands and changed my clothes.  It didn't work though.  My coughing, sneezing, watery eyed children can attest to that.

This is the house that Germs built!

This is the woman that lived in the house that Germs built.

This is the child that caught the cold

That lived in the house that Germs built

This is the fever developed by the child

That caught the cold 
that lived in the house that Germs built.

This is the mother that worried about the child

That caught the cold and developed the fever

That lived in the house that Germs built.

This is the blog written by the mother 

That worried about the fever

Developed by the child

That lived in the house that Germs built.

You get the idea

Post Memorial Weekend 2012

I've been offline a lot this weekend.  I disconnected a bit. I'm not sure I'm ready to fully reconnect yet. There's been a lot going on.

Mr. Wampus has the worst case of HF&M (you know, blistery mittens) ever documented. He's finally on the mend, after a hefty dose of steroids, but forbidden from going back to work yet. Which is nice, even if it changes are routine a bit. I like having him around.

I have bronchitis, again, as well as a sinus infection, maybe caused by a head cold? I wasn't aware I had a head cold, but the children have started coughing and sneezing.  I still have a blister or two in my throat, but that was about as bad as it got. (As opposed to the Mr. who has blisters on his blister's blisters. It's pretty impressive)

My cousin Emily's 28th birthday was yesterday. That usually wouldn't be worth a mention (unless there was a bitchin' party) except Emily passed away last Aug.  I'm working on a post about that, sort of.  I am both driven to write about the experience, and how I feel about her loss, and unsure I want to actually post it.  I feel as though it might be baring more of my soul then I'm willing to publicly share. As much as I do share, I am a very private person. I'm what an old college prof used to refer to as, "selectively open."

Basically I'm not sure how I feel about this whole weekend. A little lost I suppose, or, at the very least, at a loss.  In order to continue going on with everything as normal, I need to shut down that part of myself that knows nothing is normal this year - or, that the state of "normal" as I know it has shifted so drastically it's going to take a very long time to reacclimatize.  But my children don't understand that, and I don't really want to displace that weight onto everyone around me. So I compartmentalize. It's handy for going on with the daily routine, but it makes it hard to get in touch with the part of myself that is the writer.

I write very much from an emotional place, so when I disconnect from that I'm left a little adrift. My writer wants to write about Em, but the mother and the wife, and the pet owner, has to drop the boy at preschool, and go to the pharmacy, and has a vet appointment, and doesn't want to go through the whole day trying to explain why I'm crying.  The punk rocker in me is pretty sure it's no ones business.

And then there's a part of me that's not sure I should write about. That's not sure I should post it at least. That's not sure I should put the weight of the loss on other people. Is not sure this is the place to unload that weight, is not sure other people should be burdened with it. I suppose we shall see what happens.

Not much about parenting today, except that, a large part of being a parent is figuring out how to juggle your personal self, with your parental self, and have everyone get what they need in the end. Our personal selves often lose out.

Suburban Hell & Horror Movies

Have you ever seen the movie Suburbia?

My life is nothing like that. We do live in suburban hell though. Don't get me wrong. I love my neighbors (really love them, possibly to an unhealthy degree) I love my house, even though it's the smaller, suburban version of that one from Money Pit. It looked great when we bought it, but a year later the plumbing had been replaced, (from every fixture all the way out the the main sewer line) the AC quit working, the furnace blew up, (kind of literally, there was fire and smoke and everything) the bay windows had to be replaced, (they wouldn't close, which was an issue when it was 120 degrees out) the deck was sinking, the wiring turned out to be all backwards, (or downright scary) fuses in the fuse box were blowing, (yea, fuse box) and I found out that if I didn't pay to have a main joist sistered I might actually fall through the floor.

That's going to be me someday

(That last is a lie. I probably wouldn't have fallen through the floor, but it would have started to sag, noticeably, and well.... let's just not think about that any further)

So, I love my house, when it's not trying to kill me, I love our neighbors, our neighborhood is ok, and the area could be a lot worse. So why then do I insist on referring to it as suburban hell?  A main concept of punk rock, at least my generation of punk rock, I have no idea what's going on now in punk rock, is a hatred of conformity & uniformity. Why should we all look alike? Act alike? Why should I be like someone says I'm "supposed" to be? Why should I care what you think?  and why do all these other sheep blindly follow wherever the trends go?

In our neighborhood all the houses look alike. So much so that after 3yrs I sometimes still pull into my neighbors driveway accidentally. The first week I told my husband he could never come home drunk. He very defensively demanded to know why, and iI told him it was because he'd never find our damn house. They are postage stamp, levittown houses, on postage stamp equally partitioned yards, each with it's matching 5ft chain link fence, and it's 2 car driveway, all identical inside and out. They were built on what used to be a farm. So you can stand on our back deck, and look down the street one way, and as far as the eye can see is matching backyards, with matching fences, on matching plots of land.  It's the heart of uniformity, the feel is enough to make my inner punk rocker puke.

Now, I said one direction as far as the eye can see is matching houses. The other direction is slightly more interesting.  The other direction is an old, closed, rock quarry on a very large plot of land. The old wooden buildings are still there, as is the big fucking hole in the ground. (several miles deep, mostly filled with water.)

...and on a night very like tonight exactly ten years ago today the bodies of 5 drunken sex crazed teenagers were all found inside, brutally murdered with a chainsaw....

This is actually my favorite part. My husband and I have decided this would be an absolutely awesome place to film a horror movie. We've got a plot all worked out too. (teenagers come to get drunk, and have sex and get murdered by a psycho. Could it be any better?)   All we need to do now is convince the guy who runs the place.  Somehow though I think the 90 year old, large firearm toting, man who runs the place is going to look at us questioningly when we ask if we can bring in a film crew, a bunch of teenagers, beer, music, a chainsaw and a mask.  I mean, it seems innocent enough, but you know how the older generation can be.

So, if I insist on referring to it as Suburban Hell (which I do, in daily life) why did we choose to buy here? Because, we did choose to buy here, it wasn't like there was no choice in the matter. My husband is forever reminding me it was my choice. This is the house I wanted.  Well, in truth, it was cheap.  It was in our price range, close enough to his work, and had more space then all the other houses we looked at. Plus, it appeared to need no immediate work. Which was appealing when I was 7 months pregnant.

So, it's sinking, and the school district is horrible, and our police officers are basically unsupervised vigilantes, and there's a big giant empty rock quarry perfect for hiding bodies in, (wait, that's a plus, not a minus) I love my neighbors. I love my house, even though it gives me fits. I love not renting, and I love not having to share walls with anyone. I love it. Even if one day I'm sure to fall through and get stuck in the floor, I still love it.

Hand, Hoof, Foot, Blisters

I'm sick of typing hand, foot, and mouth. It's annoying. We're switching to HF&M.  Think of it as whatever you like, I prefer Hoof, Fin & Mittens. (or whatever)  HF&M is named for the blisters that come after the fever. They show up first in the back of the mouth, but can be anywhere in or around the mouth, and then on the soles of your feet and the palms of your hand. They can range from little red spots

Batman has spots!

To large blisters

Can you say ouch?

He had several of the big blisters around his toes and on his heels, though they're all looking remarkably better this morning.  Helli's are looking like they're going to shape up to be slightly worse. Popped blisters are contagious, as it is when they have the fever. It's most contagious when they have the fever. Then it's transmitted through all bodily secretions (doesn't that sounds pleasant?) including stool. It can actually stay in the stool for up to a week. The really fun part about HF&M though is that it's diagnosed by the blisters that don't show up until 2-3 days after the fever has gone. So they're most contagious when you have no idea what they have. In all fairness though, you shouldn't send kids with high fevers to school. It's almost always a sign they are contagious (a fever.) 

See? It's a good thing I didn't manage to post this around breakfast. 

Anyway, I went to urgent care yesterday, eventually. They did a rapid strep test, which came back negative. (There's still a 1 in 10 chance they may call me in a day or so and tell me I do have it, but I doubt it. Even if it came back in it's hard to imagine that particular place being organized enough to call me)  The doctor told me it could be HF&M, but that it was rare in adults. Not unheard of, just pretty rare. She went on to say that it could just be some mystery 3rd virus that happens to cause blisters in the back of the mouth.  ....what do you think the chances are that both my kids have HF&M, I have a "compromised immune system" and I just happened to get a 3rd random virus that just happens to come with blisters in the mouth? ...yea, I'm checking my feet hourly for spots.  The doctor seemed to think the 3rd mystery illness was really the best bet though. I was left wondering how she mastered medicine and failed statistics, but, then again, I was miserable and grumpy.

Hoof, Horn & Forked Tongue, or Strep Throat?

I like that button up there, the one labeled "New Post," it often means I'm going to feel as though I've accomplished something when I'm done, however pointless.  This morning I'm think I should make a post, but I'm kind of lost as to what to post about. I have some already written I could post, but I'm not feeling it.

I'm still trying to process all our current illnesses.  Demon got strep throat before he'd finished the (5 days of) antibiotics from his double ear infection from the cold he had the week before. We're not so worried about Helli getting strep because she's on the major antibiotic used to treat strep for her double ear infection from earlier in the week, from the head cold the week before. (She got a 10 day dose)  Austin gets 4 days into the new antibiotic (10 day dose) and breaks out in blisters over his face, feet, and hands. This means he has hand, foot, and mouth. (Or, as my husband likes to call it, hoof, horn, and forked tongue, or something.)  Ah-ha! This may explain Helli's high fever over the weekend.

I went to urgent care on Saturday, because I felt awful. More awful then I can remember feeling, ever. Which I'm sure isn't because I haven't felt that awful before, but more because when I do feel that awful my brain refuses to process reality, much less save the memory. It's for the best.  The urgent care doctor looked me over, ran a rapid strep test, and told me it was viral. There's little worse then hearing "it's viral" when you feel like death warmed over. It's the same as hearing, "suck it up pansy."  Ok, viral, limp back to car.  The doctor did say I had a high fever, and there was a virus going around that had a high fever associated with it. She also ordered me to rest and drink lots of fluids. She's funny.  I thought about pointing out I had a 1 year old, and a 3 year old at home, so she may as well tell me to drink from the holy grail as rest, but I didn't have the energy. I just nodded and left. (I was too sick to be snarky!)

On Sunday Hellion had a high fever. We dosed her ass and went to the renaissance faire.  (Ok, I'm a bad mother, but Demon had been trapped inside for 3 days and was going crazy. Plus, she was going to scream whether we were here or there, and it was outside. It's not like she'll get within three feet of a stranger anyway. Plus, it's just a virus.)

On Monday morning I noticed Demon had red spots all over his feet. I had never seen anything like this. Then I noticed one of them had a huge blister in the middle of it, right between his toes. Well, hell, don't I feel like the world's worst mother. He's got blisters all over his feet from all the walking we did. The tips of all of his toes are red, he's got this big old blister, and more spots all around his heels. He must have outgrown his shoes and I didn't even notice. Mommy fail!  He's also got an epic diaper rash, and some red spots around his mouth. I'm a little concerned he might be having an allergic reaction to this new antibiotic.  I took him to school anyway, blisters aren't contagious, and he's dying to go back. (He has been begging me to go to school for 3 days)  After I've picked him up and we've gotten home form school I notice he now has red spots all over his palms. Well hell.  I check his tummy, back and arms, no other spots. This is the strangest allergic reaction I've ever seen! I call the pediatrician's office and the nurse goes, "oh no, that's hand, foot, and mouth, not an allergic reaction."  Oh, good.

I know what this is, it starts with a high fever with no visible cause (check) then a few days after the fever it causes blisters inside the mouth, around the mouth, (check) on the feet,(check) and palms of the hands (check.)  It can range anywhere from mild to severe. It is viral so there's not much you can do but let it run it's course.  Also, parents should keep an eye out for dehydration, or sudden weight loss. Sometimes the mouth blisters get bad enough that the kids refuse to eat or drink. (Usually though once the fever is gone the worst is over)

This means I should start watching Helli for red spots or blisters. Well, at least I have a suspect for the random high fever for her.  ....and me, oh boy. It's more rare in adults, but those with a compromised immune systems (that's me) can still get it. Ok, well, it'll be exciting.  I've only had strep throat once in my life, when I was 27, which is incredibly uncommon. I'm told that if you don't get it by the time you're 18 your chances of getting it are around 1/1,000,000. (That's one in one million) I've been in close contact with people who've had it repeatedly, and had never managed to get it. (The one and only thing I didn't catch) Then, at 27 I was on 2 different immune suppressant drugs, one at a very high dose, and low and behold, I got it.  I remember it sucked, a lot. Also, that the most surprising thing to me about having it was how little my throat hurt in comparison to the rest of me. Who knew?

As far as I know I haven't been exposed to it since then, until now. So it's up in the air. Now that I've had it, will I get it again? Or, since I'm not taking any immune system suppressants at the moment, will I avoid it?  I can be a carrier though, so I've been trying to avoid people anyway. (I mean, more so then i normally try and avoid people)

Last night Helli started getting little red spots around her mouth, and on her palms. I started feeling wore again, and my throat started hurting, a lot.  So, here's the thing, the most common symptom of strep throat is white blisters at the back of the throat, or on the tonsils. The first place to get blisters from hand, foot, and mouth (hoof, horn, and forked tongue, or whatever) is the back of the mouth/throat area. Oh. Good. This should be easy to figure out then. At the moment I have no blisters along the back of my throat. I do though have bright red streaks running up and down, and all over this morning. My throat is swollen, and I have run a fever.  I also have several symptoms of hoof, horn, and whatever.  So, the question of the day is: do I go back to urgent care (2 days after I was last there) and get them to run another strep test, or not? Do I wait for blisters, and then hope it's hoof, horn, and forked tongue, or do I wait for blisters then go have them re-run the strep?

At the moment I have no idea what I'm going to do. I've never been awash in so many illnesses to choose from before. It's baffling.  I'm supposed to go meet with my trainer tomorrow. I've had to reschedule twice already because of Demon's strep throat, and then the high fevers. If it's hoof, horn, and scale then it's not contagious after the fever's gone. If it's strep, then i probably am contagious. If it's some third mystery virus that comes with a high fever then I'm probably not contagious anymore either.... probably.

So, do I suck it up, call my trainer and look like the kid in college who's grandmother dies every weekend so she can't ever take her test, and reschedule? or do I suck it up and go, and just hope not to infect anyone? OR do I go back to urgent care for them to run a strep test, again, and have it come back negative, again?  ...at the moment my gym performance is going to be seriously lacking.... *sigh*

Never mind, there are the blisters. Off to urgent care I go, if I can find a sitter.

Throwing of the Lego

With children, particularly little children, but I think it holds true for all children ages 1-100, laughing only encourages them. Good laughing, not bad laughing. One of the most important tricks to parenting is learning how not to laugh like a loon when your children do something they shouldn't, but is absolutely hilarious nonetheless.

My daughter has the arm of a major league pitcher.  One night, at dinner, she picked up her slice of bread and threw it all the way across the table to land by my plate. "Are you done dear?" I asked sweetly trying (and failing) desperately not to laugh. Luckily Demon was outside, otherwise he would have picked up on it immediately, and it quickly would have become very unfunny as he threw everything not nailed down at me.  My husband and I had a good chuckle, we released Hellion from the highchair and went about our business.

The next day, all four of us were driving in the car. Family outings are fun! Demon and Hellion have this "game" where they scream at each other. Hellion is in the phase where she wants people to pay attention to her, and provide her with a specific thing, or activity, but she cannot yet articulate what it is she wants. This causes her to point and inarticulately scream until someone finally guesses the right thing, and hands it to her, or does it for her.  It happens a lot while she's in her carseat. She will attempt to take her shoes off, fail, and yell, "ahh!"  I've found telling her to leave he shoes alone sometimes shuts her up.

Demon's solution to this problem is much simpler. He screams back, louder. Then she screams at him louder, and he screams back at her louder, and eventually I just turn the music up. Amazingly enough me screaming at them to shut up does nothing to diffuse the screaming match. So usually I just ignore it until it hits glass shattering range, then ask Demon to stop screaming. I can ask Hellion as much as I want, she just screams at me.

The problem with this "game" is that I can't tell if she's happy someone is communicating with her, or if she's mad someone is mocking her.  I think it probably depends on the occasion.  On this particular day, it seems she was mad. My clue to the fact that she was angrily screaming, instead of happily screaming was when the Mega Block she had brought with her went sailing across the car and pegged Demon right in the chest.

Now, from our perspective in the front seat, it was hilarious. There was a screaming match, then a giant lego launched across the car pegging our screaming son right in the chest. (I mean, it's didn't hurt him or anything, don't' look at me that way. It was funny as hell)

I then had to chide Hellion for throwing things at her brother, without laughing. (She may not talk yet, but she knows exactly what we're saying)  Then, my poor Demon, he looks at me with shocked puppy dog eyes, saying, "Mama, she threw this block at me."   Here again, I have to tell him (with a straight face) that I'm sorry she threw the block at him, it was very not nice of her, and I told her not to do it anymore (plus, she only had the 1 block) but that maybe she didn't like him screaming back at her. (snort, giggle)

I look over at my husband who hasn't made a sound, and he's driving the car, eyes wide with one hand tightly clasped over his mouth, choking he's trying so hard not to laugh. Then we both dissolved into poorly repressed giggles. My hope is that is was far enough removed from the incident that they thought we were just laughing about something else they don't get. (which we do a lot.)

Unfortunately Hellion has taken this up as her main form of communication with Demon. She  chucks things at him all day long. Matchbox cars, monster trucks, food, stuffed animals, diapers, dog toys.  It's still hilarious every time, but I really am trying to discourage it.  I mean, he does shove her down at least a dozen times a day. It's hard for me to feel too badly for him when he has a matchbox car thrown in his general direction.

Punk Rock Parenting?

The truth is: it's hard to be badass in bunny ears.  I can't say I'm a "Punk Rock Mom,"  because, well, I don't know what the hell that entails. Plus, I'm not big on labels. I am a mom. I listen to punk rock music. I swear, a lot.  Sometimes I dye my hair funny colors. That still just makes me mom I think.  The truth is, if I think of "punk rock parents," I think of drinking beer, and loud music, dirty houses, beating the kids, lots of swearing. It's a bad stereotype. I think it's probably those situations that lead to punk rockers more then it's those situations we create. (Not mine, no alcoholic, child beating parents in my past. Though, there was some swearing)  Though, the dirty house part we have covered. (Don't judge me)

I don't do attachement parenting. I'm not against attachment parenting. (I'm really not against much that other parents do to their kids, as long as it's not life threatening or illegal) Actually, I was all prepared to attachment parent. I'm a pro breastfeeding, pro co-sleeping, pro-baby wearing, pro-baby food making, cloth diaper loving, organic buying, hormone free milk fanatic mom.

The problem I ran into with these things is that; my son was not into them.  Both my kids were born at 34 weeks, both were full term babies, but in spite of that spent 2 weeks in the NICU. (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit - where all babies go before 35 weeks)  By the time they got out, neither wanted anything to do with breastfeeding. Hellion actually gagged and spit out breast milk, even if it was given to her in a bottle. (spitting is not something 2 week old babies are supposed to be able to do)

Co-sleeping was another thing Demon refused. He always slept better in his own bed, in his own room. He still does. I'm not sure if it was the NICU time, or if it's just his personality. Plus, he was always a loud sleeper. He "talked" in his sleep from the day we brought him home. He couldn't sleep while it was quiet though. We had to leave a light on for him, and background noise. I played Drop Kick Murphy's for I'm to fall asleep too. Hellion, well, when she showed up she co-slept for a little bit. She moved into her room pretty quickly though. Move because my husband couldn't fit in her crib, and the three of us didn't all fit in our bed then anything else. She's pretty easy going.

I did actually wear both of my children when they were young. It's easier hands free, and they slept better then in the stroller. I only wore then when we went out though, I didn't wear them around the house. We used cloth diapers. (Really, they rock, if you've considered it you should look into it. It's easy and, in the end, so much cheaper)  We buy organic when we can, and don't stress over it otherwise.  And, really, just buy hormone free milk. Don't make me get into it.

I will admit to being "crunchy" if we get into that discussion. I'm against helicopter parenting. I think my kids need to learn how to fall (though I prefer it when there's not blood involved) and fail, and get up and go on anyway.  Now, I've said that, this is my opinion of what I do with my kids and why. I don't care what you do with your kids, as long as they're not being assholes to my kids.

When it comes to my parenting style though, I don't think of myself as an attachment parent, or a crunchy parent, and certainly not a helicopter parent. I don't exactly think of myself as a "normal" parent either. (which is sometimes how people refer to it - extreme parenting, vs normal parenting. Now tell me that doesn't lead you to believe one is better then the other?) I tend to think of myself as an "Eye of the Tornado" parent.

There's one mommy blog that I follow. I love her, I love her blog, I love what she does. I'm not going to tell you which one it is though, because I'm going to disagree with her.  (not because she's wrong. Just because I feel differently about it. She is right, she feels how she feels. My experience is different, and I just think of hers in relation to mine. How different the experiences can be) She refers to being a mom as being a religious experience. As something divine, and wonderful, and earth moving. (I won't argue with the earth moving.)  My perspective on mommydom is different. Sometimes I feel bad that it doesn't feel like a divine religious experience to me.

Have you ever seen the movie Twister?

This is what parenting feels like to me.  You make your choice, and then you hang on for all you're worth and hope for the best.  You hope when the storm is passed, and there is a calm break, that everyone is still there and that you're all alright.  I hope that if I hang onto my children strongly enough, that if I love them strongly enough, in the end we will all be ok. Despite any mistakes I have made, or will inevitably make. Despite tantrums, arguments, fights, screaming matches, spankings, dragging screaming children out of stores, off rides, and away from friends, despite being hit, and kicked, and bitten, ignored, and ridiculed, that in the end I have gotten enough right, and have loved them enough for what I got wrong, that we're all still standing. And I'm just getting started. This only the beginning. That tornado comes back around daily, sometimes hourly, and I grit my teeth, brace me feet, and concentrate on holding on until the eye of the storm comes again and we get a short, calm, reprieve from the madness.

At the end of the day I'm pretty sure that's about how I look. My house, without fail, always looks like the barn just laid to waste in the movie. Every night I pick up, tidy up, clean up, and we start all over again the next morning. Eye of the Tornado Parenting: Hang on and hope for the best.

Sick Kids 2 or WTF 1am?

My darling Demon was so enchanting yesterday at the doctor's office, and then when we got home, I forgot to mention I caught him smuggling starburst.  I don't buy them often, but every once in awhile I just can't resist. It's not like I eat them all in one sitting or anything..... it takes at least two. Don't judge me.

Anyway, we get to the doctor's office yesterday, in one of our brief breaks from screaming like someone it trying to castrate him, Demon was quietly laying on the examine table with his head behind the diaper bag. I was suspicious, as he's never quiet. Ever. I peaked around the diaper bag and saw him examining his loot. A cough drop and a starburst. Oh hell no.  I use menthol cough drops to help with my asthma. (sometimes they can stop a small attach from turning into a large one, and are good in a pinch when my inhaler is nowhere to be found.)  Austin is forever after these things like a homing pidgin. No matter how many times I tell him it's not candy.  After some negotiating and threatening I got the cough drop and left the starburst. (that is candy, which is a rare commodity around our house)  I asked him to just hide it from his sister, since there was only one.  (Later I found him behind the diaper bag again, red drool dripping out of his mouth, whatever.)

After we get home Demon wanders by me in the kitchen, with another starburst. WTH?  I ask him where he got it, he says, "your bag." LOL. Ok, this makes sense, but I cleaned the bag up when we got home from the doctor. So he had this one somewhere. "Do you have any more hidden anywhere?"  "No."  I told him to just eat it, and not show his sister, as there was only one.

Later, I was using the bathroom (you know, with the door open and Helli climbing on me) Demon walks in with another starburst. What, the, hell?
Ok, "Demon, where did you get that?"
"Your bag"
"No, not originally, right now. Where did you get it from right now?"
"My hand."
>.<
"How many do you have?"
"Ummmm..... 3"
(I'm impressed, he's just answered, "how  many did you have?" *snort giggle*)
"Ok, good job. But, do you have more hidden away somewhere?"
"No"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
"Ok, whatever"
I don't even care.

Mom (that's me) was sick last night. I was really sick. I was so sick I went to Target, and bought exactly what was on my list, and nothing more. (Now that's sick)  I was barely functioning when I got home, and crawled into bed, leaving my wonderful husband to put demon to bed, around 7pm. I was in agony, and happy to blissfully slip into sleep. Mr Wampuss (the hubs) came to bed around midnight. Around 1am I hear, "mama.... maaaaama, MAMA!"  Ok, I'm up, shut up, don't wake the whole house.

I stumble into Demon's room and he says, "mama, look."  ....he's got another starburst.  Come on! "Ok, that's it, where are you hiding these?"
"In here," he points to his pillow.
"You're hiding candy in your pillow?"
"Yes."  Umm..... ok. So, I open the pillowcase and look inside. Sure enough, it's full of ...underwear? Underwear and socks. Every single pair he owns is stuffed into his pillowcase. "Demon," *snort giggle* "this has to be uncomfortable to sleep on," "giggle cough* "can we put these back in the drawer?" *giggle giggle*  "Yes."

So here I am, at 1am, pulling underwear and sock out of a pillow case, I have to turn the light on for this. Handfuls and handfuls of tiny briefs.  By the end I'm hopelessly, shamelessly, laughing outright. This is just bizarre.  I clean out the pillowcase, double check, no candy.  I check pillowcase number two, no candy.  At the end of the bed is pillowcase number three.  Wait, I have a memory from early this morning of Demon coming into the kitchen holding his pillowcase like a sack.  I said, "what are you doing with this?" and he looked at me innocently.  I took it back to the living room, found the pillow, and said, "can I put this back in here?" He says, "yes," without batting an eye. It never occurred to me to check the pillowcase before putting the pillow in.

Back at 1am, "is this what you were doing with your pillow our of your pillowcase earlier this morning? Filling it with stardust?" "Yes," innocent smile.  The kid's an evil genius. I think I may be living with Stewie. If I die from a fall down the stairs, someone look closely at the boy child.  I checked the pillowcase, the bed, under the bed, the drawers, and the toys, there were no more stardust that I could find. (This isn't really a good judge as to whether there are any more or not, but I tried.)  The only starburst seems to be the one clutched tightly in his little hand. "No starburst at 1am. You can have it first thing in the morning, but go to bed now. I'll set this right here on the shelf, right here, where you can see it. Ok?"  "Yes."  (He's finally gotten good at saying this word, but suddenly, I don't believe him.)  I cover him up, give him a kiss, and climb back into bed.

1:30am, "Mama.... mama, MAMA!" "WHAT?!" "Mama, I need you!"
*grumble grumble*  I get up and stumble back into his room. "What Demon?"
"Mama, where my starburst?"
"What?"
"Where my starburst? I can't see it."
"Sweety, I assume it's wherever you put it. It's the middle of the night. What do you want?"
"Oh, here it is!" produces starburst.
"Great, let's put it back on the shelf so you can go to bed."  *place starburst on shelf, cover child, kiss child, tell child to go to sleep, stumble back to bed*

2am, "MAMA! I need you."  Fuck me, WTF kid? I stumble back into the room. He's showing me the starburst again. "Is this because of the starburst? Can you not sleep because of it?"  "Yes."  "Fine, eat it, right now. Do you need help opening it? Just eat it."  Yes, it's 2am and I'm demanding my child eat candy. For the love of god eat it and let me sleep!  The candy is gone, eaten, there is no more candy magically appearing, for now. I get the child settled, lay down next to him, snuggle up, and close my eyes, "mommy loves you. Go. To. Sleep."

2:15am, "mama? I don't want you here anymore, go away."
"Demon, if I go away you still have to go to sleep. Do you still want me to leave?"
"No"

2:30am, "mama, I'm sick of you, go away."
"Demon, if I leave, you still have to go to sleep. Do you want me to leave?"
"Yes." Hallelujah!! I stumble out, bless my pregnancies for making me a snorer, and climb back into bed. Hello bed, I love you.

2:45am, "Mama?"
"What?"
"Mama I need you"
"Mama is sleeping"
"You in living room mama?"
"No, I'm in bed, asleep"
"Mama, what you doing?"
"Sleeping. Go to bed"
"Mama, I need you"

3am, Mr Wampus climbs out of bed, grumbles something, tries talking to Demon. Demon proceeds to scream, "I already have water!" (for someone unknown reason) until I also get out of bed.  Mr Wampus is getting himself water.  I go to the bathroom, Mr Wampus tries to explain to Demon that it's the middle of the night and everyone needs to be asleep, including him."  Mr Wampus goes into the room, and comes out moments later, "he told me to go away."
"Don't believe him, he told me to go away 15mins ago." So Mr Wampus and I talk, he's pretty sure little Demon hasn't been to sleep. At all.

I let Demon out of his room and he follows me down the hallway, into the kitchen. I get him a dose of ibuprofen, (now that I've been up several hours it occurs to me maybe he's not asleep because his throat hurts. Mom of the year right here) to help save his life I add a liberal dose of benedryl. Don't judge me, it's 3:30 in the damn morning, I've been up since 1am, I'm sick as hell, and if he keeps screaming his life is going to be in jeopardy. Plus, he'll feel better if he actually sleeps.  Back into his bed, I tuck him in, I snuggle in next to him, and tell him to go. to. sleep.  Apparently the gods are pleased with me. He doses off around 4am, and I get to stumble back into my own bed.

6am Hellion starting screaming in her crib. Demon hears me get up and get her and starts screaming as well.  Good thing I went to bed early last night.  So far, they've had milk, granola bars, and fruit snacks. It's 9am, I have a fever, Mr Wampuss is still asleep, we're out on the back deck. The kids, the dogs, and I. I'm thinking about selling them all to gypsies. I'm concerned I may be dying, but the children have stopped screaming. Momentarily.

This picture hasn't been manufactured or altered in any way. I actually look this good.  Send Help 

Sick Kids

Demon is, well, purely demonic when he's sick. He gets mean, nasty, surly, and freaks out about everything.  I went to get my hair done last night.

Back to my natural red

When I got home my husband informed me that Demon was very sick, and had fluctuated between pathetic and demonic all evening, complaining of being, "so sick."  "Daddy, I so sick," *puppy dog eyes*

I got him up this morning, and he looked fine. I gave him a blueberry muffin and some milk for breakfast.  Hellion got up. I got her milk and muffin, and went to get dressed.  Demon came in and beat Gulliver about the head, so he was up. Helli came in screaming and waving her blankets, and Gulliver left.  ....towards the room.... with the muffins in it. So I went, sans pants, out and closed the gate to keep the muffins safe. This caused a complete breakdown in both my children. So, I put them both in the room with the muffin and closed the gate again. This caused Demon to have a complete and total meltdown. Crying, screaming, flinging himself to the floor, freaking Helli out so much she starts screaming.  So, I open the gate, again, still with no pants on, and tell him to go sit in his room. (which is directly across from where I'm attempting to get dressed)  Helli settles into the living room happily munching on her muffin Austin left in the middle of the living room floor. Whatever.

Demon continues to sob, uncontrollably, choking, gasping, screaming sobbing.... all because I wanted to put pants on before I let the dog outside, and didn't want the big furry fatso eating two entire blueberry muffins. I managed to get pants on (finally) and shove Gulliver outside without letter the other two dogs inside, in my bra, but whatever, at least I got pants.  I get Demon to stop screaming and let Helli out of muffin confinement.  Then I call the doctor. There must be something (new) wrong with him! Either the antibiotics aren't working for his ear infection, or he has something new, but putting my pants on should never involved multiple meltdowns. I call the doctor and get him in for 9am.

My kid has chronic ear infections. We spend a lot of time at the doctor's office. They're good friends of ours. All the nurses know us by name, the doctor is familiar with my kids idiosyncrasies, and behavior when sick.  Today, we were called back, and the nurse asked Demon to stand on the scale. He burst into tears. We tried cajoling, threatening, bribing, you name it, we tried it. He tucked himself into the corner of the hallway, rolled into a little ball on the floor, and started uncontrollably sobbing. Because we asked him to stand on a scale. (which he does, happily, on a weekly basis)  We asked Helli to come down and stand on the scale. She happily waddled down the hall and let herself be weighed.  Demon look up, curled into a smaller ball, and continued sobbing. i finally had to go down the hall, pick him up, drag him, literally, down the hall kicking and screaming, and flailing, and set him on the scale.   It was pretty dramatic for something so small.

I'm sure you can imagine how excited he was about getting his temperature taken. (under the arm) There was a another screaming meltdown, and he had to be held down. The same for listening to his breathing, and then when I had to ask him to get off my lap so I could hold Helli. The nurses left, and I offered both the kids a sippy cup of juice. This resulted in yet another meltdown. He wanted to drink the juice, but not hold it, or have it next to him, or let it touch him, or be able to see it.  I was very happy to see the doctor.

We had the same problem as with the scale when it came to getting him to say, "Ahhh" so she could see his throat.  Right down to letting Helli go first. No go. So I had to hold him down so she could stick the tongue depressor down his throat, and then a giant cotton swab. So, Helli, is just cranky because she's a bitch apparently. Demon has strep throat.  ...ok, I suppose I shouldn't sell him to gypsies. Poor guy =(

Ok, strep throat. I can deal with this. Soup and popsicles. We have popsicles, soup... umm.... soup? We went by the pharmacy, and the medicine wasn't ready, so we went over to Panera's to infect as many people as we could, and get soup. Hey, I provided soup.

Mom of the year! I hope this strep thing clears up quickly. I'm not a fan

Introductions

 This is me.
I used to be cool.
Before I had kids.
I was young,
and carefree
and thin.

This is me now

Ever had one of these days?

It kind of sums up my life. 

Not carefree

Not so young

Not so thin

Definitely not cool.

This is Demon
He looks pretty innocent, right?
Don't believe it.
It's just an act.

He's often into something

"Why so serious mom?"

This is Hellion
We'll probably just call her Helli
She looks pretty innocent
don't buy it

She's just as bad as her brother

Only with half the age 

and twice the attitude

She was the best surprise I ever got

Even if she is turning my hair grey

Together they're my whole world. My reason for living, and my reason for wanting to scream

To even things out we also have

Gulliver,

Vash 

& Scarlett

Pre Kids, Punk Rock

Sid and Nancy we weren't. Neither were we Ozzy and Harriet, though we may have been closer to Ozzy and Sharon. I would like to say we were like Lucy and Ricky, but I was never as cute as Lucille Ball, nor as comically gifted.  Before kids we were just us. A couple of misbehaved teenagers and then poorly behaved young adults. We did what we wanted, on our own schedules, and held obligations only because we chose to and they made us happy. (Or we thought they would eventually make us happy, like school or work)

My husband and I met in High School. We dated for 9 1/2 years before we got married. After nearly 10 years it wasn't a matter of running down the aisle, madly in love, it was a matter of convenience.  We were together, we had been together, and apart, through a lot.  We both planned on staying together, being married wasn't a sign of our devotion to each other. (That we had proved through 9 1/2 years in our late teens and early twenties, which is a hard thing to accomplish)

I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2006. I was an unemployed, post college graduate who hadn't been able to get a job, or hold a job, due to mystery health issues.  Once diagnosed health insurance was much harder to get, and much more needed. We were married in July of 2007.  We get a nice tax break for filing jointly as well.   My husband hates when I say, "we got married for health insurance." He says it sounds like I don't love him. I love him. I would be lost without him. He is my soulmate, but he would have been my soulmate whether we got married or not. I would have loved him all of my life without a wedding. Really,  once married our relationship changed very little. We went on along our way and I got to say "husband" instead of "boyfriend" affording our relationship more credibility to others, but whatever.

And then, then we had kids. Our first child was planned. Make no mistake, we wanted that baby. It was a surprise how quickly I got pregnant, and then the whole pregnancy thing was a bit shocking all the way around.  I missed a lot of awesome concerts that year. Once every 7 years every band I really love enough to go see wanders through town. Somehow they all aligned in that year. There were 6 concerts I would have loved to have gone to all in one summer - unbelievable, I hate crowds.  I was too sick and exhausted from my pregnancy. My husband went to them all. Jerk.  So it began.

Having kids changes your life. Which, really, is a no brainer.  The ways in which I incorporate my children into my life, or work my life around my children, always surprises me nonetheless.    My, now 3 1/2 year old, does not, and has never had a mohawk. I'm not against it. I would give him one in a heartbeat. My husband vetoes me every time though. It's far too trendy these days. (and everyone knows punk rockers hate nothing so much as trendy)  I don't dye his hair, and he doesn't have studs or a chain wallet. I buy him lots of things with skulls and crossbones on them. I like that stuff. I figure, hating something just because it's mainstream is equally as silly as loving something only because it is.  I even saw an adorable baby blanket when my son was very young, it says, "little punk" and has a jolly roger.  Who would have know, out of all the blankets we had, that would be the one he bonded to and won't let out of his sight.

My point though, was that my punk rock history turns up in less obvious ways most of the time. I mean, for several months I was the mommy at pre school drop off with the pink hair, but usually it's more subtle.  When my son was only a few weeks old my husband stopped outside the nursery door, and asked, rather incredulously, if I was singing Black Flag to our baby. I admitted I was, sort of.  I was singing to the tune of TV Party, but the words were different. (We're gonna put a clean diaper on you, alright! We're gonna put a clean diaper on you, alright! I've got nothing better to do, then clean poopy off you. We're gonna put a clean diaper on you! Yes we are!" Yea, I used "poopy" in a black flag rip off.)   I also sing "Mother" to my daughter, only I use her name. It doesn't make any sense, but she still likes to hear her name over and over.

My son knows a lot of swear words. Now that he's learned them, I'm  trying to convince him not to say them. It's like dangling candy in front of him, then telling him he can't eat any. Ha. When trying to think of something soothing to play to our son to help him sleep, we discuss "The Clash."  When I put music on the iPod for my son, it's "Stray Cats."

I think, with kids, the line between hippy and punk rock blurs. Now they call it being a "crunchy mom."  Hippies and punk rockers are very close a lot of the time when it comes to parenting.  Usually we have different motivations though. Punk rockers are often out to save money, and, really, abhor everything mainstream. Alternative is good. We used cloth diapers for a long time. I love them. I am a cloth diaper fan. I would pull out my cloth diapers and show them to anyone who expressed the tiniest interested at the drop of a hat. I didn't think everyone needed to use them, I just thought anyone interested should try because they're super easy and can save a ton of money. (Fuck the environment. That's not my issue)  I researched vaccines deeply before deciding on whether to get my children vaccinated or not. (We do) We try and buy organic, we only purchased hormone free milk, (really, everyone should do that one, don't even get me started) I try to buy "natural" alternatives for a lot of our foods. (Though, I do love to say that shit is natural, and you don't eat that. My goal is to be able to pronounce all of the ingredients, and know what they are)  I think that it goes back to my punk rock history. I'm loath to just accept anything without question. I want to know the details. I want to make an informed choice, the one that is best for my family. I don't actually care what anyone else does with their family. Very punk rock. I will tell you though, that I'm a "crunchy" mom, if we get into the discussion about them. (all moms have that discussion eventually don't they? On a scale of 1-clinically insane how crunchy are you?)  Again though, I do what works for me. I think everyone else should do what works for them, and tell anyone who has a problem with it to Fuck off.

I'm a crunchy, sometimes pink haired, swearing, irreverent, mom to two tiny pirates. (Everyone's all, "oh, do you like pirates?" to all the skulls and cross bones around here. I tell them mom does. *evil smile*)  I think motherhood is a blessing. It is the best and worst, the most rewarding, least thankful, most trying, most joyful experience I have ever had. I love my children. I would lay down my life for theirs, more importantly, I would take your life for theirs for no better reason then they are my children.  But, I am irreverent about motherhood. There's a lot of swearing, a lot of griping, a lot of complaining, a lot of threatening to run away to Mexico, and a lot of unappreciativeness. There's a whole blogosphere of irreverent mom blogs. This is mine.   This is not all "sunshine and rainbows," this is not my, "the joy of motherhood," this is my, "sometimes my kids suck, and sometimes I'm a crappy mom," blog.  Reader beware.

Twisted Dr Suess

You cannot fold the laundry mom
I will not let you get it done
I know that you have things to do
But I'm awake, so you
are screwed

You cannot clean my poop today
You cannot clean my poop, no way!
I will do not want clean diapers mom
I will not let you put one on

Things heard in a post punk rock suburban house

This is mine, this one is yours. They're exactly the same, only mine has less snot.

Your pants are not really the best place to keep your snake.

Do not poke your sister with your snake

This is not the snuggle room, it's the potty room.