Sunday, March 30, 2008
Jonathan came down with a crazy-bad head cold during the last three days of our Florida trip. He was a trooper, doing Busch Gardens by day, but walking into our hotel room each dinnertime with an announcement of, "I'm tired. I don't feel good. I'm going to bed." And he burrowed under the covers 3.5 seconds later, not to emerge until the following day. By our last day in Florida, there was a slight burning in my chest - which is a good sign of, um, nothing good.
I'm sure it had nothing to do with Jonathan handing me his dirty tissues for 3 days straight, tissues he is apparently incapable of disposing of himself despite my 3-step instructional tutorial I freely offered every chance I got.
"First, honey, you wrap up the boogers in the tissue. No, YOU do it, they're YOUR boogers. Then, sweety, you throw the tissue away. No, not on my lap, in the trash can. And Boo, you need to wash your hands. Yes, you do. Yes. You do. Please. Please?"
But as we all know, it is written in the fine print that mothers are obligated to handle all bodily functions no matter how gooey, and so I stuffed my backpack with 8,283 tissues and followed Jonathan around, ready to prevent as much projectile mucous-sharing as I could.
I was talking a bit with Kelly about penance. To punish myself for my shameless bragging that I was in a warm place when most of you weren't (excepting Joanne, who had the foresight to simply move to said warm place rather than continually moan about wanting to live in said warm place - what a concept!), I did a bit of jogging to flog myself for it. I do not like to jog. I especially do not like to jog at 10:30 am when it is already so humid in Florida that breathing is like sticking your face into a sauna the size of a ziplock bag. But the road was flat and my running shoes were packed (Whatever was I thinking?) and I had to find a way to stop the osmotic absorption of nine restaurant dinners into my thigh tissue, so I laced my sneakers and took off.
But Kelly kindly pointed out (too late) that penance is not usually necessary as karma will inevitably take care of things. Thanks, Kelly, thanks for the timeliness of your message. Really.
So here I am, propped up in front of my computer, only because if I have to lay prone for one more second I fear my back muscles will contort beyond the point of no return, wrapped in the biggest comforter I could find, with a scarf wrapped around my neck, a box of tissues (my third) at the ready, a steady stream of hot tea (thanks to sweet Jonathan who fills my cup and asks, "Can I get anything for you? A sandwich?"), and doing shots of anything I can find in Rob's homemade pharmacy which promises relief anywhere in the upper half of my body. Usually I am fairly openly hostile about Rob's love for over-the-counter pharmaceuticals, insisting most things need to run their course and his body would heal itself if he'd just let it. But not today. When I woke at 4am, sure I had pneumonia and obsessing about how drowning in my own mucus will be such a horrible way to die, I suddenly became willing to drink or swallow anything with "relief" written on the label and tasting like toxic-cherry-bubble gum-waste. And how's that working for me you ask? Well, I now have an acid stomach, which does, believe or not, sometimes take my focus off the feeling that my sinus cavities are about to do an Old Faithful any minute now.
I don't know if it's being in a house of boys that does it, but the bedside manner 'round here is just so-so, with Brady asking, "Oh, you're sick?" despite my incessant moaning from the couch region of the house, and Rob telling me to "Go lay down!" like I'm a dog or something. He does do a pretty amazing infomercial for all the OTC drugs we have in our house, most of which I've never seen much less used myself. I wonder if we put him on youtube he'll get royalties or something? "Side effects may include severe dizziness, abdominal bleeding, divorce papers served by your wife's cutthroat attorney, and uncontrollable wheezing. Ask your doctor if MucusBeGone is right for you."
And, of course, there's the especially nasty karmic sting that we always get sick on weekends, when we're given the unattractive choice between suffering (and panicking during my late-night irrational bouts of "I think I'm going to die. Rob." nudge nudge "No really, I think I'm dying. I'm drowning in my own phlegm. I think my lungs are filling up. Rob." nudge nudge poke) and paying three thousand times more to see a doctor who's surely not covered by any insurance plan within a hundred-mile radius and who will give you that look that says, "Ya, you and every other hypochondriac in here is doing to die this very minute," followed by, "I think it's a virus, go home and go to bed and if you get any worse between now and Monday (but we all know miraculous recoveries are pre-scheduled for 8am on Monday mornings), call an ambulance or something. That'll be 3 gazillion dollars, please."
Ok, I'm done whining. For now. I'm going to go do head-stands on the couch in hopes of unplugging my left ear (which has been plugged since yesterday and is going to drive me ape-sh*t-mad anysecondnow), snort salt water ala neti-pot-style, down another gallon of my homemade concoction of cayenne pepper, honey, and apple cide vinegar, and continue telling Rob to stop talking to me like I'm a dog.
But I hope you, my lovely friends, are having a delightful, snot-free day and a good chuckle at my throw-down loss to karma and her bad-*ss peeps.
I deserve it, I guess.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
In Florida, we have cousins. From D.C.
In Florida, the Easter Bunny leaves a trail of chocolate from bed to living room, just like at home.
But in Florida, you have to swim to get to your chocolate eggs.
Which causes Brady to say, "Next year, I'm leaving traps for that darn rabbit."
Catching air on Easter morning is fun in Florida.
And I finally found a partner in seashell hunting. Brady's hooked.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Brady, our documentarian, narrating a video tour of our rental house.
Poolside view from the living room. Oooh ahhhh....
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Here's proof that I was midway to pajama land when he begged me to cut his hair. Those are pajama pants I'm sporting with my newly-purchased top. It's a new fashion statement I'm starting in the cornfields. Sort of a glam-mom-meets-afternoon-naps look. How's it workin' for me?
It'd been a while since anyone had seen Jonathan's neck. Isn't it a great neck?
And those ears! Who knew? He's got great ears. We haven't seen them since sometime in early 2007.
The pile of hair on the floor freaked me out a bit. Rob swept it up and there was so much it looked like a very hairy cat had died on my kitchen floor. And the amount was astounding. I have thin, fine hair, so it's an odd thing to feel envy for a pile of hair clippings on the floor. But I did.
But soon enough he began to like his new, airy head. Now he's all set for swimming in Florida.
And even though it took a try or two...
He did finally pay up. In full.
Happy Spring Everyone! Will post from Florida if I'm not too busy sunning myself, drinking coffee on the beach, hunting for seashells, or screaming on the Sheikra (AGAIN) at Busch Gardens.
In other words, see you when I get back, good people.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Dutch, Honey, you alright?
You don't look so good.
You need a little pink pill? Mama's here for you, poochie, Mama's here.
Friday, March 14, 2008
To add a little more, Jonathan came down with a high fever - on the day of the farm closing, naturally. So while he was fever'ing on the couch, Rob had to rearrange several appointments to come home and take him to the doc while I ran off to the closing that was to take 10 minutes but, naturally, took three hours. Oh, and all the while, Brady had to wait for me to pick him up from school - two hours late. (Oops)
Next, cover the end of a strong flashlight with wax paper. Out of cardstock, cut a triangle that is slightly smaller than the end of the flashlight and color it dark green or dark blue. Tape it onto the end of the flashlight. Now - go into a dark room and hold the lit flashlight about 3 feet from the pinhole while you look through the wax papered rectangle. Notice the orientation of the triangle before you look through the projector - now notice the orientation of the triangle as you look through the projector. What happens?
Next - Balloon rockets!
Cut a piece of string, about 10 feet long, and string it through a drinking straw. (I had trouble with this until Jonathan had the brilliant idea to suck it through!) Tie each end to a chair and set the chairs far enough apart to make the string taut. Then, inflate a balloon (and try to do this without your head exploding - oofda) and hold the neck closed while your partner tapes the balloon to the straw, like this:
And let go!
Project #5 was 'Quacking Duck Vibrations.' Make a hole in the bottom of a plastic cup and run a string through it as shown, knotting it so it won't slip through. Then, grab a handful of wet paper towel and, while holding the cup with one hand, run the wet towel quickly over the string from top to bottom. Do you hear a noise? Does it sound like quacking? (We thought it sounded more like a moaning mutt, actually.)
And we saved the best for last. GOOP. My kids have probably made goop a time or two in museum classes, and I'd heard of it but never actually made it. So simple - so addictingly fun! Mix 2 cups cornstarch to 1 cup water.Add a few drops of food coloring, then mix with your hands.
Jonathan had his hands in the goop for about an hour straight. He was mesmerized!
And now, just to ensure this post is all over the map, I found this while working on the last youtube upload. Evie, your kids will really want to come over and play now - we have a sith lord in training here. And they could be sith lords too!
Thanks again for your kind words, everyone. Y'all just made my day.