And then I thought I died.

I got all excited and happy that I was back and then, like all things, fate slapped me around a bit and showed me who's boss.  I'll give you a clue, it's not me.  Gracie came down with the stomach bug.  Now for those of you who have stuck with me for a while, you know how much I absolutely detest puke.  How much it makes me nervous, spin out of control and generally go insane.  And you also know how that is inversely proportional to how much my kids do, in fact, puke.

They puke all the fucking time.

Gracie was so sick, I had to have my neighbor pick up some meds for her to stop hurling, I couldn't get her to the corner Walgreen's without hurling.

It was either that or we were trudging down to the Emergency Department to get an IV.  For seven hours, we'd been sitting next to each other with a bucket so she could spew.  Seven long, horrible, frigging hours.  In that time frame she nailed me in the face and at that point I knew it was over.  My only thought was, "Innoculation complete."

I Cloroxed my face, mouth, neck and even my tongue for good measure.

And she got better.  A day went by and no one got sick.  I didn't get sick.

I was happy, I thought I had beaten it.  And I got cocky.  I was all, "Suck on that norovirus!  You were on my face and I beat you.  I win!  I'm a God."

Only I wasn't.  

I got sick.

One minute I was fine and the next, well, I wasn't.

And for the love of all things good and holy, I wished I was dead.  I have no earthly clue what that child brought into this house but I was sick.  Like, I was sicker than sick.  I threw out my back puking.  I stopped counting the number of times I barfed at sixty one.  My jaw popped out of socket and at no point did I think, "You know what, one day this will be funny and we are going to sit back and laugh and laugh and laugh."

Bait and switch.  Look at the pretty ocean while I talk about puke. 

And I'll just fast forward through all the gruesome details because they were flat out disgusting.  Now I'm up and amongst the living wondering where in the hell two good days went and what in the hell happened to my house.  It was like our toy closet blew up and all the kids were sitting in the middle of it having the times of their lives.  My husband and I clearly have two different views on how to keep the house.

And then I after another day I though I was in the clear.  No one was sick.  I got all cocky.  I thought, "I'm bad ass, I cleaned that norovirus out of this house.  I'm a cleaning God."

But I was wrong, I was so very wrong.

My husband got sick.

Then Alex got sick.

And now I must go and admit my defeat.


As an update, we now have the flu, or a cold that is suspiciously like the flu, in our house.  Alex is home from school telling me all about Minecraft.  Awesome.  

I'm trying to get back to everyone's blog but I'm having a really hard time.  Some of the word verification combinations are killing me!  I know spam is an issue but I can't seem to get past some of them and for that I'm sorry.   

I'm going to be shark bait.

Remember when the kids got sick?  And then the husband got sick?  And then I got sick?  Remember that???  Well, somewhere in that time frame, I snapped.  I frigging lost it.  Had enough with sick kids, sick husband and sick me.  I snapped like a twig.  

I did the unthinkable, called the husband at work and begged, pleaded and then demanded he come home and help me out.  I may have suggested I was going to throw myself out an upper window, or something that drastic, to get his attention.  I may have put that suggestion into his head, I don't know.  I was exhausted, I was feverish and I was quite possibly hallucinating.  

And I may have thrown a fit like a two year old asking, begging, pleading that he please go to Walgreen's and get antibiotics for all of us or I may throw myself out that same upper window again.  Now to be clear, if I did throw myself out that window I'd land in the bushes, probably break an arm, or some other extraneous appendage, and then I'd still have to clean the kitchen and make dinner because the fall would merely maim and not completely do me in.  

Anyway, in my delirium and feverish state I may have said something along the lines of, "I need a break.  I can't do this.  I can't have you sick people all needy and depending on me when I'm sick.  Why, why, WHY, can't our kids just sit in front of the TV?  Why can't anyone just eat a regular pizza and not puke?  And WHY is it so frigging cold in here?"

To which my patron saint of a husband had the stones to say, "Hon, it's not cold in here, you're burning up." And then, thinking I was more lucid and in a more adventurous mood than I really was, he said, "I can't help if the kids got your genes and don't like pizza."   

In hindsight I know he was trying to be funny but trying to be funny with your wife who's not showered in three days, handled more puke than necessary in any one lifetime, and has been without sleep and sick herself for the last week was probably not in his best interest.   

No, I know it wasn't in his best interest.  

And that's where I snapped.

"I can't do this.  I need a break.  I'm sick.  I can't be in charge of everything when I think there is a pony in the kitchen and can't you empty the damn dishwasher?  And for the record, I do not have bad genes.  They come from your family!"

I said a lot more than that but it was all nasty, mean and not necessarily true.  There was no pony in our kitchen.  My husband backed out of the corner I put him in and the next day surprised me by saying, "I've worked it out and we're going away for a week.  No kids, no nothing, just you and me."

And for a brief moment I was happy, I had an out.  I knew there was an end in sight.  And then I asked him, "When are we going?"  Knowing that one week out of four were pretty good odds but still...

And as it turns out, we're going down to Sanibel.  For one solid week, we'll have no kids, no nothing, just the two of us.  And one tag along bag full of tampons, pads and pain killers.

I'm going to be shark bait, chum.

AWESOME.

Wait.  You don't think that was his plan all along, do you?

Look who came back from the dead.

I must be feeling better because while I was out getting more pretzels for Alex, some dude cut me off in traffic and I immediately thought, "You stupid son-of-a-bitch."  At that moment I knew I'd come back from the dead.  Every single one of us have been sick in this house, probably with two or three different things, going on about three weeks now.

Alex was still not better after a week so we went to his doctor to check him out.  Autism and Asthma make a horrible combination and for a kid who can't tell me when he's going to puke, I hold out very little hope he can tell me if its hard to breathe.

Screw you people for jamming a q-tip down my throat.  

Turns out, we all have strep.  That would explain why my throat has been on FIRE, why I've been feverish and why I've been partly delusional, aside from my normal delusions of grandeur.

It's amazing what antibiotics can do.  Sure they're ripping through my gut like a tsunami but by God, I can breathe and for the first time in a solid week I can think clearly.  That right there, is better living through chemistry.  

Now I have to pick up the remnants of my house and get our lives back together.

I think I have:

• 15 loads of laundry to do.
• 8 missed therapies.
• 2 missed groups.
• 1 missed garden club for Alex.
• 1 possible dead crab.
• 2 dentist appointments, completely overlooked.
• 6 toilets to scrub.

And I may have:

• OD'ed three times on NyQuil by slugging it like a shot, screwing that little cup/dispenser thing on top.  
• Found three abdominals I never knew I had, while coughing/puking at 10:00 PM and 2:00 AM, respectively. 
• Wished I was dead 42 times. 
• Cussed out about 8 dragons in DragonVale that have lead to major malfunctions in this house.  I'm looking at you, Equinox Dragon.  
• And 1 sick husband. 

And don't worry, all the crabs are alive (damn-it) and turns out when you're sick you do make bad decisions so the trim on the house needs to be repainted.  You should have heard that foul language.

Aside from all of that, it's good to be back.

Seriously, take me out back and shoot me, would you?

Yeah, we're sick again.  Imagine that.  I don't know if my kids lick the floors at school, or french kiss the water fountain, but there it is.

I went to pick up Lizzy at school and the nurse said some kids have been out about four or five days.  Do you know what that means in our house?

Challenge Accepted.

Lizzy was out a week.  Alex has been out four days, so far.  I don't quite know when Gracie started getting sick but I started to pop Tylenol in her mouth when she started to gag, so she was covered.

We're in it to win it, that's all I can say.  In it to win it.

Alex has been sitting on a temp of 103 point holy shit that's hot.  He doesn't even realize he's sick and when he starts screaming, "My arm hurts, my arm hurts!" that's code for "I'm gonna hurl!"  

So far, his arm has hurt three times.  All over the car, missing the bucket entirely.  All over the driveway, nearly splatting a painter when they had a question that couldn't wait.  I guess he didn't hear me screaming, "Now's really not a good time for me!" and "Holy Shit!  Could you PLEASE try and AIM for the bucket.  Dear God, what did you eat?"

Yup. Nothing says back to school like airing out the car.  

Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing that particular painter again.  Remember how I mentioned we were starting on the exterior of the house?  Yeah, we've started.

And I don't exactly remember the third time he puked but Alex says it happened, so I believe him.

Somewhere in there, I've gotten sick so I've been toggling back and forth between Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen.  I don't even want to think about the war that's raging in my liver and kidneys right now.  I just keep thinking it could be worse, much worse, my husband could get sick.

The thing I've noticed with the kids being sick is just this:  my seven year old can articulate what hurts but my eight year old cannot.  Heck, even my two year old can point to her throat when I ask where it hurts.  Alex can't tell me that.  He can't say what hurts, where or even that he feels off.  He just can't put together all the pieces.  He's not there yet.

The only saving grace was that, this time Lizzy went down first so when he got sick, I knew what to look for.

But....but, when he gets sick, it's much worse.  He doesn't understand and he regresses.  I think he fundamentally understands something is wrong but he just doesn't know what.  Then, when your body's not doing what it should be doing, its grounds for some serious confusion.  And this is just me, but I think Alex gets sick longer and he tends to get the worst case of whatevers going around.

While Lizzy was laid up with a temp and sore throat, Alex has all of that, plus puking, plus hives and plus major adrenaline.  For two whole days he was one big hive.  Literally, his whole body was covered in hives and he couldn't stop itching.  The only thing that worked was to sit in a cool shower.  I won't tell you our water bill or how draining it is to keep an eight year old from scratching himself to a bloody pulp.  

And then, because they put the fear of God in the kids about lice at school, as soon as Alex started itching we had to do lice checks.  All The Time.  His head was itchy.  Itchy heads mean lice and because lice causes itchiness there had to be lice.  He was actually disappointed he wasn't growing a whole little nit farm on his head.

I was not.   

And he was bored.  He still is bored.  Good God All mighty, he's bored.  He's bored with NingaGo, How its Made, the computer and horror of all horrors, he's bored with his iTouch and the iPad.  And because he's bored, I get to hear about it, every twenty seconds.

Animusic.  Dear God, please make it stop.    

I have stopped being mom and have reverted back to being, "Hey waiter, I need more Gatorade."

I've become my child's manservant.

And I'm exhausted.  This is how I know having a child with Special Needs is a little more work, a little harder, a little more challenging.  I know it.  I live it.  It doesn't make him any less lovable.  Matter of fact, watching him while he's sick, and lose comprehension and understanding of the situation, rips my heart out.  But it does bring to light the difference between a child who has Special Needs and one who does not.

And now I have to go.  I think Gracie is puking.....again.  

Yup, that's what it was...


Note: the baby was up with a 104.oh shit, I'm scared fever, for most of yesterday and last night.  So if you're wondering where I've been, there's the answer.  I'll try to get to blogs as time arises.....I just didn't want you thinking I went *poof.*  All though, right now, that would be kinda nice....

Who wants a butt-rocket?

I can't wait for February to end.  There I said it.  I don't care if our TOR:CON index shoots up to like a five just because we live in Kansas.  I'll take that risk.  There's something about the promise of warmer weather with the coming of March.


















 

In case anyone's keeping count, that sleeping baby down there is winning.  Six to zero.  It wouldn't be so bad if she would only take her Tylenol by mouth.  But ohhhh no, she doesn't like the taste.  I've tried every flavor, every brand and even the chewable tablets.  Even tried hiding it in her cheese.

All of it comes back at me.

She had the same poor review of Ibuprofen.  All makes, all brands.

That's why I get the joy of shoving a suppository up her ass every four to six hours.  She thinks even less highly of that and pukes, I swear, to spite me.  

Let me tell you Gracie, I like shoving my finger up your ass as much as you like it there kid.

On the upside, it's making discipline a hell of a lot easier in this house.  All I have to do is pull out a suppository, show it to her and say, "Do you want this?  Do you want a butt-rocket up your butt??  No, I didn't think so."

Lord, that child will do whatever I ask now.

Only with both hands holding her bottom pretty tightly.

Tamiflu, get yours while its hot.

This will be my last post on The Sick.  Lizzy shared the disease with Gracie and the very next day my rump was back at the Pediatrician's office.  Apparently you get bumped all the way to the front of the cue really fast when you call and tell them the baby has a sustained temp over 103 and she's really sleepy.  Lord, they just tell you to come on in, STAT.


Yeah, it did cross my mind that that little nugget would have been helpful to know yesterday when we were living my worst nightmare.


Anyway, we dropped everything and marched in there, in full glory.  That consisted of my unshowered, unshaved, undeordized and puked on, pajamaed ass carrying a Rubbermaid.  Lizzy was in Disney princess pajamas and the baby was delirious in only a diaper.

Gracie-3, Mom-0.

I don't know if I mentioned this but where we live, in South Johnson County, it's the most stuck-up, prudish, money-centered, my husband makes more than your husband, place I've ever lived.


You guys know that's just not me.


I tell you that, to tell you this: Those bitches parted like the Red Sea when we walked in that doctor's office.  Our dirty contaminated asses were sniffed out as soon as we hit the door handle and my God, the look of horror on those women's faces were priceless.  A few even got up and moved out of our way so they didn't get a sent of our disease.  One dove in her purse for hand sanitizer and damn near bathed her kids in it.  


Call me Moses.  


After all that, we were seen and both girls tested positive for the flu.  My first comment was, "WTF?  We had flu shots and wait, why was Lizzy not tested yesterday when we were here?"


Crickets.


Suffice it to say I've bleached the hell out of the house and have never really put the Clorox down.  I knew it was all over when I saw Gracie eating lunch out of the same bowl as Lizzy and later there was a direct sneeze in her face.  For the curious, direct inoculation like that has about a twenty hour incubation period.  


At that point, all the bleach in the world wasn't going to help my cause.

Let's just say Tamiful is my new BFF, we practically have a "X" on our door and I'll not put the bleach down till we're all over The Sick in this house.  


I don't care if my hands have been reduced to bloody stumps.  I don't want to see Alex sick with this.  And the world will stop spinning on its axis if He Who shall Not Be Named got it.  I cannot let that happen.  For my sanity, it cannot happen.  


I'll dip them both in bleach nightly if I have to because they have to stay healthy.  


Now can someone be a good neighbor and get me some more bleach?  My stash is running low.  


I know beggars can't be choosers but I really like the Fresh Meadow scent Clorox has on the market right now.  

Somebody take me out back and shoot me, would you?

Yeah, we're sick again.  This time Lizzy got hit.  I swear at least one of my kids has been sick since November.  I made the mistake of going to the Pediatricians office for their walk in clinic and we were number fifty-three in line out of fifty-three.  

If you work at a Pediatrician's office take note:  Next time a parent phones in and asks how long the wait is, don't lie.  Just tell her the truth.  That way she won't show up in her pajama's with no snacks, diapers or charge cords for the electronics.  As a bonus, she probably won't yell at you.  Just saying.  

Anyway, I'm guessing every child in South Johnson County was sick and at the same dang office with me.  That, right there, is my version of hell.  

Somebody shoot me.

Before the electronics died.  

We wound up making camp out in the hallway for over two hours and going home with a script for Amoxicillin.  I recommend paying the extra $2.50 and getting bubble gum flavor, heck any flavor.  That stuff tastes like shit otherwise.  

I did have a bit of a "moment" about ninety minutes in when all the electronics died and I went a tish hypoglycemic.  I'm going to gloss over that part.  

And then He Who Shall Not Be Named went out of town for business. 

And not to let any of you down, Lizzy went on a bender around 2:10 AM and was hugging the toilet for a good two hours.  Let's just say she's all ready for college--she's got the puking thing nailed.  Even asked for her hair to be put up in a pony tail so her hair didn't get dirty, poor thing.

Rubbermaid, more than just food storage.

Have I mentioned how sick I am of puke?  I have??  Oh well.

My week off and what I did. And didn't do.

I took all of last week off from blogging so I could wrap my brain around what was going on in this house.  Aside from some personal angst, I've had the pleasure of trying to find a new Speech Language Pathologist and figuring out if we want to continue on with individual treatment or opt for more of a group setting for social skills.  Either way, I was given notice that our insurance has stopped paying and unloaded a $7,000 dollar bill on us as they seem to think all past Speech Therapy was/is unwarranted.

Thank you Cigna for your medical opinion.  And by that I mean Fuck You Dearly.

Yeah, we're fighting it.

Add to it, all the social skills group start at $50 per group.  That turns into $200/month to go weekly, which is recommended by our Child Psychologist, not our insurance company.  And, oh yeah, none of them take insurance because, as one lady said, "We decided it wasn't worth that fight a long time ago.  We take cash or nothing."

Yeah, we're so not going there.

Last I checked, I don't shit $200 dollar bills so I got a little overwhelmed.

And then I got sick.

Let me rephrase that.  Alex got sick and my last coherent thought before I came down with his infectious disease nightmare was, "I hate cleaning grout lines. Christ, is it hot in here???  I'm really hot."

And that is the last thing I really remember for the past six days.

Sure, I remember some things:

• Gracie eating cheese balls, cookies and trying to drink diet soda for lunch.
• Alex puking.  And puking.  And puking.
• Me getting a little jealous my six year old was holding down her diet soda. Note: I normally don't let the kids drink soda.  Ever.
• Laying on the sofa watching something about the American Beaver for about six hours straight and thinking, "Hey, I wonder when the kids are going to figure out there is more than one kind of beaver...."
• Looking at the thermometer thinking, "101.4?  Really??  You can do better than that."
• Realizing that, if I did indeed die, my kids would not notice till we ran out of cheese balls and/or soda.

At some point in my fever induced haze, He Who Shall Remain Nameless thought it was a good idea to download Plants Versus Zombies for the kid's i-Touches.  Now Lizzy has established Base Camp next to our bed because she's afraid, "Zombies are going to cut open mommy's head and drink her brains like soda....with a straw."  Her words, not mine.    

Base Camp.

At some other point, Lizzy graduated from Base Camp and move permanently into Camp I.  Camp I is my bed.  It was formerly known as mom and dad's den of occasional sex but now its become the catchall for anyone and everyone who wonders in at night.

While the love's not dead the sex certainly is.    

At some other point during some other night, I told the kids to go puke in their buckets and leave me sleep.  I don't actually remember this, but He Who Shall Remain Nameless tells me it happened.  He swears by it.  I'd swear he was lying but then the kids started telling each other, "Oh, bloody hell, go away and leave me be," and I knew right then and there he was telling the truth.

And I'm not endorsing Tylenol PM here but man, that shit really works. 

Anyway, right when I started feeling better I took Alex's i-Touch down the hallway to be charged but I lost hold of it.  

I LOST HOLD OF IT.  

Now this is where I have to back the story up a bit.  See, Alex is a biter.  He bites things and likes to chew on things.  Anything he can get into his mouth, he'll chew.  At one point in my delirium I thought he'd make a perfect beaver the way he chews things.  Yes, my mind is that fucked up.  Hey, I was sick, remember?

Anyway, he chews his clothes, pencils, pens, erasers, box tops, whatever he can get, he'll chew it.  That includes, but is not limited to, his i-Touch case.  So when I lost hold of his i-Touch, it had a good portion of the case chewed off.  

Shirt sleeve, chewed.

And that little i-Touch in a half mangled case didn't stand a chance against the tile floor.  It hit in the bottom corner and the glass shattered into a million little pieces.

Cue impending horror and panic attack. 

Remember how I said Alex was sick?  Well, he was.  And you all know how our kids can get when they're sick.  Alex was really quite subdued, probably because he had his i-Touch.  That is, until I dropped that damnable, infernal, horrible, fucking little i-Touch. 

i-Touch, 0.  Tile floor, 1.

Then he became the devil incarnate.  I have not been forgiven.  He has not forgotten.  He will not forgive or forget.  The devil incarnate I tell you.

He's gone on a rampage that makes all others pale in comparison.  I'd swear the paint actually went a shade lighter when that damn thing hit the floor and shattered.  He morphed into his evil little twin, damning me straight to hell with every glance, every look and every move.  Every pore of his little body has been seething anger and venom at my lack of fine motor skills.

I'm thanking my lucky stars he's not yet built a ray gun out of Lego's because if he had, he certainly would have blasted my ass into dust without thinking twice.  I suspect this will not stop till I fix that damn thing and even then the residual, I-hate-you-for-dropping-my-i-Touch, effect will be felt for some time.  

And I can't say that I blame him.  I feel for him.  I broke his Holy Grail and now we're all suffering.

And then, because I've not yet had enough drama in the last week my uterus decided to get in on all the action and I started my period.

And that, right there, is how I took a week off, only to get further behind than ever before.


Note:  Yes, you are supposed to be laughing with me at this.  Through it all, I've managed to get some of "me" back, if that makes any sense.  I'm not as worn out and exhausted as I was.  I don't really understand it, but there it is.  I'm feeling better and I'm running with it.   

I've come back from the dead.

My husband tells me I'm over the worst of things and I should be feeling better soon.  He has it on good authority that I'm on the mend because after coming downstairs yesterday I exclaimed, "Lord, this place looks like a dump," and immediately started to clean up.

And then almost passed out from the exertion.

I feel like an animal in a zoo relocation project that's been tranquilized in the ass and am just now beginning to wake up, wondering where in the hell the last week went.  I have no idea.  I am still foggy.  I guess I was that sick.

I can tell you:

• There is a horrible smell coming from my garbage can.  I have no idea what it is. 
• My kids ate pretty much whatever they wanted for the past seven days.  And that included Cheese Balls for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  
• Orange juice spilled on the floor does not just "wipe up" after a week.
• My bed sheets should be soaked and sanitized in bleach or thrown out.
• A head-rush is not nearly as fun when you are sick and standing at the top of the stairs.  It was much better when you were drunk and twenty years younger.
• There is really nothing on tv at three in the morning.
• There is even less on tv at four in the morning.
• When sick, I stop shaving even though the hair on my body continues to grow.
• The elixir that works best for knocking my ass out is a dose of Tylenol PM with Robitussin followed by an Ibuprofen chaser.
• I may be in liver and renal failure from all the drugs.  It could go either way right now and was worth the risk.
• There are two wall patches next to the toilet in my bathroom from the previous owners I never noticed until the other night at three in the morning.
• And that circle-ring on your butt from sitting on the toilet lasts a lot longer than you think.  Don't ask.  

While I'm trying to clean and figure out what all I missed last week I'll leave you with some pictures of the kids from when we went to the zoo over the summer.  I actually have 9:00 written on the calender and I have no idea what it means.  Do I have to be somewhere at 9:00 or is someone coming over?  I just don't know....

Even thought they got me sicker than a dog, I'll still keep them.


PS--can you guys do me a favor and if you can't leave a comment shoot me an e-mail?  I'm trying to figure out how widespread the problem is....thanks!


Lizbethcole29@yahoo.com

Head lice and asthma attacks. Wait, do lice have asthma?

OK, I wrote this post after the first week of school and I finally caught the horrible cold the kids had.  So I'll let you read what I wrote before I got all hopped up on cold medication and started hallucinating.  Nothing says 'sleep like the dead' like three Tylenol, a few swigs of Robitussin (a teaspoon is highly overrated) and some Midol.  Yeah, I got that landed in my lap too.

Here ya go:

In one week of school I've gotten notice there's head lice and a little viral something-something going around.  We got the viral thing.

I thought we were doing OK with it and then Alex's morphed into an asthma attack.  One that wouldn't go away.  It started on Saturday and by Monday we were doing nebulizer treatments five times a day and starting him on oral prednisone.

We were up at five AM starting treatments followed by spending the bulk of the day at the doctor's office checking oxygen levels and lung capacity.  Good times.  

I think we've got him on the upside of this but nothing says fun like having your child not breathe.

You think you hate autism??  Try Asthma on for size.  Better yet, go for the combo.  Now that's a good time.  Add two extra needy, sick children and my mother and then you'll be where I'm at.  The inner sanctum of hell.

Being sick and then getting all hopped-up on steroids sent Alex into a tailspin.  He's been hell on wheels since last week.

The good news is, he has a new favorite movie: Magamind.  I love it.  Its one of the least offensive movies out there and as a bonus it has Brad Pitt, Will Ferrel and Tina Fey for voices.  I'm totally over Brad since he dumped Jen for Angie but hey, he still has a pretty nice voice.  I don't know if it's exhaustion or what, but I can actually sit and watch that movie a few times over myself.

Now that we've gotten over the hump of the asthma, I'm all worked up about the lice thing.  I get kids will pass things around.  I get it.  But lice???  Now that's just going too far.  Too far.

Ewwww.

It gives me full body shakes just to think about it and every day when the kids get home from school I'm checking their heads like a gorilla checks for nits.  I secretly want to take a can of Aquanet hairspray and a butane lighter and blast one to oblivion.  Never mind the kids heads.

And with that image I bid you adieu.

Brace yourselves, we had a busy weekend.

That title's a bit deceiving.  We really didn't have a busy weekend at all but it sure felt like it.  Now that we're done with Labor Day I feel like we're really into the school year.  You may feel free to insert your favorite cuss words or your exclamations of joy here depending on which camp you're in.

Me, personally, I need a vacation.

Just for kicks, let's recap the weekend, shall we?  With it being Labor Day and all, you'd think we did something exciting.  Yeah, no.

We actually did try going to the Zoo on Sunday but somebody who shall remain nameless labeled the Downtown City Market as the Zoo in the car's navigation system and since you know, we turned into chimps and the car was driving us, we blindly went downtown instead of the Zoo.

Horrible, horrible mistake.

By the time we figured out our own stupidity, we wound up with:

• One really pissed-off little girl: "This isn't the Zoo!  I want to pet the lambs!  Where are the lambs???  I don't see any lambs!  WAAAAA!!!!!" 
• One car-sick boy: "Mom, my shoulder hurts."  And just like that, breakfast was all over the backseats of the car.  Mental note: Sudoku + driving = sick boy. 
• A baby who promptly fell asleep and then was a little bitch for the rest of the day.  
• With Lizzy still screaming and Alex puking I called it officially over and we went back home.  Please skip this paragraph if you don't like nasty language.  It sounded similar, but not exactly like, "God Dammit, how in the hell did we make it downtown?!?  Oh Fuck No.  He did not just puke back there.  Oh God Dammit, he did.  Son of a Bitch, this is such bullshit.  I'M DONE.  How long is it going to take us to get home?  Thirty minutes?? Oh fuck no.  I'M OUT.  No, no, no guys mommy's not really getting out of the car.  It's just an expression.  She's just really had a rough morning.  Can you guys just keep your headsets on for a few minutes?  Yeah, you can?  You guys are great!"

So I've clearly been a little strung out...    

That's why we did a bunch of nothing over the long weekend.

Friday night:

Saturday:

On Sunday one dropped out but the other was still going strong:

And Monday he was back into his Saturday clothes and doing a little more of this:

And Tuesday they went back to school.

Amen and The End.

I'm sick and a liar to boot.

I was going to write something all funny and cracked up today but I'm not.  I'm exhausted, worn out and I'm sick.  I finally succumbed.

And the worst part is, they're on day eight of this and I'm on day two.  I still have all that fun to look forward to.   

But you want to know the really bad part? 

I sent them to school today.  Loaded them up with Tylenol and chucked them out the side door of the minivan.  I know.  I'm a horrible parent.  Thing is, the whole school's sick.  I'd feel a little differently if I weren't walking into a giant petri dish when I went up to the classroom today.  Every single kid was snotty and they were all still at school.

Lizzy's teacher met me at pickup last Thursday and said she looked a little sick and points to her nose giving me the biggest teacher hint that maybe she should have stayed home.  I did a quick scan and noted her nose looked as snotty as all the others.  Whatever. 

I looked her teacher square in the face and in my croakiest, I'm not sick voice, said, "I know.  Allergies. We all have them.  Juniper's real bad right now." 

Here's the deal:  I'm not allergic to anything.  I have no idea if Juniper's bad right now.  I made it all up.  Pulled it out my ass and spit it out my mouth.  I looked her square in the face and boldfaced lied. 

That was last Thursday and Lizzy's been home ever since.  So when I turfed them out the door today I was this shy of loosing it myself.

And the really bad part???  I'll do it again tomorrow if I have to. 

Wait. 

Shit. 

Tomorrow's Saturday. 

Lord, I think this turned out funny after all.  Either I'm a comedic genius or I really need to lay off all the meds.  You decide...

A whole lotta love at Speech Therapy

I got called on the carpet by my kid's Speech Therapist today.  We were supposed to do some homework and I forgot.  For two weeks in a row.  So this time she told me that in order for us to succeed we needed to be on the same page.  

BITE ME.

Now that I got that out of my system, I get it.  Really I do.  I know I'm an integral part of this whole gig.  She actually gave us a little booklet at our first meeting and it says: YOU.  It is up to YOU to implement your child's Speech Therapy services."

No, we didn't get a booklet, I just made that up.  But it felt like we should have gotten one as she seemed to be quoting some Holy Grail of Speech Therapy that I was missing.

We were supposed to be working on his R's.  He says them incorrectly and you can't understand him.  I get that.  Thing is, he wasn't associating the exercises with articulating the appropriate sound and he was getting frustrated and embarrassed.  I put a limit on what we were doing at home since it was turning into a negative association. 

And the other things, yeah, I dropped the ball.  The two girls have been sick as dogs, producing more mucous than I ever dreamed possible.  I've been relegated to mopping up puke for the past week, doling out Tylenol and Ibuprofen like a Pez dispenser and running to the Pediatrician's office since the sweet little shit of a baby seems to think it's much more interesting to fight like a feral cat and see mommy wipe up antibiotic off the ceiling, walls, microwave and any other inanimate object within a ten foot range.  And since she's got more fight in her than Rocky Balboa she crossed the line and puked all over the other half of the kitchen.  Again.

I even have puke buckets in the car.  Yeah, it's that bad. 

So NO I've not yet used our conversation starter at the dinner table asking who did what, when and why.  Been a little busy.

And NO I've not used our Emotions and Facial Expressions Chart.  I think its still in the car from last week under a puke bucket.  If I did you can bet I'd have had a witty comeback like:

I'm a little irritated at what's going on at my house right now.  I'm terrified of getting dinner launched at me.  Pick an orifice.  I'm enraged and disgusted with the prospect of cleaning up more puke.  I'm exhausted, nauseated and sick to death of hearing my own children whine and beg.  And if I hear that God forsaken Lelli Kelly shoe commercial one more time I'm beyond confident I'm going to burst a vessel. 

But I am ecstatic that you are concerned with our progress and amused by your disapproving and indifferent attitude and I'm optimistic that smug grin has been wiped off your sorry little face.

But alas I had no witty comeback except for BITE ME and even that was only in my head.  That should count for something, right?  Right??