Wrap It in Bacon

Remember that email that went around a few years ago about how to give a cat a pill?  It went on and on with steps including massage cat's throat, remove cat from drapery rod, then apply direct pressure to lacerations.  Then there was "how to give a pill to a dog."  Answer: wrap it in bacon. 

Gremlin has been experiencing some significant constipation issues for about the past month.  Basically, he refuses to poop.  This is different from his usual "I don't have to go - I'm too busy playing" refusal and has now migrated to his school day.  We've instituted mandatory "trying" periods throughout the day and returned to the sitting-on-the-edge-of-the-tub, potty training model.

Friday, while in Target (why do I always get this call when I've got a full cart?), the school nurse calls stating she's got Gremlin in her office doubled over with stomach pains.  I'm on my way but it's going to be a few minutes.  She calls back seconds later asking me to please bring a change of clothes as well.  Awesome.

As I arrive at school and the nurse waves me toward the bathroom where she has left my 5-year-old to clean himself up following his accident.  I find him naked and covered, wiping ineffectually at his body with dry, brown, industrial paper towels.  Thankfully, it didn't seem to be bothering him. 

The pediatrician starts writing before I've finished my first sentence.  Gremlin has encopresis and needs a laxative.  Here's where we get to the bacon part.

We opted to wait until Saturday morning vs. Friday evening to begin the regimen for obvious reasons. Andy and I sat at the kitchen table for in excess of 45 minutes trying to teach, convince, discuss, cajole, explain, threaten, and ultimately bribe Grem to swallow an Exlax pill resembling a blue M&M.

He eventually allows the pill to completely dissolve in his mouth complaining the whole time that it tastes like sand, yet refusing to swallow or take a sip of any of the 6 different beverage selections we have offered him.  Also, he is now the proud owner of SpongeBob Atlantis Squarepantis DS game. 

And all for nothing.  Based on his chosen method of absorption and the complete lack of results, I'm guessing that none of the medicine actually made it to the boy's lower G.I.

This morning, I returned to CVS and going against the advice of the pharmacist Andy spoke with yesterday, got Exlax in chocolate form.  I came home, said "hey Grem, here's some chocolate medicine!"  He ate two pieces and we're done.

Wrap it in bacon.

To Whom It May Concern - The "Where Have You Been 'Young' Lady?" - Edition

January -
Dear Funky Mammogram, what a great way to start off the year!  But thanks for being there for me.

March -
Dear Needle Biopsy, you are not nearly as painful as your name would suggest.  I am so glad you turned out to be a negative guy.  Positive can be such a downer sometimes, y'know?

April -
Dear Gremlin, we made it!  You're five years old.  I know it was touch and go for a while there - especially during those terrible twos (and threes) but here we are!  Thank you, I love you.

May -
Welcome acquiring company!  Thank you for asking! I'd love a large Blue Cross Blue Shield with a PPO and a side of dental.  What's that?  You've just got New Coke, circa 1985.  Oh, I guess that'll be almost as good.  Thanks.

June -
Dear company that strung us along for the past six months with promises of the ideal job only to go with nepotism in the end.  This is me, pointing two fingers up to my eyes then pointing them toward you, then pointing two fingers up to my eyes then pointing them toward you. Understood?

July -
Dear Andy, have fun at the trial in Texas.  Sorry you had to miss our Cape vacation.  With your family. And our anniversary.  I mean our 10th anniversary.

September -
Dear Birthday,  beginning in 2011, you will take place sometime in May. I hope this change isn't too inconvenient to you but I think you'll agree that a time not coinciding with the first week of school will allow us some more time to enjoy one another's company.

November -
Dear Former Company, Pfffft!
Dear Lymphoma, just like a coward, you bring a knife to a gun fight.  Back the eff away from my friend.  Good boy. Now stay...staaay...

Dear 2010,
Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Dear 2011,
Welcome, my year of health, prosperity, happiness, new job, and new house!  Treat me right and I'll recommend you to all my friends.  Treat me wrong and I'll make you wish you were 2001.