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.

25 Things I Now Know As a Parent

Over at SuperSisters Jen (sister of my friend, Kristen) wrote the best post and invited us all to play along.  I'd love to hear what you've learned.

1. Even if they've been quietly entertaining themselves for a hour, the second you pick up the phone, they will need you.

2.  No matter how much healthy food you fed them as infants, they will not willingly eat it as preschoolers.

3. You can survive on far less sleep than you ever realized.

4. Classic Disney movies really are as good as you remember them being.

5. You really will love the second child just as much as the first - only differently.

6. It's extremely important to talk about parenting styles prior to getting married.

7.  You can sleep in any position if you're tired enough.

8.  You are your child's biggest advocate.  Never fear being "that mother."

9. Legos are probably the greatest toy ever invented.

10. Mommy kisses really do make boo-boos better.

11. No matter what the weirdest thing you've ever done or said, another mom has done or said it, too.

12. Time away from your children makes you a better parent.

13. If you're stressing out about being a good enough parent, you are.

14. You will say and do things as a parent you swore you never would.

15. Most every disgusting thing they do contributes to healthy immune system.

16.  Boys can make guns out of anything - Tinker Toys, tree branches, food...

17.  Toy guns won't make them serial killers any more than toy kitchens will make them gay*.  They are who they are.  Love them because of it, not in spite of it.

*no, I don't put the two in the same category

18. Kids like seeing their parents hug.

19. Time with a coloring book and crayons is very therapeutic.

20. You can never be too vigilant around water.

21. No matter how vigilant we are, sometimes, it's just luck and grace that keeps them safe.

22.  It's my job to stay healthy and well. I am very, very important to my children. 

23. Loving and liking your spouse provides your children with more of a sense of security than anything money could buy.

24. You have more patience than you ever knew.

25.  Boys are just wired differently than girls.

Soap Operas and Bon Bons - That's Me...

7:00 pm Wednesday night - Email from neighbor (N1) asking if I can pick up her kindergartener (Lila) after school and drop her off at the sitter's as the sitter will be one child heavy for a safe car ride.  No problem except Thursday is yoga day.  If Lila would like to join us for yoga, I can drop her off at the sitter's after that.  Lila likes yoga, all is well.  Simple.

12:50 pm today -  Nurse's office calls stating HRH is complaining of groin pain.  He had complained of this a week ago and Andy explained he had pulled a muscle, relax and it'll pass.  Second occurrence, we worry about a hernia.  Change of plans: No yoga. Pediatrician.

12:55 - En route to pick up Gremlin at preschool. Plan to speak to other neighbor (N2), whose son (Jack) is in Gremlin's preschool class - and also has a kindergartner - to see if she can drop Lila at sitter's.  Jack is out sick today.  N2 not at preschool. 

1:05 pm - Call N2's cell to run plan by her. No answer/leave voicemail.  Call N2s home number.  No answer.  Contemplate calling own husband (Andy) to have him call N2's Husband's (NH2) cell to see if he knows his wife's where-abouts.  Get Andy's voicemail.  Don't leave message.

1:15 pm - Arrive at HRH's school.  HRH bops out of nurse's office a little too energetically for one in so much pain.  Get incredibly rudimentary explanation of hernia from very nice school nurse.  Leave school.  Gremlin has nervous breakdown in playground as we are *not* stopping to play.

1:20 pm - Call pediatrician from car to see if we should drive there immediately.  Nope but do have 3:45 appointment today.  I can pick up Lila at regular time but not sure if day care provider will be home an hour earlier than anticipated.

1:25 pm  - Gremlin jumps oddly on couch connecting his knee with his nose, resulting in nose bleed.

1:30 pm - Kids in front of Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.  Back to work! N1 is a nurse practitioner who works in a maximum security prison and is not allowed a cell phone at work.  Call N1's husband (NH1), who is currently traveling for work in DC.  He has no idea of gyrations going on up here but I have his cell #!  Explain all and instruct him to call sitter to find out if she will be available to receive Lila an hour earlier than expected.  Await call back.

1:35 pm - NH1 reaches sitter.  All is well.  She will expect Lila at regular time.

1:45 pm - N2 returns my voice mail.  She is onboard to pick up Lila along with her own kindergartner and drop off at sitter.

1:50 pm - Text NH1 with school phone number so he can tell school to release Lila to N2.  Also must mention that Lila was originally supposed to attend after-school enrichment yoga with me.

2:01 - UPS arrives with new starter for Daddy's boat.  HRH carries 15 lb package from front door to kitchen table.


I'm sorry, Angela.  It seemed like such a simple thing...

What to Really Expect - What's Your Point?

Ever hear of foreshadowing? Me too.


It's February vacation and we're headed to my sister's house to let them (destroy her house for a change) play with their cousins. After I finally get the boys dressed and ready, I head upstairs to retrieve my watch. It is from here that I hear the blood curdling screams of my first born.

Like all mammals, I know the differences in my sons' cries. This one was not irate (Gremlin took something belonging to me!) nor was it over-reactive (There is a spider in the basement!!), this scream said, This is my own blood!!!

We meet at the door to my bedroom where HRH is cradling his right hand in his left as blood drips from the puncture wound on the back of his wrist. Gremlin is following surily behind. I grab a towel and apply direct pressure while trying to simultaneously calm him and find out what the hell happened.

Turns out that in the 3.2 minutes I was upstairs, the boys got into a game of poking with sharpened pencils. After repeated "light" pokes to Gremlin's face, he'd had enough and reciprocated by stabbing HRH in the hand with a pencil. I wish there was an "incredulous" font. Are you kidding me?

I steer HRH into the bathroom so we can clean/inspect/band-aid. I instruct Gremlin to go downstairs to retrieve the pencil so I can see if the tip is broken off.

The tiny puncture is slightly black-ish but I can't tell if there's graphite in there or just he's just marked. Also the vein in his wrist is bulging but it doesn't look like it was pricked. Gremlin arrives with the pencil but as I turn to this forensic evidence, he proceeds to poke the bathroom doorjamb with it, rendering the point uncheckable.

When in doubt, call the pedi. I manage to calm HRH's screams and cover the wound with a Scooby Doo band-aid and make yet another call to our doctor. He agrees that maybe he should take a look and off we go, with a quick call to my sister, letting her know about the unplanned pit stop.

Diagnosis: It doesn't look like the pencil tip broke off in his arm and the positioning most likely rules out any bits from traveling to his brain. But essentially, HRH will have a life-long, tiny black dot tattoo.

The boys were also subjected to a lengthy dissertation on the dangers of graphite poisoning (yes, I made up that term), potential enucleation, and general acts of stupidity and violence.

Then we went and played at Auntie's house.

Anatomy of a Guy Friendship

Last week, after school, HRH caught sight of some kids playing ball and decided to join them. I was pleased as HRH has recently given up most forms of outdoor play, preferring Legos, TV, Wii, Homework, pretty much anything to outdoor exercise. I was also pleased because he insinuated himself into a group in which he knew no one and just waited his turn until it became clear he was indeed included.

The game proceeded for the better part of an hour while I chatted pleasantly with some other mommies over by the play structure. Suddenly, a loud scream rent the air and we all turned to see the victim. It was HRH, running toward me, crying, clutching his crotch! Oh...crap.

As we sat, me cradling HRH, him cradling his package, we managed to piece together what had transpired:

Another boy had been 'fake punching' HRH to make him flinch, then calling him a scardy cat (aside: strange word to spell, funnier that kids still use it). HRH in turn pulled a fist up to the the bully's face and told him he'd "show him scared". I'm actually perfectly okay with HRH's actions and truthfully quite proud of him for standing up for himself in the face of an older (2nd grade) kid. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't as impressed and instead kicked HRH squarely between the legs!

We were able to identify which child and his appropriately horrified mother dragged him away for some serious talking-to. After everyone had calmed down, the mother brought her little hooligan son to HRH to offer an apology. The boy seemed genuinely contrite and HRH accepted graciously.

Since that day, he and HRH have been seeking each other out to play; ball, tag, whatever. His name is Gabe.

And I'm pretty sure he's going to be an usher at HRH's wedding.

De ja Boo-Boo

Andy's cousin and his wife (our friends) had their first child this past Thursday, a beautiful 10 lb, 3 oz (oy) 21 1/2 inch baby boy. So I'm dedicating this edition of What to Really Expect to the new parents, Tim and Katie.

Last Tuesday, HRH was playing some sort of spy game with the neighborhood kids and was crouching under a bush keeping look out. It is at this point that our six-year-old neighbor, exhibited a slight issue with impulse control by dropping a rock on HRH's head. HRH emerged screaming from the bushes where he was met by the mommies and the daddy of the rock-dropper. The result was an inch or so gash above his left ear that my nurse practitioner neighbor determined did need stapling. (The laceration is in nearly the same spot as the one he got two years ago running in socks in the kitchen.)

Another neighbor yelled "I've got Gremlin. See you in a while!" over her shoulder as she headed to round up the rest of the kids. The daddy was last seen striding purposely home, rock-dropper in tow. I ran into the house, grabbed a dish towel and my bag, trundled HRH into the car, and headed off to the hospital. On the way I placed my third call in two years to Andy, instructing him to meet us in the Emergency Room.

For the next three hours, we compared notes with at least four other families who also entered the ER with dish towels attached to the sides of their childrens' heads. And one frustrated mom whose child appeared to be in fine health with no visible wounds. Turns out her two-year-old had shoved his dinner so far up his nose that they were unable to retrieve it (this time - apparently, this is not a one-time occurrence) and were instructed by the pediatrician to head to the hospital. No, I didn't ask what type of food was up there. Yes, I'm curious, too.

Once again, the state has not removed our children from our custody. Once again, all questions regarding "the incident" were directed to HRH. We engaged in a long conversation about impulses and the importance of controlling the more negative ones. There was a tearful apology from the mother of the rock-thrower. There was a sincere-ish apology from the rock thrower, himself, who spent a lot of time in punishment. And a sincere-ish acceptance of apology from the throw-ee. Followed by "Hey! Wanna see my staples?".

Staple-removal is today at 1500 hours. Wish us luck.


I can't help but think that all through this adventure, I didn't panic, I didn't get upset, squeamish, angry, or lightheaded. I have boys. This is what happens. It's done. Until the next time.

What to Really Expect - Part 2

Child: HRH
Age: 7 weeks

It's 5:00 am on a very chilly January morning. HRH begins to stir in his cradle beside my side of the bed. I reach over and attempt to plug him to catch another few moments of precious sleep. He makes a strange noise. Instantly awake, I flip on the light to find HRH struggling to breathe. I scream Andy awake. He jumps out of bed, into HRH's room across the hall, grabs the snot sucker off the changing table and suctions him, pulling out a nice little booger nugget. HRH begins sucking in air again like a pearl diver returning to the surface.

We bundle up our little prince in at least three layers of fleece over his 'jamas to ward off the pre-dawn chill and drive off to the emergency room. With the dome light on and me in the back seat, monitoring his every breath.

We arrive at the hospital and wait...and wait...and wait. (Have I ever mentioned that the effing emergency room is named after my father in law, who had been chief of emergency surgery until his death?) Eventually the baby is evaluated. Or, rather, we are evaluated.

ER Doc: So you say your son's nose was stuffy.
Us: Yep! And he wasn't breathing!

ER Doc: Do you have the heat on?
Us: Yes, it's set to 9,000. Can't have our precious getting all chilled.

ER Doc: And his cradle? Is it near the heat source?
Us: Yes indeedy! Right next to the radiator. But don't worry. We made sure our newborn baby couldn't reach out and grab it. We're cautious.

ER Doc: And this house that you just moved into six weeks before his birth? Does it have carpeting?
Us: Yep. Nice older (dusty) carpteting. We were going to pull it up but thought we'd leave it til spring to keep the room warmer. Besides, it goes well with the peeling wallpaper.

Baby's Diagnosis: Your child is "stuffy." I'll give you a minute to digest this complicated bit of medical information. Then go buy a humidifier.

Parents Diagnosis: Morons of the overreatcting variety.

(Moron) Manic Mommy: He's hungry. Is it okay if I nurse him?

ER Doc: Blank stare. Did anyone ever mention to you that newborns only breathe through their noses?

Us: Blank stare.

ER Doc: Yeah, they don't learn how to breathe through their mouths until later.

Us (later, to each other, not the doctor): Good fucking tip, don't you think!?

Upshot:
Still take HRH to see his pediatrician that afternoon. Just to be sure. Same diagnosis; parental mania/moronic-ness.
Buy a humidifier the size of a refrigerator (wallpaper is steamed off in a matter of weeks).
Alert every new/expecting parent we ever meet about the mouth-breathing thing.

What to Really Expect

For my friend, Jennifer, who is expecting her first child. These are the things that they can't tell you in books. I give you HRH's six-year check up.

The initial aspects of the physical are going pretty well; height - check, weight - check, eyes/ears/nose/mouth -check. The pediatrician has HRH stand up, touch his nose, touch his toes, pull down his pants - wha? What was that last thing?? HRH is awash in shyness and confusion while I'm doing the "Doctors, Mommy and Daddy" privacy song and dance.

Eventually, HRH mans up and pulls down his boxers. The doctor gets enough of a glance to note that everything is where it should be. Aaaand now it's time for three immunizations, a blood test and a urine test.

We got him on the first shot with the sneak attack. For the second and third, I'm half-lying across the exam table with his legs in a scissor hold between mine, while pinning his hands against my body, exposing one bicep as he screaches in my left ear.

Next, we're off to the lab for blood work. HRH is still hyperventilating when he realizes we're not headed to the car and starts running. I catch up, grab him, and drag him into the lab. More pinning, more screaming ensues but eventually 0.001 cc of blood is drawn from his index finger. The tech then hands me a sample cup. Like I could ever coerce him into peeing into it. I give her the 'you gotta be kidding me' look and she agrees that perhaps I can take it with us and get a sample later. Better plan.

By the time I'm carrying my 45 pound 'baby' out of the building, he is literally speaking in tongues. I don't know what he was saying but it was not English. The only thing to comfort and quiet him? A special occasion (Strawberries and Cream Frapuccino) drink from Starbucks. That's my boy.

Motherhood: A full-contact sport.