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Archive for January, 2010

With all these decisions we are having to make about Rowan’s big leap into Kindergarten next year, I sort of desperately miss these days:

You know the ones...

where the biggest decision seemed to be...

which shade of pink to dress her in.

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DISCLAIMER: The virus portion of Keaton’s illness hit Rowan and I this weekend so I’m gonna be straight with you and admit I am pretty doped up on cold medicine right now and because of that, I take approximately ZERO responsibility for the content of this post. Cold medicine hits me so hard, clearing my congestion but clouding my brain to the point where it’s hard to hold conversations and I swear I start seeing tracers. I’m not sure but I don’t think this is what’s supposed to happen so I almost never take the stuff but my head and ears were ready to explode with the pain, so after the kids were snuggled in for nap and rest time I gave in.

Our very own hatch door, complete with a freaked out Desmond in the peep hole. I'm pretty sure we frightened our neighbors off with this little number, made with love by Bill.

The Lost party went great this weekend. We had a couple of snafus, including me asking Bill on Friday night at around 10:30 if he had ordered the party sub before noon, to which his response was a combination of silence and great big giant eyeballs. Um, no. He sort of forgot that part and I failed in my position as Great Superior Reminder of Things That Need To Be Done, but LOOK! we have 396 different types of alcohol with fancy Dharma labels! Who needs food when you have this much booze?! Thankfully when we called early Saturday morning they could fit us in, which saved at least half our guests from alcohol poisoning.

Clearly we have really super awesome priorities.

The second snafu was Bill’s parents calling us to let us know Rowan had caught The Sick from Keaton (or the hospital, take your pick) and was running a temperature and coughing up a storm. After insisting they could manage her just fine, Bill’s dad stopped by to pick up our bottle of children’s Motrin and they checked in around mid-day to report she was doing much better. I had woke up with a terribly congested head, but fortunately this was the type of party you could still enjoy when you felt like shit because it consisted of sitting on your butt in front of the TV all day.

After we rearranged the room to accommodate everyone and had breakfast we passed out an assigned Dharma station to everyone:

When your station was mentioned in the show you had to call it out before another person did or, you know...ELSE (Else being that you had to take a drink). The poor DCFI got the Orchid so he was pretty screwed.

I posted the rules to the drinking game here, but I tell you we could have pared it down to only three of them and it would have done the job. Those three can be described as “Dude”, “LaFleur” and “Son of a bitch!”. On Sunday Snoreface left me this message on facebook that I think all of us appreciated:

Snoreface and the polar bear got along quite well, especially when Snoreface released her from her fluffy confines.

I wish I had more interesting pictures for you but this is really what we did for 13 hours. And it was FUN!

Now, thanks to this generic Dayquil,  I’m off to go stare at my really interesting wall and quite possibly drool a little bit. Hope everyone had a good weekend and if you’re feeling in the mood say a little prayer that one of the 3 Kindergartens we’re touring tomorrow is a good match for Rowan, or homeschool here we come.

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DISCLAIMER: The virus portion of Keaton’s illness hit Rowan and I this weekend so I’m gonna be straight with you and admit I am pretty doped up on cold medicine right now and because of that, I take approximately ZERO responsibility for the content of this post. Cold medicine hits me so hard, clearing my congestion but clouding my brain to the point where it’s hard to hold conversations and I swear I start seeing tracers. I’m not sure but I don’t think this is what’s supposed to happen so I almost never take the stuff but my head and ears were ready to explode with the pain, so after the kids were snuggled in for nap and rest time I gave in.

Our very own hatch door, complete with a freaked out Desmond in the peep hole. I'm pretty sure we frightened our neighbors off with this little number, made with love by Bill.

The Lost party went great this weekend. We had a couple of snafus, including me asking Bill on Friday night at around 10:30 if he had ordered the party sub before noon, to which his response was a combination of silence and great big giant eyeballs. Um, no. He sort of forgot that part and I failed in my position as Great Superior Reminder of Things That Need To Be Done, but LOOK! we have 396 different types of alcohol with fancy Dharma labels! Who needs food when you have this much booze?! Thankfully when we called early Saturday morning they could fit us in, which saved at least half our guests from alcohol poisoning.

Clearly we have really super awesome priorities.

The second snafu was Bill’s parents calling us to let us know Rowan had caught The Sick from Keaton (or the hospital, take your pick) and was running a temperature and coughing up a storm. After insisting they could manage her just fine, Bill’s dad stopped by to pick up our bottle of children’s Motrin and they checked in around mid-day to report she was doing much better. I had woke up with a terribly congested head, but fortunately this was the type of party you could still enjoy when you felt like shit because it consisted of sitting on your butt in front of the TV all day.

After we rearranged the room to accommodate everyone and had breakfast we passed out an assigned Dharma station to everyone:

When your station was mentioned in the show you had to call it out before another person did or, you know...ELSE (Else being that you had to take a drink). The poor DCFI got the Orchid so he was pretty screwed.

I posted the rules to the drinking game here, but I tell you we could have pared it down to only three of them and it would have done the job. Those three can be described as “Dude”, “LaFleur” and “Son of a bitch!”. On Sunday Snoreface left me this message on facebook that I think all of us appreciated:

Snoreface and the polar bear got along quite well, especially when Snoreface released her from her fluffy confines.

I wish I had more interesting pictures for you but this is really what we did for 13 hours. And it was FUN!

Now, thanks to this generic Dayquil,  I’m off to go stare at my really interesting wall and quite possibly drool a little bit. Hope everyone had a good weekend and if you’re feeling in the mood say a little prayer that one of the 3 Kindergartens we’re touring tomorrow is a good match for Rowan, or homeschool here we come.

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(Note from the author: If you don’t watch Lost, maybe skip this one, eh? Or read it, but get your eyes ready for some serious rolling.)

We are preparing for and throwing only the greatest party EVER, so beat that INTERNETS.

(Just kidding. Don’t even try. You can’t beat it.)

That’s right. A Lost party. As in plane crashes, time traveling people (& bunnies!), polar bears, monsters made of smoke, miracles, mothers, fathers, loyalty, unknown siblings, addiction, dudes with creepy fucking eyes, chicks with awesome death stares, love triangles, science, faith, murder, redemption ET CETERA, OK?!

(If you don’t watch this show, no big deal… everyone is allowed one or two missteps in their life.)

(Again with the Just kidding. Not watching this show is almost completely unforgivable. Get thee to a priest, say your 5 Hail Mary’s, and go straight to Hulu.)

Anyway, in preparation for the final season of Lost we, First! quietly and sneakily introduced and addicted each of my sisters and their significant others to the show and Second! invited them all over for a season 5 viewing party where we will gather at 8:15 Saturday morning (eh? EH? GET IT? No? Whatever.) and from there we will start season five at the beginning and keep going until we’ve watched all 17 episodes, which back-to-back will take somewhere around 13 hours- but I calculate with pauses to pee (which will be timed with a stop-watch) and what-not it will take somewhere closer to 15 hours.

Bill and I watched season 5 (and all the previous seasons) in real time but the majority of our guests have not seen it yet so we’re trying to set the scene in the most Dharmtastic way:

This is bad, right? We’ve stepped into some realm of geekery that we’ll never be able to return from haven’t we?

Oh, well. I guess I will have to come to terms with the fact that I’ve become one of THOSE PEOPLE. You know, the people who in anticipation of their favorite show disconnect their phone and shush someone who is quite possible having a heart attack (call 911 with your right arm then, idiot!) or other medical emergency because it is interfering with her ability to hear and understand how the hell some of the people made it back to the island in 2007 and some in 1977. I WANT ANSWERS, DAMMIT.

We are going to institute a drinking game because somewhere in the party planning we accidentally turned a wheel that transported us back to college. Wanna hear what we have so far? Too bad. I’m posting it anyway.

You must drink when:

*Anyone says “Son of a bitch”, but drink 2 when Sawyer says it because he really has that phrase down to an art.

*Hurly says “Dude”.

*Jack says, “We have to go back!” and blinks a lot.

*LOST TACKLE!

*Someone’s nose bleeds.

*When someone time travels.

*Anytime you hear the name “Lafleur”.

*When Juliet gives a death stare.

*When Sawyer calls someone by a nick-name.

If you’ve recently watched the season and have any other suggestions, please feel free to leave them in the comments.

To top off the Dharma Initiative feel, Bill has handcrafted a hatch door and designed labels for Dharma issue alcoholic beverages. Plus we have arranged for a special guest appearance by one of the Dharma polar bears.

She was really shy during the meet and greet. And she didn't like it so much when we explained that she wasn't allowed to eat any of our guests.

But she did come around eventually when we told her she could chew on their ankles a little and that we would pay her with real meat instead of those fish biscuit thingys.

January has already knocked us on our asses due to cabin research, shower planning, Kindergarten disappointment/drama and a very sick Keaton. We are so very beyond ready to sit in front of a TV for 15 hours and delve into a world where we have to admit, even though they are on a tropical island, the poor bastards have it way worse than we do. I mean, think about it. If you were really stuck in 1977 you’d have no choice but to re-live the 80’s again and GOOD GOD nobody wants that.

PS~ Don’t worry about the kids- we’ve got them covered. We’ve constructed cages that distribute apple juice, fruit snacks and animal crackers if they are smart enough to figure out the mechanism so that should keep them busy while we’re watching. Or they may be spending the weekend at Grandpa and Grandmas. I can’t remember which one we decided on now…

PPS~

DISCLAIMER: No polar bears, or dogs dressed in girls' size 3T faux fur coats were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

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Nothing like a day at the doctor and hospital  to remind you of just what matters in your life. In this case?

This boy...

and every last...

curl on his head.

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To premise this story I would like to point out that in my four and a half years as a parent I have learned this:

1. A child who goes red-faced for a minute and then smiles at you has just shit in your bath-tub and

2.  It’s a big fat waste of time to take your kids into the clinic when they have cold/flu symptoms. Every single time they give you the same catch-all word, say it with me now…VIRUS! Then they either tell you to push fluids and give fever reducing medicine as necessary (which you are obviously already doing, dumbass) or they give you a prescription for antibiotics, which most of the time do nothing because the doc only really prescribed them because they feel bad that you’re leaving empty-handed and plus (!) while on this lovely little visit to the disease infested clinic your kid has probably picked up some other illness that the antibiotics will maybe come in handy for. (ps~ that was a 80+ word sentence. New personal best!)

Anyway. Yesterday.

I don’t have time to get into the particulars because I just looked down and realized I am still wearing yesterday’s sweatpants that Keaton puked all over when we were trying to get him to sit through a nebulizer treatment, but I can safely assure you that spending a day in the hospital with your very ill two-year old is not so very much a fun time.

After an hour and a half of pokes, prods and chest x-rays at our clinic the docs took Keaton’s pulse-ox after his x-ray revealed terrible pneumonia in his right lung, to find that he should be blue and near death with a reading in the low 80’s (lowest-end normal is 97-99). A second reading from his toe revealed a slightly higher, but still dangerously low number. Without much explanation the doctor gave me two choices: Would I like to have Keaton transported to Children’s by ambulance or would I like to drive him myself?

I waited to freak out until I was in the car driving a good 25 miles over the speed limit, picking up Bill and Rowan from her dance class on the way because I was too scared to drive into St.Paul alone, sure I would get lost and Keaton would die in the car because I had to circle Kellogg and West 7th too many times. A little dramatic? Maybe, but Keaton’s head was bobbing up and down with what I am sure was exhaustion but when a doctor tells you to rush your kid to the hospital because his oxygen levels are dangerously low you tend to think in WORST CASE SCENARIO mode.

Once there we got him admitted and then we waited. And waited some more. And then there was more waiting. Finally the doctor came in and said this was clearly RSV which is a what? That’s right, folks. A VIRUS. “What about the pneumonia?” I asked. “What pneumonia?” he said, clearly annoyed. “The pneumonia they found in the chest x-ray.” “Well, where is the x-ray? Didn’t they give it to you to bring?” My dazed but very pissed off look assured him that no, no they did not give me a copy to bring, so he ordered a new x-ray (and three hours and a double dose of radiation later guess what it showed, guys? TERRIBLE PNEUMONIA! I was SO SURPRISED!).

They kept a pulse-ox monitor on Keaton and immediately it read higher than the clinics WARNING! DEATH! reading, but it was still much lower than it should be. The problem there being that all the pediatricians were completely booked solid at our clinic so we had to see a family practice doctor and do you think this doctor found a monitor that fit a 2-year-old? Why would he do that when this much too big one that is conveniently sitting right here will be so much easier?! Inaccuracy? Details, details. Beep, Beep! Hmm… Your son should be in a coma at this reading but instead of troubling myself with finding the correct monitor I will instead send you 15 miles away to a different hospital and you can be their problem.

In the end Keaton would have needed to be admitted for fluids and monitoring anyway but that could have taken place at the hospital down the street, with familiar doctors, a familiar environment and done in a lot less panicked and scary fashion.

The important thing is that Keaton is OK and did so great throughout the whole thing. Preferring to cuddle in my lap rather than lay in the hospital bed which was just fine with me. He did NOT appreciate the neb treatment (crap. I still need to change! and quite possibly shower!) but did so great when they were trying to get his line in- after three blown veins he told the nurse with a weak smile, “I OK! I feel better now!” in an attempt to get her to stop freaking poking him with needles, giving us a much needed tension releasing laugh.

He’s so exhausted and still pretty sick but the antibiotics they gave him should help the pneumonia and the doc explained that RSV is at its worst at the one week mark so hopefully he’ll start to improve in the next day or so. Thanks to everybody who sent well wishes to the little guy! Now pray for Bill who is beyond delirious due to lack of sleep, dealing with a crazed wife and juggling work and a four-year-old who refuses to accept that the center of the universe does not lie snugly within her being.

PS: We came home to the news that not only did Rowan not get into the Kindergarten we loved and had pinned all our hopes on for her future as Queen Of Earth, but that she is ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY on the wait list. Guess how many people are on the wait list? No, seriously, guess! …Somewhere around one hundred and twenty. I mean, if you’re not going to get in you might as well REALLY not get in, vanquishing all hope of a call for an opening. The way I see it, we are PRESIDENT of Not Getting In. THAT is how awesome we are.

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scene

Rowan: Why doesn’t Auntie Snoreface have any babies for me to play with yet?

Me: Well, Auntie Snoreface has a career she works very hard at and she has Black Jack and Bella [Boston Terrier babies!] to keep her busy. Plus, Auntie Snoreface and Vince haven’t gotten married yet.

Rowan: Do you need to be married to make a baby?

Me: Well….ah….no. You don’t. Babies, uhhh… No. No you don’t need to get married. Lots of people have babies without getting married first. Um. It’s best that a mommy and a daddy love each other very much and love the little baby. That’s what’s important.

Rowan: Were you and daddy married when you made a baby?

Me: (I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THIS ONE!)  YES! Daddy and I were married when we decided to have you.

Rowan: Will I be married when I have a baby?

Bill: Yes. Married and FORTY.

Rowan: How do you make a baby?

Me: (Shit. ALERT! DUMBASS DEER IN HEADLIGHTS! PLEASE SWERVE LEFT! U-TURN! U-TURN!) Um…ah…well…uuuuhhhh (etc. etc. this went on for like 45 seconds… and then…my brilliant answer:) It’s really complicated!

Bill: SUPER COMPLICATED!

Me: We…uh…well…We’ll sit down and talk it over when we have more time.

Bill: WHEN YOU’RE OLDER!

Me: Ohhh! I LOVE this song! *turns up obnoxious song really loud*

end scene

Here is something you should know about Rowan: She doesn’t accept glossed over answers. All the parenting information out there says at this age you should just tell them a watered down version of what they need to know to satisfy their curiosity but Rowan will be all HOW?! and WHY?! and WHAT?! and WHERE EXACTLY?!

Under the circumstances, which were somewhere between UNPREPARED and HUH? I think I did OK. I mean, I didn’t throw myself out the car window or tell Bill to run into a telephone pole to create a diversion, so I’m gonna call this one a win.

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