Hey There, Delilah

Folks, we have a raging ear infection.  A bright red, oh yeah that kid needs antibiotics, mom ear infection.  Which means she's had it for a while, which is funny only because it wasn't bothering her before yesterday and it didn't bother her all that much today.  But still, there it is and while I was trying to figure out where the hell she caught an ear infection because if my kid is going to be sick, someone's taking the fall for it, while I was trying to find a way to blame the petri dish that certainly is Small-land at Ikea, I realized that I knew exactly why she had contracted her first ear infection now, three and a half years into having functioning ears.  

17 years of hardcore religious study, 17 years of reading the bible over and over and over again, front to back, cover to cover, were apparently totally fucking wasted on me.


There hath not come a razor upon mine head; for I have been a Nazarite unto God from my mother's womb: if I be shaven, then my strength will go from me, and I shall become weak, and be like any other man. Judges 16:17


And she made him sleep upon her knees; and she called for a man, and she caused him to shave off the seven locks of his head; and she began to afflict him, and his strength went from him.  Judges 16:19

She hasn't had a haircut in more than two years.  Two days after I chop off 2/3 of her hair, just about ALL of her curls, she gets sick.  Clearly, not even a cookie as big as her head could ward off the wrath of the Lord.


But is sure was delicious. And possibly worth it.

I Still Have Nightmare About Those Earwigs

I have relatively healthy children.  They've had their share of scares, don't get me wrong, but they tend to skip the little stuff.  It's go big or go home over here.  They've broken their feet and their faces, they've had their brains spilled out all over gyms, they've had collapsed lungs and blunt force trauma concussions, but they don't get colds all that often.

They do, however, get that 8-3 bug that only seems to strike school-aged children between the months of September and June.  They get that one fairly frequently, truth be told.

Anyway, we've got a piper down over here.  She was sick on Thursday, but though she's been rocking some green 11's since, she's felt fine.  She's been to the Ikea playground three days in a row (more on that later), she was well enough that I could leave her with her brothers to babysit and go meet Mandy Gratton (also, later) and she's had Beach Boys dance parties with her daddy.  She's been great, actually, until about 7 tonight.  One second she was playing with her brother and the next second, the ache was wiggling out.

"Momma," she said, "the ache is wiggowing out."

And then she clutched her ear and started screaming.  And then I flashed back to Wrath of Khan, clutched my ears and started screaming.  And then we ran to the late-hours clinic that was open until 8, made it there by 7:40 and were greeted by a great big purple sign that read, "We're closed; no exceptions.  We're not an emergency room."

I am not kidding.

We came home, and she cried all the way because Momma, the doctor have to make it better.  I told her the doctor was closed and we'd have to go back tomorrow and she cried some more and said, "No, you just go open the doctor, momma."  And through clenched teeth I said, "Yes, dear, I certainly would like to go open the doctor right about now, but how about we go eat ice cream instead?"  We watched Backyardigans right over prime time tv, she tried and failed to eat something and right now Stinky McSweatypants is passed out in my bed.  Chances are good we will end up at the emergency room some time tonight, thanks to the clinic with the clock that rounds up, even though aches wiggowing out do not emergencies make. 

They do pathetically cute little kids make, though.


And That's When I Realized That I've Totally Failed As A Parent

We have 5 FM stations programmed on the radio in the car.  The first is the Top 40 Pop Parent Torture Station.  After that, there's a local college radio station, a classic rock station out of Seattle, an oldies station and then one that's kind of an alternative top 40, I guess is the best way to describe it.  We flip through the stations in the car and I occasionally will explain who this band is or why that band is significant in music history or what iconic song the latest anorexic over-synthesized blond girl is sampling all the way to the top. 

Like today, when we hopped in the car and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was on and we got to talking about the Beatles (again, mawm, seriously? *eye roll*) and then about how the albums that came out when I was young actually told stories, rather than just being a bunch of tracks slapped together.  We talked about the Sgt. Pepper's movie and then moved onto The Wall and then how War of the Worlds went from radio to album to movie, then how I Robot went from book to album to movie, and so on.

I can talk music awwwwl night long.

On the way home, the new Black Eyed Peas song was on the Station of Doom and one of the boys said, "Mom, this is the new Black Eyed Peas song!" and I said Mmmm Hmmm.  They said, "Oh. Emm. Gee. I loooove this song" and I said, "Yeah, I kinda like it too. *sigh of resignation*   When it was over, I flipped to that Seattle classic rock station, which is beautiful in its complete, undying devotion to all things grunge still, after all these years.  Pearl Jam came on the radio; Evenflow, from their first album, and I turned it up a little.  One of the boys asked who it was and I said, "Um, Pearl Jam, duh"  and they paused for a minute, then asked,

"Mom, who's Pearl Jam?"

And I Still Haven't Seen Lost Yet

The best thing about having sick kids is when they're still too little to take all of their medicine and so they're up at holy-shit-o'-clock in the morning wrapped around you telling fever induced stories in their raspy voice with their sick breath.

Like last night, when 3of3 convinced me to let her just get into my bed already at 2:30 in the morning after I'd been up until 1:30 anyway writing an American Idol recap for MamaPop (eastern time is cruel and unusual punishment).  I drug her into bed with me and she wrapped her little arms around my head and said, "I wuv ooo, mama" and I said, "sigh" and then she said through her little sniffly nose, "goo-ight, mama" and I said, "Indeed" and then the fever hit her brain and she started telling me about spiderman coming down to bite her and how she punched him and she kicked him and then Eggman fought him and she beat him so he snuggled her and was her friend.

The kid plays way too much Sonic the Hedgehog.

Anyway, I'm beyond tired, my kid's sick, and my recap is up.  Please to enjoy.

Stifler's Mom

I have this deal with my kids that I'll only help out in their classrooms once each year.  We do this because if I so much as walk into 2of3's classroom, he has to stop what he's doing and sit in my lap and tell everyone in earshot THIS IS MY MOM! and then nothing gets done.  If I so much as walk into 1of3's classroom, he spends the entire time calling me Ms Shannon and pretending he doesn't know me and it makes my uterus die a little.

Snce elementary school classrooms are disgusting and smell funny (you know it's true) what I do is chaperone one field trip per kid per year.  I try to pick the fun ones, the outdoor ones, the ones that will allow 2of3 to hang all over me and 1of3 to deny my existence if the need be.  I usually space these out over the school year.  I also usually do them on The Donor's day off so I'm not dragging a screaming 3 year old behind me the whole time.


Apparently I forgot all the rules of field-trip engagement, because while the computer was broken I signed up for two (2) field trips within one (1) week of each other when The Donor had zero (0) days off and we had to drive or walk multiple (x) miles.  In case abstract math isn't your strong point, that equals twitching.  Nothing that a Xanex and an SOS pad won't cure with time, but still.

First up, High School.  We walked 50 eight and nine year olds downhill a few miles, through traffic, to high school to see the beginnings of a totem pole.  And then walked them back up.

Hover for descriptions; click to enlarge

That's a LOT of kids to lose.  Escort.  I meant escort.

It's big, it's hard, it's wood.Really.  Interesting.  Yeah, right.Look!  I'm on a totem pole!High school lunch tastes more rebellious.Beginnings of a totem polePretty sure we started with way more kids.

And because that wasn't enough, I turned around and took 60 nine to eleven year olds to Science World. With the three year old. For six hours.

What?  That's the only thing I noticed anyway.

A shocking experience.Ghost in the machineBuilding bridgesIn between feeding them and getting our eyes gouged out by them.That is a car.  Made entirely from Legos.  And someone else's kid in it.Peek a boo!

And now I've fulfilled my contractual obligations to my kids for the year and 1of3 really hates me because one of the kids I drove really seemed to like the Weezer on the radio, really seemed to appreciate the cash I lent him for the gift shop toy, and really seems to have a crush on me now.