School Bites…AND THEN YOU GET SPOTS.

So I’ve been MIA longer than usual…you noticed, right?  Lots going on, but settling down now.  Feels good to be writing again, since I do equate it to therapy.  More to come later this week…

BUT FOR NOW.

Remember last week’s bite incident?  Zombaby 2014?  We thought that would be the most exciting part of our week, until the spots.  On Tuesday, Miles had two or three spots on his left leg, and another three on the inside of his left arm.  Unexplained spots on a toddler.  We decided to monitor them, and I avoided WebMD (because their diagnosis would be ALL ILLNESSES EVERY TODDLER HAS EVER CONTRACTED, AND SOME YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF, EVER.)

Wednesday morning…spots are still there, a little more pronounced, and now with many many smaller spots on Miles’ legs, and some on his arms.  No other symptoms; no fever, no cold symptoms, no flu symptoms, and there doesn’t seem to be any pain/itching associated with these spots.  I asked his teacher to just keep an eye on the spots, and to call me faster than ASAP if anything seems to worsen or if his mood changes.  I also email the preschool director.  I am an overly concerned parent who needs people to keep an extra eye on my kiddo.  Normal new mom behavior.

The director lets me know that one of my son’s classmates has been out for three days with spots as well,  and that she believes were a reaction to his chicken pox vaccination.  As in the kid has chicken pox.  Now, the kid’s pediatrician didn’t come to a final conclusion with his diagnosis because the case was so mild, but the preschool director – in her twenty years of experience – knows pox when she sees them.  Her call was a friendly off-the-record heads up.

Wednesday evening…spots are there, and worse.  Panic ensues (with me, not the kid).  I mean, it could be chicken pox…but it could be many other things, too.  A food allergy, a virus, a reaction to touching cantaloupe imported from Honduras in the produce section at Publix.  WHAT IF HE HAS THE HONDURAN MELON FLU?!  These are the sensible thoughts running through my brain.  (this is also my plug to only buy locally grown seasonal produce)

I could wait to see his pediatrician on Thursday, but deep down I know that there is absolutely positively no stinkin’ way we can spend Wednesday evening hanging out with Captain Spots as if he doesn’t have the Honduran Melon Flu.  Off to Urgent Care we go – better than the ER, not as good as his pediatrician, but something to (possibly) ease my mind.

After our two hour visit, we knew nothing more than we did before we arrived.  It could be all of the above or none of the above.  To be safe, we’ll start an antibiotic.  Also, Aveeno baths.  And stop feeding the kid strawberries.  Follow up on Saturday to do a spot check (da-dum-CHA!)

Four Aveeno baths and eight doses of antibiotics later, the spots are gone.  Follow up appointment shows exactly what we already knew: NOTHING.  But hey, the physician didn’t blame it on teething, so that’s a plus.  Spots on a toddler is undiagnosable, and I have accepted this.

Giving antibiotics to a toddler is akin to putting hoop earrings on a Tasmanian Devil, by the way.

First time parents, right?  We freak about things…we make a conscious effort to not freak out too much, or make too many visits to his incredibly awesome pediatrician, because I never want to be that mom.  But spots are something of concern, so this visit was warranted.  I’m sure when kid #2 arrives, we’ll have a better handle on things like the Honduran Melon Flu.

EDITED TO ADD: Some of you may take that last sentence to imply we’re pregnant…we are not.  However, if we were, we wouldn’t tell you.  We’d just let everyone spend a few months pondering, “too much ice cream, or a baby?”  We like those kinds of surprises.

Never visiting Honduras,

K

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Monday Miles: The Abominable Fur Man

Monday Miles is a sporadic feature from my 10 month old son, Miles.  Yes, he’s a baby genius.  Enjoy.

Even though he scares her into sleeping with the light on, my mom continues to read an unhealthy amount of Stephen King.  She started this a few years back, after she read all 1,500 pages of “The Stand” in two weeks.  From my own personal experience, what you read can have an impact on your daily life.  For example, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Too Late” always makes me not sleep (nice try, mom!)  Naturally, if you’re reading about nothing but possessed dogs, murderous maids and epic plagues, you’re going to get a little nutty.

There is a monster living in our house.  He hides under the china hutch, and comes out at night, after my mom has finished sweeping and gone to bed.  Every morning, she knows that the monster has been running laps around the dining room table because she finds his fur.  “YEARRRGH!” my mom will quietly yell (she thinks I don’t know that she’s yelling) “BACK AGAIN!”

I have never seen the monster myself, but I know he exists, because my mom is always taking out her weapons: broom, vacuum, and if the Fur Man has been especially furry, the Shop Vac.

The battle ends quickly, with not a single trace of the Fur Man in sight.  But, without fail, the signs will be there the next morning, and my mom will spot it with her squinting (PUT ON YOUR GLASSES, WOMAN!) eagle eyes.

I think the Abominable Fur Man is best friends with Maggie, our dog.  It seems like every morning, after my mom has cleaned up the evidence from the Fur Man’s visit, she gives Maggie a very skeptical look, as if Maggie is inviting the Fur Man over for cookies and milk after everyone is asleep.

Maybe the Fur Man is nice; maybe he’s friends with Santa, and my mom just doesn’t get it because she reads too much Stephen King and thinks everything is a monster sent here from outer space to make noises in the middle of the night and give her more chores around the house.  You’d think she would be more understanding, what with all the “hug trees, love each other, don’t forget to recycle” stuff she’s telling me all the time.

The next time I find traces of the Fur Man, I’m going to follow them to his hide out, where I will hug him and take enormous mouthfuls of fur.  And if I can’t find him, I’m sure the dog will cooperate.

He looks harmless.  And delicious...

He looks harmless…
and delicious.

Happy Monday,

Miles

I have entirely too much spaghetti in my hair.

This week, after a hiatus that exceeded two months, one of my fave mom bloggers announced that she was uncertain of her blog’s future.  It gave me a case of the sads, because she’s a mom that I really connect with, and will miss dearly should she decide her writing days have reached an end (for now).  But I also have a deep level of understanding.  Kids get older, and you develop a desire to protect their privacy (teenagers just aren’t as cute and funny as toddlers, right?)  Your adult life begins to reemerge, and maybe you’d like to get out of the house more.  And, at the end of the day, the internet is a crazy, crazy place.

As a writer, you choose to put yourself out there…the good, the bad, the hysterical.  At first you think that just a few friends and family are reading; before you realize it, total strangers are criticizing your parenting abilities, if that’s what you have chosen to publish for the world to judge.

When I started this blog many, many moons ago, it definitely had a different tone.  It was, after all, about cooking.  Becoming parents completely turned our world upside down (in an awesome way) and I realized it also provided me with endless material.  Honesty is of utmost importance to me.  Our life is not a Pinterest board; if you’ve come here looking for 101 ways to crochet doilies for your toddler’s tea party, or 12 easy ways to prepare an organic, seasonally harvested, sustainably grown dinner from scratch while teaching your baby to play Mozart…sorry ’bout your luck.  And while you may find TMI, please know it’s for the humor factor, and not to shock or totally gross you out (although, if you’re a parent, I am positive there is nothing that can ever shock or totally gross you out anymore).

We all parent differently, but we are all on the same team.  I’m doing an awesome job; you’re doing an awesome job, and even Honey Boo Boo’s mom (in her own mind) is doing an awesome job.  There are just varying levels of awesome; some days are more awesome (awesomer?) than others.  Monday you may have an angel of a baby, and Tuesday you may have a fussopotamus (you may use that word, and you’re welcome).  By Thursday, he could be a fussosaurus (that one, too).  And Friday?  Sweet as honey.  It happens: teething, growth spurts, mental and physical development, stuff.  It’s a crap shoot 98% of the time, and the other 2%?  Teething.  But it’s still 100% awesome.

I want you to know enough to make you laugh, but not make you uncomfortable (unless I find humor in your lack of comfort).  Most importantly, I want you to know that I get it.  Life isn’t a Pinterest board, Facebook post or Instagram photo.  Oh, those moments are beautiful and magical, but let’s be real…there’s some shit that goes on in between.

Here are the things I’ve said in the past week that I want to share, because hey, kids!

  1. “I have entirely too much spaghetti in my hair.”
  2. “Miles, please do not eat the cactus.”
  3. “Honey, the kid is stuck behind the couch again.”
  4. “Miles, please do not eat the cat.”
  5. “Honey, the kid is stuck in the cabinet again.”
  6. “Who taught you to pick your nose?”
  7. “If you throw yourself off the changing table, you have to put on your own diaper.”
  8. “Is that poop?” (trick question because the answer is always YES)
  9. “You are not storing food for hibernation; please chew and swallow.” 
  10. “Show mommy how we sit like a big boy in the (insert anything he’s supposed to sit in, because he’s definitely in the act of climbing out while I say this)”
  11. “Did you know you’re allowed to sleep past 6:30am on Saturdays and Sundays?”
  12. “Where did your pants go?”

And things I did in the past week:

  1. Carried my son, all 25lbs of him, football style, through Target while pushing the cart with one hand because he not only figured out how to unbuckle his cart cover, but also climb out of the cart.  One woman told me I had a “cute little Houdini.”  I asked her if she could carry the cat litter for me, because either the Fresh Step or the kid was going to stay at Target if I had to haul this stuff out alone.
  2. Went head to head in two separate dinner battles.  Lost two separate dinner battles.  Bananas and cereal for all!
  3. Refrained from uncontrollable and hysterical laughter as Miles learned how to blow a raspberry with his mouth full of yogurt, successfully covering everyone at the table (and the dog) in banana-pumpkin deliciousness.  Okay, we laughed a little.  Now he does the yogurt-spit face a lot.  Parenting fail?  I don’t know, it’s pretty damn funny.
  4. Got poop on my hands and face.  MORE THAN ONCE.

Of course these are the tiny moments in a sea of “I love yous” and endless hugs, of first steps and real, actual and intentional first words (KITTY!)  And at the end of the day, these moments may frustrate some, but right now, they fill us with laughter (okay, and wine…sometimes these moments fill me with wine, but only after the kid goes to bed).  Sure, there are frustrating moments, and I am positive that as we creep ever so close to the toddler stage, you’ll get some of that from me, but deep down I (like all parents) know that it’s a passing phase, a fleeting moment, and while there are nights that I feel like Holyfield after 13 rounds when I finally sit on the couch, it’s still the greatest feeling in the history of all time and space, ever.  Ever.

Keeping it real,

K

YES TO ALL:

Round-Up

As always, here’s your weekly round-up of things I did when I wasn’t staying up way too late writing, reading (I even FINISHED a book this week!) and watching TV Land.  YOU’RE WELCOME.

No sleep ’til…TEETHING IS OVER OMGOMGOMG.  Maybe that’s a little dramatic.  Do you know what happens when you humbly brag about what a super awesome sleeper your baby is?  That’s right, sharp bones begin tearing their way through his gums.  And so, for the past three weeks, between midnight and 2am…we’re up.  Why?  Because my son thinks he’s the long lost Beastie Boy (RIP Ad-Rock) and will not sleep until he arrives in Brooklyn.  Sometimes he cries, sometimes he just lays there and sings, sometimes he sands up and bangs mercilessly on the side of his crib until you shuffle in there and rock him back to sleep.  When his little eyes are closed, and he’s softly snoring, you lay him in his crib, only to find that during the course of your rock session that comfy, cozy crib has suddenly morphed into an Iron Maiden (and not the rockin’ kind) which Miles will relay to you in a series of shrieks as he frantically climbs up the side of the crib.  This happens three times.  On the fourth attempt, we finally sleep.

Sometimes I wonder why this teething business can be such a big deal…then I  look at THIS:

Where did you think all those adult teeth were hiding, anyway?

Where did you think all those adult teeth were hiding, anyway?

And I think to myself, “HOLY SHIT” and stop questioning why this teething stuff is a big deal.  PS – Good luck un-seeing THAT image.  It’s the stuff Stephen King novels are made of.

There are a few other babies in Miles’ class that are teething right now.  Every day when I go to pick him up, I find the teething kids circled up in the same corner of the play area, chewing the bejeezus out of the hard toys.  It’s like an episode of Breaking Bad.

So, now that you can chew…  We’ve been slowly introducing more “finger foods” to Miles, since the onslaught of Teethmurderfest 2014.  He wants to chew on stuff, so why not have a carrot or an apple or a banana?  When we first introduced bananas, Miles made that face, the one that all babies make when you give them a new food, the face that says, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME, WOMAN?!”  Only the banana face was a little bit more dramatic.  Also, it was kind of funny.  Turns out, Miles doesn’t particularly care for the texture of bananas, and if you try to coax him into eating them (vis a vis putting pieces of banana in his mouth when he is clearly over it) he’s going to make a “cat coughing up a hairball face.”  Oh, you think that’s funny?  Me too.  So we tried another piece of banana, because I really wanted Evan to see the hilarity that was the banana-hairball face.  And do you know what happened?  Miles puked all of his mangoes all over the highchair.   Miles: 1  Me: 0  Highchair: -1,487

NO MORE BANANAS.

NO MORE BANANAS.

TVTVTV… Like most parents of young children, we DVR a lot of our shows so we can watch them later (because, let’s face it, staying up until 9:30p is a challenge).  I am most excited to finally see The White Witch herself on American Horror Story.  Did you watch it?  Was it awesome?  I hope so.  In addition to AHS, I’m also going to binge watch Gypsy Sisters.  Have you ever watched My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding?  NO?!  Gypsy Sisters follows one of the families featured in an episode of MBFAGW, and it.is.awesome.  It’s a bedazzled episode of Maury Povich.  The Gypsy culture is interesting and entertaining.  Also, they have names like “Pawpaw Big Daddy” and “Mellie”.  And because the show is on TLC (which used to be The Learning Channel, remember?) I don’t feel like I’m totally rotting my brain.  Even though TLC is responsible for Honey Boo Boo, The Little Chocolatiers and, lest we forget, John and Kate Plus 8.  Barf.  Anyway, Gypsy Sisters: watch it.

Doesn't this just scream awesome?  Along with, "YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER."

Doesn’t this just scream awesome? Along with, “YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER.”

And finally, because I’m not sure if the baby teeth x-ray is enough to give you nightmares, I’m going to leave you with THIS:

Hyperdontia.  Seriously, Google it.

Hyperdontia. Seriously, Google it.

I know, my google image skills are pretty wicked.

Sleep tight,

K