Entries Tagged 'mishaps' ↓

An open letter to the young mom at Bi Lo:

I apologize if I made a scene.

All I saw when I called to you and ran toward your daughter was a little girl on the brink of falling.

Maybe she wouldn’t have.

Maybe you would have turned before she did.

I couldn’t take that chance.

What I do know, is it won’t be the last time either of us breathes a sigh of relief while flushing with shame. I did see that you had to unsnap the belt to buckle her in. You see, I have three kids, too and I know how easy it is to turn your back for just a moment.  My kids are escape artists, too. I ‘ve been there and I know how embarrassing it is to feel caught in a moment of inadequacy. I promise I wasn’t implying you were careless.

In just a few short years, when you can draw a breath between diaper changes, you’ll be in my shoes.

We don’t watch to accuse, we watch because it’s what we do.

It’s a small town, I bet someday you’ll stop one of my children from doing something stupid while I stammer out a thank you and I will mean it, just like you.

I’ve been sick for a while, it’s my own fault, really. Do you ever get into an unintentional standoff with your spouse? This time it was over the shower in the master bedroom. After years of begging him to squeegee it and leave the door open so it could dry between showers I gave up and started using the upstairs bathroom. I figured his mess, his problem.

I didn’t realize that a shower I didn’t use could bother me so badly.

I waited.

I waited some more.

I think, but cannot confirm, advanced life forms developed in the stall. I heard the whispering late in the night.

I waited.

When I began to hear jeering and catcalls as I passed through the room, I broke down. I’m weak like that.

I decided to tackle the job piecemeal. I sprayed down one wall and attacked it with a scrub brush, thankful that it all appeared to be a surface problem and the grout wasn’t actually discolered. 

A short time later, cooking dinner, I was hit with nausea so fierce it made room spins pleasant. I laid down in the middle of the den where passing children and dogs took turns sniffing and prodding me, demanding to be fed. My insides churned and I cursed Tim for never getting checked after his procedure and worried I was pregnant. Slowly it passed.

After dinner I went back to the shower to bathe Wallace who is allergic to the fleas he’s thoughtfully brought to visit. The poor thing is miserable, so I hung out with him while the shampoo cured.

This time I was sure it was food poisoning.

Slowly the pounding head and churning stomach turned to a full blown allergy attack. I’ve had allergies all my life. I’ve learned to manage them pretty well and have reaosonable coping skills for when they spiral out of control. 

I came close to begging Tim to stay home from work, something I’ve never done, even with the flu or surgery. I made it through the day, whining all the while. Benadryl, Claritin, hydroxizine (I had leftover from a case of hives), I might as well have been popping Tic-Tacs. Nothing brought the sneezing under control. I only stopped when I had to leave the house.

Slowly the light turned on.

I went into our bathroom, opened the door to the shower, there is no delicate way to put it, so we’ll just say my sinuses expressed their fury. 

I woke the husband up, gave him a bottle of bleach, a scrub brush, and left the area.

Now, I’m happy to report the shower is dry and there is a new-to-us-dehumidifier busily sucking gallons of water from the air. 

The downside is the mold started a cascade I haven’t been able to completely stop. The every day allergens I’m sensitive to, but haven’t bothered me in years are making my life miserable. I’m on new medications and I have an appointment with an allergist for Tuesday. Just before I finally became pregnant with Aidan I began immunotherapy, but had to stop as I wasn’t far enough into the therapy to continue during pregnancy. Off and on I had been considering trying again, but something always came up. I planned to ask for the referral in winter, as most allergy medications will interfere with the testing. Today is day one of having to quit antihistamines cold turkey. I called my mom who has agreed to monitor the kids if my allergies flare up out of control. 

My eyes are itching and Tuesday seems a long way away.

The first winter I lived in Minnesota was a rude awakening, mostly due to the weather, but new terminology as well. One particularly cold morning I wandered into work and overheard a conversation between co-workers.

#1 – Can you believe my grandpa woke me up at 5am to tell me to watch out for black guys?

#2 – Black guys scares the crap out of me.

Not knowing either of the women in the conversation I was aghast. I timidly asked, “Why would black guys be something to worry about?”

#1 – It got really cold last night.

Me – Well, wouldn’t they stay home like anyone else with sense?

At this point both women just stared at me. Finally woman #2 said very slowly “Black ice, Heather, black ice.”

Me – Oh!

So I know I’ve written far too much in the mommy department, but I couldn’t let this one go even if it is embarrassing.  Last warning guys, bodily fluids and hormones ahead.

Lately the boys have been sneaking into our bed at night and when Tim is away I appreciate the body heat.  What I don’t appreciate is being awoken at 3:40 in the morning by pee.  Not just a little pee, a whole lot of it; soaking my pajamas, me, the sheets, the mattress cover, of course the pee-er.  So let’s just set the scene.  I’m soaked, I have two crying boys, one covered in pee, the other just mad that he’s being sent back to his own room so I can strip my bed.  Not two minutes into this, the baby wakes up with a lovely case of the runs.     So, three kids crying, pee, a dirty diaper, and for icing on the cake the dog is whining because that’s what he does best. At the precise moment I pick up the screaming baby, my period starts.  No, not a trickle, it’s a post pregnancy nightmarish episode.

Sufficient to say I spent a moment telling God that I didn’t find this particularly funny and that I would appreciate some patience STAT.

Well, it’s a little funny now, but then again I’m not currently covered in pee.

I squealed like a little girl this morning.

There are times and places I expect bugs: window sills, porches, under trees and logs, etc.

I do not expect them to fall out of the laundry as I’m transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer.  The evil thing leapt out of the shirt I had in my hand, waved at me (or maybe gave me the bird, I don’t speak spider), and ran under the washer.

The worst part is knowing that big honker is still alive; that’s one tough mother.  Have you seen the spin cycle on an HE washer?

My car is dying.  It has well over one hundred fifty thousand miles on it, but it’s still depressing.  It’s not a two hundred dollar rattle I’m hearing, it’s a four thousand dollar engine knock.

I had to pull over six times on the way home from my mom’s yesterday.

We’re going to replace the engine, the rest of the car is fine and it’s the most cost effective choice.  I would love to have something more gas efficient, but with three car seats for the next however many years, it’s not in the cars.  I swear they are going to keep kids in car seats until they can get their permits.  What a pain in the butt.

On a very good note, I found my wedding ring.  It had been missing for about six months after a certain grubby child swiped it off the bathroom counter while I was in the shower.  Said child must have crawled into my bed to play with it where it fell behind the mattresses and into the crevice between the carpet and the wall.

I’m sorry this has taken me so long.  I’ve been more sick this past week than I have been in years.  I’ve had kidney infections less painful than this sinus infection.  As of today I’m down to regular motrin instead of prescription painkillers.  I’m sure this  continuation will shed some light on how I wound up in my condition. . .

I hung out with the group for a while, but I get a little self conscious when I have to hike up maternity pants constantly after crouching to get a shot. I meandered toward the boneyard which was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1.5 and two miles east of where we first reached the beach. I was happy as a clam, it was so nice to see an unspoiled beach with very few human remnants to ruin a shot.

I ran into Nature Bob again who suggested heading up to the northeast corner of the island to see some wildlife.  Jason planned on heading out that way as well, so when I finished taking pictures in the boneyard, I headed in that direction***.  I had plenty of time to kill before the noon ferry.

I walked. And I walked. And I walked some more.  My legs were beginning to hurt, after all I’m 4.5 months pregnant.  I saw one stinking alligator and he was too far away to get a decent picture.  Finally I consulted my map**** and my watch.  According to the map I had three miles to go before I’d make it back to the dock.  According to my watch, I had 1.5 hours to cover said three miles.  According to my legs, “NO.”

The thought of missing the ferry and having to face Tim four hours later (he was going to meet me with the spare key after all) was enough to propel me forward.  Thus began my own personal Tekken Death March. I don’t know what it means, it’s just something we say.  It seems to fit.  There were times I considered sitting down and crying.  There were others I debated just missing both ferries and taking a nap, right there on the trail.  Yes, I utilized the bushes primitive bathroom facilities  on one occasion.  Ahem, pregnant. I had dressed in layers and was carrying two of the shirts I had worn.  At some point I dropped one.  Maybe the eagle building her nest is now enjoying it.  I couldn’t make myself turn around and look for it, I had no idea how far back it was.

I felt blisters appearing, but I walked and jogged on.  I arrived at the dock at 11:55am.  Nature Bob came whistling up at 11:58am, “Did you have a nice walk?”

I didn’t beat him with my camera and for that I think someone should give me a cookie.

I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled and said I had a wonderful walk.

The captain arrived at 12:05pm, not that I was counting,  to take us back to the landing.  I tried not to limp as I waddled to the boat.  The ride back was uneventful and thankfully Tim was there with the key and the boys.  I asked him to drive the mustang home because I couldn’t face a standard in my pathetic condition.

Never in my life have I hurt the day of exertion.  It has always hit me the next morning, as I groan and hate myself for playing volleyball or starting a fitness regime, whatever the case may be.   Thankfully Saturday was the worst of the soreness and the full sickness didn’t hit me until Sunday evening.

Pictures?

Yes, I have pictures.   I’ll upload them tomorrow.  Promise.

***stupid move 3

****stupid move 4, I should have done that an hour ago

I had the opportunity to join the South Carolina Photography Guild on a sunrise trip to Bull’s Island.  Overall, the trip was amazing.  I will be uploading lots of pictures over the next few days.  Currently I’m too sore to sit at the desktop.

I was not sure I’d even be able to go on the trip due to the plague that seems to have fallen on my home.  I’m about ready to board up the windows and spraypaint “Quarantined” on the garage in hopes that someday we can all be healthy at the same time.  Friday I felt as though I were on the upswing and decided to go ahead with the trip.  I knew I’d have to get an early start, but like a kid the night before school begins, I tossed and turned popping up every twenty minutes to look at the clock. At 3am I gave up the farce packed my stuff and headed to Huddle House, thinking a <s>good</s>breakfast would set me straight.  Now, I’m not stranger to late night diners.  My first job was at Waffle House and before I was seventeen I worked the graveyard shift.

Still, Huddle House scared me that morning.  There was a cook, a server, and a guy whose job I couldn’t exactly place.  He wasn’t washing dishes and he was nice enough, but reminded me of Boomhauer.   I did a lot of smiling and nodding, hopping he’d leave me to my book.  Also in attendance were barflies, the scary men who are attracted to barflies, and old men who were just settling in to their assigned booths for coffee and smoking.

I drove my husband’s mustang and something I don’t understand is how he can find the time to upgrade the car to 612 horsepower, but he can’t be bothered to make the speedometer work.  There’s a little trick to using the tach, but I generally find it a pain and if I hadn’t left the lights on in the jeep* I wouldn’t have driven it.

I made it to the landing right on time, gathered my belongs, donned my layers (it was quite chilly).  I climbed out of the car and shut the door just as I realized the keys were still in the ignition**.  It was too early to call home, so I decided to trust the tinted glass and lack of general traffic.

It was a chilly ride out to the island, provided by Coastal Expeditions. There was a brief look of panic on our captain’s face as he became disoriented by the unusually high tide and darkness, but he quickly got his bearings.   It was a 1.5 mile walk to the beach, but we arrived just as the cleared the horizon and were able to set up for a few shots.

To be continued. . .

*First example of stupid.

**Second example of stupid.

I know this will come as great relief to everyone, the cookies have been located! I’ve been patiently waiting for my Thin Mints to arrive, as other troops delivered and pawned off their extras.

I don’t know the little girl I ordered from. I’ve seen her zipping around here on a golf cart, but she seemed to be my only neighborhood source. As she didn’t have change, I let her keep the extra money when I placed my order.

Last night the doorbell rang shortly before we sat down to dinner. It was my neighbor, a dignified older man, and he was carrying a sack full of girl scout cookies.

“Did you order girl scout cookies?” he asked.

“Yes I did, how did you end up with them?” His children have long since grown and moved away.

“My wife found them on the front porch with a note thanking us for the order. We didn’t order any, so I’ve been going house to house trying to find out who did.”

In my neighborhood front porches are only for visitors and salesmen. Friends and family use the side door. Who knows how long my poor cookies were abandoned and unloved.

She is so fired.

My house smells like tacos.

Saturday I made Malia’s most excellent Black Bean Soup. I became distracted during the process and my youngest weaseled into the spice cabinet. Yes, I was probably reading blogs, that’s not the point. Long story short he opened the cumin and spread it gleefully around before I saw what he was up to.

Like the genius I can be, I quickly vacuumed up the mess.

I’ve emptied it twice, but each time* I turn it on, the house is perfumed with Tex-Mexy potpourri.

*with two dogs and two boys I turn it on a lot.