No lie

OK. They are home again. Sick. My babes. My offspring. My love angels on earth.

They are hungry. "Katie, what do you want for breakfast?" " A salami sandwich and pickles." There was no prompting from me. I could not (well, yes I could because I am the Mom and I know my girls. OK. Rabbit trail - isn't it amazing how in a room full of kids you can still hear your child's voice when she calls Mom out? I even saw a mom call to her daughter, in a soft voice, from about 10 feet away in a crowded loud room and the 2 1/2 year old heard her. Amazing.) believe it.

So I did what all moms or scrapbooking moms would do. I took a photo. Here she is.

Side note - I was looking on google for the name of a person who sells pickles (anyone see Crossing Delancy with Amy Irving?). Turns out it is pickle-maker.

But oh this is what I found...

http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/fea/taste/stories/DN-nf_pickles_0711liv.ART.State.Edition1.439b017.html .

You must see this. I did not know about this and now am intrigued.

OK. Off to tend to other issues in the home. Need to make lunch. No telling what that is going to be.

Day 5

Child one is still home. Did not listen to aging parent on Wednesday, got "overheated" (my generation's word from our parents) and had low grade fever this morning during normal prep time for school. Well enough to control remote, aggravate and whine incessantly.

Child two is home as well. High fever on the thermometer but not on the Mom hand. Well enough to fight, whine and want to swing and ride a scooter (oh no she did not).

Mom is holding up. Working at home full time, trying to keep the house clean (HA), doing laundry, cooking meals, being a short order cook to fever ridden children, answering phones, running errands all leaves no time for utter compassion or nice behavior towards children and spouse. I wish I could be that Mom who has on heels, a large petticoated skirt with tidy sleeves and pearls, hair pulled back, who is in the kitchen with an apron on (speaking of apron Kerry you da bomb. Can I give the link for the aprons?) cooking chicken noodle soup from scratch (hey I do make CNS from scratch) and is lovingly attending to my sick babe as she lays all neatly covered in her bed, hair pulled back by a satin ribbon. But no. Instead I am a sweat panted, sneaker footed, hopefully bathed within the past 48, opening cans of Sam's choice CNS and serving it in a plastic bowl to kids who are trashing the living room with a million tissues, soda cans, snack bowls, papers, crayons, glue scissors, a zillion little pieces of cut paper, dressed in mismatched tops and bottoms with unbrushed hair. Forget Barbie. June Cleaver is messing with my head.

"Mom I want pickles for breakfast." Pickles. What I ask is wrong with my child? Last week was rice. How about olives and corn? What happened to cereal, toast, grits? Now it's "I want a salami sandwich." Now I must say with utter pride that my children are not picky eaters. Sarah is pickier than Katie but all in all they eat most everything. No spinach, asparagus, or baked fish. They are just crazy. Katie ate capers with her meal last night. She will suck the garlic off garlic bread. And she loves "snushi". I am not complaining. These kids get mostly balanced meals daily and they eat without argument, for the most part. But the weird requests sometimes baffle me. Hey I've had my share of cold pizza or spaghetti for breakfast but I do believe that was due to economics and something that occurred the night before. But pickles for breakfast? Oh no.

So tomorrow, the alarm will go off. I will drag out of bed, brush my teeth and check on the girls to see who has fever and who will be going to school, with the Mom hand and then the thermometer. Think Katie may be home due to the 24 hour fever rule and her possible being contagious with the flu. Better make sure we have enough pickles on hand.

A, B ... it's all flu to me

Imagine this scene. It's a fall Sunday. We are all at church. St. Tammany Parish Hospital, I believe through the Parenting Center (try to give credit where due) is giving flu shots to anyone who wishes for $10 a shot. Well, those of you who know me and know me by one of my nicknames - Frugal Beth - know if I see a deal that we can use - well, yes I am going to partake of it. $10? What can I get for $10? Not much these days. 10 items at Target in the Dollar isle - well actually 9 due to tax, 2 big kid meals at McDonald's, a sushi lunch with a non-alcoholic beverage, 9 itunes, well you get the picture. $10? I can not get the flu shot for $10 at the doctor's office. Just me signing in on the clipboard there costs me $10.

So, I decide to get the shot. I fill out the paperwork. I pay. I get the shot. It does not even hurt. Cakewalk.

Now I have to convince the fam to each get one. I get Sarah and show her what is going on. I try to convince her that it is a good thing to do. She is not buying it. After talking and bribery of books, she gives in. I tell her we will do it after the service, that we will get Dad and Katie and all together they will get their shots. She agreed with apprehension.

So during service I devise a plan to get Katie, fill out the paperwork , bring Katie behind the curtain and distract her while the nurse made her move. If I would have told her, she would have been out of control. So I am holding her and talking to her, making her look at me and wham, prick, pow, she is immunized. She is shocked and starts to cry. I feel guilty, all the while Sarah is getting her dose. Stickers, candy, whatever is distributed. All done. Flu free. Except Paul. He won't do it. No sirree Bob. He just plain and simple won't. There was a lot of clucking going on.

Fast forward to Sunday, as in last night. Sarah feels cold in a warm house. I threaten that she WILL go to school on Monday. (See here is an excellent illustration for those of you wondering what you have to do to make Mother of the Year. Threaten your sick child.) I take her temp and it is 102.7. Great. Not only does she feel bad but I feel guilty as well. Throughout the night I give her Motrin and it really is not taking care of the fever very well. She stayed home today from school and has been blowing her nose all day. Her fever got as high as 103.5 and that's when I called the nurse at the doctor's office. She said Sarah has the flu but needs to be seen to determine what meds to get.

We get over there as soon as Katie gets home, Sarah get seen, gets a swap of her throat for strep (no strep) and a swab in her nose for the flu (yes flu). Flu B. There is an A and a B. She has B. Swell. Seems the deal of the century flu shot only covered A. Now I can get Sarah meds that are quite expensive and that MAY relieve her symptoms and shorten her down time by a day or two but after the doctor said she did not do that for hers (oh all right first was the fact it was expensive then that) I decided we would just let nature take its course. So now I have paid for a doctor visit, a strep test and a flu test. And Sarah still feels lousy. No meds. (The whole insurance thing is another blog to which I have no energy to discuss tonight.)

So she must stay home until she is fever free for 24. No school. No soccer. No shopping. No eating out. No Mom going anywhere to do anything. No sanity.

Why did she get B and not A? Poor girl. Truly I feel sorry for her. She is a good little patient. Hate to see my kids sick. But it gives me a glimpse of when they were younger. Plus they have less energy to fight.

So keep you hands washed, use that anti bac and if need be stay away from the general public. It seems to be the only way to stay well. Oh and a $10 flu shot for type A.

I'm back

Wow. Mid-February since my last post. What in the world was I doing? I have been meaning to write but something always seems to take over my time and creative energy. I have even been saving info for theme ideas so that when the day came I would have some material. Not that my family isn't material enough.

OK for instance I took Sarah to Old Navy on Sunday. They said they had $12 jeans. Why do I always fall prey to sales? FYI - $12 for kids - adults $19. Still a bargain. Almost can't pay that at Walmarts.

Anyway I digress as I always do and it is my style. Sarah is not the A-list shopper that I have cultivated myself to be. Baby, I can do a shopping marathon. When other are tired, fatigued, hungry and ready to throw in the towel, I still have the stamina to shop. It was great when the girls were little and I could use the stroller to pick packages, lean on the handle and have a place for my drink in the cup holder. Now, can't use the stroller. Why has no one (a mother who's child has grown let's say) invented a shopping stroller? I'm not talking a geriatric walker thing with the wire cart on the front (although I did get my AARP card this past month - another blog another time). I think I will invent that. Hear that. Don't steal my ideas now. Just imagine how much more shopping could be done with a shopping stroller. The possibilities are endless. I could hook up a WIFI or an itunes port. Maybe a calculator and a swing table top (for lunch or writing checks). I'm doing it. Seriously.

OK back to Sarah and Old Navy. First we have to find clothes that we agree on. Please someone tell me who the fool is that thinks low rise on a 9 year old is a fashion statement. I want to slap them into reality. I do not want to see any butt cracks. No one tucks in shirts like they did in my day so what is a child to do when she needs to bend over? Next is it the same foolish designer of the low rise jean who also thinks a bikini bottom should be made of the least amount of material possible? Cutting costs on fabric? And the plunging neckline? Dear Lord. Please let me find some inexpensive options for a 9 year old that look good and cover appropriately.

So we get what ever appropriate and negotiated clothing into the dressing room and then IT starts. The goofy 9 year old erupts right there before my eyes in the 2'x 2' dressing room. She can't get the clothes off/on, she is standing on the clothes and can't pull them up, she is admiring herself in the mirror(s), she is driving me crazy. She is laughing uncontrollably and oddly.

Now we have about 16 items to try on. We spend about 30 minutes in there. I suppose the number average about 2 minutes for each item but it is actually feeling like 2 hours. I threaten, I bulge my eyes, I give that cutting look. I almost cry. I even use physical force - the old squeeze the arms - to get her to stop. Just stop acting like... like.... oh for Pete's sake I can't even explain. Those of you out there who have or had a 9/10 year old girl - you know what I am talking about. The child is 9/10 and acts responsibly most of the time, likes tween things and all and yet acts like she is 4 sometimes. Argh!

So just when I am ready to ground her for life she says to me, "Trying on clothes is hard work." HAHAHAHAHA. That was just what I needed to stop the craziness stirring inside of me. "Oh yeah. So many people die from trying clothes on. It's so tragic." I tell her. Wonder if that is true? I mean for the mothers?

I did end up walking out of the dressing room and not harming my child. Yeah me. We did find age appropriate clothes. Yeah Old Navy (and for $10 a pair of jeans). I did get a good laugh. Yeah Sarah.

Finally finished some things I have been working on in my scarce free time. Now I have more time to write about things that no one really cares about per se but to which many can relate. Thanks Denise for the nudge and encouragement. That was sweet and got me back on the blog.

Got to run. Going shopping with Sarah. Pray for a miracle.