Little m Long a

Actually, it’s a virus.  It’s the kind of virus that thrives on exposing partially digested stomach contents to ambient air or putrid liquefied bowel to a toilet.  Or underwear, whichever comes first.  The virus in non-discriminatory and has spared no one in it’s wake.

Maura has said that it is all she has been seeing at work for the past week.  Is it wrong for me to blame her for it’s appearance in our home?  Seems only fair.

Brings up a point of contention though.  What could possibly possess a person, I mean what triggers in their mind to connect an episode of  vomiting to a hospital visit?  I just don’t get it.  I remember working triage sitting at the desk when a frantic parent would rush in at 3:30 in the morning exclaiming, “He’s vomiting!”  Now don’t get me wrong, the inability to hold down any form of sustenance for an extended period can have deleterious effects and could certainly require some form of medical intervention.

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(a scene from the car)  “Oh, that’s the Jonas Brothers.  There’s Kevin, Joe and Nick,” Zane pipes up from the back seat.

“Zane, I honestly can’t say that I’m proud you know that.”

“Good Lord!” I screamed from the front of the car to no one and to everyone.  “What is wrong with this picture?  Zane, please tell me it’s just a piece of worthless trivia.  Something you’ve stumbled upon and for whatever reason it stuck there in your head.  Quick–who were the Beatles?”

“Ooh, they were a band.  I like them.”

“Yeah, but who were they?  What were their names?”

“Uhmm…”

“Nooooo!! This can’t be happening!  Led Zeppelin?  Who was the lead singer in Led Zeppelin?  What about the Rolling Stones?  Name someone from the Stones.  Or The Who.”

“Who?” Read the rest of this entry →

OK, I might need some help with this one.  Help me to realize I’m not going crazy.  You see, most of the things I find myself saying day in and day out no longer phase me.  Few things surprise me.  Little catchphrases have become part of the accepted parental vernacular .  We all have them, please tell me we all have them.  Things we say to our kids regularly.  Things that ten years ago I would never have imagined saying but now roll off of my tongue with ease like a seasoned baptist minister sermonizing in a traveling tent revival.

Don’t touch the outlet.  Stop running in the house.  Pick up your dirty clothes.  Eat your carrots.  Stop hitting your sister.  Could you bring me a package of wipes?  Did you poop?  What’s the magic word?  That’s yes—Ma’am.  Get that out of your mouth.  Don’t eat that!

Surely you’ve used these phrases or very similar.  Commonplace.  We all do it.  But every once in a while I’ll say something that is so over the top or on the surface  just plain ludicrous that it gives me pause.  Things I could have never imagined I would be saying, even as a parent.  Here’s a random sampling from the past couple of weeks.

To Zane–”Buddy, you can’t use those scissors.  Those are my sewing scissors.”

Yes, I said sewing scissors.  I have a pair of scissors that I keep with my sewing machine that are only to be used for cutting fabric.  Yes, I said my sewing machine.  I sew.  Granted, It’s nothing you want to wear in public but I did make some really nice crib sets for Zoë, Zane and Zia.  Sheet, dust ruffle, bumpers, diaper bag and with Zia, curtains.  I’ve got pictures somewhere.  Zia’s was some of my best work.  So the sewing thing–absolutely something I could never have imagined ten years ago.

And following that theme…

To Zoë–”No, no.  It’ll be fine.  I can make a nice little set of cafe curtains.  It’ll cut down on the glare.”

Much to my wife’s dismay, I rearranged the living room furniture last week.  I had lost the remote and literally tore the living room apart looking for it.  By the time it was located, deep in the recesses of the couch, it was easier to just rearrange.  The tv ended up in a spot that had a little bit of glare as seen from one chair.  I offered the cafe curtains to Zoë as a way of reassuring her things would be OK.  I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that I know what a cafe curtain is or the fact that I am willing to sew them myself.

To Zane–”Do you need to pee? (He responds by shaking his head no.) Then stop grabbing your penis!”

There’s something to be said about a little boy and his love for his penis.  I guess I’m just not ready for such a public a display of affection.

To Zella–”Zella.  Drop the monkey!”

I haven’t a clue.  But you gotta admit, any time you are audibly instructing a child to unhand a simian things have gotten weird.

That’s just a few I’ve had the foresight to write down.  So let’s hear it.  What are some of the ridiculous things you have said to your kids recently?

The activity is constant and endless.  Lifestyles are adjusted to the heightened levels of chaos always bordering on calamity.  Insignificance is just that, even more so.  It does not matter.  Priorities shift in an effort to provide balance, continuity and stability in what by all appearances is disorder.  Time does not sit idly by.  Things happen constantly.

As testament I present a few happenings of the past 24 hours.

Zoë kicked things off this past Saturday night (OK, I know that was more than 24 hours ago but work with me here.  Some things need preface.)  by heating things up, namely her core body temperature.  Not too alarming–102 and easily controlled with that miracle drug–Motrin.  Have you heard of the stuff?  I used to say that all the time to parents that would bring their kids to the ER at 3 in the morning with fevers.  When I asked if they had given the little fireball anything they would reply, “No, I wanted you to see how high the fever was.”  Like they thought I wouldn’t believe them.  Geesh!

I digress.

Maura gave Zoë a quick once over when she got home and determined she most likely had strep.  And they say doctors don’t make house calls anymore.  Antibiotics were started in very short order.

Inevitability.  (That means if you’ve got a house full of crazy kids and one is sick–it won’t be long before you’ve got a house full of crazy sick kids.)  Zane was first to follow suit though Zander was looking a bit pasty Wednesday evening.  Once again, Maura was called to duty and after assessing all of the kids determined that yes, indeed, lymphadenopathy was rampant.  Except for Zella.  She seemed fine.  “That,” I said, “is only logical as Zella never eats and the chances of her eating or drinking after any of the other kids is astronomically low therefore her chances of becoming ill are significantly decreased.”

Antibiotics were started in short order.  A lot of antibiotics!

Zane stayed home from school.  As we were watching a riveting show about building bridges, Zane screams, “Oh my God!  My tooth!  I lost my tooth!”

And he had.  Zane lost his first tooth.  Really lost it.  He had no idea where it was.  We quickly dismantled the couch and found it nestled between the cushions.  Zane lost his first tooth!

An hour and a half later, he lost his second!

Before bed last night I sewed Zane a little pouch to put his two teeth into as an offering to Flossie–the Tooth Fairy.  I had made a little pouch for Zoë but I didn’t think Zane would appreciate a pink pouch for his tooth. Short notice and a long day but I think it came out….acceptable.

Tonight kicks off our Football Friday Nights.  You may remember that Maura is team doctor to the local high school football team.  Building on our fantastic experience from last year there’s a new job in the family.  Zane gets to be a water boy!  He even gets a jersey.  The boy is stoked.  We’ll see if the steady downpour (much needed, I might add) that we a currently experiencing will temper his spirits.

Which reminds me….The cushions on the deck are getting soaked.  Typical!

What does this man…..

Have in common with this man…….

Romeo Crennel was born in Lynchburg, Virginia.

Ed was not.

Romeo Crennel attended Western Kentucky University and received a degree in Physical Education.

Ed did not.

Romeo Crennel has five Super Bowl Rings.

Ed does not.

Romeo Crennel has three daughters.

Hey, *ding, ding, ding* Ed’s got three daughters. (+ two sons)

There’s got to be more, aside from the striking good looks, of course.  Let’s see…..

Romeo Crennel is the head coach of a ragtag group of football players known affectionately as The Browns.

*ding, ding, ding* Ed is head coach of a ragtag group of football players known affectionately as The Browns.

That’s right, people.  I’m padding the resume.  My son, Zane, has started flag football at the YMCA.  When I signed him up, I told the director that I would be glad to help in any way that I could, schedule allowing, of course.  (That whole five kid thing and being busy….)  I got a call last week and was asked if I could attend a coaches meeting and said sure.

Upon entering the room, I was handed a rules pamphlet and a list of names.  “This is your team.”

“Wait.  My team?  I thought I was just here to help.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine.  One of the other parents said they would be glad to help out in any way that they could as their schedule allowed.”

“Yeah, that was me.  That’s what I said.”

“Really? Hmm”

“I have absolutely no idea how to coach flag football, or any football for that matter.  I don’t know anything about the game.”

“It’ll be fine.  Thanks for helping out, Ed.  We really appreciate it.”

Word to the wise—be careful of which boxes you check on your children’s registration forms.  Otherwise you’ll find yourself trying to explain concepts of rushing, blocking, hand-offs, containment—concepts of which you have no prior knowledge—to a group of 5 and 6 year old boys who certainly have no prior knowledge.

You’ll find yourself trying to placate twelve 5-6 year old little boys who’s only goal is to be quarterback.

“I want to run the ball.  When’s it my turn to run the ball?   Can I run the ball?  Coach, he burped at me.  Can I be quarterback?  I don’t want to be center.  Can I have some more water?  Coach, I gotta pee.  When’s our first game?”

Dear Lord in Heaven how do I get into these situations!!!  At least they gave me a whistle.