You may recall that planning the big 10th Anniversary Trip was plagued with mishaps and misfortunes, both big and small. All six of us (3 couples, for those of you in 0U812 math) did end up making it on the trip (to St. John, USVI and not Cancun as originally planned), which was delightful. It was touch and go though, right up until the end.
The other couple with four children almost exactly the same ages as mine almost didn't make it...and again...it was mostly my fault. At the end of March, I read in the local paper that the Renaissance Fair was coming to Raleigh, to a new location, just up the road from our house. My husband was away with my eldest daughter at an Indian Princess event at the coast that weekend. The "RenFair" (what people in the know call these things) sounded like a fun way to kill an afternoon - sword fighting, jousting, fire eating and sword swallowing - all right up the alley of my six year old, Brady. I dragged my good friend and saddled-with-four-kids-of-her-own (who's husband was also at the Indian Princess outing) up the road to check it out.
Perhaps we should have taken it as a sign, and turned around when we saw a medieval wench being cuffed and put into the back of a police car as we drove up. We were slack-jaw at the costuming...particularly the chain mail, which I spotted on more women - in the form of bras and dresses - than on the sword fighters and knights. People dressed up in period appropriate attire just to attend this thing, not just the people who were working. It was like a Medieval Star Trek Convention. We stuck out like the suburban housewives we are, with our 6 kids (total, because we're down 2), 2 double jogging strollers, diaper bags, purses, over sized sunglasses, the works. Nice.
Nevertheless, we were committed, and upon paying our admission, we were immediately harassed by the "Baby Dragon" salesman. Of course, he didn't come out immediately and say they were for sale. He hollered out to the boys to come and hold them, pet them, and play with them. Then he stuck us with the hard sell. "They're great pets for kids." "They don't carry diseases like salmonella as some of the other reptiles do." "They only require a misting of water a couple times a week" and on, and on, and on. We left him, much to the boys' dismay. Thankfully someone was getting ready to start swallowing fire and swords.
After an eye-popping and corset-busting afternoon, we left. Perhaps we would have stayed longer had we seen the beer tent on our way in... Nevertheless, on the way out, my friend caved and purchased a baby dragon, named Alex, for her son. Thank God she didn't have enough money for two. I'll sum it up by saying that keeping baby dragons turned out to be a lot more intense than the salesman let on.
After we finally settled on an alternate destination (thank you, swine flu), my friend's two year old became sick. Nothing out of the usual, with four kids, someone always has or is incubating something. Not quite 2 weeks pass, and he has gone from feverish and vomiting, to getting better to straight up diarrhea, lethargic, and a fluid and food strike. Not good. She takes him to the doctor, where they don't find anything so she's instructed to obtain some stool samples (That story is for another blog, if she'll let me tell it).
We're three days out from our trip, and she's beginning to study the fine print on the travel insurance they purchased.
The day before we leave, the little guy seems to be on the mend, at least he's eating and drinking; his diapers are still a little, well, off...but we leave as planned. They ask the doctor and nurses to call with the lab results asap. Of course, nothing comes in on time, and some cultures have to be repeated, so it's Friday that the results should be available, but there's still no call. I'm hoping for the best (read: not contagious), as my babysitter and hers are sisters, and the 8 kids have spent the entire weekend together.
Upon our return, thelittle guy is eating and drinking, but they learn that the culprit was Salmonella. Yes, the same Salmonella that the Dragon Salesman insisted that the baby dragons don't carry.
Oh, and the babies (hers and mine) now have ringworm. Have no idea of the source, doesn't really matter, jut a glaring reminder that we're no longer on the barefoot beaches of the Carribbean.
Back to reality......
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
While I Was Gone
I have been getting all kinds of grief for not writing over the last two weeks. The truth is, I have been writing up a storm...just not in this blog. I have been creating a body of work, roughly the size of War and Peace, which has sucked all of the creative life from my weary, keyboard numbed, hands.
I had to craft "THE INSTRUCTION MANUAL" on the Care and Keeping of My Four Children for Five Days. Now, the young woman we employed this past weekend to watch our kids (for 5 days/4 nights) is an extremely bright, engaging, responsible person, and is no stranger to our kids. Nevertheless, regardless of how responsible someone may seem, all bets are off when it's time to go solo. I have learned this the hard way, leaving my kids with my husband. When my oldest 2 kids were 2 1/2 and 8 months, I left to go to a wedding in Chicago for a weekend. I had pumped diligently for 2 months to have enough milk stored in the freezer for the baby. Now, admittedly, my husband is at a disadvantage not being the primary caretaker of the kids (and frequent business travel doesn't help) but when I returned to see all the milk (minus four bottles) still in the refrigerator, I about lost it. He had fed him a bottle in the morning and a bottle at night, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner (baby food and baby cereal) - with juice - in between. I'm not exactly sure to this day what he thought all that milk was for, or why he thought I spent so much time pumping (much less seeing the baby on my boob every 3 hours of every day of his life). Of course, the baby survived, there was no damage done, (he's now 6 1/2) but I learned a valuable lesson about information. More is better.
So I typed. And typed. Consulted my Outlook Calendar for activities, schedules, comittments. Googled the routes to and from the two different schools our kids currently attend. Found and printed a revocable power of attourney so that she could authorize medical care for the kids and got it notartized at the bank. Picked my brain for all possible activites should the weather be sunny, rainy, cold, or hot. Listed all the medications the kids could or should take and their dosages, along with whatever their most common ailments were (usually only occuring at bedtime) and how to remedy them. Provided names, addresses, home and cell phone numbers for a variety of relatives, friends, and neighbors, as well as the doctor and dentist, in case of emergency. Arranged for several sleepovers and playdates for 3 of the 4 kids (all of which were carefully detailed on my Daily Itinerary). And made a very, very detailed schedule of what and how to feed the baby.
At the end of the day, the kids had a blast with her and she took wonderful care of the children. They hardly missed us. Even more than that, when we got home Monday night, they were bathed, in bed sleeping, the house was clean, the laundry was done, folded, and in a pile outside of each of their rooms, and she'd already made their lunches for the next day at school.
And no, you cannot have her phone number.
I had to craft "THE INSTRUCTION MANUAL" on the Care and Keeping of My Four Children for Five Days. Now, the young woman we employed this past weekend to watch our kids (for 5 days/4 nights) is an extremely bright, engaging, responsible person, and is no stranger to our kids. Nevertheless, regardless of how responsible someone may seem, all bets are off when it's time to go solo. I have learned this the hard way, leaving my kids with my husband. When my oldest 2 kids were 2 1/2 and 8 months, I left to go to a wedding in Chicago for a weekend. I had pumped diligently for 2 months to have enough milk stored in the freezer for the baby. Now, admittedly, my husband is at a disadvantage not being the primary caretaker of the kids (and frequent business travel doesn't help) but when I returned to see all the milk (minus four bottles) still in the refrigerator, I about lost it. He had fed him a bottle in the morning and a bottle at night, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner (baby food and baby cereal) - with juice - in between. I'm not exactly sure to this day what he thought all that milk was for, or why he thought I spent so much time pumping (much less seeing the baby on my boob every 3 hours of every day of his life). Of course, the baby survived, there was no damage done, (he's now 6 1/2) but I learned a valuable lesson about information. More is better.
So I typed. And typed. Consulted my Outlook Calendar for activities, schedules, comittments. Googled the routes to and from the two different schools our kids currently attend. Found and printed a revocable power of attourney so that she could authorize medical care for the kids and got it notartized at the bank. Picked my brain for all possible activites should the weather be sunny, rainy, cold, or hot. Listed all the medications the kids could or should take and their dosages, along with whatever their most common ailments were (usually only occuring at bedtime) and how to remedy them. Provided names, addresses, home and cell phone numbers for a variety of relatives, friends, and neighbors, as well as the doctor and dentist, in case of emergency. Arranged for several sleepovers and playdates for 3 of the 4 kids (all of which were carefully detailed on my Daily Itinerary). And made a very, very detailed schedule of what and how to feed the baby.
At the end of the day, the kids had a blast with her and she took wonderful care of the children. They hardly missed us. Even more than that, when we got home Monday night, they were bathed, in bed sleeping, the house was clean, the laundry was done, folded, and in a pile outside of each of their rooms, and she'd already made their lunches for the next day at school.
And no, you cannot have her phone number.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Just Another Manic Monday
Have you ever found yourself compelled to complete a task so ridiculous that you're almost embarrassed to admit it?
I found myself searching the house in every pencil case, craft box, backpack, and junk drawer Monday night...pulling out every marker, pen, pencil, colored pencil, dry erase marker, sharpie, ink pad, and paint pen. And there I sat, surrounded by piles of writing utensils ready for the task at hand.
I purged.
Half-broken crayons that I had kept, with the thought that we'd make those really cool multi-color shaped crayons you can bake in your own oven - gone.
Nubby pencils and pencils with no erasers - tossed.
Pens that have run out of ink, markers that have dried up and paint pens that I can't get the tops off of anymore - all hit the circular file.
Then I sat and sharpened each and every pencil I could find, and stashed a few in the kids' backpacks, seeing as any time we try to complete homework assignments in the carpool line, no one can seem to locate a pencil.
I switched all the marker tops so that the tops match the color of marker. I organized all of these thing in our "Craft box." I don't know why exactly I felt compelled to take on this pointless task. I'm sure some psychologist somewhere could analyze me and give me loads of useless insight. All it will take is one rainy afternoon for the chaos to return, but you know what? I don't care.
I may not have accomplished anything of great importance on this very manic Monday, but darn it if I can tell you exactly where the red sharpie is. And some days, here on the edge, that is an amazing accomplishment.
I found myself searching the house in every pencil case, craft box, backpack, and junk drawer Monday night...pulling out every marker, pen, pencil, colored pencil, dry erase marker, sharpie, ink pad, and paint pen. And there I sat, surrounded by piles of writing utensils ready for the task at hand.
I purged.
Half-broken crayons that I had kept, with the thought that we'd make those really cool multi-color shaped crayons you can bake in your own oven - gone.
Nubby pencils and pencils with no erasers - tossed.
Pens that have run out of ink, markers that have dried up and paint pens that I can't get the tops off of anymore - all hit the circular file.
Then I sat and sharpened each and every pencil I could find, and stashed a few in the kids' backpacks, seeing as any time we try to complete homework assignments in the carpool line, no one can seem to locate a pencil.
I switched all the marker tops so that the tops match the color of marker. I organized all of these thing in our "Craft box." I don't know why exactly I felt compelled to take on this pointless task. I'm sure some psychologist somewhere could analyze me and give me loads of useless insight. All it will take is one rainy afternoon for the chaos to return, but you know what? I don't care.
I may not have accomplished anything of great importance on this very manic Monday, but darn it if I can tell you exactly where the red sharpie is. And some days, here on the edge, that is an amazing accomplishment.
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