September 25, 2006

it was a bloodbath! a bloodbath, I tell you!

Charlie woke me at 2:00 am with my Least Favorite Middle-of-the-Night Proclamation Ever, which goes like this: “Mama. MAMA! I have a bleedy nose.” He says it in a very calm, very peaceful middle-of-the-night-appropriate whisper, which means that I stay entirely calm (if mostly asleep) until we get to the bathroom and turn the lights on and I am faced with a four-year-old who looks like an extra from CSI: Miami. (Is it just me or does the Miami version of that series seem to be the most gory? I mean, I know they’re all pretty gross, but Miami seems to be awash in blood and body parts, more so than either Las Vegas or New York City.)

Last night’s bloody nose was a Comedy of Errors and Crankyness unlike anything seen around here lately. I got up with Charlie, cleaned him up, assessed the nose (still bleeding!) and started to apply pressure. The nose stops bleeding, Charlie sniffs hard to see if he can breathe, the bleeding starts again. Charlie gets mad and starts crying. Wade gets up and makes a suggestion; I counter with another suggestion. Neither suggestion is offered in what we like to call a Nice Voice, if you get my drift. I go off to consult with Doctor Google, which involves finding my glasses which are . . . hmm, where ARE my glasses? Doctor Google says to do this but not that, and this OTHER thing but not THAT other thing. All in all, Wade and I were each half right about what to do, which seems to prove that mostly we don’t know what the hell we’re doing. We follow Doctor Google’s advice, the bleeding stops, Charlie and I get into his bed, Wade tucks us in and we all say I love you and we fall asleep.

The end.

Until this morning, when I’m carrying Charlie to the breakfast table and he is snuggling his sleepy head against my shoulder (and the WHITE SHIRT encasing it) and he says sadly, “Look, Mama, I’m bleedy again.”

Dammit.

September 22, 2006

Fashion Friday

alternate title: because I’m siiiiiick, that’s why!

Last night, instead of going to a swank fundraiser with my friend Molly and her husband, I curled up in bed with a family size box of Kleenex and a really boring biography of Fanny Burney and fell asleep at 8:15. Whoo hoo! My outfit was not so much cocktail wear as it was Old Navy yoga pants from five years ago and a souvenir Florida t-shirt that I stole from my dad. Mmmm, sexy.

Did I mention the Kleenex?

My goal for the fundraiser-that-wasn’t was to pull together an outfit WITHOUT buying anything; in other words, I was planning to Shop My Closet and see what I already had, because I KNOW I have all sorts of cocktail party appropriate clothes in there. Somewhere. I love to shop just as much as the next girl, but I’m always a little stressed out by the whole idea of shopping for An Event; I can never find EXACTLY what I want and I typically wind up with something that doesn’t fit right or isn’t comfortable or would look significantly better on someone else. Plus, I tend to wind up going to fancy events at the last minute, which means that often there is no time to really Shop Smart. Finally, there is the whole issue of spending money for clothes that I may or may not wear again any time soon, if ever.

I know you are familiar with all of this.

So let’s talk about how to Shop Your Closet.

You’ll need two bags or boxes, one for Give Aways and one for Tailor/Dry Cleaner. Things that don’t fit go in the Give Away box; things that need to be cleaned or tailored go in . . . you get the idea. This is also a good time to assess your hangers. I like a nice padded hanger for tops and some sturdy plastic or wood hangers for pants. Target has great hanger options for not a lot of money. Toss those dry cleaning hangers; they’re horrible. Horrible! Joan Crawford was right.

Start by trying on everything you own. EVERY SINGLE THING. Set aside an hour (or a day), put on some music, pile the contents of your closet (and your dresser and all those plastic storage boxes) on the bed and work your way through it all. I know, it’s a lot to ask, but how will you know what you have if you don’t know what you HAVE? I suggest that you do this in pieces, starting with bottoms, since that seems to be what everyone always complains about. Put on a neutral t-shirt (white is best) and try on EVERY pair of pants, EVERY skirt, EVERY pair of shorts. Anything that doesn’t zip or cuts off the circulation to your spleen has to go. Anything with a crotch that hangs at your knees or an ass that dips to your calves has to go. Anything stained or pilled or faded or just plain worn out HAS TO GO.

After you’ve done the bottoms, start again with the tops. Try tops with a neutral bottom (khakis or jeans) and the proper undergarments. Bend over to check for excess cleavage; reach up to check for stomach exposure. Check for pit stains on your t-shirts. YES, I SAID IT! Pit stains are NOT stylish. THEY JUST AREN’T.

Do the same with your shoes. Get rid of anything ratty or worn. Have shoes that need new heels resoled. Polish or clean shoes that are dirty. Even if you’re a mom who wears practical flats most of the time, hang on to your sexy shoes (you never know when you might want to feel sexy!), but think twice about keeping those beautiful pumps that make you feel like someone is amputating your toes. Limping isn’t sexy.

Keep only the pieces that fit well AND are in good shape. Set aside anything that needs repairs, and then set a deadline for having them done. I currently have a beautiful black cocktail dress that I wore to my brother’s wedding six years ago, a mere three months after Henry was born. It’s a GREAT dress, the perfect length and with a FANTASTIC neckline and a lovely beaded hem, but it needs to be altered. Right now it’s hanging on the bedroom door with a post-it note with next Friday’s date on it. Either I take it to the tailor by next Friday or it goes in the Give Away bag. Because it’s been in my closet, unwearable, for SIX YEARS. It’s time to take action.

Put the keepers back in the closet. You can use whatever system you like for arranging your clothes–by color, for example, or style or even by outfit–but avoid dividing your clothes into Everyday and Dress-Up. Fashion stylists estimate that the average woman only wears about 30% of her clothes, primarily because we get it into our heads that certain pieces are ONLY for playgroup or ONLY for dress-up. A black tank top can be perfect with a cocktail skirt; a dressy jacket goes nicely with jeans. I have my pants arranged by length (as you know) and the tops by color. I have a nice brocade jacket hanging with my jean jackets (yes, I have multiple jean jackets; shut it). Fold sweaters and t-shirts, as they will stretch if you hang them, but be sure to keep them where you can see them.

Now that you have a whole closet full of clothes that fit and are presentable, try everything on AGAIN, this time with an eye to what goes together. (You might want to do this on another day–sometimes it helps to have a fresh eye. Or a cold martini. Whatever.) Put together complete outfits, INCLUDING shoes; this lets you see what you have and what you need. Do you have a great pair of pants that go with all your tops but no shoes to wear with them? Shop for shoes. Do you have a terrific white blouse but no appropriate bra? Shop for a bra. And so on.

Try different combinations–have a great cocktail skirt? Try it with a fancy sweater and your twinset and a turtleneck and a fitted tee and a tank top and . . . you get the idea. Try EVERYTHING on with your jeans–blouses and sweaters and jackets and tees. Be honest in your assessment–when you bend over, what’s the view like? When you sit down, does the top meet the bottom? Can you REALLY walk in those shoes? Is it a problem if you can’t?

By now, you should have a clear idea both of what you actually HAVE and what you actually NEED, which should help you focus your shopping. I’ve been buying shoes lately, because when I went through my closet I had pants and tops and nothing but flip flops, which really weren’t going to go with my wool trousers. I’ve bought ballet flats and strappy suede wedges and low-heeled, pointy-toed slingbacks. I think I’m good to go now. (It sounds like I’m all done shopping, doesn’t it? Hoo, that’s funny . . . )

My plan for last night was to wear a black v-neck cashmere sweater with a black-and-white silk skirt and a pair of black slingbacks. I rediscovered a cool red bag in the back of my closet last week, the perfect size for a lipstick and a cell phone. I would have looked totally hott.

Instead, I was looking totally feverish, which isn’t the same. But at least I didn’t buy anything new, and I had an outfit that I really like and that I will certainly wear again, when I find myself going to a swank cocktail party at the last second. My schedule is open this weekend, if you’ve got anything in mind.

September 20, 2006

bee my baby

I spent most of yesterday working on Another Mystery Project (no, no details! ha ha!) and assembling Charlie’s damn dinosaur toys (which, yes, DID involve joining some sort of club, so Anne you may want to e-mail me that letter right now because I’m going to need it!) and by the time it was time to go get the kids, my ass was starting to look like my desk chair, so I thought, Hey! Let’s go to the park!

You’re hoping my Mystery Project is better written than that sentence, aren’t you?

When we got to the park, there were quite a few other kids, but all little, like my kids, which is fine. The boys dug in the sand for a while and then got out their Army men and started to play with those. Henry went off to climb on some stuff (did I mention that on Monday he fell off the monkey bars at this VERY SAME park and nearly broke his hand? Yes! Indeed!) and Charlie came to ask me if he could go pee pee on a tree.

I hate the peeing-on-trees thing. I just hate it. And this particular park isn’t in my neighborhood, it’s in a much NICER neighborhood, and there were a LOT of people around and really, peeing on trees is just gross. So I said no.

He thought about this for a second and said, “Okay! Because I don’t REALLY need to pee pee! I was just asking!” Then he proceeded to do the wildest and most desperate Potty Dance I have ever seen.

I started packing up the toys and told the boys that in ten minutes we would go home. That’s ten Mommy Minutes, you know, which meant that in about seventy five seconds I was going to make the boys get their shoes and get in the car, because I really didn’t want Charlie peeing in my Accord. By now, Charlie has climbed up to the very top of the Big Castle and he and Henry are sliding their Army men down the big slide. I tell them they have just enough time to slide down and climb up and slide down ONE MORE TIME and then we have to go.

They are both very cooperative.

Henry chooses the fast way up, via the ladder, while Charlie goes around to the stairs. I’m standing at the bottom of the ladder saying, “Okay! Slide down! Let’s go!” and hoping Charlie won’t pee on the climber (it’s happened before!) when Henry starts to scream.

SCREAM. The loudest, most horrible scream I have ever heard. He is holding his head and SCREAMING and saying that he’s been stung by a bee.

Well crap.

I climb the ladder (in a skirt! did I mention that I was wearing a SKIRT?) and try to see what’s going on, but he’s just screaming and screaming. I finally get a look at his ear and sure enough, it looks like . . .

a bee sting.

Here was the fun part: while all the other moms are watching (because everyone seems to be pretty sure I have this under control but MY GOD the screaming!) I pick Henry up and CARRY him down off the climber. He is kicking and thrashing around and STILL SCREAMING.

Have I mentioned that Henry has been having some anxiety issues lately? And some little panic attacks? Why yes, he has.

Charlie (god love him, I need to buy that kid a pony) puts the Army men in the bag and gets his shoes AND Henry’s shoes and walks right next to me to the car. Once he says to Henry, “Henry, that must hurt A LOT.” I wanted to kiss him.

I realize that my knowledge of What To Do For A Bee Sting is, well, minimal, and consists only of CALL THE PEDIATRICIAN, but I can’t call her from the car because Henry is STILL SCREAMING and I’m having a hard enough time driving properly. (Henry: “You need to DRIVE FASTER, MOMMY!” Charlie: “But don’t get a ticket, Mama.”) I DO know that Henry really shouldn’t be TOUCHING his ear with his dirty hands, so I remind him of this over and over the whole way home while he screams “BUT I NEED TO TOUCH IT!” He actually SAT on his hands to keep from touching the ear. Maybe I should buy him a pony, too.

The entire way home, I pacify myself with the knowledge that Wade should be leaving his office ANY MINUTE to come home for an hour or so before he goes to his dinner meeting, so I only have a little longer to be alone with the screaming kids. I can totally do this.

At home, Charlie goes off to go potty (after announcing during a small lull in the screaming, “Mama, I was just JOKING. I really DO need to go potty!”) and informs me that he needs to pee AND poop and can I wipe his bottom? Henry sits down in front of the refridgerator, which is next to the cabinet where the Benadryl lives, and resumes his regularly scheduled screaming. I call the pediatrician but can’t hear the nurse when she answers because of ALL THE SCREAMING. And the polite requests for bottom wiping.

The upshot was this: Henry was clearly not going into any kind of anaphylactic shock (because who can scream when your throat is closing up?). I gave him some Benadryl (the MAXIMUM DOSE for his age and weight) and Tylenol (because, as the nurse said, WHY NOT?) and wiped Charlie’s butt and made a paste of baking soda and water and put it on the actual sting (and on Henry’s hand and Charlie’s arm and a couple of toys that were on the table, just to distract everyone). Henry apparently knocked the stinger out of his ear at the park, because I never found it, which was good (why is that, can someone tell me?).

I ran Henry a bath and told Charlie to go play with his new dinosaurs and sat down to take a few breaths. Wade calls to say, “I have a 5:30 meeting so I’m not coming home. What’s new?” I told him and he says, “I’m so sorry. Have a glass of wine.”

“I can’t,” I say, “because it could take up to TWO HOURS for any sort of severe reaction to appear, and I will need to be able to drive to the ER if that happens. Take your cell phone to your meeting, just in case.”

“In case you have some wine?”

“Yes.”

In the end, Henry had a very typical and normal reaction to the sting–his ear swelled to Elephant Man proportions and the skin around it got red, but that was it. He had more Benadryl at bedtime and slept all night and this morning when Wade asked if anything exciting had happened yesterday he said no. When I reminded him about the bee sting, he said, “That didn’t REALLY happen, did it?”

Oh, and this: at some point during all the screaming yesterday, Charlie took the glow-in-the-dark T Rex apart. And then brought me the pieces and said, “Will you put this together so I can see it glow in the dark?”

Grrr . . . .

(Oh, and–Charlie agrees that the dinosaur mobile sucks.)

September 19, 2006

it’s educational, I guess

A couple of weeks ago, Charlie came home from school with a book order form. Remember those? I LOVED getting book order forms; I always picked out a dozen (or more!) books that I ABSOLUTELY HAD TO HAVE.

My brother, on the other hand, would stuff his form in his backpack and never look twice at it.

My mother would make deals with us: two books each. John would struggle to find two books that he wanted, and I would beg my mother to please PLEASE let ME have his two books! I’m sure this drove her batty.

Anyway, Charlie came home with his order form and we looked at it and I picked out two books that I thought he would like, since he can’t read yet and he kept picking out stupid books, like the Scooby Doo series (why are there even Scooby Doo books ON the order form? They’re terrible, TERRIBLE I tell you). He was very excited about my his choices.

And, because Charlie loves dinosaurs and he’s so damn cute and I’m always looking for ANYTHING that’s not superhero-related, I was also suckered into buying him the 3-D Dinosaur Package, which included a book! and special 3-D glasses! and a slide projector! and a poster!

But wait! You haven’t heard the BEST part! He would get a three-dimensional, glow-in-the-dark T Rex puzzle! AND a dinosaur mobile! To hang in his room!

Hooray!

The book orders came yesterday; this morning at breakfast, Charlie asked if we could get out his dinosaur stuff. “Let me look at it first,” I said, because one too many times I have opened something that clearly falls into the ASSEMBLY REQUIRED category only to find myself beseiged by children demanding, “CAN WE PLAY WITH IT YET?” and climbing all over me while I try to untangle all the teeny tiny parts and decipher directions that were clearly written by someone who speaks Ancient Egyptian as a first language. And then by the time I get whatever it was the boys wanted assembled all put together, they have lost interest and gone off to throw steak knives at each other.

Why do I buy them toys in the first place?

Anyway, today while the kids were at school, I assembled the puzzle. The one CLEARLY labled FOR AGES SIX AND UP. Okay, well, Charlie is four, so here it is!

Pretty cool, huh? And easy to put together. For me, at least, because I’m over six. Just a little.

Then I tackled the mobile. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much, but I WAS expecting more than one dinosaur, particularly since the “cross bar” has a total of EIGHT HOLES IN IT, each clearly designed to hold ONE dinosaur. Ha ha ha was I ever wrong.

One dinosaur. ONE lousy dinosaur. That’s it.

I’m sure Charlie will be thrilled. And I’m sure I will be ordering dinosaur packages ALL YEAR LONG. If I keep getting this same dinosaur over and over, though, I will really be pissed.