We took Charlie to the emergency room last night, because he was having trouble breathing. I wish there were a way to make that funny, but hoo boy it was NOT. Wade had gone up to the playroom, where our desk computer lives, to check his email and he heard Charlie gasping for breath; when we turned on his light, his lips were purple and he was wild eyed and terrified. This morning I was thinking about what might have happened if Wade hadn’t gone to check his email, if he had stayed downstairs with me, where all we could hear was the television.
Not funny.
Charlie has croup; he’s still sounding kind of froggy today. He’s also tired because we spent three hours in the ER waiting room, you know, waiting. And also watching Hannah Montana because apparently there’s some rule against watching good TV in the ER waiting room. There also appears to be some rule about not turning the volume down to a reasonable level because holy hell it was loud. No one needs to hear Billy Ray Cyrus that loud.
I’d never seen Hannah Montana before and perhaps a visit to the ER wasn’t really the right situation in which to experience the phenomena of Miley Cyrus for the first time, but honestly I hated it. Then again, I was a little stressed and pretty cranky, so who knows. I probably shouldn’t blame poor Miley.
(You know Miley wasn’t her real name — it was Ruby or something like that — it was a nickname because she was such a smiley baby, and then she had it legally changed. Insert eye roll here.)
The triage nurse told us that Charlie likely had croup and not pneumonia, and she gave him Tylenol for the raging fever and then we sat and sat and sat in the waiting room where of course he had no trouble at all breathing properly. The other patients were nearly all people who were treating the ER like a primary care physician’s office and were in need of throat cultures or follow ups for ear infections, and at some point we realized both that it might be 3:00 am before Charlie saw a doctor AND that croup was something our primary care physician could treat for us, so we went home, without seeing a doctor. Charlie slept in the bed with me, and aside from coughing a little was fine.
I, of course, was awake for most of the night waiting to see if mah baybee was going to stop breathing and dieeeee. Which he did not.
Today we saw the pediatrician; she confirmed that indeed he DOES have croup; she gave him an oral steroid to prevent any more scary not-breathing episodes and also to help him bulk up for soccer (kidding! ha ha so funny). So all’s well that ends well! I guess.
*Last spring my next door neighbor took her son to the ER for — guess! — croup, which he still refers to as “floop.” I love that. Also, when we realized that Charlie needed to see a doctor pronto last night, we called the same neighbor, who came over in her pajamas and slippers to stay with Henry. I just love her, I truly do. We are NEVER MOVING.
This morning I realized that I had spent over 36 straight hours in yoga pants. Not the SAME yoga pants, mind you, but still. YOGA PANTS. For THIRTY SIX HOURS.
Holy hell.
Tonight I made corn on the cob for dinner; Wade and I each ate one whole cob (is that the proper term?) and then split the remaining one because it truly was the Best Corn Ever. And Charlie asked, “Mama, why do you always take the pointy end and give Daddy the stubby end?”
Wade thought that was hysterical because in sixteen years we’ve been together, this is the FIRST TIME I’ve ever made corn on the cob. Seriously.
I have a new post up at Gather, in the Egg Council’s Incredible group, about eating breakfast for dinner. And last week’s post (in case you missed it YOU DIDN’T MISS IT DID YOU?!?) was about a great site called Mommy, What’s For Dinner? I love that name so much.
Finally, if you do nothing else today, go over to Design Mom and check out the auctions for Nie Nie Day. Nie Nie Day is a fundraiser for Stephanie Nielson, of the NieNie Dialogues; Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash last weekend and are still in the hospital. Their recovery will be long and hard.
Stephanie’s sister, C Jane, has been writing about what they have been through this week. “I am starting to believe that there is no such thing as tragedy. There is only opportunity for growth, and should you accept it, the reward overcomes the sailing of the hardship.”
I don’t know Stephanie, but I know Gabrielle, and her heart is huge. She has over 275 auctions raising funds for Nie Nie. Go, bid, help. It’s such an easy thing to do, and it will make such a huge difference to the Nielson family.
After spending most of yesterday fever-free and bored, Charlie woke up at 5:15 am crying because his nose was stuffy. I hadn’t had enough coffee yet so for a moment I thought maybe he had strep throat because we ALWAYS have strep throat, just not usually this early. But then he rallied and got dressed and went happily off to school, where he lasted until 1:00. By then, he was running a 102 degree fever again, and his teacher called me to come get him.
Awesome.
We went out to the pediatrician (after I had to wait twenty minutes on hold to even talk to a nurse and THEN had to valet park because the construction at the heart hospital has eaten up all the parking spaces). The nice nurse swabbed his throat and reported that no, he does not have strep, which is really kind of a bummer because now we’re left just riding out the virus. Motrin and ice water! And a martini for Mommy!
Oh except we’re all out of booze. Damn.
That would all be fine, of course, except for this: Henry got up at 5:00 am with a bout of diarrhea that has lasted ALL DAY LONG and has been punctuated by long spells of hysterical crying and assertions that he is going to THROW UP RIGHT NOW (he has not yet thrown up, nor do I think he’s going to, although we had a very bad moment on the way home from school when I seriously though I might have to pull over and let him hurl in the neighbor’s yard because NOT IN MY CAR SON FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY). In between the crying and pooping he has been sleeping, which was nice since he was home from school all day.
Let me say it again: HOME ALL DAY.
Tomorrow, they will both be home, because no one will be 24 hours away from the last incident of fever or poop. But by the time we’re 24 hours out and no longer contagious, I may very well be dead.
I am in my workout clothes, which I put on at 5:00 am this morning when I got up to make coffee and lunches because OF COURSE everyone was going to go to school today and I would have time to exercise and shower after I dropped them off. Also go to the grocery because we are out of EVERYTHING. I ate salt and vinegar potato chips for dinner. Does that count as a vegetable?
Other than the fact that he was painfully bored today, Charlie felt better, but he stayed home anyway because … well because after last year’s rotovirus outbreak, I do NOT want to be the parent of Patient Zero. When we took Henry to school this morning, we stopped to pick up Charlie’s work for the day, which consisted of coloring shapes because he’s in kindergarten after all. He took his time and meticulously colored every inch of every triangle, and then counted them all, and then wrote his name. All with his tongue sticking out of his mouth.
It would have been cute, except that it only ate up one hour of the SEVEN he was home with me, which left a lot of time. Tomorrow: back to school! Or else.
and on the eighth day God said, “You CLEARLY do not have enough to do.”
This year I missed the poignant Return to School; on the first day I was out of town — so far away, in fact, that calling home would have cost me $2.29 a minute, and it wasn’t worth it since at least one of my kids spends virtually every phone call yelling, “MOMMY? MOMMY? IS THAT YOU? WHAT? WHAT?!? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, MOMMY! WHAT?!?” because he puts the receiver up against his head not his ear. Not mentioning any names, of course.
(True story: when we got to Newark, on our way home from Beijing, I called home to talk to the boys. Henry got on the phone and said, “Hi, Mom, did you do anything interesting this week?”
I said, “Well, buddy, I went to the Olympics.”
“Yeah, other than that — did you do anything INTERESTING?”
I was glad I hadn’t paid $2.29 to have that exchange with him. Seriously.)
Gratuitous Michael Phelps. You’re welcome, Internet.
In the past, the start of school has always been fraught for me. On the one hand I am overwhelmed with relief that NO ONE WILL BE TALKING TO ME for a solid seven hours every day; on the other hand, I am waiting in fear for the phone to ring because I know for a fact that one of these days, the school will call and it will not be to tell me what a great day the boys are having. Usually, though, I have a good three or four weeks before I have to talk to anyone’s teacher about anything, which is just about long enough for me to think that maybe, just MAYBE, this will be the year that the school NEVER CALLS!
Idiot.
Today, Henry forgot to bring his homework folder home, which of course was a CATASTROPHE that occasioned MUCH yelling and jumping up and down (all him, I swear to you). So we got BACK in the car and drove BACK to the school and found his teacher, who informed us, very very nicely, that in second grade, when you leave things behind in the classroom, you have to go ask the principal’s permission to come back in after school is over to get them. She started to explain to me that this helped teach the kids responsibility and self-reliance and …
She didn’t have to explain. I wanted to kiss her — I love that policy. I also may have told her that this was the ONE AND ONLY TIME that I was going to drive Henry back to school for something he forgot. And I swear to you she looked relieved.
So Henry went into the principal’s office and waited for her to finish up on the phone and told her what his dilemma was and was very polite and apologetic (although he was a little stumped when she asked how it had come about that he forgot his folder because of course he has NO IDEA and it might have been aliens or ghosts or teeny tiny pigs that made him forget). We got the folder and came home and started the Long Slog of Homework Doing (which is going to KILL ME before the year is over — not the homework per se but the KID who takes FOREVER to DO the homework) and I started to really really wish that I had gone to the liquor store because whoa I could use a drink about now.
Wait, what? Oh right — kid forgot his homework folder. Right.
And now you’re thinking hey that’s not so bad! what’s she complaining about? How about this: after not eating his dinner and nearly falling asleep with his face in the plate, Charlie climbed into my lap and snuggled up against me, and I said to Wade, “Does he feel hot to you?”
101 degree fever. Woo!
So Charlie will be home with me ALL DAY tomorrow, and he probably has strep throat which he will NO DOUBT give me and that will REALLY screw with my whole home alone working all day thing.
I guess it could be worse; I could have to talk to him on the phone and listen to him yell, “WHAT? MOMMY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! WHAT?!?”
More gratuitous Michael Phelps. Because WHY THE HELL NOT?
