May 16, 2008

family values in action

Charlie and I are sitting at the table, where he is eating cheese and telling me about the day he broke his arm.

“Daddy didn’t see me fall, he just heard me screaming.”

“Oh my.”

“It was like this: doo doo doo doo AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH.”

“Wow, that’s quite a story. You can tell your little buddies about that some day.”

“NO. I am NOT going to be a daddy.”

“Really? You’re not?”

“NO. And I am NOT getting MARRIED.”

“Oh I see.”

“NO. How long does married last?”

“If you’re lucky, forever.”

“Why don’t you and Daddy get married?”

“Uh, we did, a long time ago.”

“Why wasn’t I there?!?”

“Well we decided it might work better for us if we got married FIRST and had you and Henry LATER.”

“But I wanted to be there! To bring you the rings.”

“That would have been nice.”

“Yes, it WOULD have. Now I am mad at you.”

“For getting married before I had you?”

“YES.”

“I think I can live with that.”

May 14, 2008

Happy Mother’s Day, by Henry

My mom’s name is Susan.

She is 8 feet tall and weighs 26 pounds.

She is 40 years old.

When I’m at school my mom works at home.

Her favorite store is Target.

Her favorite food is peas.

Her favorite TV show is basketball.

The thing my mom likes to do the most is cooking.

The thing my mom likes to do the least is listen to me and my brother being loud.

My favorite food my mom cooks is chicken nuggets.

My mom’s favorite color is pink.

I love her because she loves me.

May 6, 2008

why we are never having family dinner again, ever

At the dinner table.

Henry: Dad, how did you know that Charlie’s arm was broken?

Charlie: Because it was BENT!

Me: Whoa, stop. Please.

Henry: But did you KNOW it was broken?

Wade: Yes.

Henry: How?

Charlie: IT WAS BENT!

Me: STOP. Please.

Henry: Come on, Dad, tell me. How did you know that Charlie’s arm was broken?

Charlie: Henry, he knew because it was BENT. Like THIS.

Me: OH MY GOD I AM BEGGING YOU TO STOP NOW.

Henry: How much was it bent? Like this? Or more like this?

Charlie: It was TOTALLY bent, just like this–

Me: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE STOP NOW PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU.

And then Wade choked on his dinner because he was laughing so hard. The end.

April 30, 2008

orange you cute

Current balance for broken arm: $1,168.00.* Not including co-pays, or the ER bill, which we haven’t seen yet. Or all those OTHER doctor visits this month. Or the antibiotics or Henry’s meds, which cost TWICE as much now that we’re having them compounded. Or all the wine I’ve drunk since this started.

On the upside, this may be the LAST cast.  We go back in two weeks and the doctor is pretty optimistic that the arm will be completely healed.  And until then, he won’t get run over in the parking lot because you can see that orange cast about three blocks away.

*Before insurance. Thank GOD for insurance.

April 24, 2008

four-OH!

Today is my birthday; I am 40. I could wax eloquent about all the things I expected to do before I was 40 or all the things I hope to do now that I am 40, but instead I will tell you about my day, because you will NEVER BELIEVE THIS.

My birthday went like this: get up, get dressed (in an actual DRESS even because I was going to have lunch with my husband and then go to the Apple store to replace my iBook’s power cord and perhaps also stop at J. Crew because IT IS MY BIRTHDAY), get kids up, get kids dressed, take kids to school. Come home, eat cereal, read New York Times, get ready to talk with magazine editor about writing for magazine. Call editor, leave message, think about starting to clean up house.

And then the school calls because Henry has an ear infection and has cried the ENTIRE WAY through Mass. Woo!

I spent the rest of the day with a kid who alternately felt FINE and wanted to tell me IN GREAT DETAIL about an episode of SpongeBob he watched TWO WEEKS AGO when Charlie was forbidden to move and was watching TV for twelve consecutive hours each day and then felt HORRIBLE and cried and sobbed and wailed and moaned and clung to me with all his strength and power and 63 pounds of heft.

All this was all before lunch, which clearly I was NOT going to spend in a grown-up restaurant with my husband. Instead we took Henry (who was feeling pretty good at that particular moment) to HIS favorite restaurant, a local sandwich place that I have decided I am OVER. And we had a lovely lunch even though I am OVER Gourmet Deli. Sorry.

After lunch, Henry spent what seemed like a hundred hours but was probably only one sobbing and crying and insisting that I FIX HIS EAR RIGHT NOW. And then he was fine again and we picked Charlie up and they talked about their days and then we got to the doctor and he sobbed in the waiting room and then we went into the examining room and he was polite and cooperative and then we left to drive through at the pharmacy and he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and insisted that the people in front of us FINISH ALREADY AND GET OUT OF THE WAY because his EAR HURT WHY DIDN’T ANYONE CARE THAT HIS EAR HURT AND WHY WEREN’T WE GETTING THE MEDICINE AND HIS EAR HURT DID I HEAR HIM ABOUT HIS EAR WHY AREN’T WE GOING HOME YET OWOWOWOW ITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS MAKEITSTOPNOW!!!

I’m guessing that I must have passed out about then because I have no idea what was next.

So far, being 40 feels just like being 39 and 30 and 25, except for the part about the screaming kid, which I would never have seen coming a decade ago (or really even yesterday because who knew he had an ear infection?!? not me, clearly). Apparently 40 is the new 30, whatever that means, although I think really it just means that a whole group of us is getting old and trying desperately to turn old into cool which just seems kind of lame to me.

And that is what I have learned at 40: trying to be cool is lame. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen! Apparently I my work here is done.

April 21, 2008

it snot you

Charlie is feeling JUST FINE today, thank you, or fine enough to spend every single moment of the day in which I have not been doing something specifically for him stalking me around the house asking me to DO SOMETHING FOR HIM.

In other words, fine enough to go back to school tomorrow! Woo!

He has a new cast, a blue one, but there are no photos because now we’re out of the oh-my-god-we-broke-the-baby phase and into the phase where we start to wonder if we will ACTUALLY be paying off the doctor’s Porsche out of our own pockets (I do not know for a fact that this doctor drives a Porsche; he’s a terrific doctor and certainly deserves one, and will probably be able to afford it by the time Charlie’s arm is all healed, at the rate we’re going). The arm looks good, though, and we’re no longer worried about how he will play t-ball with only one limb.

Although of course he’s not playing t-ball because I would sooner go hunting with Dick Cheney than have to sit through t-ball season. But you know what I mean.

Charlie also appears to have made a COMPLETE recovery from the whole strep infection, which is good since he hates the medicine and will have to take it for EIGHT MORE DAYS. And there’s nothing I love more than starting the day with a kid who spends FOURTEEN MINUTES sitting at the table whining about the medicine, and then shoots it down in one gulp and announces, “That wasn’t too bad!” Every day for TEN DAYS.

Henry has either the Worst Allergies Ever or a Truly Badass Head Cold; either way, every time he blows his nose, he fills the tissue with what very well may be portions of his brain. Then he leaves the tissues willy-nilly all over the house, or, if he’s feeling particularly helpful, hands them to me and says, “Will you put this in the trash for me?”

Yes, because one of my greatest joys as your mother is to TOUCH YOUR SNOT.

Charlie is currently arguing with Wade about how many pillows he needs in his bed and what exact pillow CASES they need to have on them, and I am counting the SECONDS until EVERY SINGLE PERSON in this house leaves me all alone, for at least seven hours because I just had the SAME discussion with Charlie, TWICE and I am all done being the mommy now.

Although as soon as they all leave, I will come down with The Strep.  Mark my words.