Mommy, I fink I swallowed it

Yesterday was an eventful day. Why? you ask .... let me count the ways.

Small Boy and I had breakfast at McDonald's yesterday AM as a treat for sleeping in his own bed all night the night before. (and no potty accident, bonus points, woo hoo!) As usual, I had coffee only since (say it together) .. there is nothing I can eat there. Except hash browns but they are uber bad for you and besides, I'm uber sick of them. So, Small Boy had pancakes and sausage (3 sausages actually, he got one extra on the side, his and he stole Wheeler's sausage off the to-go order I got for him). Just as we were finishing up and about to leave, he stops chewing, looks up at me and holds his plastic fork up. It was missing a tyne. So I said "Spit everything into my hand!" and held out my hand. "Ev-ree-fing?" and said with a mouthful of pancakes "YES". So he leaned down and spit out an enormous amount of food. I picked through it all (yes, it was gross) but found no fork tyne. Just as I was to tell him to open his mouth again, he said "Mommy? I fink I swallowed it". Then he touched his throat and did the crane thing, stretching his neck around. "It feels funny in my froat". I gave him some milk and told him to take a big, big drink hoping it would wash down and not pierce his esophagus. He did, it apparently went down. 

We got in the car and I was driving him towards school when I got thinking about perforation and such things. It was plastic, but still, it was the pointy part of the fork and the part that pulled off left a ragged sharp edge. Silently swearing to myself for not keeping the evidence in my multi billion dollar lawsuit against McDonalds, I called the pediatrician. I explained the situation to the nurse and there was a small moment of silence. She said "welllll, I'll have to ask the doctor about that, I'm not sure what to say to that!" (since it would not show on an xray, etc). She called me back quickly and the doctor said to have him eat alot, chew it particularly well, and to drink alot of fluids. And to bring him to the ER immediately if he had any kind of stomach pain. GAH! So I took him to school and gave them those full instructions, gave them my phone numbers, his dad's phone numbers and I wrote my phone number in black Sharpie across his forehead. OK, I didn't really, it was an ink pen. Ha. 

It was at that point that I realized I'd forgotten his backpack and that it was "respect" day and he was supposed to wear a yellow shirt. So I zoomed home and got his backpack and fruitlessly searched for his single yellow shirt. I took his backpack in the school and chatted again with the staff and the morning's adventures and that it was my fault he was not wearing yellow, so could he please get a sticker anyway, etc, etc and I went back to the car. I put my purse in the other seat and then realized I WAS STILL WEARING HIS BACKPACK! Ugh. So into the school I go, and this time merely punt the backpack in and say nary a word as everyone laughed. Only me.

So then I bolt back home because I have a doctor's appoint in 45 mins and I have to take care of Wheeler, feed him, take a shower and drive to the doctor. I managed to do all of that and I got to my appointment 1 minute early. Except that the fire trucks I had observed screaming down the road ahead of me back about a mile were now parked at my doctor's office building. Which houses a surgical suite in the basement. The firefighters were pulling on their gear quickly, the fire alarm was urgently beeping through the whole building, the fire hydrant was on and several of them were poised to drag the hoses in. One of them said something into their radio and then zoooom, they went into the building with their fire hoses. I observed all this from a sensible distance of at least 500 feet away .... I mean, hello - there is a surgical suite downstairs - do you have any idea of how that stuff could blow in a fire? Everyone else was milling around on the sidewalk in front of the building. But not my doctor, I spied him an equally far distance away but on the right side of the building ... smart man, I knew then I'd made an excellent choice in doctors.

After about 20 mins, they gave the all clear and everyone wandered back in. Actually many people went back in before the all clear signal was given. HUH? I went in and sat in the lobby area of my doctor's office. When I walked in, there was a massive man, probably 400-500 pounds - no exaggeration - sitting on the bench in his office. I said something about the fire stuff just to make conversation when he informed me that he had not moved, that he was only going to leave if he actually saw the fire. Oooooo-kay. Right about then, a very tall and very thin man came in and waited for the receptionist to come to the desk (they weren't back yet). As he paced around complaining about no one being there, I told him they probably weren't back yet from the fire alarm. Being clueless that there had been a fire alarm (despite the presence of 4-5 emergency vehicles still out front and firemen still milling about in the building) and he said "WHAT? So it's okay for us to come in but its not okay for the doctors (note: in a sing songy voice on the word doctors) to come back in??? I see where the priorities are here, no one care about ... " (it was at this point that I stopped listening, doing a mental la-la-la with my fingers mentally in my ears. So I'm in there with conspiracy-clueless guy and I-won't-leave-until-the-flames-lick-my-feet guy. Grrrrrrrreat.

I blanked out on the rest, all I know is that I saw the doc and came away in a cast boot. AGAIN!!!!!!!!!! For those who have not been intimately involved in every aspect of my life, I broke my heel bone last Sept and ripped the fascia tendon at the same time. I ended up having surgery on it to fix it. Fast forward to now, I have an unrelated highly painful problem in the same damn foot. I have an extra bone in a joint. So he has to hack it out. In a cast boot until surgery (probably first week in Sept) and then a cast for 2-4 weeks after, limited weight bearing and then 6-8 weeks of PT with a cast boot. He said it's a rather big deal surgery - translate: it's gonna hurt like a mofo. (the doc is a pal of mine, he actually said "it's gonna hurt like a motherfucker"!). Grrreat. 

I'm pretty sure something else weird happened yesterday but I'm trying not to remember.

OH!!!!!!!!!!! WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE WHEELER'S CHAIR IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy smokes, it is suuuuuuh-WEET! The headrest and chin control thing are very Star-Trekky excellento. When I figure out how to post photos, I will. It is way awesome. The only downside is that it silently slinks across the floor with a barely perciptable 'ssss' sound. Now he can sneak up on me dammit. His old chair (Bessie) creaked and groaned every step of the way so I always knew where he was and his progress throughout the house! Damn, I'll have to be more sneaky now since he can be. Small Boy is very excited about the new chair. He demanded a ride in it already.

Battleship

Small Boy had been pestering me for weeks to buy him the game Battleship. But, importantly, it had to be the travel version at Barnes and Noble. Brand loyal already. I finally gave in and we went to the (brand) book store and bought it. Being ever so frugal, I used our 10% membership card and then I also had a 15% additional off card. So $12.43 later, he had his coveted Battleship in his hot little hands. As we were walking to the car, he ripped the box open before I even looked back to hold his hand to cross the road (bahhhwak) (sorry, couldn't help myself). Imagining hundreds of tiny little pieces of travel size Battleship spilling all over my car and the ensuing catastrophe that would ensue, I had one of those brilliant-mommy moments. Spying "On the Border" across the parking lot, I said in uber-cheerful voice: "Hey! Do you want to go OUT for dinner?". He said, no, that he wanted to play his game. I replied that we would play his game - at the restaurant, we could play before we ordered and while we waited and after we ate, PLUS he'd get a smoothie (virgin daiquiri). That won him over.

We proceeded to the restaurant; I opened all the tiny little bags with tiny little subs, aircraft carriers and pegs (white and red ... remember?). As I searched for anything remotely celiac-friendly to eat, we started playing. And damn it is wasn't the best time I've had in months! The game was just at his level; not too complicated, not too easy. And it carried lots of pleasant childhood memories of playing Battleship with my brother. We played and played, and laughed and laughed ... and it was really cool watching him learn, right before my eyes. He started understanding that if you got a hit in one space, the you should search in the nearby spaces instead of making a random guess. Then I started putting my ships in a pattern (like a T for example) and tell him there was a pattern, and to find it. We giggled and laughed and I genuinely had fun, not just the 'fakey mom sure is having fun!' thing.

Since Small Boy's hearing has been partially restored, he has less comprehension on volume - so he was SHOUTING most of the time (since everything now sounds REALLY LOUD to him, he talks in response REALLY LOUD). But for once, no one gave us a dirty look, not a single person. Every one around us gave us smiles and laughs because he was just so cute and probably because they remembered playing Battleship as a kid or with their kids, or both.

It was a great mom moment. 

Well, the chair is ready but Wheeler's sitter-downer is not. So I've had to torture him all day keeping him rolled on one side or the other. But now I'm worried about creating a pressure sore on one of his sides, so I have very cleverly put a huge stack on pillows under the small of his back, thereby lifting his buns off the bed mostly. So he is laying here next to in this bizarro position, like the hollow of a footbridge. He is such a good sport. Me? I'd be pissin' and moanin' 24/7. But then again, we all know who is the better half in this relationship. 

An inauspicious start to my day

Actually, it was starting with last night. Usually I stay up until 11:30 pm so I can take of Wheeler's needs, and then I go to sleep after that. Last night however, I was so tired that I fell asleep at 9:30 pm and then I had to wake up at 11 pm to take care of Wheeler. It was TORTURE. I must have just fallen into deep coma-like sleep right before that because it felt like he was talking to me down into a deep, dark hole. He kept asking me to get up and cath (for the quadriplegic uninitiated: take a pee for) him and to get him something to eat. I just could. not. get. up. It was awful. Then he gave up asking me and he BIT MY HAIR WITH HIS TEETH AND PULLED. @#(*%&***#)())!%+@ That really ticked me off!! I snapped at him "DON'T BITE MY HAIR" and then I stayed in bed even longer to teach him a lesson. I cannot believe that he pulled my hair with his teeth! After I finally did get up, I made it perfectly crystal clear that pulling my hair was never, ever, ever, ever going to happen again. Or he'd be a dead man. And I 90% mean it!!!! Boy, that made me mad.

So that started it last night, then this morning, I poured myself a nice big glass of cold, delicious milk. As I was helping Small Boy put his shoes on for school, I told him "watch out for mama's milk on the table". He then promptly kicked it over (accidentally). Trying to follow the motto about not crying over split milk, I calmly got a towel and cleaned it up. Got more milk. All is well again.

When I got back from delivering Small Boy to school, I made a hot steaming pot of coffee to drink while I worked on a proposal. Ahhhhhh. Smelled so good. Tasted so good! I put my coffee on the same (damn) table as my milk had been earlier. About then, my computer battery waved a white flag asked for reinforcements. So I got the charger cord, bent in between the couch and the table ......... and my coffee spilled. This time, not only all over the floor, but also all over me. Sigh.

I was then late to my son's "parents day" at school. He had told me breathlessly the night before that he really wanted me to come. I told him of course I would be there! Then I was 20 mins late into a 40 minute event (lunch and a small "program"). At least I saw the program, but I felt like a total slouch / bad / slacker mom. He begged me to take him home from lunch and feeling so bad about being late, I agreed. At this point, for some reason I started getting really, really itchy hives all over the place. I have been getting these alot lately and have no idea why. So I was itching like a maniac and needed to get to a pharmacy ASAP to get something to help. Small Boy, knowing I was in a hurry, chose then to annoy me and refused to get in his seat. It took 10 l...o...n....g minutes to get him buckled in, whilst I am scratching like a dog with fleas - alot of fleas.

Then my luck turned, Target was the closest place and we went there. The parking lot was stuffed full so I turned to go down the aisle to the way far back when suddenly, there it was. IT. THE FRONT PARKING SPACE. As in the very first one after the handicapped parking. I whipped my little car in and hopped out with pep in my step. I am one of THOSE people now! People who occupy that very front space, the people who are always there and you wonder who they are, how they got that spot (maybe they came at 4 am and waited for the store to open?). I am now one of them, the brother/sisterhood of primo parking spaces.

So I haven't had any more good luck today but I'll take just that. This is how I know my life is just a little too dull. When I write an entire paragraph about getting the front parking space.

Oh, by the way, my body is a patchwork quilt of pink calamine right now. It is very fetching on me. I need to get my pink purse out to match my skin.

New computer - ugh

A new computer is a good thing, right? &#@*%)@!&%_7^@!!!! It is really, really, really super annoying to have a new computer. Here are the things one must do with a new computer before you can have even one iota of functionality:

• Figure out how to turn the damn thing on (3 mins)
• Find the power cord to plug it in because of course the battery comes flat dead (2 mins)
• Find the discs for all your nifty new programs, read the tiny, tiny little numbers to be able to launch ANY program. This step requires your 5 year old son to read the numbers to you because you are old and cannot read that small anymore. Grrrr. As if I needed to reminded how old I am getting. (19 mins)
• Register all said products on 32 different websites, hoping that you unchecked all the boxes that say "I accept 412 spam emails a day on new updates!!". (32 mins)
• Give computer to Small Boy to examine as it is a source of great curiousity. (10 seconds)
• Allow Small Boy to play pinball for awhile as that is the only program that actually works without needing any installing. This is an evil plot to suck in young users. (15 mins)
• Wrest new computer back from Small Boy (7 mins)
• Set up your email accounts (18 mins per account, and never did get my work email set up)
• Keep clicking NO to the hundreds of windows that pop up asking you to update this that and the other. Why does a NEW computer straight out of the box need updates anyway? This is an extension of the evil plot.
• Go for a soda and walk around to calm down from computer agggravation (45 mins)

This is where I am. I love my new computer. I love my new computer!

So, we went back to Dr. Ear today and got good news and bad. The good news is the same as before: his hearing has definitely improved. However, the bad news is that he still has some loss, conductive hearing loss. This is the type of hearing that is conducted through the bones in your head, nasal cavitiy, ears. They don't know why, but it is likely related to the bizzaro inner ear structure they saw during his marathon surgery. But otherwise all is well. The eardrum is intact, and most importantly: HE CAN SWIM AGAIN! We are going to a "class" at a toy store to learn about colors (ha, a class = scam to buy toys: his father signed him up for this). After that, we are going to the swimming pool, woo-hoo!

The other day, Small Boy's dad said that Small Boy actually cried, as in real tears and sniffles, that the Canes season is over! Yup, I think Wheeler converted him for life. He will rival our Canadian pal one of these days as the world's biggest Hurricanes fan. Every night he makes a hockey shrine (he calls it a hockey fort) to sleep in. It's very cute. :)

Wheeler's woes are near an end; his infections are all getting better and his pressure sore is nearly healed. So soon we should be back to regular life.

I'm sure I have other things to say, it's been several days since I posted, but I don't remember anything else. I'm having post-traumatic-new-computer-disorder.

How to tie shoes

Offspring is currently learning to tie his shoes. He was practicing and I was busy doing something else and so I told him to have Wheeler help him do it. As I was flitting about the house doing whatever it was that I doing, I heard Wheeler saying ....

Errr. Uhhhh. uummmmm, well first I think there's somthing about a bush.

(pause)


Hmmmm. Can you make a loop?

(pause)


.... then I think you ... ummm .... uhhhh....



(pause) 


Puzzled, I came in and Wheeler admitted he could not remember how to tie shoes. I doubled over in laughter and Julian announced "WHEELER!!! You're a grownen-up - you are 'posed to know how to tie shoes" in a very annoyed lisp little boy voice and hands on his little boy hips. 

Wheeler admitted that since he hadn't tied his own shoes in 18 years, and that he flat forgot how to. It makes me giggle every time I think about. 

I am pleased to inform you though Offspring can tie his shoes now. No thanks to Wheeler though!