If it looks like a spider bite, and hurts like a spider bite, then by golly it must be...

So we're in the fourth day of the fourth month of 2011 and have already completed our THIRD visit to the ER. Are we on a roll or what! Thursday evening, I notice what looks like a pimple, a whitehead, on Tate's tummy. Weird. I keep an eye on it and the next night, whitehead is gone but it looks a little bigger. Huh. I clean it and add some antibiotic ointment. Saturday, um, it's kinda getting bigger. More ointment. Sunday, I hit up the Queen of Medical Second Opinions, my next door neighbor, who convinces me this is in fact a spider bite and to keep an eye on it. That night, I add ice to my regime of ointment, draw a circle around where it's spread and promptly make an appt with the pediatrician for the AM. Hey there, Doctor, my son has a spider bite and I need some medicine. "Mrs. Smith, I know you don't want to hear this but that's no spider bite. I see three or four of these a week and they all come in saying they have a spider bite. What this is, is.... MRSA". *Gasp* WHAT!!!???!!! MRSA?? Isn't that where people have to walk around wearing masks? Isn't that uber contagious? Isn't that...Gross? Off to Brenner's Children's Hospital we go. At this point, I have my own parking spot and they greet me by name. Two hours, a dose of "happy juice" and a small surgery later, we're outta there. By far, the most hysterical trip to the ER EVER. They seriously have got to bottle up this happy juice for parents. Surely it's available on the black market. And I wanna find it. Tate was trying to climb over on Roger's back like a spider monkey (no spider pun intended). We convinced him he actually was on Roger's back even though he clearly was not. He looked at me with glazed eyes and said, "Are you the doctor. Get me outta here." According to the docs, he was singing them his ABCs and repeatedly saying "I"m not gonna look, I'm not gonna look" as they were cutting. He then sat straight up, wobbled a bit, and proclaimed his love for soup. I seriously need to get my hands on this stuff. Off we go - Drat! I don't have any cash for parking! (remembering the last visit where I had to put a $20 in the auto pay machine and receive the change in ALL QUARTERS) Roger, smart one that he is, seeks out the vending machines where sure enough, he finds an ATM. He calms me down over the $2.75 surcharge (I hate ATM surcharges and hate even more that people actually pay them instead of using their own ATMs) At check out, the nice lady asks if we have our parking tickets. Puzzled, I told her I left it in my car. Turns out, they now validate parking. SCORE! 'Bout damn time! Now that I consider ourselves "pros in the ER", I'm so super excited about this! Yes, that's sad. Till next time, friends.

E.R. The Sequel

The day was Wednesday, Februray 9th. Just after dinnertime. In the mail, was a bill from Owen's visit to the ER last month. $515 due. Roger and Owen are playing soccer so it's just me and Tate hanging out. It's bathtime so I take the bandaid off of his toe that I put on the night before after his bath. It looked like he had a small bruise on his big toenail and it was bothering him. Bandaid off. Infected toe on! Probably one of the most nastiest things I've had to deal with (thus far) as a mother. I make a quick call to the neighbor for a second opinion. She suggests I call the on call nurse. Thank goodness I did - I watch the toe turn purple and fester as I am on the phone with the nurse. Redness infection is creeping up his foot. Guess where we're headed! Roger and Owen head home and I quickly ship Owen next door for a sleepover with Nini. TGFGN (Thank God for Great Neighbors!) Five hours later, antibiotic via IV, draining of nasty toe gunk, and $7 of quarters in change from the stupid unmanned parking exit, we are out of there. Waiting for bill number two and praying this will keep us satisfied for the time being.

A Dented Head

So today I really felt Parentally Challenged. Truly. Schools were closed due to the icy weather so I piled the kids into the car to take Owen to the YMCA. After a pretty treacherous drive, we finally reach our destination only to find out it was closed. Argh! Lesson 1: Check YMCA delays/closings depsite the fact that every single correspondence from them boasts about availablility on snow days! I decide Owen will have to come to the office with me so we trek back to the house to fill up on supplies: Nintendo DS, video games, DVDs, books, crayons, notebooks. Next stop, Mudpies, to drop off Tate which opened 2 hours late. Back to my work where I make Owen promise to keep his trap shut and play his game so we could all get our work done. I don't know how many warnings later, but I finally decided to make him a tent to hide in so he could play his game. Quietly. I secured the blanket over the ledge with two heavy paperweights. One was a heavy cube celebrating my 5 year anniversary with the bank 5 years ago. This lasted...3 minutes? As he's exiting the tent, blanket pulls down along with paperweights. On his head. Blood. Blood everywhere. And a deep puncture in my baby's head. Lesson 2: Don't use paperweights to secure play tents to keep your child quiet at the workplace. Ever. Just don't do it. Trip to the ER, vomitting in the waiting room, two CAT scans, Owen is perfectly fine. Just a little dented now. Now here's the rub. The YMCA opened at 9. One half hour after we toured their icy parking lot. One half hour would've saved us blood, ER visit, CAT scan, mommy's heart breaking, hospital bills. And a dented head.

Elf on the Shelf

A coworker was talking about The Elf on the Shelf tradition and how this was the first year his family was trying it. Every night, your elf magically flies to the North Pole to report to Santa about your behavior that day and when you wake in the morning, he's found a new place to sit to keep his eye on you. I thought, this would be perfect for the two boys, especially Tate who would truly see the magic. I didn't think Owen would even give a flip, to be honest. Boy was I wrong. Owen keeps his eye closely on Tate to make sure Tate doesn't touch Buddy (that's the name they came up with) lest Buddy would lose his magic. "You can't touch him, Tate! He'll lose his magic and won't be able to fly!" Any bad behavior by Tate has Owen immediately reporting to Buddy, "Tate is on the naughty list today!" I've even caught him having whispering conversations with the elf, telling him what he wants for Christmas. I pray Roger and I already know about these little "secrets" so we can get it taken care of - don't want any surprises! The book that comes with the elf, shares different ideas about how you can be good, including a picture of kids praying. Tonight, as we sat down to begin our spaghetti dinner, Owen says (while glancing at the elf out of the corner of his eye), "Don't you think we should pray first?" "Why yes, that's a great idea," I say as we fold our hands and prepare to say grace. He waits a couple of minutes and asks if he can pray for someone who has died? Roger and I look at each other, "Of course". "I think I'm going to pray for your Grandma, Mommy: Dear God, please get Mommy's Grandma out of heaven real soon!" It took all we had not to choke on our laughter. He had his eyes closed, his head bowed, and his hands folded and was praying with such sincerity. I think Buddy will have good things to say tonight when he reports to St. Nick.

Hellooo, ladies!

As I was picking Tate up from daycare the other day I found a strange coat in his cubby with his name written on the tag. It definitely wasn't his. I took it to the teacher and explained, "I don't know how Tate's name got on this coat because it isn't is. Everything of Tate's is clearly marked 'Owen Smith'."
**************************************************************************************
Tate sauntered into the nursery at church and exclaimed, "Helllooo, ladies!" to the two women who care for the kids. I immediately made a mental note to talk to Roger about what he's teaching this child. The next day, Tate finds Owen's pirate hat in the closet and gets really excited. "Helllloooo, ladies!" he screams. It takes me over a week and the realization of his new pirate phase to finally understand he's actually saying, "Hellooo, mateys!" Oh.

Tate - The Medical Phenomenon

Seems there's always some sort of medical drama going on with Tate. The symptom du jour? Diarrhea. And lots. of. it. Currently, we are rounding out at day number 21. Now, am I frustrated that my little one is so pitifully sick and dehydrated and pathetically weak? Nope. I'm frustrated because after day 17, the doctors are still telling me to wait it out. I'm frustrated because he can't stay at daycare after three bad diapers and isn't welcome back the second day, causing me to shuffle my schedule at work or find someone to watch him. I'm frustrated because nothing we are doing seems to be helping. Tate, on the other hand, is happy as a clam. No fever. Perfectly hydrated. The boy has somehow managed to GAIN weight. A medical phenomenon. He's also learned rather quickly how to play the sick card. Even when it makes absolutely no sense. "Mommy!.....Mommy!! I want to brush my teeth NOW!" "No, Tate, let's wait until after your bath." "But I'M SICK!" The child is two.

We've ruled out parasites, salmonela, and e coli. Next on the agenda, allergy testing or checking for some other random gastrointestinal disorder. The doctors must love seeing us come in the door. Cha-ching!$! And meanwhile, the diapers keep filling, and filling, and filling....

Milk Money

So Kindergarten is going well, although we are having a hard time disciplining Owen and his milk money. After a long long LONG discussion last time about going back to the "buffet line", we made it clear (or so I thought) that he was only to buy milk each day for lunch. Lord knows I pack him more than enough food. I sign into his account to find he's been buying both breakfast AND chips along with his milk. Really, child!? "Owen, why did you buy breakfast today?" Look of panic and silence...."Um, how did you know that?" "I'm your MOTHER, I know everything!" God... did I really just say that? When did I turn into my mother? Next thing you know, I'm going to be telling the lad to go for a brisk walk. Another look at his account today and he has bought chips along with his milk the last two days. This boy is in trouble! I'm also foreseeing the future of an unorganized kid. And those who know me know this is killing me. He's already lost his daily binder he's supposed to take to and from school along with his library book he got from school last week. Please don't let him be "that" kid. I will not be able to handle it. There IS one cute thing he did this week. Thursday night, he says he wants to make a card for each of the TWENTY FOUR kids in his class. He asks me for index cards and crayons and I set him up at the dining room table thinking this is never going to happen. He proceeds to draw a picture of each kid in his class, puts them in his bookbag and hands them out on Friday. Now, does that make up for the chips at lunch? Not so much, but it's pretty darn cute...