What has happened? Not too much.
Everybody is moved back in. Hubby and I are back together. Everything is good.
The market I help coordinate is going gang busters and had a great season in 2010. The soap business is still holding it's own, which is saying a lot in this economy.
I'm working again, or at least will be. I start my job on Monday. I'm a little apprehensive about it, but I'm sure it will be fine.
Isn't it ironic that I finally get around to blogging, and I can't think of anything to say? Ah, well....
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Adventures in DIY
Okay, so, I haven't posted anything for a long time. Been a very interesting year, 2009.
First, two oldest boys move out. Then husband moves out, then I lose my job. Then I enroll in college. Quinn starts real school. I really can't wait until this year is over.
Anyway, I recently had an adventure in DIY. Here is the story. It's pretty amusing.
Okay, so, my STBX did something semi-thoughtful and brought me a new dishwasher yesterday.
The dishwasher we had in the house got broken a year or so ago, because my oldest DS is stronger then he realizes, and didn't remember you are supposed to unlatch the door before you tried to open it. He managed to rip the entire electrical panel off it.
I digress.
We already had a built-in dishwasher, it just wasn't operational. So, he popped over to ABC warehouse and brought it over.
Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture. He knows how much of a hassle it is to wash dishes for a family of 4 (sometimes more), especially when you have a 5 year old that insists on getting a new cup every time he wants a drink of water.
But the man is cheap. I mean cheap, so of course he didn't want to pay for installation. His answer? "Well, I figured you could do it, since you are good at those things".
I am, but I've never tried to install water and electricity at the same time!!!!
Okay, so what the heck? I'll give it a shot. The electrical and plumbing are already roughed in, that's the hard part. This shouldn't be that hard.
This afternoon seems to be as good a time as any, so I take the kids to their play and learn class. This gives me a good 3 hours to work on the dishwasher. I'll have it done and still have time to go out to lunch.
I whip out the little instruction pamphlet they give you, and the whole first page is about roughing in. Cool. I can skip to the back!!!
First things first. I have to get the old dishwasher out. I take off the kick plate and lay on my stomach, and what do I see? Nothing. It's friggin dark under there. And do you think I can find my flashlight or ANY of my sockets or screwdrivers? Heck no. Off to the hardware store. I pick up a flashlight, a socket set and a cool racheting screwdriver with interchangeable head (2 philips, 2 flat heads, a star driver, and an allen head). I just love man toys!!!! Tim Allen, eat your heart out!!! *grunt grunt grunt*
Now, back home, I shine my brand spanking new halogen flashlight under the old dishwasher. Great. Now I know where my mice have been living. Ugh. Mouse turds.
So, I spend 1/2 hour unhooking the water supply (I did remember to turn off the electricity and the water before hand, very important steps if you want to live to see another sunrise), then another 1/2 figuring out how to lower the damn thing enough to get it out of the hole.
Finally I pull the old one out and glance over at the clock. 1 and 1/2 hours until I have to pick up the kids. No prob.
Luckily for me, dishwashers aren't very heavy, so most of the lifting I can do myself.
So, I pickup my manual/pamphlet. Guess what? Gotta make another run to the store. Forgot the elbow fitting, teflon tape, and a small level.
So I put the new dishwasher in the hole, get it precisely leveled, then go to screw in the elbow fitting. Another problem hits. The dishwasher has to be out to get enough leverage to get that darn fitting to turn.
So, I lower it again, pull it out, then screw in the fitting. Back into the hole it goes (I did vacuum the mouse droppings before inserting new washer, BTW). I level it again, then go to attach the water line. The water line won't fit into new fitting. Ugh. Go get my copper pipe cutter (I have one of these!!!! I use it for stained glass projects) and cut the pipe, and put the new fitting on. All connected. Great. Turn the water back on and check for spurting. Nothing. Cool.
Now the electrical. As I start to rip my fingers apart trying to screw together monster copper wires, I notice a movement from the corner of my eye. Something small and shiny. What is it? A drip. Great. The damn thing has a slow leak. You know what this means? Another 1/2 hour disconnecting the water line, then I have to pull the thing out AGAIN so I can unscrew the fitting, put more teflon tape on the threads, then start the whole damn thing all over.
It is now 10 minutes until I have to pick up the kids, so I leave a paper towel under where it's leaking, hoping that the blood sacrifice I have made with all the knuckle scrapings I have had with this endeavor will be enough to appease the appliance gods, and when I come home, the leak will have miraculously disappeared.
By this time I have a raging headache that feels like Fred and Ginger are doing the Castle Walk between my ears, and am in such a pissy mood, that it only stands to reason that Spencer, with his lovely 7 year old mind, is in one of his talkative moods. I don't think the kid takes time to breathe!!! Finally, I have to say to him "Spencer, I love you, but could you please be quiet? I have a really bad headache and I really don't feel like answering your questions right now". The sweet boy smiled, and was quiet for about 2 minutes.
Off to pick up Zack at driver's training, and to the appliance parts store, because, see, my old drain line was too long, so I cut it off, but the new drain line is just about a foot too short, so I need some kind of adaptor. As I stand at the counter for 10 minutes, the guy finally comes over and says "Sorry, ma'am, but we don't have anything like that. You can try heater hose at Napa". Great, just what I want, to go to another store. Screw it. I'll figure something out.
I have to stop at Walgreens to pick up some pliers, because pliers make fun toys and I can never find mine when I need them. Somewhere in this house lurk 5 pairs of pliers, 4 hammers, an unknown quantity of screwdrivers and socket heads, and one damn jigsaw.
Finally, home again. I quickly send the kids off, but of course, Spencer wants to watch, and Jude, the dog, wants to watch Spencer (the darn dog hasn't left my side the whole time). You ever feel like taking your toys and going home?
I guess my blood sacrifice wasn't enough for those vengeful appliance gods, because the damn paper towel was soaked when I got home. Turn the water off again, another 1/2 to disconnect, blah blah blah.
So, I finally get the water connection to not leak (YAY ME!!!). Back to the electrical.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that plastic coating off of conduit cable when all you have to work with are wire cutters and a cheap pair of pliers? Because I’ll be damned if I’m taking another trip to the store to get wire strippers. I’d rather eat glass.
Okay, the electrical is done. It only took me 45 minutes. It is now 6:30 at night, and it looks like pizza for dinner.
Did I mention that the water that spilled out of the old drain hose smelled like something had died in it? And it was now all over me and the floor. Fun.
It's time to fire it up. "Zack, throw breaker 13 (I kid you not)". I turn the knob. Nothing. OMG!!! Wait, duh. Forgot how dishwashers work and didn't latch the door. Closed, latched, EUREKA!!! We have lights!!!!!
Now I am thoroughly stoked!!! I put the front door back on (pinching the skin on the underside of my forearm, ripping a huge chunk of flesh out in the process), kick plates, mount to the counter, check, check, check.
Let's fire that baby up!!!
It's making sounds!!! Hurrah!!!!
I open the door and what do I see?
Nothing. No water. I play with it a little, still nothing. I know the water's on, so that ain't it.
Frustration takes a hold, and I call my STBX. He doesn't answer. So, without him to flay, I call ABC Warehouse. The salesman was so helpful with his "Is the water line on? If that's not it, I don't know what to tell you." Oh, and you could hear the tone in his voice when he was informed it was me that installed it. So, he gives me the number to their service department, assuring me that they would be right out. I call the 800 number. I get a recording. "Our office hours are Monday through Friday from 8:30am to 4:30pm. Please call back during office hours".
The next time I see my STBX, I'm going to kick him dead in the shins.
It's time for another trip to the store. The liquor store.
First, two oldest boys move out. Then husband moves out, then I lose my job. Then I enroll in college. Quinn starts real school. I really can't wait until this year is over.
Anyway, I recently had an adventure in DIY. Here is the story. It's pretty amusing.
Okay, so, my STBX did something semi-thoughtful and brought me a new dishwasher yesterday.
The dishwasher we had in the house got broken a year or so ago, because my oldest DS is stronger then he realizes, and didn't remember you are supposed to unlatch the door before you tried to open it. He managed to rip the entire electrical panel off it.
I digress.
We already had a built-in dishwasher, it just wasn't operational. So, he popped over to ABC warehouse and brought it over.
Now, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture. He knows how much of a hassle it is to wash dishes for a family of 4 (sometimes more), especially when you have a 5 year old that insists on getting a new cup every time he wants a drink of water.
But the man is cheap. I mean cheap, so of course he didn't want to pay for installation. His answer? "Well, I figured you could do it, since you are good at those things".
I am, but I've never tried to install water and electricity at the same time!!!!
Okay, so what the heck? I'll give it a shot. The electrical and plumbing are already roughed in, that's the hard part. This shouldn't be that hard.
This afternoon seems to be as good a time as any, so I take the kids to their play and learn class. This gives me a good 3 hours to work on the dishwasher. I'll have it done and still have time to go out to lunch.
I whip out the little instruction pamphlet they give you, and the whole first page is about roughing in. Cool. I can skip to the back!!!
First things first. I have to get the old dishwasher out. I take off the kick plate and lay on my stomach, and what do I see? Nothing. It's friggin dark under there. And do you think I can find my flashlight or ANY of my sockets or screwdrivers? Heck no. Off to the hardware store. I pick up a flashlight, a socket set and a cool racheting screwdriver with interchangeable head (2 philips, 2 flat heads, a star driver, and an allen head). I just love man toys!!!! Tim Allen, eat your heart out!!! *grunt grunt grunt*
Now, back home, I shine my brand spanking new halogen flashlight under the old dishwasher. Great. Now I know where my mice have been living. Ugh. Mouse turds.
So, I spend 1/2 hour unhooking the water supply (I did remember to turn off the electricity and the water before hand, very important steps if you want to live to see another sunrise), then another 1/2 figuring out how to lower the damn thing enough to get it out of the hole.
Finally I pull the old one out and glance over at the clock. 1 and 1/2 hours until I have to pick up the kids. No prob.
Luckily for me, dishwashers aren't very heavy, so most of the lifting I can do myself.
So, I pickup my manual/pamphlet. Guess what? Gotta make another run to the store. Forgot the elbow fitting, teflon tape, and a small level.
So I put the new dishwasher in the hole, get it precisely leveled, then go to screw in the elbow fitting. Another problem hits. The dishwasher has to be out to get enough leverage to get that darn fitting to turn.
So, I lower it again, pull it out, then screw in the fitting. Back into the hole it goes (I did vacuum the mouse droppings before inserting new washer, BTW). I level it again, then go to attach the water line. The water line won't fit into new fitting. Ugh. Go get my copper pipe cutter (I have one of these!!!! I use it for stained glass projects) and cut the pipe, and put the new fitting on. All connected. Great. Turn the water back on and check for spurting. Nothing. Cool.
Now the electrical. As I start to rip my fingers apart trying to screw together monster copper wires, I notice a movement from the corner of my eye. Something small and shiny. What is it? A drip. Great. The damn thing has a slow leak. You know what this means? Another 1/2 hour disconnecting the water line, then I have to pull the thing out AGAIN so I can unscrew the fitting, put more teflon tape on the threads, then start the whole damn thing all over.
It is now 10 minutes until I have to pick up the kids, so I leave a paper towel under where it's leaking, hoping that the blood sacrifice I have made with all the knuckle scrapings I have had with this endeavor will be enough to appease the appliance gods, and when I come home, the leak will have miraculously disappeared.
By this time I have a raging headache that feels like Fred and Ginger are doing the Castle Walk between my ears, and am in such a pissy mood, that it only stands to reason that Spencer, with his lovely 7 year old mind, is in one of his talkative moods. I don't think the kid takes time to breathe!!! Finally, I have to say to him "Spencer, I love you, but could you please be quiet? I have a really bad headache and I really don't feel like answering your questions right now". The sweet boy smiled, and was quiet for about 2 minutes.
Off to pick up Zack at driver's training, and to the appliance parts store, because, see, my old drain line was too long, so I cut it off, but the new drain line is just about a foot too short, so I need some kind of adaptor. As I stand at the counter for 10 minutes, the guy finally comes over and says "Sorry, ma'am, but we don't have anything like that. You can try heater hose at Napa". Great, just what I want, to go to another store. Screw it. I'll figure something out.
I have to stop at Walgreens to pick up some pliers, because pliers make fun toys and I can never find mine when I need them. Somewhere in this house lurk 5 pairs of pliers, 4 hammers, an unknown quantity of screwdrivers and socket heads, and one damn jigsaw.
Finally, home again. I quickly send the kids off, but of course, Spencer wants to watch, and Jude, the dog, wants to watch Spencer (the darn dog hasn't left my side the whole time). You ever feel like taking your toys and going home?
I guess my blood sacrifice wasn't enough for those vengeful appliance gods, because the damn paper towel was soaked when I got home. Turn the water off again, another 1/2 to disconnect, blah blah blah.
So, I finally get the water connection to not leak (YAY ME!!!). Back to the electrical.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that plastic coating off of conduit cable when all you have to work with are wire cutters and a cheap pair of pliers? Because I’ll be damned if I’m taking another trip to the store to get wire strippers. I’d rather eat glass.
Okay, the electrical is done. It only took me 45 minutes. It is now 6:30 at night, and it looks like pizza for dinner.
Did I mention that the water that spilled out of the old drain hose smelled like something had died in it? And it was now all over me and the floor. Fun.
It's time to fire it up. "Zack, throw breaker 13 (I kid you not)". I turn the knob. Nothing. OMG!!! Wait, duh. Forgot how dishwashers work and didn't latch the door. Closed, latched, EUREKA!!! We have lights!!!!!
Now I am thoroughly stoked!!! I put the front door back on (pinching the skin on the underside of my forearm, ripping a huge chunk of flesh out in the process), kick plates, mount to the counter, check, check, check.
Let's fire that baby up!!!
It's making sounds!!! Hurrah!!!!
I open the door and what do I see?
Nothing. No water. I play with it a little, still nothing. I know the water's on, so that ain't it.
Frustration takes a hold, and I call my STBX. He doesn't answer. So, without him to flay, I call ABC Warehouse. The salesman was so helpful with his "Is the water line on? If that's not it, I don't know what to tell you." Oh, and you could hear the tone in his voice when he was informed it was me that installed it. So, he gives me the number to their service department, assuring me that they would be right out. I call the 800 number. I get a recording. "Our office hours are Monday through Friday from 8:30am to 4:30pm. Please call back during office hours".
The next time I see my STBX, I'm going to kick him dead in the shins.
It's time for another trip to the store. The liquor store.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Do you have a plan B?
Recently the question was put to me "If you got laid off, do you have a plan B?"
That's a very good question, and one that I don't have an answer for.
If I got laid off now, what, exactly, would I do?
Well, first, I suppose we would be okay for a while with unemployment. I could also concentrate on growing my soaping business, I suppose.
The one thing I would love to be able to do, though, is to go back to school. I would love to get a degree in Psychology. I wonder how people go about getting grants and loans for such a thing?
So, in this troubling economy, do you have a plan B?
That's a very good question, and one that I don't have an answer for.
If I got laid off now, what, exactly, would I do?
Well, first, I suppose we would be okay for a while with unemployment. I could also concentrate on growing my soaping business, I suppose.
The one thing I would love to be able to do, though, is to go back to school. I would love to get a degree in Psychology. I wonder how people go about getting grants and loans for such a thing?
So, in this troubling economy, do you have a plan B?
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Norovirus and the Working Mom
Okay, I admit it. The norovirus won. I’m defeated, utterly and completely defeated.
My downfall started simply enough. Spencer, 7, came home from school Monday last week, perfectly happy, ate his dinner with his usually sunny disposition, and then proceeded to projectile vomit the likes of which I haven’t seen since the movie ‘The Exorcist’. Luckily it wasn’t green, but still.
Then Josh, 20, the oldest of my lov-i-ly bunch of coconuts, starts complaining about stomach upset, and proceeds to give Spencer’s audition as the new Linda Blair a run for his money.
Then, Friday morning, I get a call at work that Quinn, 4, is now throwing up. Quinn, unlike his older and much more thoughtful brothers knows deep in his heart that a toilet is no place to stick your head, and it is much better to vomit all over the house then in the commode.
He is also too young to give proper homage to the number one commandment in our house: Mom does not clean up throw up.
Here’s the thing. I can stand just about anything. Being the youngest of 7 kids growing up out in the middle of nowhere, I have a cast iron stomach, and the only thing that riles me slightly is saucer-sized wolf spiders (suckers are fast!!!). Worms, snakes, bugs, nothing fazes me, much to my sons’ consternation.
Also, being the mother of five, dirty diapers and poop doesn’t bother me in the least.
But mom’s weakness, her kryptonite, is vomit. So, I always made my sons aware of the rule: You throw up on the floor, you clean it up, because there’s no use in both of us being sick.
But Quinn, for some reason, hasn’t quite grasped that concept yet. Luckily, I have 3 teenage sons that are used to cleaning up vomit, so they don’t hesitate to help me out.
So, back to Friday. I’m busy working the Christmas Through Lowell, trying to help customers, and all the while, realizing I’m starting to come down with a pretty gnarly cold. Try talking customers up when you have a throat that feels like ground round. Then I get the call…Quinn has thrown up. What, precisely, my family expects me to do at that point I’m not sure. I guess mom is supposed to have a magic wand that miraculously makes everything all better. Well, sorry, guys, mom traded in her magic wand for that Xbox you just had to have, so figure it out on your own.
So, Saturday night I come home, carrying with me the mega-sized bottle of Nyquil and a jumbo box of puffs. If there was a commercial use for phlegm, I would be a multi-millionaire. Really, how can one person produce that much snot? It’s a question for the ages, I guess.
Well, finally, Monday, we think everything has gotten back to normal. After spending all day Sunday in bed, I’m feeling pretty good, no one has thrown up in 24 hours, always a plus. So, things are looking up, right? Guess again.
Did you know you can get re-infected with the norovirus? WHAT?!?!? That so isn’t fair.
So, Monday night, Spencer decides to start hurling again, but this 7 year old angel knows mom’s abhorrence for anything vomitous, so he makes it to the toilet just in time. Wish he could teach that to his younger brother, because Quinn decides to start up again, too.
So, Monday sees Spencer and Quinn both home, and a new player hits the scene…darling Dad. Yes, my darling husband succumbs to the horror known as the norovirus. Luckily, he decides the best thing for him is to stay in bed. He’s more right then he knows.
Amidst this turmoil, mom has a craving for chili. Go figure. Well, that which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?
Well, this is starting to get a little ridiculous, so I take the little guys to the doctor, where she proceeds to tell me everything I already knew; clear liquids, no protein, blah blah blah. Glad I paid good money for that advice.
Well, by the time suppertime runs around, it looks like we might be making headway. Quinn and Spencer have had a light lunch, and seem to be keeping it down. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!!! Or, at least I thought so until Quinn decided to use mom as a target in his new game of “projectile vomit sharp shooting”. Little sucker tagged me flat in the chest. And he was fully loaded, too. Then has the audacity to look at me with a hurt look in his eyes.
Well, as I sit on the couch, dripping, feeling slightly nauseous myself now, Zack, my 16 year old son thinks it’s just about the funniest thing he’s ever seen. As he laughs, I think to myself, ‘You will be repaid, boy”. Truer words were never thought. More on that later.
As I’m sitting there, dripping, waiting for laughing boy to get me a towel, Josh had grabbed Quinn and rushed to the bathroom, where the boy erupted again, all over the tile, wall, toilet, and half the shower door. And I have to wonder, how much can that little tummy hold?
Okay, so Wednesday rolls around, and I get a call just as I’m getting home from work. “Mom,” Zack’s pitiful voice on the other ends groans, “can you pick me up. I’m sick”. Well, not so funny now, are you laughing boy?
Zack comes home, and I swear, he is the biggest baby ever. Nothing like a 6” tall, 170 pound baby lying on your couch, actually groaning, wanting his mommy to wait on him hand and foot. And of course, he has to have full control of the remote. That’s a given. Isn’t there some kind of male gene that connects being horizontal on a couch with the need to grasp a remote control device?
So, Thursday passes uneventfully. Quinn requests some food, and seems to be feeling fine. The big groaning baby has stopped groaning and is actually able to get his own food and relinquish the remote. That’s good for me.
But, Quinn isn’t done yet. The virus, for him, is like Al Pacino in Godfather III. Just when you think you are out, it sucks you back in again. So, little Mr. Projectile Vomiter hits his mom not once, not twice, but three more times over the course of a night and early morning.
So, darling hubby and I spend the better part of a night in the emergency room of a hospital, watching the clock and realizing that sleep isn’t in our forecast for today. Good thing it’s Friday. I get to spend my weekend washing bedding, and disinfecting rugs.
Buy stock in Arm and Hammer. Baking soda is a godsend when cleaning up after the norovirus.
Oh, well, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
At this rate, I’ll be dead next week.
My downfall started simply enough. Spencer, 7, came home from school Monday last week, perfectly happy, ate his dinner with his usually sunny disposition, and then proceeded to projectile vomit the likes of which I haven’t seen since the movie ‘The Exorcist’. Luckily it wasn’t green, but still.
Then Josh, 20, the oldest of my lov-i-ly bunch of coconuts, starts complaining about stomach upset, and proceeds to give Spencer’s audition as the new Linda Blair a run for his money.
Then, Friday morning, I get a call at work that Quinn, 4, is now throwing up. Quinn, unlike his older and much more thoughtful brothers knows deep in his heart that a toilet is no place to stick your head, and it is much better to vomit all over the house then in the commode.
He is also too young to give proper homage to the number one commandment in our house: Mom does not clean up throw up.
Here’s the thing. I can stand just about anything. Being the youngest of 7 kids growing up out in the middle of nowhere, I have a cast iron stomach, and the only thing that riles me slightly is saucer-sized wolf spiders (suckers are fast!!!). Worms, snakes, bugs, nothing fazes me, much to my sons’ consternation.
Also, being the mother of five, dirty diapers and poop doesn’t bother me in the least.
But mom’s weakness, her kryptonite, is vomit. So, I always made my sons aware of the rule: You throw up on the floor, you clean it up, because there’s no use in both of us being sick.
But Quinn, for some reason, hasn’t quite grasped that concept yet. Luckily, I have 3 teenage sons that are used to cleaning up vomit, so they don’t hesitate to help me out.
So, back to Friday. I’m busy working the Christmas Through Lowell, trying to help customers, and all the while, realizing I’m starting to come down with a pretty gnarly cold. Try talking customers up when you have a throat that feels like ground round. Then I get the call…Quinn has thrown up. What, precisely, my family expects me to do at that point I’m not sure. I guess mom is supposed to have a magic wand that miraculously makes everything all better. Well, sorry, guys, mom traded in her magic wand for that Xbox you just had to have, so figure it out on your own.
So, Saturday night I come home, carrying with me the mega-sized bottle of Nyquil and a jumbo box of puffs. If there was a commercial use for phlegm, I would be a multi-millionaire. Really, how can one person produce that much snot? It’s a question for the ages, I guess.
Well, finally, Monday, we think everything has gotten back to normal. After spending all day Sunday in bed, I’m feeling pretty good, no one has thrown up in 24 hours, always a plus. So, things are looking up, right? Guess again.
Did you know you can get re-infected with the norovirus? WHAT?!?!? That so isn’t fair.
So, Monday night, Spencer decides to start hurling again, but this 7 year old angel knows mom’s abhorrence for anything vomitous, so he makes it to the toilet just in time. Wish he could teach that to his younger brother, because Quinn decides to start up again, too.
So, Monday sees Spencer and Quinn both home, and a new player hits the scene…darling Dad. Yes, my darling husband succumbs to the horror known as the norovirus. Luckily, he decides the best thing for him is to stay in bed. He’s more right then he knows.
Amidst this turmoil, mom has a craving for chili. Go figure. Well, that which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?
Well, this is starting to get a little ridiculous, so I take the little guys to the doctor, where she proceeds to tell me everything I already knew; clear liquids, no protein, blah blah blah. Glad I paid good money for that advice.
Well, by the time suppertime runs around, it looks like we might be making headway. Quinn and Spencer have had a light lunch, and seem to be keeping it down. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!!! Or, at least I thought so until Quinn decided to use mom as a target in his new game of “projectile vomit sharp shooting”. Little sucker tagged me flat in the chest. And he was fully loaded, too. Then has the audacity to look at me with a hurt look in his eyes.
Well, as I sit on the couch, dripping, feeling slightly nauseous myself now, Zack, my 16 year old son thinks it’s just about the funniest thing he’s ever seen. As he laughs, I think to myself, ‘You will be repaid, boy”. Truer words were never thought. More on that later.
As I’m sitting there, dripping, waiting for laughing boy to get me a towel, Josh had grabbed Quinn and rushed to the bathroom, where the boy erupted again, all over the tile, wall, toilet, and half the shower door. And I have to wonder, how much can that little tummy hold?
Okay, so Wednesday rolls around, and I get a call just as I’m getting home from work. “Mom,” Zack’s pitiful voice on the other ends groans, “can you pick me up. I’m sick”. Well, not so funny now, are you laughing boy?
Zack comes home, and I swear, he is the biggest baby ever. Nothing like a 6” tall, 170 pound baby lying on your couch, actually groaning, wanting his mommy to wait on him hand and foot. And of course, he has to have full control of the remote. That’s a given. Isn’t there some kind of male gene that connects being horizontal on a couch with the need to grasp a remote control device?
So, Thursday passes uneventfully. Quinn requests some food, and seems to be feeling fine. The big groaning baby has stopped groaning and is actually able to get his own food and relinquish the remote. That’s good for me.
But, Quinn isn’t done yet. The virus, for him, is like Al Pacino in Godfather III. Just when you think you are out, it sucks you back in again. So, little Mr. Projectile Vomiter hits his mom not once, not twice, but three more times over the course of a night and early morning.
So, darling hubby and I spend the better part of a night in the emergency room of a hospital, watching the clock and realizing that sleep isn’t in our forecast for today. Good thing it’s Friday. I get to spend my weekend washing bedding, and disinfecting rugs.
Buy stock in Arm and Hammer. Baking soda is a godsend when cleaning up after the norovirus.
Oh, well, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
At this rate, I’ll be dead next week.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Latest Market
Here's some shots of our latest market:
June 22 Slideshow
We had to pack it up early because of threatening weather. Oh, well.
June 22 Slideshow
We had to pack it up early because of threatening weather. Oh, well.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Happy Mother's Day
Well, yesterday was the big 45 for me. And today is Mother's Day.
Nathan gave me a kick ass massage this morning. It completely rejuvinated me.
Nick had prom last night. He looked so handsome, I can't stand it.
Check him out:
TTFN
Nathan gave me a kick ass massage this morning. It completely rejuvinated me.
Nick had prom last night. He looked so handsome, I can't stand it.
Check him out:
TTFN
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