Monday, August 22, 2011

EXHAUST-ing the Possibilities

"I'm so hot. I'm soooo hot."
"I want to... do it.... Can we? MMmph? It's a furnace in here."
"Holly? Holly? HOLLY!!! I know what I want to do with my car."

My husband talks in his sleep. Especially when he's exhausted. But unlike most of his fellow sleeptalkers, his conversations are not one-sided. He likes to wake up to a semi-coma state, put his face thisclose to mine and slur words in my face. And my face? It's often asleep. And then pissed.
I once tried not answering him and ignoring him to see if he'd go back to sleep - or at least shut up, but it was an epic fail.
He just got louder.
And started climbing me.

So as I pulled my laptop up on me in bed and finished up an email to a friend the other night I was none too surprised when his ghostly pale and hairy face swam into my peripheral vision. He was up on one elbow and squinting at me.
"What? What is this? What IS this?" He was clutching his pillow in awe and showing it to me like it was encrusted in diamonds instead of man-drool. "What IS THIS?!" Apparently he thought it was a magical portkey to another dimension filled with v-8's and topless models because he was downright incredulous of the thing.
So I did what any sweet, nurturing and wonderful wife would do.
"It's a fuckin' pillow. You put your head on it and go back to sleep."
And he did.

I think I handled that quite well.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Pretty Sick - but not "Pretty Sick"

I will never forget watching "Sleepless in Seattle" and seeing Meg Ryan fling open the door to greet Tom Hanks as she is so uberly sick that she looks --- awesome. Now, I know the magic of movies shows us the "wants" and not the "as is" - but COME ON!

I'm sick now and do I look like a curly-headed, perky, red-nosed and adorably flushed Meg Ryan?
No - I look like a girl who rolled outta bed, tossed on a t-shirt and pulled her UGG boots up to her nipples in attempts to keep warm.

I am pretty sick, yo.
And on DayQuil, yo.
Which makes me say and do stupid things -- like saying "yo" a lot.

So, yeah, all my orifaces are on strike or fire (there's a mental image for ya!) and my throat hurt so bad yesterday that after a sneezing fit seen only on episodes of Looney Toons (post-pepper mill battle), it started making an odd clicking noise which, of course, leads me to think - I broke my larynx. Or something else in there. The hangy down thing? Maybe I sprained a tonsil?

No clue.

BUT I do know this - I am not a "pretty sick" person. I am awful. Slack, jawed, chapped lips that swell into something disturbing like Angelina Jolie's fat stunt double, and Puffs (with lotion!) stuffed so far up my nose that I may as well start auditioning for whatever Syfy flick is being made for tv. My eyes also swell shut so putting in my required 85 drops a day to keep me from going blind is not unlike trying to squeeze apart something wrapped in heavy-duty clamshell packaging.

So as I sit here in the kitchen, blogging, dripping, coughing, hacking and whining, I can only think to myself - DEAR GOD LET ME DIIIIIIIIIIIE! And the alternative: If Sudafed is semi-contraband due to the fact that one can cook it and make Meth - does that mean Meth is, like, the ultimate Cold Suppressant?


Friday, August 12, 2011

The One in Which I Need to Stop Trusting the Internet

Baby Harry has a few minor health issues that tend to blanket my mommy field of vision when I'm looking at him, so when I lifted him out of his carseat at my parent's house the other day andnoticed what looked like old oatmeal stuck to his head - I was horrified. Then I saw that it was ALL OVER HIS HEAD and I was mortified.
Dude has Cradle Cap - at 16 months old.
Then again, since he has to use special soap and lotion and cream for the other 99% of his body - why should I be shocked his head was dry, too?

So I did what any other mom of Googling age would do - I looked up "solutions" on the internet.

A lot of people suggested using combs and certain shampoos while several others had luck with mineral oil or olive oil or coconut oil. One particularly lively poster had a raring success with A&D Ointment! Well, I thought to myself, I have that! I have a tube of that in every room so I'll (stupidly) take up a big handful of it and shove it on his head and then comb out those scales! Yeah!

Although, it did work.

But now - I can't get it out of his hair and he looks like this:

Needless to say I've withdrawn my name for consideration for Mother of the Year.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Harry Vs. Elmo

Harry likes to show his Elmo Chair who's boss.
But --- sometimes--- Elmo fights back.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Toys for Boys and Creatures of Green Goo

After twenty minutes of trying to wrangle my 16 month old away from playing with things like the trashcan (ew.) or the dishwasher (dirty.) or the cabinets (I like him having ten fingers, thank you very much). I finally gave him a new Melissa and Doug Wooden toy and plopped him on the cold tile next to me in the kitchen making me question not only my sanity but also makes me wonder if I'm more like "Clara" from the webshow "The Guild" than I care to admit.

But after three days of taking care of a baby who is more snot than substance most of the time - I need a break.
Even if it's just a few minutes to pop online, see what celebrity nipple-slipped today and what's new in the old world of Harry Potter.
And when he gets like this?
This crazy "nothing-you-do-pleases-me-vile-woman-so-watch-as-I-cry-until-I-can't-breathe" baby who should love me for giving him life but instead seems his damnedest to make ME cry until I can't breathe?
I can't deal with it.
I've read books, forums, asked the doctor and even posted things on facebook akin to "HOLY CRAP MY BABY IS UUUUUUUP MY BUUUUUUUTT - SEND HELP!" but nothing works. He has separation anxiety when he feels good - but when he feels bad? Oh holy schnikies look out. He reminds me of any green, dripping "monster" that the Scooby Gang encountered.
And at any moment I expect him to rip off his mask and reveal my sweet, darling boy that I have come to know and love .
So until he's unmasked - I will plop him in the floor, wish I had a maid to clean said floor, and continue to toss puzzles and toys at him until nap time.
Which I am counting down to like a freakin' shuttle launch.
T-minus 35 minutes and counting!!!!

Monday, August 8, 2011

She's My - Tomato PIE!

Okay now that "Cherry Pie" by that one hair band that I can't remember their name cuz I'm old and I have to remember other things like how many times I've taken my medication, which, of course, I can't remember either and - wha? Crap. Tangent. Where was I? Oh yeah. Hair bands. Kidding!

I made Tomato Pie tonight. It was awesome! --- I think.

The Paula "I butter my butter" Deen recipe called for : Tomatoes, cheddar cheese, mozz cheese, mayo, basil and green onion and a pie shell. I had half of these so I improvised with cheddar cheese, mexican cheese, mayo, spinach, onion and a pie shell. All one had to do was slice the tomato, layer it with the onion and green stuff and then smear on the mayo/cheese coating.
And bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

It kinda ended up tasting like a confused quiche. But Drema (aka "The Mammy") liked it so I guess I should consider it a compliment on my cooking/subbing prowess.

What else is new with Holly the Master Chef Shivel?
Well, I think I'm officially dying. At almost 33 years old I have hit the plateau of being "unhealthy" and realized that I really CAN'T get any more unhealthy without having to order all my clothes through the mail.
From big catalogues.
With Circus Folk on the cover.

So I set an alarm on Monday to remind me to call my doctor and only after snoozing it 14 times did I finally call. And I asked for the works: Blood Sugar, Thyroid, Cholesterol, you name it - I was gonna have it tested. And yes, I actually requested them to take more blood.

"Would you like to come have the lab drawn here?" the ever-pleasant nurse asked me over the phone.
"Would you like to have to pick me up off the floor when I pass out like a whiny baby?" I asked.
"So - let's send you to the hospital..."

I'm glad to finally be taking charge of my life. For years I've been self-destructive and uncaring since I really only had me to hurt but seeing as how I've noticed I'm the only one (big Harry not included) who is going to stand up for that little sweet-cheeked boy who just screamed at me -- not his fault - 'roids' bender-- for a good two hours - I figure I better be able to live past 45 and get to see him graduate high school.
And be able to squeeze my big fluffy posterior into those damn stadium seats at the Civic Arena. I swear - If I'm ever at that damn arena and it collapses to the ground in a pile of rubble - I'll be the only one to survive - pinned in my seat like a sausage in a pair of tongs - high above the skinny ass carcasses who died in their skinnier jeans.

But I digress.

The pie? It was weird but good.
Me? Weird but good, too.


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

You Are What You Eat - Part II

Now that baby Harry is a big ol' 16 monther - things have ---changed.
No longer will he gobble up anything that is placed in front of him like a starved hyena on a vegetarian date, no, he now positively wails at anything that is not a hot dog, a potato, a sugary-laden substance, or a puff.
Some days I handle his refusal of food very well and just hand him a pouch of apple sauce or an organic blend of something that someone else has made, packaged and slapped a $1.39 price tag on, knowing at least he'll get the nutrients he needs.
Some days, however, do not end as well.
Like tonight.
Baby Harry refused to eat --- mashed potatoes.
I tried to reason with him which just made him wail louder.
I tried to "airplane" it in the "hanger" which just made me wear it.
I tried to sing songs "YUMMY YUMMY YUMMY FOR YOUR TUMMY TUMMY TUMMY!" which just made him cry harder (hmph. Everyone's a critic.).
So, finally, I took some on my finger and smeared it on his lips. Now, before you go calling CPS on me I only used a small amount and it was in attempts to get him to taste it and realize that I was not tricking him into eating turnips or cottage cheese or some other "horrendous" food.
It worked.
For two seconds.
He stopped. Licked his lips. Waved his hands. And then erupted into a wail that rivaled that of the biggest Barboursville Fire Truck.
At this point we were both covered in taters, peas and a bit of ham shrapnel so I gave in. He ended up eating a crescent roll, some puffs, a pouch of sweet potato and corn puree and a bowl of ice cream.

Anytime I mention his new pickiness to friends, relatives, strangers in line at the checkout, or even the guy who stands too close in the Hot Wheel aisle of Wal-mart - they all have the same response (not counting those who just stare at me as if I've lost my mind) -- "You just have to get creative!"

To which I would politely respond, "Oh really? Well - what a fuckin' genius idea!"

Okay - I'm way too southern and gentile to say that but I do smile politely and say, "Oh really?" because let's face it - kids will eventually eat. There ain't no way in blue blazes hell that a kid under my watch would starve to death (my ass size alone guarantees it) and I'm pretty sure that if I continue to smear things on his face - he'll eventually learn to like it!