I'm, Apparently, Full of Eggs

Remind me to never blog the words "nothing much going on here"

Today after Show Low Days, I put Benny down for a nap and the kids went running around like uncaged monkeys. Then Ben woke up and we somehow were all hanging out in my bedroom while Bob played a video game.

Dylan was messing around on my work out machine and Benny was crawling toward him and then BLAM! Dylan knocked Ben right in the forehead with the dang Gazelle pedal.
AH CRAPSHIT!

Immediately Ben wailed. I freaked out and grabbed him up. A lump began to form. A big lump.

Dammit!!!

I swooped Ben (screaming) into the kitchen and got an ice pack for his head. He wouldn't let me hold it on there. The lump grew and darkened.

I informed Bob that we would PROBABLY be adjourning to the emergency room. Then we did.

Despite having a child with a head injury I was not immediately whisked into the sacred ER.
After he PUKED on me, I told the bitch ho behind the counter and she said "No worries!" and I said "Bitch please!" No.
I really said...
"Actually he got hit in the head, so I'm quite worried that he just puked on me."

Still, no action from the nurses.

Finally they call us back and we don't even get a room, we get a glorified hallway aka the suture "room" which is partitioned into two "rooms" by "curtains". No, they were real curtains.

On one side is a gal on a bed getting her leg stitched up after a quite nasty fall. Tetanus shot required. Patient privacy is a JOKE!
On the other side is Ben's exam area. There is no bed. There is however, a La-Z-Boy chair.
What???!?

Because there is no bed, I have to hold Ben the whole time. He is angry, hurt and squiggly. THIS part of the day really freaking sucks. Seriously, I've been home for two hours and my arms are STILL sore.

OK, anyway. 100 hours later the PA comes to examine him, by then he's puked again. So it's OFF to a CT scan for us! Yay!

Other than the puking and the total hatred of being at the hospital (which in my opinion is normal behavior) he's acting fine, so I'm not super concerned at this point.
We get to CT and it's just like on House. And I said that. And the CT tech said, "oh baby, tell your mom she's funny." And I wasn't sure if she meant it or if she was being sarcastic. I went with half of each.

Then despite having trained and able bodied people there, the CT tech tried to make ME hold Ben onto the CT scan table thingy...that was an epic fail. He squiggled too much and I love him too much to restrain him.

So that girl who halfheartedly said I was funny got Punk'd and SHE got to wrestle my baby and listen to him holler in her face. Who's funny now?

Then we went back to the room hallway and La-Z-Boy to await the results. About an hour later, and 4000 squiggles and screams, the CT results were in!

It happens so much faster on House.
Anyway, in the hour I waited, I kept hearing part of the M*A*S*H theme song (trivia: It's actually called "Suicide is Painless" which adds to the ultimate irony of this story) being played in the ER.
When a nurse type person finally came into our hallway I asked her about it and she said that the trauma system was set to play the M*A*S*H theme song as an alert tone to let the ER staff know that a patient would be arriving by ambulance or helicopter. Pretty fricking dark no?

Ben's CT scan was clear, no sign of brain trauma or bleed, which I expected given his demeanor, which was normal. As we awaited our discharge paperwork, I heard the M*A*S*H theme song three times. One sick baby, two assaults (one on the Rez).

Shortly thereafter, we were discharged. While I loaded Ben into the car, I saw the helicopter coming from the direction of the reservation. Mr. Assault Victim. As we turned out of the ER parking lot and onto the main road, there was an ambulance. Two minutes later, the other ambulance. Wow. Those ER people were about to get VERY busy.

Since Benny was fine and I was starving, I hit the KFC for a grilled chicken meal. So I guess I went to KGC.

When I got home, I was immediately descended on, like crows to a fresh squirrel carcass in the hot summer sun.

"You're not getting any of MY dinner! You guys ate pizza!" I said.

Dylan eyed my tray like the Terminator.

Chicken. Rejected.
Mashed potatoes. No match.
Cole slaw. Negative.
Biscuit....analyzing....analyzing.....Approved!

"I'll just have aaaaaaaa biscuit!" he said with such glee that I just HAD to split the biscuit with him. What a sucker I am!

Then Elizabeth pulled the same move.

Potatoes. Ew!
Cole slaw. Gross!!
Biscuit. Missing!
Chicken wing....analyzing....analyzing....APPROVED!!

But she didn't speak. She just puppy-dog-eyed my chicken wing until I gave up and let her have it.
Then she wanted my spork! My SPORK!

I gave it to her.

"Mmmmm. Smork!" she said.

My meal plundered and consumed (Elizabeth saved her sMork). I adjourned to the loo, accompanied by Mr. Biscuit Thief.
Since he's potty training, he went first. A trickle at best, but a start!
He examined his work, and was proud.
Then I had to use the loo. I peed.
He was astonished at the loud loud noise!
"My pee was very quiet!" he said.

Then he examined MY work...

"Whoa mom! You're full of eggs!" and he flushed it away. I laughed so hard, I almost peed my pants, but then I remembered, I had just peed and as Dylan says I was "all out of pee."

So yeah, remind me to never say "there's nothing much going on here" ever again.

The End.

Avast there me hearties! It be AshBeard!

A series of unfortunate events has led to this. Dylan is now a pirate.

Yesterday at around 5 pm, Elizabeth tossed a handful of discarded fireplace ashes into her brother's face.
No good.
She went to time out while I stuck Dylan in the tub to wash off all the ashes. He was furiously rubbing his eyes.

"Did it get INTO your eyes?"

"YES! Mommy my eyes hurt!"

So I started rinsing out his eyes with water, which naturally he totally loved and did NOT scream bloody murder into my ear at all!

Actually you know that's not true. He screamed and flailed around in the bathtub like a fish on land. I did the best rinse job I could and set him free.

He kept on rubbing the right eye all night.
This morning he woke up and it was all puffy and red. Uh oh.

There was no way he was going to let me rinse it again. He wouldn't even let me look at it.

I brought him into the doctors office where they tied him up gently restrained him and rinsed out his eyeball.
The doctor said that no big chunks of stuff came out, which is good I guess? Lots of eyelashes though, probably from the incessant rubbing.

Halfway through the procedure, Dylan yelled out "THAT'S ENOUGH!!!"

But as I said before, it was only half enough. By convincing him that pirates are cool and he could be one when we finished, Dylan let the gals finish rinsing his eye.

That's not to say that he didn't keep screaming about it, he just opened his eye for them.

After he was all dried off, Dylan got his cool eye patch.
Because he was so "good" he got to pick two stickers AND then I took him to the airport to look at airplanes. With his one good eye.
When we got home he got a piece of chocolate and immediately ripped off the patch. No no!
The patch is on until tonight at least sir!

Don't look at me like that crazy soy powder lady!

Yesterday while I was waiting in the interminable pharmacy line at WalMart, some lady came over to me and all accusatory and concerned looking said about Dylan...

"What happened to his eye?!?!"

Ok, pause the story...let's say that I did punch him in the face, which is obviously NOT what happened, but for the sake of argument, let's pretend I'm evil.
Would I really confess this to you Soy Powder Lady? (She was looking for soy powder, what? I eavesdrop, I already told you this)
Like I'm going to say "Oh yeah, the kid wouldn't quit mouthing off, so I popped him one."
What are you lady, an amateur social worker? Very annoying.

Resume story

So I say what actually happened..."He punched himself in the eye while jumping on the bed."
Then took a nice long pause while she continued to look concerned and worried.
"It's pretty impressive no?" I said.

She looked at me like I was on fire and then left me alone.

Nosy broad.

I am falling apart....UPDATED!

UPDATE: Good lord, karma has bitchslapped me in both ears!
So, I go into town, drop Elizabeth off at school and head over to the Urgent Care place as my ear is throbbing.
Within the hour the diagnosis is in...double ear infection. OR, and I quote the doctor, "That is the worst ear infection I have seen all day."
In fact, my LEFT ear was the one bothering me, the doc looked into my RIGHT ear first and didn't say a word, but rather made this noise "Eeeeeek" then said "and that's the good one?"

Yeah....karma. See, remember how on Christmas Eve Benny had a double ear infection and I thought he was just teething and Bob ended up taking him into the doctor's office where they probably made the same noise...."eeeeek!"

The doc prescribed me a Z-pack and mucinex (and THAT took TWO HOURS TO FILL AT WALMART!!!!) and that was that.
While WAITING for the damn medicine it got so late in the afternoon that I had to leave Walmart to pick up Elizabeth from school and then go back. That is like a 10 mile trip from Walmart to school and back. Grrr.
As I'm running out of Walmart (after having spent almost TWO HOURS THERE WAITING ALREADY!!!!) my right ear starts to feel like it is a balloon filling up with air and then the stabbing pain began on THAT side of my head as well.
Now both my ears feel like they are stuffed full of cotton. FAN-FRICKING-TASTIC!!

So I go get Elizabeth, rush back to the Walmart, grab the prescription and get the hell home. The whole drive my head is pounding and I very much want to crash the car into a tree to REDUCE my pain.
We got home, I shuffled everyone inside, Ben is WAILING for food and killing me at the same time.
I grab four ibuprofen and a glass of milk, because the first pill of the z-pack is burning a hole in my stomach by now, and sit on the couch with Ben and feed him.
Once he's done, he goes down for a nap and I grabbed a hot wet towel and pressed it against the now throbbing RIGHT ear....it instantly feels better. Just for good measure, I poured myself a double shot of whiskey and slugged it back ASAP.
Goooooood lord...that was about a half hour ago, and the searing agony is now down to a dull ache, though everything still sounds like I am underwater. Fabulous.

And that's my day...omitting the part where I got into a screaming match with a dipshit construction worker (not Bob) on the side of the road because he was parked IN THE STREET!! IN THE TWO LANE TWISTY STREET!!! Yeah, I left there and called the sheriff out to deal with them. Ass faces.

********End of Update*********

My cold has traveled into dangerous territory. I now have a wicked nasty ear pain and I can't hear at all out of my left ear, constant nausea and a dry hacking cough. All this added to the stuffed up nose, headache and all over malaise.
I'm a mess. Bob is at work, and I have to get my act together somehow to face the day and take care of the children and drive Elizabeth to school and not die in the process. I really just want to take Nyquil and go to bed, but those selfish days are over. I have to suffer now, because I'm a mother. Feh.

Also, last night Dylan was jumping on my bed and hit himself in the face. Now HE has a black eye. A real nice shiner.
So yeah, we're quite a pair.

Picture Page - with extra Louie!

Here is Dylan sleeping with his Louie footstool.

Here is Louie enjoying the snow

Elizabeth shows off her injury. Her cousin gave her a piggyback ride that had a sudden and unexpected end. Her face hit the road. Game over. Still Fierce!

Louie does his best impression of a chihuahua. Not happy.

Benjamin enjoys some sort of mushed concoction. Some DID get inside the boy.

Fistful of Trouble

Monday Night

Bob went over to his buddy's house to watch Monday Night Football, leaving me alone with The Triad...shudder.

Ben went to sleep early, which was great.
I was working on winter hats for the kids and watching television.
Elizabeth was playing with her "learning numbers" puzzle and Dylan was running around like a maniac.

He decides that the game he should be playing is called Steal Elizabeth's Puzzle Pieces.

Sigh.

He would steal a piece, run in to where I was sitting say "One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six!" then toss the piece aside and run and get another one.

The exact moment he'd swipe a piece was made VERY evident by the loud, brain piercing shriek emitted by my daughter.
I swear, I got a nosebleed that night JUST FROM THE PITCH OF HER VOICE!

After about 10 minutes of that, she gathered up all her remaining pieces and moved into the room where I was sitting.
He continued to steal her pieces but didn't take them too far since I was sitting right there.
Crisis averted??
Eh, not exactly.

I got up and went into my room to change into pajamas.

Cue brain piercing shriek, followed by deep heavy sobs of a horribly traumatic nature.

"He hurt me! HE huuuuuuuuurt me!!!!!!!!"

I run back in there, half pantsed no less, to find Elizabeth clutching at her head, rolling on the floor and Dylan sitting in the arm chair as though nothing terrible had just occurred.

His act was convincing...oh, except for the FISTFUL of hair.

Yeah. I CSI-ed that crime scene right quickly. I was able to determine almost immediately that the evidence seemed to suggest that in a furious rage Dylan had pulled out a pretty good sized chunk of Elizabeth's hair.

I controlled my own furious rage and sent Dylan immediately to his room (for his own safety). I comforted Elizabeth and looked for the bald patch. Couldn't find it. Chick's got a mess of hair. Lots of hair.

She actually thought I was going to be able to put the hair back into her head. She was quite upset when I told her that it would be retained for evidentiary purposes and then disposed of in the garbage can. Very. Upset.

Meanwhile, Dylan was sobbing in his room. After I calmed down I went in there and explained that pulling out gobs of hair was a very very bad thing. Very bad thing!
That he gave his sister bad owies and made her cry and that is NOT NICE!

He then pointed to his leg and said "MY owie is right there! Kiss it! Kiss it!"
Confused, I was forced to ponder an alternate theory of the crime.
Perhaps it wasn't merely a jealous, puzzle-fueled rage that precipitated the events of this evening.
Could it possibly be that the hair pull was perpetrated AFTER Dylan had been assaulted??

I interrogated Elizabeth regarding the exact circumstances of the hair pulling. She vehemently denied any knowledge of her brother's alleged "owie" and continued to assert that she was the one and only aggrieved party.
Knowing my suspect to be an accomplished liar, especially when the possibility of a time-out is lingering over her head, I persevered.
Finally, under intense questioning, Elizabeth broke down and admitted that after Dylan snatched one too many puzzle pieces she had snapped and smacked her brother in the leg, thus setting off the fury which resulted in her tragic loss of hair.

All guilty parties were sentenced to age appropriate periods of time out.

And that's what we call Law and Order: Parental Unit.

Now he'll NEVER potty train!

Oh. Good. Grief.

So just moments ago Dylan came over and told me "I want go potty" which means exactly what you think it means. Not like when he says "I want bla-da-bla-da-bla" which means "Give me a banana, wretched woman!" (yes, in my head, Dylan is Stewie)

We ran off to the bathroom, threw his Dora potty seat onto the toilet and I started to take off his cute corduroys while he simultaneously tried to climb up onto the potty.
Disaster!
He lost his grip AND his pants caught on his foot at the same time sending him face first into the side of the toilet.
Oh. No!

He did that crying-without-making-a-sound crying for about a minute. His lips actually turned purple he hadn't drawn breath for so long. Finally he gasped and let out a wail of sorrow.
Oh, I felt so bad!!!

If he hadn't already pooped his pants, he did after that, so getting to the potty in time was no longer No. 1 priority. Or No. 2. Heh.

Dylan got a big mama hug and I cleaned him up, diaper wise. Details spared.
I checked his teeth, they were fine. No blood anywhere. He banged the chubby part of his cheek and probably his nose since he kept sniffing for about five minutes after the incident. Not sniffing in, but like blowing out. It was strange.

Now he's got a big red circle on his face where he impacted. Like a half made up china doll. One side all rougey, the other, plain.
Poor baby.

If I was him, I'd never go near a toilet again!

The Devil is an open tin can

Wednesday
I went in the morning to the post office to mail out some packages for work.
Check out my website at Crochet Funtime!
It was miserable and cold, so the kids and I came right back home instead of running any other errands.
We had lunch and watched cartoons. Colored pictures of monsters and tried to clean the house a bit.
In the afternoon after Dylan went down for a nap I decided to make Tuna Artichoke Salad, which is fabulous and tasty.
It involves opening three cans.
Tuna. Artichoke Hearts. Sliced Black Olives.
I opened all those cans and put the contents in a bowl. I put the cans into the trash.
Then I noticed the trash was getting quite full so I went to push it down.
What a mistake.
In the action of pushing, one of those can lids caught my left index finger, slicing it about 1/4 of an inch deep and an inch long.
Blood. Everywhere.
I wrapped my finger in a paper towel and secured it with a ponytail holder (very professional first aid).
I called my husband, who was almost 60 miles away working. He was unhelpful and unable to come help!
Then I called my brother in law who was working in town. He offered to meet me at the urgent care to watch the kids while I got stitched.
Bless his heart, right?
I had to wake up Dylan, dress him and get us all out into the car with a bloody mitt. Not fun.
I drove the 12 miles into town with my hand resting up on the car window, a weak attempt at "icing" my wound.
We got to urgent care and my brother in law was already there. He brought the kids into the clinic and waited with me. When I got called back to a room, he took them to Dairy Queen. So nice.
I ended up with about a jillion shots of lidocaine (very painful) to numb my finger, five stitches and a tetanus shot (also very painful).
My arm is still sore from the tetanus. My finger is healing but so tender that I can't work at all. No crocheting for me for another week. Whah!
Dylan keeps squeezing my injury because he is intrigued by the stitches. It is all I can do not to punch him right in the face everytime he does that. It hurts like a MOTHER!!
"The Injury" has already gotten me out of bathing the children and moving wet laundry from the washer to the dryer. But only once.
I have had to build a fire and wash dishes and change wet diapers all on my own. All very hard with one hand.
I am building my character with every one armed task I complete.
Sleeping is super hard. I usually put my left hand under my pillow. Can't do it. It's making me crazy.
Don't even ask about shampooing.

I did end up completing that Tuna Artichoke Salad after I got back from urgent care.
It was delicious, but not entirely worth it.
Cest la vie.

Head injuries, birthdays and homemade salsa

The morning of my birthday eve, Dylan smashed his head into the door frame of Elizabeth's bedroom (we have not ruled out sabotage) and gave himself a wonderful goose-egg and bruise. Very attractive...
I soothed his pain with a piece of homemade zucchini bread made from zucchinis from our garden. Worked like a charm.

That night we BBQed some very excellent hamburgers from Wal-Mart in the backyard...oh wait...

Ok, let me define backyard before I go much further. Our "backyard" is actually a tiny little partially fenced off portion of our property that abuts the house on the away from the road side and contains a swingset and some toys and a bulb garden.
Make sense?
We also have a little wooden table out there and some plastic porch chairs and the kids Dora outdoor table and chair set. Oh, and my very tacky clothesline.
The ground, unfortunately, will not grow grass because of the abundance of trees(though we are going to experiment next spring with bird seed as grass seed) and used to be used as a parking area despite the pine trees in the way, so it's all gravelly with cinders.
OH and there's a giant ditch running through part of the area like the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, a byproduct of living at the bottom of a giant hill...rain runoff...good times!

Now that you've got the whole picture...
We're out there BBQing and the kids are playing on their swings and with their dirt toys and all of a sudden BLAMMO!
Elizabeth whacked into Dylan's FACE with the glider swing sending him flying back about two feet.
He's laying there doing that "my mouth is open but I make no sound" cry and Bob runs over, scoops him up and immediately starts freaking out that Dylan needs to go to the hospital....he's an overreactor...just a bit.

I get Dylan and he just wants to snuggle and not show me his injuries, which I eventually did see...
A big scrape in his hairline, about the size of a flattened out novelty penny and another nice gash on his chin. He also has another bump on the BACK of his head, where he made contact with the cinders.
Nice.

He actually cried more during the cleaning portion of the injuries than the actual becoming injured portion of the injuries.
Tough kid.
Despite Bob's fears, he made it through with no concussion and no spurting arterial blood fountains. Though this time the pain did require something stronger than homemade bread. He got herbal Nerve Tonic to chill out a bit.

Last night for the official birthday meal we grilled steaks and had fried onions and mushrooms over those, with corn on the cob on the side. I fully intended to make a salad, but we had filled up before the meal on homemade (and homegrown) fried zucchini coins (like the ones at Carl's Jr but tastier). Also I had brie and bread while Bob went shopping for my birthday present - a new jewelry box!

After dinner, Bob and Elizabeth had Birthday Cake flavor ice cream and I indulged in a friggin delicious Mascarpone Cheesecake with berries on top...yummmmmmmmmmmy and some Pepperwood Pinot Noir.
Deeeelish!

This morning, somehow, I got nominated to make breakfast, so I made home-fried potatoes, sausage links and scrambled eggs.
Bob immediately complained that there was no salsa for his eggs, so I threw together homemade salsa with tomatoes and cilantro from our garden and store-bought onions.
So easy.
He ~claims~ that he still wants me to buy Pace Picante sauce...I think I can trick him if I can just get a Pace jar. :)

This post was ALL about food! I just ate, but I made myself hungry again!